"It is meagre information, yet enough to make a start on," the King said when they had left the room. "Perchance ere you reach the spot, you will gather more from the scouts who should be coming in. Yet it is most improbable that the villains took the main roads with the Countess. They will travel by secluded paths and through the forests; and if their destination be distant, they will not trust the highways inside a day's ride of Pontefract. Therefore, go slowly until the trail be plain. Then—well, I need not tell you what to do then."
"By St. Denis, no, Sire! My sword arm knows how to slay."
"Would that I could go with you," Richard said, his ardor for adventure and danger working strong. "Yet the King may not, and I do not care to assume disguise just now. Some day … Peste! Some day must care for itself and wait." … He drew a ring from his finger. "Here, De Lacy," he said, "this bit of gold, bearing my arms and the Boar, may prove of use. Show it, and your least word will be obeyed—send it to me, and, if need be, an army brings it back. Guard it well; there are but four others in the Kingdom… Nay—no thanks; Richard trusts few—them he trusts to the end. Use the ring without stint when necessary; but hark you, beware the friends of Buckingham. There is mischief afoot and, maybe, treason brewing at Brecknock."
"And Your Majesty does naught to stem it?" De Lacy exclaimed.
A cold smile crossed the King's face.
"Not yet," he answered… "And further, if your course should lie near Kirkstall, best be mindful of the Abbot. There may be some basis for De Bury's notion. And now, away.—You have the Queen's prayers, the Ring of the Boar and your own good sword. You must needs prevail."
As De Lacy and Dauvrey emerged from the shadow of the barbican a bugle spoke and Raynor Royk rode forward and saluted.
"Are you ready?" De Lacy demanded, running his eye along the line.
"Yes, my lord."
"Forward, then;" and at a trot he led the way.
"You know our mission?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord."
"And the men, also?"
"I ventured to tell them."
"It may be heavy duty and full of danger."
The old warrior drew himself up sharply. "Your lordship does not doubt me?"
"Nay, Raynor, never you. I only want your vouchment for the soldiers."
"Many would give their lives for you, Sir Aymer; all would die for the Countess of Clare."
"And you all may be afforded the opportunity ere the quest be ended," said De Lacy grimly. "We take the path to the Hermit's Cell; see that I do not miss it. Furthermore, you know this country intimately, so do not hesitate to advise me at any time."
Raynor Royk dropped back to resume his place; then quickly turned: "Two horsemen gallop after us, my lord."
De Lacy reined around and raised his arm for the column to halt.
"They wear armor," said he, "but I discern no jupon."
Raynor Royk shook his head. "The corselets shine plain, but methinks it is Sir Ralph de Wilton in front."
"Aye, it is Sir Ralph!" Dauvrey exclaimed, "or I know not a man's seat in saddle."
De Lacy rode back to greet him.
"Did you come from London at that pace, Ralph?" he asked as they met.
"Nay, only from Pontefract to overtake you."
"You have news of the Countess?"
"Alas, no. I reached Pontefract town from London last night, but too late to report at the castle before morning… Now, His Majesty can wait until we have found Beatrix. I ride with you, my friend."
De Lacy put out his hand and De Wilton reached over and took it; and in the firm grip of their fingers was the confession of the one and the sympathetic appreciation of the other.
"We will save her, never fear," Sir Ralph said. Then his eyes fell on the ring. "By St. George, The Boar! I salute you—for even though you are not the King, still are you almost as powerful. Whoever wears that ring has all but the title—aye, and more—he has the King's enemies as well as his own."
"And me a stranger!" De Lacy observed tersely.
"Aye, and what with that, and the Ring, and the Countess, your life is not worth a third that mine is."
"It is worth absolutely nothing to me unless Beatrix be found alive."
"Pardieu! her life is in no danger. At the most, she will be held only for ransom."
"Heaven grant it! though I fear the plot is more deeply laid."
"In that case, my dear De Lacy, when she is rescued let the Church work quickly its sacrament upon you; there will be less temptation then to carry her off."
"Yonder, my lord, lies the way to the Hermit's Cell," came the voice of Raynor Royk.
Under the oaks and beeches whose gnarled and twisted arms overlapped the path the column bent its course; and as it wound along the narrow way, the shafts of sunlight, breaking through the leaves, rippled over the steel casquetels and trappings until it was as if a rivulet had suddenly gushed forth and was flowing down this forest by-path.
