"Wilt thou come to see the joustings in Beaumont meadows to-morrow, fair Mistress Alys?"
Alys raised her eyes from her frame, and saw that Amalric had entered the room with his eager, elastic step. The young De Montfort was no stranger to that upper chamber now. Indeed, scarce a day passed but he found his way thither, to tell the news of the city in the eager ears of Edmund, or to look into the eyes of the fair Alys, and listen whilst she played upon the lute.
A great friendship had sprung up between these three, and the fact that Amalric had entered as a scholar at St. George's College in the Castle gave them the more chance of frequent meetings. Sir Humphrey and his wife were glad that Edmund should be enlivened by the visits of a friend, and in his heart of hearts the Constable was devoted to the cause of the Barons, although his position obliged him to maintain an air of neutrality when political questions were discussed.
A great change had recently come over the lives of brother and sister. Instead of passing their days alone in this upper room, seeing hardly any faces but those of their parents from one week's end to another, they now enjoyed a variety of diversions. A master of Arts came twice in the week to instruct Edmund in some of that lore he was so eager to make his own, and upon three other days in the week the young clerk Leofric Wyvill made his appearance, to read with the invalid, and to assist him with such preparation for his tutor as it was possible to make in those days. Alys shared these readings with her brother, and was almost as keenly interested as he. She almost neglected her tapestry frame now for a more congenial task, but her mother still looked for the daily portion, and she would return to it and work hard again, whilst Leofric retailed to them such things as he had heard from those various masters whose lectures he sedulously attended.
He was sitting beside Edmund's couch now, drawing mathematical figures and working out the problems attached, when Amalric's voice broke in upon them, and for the moment thoughts of study were thrown aside.
"They say it will be a brave show," continued young De Montfort: "North and South will meet together and tilt and hold joustings. They say the Welsh have joined the Northerners, and that they will challenge those of the South to meet them in mock combat. They have chosen St. Bartholomew's Day, and all men say it will be a goodly sight.—Art thou to be there, fair mistress?"
"I know not," answered Alys; "methinks my father little likes these students' holidays. He says there is too often more of purpose than of jest in their joustings. I trow he will judge that I am better safe at home."
Leofric looked up with parted lips, as though about to speak; and Edmund observing him, said,—
"Is that thine opinion also, Leofric?"
"Perchance it is not for me to speak, seeing that I have but little knowledge to go upon. Yet I have a feeling that to-morrow will not pass without trouble. I have heard ill-whispers in the air. I have a fear that one whom I love right well may be in danger on that day."
This was interesting, and all looked eagerly at Leofric.
"Tell us all," said Edmund quickly; "it may be that we can help thee."
"I speak of one whom you all know," answered Leofric,—"Hugh le Barbier, who has shown me great kindness since I came hither a poor, raw lad—"
"Hugh le Barbier! why, I know him well," cried Amalric. "What hast thou to say of him? If peril threatens, sure we can protect him! Tell us what is in thy mind."
"He has an enemy," answered Leofric, "one Roger de Horn—"
At that name Edmund interrupted in his turn.
"I have heard my father speak of him. He is a turbulent fellow who has often disturbed the peace of the town, and but for the benefit of clergy, which he claims, would have met with some severe chastisement. What is his cause of quarrel with honest Hugh, our friend?"
"In sooth I think it is about a maid," answered Leofric. "There be two fair sisters—daughters of the host where both Hugh and Roger dwell. Methinks I have told of them before. It is their faces I have drawn in my idle hours—the two sisters so alike that few may tell them apart. From what I can learn, methinks that Hugh and Roger both love the same maid, and that she returns the affection of Hugh, as any maiden would. Why Roger cannot please himself with the other, who is her very counterpart to look at, I cannot tell," continued Leofric, who knew nothing of the mysteries of love, and was puzzled to know how even Hugh had come to give such deep affection to one sister, whilst showing a calm indifference to the other; "but it seems that they have both set their fancy upon the same. And it is whispered that Roger has vowed vengeance upon his rival, and that he may seize upon his chance of doing him a mischief to-morrow."
"That must be stopped," said Edmund quickly; "I will speak to my father."
But Leofric slightly shook his head.
"I fear me that would do no good. Hugh will certainly not be withheld from joining in the joustings. He is to tilt, with Linda's snood of crimson ribbon fastened to his head-piece. If Roger be his antagonist in the lists, none can well interpose. These joustings are held to be the right of all clerks and citizens upon a holiday. To seek to stop them now would but stir up a riot in the place which might be worse than any mock battle in the fields."
"Then we must be there to see that our friend Hugh comes to no unfair mischief at the hands of his rival," said Amalric quickly. "Which side doth Hugh take—North or South? He is a dweller in the middle parts of the country, and might choose either."
"We have agreed to throw in our lot with the South," answered Leofric, "and Roger is of the fierce Northerners. Some men say that at the last there will be a grand mock battle, in which all men will join. For myself, I would sooner it came not to such a pass. I fear me there might be less of mock fighting than true were it so."
Alys looked a little alarmed at the thought, and Amalric exclaimed,—
"Surely the Chancellor and Proctors, and the Constable your father, could contrive to keep men from falling upon each other in such savage fashion?"
Edmund slightly shook his head.
"I am not sure. Strange things happen in Oxford every year. It is not many years since there was such a riot betwixt some Irish clerks and some of the Northerners as made the Chancellor take oaths of the students to keep the peace for the future. But new men pour in every year, and oaths are forgotten all too quickly. I would that I could come abroad to-morrow and see the tilting. I should not take it amiss if there were to be some collision betwixt party and party. I sicken of this life between high walls. I long to see life once more."
"And so thou shalt!" cried Amalric eagerly; "I have my horses here, and I will borrow a litter from somewhere, and will take thee and Mistress Alys to the jousting-field. There shalt thou see all that goes on, and thy father shall give thee a few trusty fellows for a guard; so that if there be any rioting, thou and Mistress Alys can be brought safely back in haste, by Barbican Lane. The rioters will give the Castle a wide berth, we may be sure; the tide of battle—if battle there be—will all set the other way."
Alys clapped her little hands together; Edmund's eyes lighted with anticipation. To escape from his prison, to go abroad in the streets, was the great ambition of his life. But it was seldom that he had achieved this end, and the thought of sharing in the gaieties of the morrow was enchanting alike to him and to his sister.
