[image]"SIR GERVAISE SPRANG TOWARDS HIS ADVERSARY, THIRSTINGTO RETRIEVE HIS FALLEN FORTUNES"Disdaining to meet him at any advantage, Edgar flung away the fragments of his lance, seized Sir John's heavy battleaxe, and slipped lightly from the saddle. Scarce had he faced Sir Gervaise when the furious knight was upon him with sword up-raised. Knowing that his battleaxe was almost useless for defence, Edgar heeded not the blow, but, half-turning, swung his own heavy weapon sideways at his opponent's head. The knight's blow fell first with a stroke that bit deep into Edgar's casque, but before De Maupas could spring back out of reach, the axe stroke smote him on the side of his helmet with a weight and momentum that sent him crashing headlong to the ground.A dull roar of applause arose from the whole circle of the lists.Dropping his axe, Edgar snatched his dagger from his belt and sprang towards the fallen man. Kneeling upon his chest he cried aloud:"Yield thee vanquished, Sir Gervaise de Maupas!" Then in a low voice, but in tones thrilling with resolve, he went on, "Tell me where Sir John if, or thy life is forfeit!"There was no response."Desist, Sir John," cried one of the marshals of the lists, hurriedly approaching, "he is stunned, if not dead. Thou art acknowledged victor--retire while we see to the stricken man."Heavy with disappointment at being thwarted at the moment when he hoped all might be won, Edgar mechanically mounted and rode slowly round the lists. The air still rang with the plaudits of the spectators, and, as he passed along, loud cries reached him, some, wishing to do him the more honour, calling upon him to unhelm.Fearing that his refusal at least to lower his vizor might cause some adverse comment, Edgar dropped it an inch or so and left it, hoping that it might be thought that the blow his headpiece had received had damaged the hinges of his vizor. With a final salute, first to the earl and then to the Wolsingham ladies, he rode dully from the lists. The cheers of the spectators fell on deaf ears, for though he had defeated Sir Gervaise and upheld Sir John's honour, he felt that he was still as far as ever from solving the mystery of his master's disappearance.As he reached the door of his tent, Matthew and Peter came running up, their faces wreathed with smiles at their young master's victory."Aid me to strip off this armour," cried Edgar, the moment he had entered the tent, "and remember that Sir John is gone--gone upon the visit to Faucigny Castle, in the lands of the lady Beatrice, that he has had all along in mind. He gained the earl's permission some time since, as he told me himself. Thus at least we gain some precious days in which to continue our enquiries.""Pardon, Master Edgar," cried Peter, suddenly stopping, "with thy permission I will hie me to Sir Gervaise's tent. It may well be that this is a time when it might advantage us to keep close watch upon those about him.""Go, Peter. His esquire will be bringing him back in a few minutes. He is but stunned. Listen for what thou canst hear. Who knows but that a few chance words may tell us all?"Waiting for no more, Peter sped off upon his errand, and when, a half-hour later, Sir Gervaise was carried into his tent, he was snugly ensconced beneath a pile of horse's trappings at the very door.CHAPTER XNews of Sir JohnThe dusk of evening was falling as Sir Gervaise raised himself from the couch upon which he had been restlessly tossing ever since he had been carried in. His head was swathed in bandages, and the light of the single lamp showed a face pale beneath its sunburn, in which a pair of fierce black eyes burned with an unnatural brightness."I have waited in suspense long enough," he muttered to himself. Then, in a louder key, he called to his esquire who was in attendance upon him."Arnaud, I have business that I must transact this night. Fetch me hither, then, the varlet James Baulch, and then betake thyself to thy tent. Stay, first fill up my cup, for my head still throbs consumedly from the blow that trickster Chartris gave me."The esquire obeyed, and in a minute the wounded knight was alone. Freed from the restraint of his esquire's presence, Sir Gervaise groaned aloud with the pain of his bruised and swollen head, and muttered savagely to himself what sounded like threats and imprecations against his successful foe and also the varlet James, who seemed somehow to have incurred his especial displeasure.Presently the man arrived escorted by the esquire, who seemed to look somewhat askance at his charge. He glanced significantly at his master as he was about to leave the tent, and, interpreting the look, the knight cried as he scowled savagely at the man: "Yes, Arnaud, remain outside within call. I may require thy services."Arnaud bowed and retired, and the knight, raising himself, not without difficulty, into a sitting posture and placing a dagger ready to his hand, beckoned the man to approach."So thou hast played me false, James Baulch, murderer and vagabond?" he cried in a voice thick with rage. "Thou, whom I have but to lift a finger to consign to the gibbet--thou hast dared to lie to me."The man cowered before the knight's pallid face and gleaming eyes. "There is some mistake," he stammered, "I----""Aye--thou art right," cried the knight savagely, "'tis the mistake I made when, with a trumped-up tale, I snatched thee from the sheriff's men. I had better have let thee hang and moulder--but 'tis not yet too late. The arm of the law is strong and swift even in Gascony, and on the word of a knight thy shrift----""My lord! My lord!" cried the man, grovelling in terror on the floor. "I swear there is some mistake. With mine own eyes at dawn this morning I saw Sir John, bound and helpless, lying at the bottom of a wagon. I rode straight hither, and he who fought with thee must be some other. My lord, it must be so.""Bah! Scoundrel! That is but a tale--another lie--to save thy wretched neck from the gallows.""It is not--it is not!" almost shrieked the man. "Didst not mark--but thou wert senseless--has not, then, thine esquire told thee that he who fought as Sir John did not drop his vizor even when he saluted the earl?""Say'st thou so?" cried the knight, startled. "Strange!" he went on, muttering to himself. "I seemed to feel a difference as he entered the lists. Both horse and man seemed doubly full of fire, while Sir John always rode heavily.""Yes, yes," cried the man eagerly. "It was noticed by others. I heard two men say that Sir John was riding lighter in the saddle than he used to.""Can this be the explanation?" went on De Maupas, still speaking half to himself. "I never thought of such a daring ruse being played upon me. Who can the man be? Doubtless one of Sir John's friends--but who? 'Twill be the worse for him an I find out the truth," he ended darkly, clenching his teeth with suppressed rage."Give me leave to find out the knight's name, my lord," interrupted Baulch in an eager voice.Sir Gervaise for a minute or two made no reply, but gazed at his accomplice with so gloomy and menacing a look that the man literally shook with fear."Very well, Baulch," he said sternly after a pause, "thy neck may rest at peace on thy shoulders for a space, while thou art finding out who it was that masqueraded as Sir John. Find out, I say, find out! Dare to bungle a second time, and the gallows that gape for thee shall have thee fast!"With trembling lips the man hastily promised to find out the truth.Nodding carelessly, Sir Gervaise went on to talk of other matters. There could be no doubt that his confidence in the ascendancy he had obtained over the man was not misjudged. The man was obviously under a spell, mastered by a hidden terror so great that all else was completely swallowed up.* * * * *It was noon the following day when the man again made his appearance and requested Arnaud to tell Sir Gervaise that James Baulch craved a few minutes' further speech. Arnaud complied, though from the expression of his face it might have been inferred that the desire to kick the man was the feeling uppermost in his mind."Well, Baulch?" growled the knight, who still reclined upon a couch, and whose temper seemed in no way improved by his night's rest. "Hast news to tell? If not 'twill be the worse for thee.""I have news, my lord--strange news. Whether 'twill please thee or not, I cannot say, but----""Peace, knave! Tell thy news and madden me not with thy thoughts of what pleases me.""'Twas Edgar Wintour fought with thee in the lists," blurted out the man hurriedly. "I have heard words let fall that make the matter clear.""Edgar Wintour--and who is Edgar Wintour?" cried the knight with savage impatience."He is Sir John's esquire."The look that came into the knight's face made Baulch regret the success of his enquiries. De Maupas gasped, grew even paler than before, and clutched convulsively at the couch on which he lay. Then a sudden passion seemed to galvanize him into activity and he rose to his feet almost with a bound."What!" he thundered. "Dare ye tell me that----?"But his strength was unequal to the effort, and clutching at his bandages with both hands, as though his head were about to split in twain, he sank slowly and painfully back upon the couch."A pretty debt I owe the boy if thy tale is true," he muttered at last in a changed voice. "Art sure of thy facts?""Sure, my lord. I saw him mounted upon Sir John's charger early this morning, and the way he rode made me think at once of the spring and fire of thine adversary yesterday. Then I heard some words let drop by one Matthew, a man-at-arms of Sir John, and I knew 'twas so.""So that was what was in his mind when he gave me that strange look yesterday," muttered De Maupas to himself. "It was on my lips to demand an explanation. Would I had done so! I might have forced the quarrel then and there with the advantage on my side, mailed and ready for a conflict as I was.""Canst not let the good earl know of the trick he played?" said the man presently. "Surely he would punish him for daring so to dupe the marshals of the lists?""Be silent, fool! Dost think I want all the world to know that I, a knight, was beaten by an unfledged esquire? See to it that no word of it is breathed by thee."For some time Sir Gervaise remained silent, staring viciously at the ground the while. The expression on his face was not good to see, and it might have been as well had Edgar Wintour been there to see it."Baulch," said the knight at last, "Baulch, I gave thee money for Sir John Chartris--alive. I offer thee double the sum for this Edgar Wintour--dead. Dost understand?"The tone of the knight's voice was low and measured, but the expression of his face was so deadly that the blackest rage would have seemed less implacable. Baulch seemed to have no great stomach for the task put to him, but one furtive look at the knight's face was sufficient, and he answered hastily:"I understand, my lord.""Then begone."* * * * *"Couldst hear no more than that, Peter? Nothing save a few words of angry reproach against the man when De Maupas's voice rang highest?""No, sir. I could get no nearer, for De Maupas's esquire, Arnaud, paced to and fro outside, doubtless by his master's orders. Most of the time the two spake only of the tournament, though once I feel sure they talked of Sir John, but they dropped their voices and only formless words reached my ears.""Ah! Then I fear it behoves us to find out," cried Edgar in a decided tone. "We cannot afford to go on like this, Peter. The Wolsingham ladies are becoming most anxious, and if we cannot soon get news, we must acquaint the earl of the truth and implore his aid, though I fear it will bring us little comfort. Ye say ye know where this man Baulch lives?""Yes, he lives at a low inn in the lowest and most rascally quarter of the town.""Good! 