The Hermit's Cell was tenantless. The door had rotted from its fastenings and lay athwart the entrance. The roof was fallen in. Mould and rank vegetation choked the place. Long since had its holy denizen come to the dark River and been lost in the Mists.
A little way beyond the hut was where Sir John and the Countess had been attacked. There could be no missing it, for the turf on both sides of the path was torn and the bushes were crushed and broken. A brief inspection proved that the Countess had been the quarry, for the assailants had not cared enough about De Bury to pursue him. They had gone Northward, as the hoof marks showed, and springing back into saddle, De Lacy hurried on. A quarter of a mile beyond, the tracks turned abruptly and struck off through the forest. At length the trees grew thinner, and presently the highway lay before them, and the trail ended—nor could they find it again.
"We will on to Kirkstall and its crafty Abbot," De Lacy exclaimed.
"Surely you do not think he knows of this affair?" De Wilton asked.
"When it comes to priests in general and abbots in particular, I never think," Aymer answered. "It is their game, and few can play it with them and have a chance to win. I prefer to fight them with my own weapons," jerking his head toward the fifty men-at-arms. "If the Abbot know aught of this business, it will do no hurt to let him see these honest followers of His Majesty. It may loose his tongue."
"It will take more than steel coats to make Aldam speak, if he be minded otherwise," said De Wilton.
"Doubtless; but while we hold converse with him, Raynor Royk shall have the premises spied over."
When they reached Kirkstall no porter was in the lodge, but the gates were open wide, and halting the column, the two Knights with their squires rode into the courtyard. At the further end of the quadrangle a dozen horsemen were drawn up, and their leader, his foot in stirrup ready to mount, was having a last word with the Abbot.
Hearing their approach they turned quickly.
"Darby!" exclaimed De Wilton. "Now what brings him here so early in the day?"
"Penance and absolution likely," De Lacy answered scornfully.
"Well, I trust he has got them and feels more easy with the world."
"My lord Abbot," said Aymer, as they dismounted, "I am a trespasser a second time, and an ill-timed one I fear, for which I beg your kind indulgence—and Lord Darby's," and he bowed to the latter.
"Nay, Sir Aymer de Lacy, you interrupt nothing," Darby responded; "I was but making my adieu before pushing on to Pontefract."
"And Sir Aymer knows he is ever welcome at Kirkstall, both on his own account and because he is of the Household of the royal Richard," the Abbot answered easily; "and I trust His Majesty and his gracious consort are in the best of health."
"We left them at daybreak much distressed over a most dastardly outrage perpetrated upon the Countess of Clare and Sir John de Bury," said Aymer abruptly, watching the monk's face—but all he saw there was blank amazement.
"Holy Mother! my son, what do you mean?" he cried.
"That they were set upon last evening near the Hermit's Cell by a band of cut-throats; Sir John all but murdered, and the Countess carried off."
The Cistercian raised his arms in horrified surprise.
"Incroyable! Incroyable!" he exclaimed.
And Lord Darby began to swear copiously in French.
"What were the facts, and what has been done for rescue?" the Abbot asked.
Briefly De Lacy told of the riderless horse and the finding of Sir John de Bury. Of the story revealed by De Bury's finger and head in answer to the King's questioning and the fact that a hundred men-at-arms had been searching the country since the late evening of yesterday, and particularly as to Flat-Nose having led the assailants, he was most careful to say not a word.
When he had finished, Lord Darby went off again in a storm of fierce imprecation; this time, however, in good Anglo-Saxon. And the Abbot was seemingly so stunned by Aymer's recital that he did not note the irreverence of his lordship, who was let free to curse away to his heart's content until brought up by De Wilton.
"Take a fresh start, Darby; you are repeating yourself. Change off again into French."
Darby turned upon the young Knight with a gesture of sharp surprise.
"None but a weakling could hear Sir Aymer's tale without a rush of hot resentment," he exclaimed.
"By the Rood! I observed only a rush of oaths," Sir Ralph laughed.
Darby's quick anger flamed up; and jerking off his riding gauntlet he flung it at De Wilton's face. But the Abbot dexterously caught the glove.
