CHAPTER XXThe Last Hope"Hark!" cried Beatrice, springing from the couch on which she had passed her second night at Ruthènes. "Hark, Jeannette, the call to arms is once more sounding! Dawn is breaking, and some deadly conflict is, I feel sure, about to begin outside."From all sides indeed the blare of trumpets and the shouts of the men-at-arms, as they roused themselves from their slumbers and hastened excitedly to obey the call, resounded through the air. To one accustomed to the routine of castles it was clear that something of tremendous moment was happening, and hurrying to the little window of their chamber, Beatrice strove to catch a glimpse of what was afoot.The thickness of the walls, however, was so great that, strain as she would, she could see no more than a few feet of the courtyard about the gates, and here, save for a few men-at-arms passing to and fro, nothing unusual was going on. Upward upon the outer walls, however, men were clustering more thickly, and in a moment or two they began to busy themselves in hurling down stones upon some enemy beyond. It was evident that the castle was attacked. But De Maupas had said that Edgar Wintour was a captive: who, then, could be the enemy? Suddenly there was a tremendous thud against the walls a few yards above her head, and splinters of stone flew in all directions."Oh, the castle is being battered down!" cried Jeannette in alarm."Yes; that must have been a great stone cast by a mangonel or catapult, Jeannette. 'Twill go hard with us if one strikes here. 'Tis fortunate our window is not above the level of the outer walls.""Hist, mistress--someone is at the door!"It was true someone was at the door--someone, too, who appeared on secrecy bent, for the approach had been made without a sound and the key was being turned with the greatest caution. At last the door swung open and De Maupas entered.He appeared to be labouring under great excitement, for his bearing was nervous and his looks were disordered."Maiden," he cried, speaking rapidly, "I must have thine answer to my proposal. Wilt thou become my bride and save the lives of Sir John and his esquire? Choose quickly, for we are attacked by a cruel and infuriated peasantry, who will spare neither age nor sex. At any moment they may break through our defences, for the castle is but half-manned and the peasants are fighting like men possessed. If thou wilt consent I am able to convey you all to safety outside the castle by a secret way. Decide quickly, or it will be too late."But wouldst desert thy friend?" cried Beatrice with cool disdain. "Perchance this is some new ruse to obtain my consent to a proposal I abhor. This castle is strong--why shouldst thou be so anxious to leave it?""Lady, 'tis no ruse. Your peril is great, for as I have said, though the castle is strong the garrison is weak. More than half our men did we lose in a skirmish outside the walls but yesterday."This is brave news thou art telling me, Sir Gervaise," cried Beatrice, whose serene bearing was in such contrast to the agitation of De Maupas that their situations appeared to have been reversed. "These peasants will not make war upon the tyrant's prisoners. They will accept as friends the victims of their oppressor.""Think not so, lady," cried De Maupas vehemently. "Thou know'st not this rabble. They hate those of gentle blood with so deadly a hatred that all inside these walls who are not of themselves they will destroy. Sir John and Edgar Wintour will perish beneath the burning ruins, if they have not been dragged out of their cells and slain before the work of the torch begins."For a moment Beatrice covered her face with her hands, as though the thought appalled her. Then she answered bravely:"I prefer the mercies of the revolted peasantry to thine, Sir Gervaise. As for Sir John and his esquire, I refuse to believe that the rage of the peasants will extend even to the poor creatures buried alive in the castle dungeons. Besides----"Beatrice stopped suddenly, for loud insistent shouts for De Maupas rang within the donjon and outside in the castle courtyard."'Tis De Brin calling me," cried De Maupas savagely, as he rushed hastily to the door. "Think not that thou wilt escape me," he added vengefully over his shoulder as he left the chamber. "If the worst comes to the worst I will bear thee hence by force."A cry from Jeannette, who had gone to the window while her mistress had been parleying with De Maupas, brought back Beatrice's attention to the conflict being waged outside."The gates are down, Mistress Beatrice!" the maid cried in a voice shrill with excitement. "See, the defenders are gathering thickly in the breach."Beatrice craned her neck to see, just in time to catch the first glimpse of the great rush of the peasantry which followed closely upon the battering-in of the gates. A confused medley of fiercely-fighting men was all she could make out for some minutes, but presently, as the defenders were driven back inch by inch towards the courtyard, two figures began to stand out from the press, and she recognized with a thrill of astonishment and joy--Edgar Wintour and his servant, Peter! De Maupas had lied--and they were alive and free! Then might not Sir John also----?The fight at the gates was growing in intensity, and all her thoughts became concentrated on the exciting scene. Would they win a way through? Beatrice was a knight's daughter and could gauge a warrior's powers at a glance. She could see that the real strength of the attack lay in Edgar and Peter alone, and that the ill-armed peasantry, brave though they were, could make little impression on the mail-clad and well-disciplined men-at-arms.Nevertheless she felt, with a certainty that surprised her, that victory would at last reward the attackers and that the castle would be won. She seemed to feel that one who could play such a part as Edgar Wintour in the lists of Bordeaux was not born to be defeated here. But see!