'Tis the better for our purpose. At nightfall, Peter, I must visit this inn, and see what stratagem or the sword will accomplish. Tell me how I may find it, and then be off and get me some peasant's clothing, old and soiled with use, and have it ready an hour or two before the gates are closed."At the time appointed Peter produced a bundle of clothing, and Edgar was soon well disguised as a young countryman on a visit to the town to make his purchases. The clothing was somewhat malodorous, but as this added considerably to the realistic effect, Edgar recked little of that. His own sword was far too well made and well finished to be taken, so Peter obtained for him the least pretentious amongst those carried by Sir John's men-at-arms. This was buckled on in an awkward and clumsy manner, so as to give as unwarlike an air to a warlike weapon as possible.Foreseeing the possibility of a fight in a locality of such unsavoury reputation, Edgar took the precaution to don his light flexible shirt of steel mail before putting on the peasant's garments, and to have a dagger concealed beneath his clothes ready to hand in case of an attack too sudden and at too close quarters to allow him to draw his sword.It was a few minutes short of the hour at which the gates of the city closed when, as a peasant, he rapped loudly at the door of a low-lying, rambling, single-story structure overlooking the river Garonne. The street was in complete darkness, save for the dim light emitted through the shuttered windows of one or two of the hovels and crazy dwellings which huddled together along each side of the narrow roadway.After a short delay the door opened, and one of the most villainous-looking men Edgar had ever set eyes on made his appearance."What seek ye?" he enquired, peering suspiciously first at the newcomer and then over his shoulder, as though to find out whether he was alone."Some of thy good cheer, landlord. I was seeking another inn which a neighbour of mine speaks well of, but lost my way, and a man I chanced upon by good hap outside sent me to thee. Give me sup of thy best; I have money and can pay," and Edgar, assuming an air of pride and importance, flaunted a handful of coins under the man's eyes."Thou shalt have it, noble sir," cried the landlord, with a leer which was meant to encourage his guest, and he led the way into a long room, bare of furniture save for a couple of tables and some rough benches. The room was fairly lofty, but numbers of smoked hams and other objects hanging from the rafters made it appear low and gloomy. Half a dozen men, amongst whom Edgar was quick to discern James Baulch, lounged upon the benches drinking and dicing.Edgar took stock of his surroundings as the landlord led him to the end of the room farthest from the other occupants, and, fetching a chair from a side room and carefully placing it in position at the table, invited his guest to take a seat.In a few minutes some food, rough and unpalatable, was brought, and Edgar made shift to eat it, as though with a good appetite. Then he leaned back in his chair, and, half-shutting his eyes, pretended to be nearly asleep. He hoped that most of the men would soon leave, and that he might have an opportunity of accosting Baulch alone or of following him to his room, wherever that might be.Presently he missed one of the men, and shortly after the others broke into a rough drinking song. Edgar then realized, with something of a shock, that instead of being the pursuer he was now the pursued. It was not the mere withdrawal of one of the men that made him think this, but the quiet, stealthy manner in which the man must have left, and the way in which the other men began their song simultaneously, as though at a signal. It almost seemed that the song was intended to cloak something, perhaps the arrival of a further band of ruffians. Edgar began to regret that he had exhibited his money so freely--or could it be that Baulch had seen through his disguise?A slight rustling noise close to him attracted his attention, and giving up the pretence of being nearly asleep, he opened his eyes wide and looked warily about him. The men had stopped their song, and were gazing in his direction with an air of covert expectation. Something was going on--that much was clear as noonday. Another slight rustle, and Edgar looked quickly above him into the blackness beyond the hams and other objects hanging from the rafters. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of something as it dropped down over his head. It was a rope!Before he had time to spring to his feet and fling it off his shoulders, it was drawn tightly round his neck with a quick jerk, and he was lifted almost off his feet. The peril was extreme, and realizing in a flash that only the most desperate exertions could save him, Edgar grasped the rope above the slip knot with his left hand, while with his right he drew his dagger and reached up to cut the rope, straining on tiptoe to get a purchase.Suddenly a trapdoor, upon which his chair had evidently been placed, gave way beneath his feet, and the whole of his weight fell upon his left arm. Choking, half-strangled, with eyes starting from his head, Edgar strove to cut the rope with his dagger. One stroke, feeble from his straining position and reeling brain--a second stroke--then a third, into which all his remaining strength was put--and like a stone he fell half-fainting through the trapdoor into a cellar below.For a moment or two he was unable to move. Half-strangled and half-dazed by the dread attack and sudden fall, he was in so helpless a condition that he could not have lifted a hand to save his life. The noise of footsteps on the stone stairs leading to the cellar and the harsh grating of a key in the lock roused him a little, however, and he feebly extricated himself from the legs of the chair upon which he had fallen. Scarcely had he done so before two men, one of whom bore a torch, ran hurriedly in and rushed at him with knives upraised. The man bearing the light Edgar recognized as James Baulch.Against their attack Edgar at first could defend himself but feebly. His hand still clutched the dagger with which he had severed the rope, but before he was in a condition to use it he had received several body thrusts that would have dispatched him outright had it not been for the shirt of steel mail he wore beneath his clothing.Every moment, however, his strength came back, and, watching his chance, presently he parried a blow from Baulch's companion, and brought the hilt of his own dagger down upon the ruffian's head with all his strength. The man dropped prone in his tracks amid a yell of wrath from the men in the room above, who were eagerly peering down at the conflict from the opening in the floor.Feeling that his chance had come, Edgar sprang fiercely upon Baulch and flung him to the floor, the torch spinning from his hand to the other end of the cellar. Kneeling upon the man's chest and placing his dagger at his throat, Edgar cried sternly:"Tell me where is Sir John Chartris, or thou shall die."The man gasped with amazement and fear, and cried hastily: "At Ruthènes.""Where is this Ruthènes?" cried Edgar quickly.But the man seemed already to have repented that he had told so much, and with an effort made shift to grasp the hand that held the threatening dagger. Doubtless he had seen the faces of his four friends above disappear from the trap, and had heard the scurry of their feet as they rushed across the room and made for the stairs. It could be but a matter of seconds before they were on the scene. Edgar, too, had heard the scurry of feet, and realized at once that he could get no more information before it would be too late. Wrenching himself free from Baulch's grasp and springing to his feet, he seized the chair and placed it upright beneath the trapdoor.The instant he was free Baulch scrambled to his feet, and, emboldened by the approach of help--for the others' footsteps now sounded loudly upon the stairs--rushed at Edgar with a yell, and tried to prevent him mounting upon the chair."We will have thee yet, Edgar Wintour," he cried exultingly.Edgar had flung away his dagger, but at this attack he turned and shot out his arm with all his strength. The blow caught the man full in the face, and felled him headlong.The first of the men, leaping down the stairs, burst into the cellar just as Edgar, seizing the edge of the floor above with his hands, sprang off the chair, head and shoulders, into the room overhead. Flinging up his right leg and making another effort, he lifted himself until he stood upright upon the floor.For the moment the room was empty, but the men below, mad with rage at being again tricked, were already in pursuit, shouting like wild beasts, and there was no time to be lost. Without an instant's delay, therefore, Edgar sprang to the window, flung aside the shutters, and looked eagerly out. As he expected, the gleam of water met his gaze, and, placing one hand upon the sill, he sprang headlong out and vanished into the waters of the Garonne.CHAPTER XIIn PursuitAn hour later a weary-looking, soaked figure knocked loudly and insistently at the door of the inn which sheltered the ladies Gertrude and Beatrice. It was Edgar, exhausted by a long swim in sodden garments and shirt of mail, which had well nigh dragged him to the bottom of the river. After a short parley the landlord admitted him, and, seeing his sorry condition, proceeded to light a fire to dry his wet garments, and good-naturedly lent him others until they were ready for use."Dost wish me to tell Sir John's ladies that thou art come?" he asked presently."Nay, I will spend the night before this fire, and speak to them early in the morning. Tell me when ye hear them stirring."Long before Edgar awoke in the morning Peter had arrived, anxious to know if anything had been heard of his master. Seeing him asleep, and hearing of the exhausted condition in which he had arrived, he sat down patiently to wait until he should awake."Hast learned aught?" he cried as soon as Edgar opened his eyes."Aye, though what 'tis worth I know not;" and Edgar related the incidents of the attack and escape the night before. "Baulch said that Sir John was at Ruthènes, or a place that sounded much like it. Whatever that name may be worth to us, it would seem that Sir John is at least still alive.""Ruthènes!" echoed Peter thoughtfully. "Methinks I have heard a word that sounded like that before. Yes, I have it; it was a word spoken more than once by De Maupas to that rascal Baulch. I could not catch it fully, but now I know the word, I feel sure it was that they were repeating.""Then we are on the right track," cried Edgar joyfully. "Now we must find where Ruthènes is. Call mine host."The landlord was called and asked if he knew of a place called Ruthènes. After a moment's thought he announced that he had heard of it as a castle of evil reputation situated on the lower slopes of the Pyrenees many leagues distant. It belonged to a knight named Eustace de Brin, who appeared to be better known amongst the country folk and peasantry as Black Eustace. Exactly why he should have earned so terrible a name, however, the landlord was unable to say.Satisfied that Baulch had not lied to him, Edgar desired the landlord to send someone to arouse the ladies, and to tell them that Sir John's esquire begged a few minutes' audience with them upon a matter of great importance. Then he turned to Peter and instructed him to return to the camp, to saddle Sir John's two best horses, and to make all ready for a long journey. On his way through the town he was to obtain more countrymen's clothes of a better cut and quality than his last purchase--such, indeed, as might be worn by small traders travelling on business from one part of the country to another.Very shortly both the ladies appeared, eager to know why Edgar had come to them so early in the day, and guessing that he must have news to tell.In a few brief sentences Edgar described the scene at the inn, and the means by which he had extracted one single word from Baulch, which, he hoped, contained the key to Sir John's whereabouts. Then he announced that he had made up his mind to set out forthwith for Castle Ruthènes, accompanied only by Peter, and to do all in his power to deliver Sir John from his captors."But will not this Eustace offer him to ransom?" cried Beatrice. "We will gladly pay a ransom, however great, so long as we can get him safely back.""I much misdoubt me whether Sir John would consent to a ransom being paid to dishonourable captors," replied Edgar. "'Tis not as though he had been captured in fair fight. Besides, would De Maupas consider himself avenged by a share in a ransom, for, of course, he must be in league with this Black Eustace?""I know not," cried Beatrice, stamping her foot in vexation. "But what seek ye to do? How can ye two carry Sir John away by force from a stronghold such as Castle Ruthènes seems to be?""By stratagem, backed by force if need be. There is naught else to be done. The earl is not yet ready to move, and even if he were, he could not move for months into so remote a part of the enemy's country as the district in which Ruthènes lies.""Well, then, go, Edgar. Gertrude and I will pray for thy success even more heartily than in the combat with De Maupas. But trust not to thy sword too much. Ye hotheaded esquires think far too much of prowess in arms.""I thank thee, maiden. I will try to remember thy counsels," replied Edgar, with a slight smile."But what are we to tell those who enquire for my father?" cried Gertrude."That is already settled. A day or two before he disappeared Sir John obtained leave from the earl to visit the lands of the lady Beatrice in Faucigny. Many called to congratulate him on his defeat of De Maupas, but hearing that he had left, supposed that he had already gone thence. I think it would be best if the lady Beatrice went to Faucigny for a time, and that thou didst return to Wolsingham.""Nay, I shall not return home until I know what hath befallen my father," cried Gertrude decidedly. "Beatrice may please herself whether she visits her tenants at Faucigny, but I remain here. If the earl moves forward in thy absence the men-at-arms must go, but Matthew I shall keep with me."A few more words and Edgar bade the ladies adieu, bidding them be of good cheer for the news he had brought showed that at any rate Sir John was alive. A rescue would, he trusted, only be a matter of time. Though the ladies were unable to accept so hopeful a statement, yet they felt a real thrill of hope. The dash and daring of the young esquire in the lists outside Bordeaux, the determination displayed by him in his onslaught upon the miscreant Baulch in the riverside inn, and the not less