When the King returned, Sir John Kendale with Sir Aymer de Lacy hastened to place in his hands the letter containing Buckingham's statement, at the same time detailing the circumstances under which it was made.
Richard read it very carefully, and handed it back to Kendale.
"So!" he said. "Out of the revolt comes the solution of the mystery, even as I thought. Now, De Lacy, you see it was wise not to arrest Darby at Lincoln."
"Aye, Sire, you were right—and I fancy it is no wiser to arrest him now."
"Not unless you would have the Countess hurried to a fresh prison—or perchance put away altogether—ere you could hope to reach her. For be assured, Darby has provided that instant information be forwarded if he be seized."
"Then all I ask is permission to return forthwith to Yorkshire," said De Lacy.
"It is granted," the King replied instantly. "Take with you a few men-at-arms and Raynor Royk; he knows the country as a priest his prayers. As many more as you may need draw from Pontefract or any of our castles—the Ring will be your warrant. Depart quietly and it can be given out that you are on our special service. Meanwhile Darby shall be as much a prisoner as though he were already in the Tower. We march for Exeter to-morrow; and after things grow quiet thereabouts, and a head or two more has fallen, we shall fare back to London. There I trust you will bring, ere long, the Lady of Clare."
An hour later Sir Aymer De Lacy and Giles Dauvrey, with Raynor Royk and four sturdy men-at-arms, rode out of Salisbury and headed Westward. But after a league or so they turned abruptly to the right and circling around gained the main road to the North at a safe distance from the town and bore away toward Yorkshire.
Had De Lacy responded to the eagerness in his heart he would have raced all the way, nor drawn rein save to take refreshment. But no horse nor pair of horses ever foaled could go the length of England at a gallop, and there were none worth the having to be obtained along the way: the army had swept the country clean of them as it marched Southward. And so the pace was grave and easy; and though Aymer fretted and fumed and grew more impatient as the end drew nearer, yet he never thought to hasten their speed; knowing that by going slowly they were, in fact, going fast. But at length, and in due season, the huge towers of Pontefract frowned against the sky line; and presently at the name of De Lacy, the drawbridge fell and they crossed into the courtyard.
In the small room, where first he saw the Duke of Gloucester, De Lacy found Sir John de Bury. The old Knight was slow to rally from his wound; and being scarcely convalescent when Richard drew in his forces, he had been left in command of Pontefract in place of Sir Robert Wallingford, who went with the King. But lately his strength was coming back to him with swift pulsations and he was growing irritably impatient of his forced inactivity and of the obligation of office which held him stagnant while his sovereign rode to the wars. For as yet, no news had reached this distant section of the actual happenings in the South and the bloodless collapse of the rebellion.
"Holy St. Luke! has Richard been defeated!" De Bury exclaimed, springing to his feet.
"Buckingham is dead and Tudor back in Brittany," Aymer answered.
"Parbleu! Stafford dead!"
"Aye—on the block at Salisbury on All-Souls-Day."
"On the block? … Poor fool! … Poor fool! … Come, tell me about it. But first, what brings you hither now?"
"The Countess of Clare."
"Beatrix! You have found her?" De Bury cried.
"No—not her; but her abductor."
"And he is hereabouts?"
De Lacy shook his head. "He is with the army."
"Then in God's Name, why are you at Pontefract?"
"Easy, Sir John, easy," Aymer answered, his hand on the other's shoulder. "Do you think I would be in Yorkshire if Beatrix were not there, also?"—and forthwith he plunged into a narrative of the events from his encounter with Darby at Sheffield to the death of Buckingham.
"A pretty scheme of Darby's, truly," Sir John commented; "and the dog has played it well. He has nerve uncommon so to brave the royal Richard in his very Court. It is well for you there was no battle, or onfall even, else would you have got an arrow or a sword thrust from behind… Now as to Beatrix; is she at Roxford?"
"There or at Kirkstall Abbey."
"True enough; and a most likely place to conceal her the instant Darby was suspected."
De Lacy took a quick turn up and down the room. "God in Heaven, Sir John! has Beatrix come through this without injury or insult?"
"What! What! Injury or insult! They would not dare———?" De Bury cried passionately.
"They have dared to seize and hold her prisoner—would they would dare no more."
The old Knight sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands… "The heiress of the Clares—the favorite of the Queen… They would not dare.—Yet if they have———"
"Beatrix will be dead," said De Lacy, "and naught left for me but vengeance."
"Aye! she was ever a brave lass and would kill herself without a whit of hesitation. Nathless, the rescue or the vengeance is for me, also—I ride with you to-morrow?"
"But are you strong enough to risk it?"
"By St. Luke! strong enough to ride to Land's End if need be to strike a blow for Beatrix,"—smiting the table with his fist.
"Then together be it, and welcome. Here is to the Countess and her rescue ere the morrow's sun go down!" and he filled two goblets with wine.
"And death and confusion to her captors," Sir John echoed, raising high his glass.