Sir Humphrey was willing to fall in with the plan suggested. He had a great liking for Amalric, and perhaps had already formed an idea that the youth was attracted by his young daughter. Both youth and maiden were still full young, but at least there was no harm in permitting them some pleasant intercourse if they were disposed to like one another. The Earl of Leicester was at this juncture perhaps the greatest man in the kingdom, and an alliance with the noble house might prove of great advantage to the knight in his career. His wife had suggested this notion to him, and he had listened not unwillingly. In those days men regarded their daughters somewhat in the light of chattels, to be disposed of as best promoted the advancement of their own interests; and the fact that Sir Humphrey was a tender father, and that Alys was the light of his eyes, did not detract from the pleasure of the thought that she might make a grand match, when a few years had passed over her head, with the scion of a house as likely to thrive and increase in power and glory as that of Simon de Montfort.
Upon the next day, therefore, he forwarded all the arrangements suggested by Amalric, furnished a guard to his son and daughter, and putting them under the care of young De Montfort, permitted them to sally forth into the town to see the gay pageantry of a students' holiday.
The sun shone brightly to-day—the clouds had all rolled away. The town had assumed a holiday appearance, and from every door a motley multitude poured forth. Church bells rang; at every corner were to be met processions of clerks and scholars, many of whom had just achieved some scholastic success, and were in consequence crowned with wreaths of flowers; whilst their friends and supporters danced around them similarly adorned, some disguised with masks, others in grotesque garments like mummers—all alike bent on amusement, and all with their faces set towards Beaumont meadows, in which the jousts and games and tiltings were to be held.
Conspicuous amongst the gay throng in holiday attire (for the citizens with their wives and daughters were pouring out to see the fun) was a small group of what some took to be mummers—tall figures dressed all in black, with masks upon their faces and weapons in their belts. There were some six of these in all, and they glided hither and thither amongst the shifting throng, unknown and silent, people making way for them as they moved, as if half afraid of their strange appearance.
Alys and Edmund caught sight of them more than once, and eagerly asked Amalric who and what they were; but he could give them no reply, and soon they ceased to think of them in the entertainment of watching the gay shifting throng.
A good position for seeing the jousting was fixed upon by the men in charge of the Constable's children, and Edmund's litter was drawn up upon a knoll under a clump of trees, which gave a pleasant shade from the sun's rays; whilst the horse, tethered close at hand, could feed upon the grass.
"I should like to see some of the people we have been told about," said Alys, as she stood beside her brother's couch.—"Prithee, good Leofric, bring to us here thy friends Hugh and Gilbert and Jack, and those two twin sisters Lotta and Linda, and any others of whom thou hast spoken. I would be friends with all the world to-day. Go seek them and bring them hither, and at noon we will feast here together under the greenwood trees, and watch the merry joustings at our ease."
Alys was in unwontedly gay spirits that day, and Leofric hurried off to do her behests. It was easy to persuade his comrades to accept the invitation of the Constable's daughter, and she on her side had a pretty way of putting people at their ease in her company.
The twin sisters interested her greatly, but she did not think them quite so wonderfully alike as she had expected. One of them was pale and pensive, and had an anxious look in her soft eyes; whilst the other was radiant and flushed, talking and laughing gaily with all who approached, and throwing towards Hugh le Barbier glances of such witchery and fascination that Alys at first thought she must be the lady of his choice.
All seemed to be gaiety and good-humour during the early hours of the day. Games of all sorts, trials of skill and strength, wrestling, archery, and quoits were entered into with great zest. The jousting was to take place after the mid-day meal, and at present the horsemen were comparatively few; but these few rode hither and thither, and carried off the ring from the pole with considerable skill. Alys watched everything, and enjoyed herself mightily, making herself a very graceful and gracious hostess to her invited guests.
As the meal proceeded she found herself able to speak a few words to the pensive twin, whom she now knew to be Linda, the maiden whom Leofric had said that Hugh loved. Hugh had been sitting beside her for some little while, but now he had gone off with Gilbert to look to their horses for the tilting, and the shadow had fallen again upon the face of the girl.
"Is aught troubling thee, maiden?" asked Alys, in a gentle tone. "Methinks that thou art pensive where others be gay. Tell me what is in thy heart, and I will seek to comfort thee."
Linda gave a sudden start, and glanced timidly into the face of the younger girl; but what she saw there seemed to inspire her with confidence. She had heard before of the gentle Alys, and felt that she was not quite a stranger.
After a quick glance round to be sure that none else could hear her words, she made reply,—
"In sooth, sweet mistress, I scarce know how to answer; and yet my heart is heavy within me, and I fear I know not what. I have one who is near and dear to me, and I trow he is in danger. Yet how to succour him I know not; for he is brave of heart, and smiles at thought of fear; yet I have known terrible things happen in this strange city, and I fear—I fear!"
"What dost thou fear?" asked Alys, drawing a little closer.
"I fear foul play for him," answered Linda; "I have heard things which make my heart heavy as lead within me. Lady, hast thou seen some strange men in the crowd to-day—men all in black, who look to me like devils moving amongst the merry-makers? Hast thou seen them?"
"Ay, verily have I. Methought they were mummers, but none could tell me of them. Who and what are they?"
"I know hot for a certainty, and yet I fear them. I saw through the mask-hole of one of them a pair of evil, flashing eyes, and methought it was Roger de Horn who thus gazed at me with malice in his heart. I truly think that my brother is another, and there are more whose names thou wouldest not know. But I fear me there are certain wild spirits bound together to do evil, and that the safety of my lover is to-day threatened amongst them."
Alys sat silent, a sympathetic fear creeping over her. What could she say to comfort this trembling maiden?
"But how can these men hurt him? he will be mounted, and they are on foot. Dost think that they will join in the tourney too?"
"Nay; I should fear them less did they do so. Hugh would be more than a match for any of them, skilled as he is in knightly exercises, strong, and full of courage. He could unhorse Roger de Horn at one blow, despite his size and strength; and that does yon coward and braggart well know, wherefore he will not meet him in fair fight. What I fear is an ambushment, in which my lover will be carried off by those wicked men. And if he be thus spirited away, Heaven alone knows what fate may await him: for I am very sure that these confederates have sold themselves to the Evil One, and are masters of unholy crafts that we wot not of; and as all men know, when such seize upon a human victim, they do him to death with their black arts in some fearful fashion, seeking to wrest his soul from him ere they let go their hold upon his body!" and Linda trembled in every limb.
Alys shivered also, for these words sounded mysterious and terrible. She did not understand their import, but none the less did they fill her with horror.
But before another word could be said the sound of trumpet blasts smote upon the ears of the crowd, a great shout rent the welkin, and from opposite sides of the field two gallant parties of mounted revellers rode in—banners flying, lances in rest—and made a complete circuit of the meadow, the crowd flying right and left before them, until the field, lately covered with groups of merry-makers, became cleared for the tiltings of the mounted rivals.
It was a gallant show of student prowess, and for a while all went well; the combatants were fairly well matched, and good-humour prevailed over feelings of emulation and rivalry.