striking success which had attended both ventures gave them a ground for hoping at which they would have laughed a week ago.Two hours later Edgar left the camp, accompanied by Peter, and took the road which led in the direction of Ruthènes. Both were dressed as small traders, though it must be confessed that their mounts were vastly superior to the steeds such men usually bestrode. Both carried sword and dagger, and Edgar wore beneath his outer garments the light shirt of steel mail which had already done him such good service. Permission to leave had readily been granted to him on the understanding that he wasen routeto rejoin Sir John Chartris.Before he left, Edgar called Matthew and gave him strict instructions to keep vigilant watch and ward over the Wolsingham ladies, and especially to see that neither went abroad unaccompanied by a proper escort. His fears for them, however, largely vanished when Matthew told him that De Maupas had recovered sufficiently to leave the camp for a destination which he had been unable to discover. The man Baulch appeared to have been left behind.After a three-days' journey over rough roads, oftentimes mere tracks, Edgar and Peter reached a village in the vicinity of the castle of Ruthènes. Their arrival created something of a stir, for the village and district were so remote from the trade routes and highways that strangers were hardly ever seen. Somewhat disturbed that they were not able, as they wished, to pass unnoticed about their business, Edgar enquired whether the village boasted an inn. It did not, but the house which performed the nearest approach to that office was pointed out to him, and they made their way there and dismounted. A target for curiosity, and also, apparently, for barely concealed hostility, the two sat down to the poor hospitality the place afforded, feeling that the difficulties before them were greater even than they had anticipated.It was evening when they arrived, and they had scarcely been there half an hour before no less a personage than the village priest called, ostensibly as a chance visitor, but really, as Edgar shrewdly suspected, to examine the two strangers, and to ascertain, if possible, what their visit portended."Ye are strangers here," remarked the priest, as he brought a mess of soup to the table at which Edgar and Peter were seated, and sat down himself.Edgar assented and went on with his meal, though he kept a watchful eye upon the priest. The man was past middle age, tall and well built to all appearances, and had a kindly and pleasant, though careworn, face. Kindly as he looked, Edgar felt anxious to keep the real object of his visit there a secret from this man more than any other, for of all those in the village it was most probable that the local priest was on friendliest terms with the lord of the soil at Castle Ruthènes."Doubtless 'tis to visit the castle, and not us poor villagers, that ye are come," said the priest quietly, after a few minutes' pause."Nay, we know not Sir Eustace, and though we should like to see so fine a castle before we pass on, we shall not seek his hospitality.""Are ye for us or against us?" asked the priest suddenly, fixing a pair of steady grey eyes upon Edgar."I know not what ye mean," said Edgar uncomfortably."I mean, are ye for the downtrodden and oppressed, or do ye uphold those who grind and ill-use the weak and helpless?""Certainly not the latter," cried Edgar quickly."Then join thyself to us, and make thyself famous in aiding a noble cause," cried the priest, his face flushing and his eyes sparkling like those of a zealot."What is this cause of which ye speak?" asked Edgar warily."It is to deliver these downtrodden folk amongst whom it is my sad lot to work. Have ye not heard of the ill fame of this Black Eustace, as he is called--and rightly called? Tell me that ye are not of his party--but I am sure ye are not, otherwise I would not have spoken so plainly.""I am not. 'Tis but three days since I heard his name for the first time.""Ah! then ye know not that he is the scourge of all this land, and doth kill and burn and flay without let or hindrance? He hath powerful friends, and never a thing is done when he ill-uses the poor ignorant folk who inhabit the land he calls his own. I have seen things with my own eyes that call aloud to heaven for vengeance, and yet the time cometh not.""The country folk would then like to be rid of Sir Eustace?""Aye, they would like to rid themselves of him if only it were possible to poor and ill-armed men. Woe to me, a priest, that I should have to uphold the meeting of violence by violence! but I have tried to find another way and failed. I have been told that such a state as exists here exists in many other parts of France. If that be so, terrible things will be witnessed in the years to come.[1#] I cannot believe, however, that things can be so bad elsewhere as they are here, for whereas we are poor and ignorant, in other places the people are rich and powerful, and can resist oppression in many ways."[#] The priest was right. In the rising of the "Jacquerie", which took place a few years later, dreadful scenes of violence and bloodshed were witnessed."Undoubtedly," murmured Edgar, nodding his head in agreement."But what we most lack is leaders," went on the priest in a still more earnest tone. "There is no one here, save myself, who stands out from the herd of poor miserable folk, and without leaders men with no knowledge of warfare are doubly useless. We want leaders," he reiterated in a meaning tone, fixing his eyes upon Edgar in a way that made that young man feel most uncomfortable."Yes, yes," replied Edgar in a soothing tone. "Doubtless the leaders ye need will be forthcoming when the time comes.""The time has come, but the leaders are absent," cried the priest; and he was apparently about to say more when he stopped suddenly, as though with a great effort, and stared frowningly at the table.Devoutly hoping that the priest had done and would spare them any further confidences, Edgar turned towards Peter and began to talk upon other topics. In a minute or two, however, the priest raised his head and went on:"But what are ye here for? Ye say ye are not visitors to the castle. Yet art thou, sir, if I am not mistaken, a man trained to war, and your steeds tell the same tale. What else can there be in this remote spot that would attract thee save the castle? Thy patois is strange and unfamiliar to me, for I have travelled little; but undoubtedly thou hast journeyed here from afar."Edgar smiled. His knowledge of the French tongue had been for the most part acquired at Wolsingham, where several had a good knowledge of it. On to this, however, had been grafted, since his arrival, a strong Gascon flavour that more than possibly assorted somewhat ill with his previous acquirements.The priest was waiting for a reply, and Edgar quickly made up his mind to confide in him the true reason for his presence there. It was practically certain that did he not do so the priest would have him watched, and that, he felt, would be disastrous."Yes," he said, "I have travelled here from afar. Like you, I am at enmity with those who shelter behind the walls of Castle Ruthènes, and, like you, I seek to outmanoeuvre them. They hold prisoner one whom I must rescue at all costs." Then Edgar went on to describe briefly what had happened to Sir John, and how he had come to believe that he had been carried away to Ruthènes.The priest listened attentively to the end. "Then your interests are identical with ours," he said in a voice which rang with triumph. "Why should ye not throw in your lot with us and aid us to fling down yon frowning battlements? Your knight shall thus be saved and my poor downtrodden folk delivered from the oppressor. Ye are trained to war, to the siege of castles, and to the command of men: take command of my people jointly with me. 'Tis a righteous cause--unhesitatingly I proclaim it."Moved in spite of himself by the priest's deep earnestness and sincerity, Edgar for some moments could find no words with which to reply. He had heard many tales of the misery and degradation of the poorer classes of France, and their truth had been brought home by the sights that had met his gaze on the long journey thither. There could be little doubt that that unhappy condition was due in a very large measure to unjust extortion and oppression by the ruling classes. But his first duty was to Sir John."I fear it cannot be," he said presently. "I must accomplish the rescue of my master at once, or I may find it too late. Then, when I have delivered him, I shall be at his disposal, and can therefore make no promise of aid to thee. Your folk, if I mistake not, are not yet ready for the rising ye project. They are not organized, they have not been taught to obey any given set of signals, and they have no belief in one another. There must be weeks of patient work ere they can be led to attack a fortalice defended by trained and resolute men. Nay, victory cannot be snatched by a rising on the spur of the moment. There must be much work of patient preparation."There was a long pause. Then the priest, his face full of trouble, rose from the bench on which he had been sitting, and began feverishly to pace the room."It is so," he said. "I feel it, though I am impatient to get to grips with the evildoers. I must begin at once, though when we are ready we shall still lack leaders. But mayhap ye will have failed to succour your knight, and will be glad to fall back upon our aid. Who knows?""Who knows, indeed? But I hope and believe not. If I have not rescued my master by then, I fear it will be because I am either dead or captured. But canst tell me aught of this castle? Is it strong? Doth it consist of a single donjon, or hath it outer walls?""It is an ancient castle, the origin of which is buried in the obscurity of the past. It hath a central donjon and also outer walls, most of it and all the stronger parts being built in its later days in imitation of the castles built by the Northmen in other parts of France. 'Tis strong, I know, for I have studied it with intent to discover its weakest spots.""Hast discovered aught? I would fain learn, Sir Priest, any points that would help me in my quest. In return I will joyfully impart to you such knowledge as may come to me in my enterprise.""I fear it hath no weak spots worthy of the name. Nothing save hard fighting can win yon fortalice, unless, as has of late been the case, the garrison wax careless from long inaction and freedom from alarums.""Stratagem might effect its capture. It is on stratagem that I rely most for my own venture. But I would now fain bid thee good night, Sir Priest, and thank thee for thy kindly information. Perchance we shall meet again. Come, Peter!""Good night, Sir Squire! May ye prosper and win your way both in and out of the blood-stained lair of Black Eustace! God speed!"CHAPTER XIICastle RuthènesEarly on the following day Edgar, accompanied by Peter, reconnoitred Castle Ruthènes from the shelter of the thick woods which stretched to within less than a hundred yards of its walls. In the light of his knowledge of the castles of the time, Edgar could study the stronghold with a real appreciation of its strong and weak points. Its chief characteristic was a square central donjon, apparently of great age, which towered high above the outer walls. These were somewhat low, though of a very massive build, and appeared to belong to a later date than the donjon, having probably been thrown out as an additional screen against a surprise attack.About the walls ran a moat, fairly wide and apparently deep, formed by a stream from the mountains being dammed back and looped, so as to complete the circumference of the walls. The castle stood in a hollow, and the moat ran sluggishly at a level with the surrounding land, which was boggy and springy, as though the water often overflowed and covered it inches deep. The place seemed to reek with moisture, the walls being mossgrown and discoloured; while the thick woods, encroaching closely upon the narrow patch of grassy plain, seemed to add to the forbidding, cheerless air of the gloomy fortalice.The outer walls were pierced in one spot only, and that was at the main gateway. Here the moat was spanned by a drawbridge of modern appearance, but Edgar could see no traces of a portcullis, its place being taken by heavy oaken gates faced with plates of iron.Struck by the gloomy, unhealthy look of the castle, Edgar could not help exclaiming in a voice of deep concern:"I hope, Peter, they have treated Sir John well. The dungeons of such castles usually lie deep below the level of the moat. If they have immured him in one of those I fear for him. Sir John's health hath suffered much from his many campaigns.""I hope not, Master Edgar. But we must hasten the more to release him, though how 'tis to be done I know not.""We, or I, might perhaps gain entrance in disguise, though that would mean a daylight entry, and we should be under observation, and could hardly hope to effect much. Besides, since the simple old priest so quickly penetrated our disguise, I have lost faith in our abilities in that direction--our tongue, I fear, betrayeth us all too quickly."Peter nodded in agreement."Come, let us make the full circuit