"For shame, Lord Darby, for shame!" he said, "that you, a man in life's full prime, should so far forget your knighthood over a bit of innocent banter. Nor may you, Sir Ralph de Wilton, accept the gage. This is holy ground; dedicated to the worship of the Humble One; and I charge you both, by your vows of humility, to let this matter end here and not to carry it beyond yonder gates. Have I your promise, my lord?"
"If Sir Ralph de Wilton be willing, I am content. Doubtless I was hasty," Darby answered with well-assumed frankness, his passion quickly curbed.
"And you, Sir Ralph?" the Abbot queried.
"Am content, even as Lord Darby. I have no cause for quarrel," De Wilton replied indifferently.
Darby bowed curtly in acknowledgment; then sprang into saddle.
"I shall gallop straight to Pontefract;"—addressing De Lacy—"I may aid in the search. Have you any message for the King?"
"Only that you left us at Kirkstall."
Darby gave him a quick, searching look. "It is a very meagre report."
De Lacy smiled. "There has naught happened since we crossed the Aire; and what was discovered between the Castle and the river has already been communicated to the King."
The Abbot watched Darby pass the gate. "His lordship would have liked much to know what you found at the Hermit's Cell and in the forest," he remarked.
"Doubtless, though it was little enough," said Aymer. "However, it is but a few leagues to Pontefract and there he will learn all the news of the Court."
"True, my son; yet, to an ardent lover and one not without hope of acceptance if rumor speak correctly, it would have been a satisfaction to know if you have anything that gives clue to the Countess or her captors."
De Lacy shrugged his shoulders. "Small comfort would I give him, then."
"Peste! my son, I am very stupid. I quite forgot that there are others than Darby who can see the attractions of the Lady of Clare. And of a surety will she be grateful to him who rescues her."
De Lacy made a gesture of dissent.
"It is scarce honorable, this motive you ascribe to me, my lord Abbot," he said curtly.
"Honor and expediency go not always hand in hand," the priest answered with a half suppressed sneer; then without giving time for retort, he changed his tones to grave courtesy. "But I am remiss, my lord, I have not yet done you the civility of inquiring how we of Kirkstall can serve you."
"Not at all, I fear; at least upon the matter that brought us here; it is evident you can give us no information as to the Countess."
"Alas! no, my son. Would to Heaven I could! … Have you then lost all trace of her?"
"Aye, a league south of the Aire."
"I will summon the brother who was on duty last night at the outer lodge; maybe he noted something that will aid you."
But Father Ambrose had not seen a single way-farer; though as he had dozed several times during the night he thought a few persons might have passed quietly, and not aroused him.
"You doze!" exclaimed the Abbot in sarcastic displeasure and eyeing the good monk's ample girth and heavy, jowly face. "Your doze would need a pole-axe to awaken. An army could have marched by with trumpets sounding and you never lift an eye. Other duty shall be given you and a more slender brother assigned to the night watch. You may go… By my faith, sirs, I wonder if you soldiers have as much trouble with your subordinates as we churchmen have with ours."
"We, at least, can deal out heavier discipline when occasion demand it," De Wilton answered.
"Aye! you men of war tread not after the Merciful One," the Abbot said.
De Lacy laughed shortly. "Mercy is but relative, and methinks, you ecclesiastics are no slower in your judgments than are we. The punishments differ only in kind."
"But our discipline is a step toward Holiness and Christ, my son."
"And ours a leap toward Sin and Satan, think you? Nathless, am I quite as willing to take my chance of Heaven in a coat of mail as in the priestly gown."
The Abbot's eyes snapped with irritation, but his speech was easy and pacific. "You are young, my son; perchance, when you have more grey hairs there will be a change in your views. Meanwhile you and Sir Ralph need refreshment, to say naught of the good squires and the horses."
De Lacy hesitated. They had already tarried overlong, under the circumstances, but perchance Raynor Royk had not yet completed his scrutiny of the Abbey. There was need that this should be thoroughly done, yet so carefully, withal, as not to arouse suspicion. If Aldam were to imagine he and his were mistrusted it would make him an enemy if innocent, and a doubly armed foe if guilty. The doubt, however, was solved by the entrance of a strange horseman into the courtyard. A faint frown crossed the Abbot's face as he saw him, and De Lacy instantly decided to remain. Evidently the newcomer was either unwelcome or inopportune; and if it were because of their presence, then undoubtedly here was their place.