The sun slowly sank in the sky, but the revelry and joustings still went on. The crowd had closed in more and more upon the combatants, and now there was to be one great final charge, all the horsemen taking part in it together—a sort of mock battle before the sun should set.
Edmund was growing rather weary, but was still keenly interested; whilst Amalric, who had declined to join in the jousting, and had remained all the while with brother and sister, gazed very intently at the grouping of the crowd, and in particular at the movements of certain black figures, who seemed to be directing in a rather curious fashion the actions of certain knots of clerks and citizens, who were drawing ever nearer and nearer to the scene of action.
"Methinks, Edmund," he said suddenly, "that thou and Alys had better be turning homewards. The sun will soon be gone, and this is the last of the merry-making. It would be well not to get hemmed in by the crowd as it breaks up. I will call up the men, and we will return," and as he spoke he gave Edmund a look which the latter instantly understood.
Alys would fain have lingered, fascinated by the strange sight presented by the plain, where she could have fancied a real battle was raging. There were such shouting, such clashing of arms, such defiant yells from the combatants, that she almost trembled where she stood; and when she mounted her palfrey, she felt that the creature was trembling also at the unwonted clamour.
Suddenly a girl's voice close at hand broke into a quick wail of horror and fear. Linda, clasping her hands closely together, cried in tones of lament,—
"It has begun! it has begun! They are fighting now. Oh, what will be the end of this?"
"Come, Mistress Alys," spoke Amalric, in tones that unconsciously betrayed anxiety and authority, "we must not linger here. It is too true; they have begun to fight in earnest now."
And so it was. Either the excitement of the moment had been too much for the combatants, or there had been evil influences at work; but whatever the cause, there was no mistaking the result. Yells of execration and defiance, screams of agony from the wounded, threats, menaces, curses, rent the air, and in a moment the scene was changed from one of revelry and sport to one of fury and bloodshed. It was no sight for a maiden's eyes, and Alys was hurried by her attendants through the rough ground of Broken Heys and into the Barbican Lane, where still the shouts of the multitude pursued her, and the din of battle drowned all other sounds.
"Oh, what is happening—what is happening?" she cried, as the party halted at last beneath the gateway. "Oh, do not let Hugh le Barbier fall into the hands of his foes! Cannot some of you rescue him from those wicked men?"
Her words were not altogether understood, but enough had passed upon the subject to cause Amalric to cry,—
"Now that thou art safe, sweet lady, I will ride back and see what I can do to stop this riot, and save our friend if he be in any peril;" and Leofric sprang to his stirrup and said,—
"Let me run with thee, sir, and strike a blow for my friend, if need be. I know not what is purposed against him, but methinks this fight will not fail to be taken advantage of by his enemy."
Leofric could run like a hare, and had no difficulty in keeping pace with Amalric's steed as they once more crossed the broken ground towards the meadow. The light was fading by this time, but the din of battle was louder than ever, and it seemed as though the whole populace of the town had now joined in one indiscriminatemêlée. From within the walls could be heard the clanging of the bells of St. Martin's and St. Mary's—signals that mischief was abroad; and from the gates of the city the Chancellor and his men were already issuing, the Proctors in attendance, to seek to quell this formidable riot, in which at least half the University clerks were involved.
The Constable of the Castle on his side had come forth with a guard, and at sight of these dignitaries bearing down upon them from either side the combatants paused and wavered. Then the men of the North, who were getting the upper hand, made a sudden dash forward, drove their adversaries before them pell-mell through the open gate from which the Chancellor had lately issued, hewed down numbers of them in their rush, and made for their own Halls and lodgings, barricading themselves into these and hurling defiance at the promoters of law and order, and flinging stones and other offensive missiles at any who sought to dislodge them.
The fight was practically over, the victory, if such it could be called, remaining with the Northern section, who had certainly inflicted much damage upon their adversaries, whilst meeting with many reprisals themselves. Quite a dozen clerks had been killed or mortally wounded, whilst minor injuries had been inflicted upon more victims than could be numbered that night.
Amalric and Leofric, joined later on by Jack (whose head had been broken by a quarter-staff) and by Gilbert (who had received a few bruises and contusions), hunted all over the place for some trace of Hugh. His horse they found grazing quietly in one corner, which excited some alarm for the safety of the rider; but Gilbert declared he had seen Hugh ride safely out of themeléewhen it began to turn into a battle, and that he had called out to him to go home quietly before worse happened. He himself rode off towards the Bocardo gate, and Gilbert lost sight of him in the confusion; but he never guessed that harm had come to him till he found he had not been heard of at the inn, and he started off again in search of him.
From dusk till moonrise did his friends seek for him, exploring every corner of the field and the streets, and asking all whom they knew if they had seen him. Hugh was well known and popular in Oxford, and even the Chancellor and the Proctors gave a passing assistance in the search; but at length the party had to pause and look at each other in blank dismay.
"He has been spirited away!" said Amalric, beneath his breath.
"This is the doing of Roger de Horn," quoth Jack, between his shut teeth.
"I Tell thee the fault is thine own. Thou couldst have saved him an thou wouldst!"
"Thou art cruel to me, Lotta—cruel, cruel!" wailed Linda. "As though I had not enough to bear without these taunts!"
"Taunts! they are true words every one, and I did warn thee before. If thou hadst given thyself to honest Roger, thou mightest have saved thy lover."
Linda's pale face flushed; she wrung her hands together; her eyes, that were sunken and hollow, flashed suddenly.
"Honest Roger, quotha! and he little better than a common assassin! I hated and feared him long ere I saw Hugh. Wouldst thou have had me betroth myself to a murderer?"
There was an answering flash in Lotta's eyes.
"To save the man I loved from death,Iwould have promised anything," she cried—"ANYTHING!"
"So would not I," answered Linda, drawing a deep sigh. "I dare not sware a falsehood—not even for his sake. Nor would he wish it of me. There are things worse than death."
"Ay, verily there be," answered Lotta significantly; "who knows but what thy dainty lover (as thou dost call him) may even now be suffering some such fate."
Linda started and gazed earnestly at her sister.
"Lotta, what meanest thou? Speak! What dost thou know?"
"I know nothing," was the dogged reply, and a hard gleam shone in Lotta's eyes.
The likeness between the twin sisters was growing less and less every week. Linda had grown pale and drooping of late, and went about heavily, as one in whom the vigour of life is sapped; whilst Lotta was almost as blooming as of old, save that her beauty was harder in character, her laugh more forced, and her speech more reckless. Some thought her more bewitching than ever, but Linda was of a different opinion. She began to fear her sister, and to suspect that Lotta hated her with that cruel sort of hatred which is born of jealousy.