of the walls, Peter, keeping well within the shadow of the woods. So far, I can see no way in save by scaling the walls themselves.""By a ladder?" queried Peter."Nay, a ladder would betray us, if not before we entered, certainly at dawn the following morning. Nay, but a rope and grapnel in patient hands should win an entrance.""A rope and grapnel!" cried Peter. "A rope we can doubtless obtain from someone among the country folk, but where may we obtain a grapnel?""We can improvise one. A sword wrapped in cloths might be well lodged in the spaces betwixt those blocks on the summit of the wall--thy steel scabbard, Peter, with the rope tied to its middle, flung up and properly lodged, would easily take the weight of one of us. Ha, 'tis easy after all!""But could we fling scabbard and rope to the summit of the wall from the distance of the edge of the moat?""'Twill certainly be a long throw. Is there no place where a bank at the bottom of the wall will give us a footing? Look closely, Peter, and see if thou canst discern such a bank anywhere. If we can see none we must, when the time comes, swim the whole circle of the walls and feel for one. A footing in mud and water will serve our turn.""I see something, Master Edgar. See--where that clump of reeds shows a foot above the water against the walls--the bottom must be near the surface there.""Maybe--unless there be but soft mud. Look again, Peter--we must, if we can, find a place where we can swing our rope full freely."Before the circuit of the walls had been completed, a place had been found where a low bank lay between the moat and the foot of the wall. This was hailed with satisfaction as a step in the direction of scaling the outer defences of the castle, and during the remainder of the day Edgar and Peter sat down to watch all that went on, and particularly what sentries were posted and how far their observation extended.Ere the day was out they had made up their minds that a good watch was kept, and that the slackness referred to by the priest had either never existed or had recently, from one cause or another, been entirely removed. Two men-at-arms were always upon the walls, keeping watch from opposite angles, from which the whole extent of the outer defences could be easily surveyed. Another man was posted at the gateway, to operate the drawbridge and to keep a lookout upon all who came to claim admittance. These sentries, too, were not only present, but appeared to be watchful and alert to all that went forward. Depressed at the evidence of the keen watch kept, but elated at finding a bank from which the rope and grapnel might be cast with some chance of success, Edgar and Peter returned to the poor dwelling at which they had obtained temporary shelter, there to await the time when their first attempt should be made.As on the evening before, the priest appeared and supped with them, more for company's sake on this occasion, it seemed, than with any desire to keep watch upon them and their movements. Feeling a good deal of confidence in the kindly, careworn face with the steady grey eyes, Edgar told the priest what they had learned and how he proposed to effect an entrance. The news that the garrison was keeping a careful watch seemed to fill the priest with surprise and some concern."Can it be that they have heard of your arrival?" he said. "And yet if that were so 'twould not be the posting of extra guards that I should expect, but the sally of a score of their blood-stained men-at-arms, who would pour into this village in an iron stream as they have done so often before. Ye would have been routed out, and within five minutes the branches of the nearest tree would have groaned beneath your weight. That is what has been before. Why, then, have they posted sentinels? Nothing else hath occurred save the arrival at the castle of a man who must indeed be of some consequence, seeing that he was accompanied by an escort of two men-at-arms.""When did this man arrive?" asked Edgar quickly."On the morning of the day of your arrival--that is, yesterday.""Canst describe him to me?""I did not see the man, and those who reported it to me, as all do the most trifling events, said that they could see little of him, as his head was swathed in bandages.""It is he," murmured Edgar half to himself."Who? Whom dost mean? Dost know the man?" cried the priest sharply."I fear so. I think it must be this evil knight of whom I have told thee. The blow with which I worsted him in the lists at Bordeaux was severe, and I know that his head had to be much bandaged. Then before I left I learned that he had already gone. 'Tis he of a surety. He hath followed his victim.""Can he know that thou art here?""I think not; but one cannot be sure, and he will guess that I would not remain idle.""Then it is this knight, this enemy of thine, who hath caused the watch to be doubled. 'Twill be the harder for thee to find a way in by thy stratagem. Hast brought a rope with thee?""No. I must make enquiries and obtain one.""I will do so for thee. Thou wilt only arouse suspicion and make folk talk. Leave it to me, Sir Squire."Edgar thanked the priest warmly, and stipulated that it should be both light and strong. Then they went on to talk of other things, and the priest told Edgar stories of his work amongst the poor peasantry. Some were humoursome, others bright stories illustrating the homely virtues of the folk and their generosity one to another; but the greater part were tales of cruelty and oppression, which made Edgar's blood boil--tales of men tortured into revealing where their little store of worldly wealth, laid by with much self-denial, had been hidden away; and tales of men done to death for their "obstinacy", when they had no store whose whereabouts they could reveal to satisfy their relentless persecutors. It all seemed almost incredible to Edgar, until he recollected the stories he had heard handed down of the deeds done in his own land but a century or two before.It was three days before Edgar obtained a rope that he thought gave him the least hope of success in the venture he had in hand. The good priest did all in his power, and scarce a rope in the neighbourhood but was brought in and tried. But the ropes that the peasants possessed were rough and heavy and in no way suited to Edgar's purpose. In despair, at last he saddled his steed and rode away to the nearest town and purchased one there, returning by a forced march the same day.That same night Peter and he, accompanied by the priest, made their way into the woods surrounding Castle Ruthènes. By a stroke of good fortune the night was a favourable one. Heavy clouds shrouded the light of the moon, and made even the biggest objects loom black and indistinct. A watcher on the walls would need the sharpest eyes to see a figure at the foot, and with the comforting feeling that all was so far going in their favour the two young men took leave of the priest at the edge of the wood and stole across the narrow strip of sward."God be with thee!" the priest had whispered, and with a pressure of the hand that Edgar now knew to be the hand of a friend, he had bade them adieu.The point at which they left the woods was, they knew, in a line with that part of the moat where the low bank rose at the foot of the wall, and as soon as they reached the edge of the water, both slipped noiselessly in and swam gently towards the castle walls.Both were good swimmers, even Peter, in spite of his infirmity, having long since learned to keep himself afloat without difficulty. Edgar carried the line and the improvised grapnel, which had been well swathed in cloths to ensure its falling dully wherever it struck. He also, wore his shirt of mail and his sword. The weight was considerable, but he was too practised a swimmer for that to trouble him for a few dozen yards, and he had a decided objection to being quite defenceless when he had gained entry into the enemy's quarters.The water struck chill. Heavy weeds that appeared almost to choke the stream clung to their legs and impeded their progress. They could see nothing save a wall of blackness that rose before them forbiddingly. All seemed to be as silent as the tomb.They were slow in making the passage, as their one desire was to make no sound, but presently they reached the side. Touching bottom in several feet of mud, they slowly raised themselves out of the water and began to crawl up the bank.Suddenly they were startled beyond measure by a tremendous screech and flutter which arose from right under their very noses. In their amazement and alarm they sprang back a couple of feet into deep water with a splash, and then saw, or rather heard, a flock of frightened ducks rise with a whirr and cackle from the bank and fly above their heads round the angle of the castle walls.Deeply chagrined, the two young men crawled from the moat upon the bank and lay there listening intently. Such a mischance they had never dreamed of, and it seemed more than possible that it might have alarmed one of the guards and brought him to the spot to learn the cause of the birds' alarm. With deepest annoyance Edgar upbraided himself for not observing that a flock of half-wild ducks belonging to the castle had made a home on the bank he had counted upon in his plans.For half an hour the two lay in the mud and water without stirring, listening with all their ears and gazing up at the outline of the top of the walls, which they could discern dimly against the sky. But the peering figures of the sentinels that they half-expected to appear never came."All is well after all, I think, Peter," said Edgar at last. "That was a bad start indeed, and had I not thought Sir John's need a most urgent one, I should have been tempted to try another night. But as 'tis, if any have marked the flutter and scare they have doubtless thought them due to winged enemies of the wild fowl, and not to those with intent to disturb the peace of the castle. Now let us try the powers of the line and grapnel we obtained after so much time and trouble. 'Twould be hard indeed to find them fail us now."The outer walls were comparatively low, little more than twenty feet or so in height, and the throw of the grapnel was not a very difficult one. But it proved exceedingly difficult to obtain a lodgment with it. Time after time it was thrown with success well over the wall, but the darkness of the night forced them to fling it at random, and as soon as a strain was put upon it, down it fell again.At last, however, it held fast even when the weight of both was tried upon it, and, overjoyed, Edgar instantly began to haul himself up hand over hand until he reached the top. Here he rested arms and shoulders on the wall while he paused a moment to listen. All was quiet, however, and drawing himself right up he signalled to Peter with the rope that all was clear for him to ascend in his turn.In a few minutes both were safely on the wall, crouching in the deepest shadows they could find. The first stage of their enterprise had been successfully accomplished, and though cold and wet and shivering as with the ague, they felt elated that they were well on the way to the accomplishment of their formidable task."Draw up and coil the rope, Peter. We must take it with us, for doubtless we shall need it 'gainst our return."Peter silently obeyed."Now follow me quietly, lad," and Edgar led the way softly along the wall, keeping well in the shadow, until they reached a narrow flight of stone steps that led down to the castle courtyard. Against them loomed the deep shadow of a corner turret, and, thinking that this might possibly be a likely place for a man-at-arms to be stationed on the watch, Edgar paused and listened intently."Forward, Peter," he whispered; "Black Eustace and his men are asleep, I verily believe.""Black Eustace never sleeps," echoed a rough voice from the blackness of the turret, and a dark form sprang suddenly upon Edgar and nearly brought him to the ground. Other figures followed, and in a twinkling Edgar and Peter were struggling in the grip of half a dozen men."Slay them not--at present," commanded the deep voice of the man who had first spoken. "Bring torches and bind them well. Then shall we see who hath dared to set foot upon the walls of the castle of Eustace de Brin--Black Eustace, one of the knaves called me, did he? We shall see. Mayhap he will be right."It was but a spring from the walls to safety, and Edgar struggled fiercely to fling off his many assailants. A desperate effort freed his right arm, and a heavy blow rid him of one of them for a time. But he was no nearer even temporary freedom, for one of the men had clutched him firmly round the waist from behind with one hand while with the other he seized him by the hair and dragged his head forcibly back. Slowly but surely, notwithstanding his most frantic efforts, Edgar found his head dragged relentlessly back until his neck seemed on the point of snapping beneath the cruel strain. To struggle on was hopeless, and, weak from his exertions and with his senses nearly gone, Edgar allowed his arms to be drawn behind his back and there secured without further resistance.Torches were brought. One was thrust close to Edgar's face--so close that his hair was singed and his cheek scorched--and a man peered searchingly at him.