"We will accept with thanks, your reverence," he said.
Aldam smiled suavely; then went forward to greet the new guest.
"It is Sir Christopher Urswicke—the priest Knight—the confessor of Margaret of Richmond," De Wilton whispered.
"A bit far out of his demesne, methinks," De Lacy muttered.
"Aye! too far to be passed over without report to His Majesty. Where Urswicke goes his mistress sends him—and lately she has but one object in life: to make her son the King of England."
"And like enough will succeed only in making him shorter by a head," De Lacy responded.
Meanwhile Urswicke had greeted the Abbot and dismounting had turned his horse over to his two attendants—who were neither squires nor yet ordinary servants, and who doubtless could either fight or pray as occasion demanded. Their dress partook of the style of their master, who wore the ordinary riding costume of a Knight, even to the golden spurs; the only marks of his clerical calling being his short cropped hair and the string of beads about his neck with the pendant crucifix. His frame was angular and above the ordinary height. His face was long and narrow, with a hawk-like nose, pointed chin, thin, straight lips, prominent cheek bones and deep-set grey eyes that glittered and chilled like those of a snake. He swept the others from helm to spur with a single glance, and Aymer saw his eyes fasten for an instant on the Ring of the Boar.
But if Urswicke's countenance were forbidding, not so was his voice. Its clear, sweet tones were in such sharp contrast to the fell face that De Lacy was startled into showing his surprise. And the priest noticed it, as he had many times before in others, and smiled in indifferent contempt.
During the refection, that was served immediately, Urswicke was most amiable and paid particular attention to De Lacy and De Wilton. By most astute and careful conversation he sought to draw from them information as to the King's programme during the Autumn; how long he would remain at Pontefract, and whither his course when he left there. Yet with all the art of an adept, he risked no direct question and displayed no particular interest in these matters, when by his very manoeuvring they were touched upon. But De Wilton had been bred in the atmosphere of Gloucester's household and De Lacy had been trained by years of service amid Italian and French plotters; and they both quickly discerned that the Abbot and the Priest-Knight were working together, and they only smiled and played them off against each other; and at the end of the meal, what the two had learned of Richard's intentions was likely to be of scant profit to either Henry Tudor or his scheming mother.
"What a precious pair of priestly scoundrels!" De Wilton exclaimed, when he and De Lacy had mounted and were trotting toward the gate.
"They will be the first knocked on the head if Raynor Royk has located the Countess," said Aymer.
"By the saintly Benedict! why not do the knocking now and then hear Raynor's report?" De Wilton laughed.
"It would give me great pleasure and doubtless be altogether proper as a matter of abstract justice; but I fear rather impolitic. Best wait for Royk."
But Royk's search was barren; and so the Abbot Aldam and Sir Christopher Urswicke were left to their plotting, while Sir Aymer De Lacy and Sir Ralph De Wilton rode Westward, seeking vainly for a clue to the lost Lady of Clare.
Three weeks later, toward evening, Sir Aymer de Lacy with a dozen weary and travel-stained men-at-arms rode into Sheffield and drew up before the Inn of the Red Lion. In fog and rain and sunshine, by day and by night, they had kept to the search, and all in vain.
The morning after leaving Kirkstall Abbey, De Lacy and De Wilton had separated. It was useless to hold so many men together when there was no immediate prospect of a fight or even a hard stern chase; and there would be much more profit in dividing them into small bodies and so spreading over a wider stretch of country. De Wilton with half of the force turned Northward to cover the section beyond the Wharfe, while De Lacy with the others kept on toward Lancaster; and these he further divided and subdivided until there was scarce a hamlet or bridle-path in the West Riding that had not been visited.
As the days passed with no fortune for him, and no word from the King of success elsewhere, he went from fierce anger to stern determination and from headlong haste to dogged persistency. He had refused to entertain for an instant the notion that the Countess of Clare was dead, though he knew that such had become the prevailing view at Court, and that even Richard himself was growing fearful lest murder had followed the abduction.