Linda had not realized until the mysterious disappearance of Hugh that Lotta loved him; but the knowledge had been forced upon her during those dreadful days following the fight in Beaumont meadows. Since that day Lotta had been altogether different, and had never ceased to taunt the heart-broken Linda with having been the cause of the fate which had overtaken Hugh upon that occasion. She was always throwing reproaches at her, and urging her even now to accept the suit of Roger de Horn, lest some worse thing should happen; and Linda grew more pale and tearful as week after week passed by, and no news of the absent Hugh reached either her or any in the city.
He seemed to have been spirited away as if by magic. His body had never been found, and it was generally supposed that he had been alarmed by the magnitude of the fight, and fearing for the consequences to those concerned, had quitted the city and betaken himself elsewhere, as was often enough done by those who feared the result of any act of violence. He had been one of the most valiant of the tilters in the tourney, and might perhaps fear lest his name should be brought before the Chancellor or the King as having been a leader in the fight that had followed.
For there had been great displeasure aroused in high places at this lusty and bloody battle. The Chancellor had closed the schools for a while, to make inquisition on the matter; and the clerks, in affright at seeing their privileges withdrawn, had made a collection of money, and had sent presents to the King and Queen and Prince of Wales, in the hope of obtaining pardon.
The King had, however, given a stern reply, to the effect that money could not buy back the life of even one loyal subject wantonly slain; and had it not been that his Majesty was too much taken up with troubles in Wales and with his own Barons at home, more serious steps might have been taken.
As it was no mandate followed, and gradually the life of the place resumed its former course; but it may be understood that, at a time of so much excitement and anxiety, the disappearance of a single student created but little stir. Had his dead body been found, there must have been inquiry, and search made for the authors of the crime, as Hugh was a gentleman's son, and the companion and friend of young De Montfort; but since he had simply vanished, it was concluded that he had done so of his own free-will, and only a few of his nearest friends harboured dark fears as to his safety.
Linda had good reason for believing that he had met with foul play, and though for a while she cherished the hope that he would come back as suddenly as he had left, the hope was dwindling away little by little, so that Lotta's last words brought a start of mingled dismay and hope.
"If thou dost know nothing, why dost thou speak thus?" she cried, clasping her hands tightly together.
"I speak but the fantasy that sometimes fills my mind. I verily believe even now, if thou wouldst hear reason and mate thyself with Roger, that Hugh might be brought back again as from the dead."
"Thou dost believe he yet lives?"
"Marry, how can I tell? I know no more than thyself. But men put not their heads within a noose for small cause. Were I in thy place, I would see if I could not save my lover, even though I might never wed him."
"Thinkest thou that he would reckon life a boon had I been false to him?" spoke Linda, in very low tones.
Lotta's hard laugh rang out mockingly.
"Thou vain and foolish child! thinkest thou that there is a man upon earth who would not choose life rather than love? Thinkest thou that thou art the only maiden in the city worth the wooing? Go to for a veritable fool an thou dost! Let him but taste the sweets of liberty again, and I trow that he would console himself for thy desertion, and that right quickly;" and Lotta flashed a meaning glance at her own reflection in a small mirror of burnished brass that hung against the wall.
Linda shivered again. She read her sister's meaning all too well. Yet what would she not be willing to do to win liberty for her lover, were he indeed alive?
"If thou wouldst but tell me what thou dost know!" she said again.
Lotta threw herself along the couch beside the window, and looked down into the street below. It was plain that she was excited and disquieted, but Linda had no clue to her thoughts.
"I know naught," she repeated; "but I have my thoughts. That something is afoot I cannot doubt. Hast seen how strange Tito is of late—how little he is at home after dark—how he and Roger consort more and more together? Something is hatching between them; what its nature is I know not. But I have my thoughts—I have my suspicions. And is not Tito ever on at thee that thou shouldst forget Hugh and wed with Roger? And doth he not tell me to urge the same upon thee, and throw out strange hints that the sooner this be done the sooner some other good will follow? I verily believe that hadst thou the spirit or the heart of a mouse, thou couldst save him whom thou dost profess thou lovest. But if thou wilt not make sacrifice for him—well, such love is not worth the having! I would cast it from me with scorn!"
Linda buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She was bewildered and distressed above measure by Lotta's words. If indeed Hugh were living, what would she not do to obtain his release from the power of the evil men who had captured him? but to pay the price asked of her for this! Oh, it was almost more than she could bear to think of! And yet might it not be her duty—that duty she owed to him whom she loved more than life?
She was in a grievous state of doubt and dismay, and upon the first opportunity she sought counsel of her friend Joanna Seaton, who had been her confidante throughout.
Joanna looked very grave at what she heard, but warned Linda very seriously against taking such a false step as that of listening to the suit of Roger de Horn.
"Thou dost hate and fear him; it could never be right to wed him. We may not do evil even for good to come. The holy friars have at least taught us that, albeit the monks may not have done so. Thou mayest not swear falsely, Linda."
"Not even to save him from—oh, I know not what?"
"Not even for that. Moreover, thou dost not know that he is living, or in the power of his foe. I fear me that Lotta is not true to thee nor to her better self. She has let the demon of jealousy possess her, and she is now seeking to work upon thee and to get thee to wed with Roger. I fear me she has some evil purpose in her head. I would not have thee put too great faith in her words, Linda."
"But if she should be right!" urged Linda feverishly. "Oh, could we not save him?"
Joanna was silent, revolving many matters in her mind. Linda suddenly spoke again.
"Joanna, to-morrow doth begin the Fair of St. Frideswyde."
"Yes, truly; but what of that?"
"Listen, Joanna. Dost thou not remember that there come to the fair year by year those who practise magic—who read the future from the stars, from the cards, from crystal bowls? I have never sought to such before, having never cared to pry into the future. But now, ah now, if they could but tell me that one thing—if they could but say whether he were alive or dead!"
Joanna looked struck by the idea, and a little excited. Living in an age of superstition, the girls were not free from the belief in magic which lies dormant in almost every nature. Truly if they could discover by occult means what they so greatly desired to know, it might put a weapon in their hands which they could use with effect. Many were there in the city who would fly to the rescue of Hugh, were it but known that he lived, and where was his hiding-place. If they could but once discover this much, the rest might follow, and the prisoner be released.
No event could better facilitate their design than the approaching Fair of St. Frideswyde. Formerly it had been held in July, upon the feast of the translation of St. Benedict, and the five days following; but within the memory of the present generation it had been changed to the vigil and feast of the saint himself, and occupied a whole week, from the eighteenth to the twenty-fourth of October inclusive. Not only was a great fair held in the streets of the city all through these days, but the whole authority of the place was handed over to the Prior of St. Frideswyde's. To him the Mayor surrendered the keys of the city; the courts of the town were closed in favour of the Piepowder Court, which was held by the steward of the Priory, and before which all disturbers of the peace were brought during the week of the fair.