Clad in full mail and followed by threescore men-at-arms and as many archers the two Knights set out from Pontefract the following morning. After due discussion they had determined that the time for cautious indirection was passed and that there would be no quibbling with the Abbot of Kirkstall. He would be called upon to produce the Countess or to disclose where she was hidden, as well as to confess all that he knew concerning the abduction. They were not in a mood to argue or to be trifled with; and ill would it be for Aldam if he tried evasion or grew stubborn.
And that they came in spirit scarce pacific was declared by their first act when the Abbey was reached. With the haft of his battle-axe De Lacy struck the outer gate a resounding blow; and getting no prompt response, followed it with a second that rang among the buildings and corridors within. Straightway there came the shuffle of sandaled feet and a fumbling at the wicket, which opening slowly, disclosed the rotund face and heavy, sleepy eyes of Father Ambrose.
"Well! what means this unseemly bluster?" he began. … "Your lordships' pardon—I will open instantly," and hurried to remove the bars.
"We seek speech with the Lord Abbot," said De Lacy, halting beside the lodge, while the soldiers filed into the courtyard and drew into line at the farther side.
The monk watched this proceeding with blank surprise.
"Hear you not?" Aymer demanded sharply, letting his mailed hand fall heavily on the other's shoulder. "We seek the Abbot."
Father Ambrose shrank back in amaze at the tones and action.
"His reverence is engaged at present in a session of the Chapter," he faltered.
"Good—we will interrogate him there," Aymer answered; and Sir John and he galloped across to the church and dismounted.
In the Chapter-house, the brothers, both ecclesiastical and lay, were assembled in convocation. On the dais, in the recess at one side of the hall, sat the Abbot in his great carved chair of state. He was leaning slightly forward, chin on hand, regarding with calm and critical scrutiny the faces of the white-robed throng below him. And the monks, crowded on their narrow oaken benches, felt the stern eyes upon them and grew restless; for none knew how soon he might be called forward for rebuke before them all. And Aldam did not spare words when he administered his corrections; and not one of the Cistercians but would have chosen the heaviest task of the fields for four and twenty hours in preference to a single minute's lashing by his biting tongue.
On the Abbot's right was Father James, the Prior, whose jolly face and ample girth were equalled only by the Sub-prior, Father Albert, the favorite of all the Abbey, who permitted the monks to do their own sweet wills so long as it did not interfere with the necessary labors of the farms and religious ceremonies.
"Let the names of the candidates for admission to full brotherhood in our holy Order be read," the Abbot ordered.
The Chancellor stepped forward and with much rattle of parchment opened the roll and cleared his throat preparatory to intoning. But he got no further. The religious calm was rudely broken by the clash of steel on the bare pavement of the ante-chamber, and as Aldam raised his head in angry surprise the door was flung back and the two Knights, visors up, strode down the aisle.
Instantly there was confusion; the monks, like timid children, drew far away from these impious invaders of their peacefulness; some made as though to flee; and all broke out into cries of alarm and terror.
The Abbot sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing, his face pale with suppressed ire.
"Silence!" he thundered. "Return this instant to your seats, you fearful ones!"
The brothers huddled back into their places, trembling. There was for them small choice between the anger of their ruler and the armed men in their midst.
"Truly this is strange conduct for Sir John de Bury and Sir Aymer de Lacy," the Abbot exclaimed as they halted before the dais. "Since when, pray, has it been deemed knightly to offer such affront to Holy Church?"
"Since a mitred Abbot of Holy Church has shamed his sacred office," De Lacy answered curtly.
"What, sirs!" Aldam cried. "Do you dare insult the Abbot of Kirkstall, here in his very chapter, and hope to go unpunished either in this world or the next?"
Aymer folded his arms over the shaft of his battle axe and laughed grimly.
"In this world methinks small need have we to fear your reverence; and as for the next world we will chance it. But be advised: tax us not with threats; our patience is likely to be short."
"And ours is gone entirely—do you, Sir John de Bury, approve this rash youth's sacrilege?"
"Aye, that I do," De Bury answered, his face set as stone.
"Are you both mad?" the Abbot exclaimed.
"Yea, that we are," replied De Lacy. "Mad with anger and resentment. Can you guess why?"
The monk made no answer save a sneer.
"Listen, and you and your underlings shall hear: One evening a month or so aback—your memory, good father, will serve you whether it was one, or two, or three—a certain demoiselle styled Countess of Clare, Maid to Her Majesty, the Queen of England, while near the Hermit's Cell in the escort of Sir John de Bury, her uncle and guardian, was waylaid and by force and violence seized upon and carried off. And though there was hue and cry and searchings without rest, yet it was unavailing."
"Certes, we know all these matters," Aldam broke in angrily.
"Yes, you know them—and much more."
The Cistercian's face changed its expression not a whit.
"Are you aware, my lord Abbot, that the Duke of Buckingham has died upon the block?" De Lacy questioned.
Aldam shrugged his shoulders. "It was scarce Stafford's death that brought you to Kirkstall," he scoffed.
Aymer laughed derisively. "Think you so? Then are you mistaken woefully. But for it I would be at Salisbury and your foul crime still unsuspected."