To the hasty and obsequious greetings of the landlord De Lacy gave only a short nod and ordered lodging for himself and men. Choosing a small table in the farthest corner and in the shadow of the big chimney, he slowly sipped his wine. There were eight others in the room, but Flat-Nose was not of them. Three were merchants, traveling in company, possibly for protection on the road, and en route doubtless to York and its busy marts. They were gathered about an abundant meal spread at one end of the large table and were talking loudly of their business. At the other end of the board, their heads close together in subdued and earnest converse, were two Benedictines in the black tunic and gown of the Order. De Lacy had early learned on the Continent that a traveling monk usually meant mischief afoot for some one; and as from their manner of talk they evidently had not been journeying together, but were just met, and possibly by prearrangement, it would be well he thought to keep them under a temporary surveillance. Over near the window in the rear of the room were two lusty-looking men-at-arms, each with a big mug of ale at his elbow; and as they wore no badge of service, they also would bear watching. The eighth and last was of De Lacy's own rank, but older by at least ten years; and he stared across with such persistence that Aymer grew annoyed and drew back into the shadow.
Until the night when he had lost his betrothed, Aymer de Lacy had been genial, frank and open-hearted; taking life as it came, meeting man against man in the open, searching not into the dark. But the outrage at the Hermit's Cell, and the days of distress which followed had worked a change. He was growing cold and stern and distrustful; cautious of speech; reserved and distant in manner; seeking always for a clue behind even the most friendly face or cordial greeting; and holding every stranger under the ban of suspicion.
At length having long since finished his wine, he was about to rap on the table for the landlord when the front door opened and a young girl glided into the room. She wore the fancy dress of the tymbestere, a red bodice slashed and spangled, and a red skirt that came midway between the knee and the ground, disclosing a pair of trim and shapely ankles and small feet. But as if to compensate for this display, her face was hidden by a black mask through which the eyes shone and smiled, but which effectively concealed her other features.
Pausing an instant, until satisfied she was observed by all, she began a slow and stately dance, timing her steps to the soft jingle of her tambourine. The girl had a lithe gracefulness and stately bearing unusual in those of her class—whose exhibitions were rather of the fast and furious kind with a liberal display of their forms—and when with a last low curtsy she ended, there was plenty of applause from all save the two monks. They eyed her with a displeasure they took no trouble to conceal; and when she tripped lightly over to them and extended her tambourine for an offering they drew back sourly.
"Avaunt, foul baggage!" the elder exclaimed. "Have you no shame to ply your lewd vocation before a priest of God? Verily, you do well to hide your face behind a mask."
The girl drew back timidly, and with never a word in reply passed on to the two men-at-arms. Here she got a different sort of greeting.
"Do not fret your pretty eyes over that pair of hypocrites in black, yonder," one of them exclaimed loudly and speaking directly at the Benedictines; "they are holy only in a crowd. If they met you when none else were near, they would tear off each other's gowns to be the first in your favors."
"Right, comrade mine, right!" laughed his companion, bringing his fist down upon the table until the mugs rattled.
The two monks turned upon them.
"You godless men," said one sternly; "it is well you bear no badge of maintenance, else would your lord have chance to work some wholesome discipline upon you."
But the men-at-arms only laughed derisively and made no response.
Meanwhile the damsel had approached the strange Knight and sought a gratuity. With ostentatious display he drew out a quarter noble and dropped it on the tambourine. Then as she curtsied in acknowledgment he leaned forward, and caught her arm.
"Come, little one, show me your face," he said.
With a startled cry the girl sprang back and struggled to get free. But the Knight only smiled and drew her slowly to his knee, shifting his arm to her waist.
"Pardieu! my dear, be not so timid," he scoffed. "Kiss me and I may release you."
For answer she struck at him with the tambourine, cutting his chin with one of the metal discs so that the blood oozed out.
"Little devil!" he muttered; and without more ado bent back her head, whispering something the while.
With a last desperate effort to free herself, which was futile, and with the dark face drawing with mocking slowness toward her own, she realized her utter helplessness and cried appealingly for aid.
In a trice, she was seized and torn away; and between her and her assailant, and facing him, stood Sir Aymer de Lacy, his arms folded and a contemptuous smile upon his lips. The next instant, without a word, the other plucked out his dagger and leaped upon him, aiming a thrust at his neck. By a quick step to the side Aymer avoided the rush, and as the other lurched by he struck him a swinging right arm blow behind the ear that sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor, while the dagger rolled across to the farther wall.
He struck him a swinging right arm blow that sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor.[Illustration: He struck him a swinging right arm blowthat sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor.]