Persons of every sort thronged into the city during the week. The hostels were full to overflowing; a general holiday was observed. Housewives stocked their larders and wardrobes for the winter; young folks made merry together at mummings and shows of every kind. Clerks and scholars thronged into the fair so soon as they were free of the schools. The streets were lighted by torches, and frolic and merry-making lasted far into the darkness of the autumn night. Mummers, jugglers, fortune-tellers crowded into the place to gather a harvest there; and if any youths or maidens desired to consult the stars, have their fortunes told or their horoscope cast, that was the season when this could be managed without trouble or risk.
The fascination of the supernatural has a great hold upon the young imagination. Linda and Joanna had not discussed this matter long before both were burning with eagerness to put the matter to the test. It had been already rumoured that a noted astrologer from foreign parts would visit the town during the Fair of St. Frideswyde; and if this were so, he was the very man of all others to be consulted. He could know nothing whatever respecting the character or history of the persons who consulted him, and therefore, if he could tell or show them somewhat concerning the fate of Hugh, his prognostications might be looked upon as true, especially if he could give some sign whereby those who consulted him should be able to prove the efficacy of his magic.
Others besides Linda and Joanna awaited eagerly the opening of the fair. Alys de Kynaston was never weary of questioning her father about it, and begging permission to wander through it when the time should come. Edmund was keenly curious too, but he could not hope to see much, though he meant to ride into the city, and go through such places as his horse could carry him. Leofric was not able to tell them anything about it, as he had not seen one himself as yet; but he picked up all the information that he could on the subject, and both he and Amalric resolved to see everything possible, even at the expense of their studies during that week.
Different as was their rank in life, Amalric and Leofric had become great friends of late. Their anxiety for Hugh was one link which had drawn them together, and their love of study was another. Amalric attended a number of the same lectures as Leofric. He often joined the readings in the Castle, and profited by Leofric's scholarship, which was certainly rapidly increasing with all this exercise. At other times he would mount Leofric upon one of his own horses, and they would ride forth together and scour the country for miles round, enjoying the rapid exercise and the free companionship. Amalric was fond of weaving fancy pictures of their future life, when Leofric and he should ride forth together to win their spurs of knighthood, and meet with those adventures which befell all true gallant youths who went forth in the cause of chivalry.
In spite of his scholarly tastes, he had soldier blood in his veins, and did not mean to settle down altogether to a life of study. There was glory to be won in the far East in the Crusades, as well as against the Turks upon the seas, even if not nearer at home. Amalric had his dreams of warlike glory, and Leofric shared them also. He would be the esquire—Amalric should be his knightly master. Together they would do and dare great things; and thus planning and castle-building, their souls were knit together, and a deep and lasting friendship sprang up between them.
At the fair they were always to be seen together, sometimes in attendance upon the maiden Alys, who delighted to obtain permission to go afoot into the crowd with them. Her father, finding that there seemed little danger of any untoward disturbance just now (the memory of the King's recent displeasure being still fresh in men's minds), was pleased to gratify her whim, and Amalric was always eager to be entrusted with the care of one who was becoming daily dearer to him. So with a servant or two in close attendance, but with Amalric and Leofric one on each side, the eager maiden visited the fair and made numerous little purchases, greatly to her own edification and the admiration of the spectators.
Thus it chanced that she came one day face to face with Linda, whom she had not seen since the day of the joustings, and she was greatly struck and grieved by the change in her looks. The citizen's daughter would have passed by with a simple reverence; but Alys put forth her hand and drew Linda towards her.
"I am glad to see thee once more; but thou art sadly changed since last we met. My father ever says that Hugh will come back again. Lose not altogether heart and hope."
"Ah, sweet lady, I thank thee for such kindly words; but thy noble father knows not all that we know. And I have not lost all hope, either, albeit I almost tremble. Hist! I can say no more here; but anon I shall learn somewhat, and then will I tell thee all—if indeed there be aught to tell. I have heard a whisper of hope. Perchance it will become something more anon. I must wait—I must wait—with what patience I can. On the last day of the fair I shall know all."
With these rather mysterious words Linda pressed Alys's hand and glided away, whilst the maiden stood looking after her with wondering eyes, and turning to Amalric asked,—
"What doth such speech portend?"
Amalric shook his head; but Leofric, who had heard much of the gossip of the fair from Jack, who was always in the thick of things, made answer,—
"Perchance she has been asking the oracle of him. Men say it is right wonderful what he doth tell; but they speak not too openly of the matter, lest the monks and canons of the city arise and drive him forth. The black arts are not encouraged, albeit there is always juggling and fortune-telling enow at these fairs. But this magician from foreign lands is something different. All men who have gone to him are whispering of the wonders he doth show, and the strange fashion in which he reads the thoughts of their hearts. For myself I have not had any desire to seek to him. Brother Angelus has warned us against such things. He says that half of it is trickery, unworthy to be practised by honest men; and that what is really magic is of the devil, and should be shunned by those who call themselves children of God. But for all that, many men who live upright and godly lives will, from sheer desire to see and hear the man, go to consult him or ask a question. These ofttimes come away with puzzled or troubled faces. For my part, I desire not to have dealings with either a trickster or an emissary of the Evil One."
Alys shivered slightly. She had been on the point of asking to be taken to the magician; but these words had the desired effect of checking the impulse. Nevertheless, she felt considerable curiosity to know what Linda had heard or seen, and greater still would have been her curiosity had she known what was about to take place.
Linda had consulted the oracle, who sat within a small tent just within the south gate, his face shrouded beneath a deep cowl, from under which his eyes gleamed like live coals. By day he sat and answered questions put to him in a deep, dreamy voice, which seemed to come from somewhere far away; but there were those who had asked to see certain things, or to look into the crystal globe or into the magic bowl, and they were bidden to meet him at an appointed time without the city gate after nightfall; and those who came back from these interviews spoke with bated breath of what they had seen and heard, and that only in whispers, lest the thing should reach the ears of the Prior.
Linda was one of those who, in a strange ecstasy of trembling and hope, were awaiting their turn to lift the curtain and see beyond the veil.
The oracle had divined her question ere it could leave her faltering lips. He told her that she came to ask news of one she loved—of one who might even be beyond the reach of human power—sleeping the sleep of death. Linda had given a little shriek at hearing these words; but the magician had gone on to say, in the same deep, monotonous voice, that if living his face could be called up in the magic mirror, and that thus alone could she learn whether indeed death had taken her lover for his prey.
Did she desire to inquire further? Linda, in an agony of terror and expectancy, declared that she did; and Joanna, though more frightened than she had anticipated, and half afraid of the approaching ordeal, would not leave her friend to face it alone.