[image]"SIR GERVAISE SPRANG TOWARDS HIS ADVERSARY, THIRSTINGTO RETRIEVE HIS FALLEN FORTUNES"
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"SIR GERVAISE SPRANG TOWARDS HIS ADVERSARY, THIRSTINGTO RETRIEVE HIS FALLEN FORTUNES"
Disdaining to meet him at any advantage, Edgar flung away the fragments of his lance, seized Sir John's heavy battleaxe, and slipped lightly from the saddle. Scarce had he faced Sir Gervaise when the furious knight was upon him with sword up-raised. Knowing that his battleaxe was almost useless for defence, Edgar heeded not the blow, but, half-turning, swung his own heavy weapon sideways at his opponent's head. The knight's blow fell first with a stroke that bit deep into Edgar's casque, but before De Maupas could spring back out of reach, the axe stroke smote him on the side of his helmet with a weight and momentum that sent him crashing headlong to the ground.
A dull roar of applause arose from the whole circle of the lists.
Dropping his axe, Edgar snatched his dagger from his belt and sprang towards the fallen man. Kneeling upon his chest he cried aloud:
"Yield thee vanquished, Sir Gervaise de Maupas!" Then in a low voice, but in tones thrilling with resolve, he went on, "Tell me where Sir John if, or thy life is forfeit!"
There was no response.
"Desist, Sir John," cried one of the marshals of the lists, hurriedly approaching, "he is stunned, if not dead. Thou art acknowledged victor--retire while we see to the stricken man."
Heavy with disappointment at being thwarted at the moment when he hoped all might be won, Edgar mechanically mounted and rode slowly round the lists. The air still rang with the plaudits of the spectators, and, as he passed along, loud cries reached him, some, wishing to do him the more honour, calling upon him to unhelm.
Fearing that his refusal at least to lower his vizor might cause some adverse comment, Edgar dropped it an inch or so and left it, hoping that it might be thought that the blow his headpiece had received had damaged the hinges of his vizor. With a final salute, first to the earl and then to the Wolsingham ladies, he rode dully from the lists. The cheers of the spectators fell on deaf ears, for though he had defeated Sir Gervaise and upheld Sir John's honour, he felt that he was still as far as ever from solving the mystery of his master's disappearance.
As he reached the door of his tent, Matthew and Peter came running up, their faces wreathed with smiles at their young master's victory.
"Aid me to strip off this armour," cried Edgar, the moment he had entered the tent, "and remember that Sir John is gone--gone upon the visit to Faucigny Castle, in the lands of the lady Beatrice, that he has had all along in mind. He gained the earl's permission some time since, as he told me himself. Thus at least we gain some precious days in which to continue our enquiries."
"Pardon, Master Edgar," cried Peter, suddenly stopping, "with thy permission I will hie me to Sir Gervaise's tent. It may well be that this is a time when it might advantage us to keep close watch upon those about him."
"Go, Peter. His esquire will be bringing him back in a few minutes. He is but stunned. Listen for what thou canst hear. Who knows but that a few chance words may tell us all?"
Waiting for no more, Peter sped off upon his errand, and when, a half-hour later, Sir Gervaise was carried into his tent, he was snugly ensconced beneath a pile of horse's trappings at the very door.
CHAPTER X
News of Sir John
The dusk of evening was falling as Sir Gervaise raised himself from the couch upon which he had been restlessly tossing ever since he had been carried in. His head was swathed in bandages, and the light of the single lamp showed a face pale beneath its sunburn, in which a pair of fierce black eyes burned with an unnatural brightness.
"I have waited in suspense long enough," he muttered to himself. Then, in a louder key, he called to his esquire who was in attendance upon him.
"Arnaud, I have business that I must transact this night. Fetch me hither, then, the varlet James Baulch, and then betake thyself to thy tent. Stay, first fill up my cup, for my head still throbs consumedly from the blow that trickster Chartris gave me."
The esquire obeyed, and in a minute the wounded knight was alone. Freed from the restraint of his esquire's presence, Sir Gervaise groaned aloud with the pain of his bruised and swollen head, and muttered savagely to himself what sounded like threats and imprecations against his successful foe and also the varlet James, who seemed somehow to have incurred his especial displeasure.
Presently the man arrived escorted by the esquire, who seemed to look somewhat askance at his charge. He glanced significantly at his master as he was about to leave the tent, and, interpreting the look, the knight cried as he scowled savagely at the man: "Yes, Arnaud, remain outside within call. I may require thy services."
Arnaud bowed and retired, and the knight, raising himself, not without difficulty, into a sitting posture and placing a dagger ready to his hand, beckoned the man to approach.
"So thou hast played me false, James Baulch, murderer and vagabond?" he cried in a voice thick with rage. "Thou, whom I have but to lift a finger to consign to the gibbet--thou hast dared to lie to me."
The man cowered before the knight's pallid face and gleaming eyes. "There is some mistake," he stammered, "I----"
"Aye--thou art right," cried the knight savagely, "'tis the mistake I made when, with a trumped-up tale, I snatched thee from the sheriff's men. I had better have let thee hang and moulder--but 'tis not yet too late. The arm of the law is strong and swift even in Gascony, and on the word of a knight thy shrift----"
"My lord! My lord!" cried the man, grovelling in terror on the floor. "I swear there is some mistake. With mine own eyes at dawn this morning I saw Sir John, bound and helpless, lying at the bottom of a wagon. I rode straight hither, and he who fought with thee must be some other. My lord, it must be so."
"Bah! Scoundrel! That is but a tale--another lie--to save thy wretched neck from the gallows."
"It is not--it is not!" almost shrieked the man. "Didst not mark--but thou wert senseless--has not, then, thine esquire told thee that he who fought as Sir John did not drop his vizor even when he saluted the earl?"
"Say'st thou so?" cried the knight, startled. "Strange!" he went on, muttering to himself. "I seemed to feel a difference as he entered the lists. Both horse and man seemed doubly full of fire, while Sir John always rode heavily."
"Yes, yes," cried the man eagerly. "It was noticed by others. I heard two men say that Sir John was riding lighter in the saddle than he used to."
"Can this be the explanation?" went on De Maupas, still speaking half to himself. "I never thought of such a daring ruse being played upon me. Who can the man be? Doubtless one of Sir John's friends--but who? 'Twill be the worse for him an I find out the truth," he ended darkly, clenching his teeth with suppressed rage.
"Give me leave to find out the knight's name, my lord," interrupted Baulch in an eager voice.
Sir Gervaise for a minute or two made no reply, but gazed at his accomplice with so gloomy and menacing a look that the man literally shook with fear.
"Very well, Baulch," he said sternly after a pause, "thy neck may rest at peace on thy shoulders for a space, while thou art finding out who it was that masqueraded as Sir John. Find out, I say, find out! Dare to bungle a second time, and the gallows that gape for thee shall have thee fast!"
With trembling lips the man hastily promised to find out the truth.
Nodding carelessly, Sir Gervaise went on to talk of other matters. There could be no doubt that his confidence in the ascendancy he had obtained over the man was not misjudged. The man was obviously under a spell, mastered by a hidden terror so great that all else was completely swallowed up.
* * * * *
It was noon the following day when the man again made his appearance and requested Arnaud to tell Sir Gervaise that James Baulch craved a few minutes' further speech. Arnaud complied, though from the expression of his face it might have been inferred that the desire to kick the man was the feeling uppermost in his mind.
"Well, Baulch?" growled the knight, who still reclined upon a couch, and whose temper seemed in no way improved by his night's rest. "Hast news to tell? If not 'twill be the worse for thee."
"I have news, my lord--strange news. Whether 'twill please thee or not, I cannot say, but----"
"Peace, knave! Tell thy news and madden me not with thy thoughts of what pleases me."
"'Twas Edgar Wintour fought with thee in the lists," blurted out the man hurriedly. "I have heard words let fall that make the matter clear."
"Edgar Wintour--and who is Edgar Wintour?" cried the knight with savage impatience.
"He is Sir John's esquire."
The look that came into the knight's face made Baulch regret the success of his enquiries. De Maupas gasped, grew even paler than before, and clutched convulsively at the couch on which he lay. Then a sudden passion seemed to galvanize him into activity and he rose to his feet almost with a bound.
"What!" he thundered. "Dare ye tell me that----?"
But his strength was unequal to the effort, and clutching at his bandages with both hands, as though his head were about to split in twain, he sank slowly and painfully back upon the couch.
"A pretty debt I owe the boy if thy tale is true," he muttered at last in a changed voice. "Art sure of thy facts?"
"Sure, my lord. I saw him mounted upon Sir John's charger early this morning, and the way he rode made me think at once of the spring and fire of thine adversary yesterday. Then I heard some words let drop by one Matthew, a man-at-arms of Sir John, and I knew 'twas so."
"So that was what was in his mind when he gave me that strange look yesterday," muttered De Maupas to himself. "It was on my lips to demand an explanation. Would I had done so! I might have forced the quarrel then and there with the advantage on my side, mailed and ready for a conflict as I was."
"Canst not let the good earl know of the trick he played?" said the man presently. "Surely he would punish him for daring so to dupe the marshals of the lists?"
"Be silent, fool! Dost think I want all the world to know that I, a knight, was beaten by an unfledged esquire? See to it that no word of it is breathed by thee."
For some time Sir Gervaise remained silent, staring viciously at the ground the while. The expression on his face was not good to see, and it might have been as well had Edgar Wintour been there to see it.
"Baulch," said the knight at last, "Baulch, I gave thee money for Sir John Chartris--alive. I offer thee double the sum for this Edgar Wintour--dead. Dost understand?"
The tone of the knight's voice was low and measured, but the expression of his face was so deadly that the blackest rage would have seemed less implacable. Baulch seemed to have no great stomach for the task put to him, but one furtive look at the knight's face was sufficient, and he answered hastily:
"I understand, my lord."
"Then begone."
* * * * *
"Couldst hear no more than that, Peter? Nothing save a few words of angry reproach against the man when De Maupas's voice rang highest?"
"No, sir. I could get no nearer, for De Maupas's esquire, Arnaud, paced to and fro outside, doubtless by his master's orders. Most of the time the two spake only of the tournament, though once I feel sure they talked of Sir John, but they dropped their voices and only formless words reached my ears."
"Ah! Then I fear it behoves us to find out," cried Edgar in a decided tone. "We cannot afford to go on like this, Peter. The Wolsingham ladies are becoming most anxious, and if we cannot soon get news, we must acquaint the earl of the truth and implore his aid, though I fear it will bring us little comfort. Ye say ye know where this man Baulch lives?"
"Yes, he lives at a low inn in the lowest and most rascally quarter of the town."
"Good! 'Tis the better for our purpose. At nightfall, Peter, I must visit this inn, and see what stratagem or the sword will accomplish. Tell me how I may find it, and then be off and get me some peasant's clothing, old and soiled with use, and have it ready an hour or two before the gates are closed."
At the time appointed Peter produced a bundle of clothing, and Edgar was soon well disguised as a young countryman on a visit to the town to make his purchases. The clothing was somewhat malodorous, but as this added considerably to the realistic effect, Edgar recked little of that. His own sword was far too well made and well finished to be taken, so Peter obtained for him the least pretentious amongst those carried by Sir John's men-at-arms. This was buckled on in an awkward and clumsy manner, so as to give as unwarlike an air to a warlike weapon as possible.