He struck him a swinging right arm blow that sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor.[Illustration: He struck him a swinging right arm blowthat sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor.]
"Bravo! Bravo!" cried the two men-at-arms. "Shall we throw him into the street, my lord?"
He waved them back; and the Knight, who had been slightly dazed, struggled to his feet and looked about him. Then seeing De Lacy, who had resumed his calmly contemptuous attitude, he grasped the situation and a wave of red anger crossed his face. But he was not of the blustering sort, it seemed, and drawing out a handkerchief he proceeded carefully to fleck the dirt and dust from his doublet and hose. When he had removed the last speck, he bowed low.
"Shall we settle this matter with swords or daggers, my lord?" he said, in French.
"I think too much of my good weapons to soil them on one who assuredly has stolen the golden spurs he wears," De Lacy replied scornfully.
"My name is Sir Philebert de Shaunde and my escutcheon quite as ancient as your own," with another bow.
"It is a pity, then, it has fallen upon one who needs more than his own word to sustain the claim."
De Shaunde's face went red again and his voice trembled and was very soft. "His Grace of Buckingham will be my voucher, though it will misdemean him much as against one who has a tymbestere for mistress and is a coward, as well."
De Lacy glanced quickly around the room:
"She is no longer here to feel your insults," he said, "but it is her due that I refute them. I never saw the maid until I saved her from your foul caress. As for my cowardice, good sir, I but protect my knighthood against a caitiff whose very touch is dark pollution."
"I shall proclaim your refusal to accept my defiance before King and Court and let them judge of the quarrel."
"So be it—you will find me known there," Aymer replied curtly; and sauntering back to his table he called for another bottle of wine.
De Shaunde, however, stayed only long enough to give some order to the landlord, who received it with rather scant courtesy; then with showy indifference, slapping his gauntlets against his leg as he walked, he left the room by the street door just as Giles Dauvrey entered. The squire stood aside to let him pass, then crossed to his master.
"Did you recognize that fellow?" De Lacy queried.
"No, my lord."
"He styles himself 'Sir Philebert de Shaunde.'"
Dauvrey scratched his head. "I am sure I never saw him before."
"Well, it is small matter, but as we may see more of him hereafter it will be wise to keep him in mind"—and he told of the encounter.
"What became of the damsel?" the squire asked.
"She disappeared during the scuffle; but doubtless the landlord can advise you where to find her," De Lacy said good-naturedly.
"A most extraordinary tymbestere who refuses a Knight's caress," Dauvrey explained.
"But would not, you think, refuse a squire's?"
"Nay, my lord, what I think is that she might bear investigation. She is in disguise, I will stake my head."
"How does that concern us?"
"Only as every mystery concerns us now. To solve one sometimes solves another."
"It is a queer notion, Giles, but it will do no harm to question the host. Meanwhile, I will await you without."
Night had fallen and it was very dark save when, at intervals, the narrow crescent of the new moon cut through the clouds that were crowding one another in heavy ranks across the sky. Before the inn the street was illumined feebly by the reflection of the torches and candles from within, and at wide intervals along the roadway light shone from the houses. But all this only made more dense and visible the blackness that lay around.
From far up the street came the sound of singing and laughter; and De Lacy, recognizing the voices of some of his own men, envied them their light hearts and freedom from care and sorrow. They lived for the day; the morrow was sufficient when it came.
Presently the squire appeared.
"It is as I suspected," he said. "The girl has never before been seen about the inn or even in the town. He says he knows all the tymbesteres for miles around, but this one is not of them."
"It is a pity we had none to watch her when she left the room," De Lacy replied. "However, I hear our men making merry out yonder, and after going with me to see that they are up to no serious mischief you are at liberty to devote the entire time until the morning in searching for this mysterious maid—though it will be good sleep wasted, I have no doubt."
The two started down the road, keeping well in the centre where the walking was likely to be easiest. There were no side paths and the way was rough and full of holes. Stumbling along in the dark they came, after a little, to a house from the upper story of which a bright light was shining. De Lacy glanced indifferently at the window—then halted short and seizing Dauvrey's arm pointed upward.
Just inside the open casement, and standing so that every line of his face and shoulders was distinctly visible, was the man De Lacy and all the royal commanders of England had been seeking for the last three weeks.