It was not difficult, in the confusion attendant upon the fair, to slip out of the house after supper, unknown to those within; and it was easy enough to find the emissary of the magician, who, habited in a long gown and cowl like those of some monk or friar, stood without the gate to conduct those who had appointments to that other secret place, where the magic arts were practised beneath the cloak of night.
But first he tightly bandaged the eyes of the girls. That they had heard was always done; so that no man knew in what spot stood the strange curtained place where these mysteries were carried on. Linda held Joanna's arm tight, and both girls shook and trembled as they were led along what seemed an interminable road, till at last they were made to halt, and they heard a curious knock upon some panel that sounded like that of a door.
The next moment they were pushed within an archway, and they heard the door clang to behind them. For a moment their hearts almost failed them; but the burning curiosity to know what would come next aided them to rally courage, and in a few seconds they felt themselves pushed into seats, and the bandage removed from their eyes.
At first all was so dark about them that they saw little more than they had done when blindfold; but in a few minutes there was a slight rustling sound, and then a little tongue of flame seemed to shoot up, and they saw by its light that the magician sat before them, a small table only between himself and his visitors, and that he was feeding the flame in a small brazier before him, which emitted not only a little light, but also a scent almost like that of incense, and a light smoke that dimmed the air.
Above the head of the magician was a mirror, placed at a curious angle, so that it reflected nothing in the room. Indeed there seemed nothing that it could well reflect. The walls appeared to be only black curtains, whose sombre hue absorbed almost all the little light there was, whilst the chill vault-like atmosphere lay like an oppression upon the lungs of the visitors. They felt almost as though stifling, and could not have spoken had their lives depended upon it.
But speech did not appear to be demanded of them. The magician after a long silence, during which time he was feeding the brazier with various drugs which he had arranged upon the table beside him, addressed himself suddenly as if to some unseen presence.
"Go!" he said, in a tone of inflexible authority, "look into the heart of yonder maid, and see whose face is engraved there. If that face be yet in the land of the living, show it upon the mirror. That is thy task this night. Go—begone!"
Dead silence followed this strange command. But in a moment a sound of music arose as if from the ground at their feet—a strange, weird, low cadence that rose and fell and filled the room; then the cloud of incense grew thicker, and for a moment the face of the mirror was dimmed and blurred.
Then the air cleared. The mirror shone out again, and reflected in its shining surface was a face—the face of a man—wan, white, death-like, with closed eyes and ashen lips. But it was the face of Hugh for all that.
"He lives," said the voice of the magician; "but he will not live long, unless the woman who loves him best on earth will sacrifice herself for him."
Linda uttered a strangled scream, and fell senseless to the floor.
"I trow there was no magic in it at all—or no magician," cried Joanna, with suppressed excitement of manner; "I believe it is nothing but some devilry and trickery of Tito's and Roger's. The more I think of it, the more certain do I become. They are an evil pair, and are capable of anything."
Joanna was standing in the midst of an eager and interested group. The whisper had gone out in certain quarters that a strange thing had happened, and that news might be had of the missing Hugh. Amalric de Montfort had heard as much, and had begged of Leofric to take him to see the maiden who could tell what had befallen. Gilbert and Jack were also gathered together to hear the tale. The Fair of St. Frideswyde had just concluded; the city was resuming its normal condition; lectures for the day were just ended, and Gilbert had conducted his friends to the citizen household, that they might hear from Joanna's own lips the story of the mysterious visit which had resulted in the unexpected apparition of the face of Hugh le Barbier in the magician's mirror.
It was an age of superstition, and the belief in magic was deeply implanted in the minds of men of all classes. Nevertheless, in this particular case, a sceptic doubt had arisen, and when Joanna boldly spoke out her opinions, a murmur as of assent passed round the ring.
"Devilry without doubt," said Amalric, with an emphatic gesture. "The only question to my mind is, Whose is the devilry? and what chance have we of catching the perpetrators thereof, and wresting the truth from them?"
"If it be a real magician from foreign parts, he may already have left the city," said Jack; "folks are flocking away, now that the fair is over, as fast as they were flocking in a week ago."
"If I be right in my conjecture," said Joanna significantly, "the mysterious magician and his associate will not quit Oxford. Neither will they altogether cease their dark practices; they find them pay too well."
Hal Seaton, the brother of Joanna, who was also in this secret, looked out to be certain no one was listening, and then locked the door, signing to the company to be seated.
"Now, sister," he said, "tell to these our friends all that thou didst tell to me upon the night after we had carried to her home the swooning Linda. For if thou be right in what thou dost surmise, Hugh le Barbier is yet alive, and in sore need of help from without, which we must give him without delay. Wherefore speak, and speak freely, for we are all friends here."
Joanna told them of what had befallen her and Linda when they sought to learn more of the fate of Hugh—how they had been taken blindfold into the presence of the magician, and how the wan and wasted face of Hugh had appeared before them in the magic mirror.
"Linda at that moment did faint away," said Joanna, "but in the darkness the magician seemed not to know it. He made some strange passes with his hands, and then the lips of the mirrored face moved, and a voice which sounded far away spoke in urgent accents, bidding Linda forget him, and do all that was desired of her, as thus and only thus could she save him from a fate that was worse than death. Linda did not hear one word of this; but I heard all, and methought I knew whose was the voice that spake these things."
"Whose was it?" was the eager question.
"Tito Balzani's," was the reply. "We all know the power Tito possesses to throw his voice here, there, and wherever he chooses, and to imitate the voices of others. We also know well that he has some knowledge of magic and the black arts. His mother was accounted a witch, as I have often heard, and she bequeathed to him certain books and properties the use of which he has been studying of late more than some folks think wise. There be always those who would seek to pry into forbidden things, and Tito is one of such. He could play magician well, methinks, an he had the mind; and I verily believe it was he and none other who so astonished and awed our townfolk during the week of the fair."
"That might explain much," cried Jack, "for all men were aghast at the things the magician told them about themselves, which smacked mightily of mystery if it were a stranger who thus spoke, but would easily be explained if he were their own townsman. But leaving that matter, how could he have deceived your eyes by the trick of the magic mirror? How could he have gotten the face of Hugh reflected there?"
"What I believe," answered Joanna, gravely and earnestly, as she glanced round the faces bent upon her, "is that Tito Balzani and Roger de Horn have made a prisoner these two months of Hugh le Barbier, and are practising some of their devilries upon him—Roger from jealous rage and hatred, because Linda scorns his suit and has given her heart to Hugh; Tito because he desires that his friend should wed his sister, and because a living subject can ofttimes be of such great use to one who is practising the black arts of magic and mystery. Thou knowest, brother, that the traveller who once chanced this way and told us of many strange things he had seen in far-off lands, said that human blood was needful to many of those experiments which sorcerers delight in. If that face were truly Hugh's which we did see in the mirror, truly methinks he has been bled within an inch of his life."