"Now has patience run its limit!" the Abbot exclaimed. "Brothers of Benedict! throw me these two godless ones without the gates." And seizing the huge chair beside him, with strength astonishing in one so slender, he whirled it high and brought it down at De Lacy's head.
But the Knight sprang lightly aside, and the heavy missile, tearing itself by sheer weight from the priest's fingers, crashed upon the pavement and broke asunder.
If there had been any possibility of help from his frightened flock it was ended by this ill-timed blow. The Prior and his fellows on the dais made not a single motion; and save for an excited swaying and whispering, the monks sat stolid on their benches, either too frightened to flee or too indifferent to the Abbot's safety to care to aid him. For once had the habit of trembling obedience, yoked upon them by years of stern domination, been loosed by the spirit of fear or the hope of release.
And with a sneer of disgust on his face he surveyed them; and the scorn in his voice must have shamed them to the floor had they been of the blood of such as feel disgrace.
"You cowardly curs!" he exclaimed; "have you no spark of manhood left among you?"
"Perchance they, in their turn, can dub you cur," said De Lacy tersely, springing on the dais and taking hold upon the Abbot's arm; "for here, on the dying word of the Duke of Buckingham, do I accuse you of complicity in the abduction of the Countess of Clare."
Aldam shook off the mailed fingers.
"What! What!" he cried. "Would you lay hands in violence upon one of God's anointed? … Stand back, Sir Aymer de Lacy … and you, too, Sir John de Bury, lest I smite you both with the Church's anathema."
A gasp of horror came from the monks, and even the two Priors were appalled at the threat—dire enough, indeed, to most men in that age, but little short of Hell itself to such as were cloister-bred.
De Lacy folded his arms again over his battle-axe.
"It was no purpose nor intent of mine," he said, "to offer you violence———"
"Nathless, it was done," the Abbot broke in arrogantly, "and naught but sharp penance can atone for it and for your deeds here this day."
De Lacy smiled contemptuously. "Methinks, lord Abbot, you are strangely dull of brain to fancy you can fright us so. Believe me, we care as little for your curse as for your broken chair. Nor did I speak in apology for my action. I meant no violence then; yet if we do not get true answer to our questions, be assured there shall be violence both meant and done."
The monks groaned aloud; but the Abbot only shrugged his shoulders.
"You have heard," De Lacy went on with steady menace; "and do not think it is an idle boast. Answer! have you the Countess of Clare within the bounds of Kirkstall Abbey?"
Aldam raised his hand in seeming horror. "Think you that the monks of Benedict———?" he began.
"Answer!" cried Aymer, striking the arm of the Prior's chair with his mailed fist so fiercely that its stout occupant, in sudden terror, fled to the rear of the dais.
Instantly the Abbot seated himself in the vacant place.
"I frighten not so easily as the timid Brother James," he said. "But as the lady is not with us, you are welcome to that knowledge."
"Where is she, then?"
The Cistercian leaned back and stared De Lacy in the face. "If I knew I would not tell you."
"You do know—and either you tell or you hang from your own gate beam."
Aldam half arose from his chair; then dropped back and laughed.
"You would not dare," he said; "and were I the abductor himself."
De Lacy faced toward the door.
"What ho! Without!" he called.
A score of men-at-arms burst into the room with drawn swords. The monks set up a fresh cry of terror and fell to chanting prayers, and Father Alfred and the Chancellor sought refuge in the shadow with the Prior. But the Abbot never stirred in his seat, save to shift his gaze to the fresh disturbers of his authority.
At a sign from De Lacy, the soldiers sheathed their weapons and fell into double rank near the door, while Raynor Royk advanced to the dais and saluted. Then the Knight turned again to the Abbot.
"We shall search this Abbey from loft to cellar,"' he said. "If the Countess be not here and you still remain obdurate, then shall you stretch halter, an you were the Pope of Rome himself… Raynor, we commit these good fathers to your custody. Let none quit the room—if need be, cut down any who attempt it."
All this time Sir John de Bury was leaning on his long sword, his cold grey eyes fixed on the Abbot. Now he faced about and, silent still, tramped out of the Chapter-house beside De Lacy. And with them went half of the men-at-arms.
When the Knights had gone Raynor Royk, having posted guards at the three doors, turned the broken chair over with his foot and sitting down on one of the fragments so that he could observe the entire room, fell to polishing his dagger.
The Abbot watched him furtively for a space, then arose.
"Are you of De Lacy's or De Bury's household?" he asked with condescending friendliness.
No answer.
"You hear? I asked if De Bury or De Lacy were your master."
No answer; and the polishing went vigorously on.
"Are you deaf?" the monk exclaimed angrily, and prod the old retainer with his foot.
The next moment the air was full of flying arms and legs and sandals and fluttering robes; and when it cleared Aldam was lying in a heap on the floor—and Raynor Royk was working on his dagger, as placidly as though it were a common enough act with him to seize the foot of a mitred Abbot and whirl him backward to the earth.
And the look of mingled fury and pain on the monk's face when, shaking off the assisting hands of the Prior and the Chancellor, he struggled to his feet, would have made a less hardened soldier feel a bit uneasy as to the fate of his soul. But without so much as a glance at the furious churchman, Raynor returned the dagger to its sheath and went to work on his sword blade.