His thick red hair was bare of casquetel and there could be no mistaking that great, flat nose, even if there had not been the bright scar blazed across the face by Sir John de Bury's sword, and the short, thick-set figure to complete the identification.
De Lacy's heart gave a great leap. Was this, then, the end of his chase? Was Beatrix in yonder house? Would he soon hold her in his arms—or was he about to learn that she was lost to him for ever? In the tumultuous rush of feeling his power of quick decision left him for the moment; but Dauvrey's muffled exclamation broke the spell.
"It is he—Flat-Nose!"
"Aye!" De Lacy whispered, drawing the squire aside into the shadow. "He must be seized at once. Summon the men and surround the house. I will remain on guard. Hasten, Giles! In God's name, hasten!"
Dauvrey plunged away into the darkness and Aymer, choosing a position from which he could best watch the window, but at the same time be himself hidden, settled back to his anxious wait.
Flat-Nose was not alone; presently he began to speak to some one behind him, and hoping to overhear the conversation, Aymer worked his way with great care across the road to the house. There were no lights on the lower floor, and the upper story, projecting a foot or more over the street, made him secure from observation.
But the new position was very little better than the other one; and try as he might he could not catch anything but an occasional word which, in itself, had no significance. He began to grow impatient—it seemed most unduly long since Dauvrey had gone.
Then a chair was shoved back in the room above and some one began to move about. Suddenly a head was thrust out and Flat-Nose peered into the darkness.
"God in Heaven! what blackness!" he exclaimed. "The Devil's own night for a ride… No danger," he went on, answering some remark from within. "I know every path in Yorkshire."
It was evident he was preparing to depart and De Lacy drew his sword and stood close beside the door. He wished only to disable the fellow; but he would kill him rather than suffer him to escape. Just then, a number of forms came slowly out of the darkness and at a motion from the one in front flitted off toward the rear of the house. It was Dauvrey and the men, at last, and the Knight gave a sigh of relief.
To avoid crossing the zone of light in regaining the place where he had left his master, the squire drew close to the house and so chanced upon him.
"Just in time," De Lacy whispered, "Flat-Nose is going."
An inside door was opened and a heavy step came down the stairs. There was a fumbling with the fastenings of the street door; then it swung back and a man stepped out and shut it behind him.
The next instant two pairs of strong arms closed around him, De Lacy's hand fastened on his throat, he was borne to the ground, and before he could struggle his legs were bound above the knees with Dauvrey's belt. His arms were then quickly secured and a piece of cloth thrust into his mouth as a gag. A low hiss brought the nearest soldier to guard him and De Lacy and the squire cautiously entered the house.
It was darker there even than outside and they listened for a space; but all was quiet. Then working carefully along the wall, they found a door which stood ajar. De Lacy whispered to make a light, and the squire, with as little noise as possible, struck the flint and ignited the bit of candle he always carried in his pouch. As it flamed timidly up they peered about them. The place was empty, save for a table and a few chairs, but on each side was a door and in the rear the stairway to the upper floor. An examination of the remaining two rooms was barren of results; one was the kitchen and the other a sleeping chamber, but the bed had not been disturbed. If the Countess of Clare were in the house she was on the next floor; and, at least, the man who had been with Flat-Nose must be there, so it would be two prisoners instead of one if he were unable to give a good account of himself.
The stairs were old and shaky and creaked and groaned as they cautiously ascended. And the noise was heard; for suddenly the door at the head of the landing swung back—and Flat-Nose himself stood in the opening.
"What is amiss, my lord?" he began—then stopped. "De Lacy!" he cried and springing back hurled the door shut.
The appearance here of the man they thought was lying bound and helpless in the road held both De Lacy and Dauvrey for an instant. Then with sudden fury they flung themselves up the last few steps and against the door. It yielded easily and they rushed into the room—just as Flat-Nose leaped from the window ledge. And the fortune that had befriended him so long still stood true, and a mocking laugh came back, as the darkness wrapped itself about him.
De Lacy put his hand on the casement to follow when Dauvrey seized him from behind.
"To the front, men, and after him!" he shouted through the window… "Your pardon, my dear lord," he said with deep respect, "but you could ill afford to take such risk now. Hark, sir, they are already in pursuit."