Amalric started up in great excitement.
"If that be so, we must fly to his rescue ere they do him to death with their foul spells."
"It is to talk of that that we are here together to-day," answered Gilbert, whose face was stern and resolute. "But first we must find out where they have hidden him; for albeit many of our townfolk did go forth beyond the gates to inquire further of the magician, all were fast blind-folded both in coming and going, so that none can say where the place stands which hides his guilty secrets."
Amalric turned eagerly upon Joanna once again.
"Canst thou tell us aught of this? And when didst thou first believe that it was trickery and not magic that was being practised upon thee? Hadst thou suspected aught ere thou wentest forth?"
"The doubt had just crossed my mind," answered Joanna. "I knew well that Roger was bent upon obtaining Linda's hand in marriage, and I believed that he had slain Hugh the better to obtain his object. Then when Linda spoke of her doubt as to Hugh's death, I could not but wonder how far Roger and Tito were concerned in his disappearance. But it was not till I was within the magician's cave—for such it appeared to be—and heard that voice urging upon the unconscious Linda to do the will of those two evil men, that conviction came home to me. Then like a flash I seemed to see it all—how they had not dared to kill Hugh, lest inquiry and discovery should follow, but had made a prisoner of him, and were now seeking through the medium of pretended magic to break Linda's resolve, and hurry her into lifelong misery as the bride of Roger. For if she could be convinced that her lover's life and liberty depended upon the sacrifice, she might be willing to make it, when no other consideration in the world would drive her to the step. This, then, was the meaning of all this pretence of magic and occult power. Linda was to be terrified into a rash promise, the magician working upon her and foretelling life to her lover if she did but comply. And I verily believe they would have succeeded but for that timely fainting fit, which rendered her helpless and speechless, and angered them into words which betrayed the plot to me."
"What did they say?"
"I can scarce repeat the words. All was darkness and confusion and haste when they saw Linda lying like one dead before them. But I heard some muttered oaths, only too like what I hear from Tito Balzani in moments of anger; whilst the strength exhibited by the other man in lifting and carrying Linda away was little like that of the bowed and aged man which he had appeared to be, and I was wellnigh certain that it was Roger. I was more than half afraid he would spirit her away next; but I kept fast hold of her dress, even after my eyes were bandaged, and the other man walked beside me guiding my steps. Just at the South Gate they set down Linda, and vanished in the darkness. I pulled off the bandage, and found myself alone with her, leaning up against the wall. The sentry at the gate heard my call, and came and helped to carry her home. He said that several half-swooning maidens had been left there during these last days after dark. For his part he should be glad when the fair was ended and the magicians had gone their way. He did not hold with honest citizens being scared out of their senses. And having carried Linda home, he departed."
"Would he know where the magician had his place of resort?" asked Amalric eagerly. "Didst thou ask him?"
"Yes; but he could tell nothing. He said the less he meddled in such matters the better. Methinks the magicians had scared him somewhat. He was right glad to think they were going. I have asked of many if they could tell; but none can say. Those who went forth were led blindfold, and all they can say is that the way seemed long and tortuous, and that the place was like a cave, albeit none can remember going down steps. Yet it is true that there was a damp, cave-like scent in the air, and one seemed to pass beneath an arch as one entered."
"It could not be any of those buildings which pertain to the Black Friars; the danger would be too great," said Hal, "for the friars are no friends to magic. There are many mills along Trill Mill Stream, but one can scarce see how the mock magician could weave his spells there. By day they are used, and men work early and late. Besides, how could they keep a prisoner there—if so be that Joanna is right, and Hugh has been kept in durance vile during these many weeks? It is hard of credence; and yet how else could his face appear in the mirror?"
Here Leofric, who had listened to every word spoken, and had been thinking deeply, looked up to say,—
"There is the tower—Friar Bacon's tower—close to the Grandpont, beyond the South Gate, beyond the mills and the buildings of the Black Friars. That tower hath an evil report. Men fear it even by day; by night all give it wide berth. I have heard men say of late that strange sounds have been heard issuing forth, and that it is a place unholy and to be avoided. Can it be possible that these evil men have broken in, and used it for the practice of their wicked arts? It might suit them well, since they can study the stars from thence, cast horoscopes, and practise many forbidden arts safely within its walls. And if they had a mind to keep a prisoner there—"
Amalric had started to his feet in great excitement.
"The Magician's Tower—that is what I have heard it called! Verily, good Leofric, methinks thou hast gotten the key of the mystery this time! What place could better suit these evil creatures wherein to practise deeds of darkness? As we know, men shun the spot even by day; but at night none will pass by who can avoid it. Doubtless Friar Bacon left behind him some things which might be useful to the pretended magician; and he may have implements of his own for practising his black arts. Where better could he carry on his practices? Where more secure could some hapless prisoner be kept? And the sounds which men have heard proceeding thence! Why did we not think of it before? Surely it must be the voice of Hugh, seeking to call for aid from those without! Let us fly to his rescue without delay! We will take a sevenfold vengeance upon his persecutors if we find matters as we believe!"
"We must have a care," said Hal, looking round with an air of caution; "we have two clever and unscrupulous rogues to deal with. If we are to catch them as well as their victim, we had better lie low till night has fallen, and then sally forth and see if we cannot take them red-handed in some of their villany. If we breathe a word of this abroad, we shall find that they have escaped—and perchance have made away with their victim, or hidden him elsewhere—and we shall be foiled in our purpose."
"And we do but suspect the hiding-place," said Leofric. "If we are wrong, and have given them warning, we shall lose them utterly. We shall have much ado, methinks, to catch them as it is. If we make any stir and let them hear so much as a whisper, they will be off, and we shall see them no more."
"True," said Amalric, whose first impulse had been to speak to the Constable of the Castle and ask for a guard to go and search the tower; "we might defeat our own ends by publicity. And then if our surmise were to be wrong, they would have time to remove their prisoner and betake themselves elsewhere before we discovered our error. We will band together, all of us, and to-night we will meet here once more, and set forth on our errand. Meantime let us not breathe outside these walls one word of what has been resolved upon. Let us spend our day as we are wont to spend it; but let each man revolve in his mind some course of action, and come provided with that which he judges to be most needful to the success of the enterprise. Arms, of course, each must carry, and anything else that may seem well. To-night at curfew—or perchance an hour later—we will meet, and then make for the tower with all speed and secrecy."
They rose with one accord as if to go.
"Then," said Hal, "let our meeting-place be just without the South Gate, under shelter of the wall hard by St. Michael's. There in the shadow none will note our gathering; and the sentry knows us all, and will let us pass without comment."