Foreseeing the possibility of a fight in a locality of such unsavoury reputation, Edgar took the precaution to don his light flexible shirt of steel mail before putting on the peasant's garments, and to have a dagger concealed beneath his clothes ready to hand in case of an attack too sudden and at too close quarters to allow him to draw his sword.
It was a few minutes short of the hour at which the gates of the city closed when, as a peasant, he rapped loudly at the door of a low-lying, rambling, single-story structure overlooking the river Garonne. The street was in complete darkness, save for the dim light emitted through the shuttered windows of one or two of the hovels and crazy dwellings which huddled together along each side of the narrow roadway.
After a short delay the door opened, and one of the most villainous-looking men Edgar had ever set eyes on made his appearance.
"What seek ye?" he enquired, peering suspiciously first at the newcomer and then over his shoulder, as though to find out whether he was alone.
"Some of thy good cheer, landlord. I was seeking another inn which a neighbour of mine speaks well of, but lost my way, and a man I chanced upon by good hap outside sent me to thee. Give me sup of thy best; I have money and can pay," and Edgar, assuming an air of pride and importance, flaunted a handful of coins under the man's eyes.
"Thou shalt have it, noble sir," cried the landlord, with a leer which was meant to encourage his guest, and he led the way into a long room, bare of furniture save for a couple of tables and some rough benches. The room was fairly lofty, but numbers of smoked hams and other objects hanging from the rafters made it appear low and gloomy. Half a dozen men, amongst whom Edgar was quick to discern James Baulch, lounged upon the benches drinking and dicing.
Edgar took stock of his surroundings as the landlord led him to the end of the room farthest from the other occupants, and, fetching a chair from a side room and carefully placing it in position at the table, invited his guest to take a seat.
In a few minutes some food, rough and unpalatable, was brought, and Edgar made shift to eat it, as though with a good appetite. Then he leaned back in his chair, and, half-shutting his eyes, pretended to be nearly asleep. He hoped that most of the men would soon leave, and that he might have an opportunity of accosting Baulch alone or of following him to his room, wherever that might be.
Presently he missed one of the men, and shortly after the others broke into a rough drinking song. Edgar then realized, with something of a shock, that instead of being the pursuer he was now the pursued. It was not the mere withdrawal of one of the men that made him think this, but the quiet, stealthy manner in which the man must have left, and the way in which the other men began their song simultaneously, as though at a signal. It almost seemed that the song was intended to cloak something, perhaps the arrival of a further band of ruffians. Edgar began to regret that he had exhibited his money so freely--or could it be that Baulch had seen through his disguise?
A slight rustling noise close to him attracted his attention, and giving up the pretence of being nearly asleep, he opened his eyes wide and looked warily about him. The men had stopped their song, and were gazing in his direction with an air of covert expectation. Something was going on--that much was clear as noonday. Another slight rustle, and Edgar looked quickly above him into the blackness beyond the hams and other objects hanging from the rafters. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of something as it dropped down over his head. It was a rope!
Before he had time to spring to his feet and fling it off his shoulders, it was drawn tightly round his neck with a quick jerk, and he was lifted almost off his feet. The peril was extreme, and realizing in a flash that only the most desperate exertions could save him, Edgar grasped the rope above the slip knot with his left hand, while with his right he drew his dagger and reached up to cut the rope, straining on tiptoe to get a purchase.
Suddenly a trapdoor, upon which his chair had evidently been placed, gave way beneath his feet, and the whole of his weight fell upon his left arm. Choking, half-strangled, with eyes starting from his head, Edgar strove to cut the rope with his dagger. One stroke, feeble from his straining position and reeling brain--a second stroke--then a third, into which all his remaining strength was put--and like a stone he fell half-fainting through the trapdoor into a cellar below.
For a moment or two he was unable to move. Half-strangled and half-dazed by the dread attack and sudden fall, he was in so helpless a condition that he could not have lifted a hand to save his life. The noise of footsteps on the stone stairs leading to the cellar and the harsh grating of a key in the lock roused him a little, however, and he feebly extricated himself from the legs of the chair upon which he had fallen. Scarcely had he done so before two men, one of whom bore a torch, ran hurriedly in and rushed at him with knives upraised. The man bearing the light Edgar recognized as James Baulch.
Against their attack Edgar at first could defend himself but feebly. His hand still clutched the dagger with which he had severed the rope, but before he was in a condition to use it he had received several body thrusts that would have dispatched him outright had it not been for the shirt of steel mail he wore beneath his clothing.
Every moment, however, his strength came back, and, watching his chance, presently he parried a blow from Baulch's companion, and brought the hilt of his own dagger down upon the ruffian's head with all his strength. The man dropped prone in his tracks amid a yell of wrath from the men in the room above, who were eagerly peering down at the conflict from the opening in the floor.
Feeling that his chance had come, Edgar sprang fiercely upon Baulch and flung him to the floor, the torch spinning from his hand to the other end of the cellar. Kneeling upon the man's chest and placing his dagger at his throat, Edgar cried sternly:
"Tell me where is Sir John Chartris, or thou shall die."
The man gasped with amazement and fear, and cried hastily: "At Ruthènes."
"Where is this Ruthènes?" cried Edgar quickly.
But the man seemed already to have repented that he had told so much, and with an effort made shift to grasp the hand that held the threatening dagger. Doubtless he had seen the faces of his four friends above disappear from the trap, and had heard the scurry of their feet as they rushed across the room and made for the stairs. It could be but a matter of seconds before they were on the scene. Edgar, too, had heard the scurry of feet, and realized at once that he could get no more information before it would be too late. Wrenching himself free from Baulch's grasp and springing to his feet, he seized the chair and placed it upright beneath the trapdoor.
The instant he was free Baulch scrambled to his feet, and, emboldened by the approach of help--for the others' footsteps now sounded loudly upon the stairs--rushed at Edgar with a yell, and tried to prevent him mounting upon the chair.
"We will have thee yet, Edgar Wintour," he cried exultingly.
Edgar had flung away his dagger, but at this attack he turned and shot out his arm with all his strength. The blow caught the man full in the face, and felled him headlong.
The first of the men, leaping down the stairs, burst into the cellar just as Edgar, seizing the edge of the floor above with his hands, sprang off the chair, head and shoulders, into the room overhead. Flinging up his right leg and making another effort, he lifted himself until he stood upright upon the floor.
For the moment the room was empty, but the men below, mad with rage at being again tricked, were already in pursuit, shouting like wild beasts, and there was no time to be lost. Without an instant's delay, therefore, Edgar sprang to the window, flung aside the shutters, and looked eagerly out. As he expected, the gleam of water met his gaze, and, placing one hand upon the sill, he sprang headlong out and vanished into the waters of the Garonne.
CHAPTER XI
In Pursuit
An hour later a weary-looking, soaked figure knocked loudly and insistently at the door of the inn which sheltered the ladies Gertrude and Beatrice. It was Edgar, exhausted by a long swim in sodden garments and shirt of mail, which had well nigh dragged him to the bottom of the river. After a short parley the landlord admitted him, and, seeing his sorry condition, proceeded to light a fire to dry his wet garments, and good-naturedly lent him others until they were ready for use.
"Dost wish me to tell Sir John's ladies that thou art come?" he asked presently.
"Nay, I will spend the night before this fire, and speak to them early in the morning. Tell me when ye hear them stirring."
Long before Edgar awoke in the morning Peter had arrived, anxious to know if anything had been heard of his master. Seeing him asleep, and hearing of the exhausted condition in which he had arrived, he sat down patiently to wait until he should awake.
"Hast learned aught?" he cried as soon as Edgar opened his eyes.
"Aye, though what 'tis worth I know not;" and Edgar related the incidents of the attack and escape the night before. "Baulch said that Sir John was at Ruthènes, or a place that sounded much like it. Whatever that name may be worth to us, it would seem that Sir John is at least still alive."
"Ruthènes!" echoed Peter thoughtfully. "Methinks I have heard a word that sounded like that before. Yes, I have it; it was a word spoken more than once by De Maupas to that rascal Baulch. I could not catch it fully, but now I know the word, I feel sure it was that they were repeating."
"Then we are on the right track," cried Edgar joyfully. "Now we must find where Ruthènes is. Call mine host."
The landlord was called and asked if he knew of a place called Ruthènes. After a moment's thought he announced that he had heard of it as a castle of evil reputation situated on the lower slopes of the Pyrenees many leagues distant. It belonged to a knight named Eustace de Brin, who appeared to be better known amongst the country folk and peasantry as Black Eustace. Exactly why he should have earned so terrible a name, however, the landlord was unable to say.
Satisfied that Baulch had not lied to him, Edgar desired the landlord to send someone to arouse the ladies, and to tell them that Sir John's esquire begged a few minutes' audience with them upon a matter of great importance. Then he turned to Peter and instructed him to return to the camp, to saddle Sir John's two best horses, and to make all ready for a long journey. On his way through the town he was to obtain more countrymen's clothes of a better cut and quality than his last purchase--such, indeed, as might be worn by small traders travelling on business from one part of the country to another.
Very shortly both the ladies appeared, eager to know why Edgar had come to them so early in the day, and guessing that he must have news to tell.
In a few brief sentences Edgar described the scene at the inn, and the means by which he had extracted one single word from Baulch, which, he hoped, contained the key to Sir John's whereabouts. Then he announced that he had made up his mind to set out forthwith for Castle Ruthènes, accompanied only by Peter, and to do all in his power to deliver Sir John from his captors.
"But will not this Eustace offer him to ransom?" cried Beatrice. "We will gladly pay a ransom, however great, so long as we can get him safely back."
"I much misdoubt me whether Sir John would consent to a ransom being paid to dishonourable captors," replied Edgar. "'Tis not as though he had been captured in fair fight. Besides, would De Maupas consider himself avenged by a share in a ransom, for, of course, he must be in league with this Black Eustace?"
"I know not," cried Beatrice, stamping her foot in vexation. "But what seek ye to do? How can ye two carry Sir John away by force from a stronghold such as Castle Ruthènes seems to be?"
"By stratagem, backed by force if need be. There is naught else to be done. The earl is not yet ready to move, and even if he were, he could not move for months into so remote a part of the enemy's country as the district in which Ruthènes lies."
"Well, then, go, Edgar. Gertrude and I will pray for thy success even more heartily than in the combat with De Maupas. But trust not to thy sword too much. Ye hotheaded esquires think far too much of prowess in arms."
"I thank thee, maiden. I will try to remember thy counsels," replied Edgar, with a slight smile.
"But what are we to tell those who enquire for my father?" cried Gertrude.
"That is already settled. A day or two before he disappeared Sir John obtained leave from the earl to visit the lands of the lady Beatrice in Faucigny. Many called to congratulate him on his defeat of De Maupas, but hearing that he had left, supposed that he had already gone thence. I think it would be best if the lady Beatrice went to Faucigny for a time, and that thou didst return to Wolsingham."
"Nay, I shall not return home until I know what hath befallen my father," cried Gertrude decidedly. "Beatrice may please herself whether she visits her tenants at Faucigny, but I remain here. If the earl moves forward in thy absence the men-at-arms must go, but Matthew I shall keep with me."