Never in all the years of his life had the stern Aldam been so crossed and flouted as within this last hour. Speechless with rage, with clenched hands and heaving breast, he paced the dais. And the monks in fresh terror huddled closer together, and told their beads anew and muttered prayer on prayer. Verily, was it a gloomy day for the Cistercians of Kirkstall Abbey; and one sadly unpropitious to those lay brothers whose initiatory rites had been so rudely interrupted.
Presently the Abbot's face grew calmer and he began to prolong gradually his steps toward the rear of the platform, where the wall stones were very large and stood out rough and bare. There he would pause and lean against them as though for rest, his head bent slightly forward, his eyes closed—a figure of dejection deep and heavy. Yet it might have been noticed that he always rested at the same place, and could eyes have pierced his white robe, they would have seen his slender fingers playing with careful pressure over the wall beside him.
At length it happened—when the soldiers had grown accustomed to his pacings and had ceased to watch him, and while Raynor Royk was busy with his sword work, his head bent low—that Aldam halted at the wall and leaned against it in his usual way; and as he did so the huge stone he touched swung back noiselessly, he glided swiftly through the opening and the stone closed back into its place.
An excited exclamation by the Prior caused Raynor Royk to look up. Instantly he missed the Abbot. With a shout he sprang over and seized the Chancellor, who happened to be nearest.
"The Abbot? The Abbot?" he demanded fiercely.
"I know not," the monk stammered, staring about. "I saw him last by yonder wall."
The old soldier loosed him straightway and turned upon the Prior.
"Speak," he thundered, "where is the Abbot?"
Father James stepped forward. "He went through the wall," he said.
"What! thou shaveling! Do you take me for a superstitious fool? Through yonder stones! Think you I believe such nonsense?"
"That you believe or disbelieve concerns me not at all," the Prior answered. "Nathless, through that wall he went, for with my own eyes I saw a part of it roll back and him pass in."
Raynor crossed to the spot in a single bound and fell to pounding with his sword hilt. But only a monotonously dull sound answered to the blows.
"Do you know this hidden door, or whither it leads?"
"Methinks I can answer for myself and all my brothers," said the Prior. "There are certain secret passages in the Abbey which none but our ruler ever knows. Doubtless this is one of them."
"Beware, Sir Monk!" Raynor exclaimed, striding over and glaring down upon him. "If you lie to aid your Abbot you shall hang instead of him."
The Prior crossed himself devoutly. "Holy St. Benedict, be my witness, I speak truth. Nor do we love the Abbot Aldam well enough to shield him at danger to ourselves."
The veteran regarded him keenly for a moment. "I am prone to believe you," he said; "for I myself know something of this Aldam. Yet here is one who will need the convincing," as Sir Aymer de Lacy entered suddenly. And behind him came an archer with a coil of rope.
"Seize the Abbot!" the Knight commanded as he crossed the threshold… "Ho, Raynor! Since when are you afraid to touch a Priest? Seize him, I say."
The old soldier advanced and saluted.
"The Abbot has escaped," he said.
"What!—Escaped!—Hell and Furies!" De Lacy cried, and sprang at him with arm raised to strike. But instantly the anger passed; and instead of a blow, his hand fell kindly upon Royk's shoulder. "How did it happen?" he asked. "It was through some trick, I warrant, and by no fault of yours."
"I thank your lordship," Raynor answered, with another salute. "The Abbot escaped by a secret passage in yonder wall when my eyes were not upon him. This monk saw the stone open and close," and he pointed to the Prior.
De Lacy eyed Father James sharply, then nodded for him to speak.
At the end, he sent Royk to make another search of the entire Abbey, and himself turned his attention to the wall. But though he tried pressure both light and heavy and in all possible positions and combinations the stone stood firm.
"Is this the first time you have seen this passage opened?" he asked.
"It is, my lord; this or any other of its kind. It is a violation of the Abbot's vows to use the secret ways in presence of another."
"Do you think he never violated them before?"
The monk shook his head. "Save possibly for certain damsels, I think not; he never before had such occasion. Yet I will inquire… Brothers!" he cried, "if there be any among you who knows the trick of this hidden door or whither it leads, I enjoin him, in the name of the blessed Benedict and as the ranking officer in this Chapter, that has not yet been dissolved, to reveal the same."
The monks whispered among themselves. Then one stood forth.
"There is none among us who knows the secret, most reverend Prior," he answered.
"You hear, sir?" said Father James.
De Lacy nodded. "Yet I must trouble you to answer me a little further. Do you know this glove and kerchief? I found them in the room next to the Abbot's."
The Prior took them and after a glance held them inquiringly toward the Chancellor and Father Albert; but each disclaimed all knowledge.
"I fear me, sir, we cannot help you… Women are not unknown in the Abbot's quarters; yet none of us has ever seen them close enough to know them. It is thought he uses for them one of the secret passages which opens somewhere beyond the Abbey walls. Leastwise, you may be assured no one has ever ventured to refer thereto in the holy Aldam's hearing. So, my lord, these articles might belong to any of a dozen demoiselles—with religious inclinations," and he chuckled… "Yet—here is a cognizance upon the kerchief which may tell much to one acquainted with escutcheons. It is three chevrons gules, I take it."