"So be it," said Amalric, who from his rank naturally took the lead in this matter. The young men saluted Joanna, Amalric thanked her for her information and praised her for her courage, and then they went forth one by one, to note that Tito Balzani, lounging in the door of the inn a little higher up the street, watched their exit with lowering brows and a sullen mien.
Leofric and Jack passed him by as they walked towards their own quarters. He looked at them with suspicion.
"Whither away so fast?" he asked, with an air of would-be good fellowship; "come and have a drink, and tell the news. What has taken thee to Master Seaton's house to-day? The city is as dull as a stagnant pool after the fair."
"How goes it with Mistress Linda?" asked Leofric, ignoring the question; "we heard from Joanna but now that she was sick of some fever of the brain."
"It is naught but a maid's folly and fantasy," answered Tito, with an ugly scowl; "marriage with an honest fellow who would keep her from her whimsies and puling would be the best cure for her. So I tell my father, who has promised to think of it."
Leofric passed on, seeing that Jack's face had flushed all over, and that he only restrained himself with difficulty from betraying his real feelings towards the Italian youth.
"He is a young scamp himself!" cried the farmer's son, as they hastened towards their lodging. "If we can but catch him to-night, I would gladly wring his neck for him! But I fear he will be as slippery as an eel. Nevertheless, let me but get a good grip of him, and it will go hard that I shake not the breath out of his body!"
"Gently, good Jack," said Leofric; "we must not take life without good cause. But if things be as we suppose, I trust we shall bring both him and his accomplice to the punishment their evil deeds deserve."
To the impatient Jack the time seemed long before night came and they could start forth on their quest. But the darkness fell early at that season, and at the appointed hour the pair sallied forth, avoiding the High Street, where Tito might possibly be on the watch (if he were not already at the Magician's Tower), and skirting along the wall till the South Gate was reached and passed. The walls of St. Michael's rose up immediately before them, and here had already gathered the eager party, all armed, and all resolute and full of courage.
"Tito and Roger passed through the gate together an hour ago," said Hal Seaton; "I have been watching and dogging them ever since our meeting broke up. Fain would I have followed them farther; but they were full of suspicion, and I feared to be seen, and so spoil everything. They scuttled along like hunted foxes, sly and cunning and crafty. So far as I could judge, they went straight down as if towards Grandpont. I truly believe that the tower is their place of resort."
Amalric took the lead. Bidding his followers walk very softly—which it was easy to do in the thick mud of the low-lying road—he made his way rapidly yet cautiously in the direction of the tower, and before long they could see the lonely building standing out against the sky just at the head of the bridge.
All was dark and silent as they approached; but Jack had made a little detour, and had found his way down to the very edge of the river. Now he came flying back to say that from that side a glimmer of light could be detected in an upper window, visible only from the river, and looking blue and ghostlike as a corpse candle. Nor had they actually reached the wall before a sudden cry, wild and strange, rang through the silence of the night. The whole party started, and Amalric ground his teeth; but they could well understand how the ordinary passer-by, hearing such a sound, would hurry past in terrible fright, believing it the wail of a lost spirit, or a demoniac yell.
"Here is the door!" spoke Gilbert, in smothered tones, "but it is fast locked and bolted. They will take good care of that."
A long-drawn sobbing wail seemed to come from within, and Amalric's face grew hard and stern.
"Break it in, then—a truce to secrecy!—there is no time to lose!" he cried; and the next moment the silence of the night was rent by the sound of blows against the solid door, which soon sent it crashing inwards.
"A light!" cried Amalric; and Hal flashed a concealed lantern within the opening forced. In a moment the five youths had vaulted in, drawing their daggers as they did so. They found themselves in a dark, vaulted chamber, hung round with black cloth; and for some moments they could see no way of getting into the upper part of the tower. The magic mirror hung upon the wall, and various curious-looking implements lay upon the table, doubtless used by Tito when practising upon the credulity of those who sought him.
"This way!" cried Jack suddenly. He had discovered in the wall a narrow spiral stairway. Recklessly dashing upwards, stumbling in the darkness, but closely followed by his comrades, and holding his dagger fast in his hand, he suddenly found himself brought up short by a locked door, and behind that door he could hear whispering voices.
"Stand back a moment!" he yelled to those behind; and they fell back, not knowing what was to happen next. Jack had armed himself beforehand with a mighty club, which in old days he had often wielded with good effect, and which since his arrival in Oxford had been his favourite weapon in those matches of skill and strength in which the hearts of the students delighted.
Raising this formidable weapon, and bringing it crashing against the lock of this door, he forced it open before him. A stream of light burst forth for a single second, almost dazzling their eyes. The next instant they were enveloped in black darkness, whilst a sound of scuffling steps and of angry words in the room beyond them told that they had surprised the evil-doers in their work.
Hal sprang forward with his lantern, and Jack exclaimed,—
"Catch them! catch them! they are getting out by the windows!"
Springing forward, he caught at the legs of one, but received such a violent kick upon the cheek that he let go his hold for a second. The other fugitive was grappled by Gilbert, but he was more than half-way out before he was seized, and he wriggled so dexterously and fiercely that he too drew away, and the next moment both figures had vanished.
"After them down the stairs!" cried Hal; and he, Gilbert, and Jack dashed down through the darkness, leaving the light for any one who desired it.
Amalric caught it up, flashed it round the room, and then uttered a short, sharp exclamation. Leofric had seen a ghastly figure stretched upon a pallet in a corner. The next moment both he and Amalric were bending over the prostrate form of Hugh le Barbier.
Hugh indeed it was, though worn almost to a skeleton, and looking like death. One arm was extended, and blood was oozing from a vein that had evidently been recently opened. A number of other scars plainly showed how frequently this operation had been repeated. His eyes, though half open, seemed to take in no impression from without. He was cold and almost pulseless. Amalric, bending over him and feeling his heart, said between his clenched teeth,—
"We are only just in time!"
They stanched the wound. They forced strong spirit down his throat. They chafed his cold limbs, and finding warm garments, left behind by the fugitives in their hasty flight, they wrapped him in them, and set light to the fire upon the hearth, and laid him down in front of it to get the full heat of the blaze.
In moving him, they found that he had been chained by one ankle to the wall, and they had to file through the fetter before they could free him, their hearts meantime swelling with indignation and fury.
"If we can but lay hands on those miscreants!" muttered Amalric between his teeth.
All this while Hugh lay lifeless and unconscious, although his pulses still beat faintly. When he had for the third time swallowed the cordial forced upon him by Leofric, he slowly opened his eyes, at first with shrinking and horror in them, which changed gradually to great wonder and joy.
"Amalric!" he said faintly, as though speaking in a dream—"Leofric! Heaven send this be not another dream!"
And having so said he put out his hand, as if to assure himself by touch of the presence of friends; and after having so done he once more lost consciousness, the very shock of joy being too much for his weakened frame.