A few more words and Edgar bade the ladies adieu, bidding them be of good cheer for the news he had brought showed that at any rate Sir John was alive. A rescue would, he trusted, only be a matter of time. Though the ladies were unable to accept so hopeful a statement, yet they felt a real thrill of hope. The dash and daring of the young esquire in the lists outside Bordeaux, the determination displayed by him in his onslaught upon the miscreant Baulch in the riverside inn, and the not less striking success which had attended both ventures gave them a ground for hoping at which they would have laughed a week ago.
Two hours later Edgar left the camp, accompanied by Peter, and took the road which led in the direction of Ruthènes. Both were dressed as small traders, though it must be confessed that their mounts were vastly superior to the steeds such men usually bestrode. Both carried sword and dagger, and Edgar wore beneath his outer garments the light shirt of steel mail which had already done him such good service. Permission to leave had readily been granted to him on the understanding that he wasen routeto rejoin Sir John Chartris.
Before he left, Edgar called Matthew and gave him strict instructions to keep vigilant watch and ward over the Wolsingham ladies, and especially to see that neither went abroad unaccompanied by a proper escort. His fears for them, however, largely vanished when Matthew told him that De Maupas had recovered sufficiently to leave the camp for a destination which he had been unable to discover. The man Baulch appeared to have been left behind.
After a three-days' journey over rough roads, oftentimes mere tracks, Edgar and Peter reached a village in the vicinity of the castle of Ruthènes. Their arrival created something of a stir, for the village and district were so remote from the trade routes and highways that strangers were hardly ever seen. Somewhat disturbed that they were not able, as they wished, to pass unnoticed about their business, Edgar enquired whether the village boasted an inn. It did not, but the house which performed the nearest approach to that office was pointed out to him, and they made their way there and dismounted. A target for curiosity, and also, apparently, for barely concealed hostility, the two sat down to the poor hospitality the place afforded, feeling that the difficulties before them were greater even than they had anticipated.
It was evening when they arrived, and they had scarcely been there half an hour before no less a personage than the village priest called, ostensibly as a chance visitor, but really, as Edgar shrewdly suspected, to examine the two strangers, and to ascertain, if possible, what their visit portended.
"Ye are strangers here," remarked the priest, as he brought a mess of soup to the table at which Edgar and Peter were seated, and sat down himself.
Edgar assented and went on with his meal, though he kept a watchful eye upon the priest. The man was past middle age, tall and well built to all appearances, and had a kindly and pleasant, though careworn, face. Kindly as he looked, Edgar felt anxious to keep the real object of his visit there a secret from this man more than any other, for of all those in the village it was most probable that the local priest was on friendliest terms with the lord of the soil at Castle Ruthènes.
"Doubtless 'tis to visit the castle, and not us poor villagers, that ye are come," said the priest quietly, after a few minutes' pause.
"Nay, we know not Sir Eustace, and though we should like to see so fine a castle before we pass on, we shall not seek his hospitality."
"Are ye for us or against us?" asked the priest suddenly, fixing a pair of steady grey eyes upon Edgar.
"I know not what ye mean," said Edgar uncomfortably.
"I mean, are ye for the downtrodden and oppressed, or do ye uphold those who grind and ill-use the weak and helpless?"
"Certainly not the latter," cried Edgar quickly.
"Then join thyself to us, and make thyself famous in aiding a noble cause," cried the priest, his face flushing and his eyes sparkling like those of a zealot.
"What is this cause of which ye speak?" asked Edgar warily.
"It is to deliver these downtrodden folk amongst whom it is my sad lot to work. Have ye not heard of the ill fame of this Black Eustace, as he is called--and rightly called? Tell me that ye are not of his party--but I am sure ye are not, otherwise I would not have spoken so plainly."
"I am not. 'Tis but three days since I heard his name for the first time."
"Ah! then ye know not that he is the scourge of all this land, and doth kill and burn and flay without let or hindrance? He hath powerful friends, and never a thing is done when he ill-uses the poor ignorant folk who inhabit the land he calls his own. I have seen things with my own eyes that call aloud to heaven for vengeance, and yet the time cometh not."
"The country folk would then like to be rid of Sir Eustace?"
"Aye, they would like to rid themselves of him if only it were possible to poor and ill-armed men. Woe to me, a priest, that I should have to uphold the meeting of violence by violence! but I have tried to find another way and failed. I have been told that such a state as exists here exists in many other parts of France. If that be so, terrible things will be witnessed in the years to come.[1#] I cannot believe, however, that things can be so bad elsewhere as they are here, for whereas we are poor and ignorant, in other places the people are rich and powerful, and can resist oppression in many ways."
[#] The priest was right. In the rising of the "Jacquerie", which took place a few years later, dreadful scenes of violence and bloodshed were witnessed.
"Undoubtedly," murmured Edgar, nodding his head in agreement.
"But what we most lack is leaders," went on the priest in a still more earnest tone. "There is no one here, save myself, who stands out from the herd of poor miserable folk, and without leaders men with no knowledge of warfare are doubly useless. We want leaders," he reiterated in a meaning tone, fixing his eyes upon Edgar in a way that made that young man feel most uncomfortable.
"Yes, yes," replied Edgar in a soothing tone. "Doubtless the leaders ye need will be forthcoming when the time comes."
"The time has come, but the leaders are absent," cried the priest; and he was apparently about to say more when he stopped suddenly, as though with a great effort, and stared frowningly at the table.
Devoutly hoping that the priest had done and would spare them any further confidences, Edgar turned towards Peter and began to talk upon other topics. In a minute or two, however, the priest raised his head and went on:
"But what are ye here for? Ye say ye are not visitors to the castle. Yet art thou, sir, if I am not mistaken, a man trained to war, and your steeds tell the same tale. What else can there be in this remote spot that would attract thee save the castle? Thy patois is strange and unfamiliar to me, for I have travelled little; but undoubtedly thou hast journeyed here from afar."
Edgar smiled. His knowledge of the French tongue had been for the most part acquired at Wolsingham, where several had a good knowledge of it. On to this, however, had been grafted, since his arrival, a strong Gascon flavour that more than possibly assorted somewhat ill with his previous acquirements.
The priest was waiting for a reply, and Edgar quickly made up his mind to confide in him the true reason for his presence there. It was practically certain that did he not do so the priest would have him watched, and that, he felt, would be disastrous.
"Yes," he said, "I have travelled here from afar. Like you, I am at enmity with those who shelter behind the walls of Castle Ruthènes, and, like you, I seek to outmanoeuvre them. They hold prisoner one whom I must rescue at all costs." Then Edgar went on to describe briefly what had happened to Sir John, and how he had come to believe that he had been carried away to Ruthènes.
The priest listened attentively to the end. "Then your interests are identical with ours," he said in a voice which rang with triumph. "Why should ye not throw in your lot with us and aid us to fling down yon frowning battlements? Your knight shall thus be saved and my poor downtrodden folk delivered from the oppressor. Ye are trained to war, to the siege of castles, and to the command of men: take command of my people jointly with me. 'Tis a righteous cause--unhesitatingly I proclaim it."
Moved in spite of himself by the priest's deep earnestness and sincerity, Edgar for some moments could find no words with which to reply. He had heard many tales of the misery and degradation of the poorer classes of France, and their truth had been brought home by the sights that had met his gaze on the long journey thither. There could be little doubt that that unhappy condition was due in a very large measure to unjust extortion and oppression by the ruling classes. But his first duty was to Sir John.
"I fear it cannot be," he said presently. "I must accomplish the rescue of my master at once, or I may find it too late. Then, when I have delivered him, I shall be at his disposal, and can therefore make no promise of aid to thee. Your folk, if I mistake not, are not yet ready for the rising ye project. They are not organized, they have not been taught to obey any given set of signals, and they have no belief in one another. There must be weeks of patient work ere they can be led to attack a fortalice defended by trained and resolute men. Nay, victory cannot be snatched by a rising on the spur of the moment. There must be much work of patient preparation."
There was a long pause. Then the priest, his face full of trouble, rose from the bench on which he had been sitting, and began feverishly to pace the room.
"It is so," he said. "I feel it, though I am impatient to get to grips with the evildoers. I must begin at once, though when we are ready we shall still lack leaders. But mayhap ye will have failed to succour your knight, and will be glad to fall back upon our aid. Who knows?"
"Who knows, indeed? But I hope and believe not. If I have not rescued my master by then, I fear it will be because I am either dead or captured. But canst tell me aught of this castle? Is it strong? Doth it consist of a single donjon, or hath it outer walls?"
"It is an ancient castle, the origin of which is buried in the obscurity of the past. It hath a central donjon and also outer walls, most of it and all the stronger parts being built in its later days in imitation of the castles built by the Northmen in other parts of France. 'Tis strong, I know, for I have studied it with intent to discover its weakest spots."
"Hast discovered aught? I would fain learn, Sir Priest, any points that would help me in my quest. In return I will joyfully impart to you such knowledge as may come to me in my enterprise."
"I fear it hath no weak spots worthy of the name. Nothing save hard fighting can win yon fortalice, unless, as has of late been the case, the garrison wax careless from long inaction and freedom from alarums."
"Stratagem might effect its capture. It is on stratagem that I rely most for my own venture. But I would now fain bid thee good night, Sir Priest, and thank thee for thy kindly information. Perchance we shall meet again. Come, Peter!"
"Good night, Sir Squire! May ye prosper and win your way both in and out of the blood-stained lair of Black Eustace! God speed!"
CHAPTER XII
Castle Ruthènes
Early on the following day Edgar, accompanied by Peter, reconnoitred Castle Ruthènes from the shelter of the thick woods which stretched to within less than a hundred yards of its walls. In the light of his knowledge of the castles of the time, Edgar could study the stronghold with a real appreciation of its strong and weak points. Its chief characteristic was a square central donjon, apparently of great age, which towered high above the outer walls. These were somewhat low, though of a very massive build, and appeared to belong to a later date than the donjon, having probably been thrown out as an additional screen against a surprise attack.
About the walls ran a moat, fairly wide and apparently deep, formed by a stream from the mountains being dammed back and looped, so as to complete the circumference of the walls. The castle stood in a hollow, and the moat ran sluggishly at a level with the surrounding land, which was boggy and springy, as though the water often overflowed and covered it inches deep. The place seemed to reek with moisture, the walls being mossgrown and discoloured; while the thick woods, encroaching closely upon the narrow patch of grassy plain, seemed to add to the forbidding, cheerless air of the gloomy fortalice.
The outer walls were pierced in one spot only, and that was at the main gateway. Here the moat was spanned by a drawbridge of modern appearance, but Edgar could see no traces of a portcullis, its place being taken by heavy oaken gates faced with plates of iron.
Struck by the gloomy, unhealthy look of the castle, Edgar could not help exclaiming in a voice of deep concern:
"I hope, Peter, they have treated Sir John well. The dungeons of such castles usually lie deep below the level of the moat. If they have immured him in one of those I fear for him. Sir John's health hath suffered much from his many campaigns."
"I hope not, Master Edgar. But we must hasten the more to release him, though how 'tis to be done I know not."