Sir Aymer nodded. "You are right, Giles. It would have gained naught but perchance a broken bone. He has escaped this time—on such a night an army would be lost… But who, in the Fiend's name, is the fellow we have below?"
Seizing the burning candle from the table, they hurried out, and bending over De Lacy flashed the light across the prisoner's face—and started back in vast amaze.
"Holy St. Denis! Lord Darby!"
For a space he stood looking down upon him; then motioning toward the house he went within, and behind him Dauvrey and the guard bore the captive—and none too easy were their hands.
In the front room De Lacy put down the candle.
"Release him," he ordered… "So, sir, you search for the Countess of Clare in company with her abductor. Truly, it is wondrous strange you have not found her. Tell me, my lord, might it be that though we missed the servant we got the master?"
"What I can tell you, my French upstart," Darby retorted, "is that this night's work will bring you heavy punishment."
"Forsooth! From whom?"
"From me perchance; from the King surely."
De Lacy laughed disdainfully. "You always were a braggart, I have heard; yet you will need all your wits to save your own head when arraigned before him."
"Arraigned! Save my head! These are queer expressions for such as you to use to a Peer of England."
"No more queer than for a Peer of England to be an abductor of women."
"You are still pleased to speak in riddles," Darby answered with a shrug.
"Pardieu! it will be a riddle for which you have a shrewd answer ready for His Majesty."
"Methinks you have lost what little sense ever had and are not responsible," said Darby; "therefore I have the pleasure of wishing you a very good night," and he turned toward the door.
De Lacy laughed scornfully.
"Not so fast, my lord," he said. "You will have to bear with my poor company for a space. The King is at Lincoln."
"What has that to do with me? … Stand aside, fellow," as Dauvrey barred the way.
For answer the squire drew dagger and the man-at-arms laid a heavy hand on Darby's shoulder. It was useless to try bare fists against such odds and he wheeled about.
"What means this fresh outrage?" he demanded.
"It means that you are my prisoner."
"Your prisoner! And wherefore?"
"As the abductor of the Countess of Clare."
Darby held up his hands in amazement. "Are you clean daft?" he exclaimed.
"It is useless, my lord, longer to play the innocent," said Aymer. "Either confess what has been done with the Countess or to the King you go straightway."
Darby shrugged his shoulders. "Since you have the rogues to obey you and I have not the information you desire, it must be to the King," he said. "And the more haste you use to reach him the quicker will come my time to even scores with you," and he sat down and began to brush the dirt from his garments.
De Lacy eyed him in stern silence, his resentment growing fiercer as he held it in restraint; while the squire, in equal anger, kept shooting his dagger back and forth in its sheath as if impatient to use it. And but for the sake of the information Darby could furnish as to Beatrix, the dagger might have been suffered to do its work and De Lacy raise no hand to stay it. Nay, rather, would he have stood by and watched it strike home with grim satisfaction.
Presently Darby had finished with his clothes and glancing up met De Lacy's eyes. A taunting smile came to his lips and he began to whistle softly to himself. It was De Lacy who spoke first.
"I should like to know," said he, "how one of your craftiness could be so stupid as to carry off the Countess of Clare? What possible profit could you think to gain?"
Darby did not answer at once. When he did, it was with a sneer.
"Methinks, good sir," he said, "you are too stupid to appreciate that you have, yourself, unwittingly advanced the best proof of my innocence. Fools, you know, sometimes speak truth."
"Aye, but even a fool would know that Flat-Nose and you were together in yonder upper room. Can you explain that, my dear lord?"
Darby laughed. "Naught easier, Sir Frenchman, if His Majesty deem it necessary. You will pardon me, however, if I keep you waiting until then."
"So be it. We start for Lincoln at daybreak. Have I your word to ride quietly and attempt no escape, rescue or no rescue?"
"And if I refuse the word?"
"Then shall you go bound hand and foot and strapped to saddle."
"Pasque Dieu! It would be most uncomfortable riding, so I pass my word," Darby replied carelessly. "But, understand me, it is no acknowledgment of your authority either to demand it or to receive it."
"As to that I am answerable to the King, not to you," said De Lacy. "And further, Sir Abductor, if you violate your word—which, indeed, I trust but lightly—you will have an arrow through your carcass ere you have gone two paces. I wish you good-night," and leaving Dauvrey in command he returned to the Red Lion.