"They are the arms of Clare, and the Countess is its heiress," said De Lacy.
"Then she you seek has, indeed, been here!"
"And is here still, though I have failed to find her."
"Nay—methinks not. There have been no gentle ones with his reverence these last five days."
"You are sure of that?"
The Prior's broad face expanded in a grin. "Well, sir, you see we have thought it good to keep a religious eye upon our worthy head."
De Lacy drew off his steel gauntlet.
"See you this ring?" he said, holding up the Boar. "In the name of the King I promise you, Sir Prior, the Abbotcy of Kirkstall, and your good fellows each a grade in rank, if you will aid me to capture this Aldam and to recover the Countess of Clare."
Father James's face flushed slightly at the prospect, and the Sub-prior and the Chancellor drew nearer in sudden interest.
"It is a tempting offer," the Prior said; "yet though you promised us all the red hat of a Prince Cardinal, we could give you no more assistance than we have already done. Nathless, fair sir, we shall do whatever lies in our power."
"It is a bargain. When the Abbot is a prisoner or the lady saved, the new dignities are yours … Monks of Kirkstall, harken!" he cried to those upon the benches. "For inasmuch as Aldam, Abbot of Kirkstall Abbey, has aided and abetted the enemies of his lawful Sovereign and has furthered and assisted the abductors of the Countess of Clare, Maid-in-waiting to Her Majesty; now, I, Aymer de Lacy, Knight of the Body, under the authority vested in me by this signet and in the name of the King, do hereby publicly degrade and remove the said Aldam from his office and do absolve and release every and all of you from any obligation or duty to him. And further, whosoever shall offer him comfort or sustenance shall be deemed and held traitor and shall suffer death. Heed and obey."
The Prior sprang to the front of the dais.
"Long live the King!" he shouted.
And the monks, wild with joy at release from their hard master, jumped on the benches crying:
"Long live the Royal Richard! Long live the King!"
For an hour Raynor Royk and his men searched every nook and corner of the Abbey, sounding walls and floors and making a confusion such as the stately establishment had never known. But they found neither the Countess nor the Abbot. He had either escaped by one of the passages through which he introduced his frail companions, or he was hiding in some secret chamber—whence he would take good care not to issue until the Knights had departed.
And to provide for just such contingency De Lacy, on the morrow when the march was resumed, detailed five of the royal men-at-arms to remain at Kirkstall. The armed retainers of the Abbey, who had been made prisoners the instant De Bury and he entered the place, he now relieved from service there and enrolled them among his own following. They were sturdy soldiers enough, albeit they had little to do but to wax fat and sluggish by inaction and much food and, occasionally, to escort the Abbot when he went abroad. Yet they were glad to be admitted to the service of one who wore the Boar and they donned corselet and casquetel with eagerness and haste—as willing now to fight against the Cistercian as, an hour since, they were ready to defend him.
The Castle of Roxford lay some four leagues northwest of the Abbey. It had been the seat of the Lords of Darby for two centuries and more; and while in no way comparable with the huge Pontefract, in either size or strength, yet it was deemed a formidable fortress and one, when properly garrisoned and defended, well able to withstand attack.
A broad path led from the highway half a league or so through the forest of oaks and beeches to the castle, which stood on a slight eminence in the centre of a wide clearing covered with luxuriant turf, and used for pasturing the domestic animals as well as for the sports of the garrison. But the morning after the events at Kirkstall, when Sir Aymer de Lacy and Sir John de Bury halted near the edge of the timber, this open space was bare of denizen, either brute or human. Nor did the fortress itself show more animation; for though they rode slowly around its entire circle, keeping the while well under cover of the trees, yet not a sign of life did they discover either without or within. Save for the small sable banner with the three golden escallops, which fluttered in gentle waves from the gate-tower, there was no moving thing in all the landscape.
"It is uncommonly queer, this quiet," said De Bury, shading his eyes with his hand to see the better. "It would almost seem they had been warned of our coming."
"Like enough," De Lacy answered. "They would only need to know that I was back in Yorkshire; and that, doubtless, reached them quick enough. There is no hope to catch them with drawbridge down," and they went on to their following.
"You know the castle, Sir John; what is the best point to attack?" Aymer asked.
The old Knight shook his head. "There is no weak spot, so far as I have recollection."
"Where is the postern? I did not note it."
"No postern will you find in yonder walls," De Bury answered. "A secret exit runs beneath the moat known only to the ruling lord himself."
"Another Kirkstall!" commented Aymer.
"Aye—yet as Darby is not within, there will be no escape by it."
With banners to the fore, they marched across the open space to the barbican and the herald blew the parley.
No answer came from the outwork. Riding closer, De Lacy discovered it was without defenders, and passing through he halted on the edge of the causeway.
"Sound again!" he commanded—and this time with quick effect.
A trumpet answered hoarsely from within and a mailed form arose from behind the crenellated parapet near the gate.