"We, or I, might perhaps gain entrance in disguise, though that would mean a daylight entry, and we should be under observation, and could hardly hope to effect much. Besides, since the simple old priest so quickly penetrated our disguise, I have lost faith in our abilities in that direction--our tongue, I fear, betrayeth us all too quickly."
Peter nodded in agreement.
"Come, let us make the full circuit of the walls, Peter, keeping well within the shadow of the woods. So far, I can see no way in save by scaling the walls themselves."
"By a ladder?" queried Peter.
"Nay, a ladder would betray us, if not before we entered, certainly at dawn the following morning. Nay, but a rope and grapnel in patient hands should win an entrance."
"A rope and grapnel!" cried Peter. "A rope we can doubtless obtain from someone among the country folk, but where may we obtain a grapnel?"
"We can improvise one. A sword wrapped in cloths might be well lodged in the spaces betwixt those blocks on the summit of the wall--thy steel scabbard, Peter, with the rope tied to its middle, flung up and properly lodged, would easily take the weight of one of us. Ha, 'tis easy after all!"
"But could we fling scabbard and rope to the summit of the wall from the distance of the edge of the moat?"
"'Twill certainly be a long throw. Is there no place where a bank at the bottom of the wall will give us a footing? Look closely, Peter, and see if thou canst discern such a bank anywhere. If we can see none we must, when the time comes, swim the whole circle of the walls and feel for one. A footing in mud and water will serve our turn."
"I see something, Master Edgar. See--where that clump of reeds shows a foot above the water against the walls--the bottom must be near the surface there."
"Maybe--unless there be but soft mud. Look again, Peter--we must, if we can, find a place where we can swing our rope full freely."
Before the circuit of the walls had been completed, a place had been found where a low bank lay between the moat and the foot of the wall. This was hailed with satisfaction as a step in the direction of scaling the outer defences of the castle, and during the remainder of the day Edgar and Peter sat down to watch all that went on, and particularly what sentries were posted and how far their observation extended.
Ere the day was out they had made up their minds that a good watch was kept, and that the slackness referred to by the priest had either never existed or had recently, from one cause or another, been entirely removed. Two men-at-arms were always upon the walls, keeping watch from opposite angles, from which the whole extent of the outer defences could be easily surveyed. Another man was posted at the gateway, to operate the drawbridge and to keep a lookout upon all who came to claim admittance. These sentries, too, were not only present, but appeared to be watchful and alert to all that went forward. Depressed at the evidence of the keen watch kept, but elated at finding a bank from which the rope and grapnel might be cast with some chance of success, Edgar and Peter returned to the poor dwelling at which they had obtained temporary shelter, there to await the time when their first attempt should be made.
As on the evening before, the priest appeared and supped with them, more for company's sake on this occasion, it seemed, than with any desire to keep watch upon them and their movements. Feeling a good deal of confidence in the kindly, careworn face with the steady grey eyes, Edgar told the priest what they had learned and how he proposed to effect an entrance. The news that the garrison was keeping a careful watch seemed to fill the priest with surprise and some concern.
"Can it be that they have heard of your arrival?" he said. "And yet if that were so 'twould not be the posting of extra guards that I should expect, but the sally of a score of their blood-stained men-at-arms, who would pour into this village in an iron stream as they have done so often before. Ye would have been routed out, and within five minutes the branches of the nearest tree would have groaned beneath your weight. That is what has been before. Why, then, have they posted sentinels? Nothing else hath occurred save the arrival at the castle of a man who must indeed be of some consequence, seeing that he was accompanied by an escort of two men-at-arms."
"When did this man arrive?" asked Edgar quickly.
"On the morning of the day of your arrival--that is, yesterday."
"Canst describe him to me?"
"I did not see the man, and those who reported it to me, as all do the most trifling events, said that they could see little of him, as his head was swathed in bandages."
"It is he," murmured Edgar half to himself.
"Who? Whom dost mean? Dost know the man?" cried the priest sharply.
"I fear so. I think it must be this evil knight of whom I have told thee. The blow with which I worsted him in the lists at Bordeaux was severe, and I know that his head had to be much bandaged. Then before I left I learned that he had already gone. 'Tis he of a surety. He hath followed his victim."
"Can he know that thou art here?"
"I think not; but one cannot be sure, and he will guess that I would not remain idle."
"Then it is this knight, this enemy of thine, who hath caused the watch to be doubled. 'Twill be the harder for thee to find a way in by thy stratagem. Hast brought a rope with thee?"
"No. I must make enquiries and obtain one."
"I will do so for thee. Thou wilt only arouse suspicion and make folk talk. Leave it to me, Sir Squire."
Edgar thanked the priest warmly, and stipulated that it should be both light and strong. Then they went on to talk of other things, and the priest told Edgar stories of his work amongst the poor peasantry. Some were humoursome, others bright stories illustrating the homely virtues of the folk and their generosity one to another; but the greater part were tales of cruelty and oppression, which made Edgar's blood boil--tales of men tortured into revealing where their little store of worldly wealth, laid by with much self-denial, had been hidden away; and tales of men done to death for their "obstinacy", when they had no store whose whereabouts they could reveal to satisfy their relentless persecutors. It all seemed almost incredible to Edgar, until he recollected the stories he had heard handed down of the deeds done in his own land but a century or two before.
It was three days before Edgar obtained a rope that he thought gave him the least hope of success in the venture he had in hand. The good priest did all in his power, and scarce a rope in the neighbourhood but was brought in and tried. But the ropes that the peasants possessed were rough and heavy and in no way suited to Edgar's purpose. In despair, at last he saddled his steed and rode away to the nearest town and purchased one there, returning by a forced march the same day.
That same night Peter and he, accompanied by the priest, made their way into the woods surrounding Castle Ruthènes. By a stroke of good fortune the night was a favourable one. Heavy clouds shrouded the light of the moon, and made even the biggest objects loom black and indistinct. A watcher on the walls would need the sharpest eyes to see a figure at the foot, and with the comforting feeling that all was so far going in their favour the two young men took leave of the priest at the edge of the wood and stole across the narrow strip of sward.
"God be with thee!" the priest had whispered, and with a pressure of the hand that Edgar now knew to be the hand of a friend, he had bade them adieu.
The point at which they left the woods was, they knew, in a line with that part of the moat where the low bank rose at the foot of the wall, and as soon as they reached the edge of the water, both slipped noiselessly in and swam gently towards the castle walls.
Both were good swimmers, even Peter, in spite of his infirmity, having long since learned to keep himself afloat without difficulty. Edgar carried the line and the improvised grapnel, which had been well swathed in cloths to ensure its falling dully wherever it struck. He also, wore his shirt of mail and his sword. The weight was considerable, but he was too practised a swimmer for that to trouble him for a few dozen yards, and he had a decided objection to being quite defenceless when he had gained entry into the enemy's quarters.
The water struck chill. Heavy weeds that appeared almost to choke the stream clung to their legs and impeded their progress. They could see nothing save a wall of blackness that rose before them forbiddingly. All seemed to be as silent as the tomb.
They were slow in making the passage, as their one desire was to make no sound, but presently they reached the side. Touching bottom in several feet of mud, they slowly raised themselves out of the water and began to crawl up the bank.
Suddenly they were startled beyond measure by a tremendous screech and flutter which arose from right under their very noses. In their amazement and alarm they sprang back a couple of feet into deep water with a splash, and then saw, or rather heard, a flock of frightened ducks rise with a whirr and cackle from the bank and fly above their heads round the angle of the castle walls.
Deeply chagrined, the two young men crawled from the moat upon the bank and lay there listening intently. Such a mischance they had never dreamed of, and it seemed more than possible that it might have alarmed one of the guards and brought him to the spot to learn the cause of the birds' alarm. With deepest annoyance Edgar upbraided himself for not observing that a flock of half-wild ducks belonging to the castle had made a home on the bank he had counted upon in his plans.
For half an hour the two lay in the mud and water without stirring, listening with all their ears and gazing up at the outline of the top of the walls, which they could discern dimly against the sky. But the peering figures of the sentinels that they half-expected to appear never came.
"All is well after all, I think, Peter," said Edgar at last. "That was a bad start indeed, and had I not thought Sir John's need a most urgent one, I should have been tempted to try another night. But as 'tis, if any have marked the flutter and scare they have doubtless thought them due to winged enemies of the wild fowl, and not to those with intent to disturb the peace of the castle. Now let us try the powers of the line and grapnel we obtained after so much time and trouble. 'Twould be hard indeed to find them fail us now."
The outer walls were comparatively low, little more than twenty feet or so in height, and the throw of the grapnel was not a very difficult one. But it proved exceedingly difficult to obtain a lodgment with it. Time after time it was thrown with success well over the wall, but the darkness of the night forced them to fling it at random, and as soon as a strain was put upon it, down it fell again.
At last, however, it held fast even when the weight of both was tried upon it, and, overjoyed, Edgar instantly began to haul himself up hand over hand until he reached the top. Here he rested arms and shoulders on the wall while he paused a moment to listen. All was quiet, however, and drawing himself right up he signalled to Peter with the rope that all was clear for him to ascend in his turn.
In a few minutes both were safely on the wall, crouching in the deepest shadows they could find. The first stage of their enterprise had been successfully accomplished, and though cold and wet and shivering as with the ague, they felt elated that they were well on the way to the accomplishment of their formidable task.
"Draw up and coil the rope, Peter. We must take it with us, for doubtless we shall need it 'gainst our return."
Peter silently obeyed.
"Now follow me quietly, lad," and Edgar led the way softly along the wall, keeping well in the shadow, until they reached a narrow flight of stone steps that led down to the castle courtyard. Against them loomed the deep shadow of a corner turret, and, thinking that this might possibly be a likely place for a man-at-arms to be stationed on the watch, Edgar paused and listened intently.
"Forward, Peter," he whispered; "Black Eustace and his men are asleep, I verily believe."
"Black Eustace never sleeps," echoed a rough voice from the blackness of the turret, and a dark form sprang suddenly upon Edgar and nearly brought him to the ground. Other figures followed, and in a twinkling Edgar and Peter were struggling in the grip of half a dozen men.
"Slay them not--at present," commanded the deep voice of the man who had first spoken. "Bring torches and bind them well. Then shall we see who hath dared to set foot upon the walls of the castle of Eustace de Brin--Black Eustace, one of the knaves called me, did he? We shall see. Mayhap he will be right."
It was but a spring from the walls to safety, and Edgar struggled fiercely to fling off his many assailants. A desperate effort freed his right arm, and a heavy blow rid him of one of them for a time. But he was no nearer even temporary freedom, for one of the men had clutched him firmly round the waist from behind with one hand while with the other he seized him by the hair and dragged his head forcibly back. Slowly but surely, notwithstanding his most frantic efforts, Edgar found his head dragged relentlessly back until his neck seemed on the point of snapping beneath the cruel strain. To struggle on was hopeless, and, weak from his exertions and with his senses nearly gone, Edgar allowed his arms to be drawn behind his back and there secured without further resistance.
Torches were brought. One was thrust close to Edgar's face--so close that his hair was singed and his cheek scorched--and a man peered searchingly at him.