"Who summons so peremptorily the Castle of the Lords of Darby?" it asked.
Sir John's herald blew another blast.
"It is a most ignorant warder that does not recognize the arms of Sir John de Bury and Sir Aymer de Lacy," he answered.
"What seek Sir John de Bury and Sir Aymer de Lacy at the Castle of Roxford?" was the demand.
De Lacy waved the herald aside. "We seek the Countess of Clare who, we have reason to believe, is held in durance here. In the name of the King, we require you to surrender her forthwith."
"And if she be not here?"
"Then after due search, we will leave you undisturbed," the Knight replied.
The other laughed tauntingly.
"You must needs have wings, fair sirs, to gain entrance here;" and with a scornful gesture he disappeared below the parapet, and the blast of a trumpet signified that the truce was ended.
De Lacy closed his visor, and for a time surveyed the fortress with careful eye. Before him lay a moat full sixty feet across and two thirds full of water, with no means of passage save the drawbridge, that hung so high on its chains as to seem almost against the outer portcullis. From the farther edge the wall rose solid and grim, and, as he knew from Sir John, with no opening in all its circuit save the gate directly opposite.
"It is evident the garrison is very small," De Bury observed, "else they would not have abandoned the barbican without a blow."
"Undoubtedly; and if we can reach the gate or scale the wall the rest is easy."
"I would we had a bombard or two that are lying idle in the armory at Pontefract."
"They will not be needed," De Lacy answered. "We shall sleep in the castle to-night."
Sir John smiled. "Have you found the wings the warder recommended?"
"We shall not require them; the gate is easier entrance than over the walls—besides being the way naturally intended. This is not the first time I have forced such a castle and won it by sundown… Giles, we will try the flagons; let the ropes be made ready, and bid the archers stand to their bows."
Sir John was regarding De Lacy with vexed surprise.
"Flagons!" he broke out. "Do you think to win the castle by pouring wine on the waters of the moat?"
Aymer laughed. "It is a trick I learned among the Italians, though they use hollow iron balls. There were none such at Pontefract, so I substituted flagons; they are filled with powder, the mouth plugged shut save for the fuse, and the whole is wrapped in a bag, also filled with powder."
"How in the name of St. Luke do you expect to use them?"
"Come," said De Lacy, and led the way to the edge of the moat.
The squire was there uncoiling a long, stout rope with a broad iron ball at one end. Fastening the other end to a projection in the barbican, he whirled the weighted one around his head, then suddenly let it fly. Like a bird it soared over the moat, and crossing back of the right lift-chain swung far down near the water. With a wide grappling hook he caught it above the ball, and drawing it in tied the two ends together, forming a great loop around the chain where it was fastened to the bridge.
Hitherto there had been no opposition from the castle; but now there was a change.
As Dauvrey whirled another weighted rope behind the left draw-chain, an arrow whistled from the wall and rapped him hard upon the hauberk near the gorget, piercing the outer mail, but being stayed by the inner shirt of Italian steel. The next instant the shafts came thick and furious, marking De Bury and De Lacy and the squire at every joint and seam of their harness, but without effect.
"By St. Denis, I fancy not those bolts," exclaimed De Lacy, as a quarrel from an arbalest glanced along his helmet near the eye hole. "It came from the left gate tower, methought."
"From the far window," said De Bury.
"Fetch me a bow," De Lacy ordered Royk.
Drawing off his right gauntlet he notched the shaft and waited. Presently a head rose cautiously in the window and the cross-bow was laid upon the ledge. Instantly De Lacy's fingers touched his cheek, the string twanged sweetly, and the arrow flashed across and deep into the brain of the arbalestier.
The cry he gave as death gripped him was answered by the splash of his weapon as it sank into the waters of the moat.
"Bravo! my lord!" Raynor exclaimed. "You are a sight for old eyes."
"It was a lucky shot," the Knight replied, handing back the stave.
Meanwhile Dauvrey, minding the arrows rained upon him no more than so many feathers, had caught the last rope, and so both lift-chains were encircled by a running loop. In a trice a flagon was fastened to a strand of each and drawn quickly over until it rested close against the bridge. All this time the ropes were kept swinging irregularly to prevent them being cut by arrows from the walls; though the defenders had ignored them entirely, thinking, doubtless, they were to be used for crossing and being quite content; for then their assailants' armor must come off and they be easy marks.
But when the bags went over they scented danger, and the darts began to hiss about the ropes. And the gate was flung back and the bridge lowered a trifle, and up it two men worked their way toward the chains. They were protected by the flooring from the fire of those at the barbican, but Dauvrey, foreseeing just such a move, had stationed archers on each side to meet it; and ere the two had reached the middle of the span they were pierced by half a score of arrows and rolled back into the gateway.
"Now!" cried De Lacy. "Up with them"—and seizing the rope nearest him he gave it a quick twist that flung the bag upon the bridge and against the chain; and Dauvrey did the same with the other.
At the command two archers had sprung forward with lifted bows and barbs wrapped with burning tow and oil.
"Shoot!" Sir Aymer ordered; and straight into each bag a blazing arrow sped.
Then came a sullen roar—a burst of silvery smoke—a rush of flying bits of iron and splinters; and as those before the barbican leaped back at the Knight's warning cry, the drawbridge crashed down upon the causeway, its lift-chains torn clean away.
Instantly De Lacy dashed forward with waving axe; and beside him went Sir John de Bury, and at his shoulder were Dauvrey and Old Raynor Royk. And they were none too quick; for already those at the entrance were trying to remove the planks that formed the flooring. But with a cry of "Clare! Clare!" Aymer and the others were upon them and they fled within the walls, swinging the gate shut just as the two Knights flung themselves against it.
"Keep an eye upward lest they loose a turret and destroy the bridge," De Lacy shouted, and fell to work on the gate with his heavy axe, while Dauvrey made haste to prevent the dropping of the portcullis by driving a spike into the grooves in which it worked.
But the gate was made of heavy, seasoned oak, studded thick with iron and bound deep around the edges with well-wrought steel. And though De Lacy's blows thundered upon it until it swayed and rattled on its massive hinges, yet it still stood staunch and firm. Presently he paused, and Giles Dauvrey sprang forward to take his place. But he stayed him.
"It is too strong to waste good time and strength upon," he said. "We must use the powder again."
Twice the flagons spoke without material result; but the third tore the gate from its fastenings, and even before the smoke had risen Sir Aymer de Lacy and Sir John de Bury hurled it back upon its hinges and dashed through—to be brought up short by two men in complete armor, who attacked them furiously.
In the narrow passage, with the walls close on either side and the roof low over head, the fighting was hampered and awkward. De Lacy and De Bury were in each other's way and neither could swing a heavy blow; yet they pressed forward, sword and axe drawing fire as they rasped each other or scraped against the rough stones of the arch.
Meanwhile the men-at-arms led by Raynor Royk had poured across the bridge and were crowding close in the rear.
"Bear aside, my lords!" the veteran shouted high above the din of the clashing steel. "We will sweep the way clean by a rush."
But neither Knight gave heed. Gradually De Lacy was driving his foe before him. Step by step he forced him back, until presently they were free of the wall and into the outer bailey. Then he first noticed that, though his opponent bore no device upon shield or hauberk nor crest upon helm, his armor was scarcely of the sort wont to be worn by retainers or simple men-at-arms; it was far too handsome in its lines and fashion and much too beautifully forged. And as he parried the sword strokes, waiting for an opening when he could end the conflict by a crashing blow, he tried to distinguish the face behind the bars of the visor. At first he had thought it was some retainer masquerading in one of Lord Darby's suits of mail, but the sword play was manifestly that of no common soldier; it was too graceful and too skillful to have been learned amid the turmoil of the camp and battle. And suddenly the great hope came that it was Darby himself—who had eluded the King and, following after, had passed him at Pontefract. Instantly the cool method of his fighting vanished; his fingers took a fresh and tighter grip; his battle-cry "Clare! Clare!" rang out vengefully; and with all the fury of his wrongs and pent-up hate he sprang in close. And as he swept his axe aloft its heavy head caught the other's sword and tore it clean away, sending it far across the bailey where it fell with a clang.
To many, here would have been the conflict's end; yet even as the hilt quit his fingers, the unknown plucked forth his heavy dagger and sprang straight at De Lacy.
Aymer met the attack by facing on his right heel swiftly to the left, and as the other, unable to recover himself, struck wildly at the air, the axe caught him full upon the shoulder, biting through gorget and gambeson and deep into the neck beneath.
Bending over his fallen foe, De Lacy cut the lacings of the helmet and drew it off—then started back in wonder.
Instead of the dark curls and face of Roxford's lord there were disclosed the tonsured head and pale features of the Abbot of Kirkstall.
"Pardieu!" he exclaimed, gazing down into the face already set in death… "You were my enemy, yet had I known whom this suit encased, methinks my arm had dealt an easier blow. Nathless, you were a better knight than churchman and, mayhap, it was a proper death for you to die."
Just then, De Bury's antagonist went by, running as easy as though his mail were silk and shouting:
"To the keep! To the keep!" to those upon the walls. And behind him came Sir John, and the squires, and Raynor Royk with all the troop.
Whirling about, De Lacy sprang after. But here had he and all the others met their match; for strain as they might, they gained not an inch; and when the foe reached the steps they were yet fifty feet away.
The door was open for him and rushing in he flung it shut, but with such force that it missed the catch and rebounded—and at that instant, De Lacy thrust in his axe and he and Dauvrey threw themselves against the door and slowly forced it back. Then of a sudden, it yielded and they were near to falling headlong.
Shouting his battle-cry, Aymer strode into the great hall and made for the wide stairway at the opposite end, where the remnants of the garrison were gathered for the final stand. There were but nine and of them only the three in front were garbed in steel; and in the centre was he who had held the gate against Sir John de Bury.
Out-matched and out-armed there could be for them but one end to the melée; for though they held the vantage post yet it counted little against those who were arrayed below them, eager to begin. Nevertheless, they stood calm and ready, leaning on their weapons, and showed no glint of fear. And De Lacy, in admiration and loath to put them to the sword, raised his axe for silence.
"You bear yourselves as men deserving of a better cause," he cried, "and I fain would not have your blood spilled needlessly. Yield yourselves prisoners, and scathless shall you leave this castle within the hour—all save one, if he be among you, the flat-nosed retainer of Lord Darby. Him must I carry to the King."
A gruff laugh came from the figure in the centre and he swung his visor up.
"Aye, sirs, be not surprised. Behold him you have dubbed Flat-Nose—by true name, Simon Gorges—the leader of your assailants, Sir John de Bury, when yon Knight saved you—the abductor of the Countess of Clare—the man who eluded you, Sir Aymer de Lacy, at the house in Sheffield." And he laughed again. "And now do I thank your worship for the proffered clemency to my fellows, and for the honor you have in store for me. Yet am I scarce fit to stand before His Majesty; nor do the followers of the Master of Roxford accept favor or life from the enemy of their lord. Here await we the onslaught, fair sirs, and let it come quickly that it may be quickly done."
"Stay!" cried De Lacy fiercely. "You have many more sins upon your soul, doubtless, than those just vaunted, yet will you not do one redeeming act ere you are sped? For of a verity you shall die ere the shadows yonder lengthen by a span. Where, I ask you, shall I find the Countess of Clare?"
Flat-Nose smiled.
"You will find her when you have topped these stairs," he answered, and snapped his visor shut.
"I claim the villain!" De Bury exclaimed.
"Take him," said De Lacy—and whispered, to Giles Dauvrey: "Keep behind Sir John, and if he weaken take his place until I come."
Then with the old Knight in the middle and Aymer and Raynor Royk on either hand, they advanced to the fight.
But whereas at the gate they were on equal footing, here the assailed had vastly the advantage; for standing on the edge of the landing, where the stairs divided, they were high above their foes. So the conflict began warily; and on the third step below the three halted and made play with the three above, seeking for a chance to rush up and get on even terms. But the others were not to be confused by tricks or taken unaware, and were content to act only on the defensive and wait their opportunity. And so they struggled for a while, with no result on either side save that the strain grew heavy and the breath came harder than at first.
Suddenly, Gorges' heavy blade found an opening, and Sir John de Bury, with a great hole in his helmet, staggered back and sank into the arms of the men behind him. But it brought no respite to the victor, for Giles Dauvrey stepped into the vacant place and his sword and Flat-Nose's rang viciously together.
With a groan De Lacy marked the old Knight's fall; then as for an instant his opponent's eye wandered thither, he sprang up inside his stroke, and gripping him with both hands about the ankles threw him over his head and clean to the pavement below.
At this moment, Raynor Royk cut down his foe and joined his leader on the landing with the men-at-arms at his back. Then, indeed, was the fight quickly ended—save where Simon Gorges still held the squire at bay.
And while they fought a queer thing happened in the hall below, for Sir John de Bury got suddenly upon his feet and came toward the stairs.
"You must strike harder, Flat-Nose, to reach a skull through Spanish bascinet," he said. "Yet of a verity, did you stun me sore and show me stars in millions. Have at him, De Lacy, I resign the rogue to you—my legs are over shaky to stand on yonder stair."
De Lacy motioned all to move back.
"Flat-Nose!" he called. "You shall have one more chance. Will you yield prisoner?"
Instantly Dauvrey stepped down out of reach and grounded blade.
"To dangle in a halter from the gate tower?" scoffed Gorges, facing about. "Not by St. Edward! Cry on your dogs."
"Has life then grown tiresome to you?"
"Marry, no! Yet it is but a change of deaths you offer; and I prefer the one that finds me sword in hand."
"You have said the Countess of Clare is in this castle. Will you accept life from her if she decree it; or in steel harness fight me to the death, if she condemn you?" De Lacy asked.
Flat-Nose flung down his sword and raised his visor.
"I accept the offer, Sir Knight," he said. "I will risk the lady's judgment. Knock upon the door in the farthest corner, and she, herself, will open to you—there is no lock upon it, save that she has inside."
"Will you come with me, Sir John?" De Lacy called, as Dauvrey made haste to unlace his lord's helmet and lift it off.
De Bury shook his head. "Nay, lad, it is your right first. Later will I join you and gladly."
Without further urging Aymer hurried down the corridor and tapped lightly at the door, beyond which, if Flat-Nose spoke truly, he would find his lost betrothed. No answer came, and he rapped again and louder. But within was silence and he waited vainly for response. Then with rising suspicion that he had been tricked by Darby's minion, he struck the panel sharply and with force—and the door swung back until it was open wide.
For a moment he hesitated; but when another knock brought no reply, he ventured across the threshold and into the room a little way. Then as his eyes chanced upon a hat with long plumes, lying on a table, and beside it a veil and a woman's gauntlets, he was seized with sudden fright and turned to flee.
But on the instant, from behind, two arms were flung about his neck and a soft cheek was pressed against his own, and a voice, than which to him the world contained none sweeter, whispered in his ear:
"Aymer, my lord!"