--the attackers were gathering for a last leap forward--Edgar had raised his battle cry--Hurrah! the defenders were fleeing headlong down the courtyard, and the castle was won----Ere Beatrice could cry aloud in the joy of victory, a sudden fearful change swept over the scene. From the roof of the donjon, somewhere above her head, a burning hail of molten lead swept down, and the cries of victory were quenched and smothered in a louder burst of screams and wails. So dreadful were the anguished cries of many of the poor creatures, scorched and withered by the burning blast, that Beatrice, completely unnerved, cowered down upon the floor and wept.Jeannette replaced her at the lattice and, with many ejaculations of disappointment, told of the charge of the armour-clad horsemen and the defeat and destruction of the broken remnants of the gallant peasants. Of Edgar and Peter she could see nothing. Knowing how loath they would be to flee, Beatrice felt, with a crushing sense of sorrow and disappointment, that even if they had escaped the showers of molten lead they must of a certainty have been overwhelmed and slain by the charging horsemen.She was aroused from her prostration by another cry from Jeannette, who had turned from the window and was hearkening, not to the clangour outside, but to a noise that had attracted her attention within the donjon."It must be De Maupas," she cried excitedly. "I hear footsteps--doubtless it is De Maupas returning to press his suit now that the peasants are destroyed?"Beatrice jumped quickly to her feet. Her prostration had vanished, and she faced the door with her eyes flashing and her little hands clenched. Jeannette could see that something had roused her beyond measure."Let not De Maupas approach me after slaying my poor friends!" she cried, stamping her foot with anger. "Refuse him admittance--tell him I abhor him and will not see him."Jeannette fled to do her bidding. As she reached the door, however, it suddenly opened and a man strode hastily in, brushing aside the hand which the maid put out to detain him. It was Edgar Wintour.At the sight of him Beatrice gave a gasp and looked as though she were about to fall. Edgar darted instantly to her side and took her gently by the arms. "Come, Beatrice," he cried, with breathless rapidity. "Our cause is lost, but if thou wilt trust thyself to me I will strive yet to save thee. The hope is indeed faint, but at the worst if I fail they can but compel me to surrender thee again."[Illustration: "'COME, BEATRICE, I WILL STRIVE YET TO SAVE THEE.'"(missing from book)"I would come," replied Beatrice vehemently, "though there had been no hope. But how canst dream of escape when the courtyard is held by the enemy?""Because a few days since a secret way led from out this donjon beneath courtyard and moat into the shelter of the woods. If 'tis not destroyed we may yet escape thence.""It is not destroyed," cried Beatrice triumphantly. "'Tis but an hour since De Maupas besought me to let him bear me to safety through it.""Then we shall yet escape," cried Edgar joyously. "Come--no more delay, for even now Black Eustace and his men are thundering at the gate. Onward, Peter--bring Jeannette, for we must be gone."He sprang to the door and, taking Beatrice by the hand, hurried her along the passages towards the stone staircase by which he had escaped with Sir John but a few days before. As they passed the main stairway leading to the gate, the sound of axe and hammer strokes reverberating upwards made him pause."The door is giving way," he cried anxiously. "I fear they will be hotfoot upon our track in a few moments." Raising his voice he bade Peter hasten and hurried his companion on downwards to the vaults below. Scarcely had they reached them when there was a sudden crash from above, followed by a roar of savage cheers.At the dread sound, Jeannette gave a scream of terror and almost collapsed."Hush!" cried Edgar sharply. "Dost wish to bring them upon us? Be silent as the tomb, or we are lost."In another moment they reached the level of the dungeons and were within sight of the flight of steps leading downwards to the door of the underground passage. Most anxiously Edgar gazed before him into the gloom. It might well be that a guard had been posted.No sign of a guard was to be seen, but a barricade of some sort appeared to have been erected at the head of the stairs. Could it be that the way was blocked after all? Running quickly to the spot, Edgar saw that what he had taken to be a barricade was a pile of great blocks of stone, similar to those heaped about the staircase, no doubt placed ready to fling down and block the way of an enemy advancing through the underground passage. The steps themselves were clear, and with a deep sigh of relief Edgar turned to his companions and once more bade them hasten.There was of a truth no time to lose. The cheers from above had died away, but the more ominous rattle and clank of armed and mail-clad men advancing down the winding staircase was to be heard in its place. It was clear that De Brin or De Maupas had guessed that Edgar's object in taking refuge in the keep had been to escape by the underground passage, and that they were seeking him first in that direction. A bare half-minute would see them upon the scene."Canst not hew down the door?" cried Peter, as Edgar hesitated for a moment."Take my axe and give me thy sword," replied Edgar curtly. "Do thou hew it down while I defend the passage against our pursuers. Thou shalt save time. On, Peter, on!"Peter seized the axe, sprang down the steps, and without an instant's pause attacked the door. After the first blow he gave a startled exclamation."What is it?" cried Edgar, turning as he was about to advance towards the enemy now almost at the foot of the stone stairway."The door is open!" cried Peter in an awed tone. "I fear a trap!""Either 'tis a trap or there is a sentinel stationed at the farther end," cried Edgar. "But we cannot now draw back. Onward, lad, and win a way through. Maidens, I beseech ye heed not the darkness but descend and follow closely upon Peter."Peter moved onwards into the gloomy cavern, followed by the shrinking maidens, while Edgar stayed where he was, leaning quietly against the blocks of stone. For all his easy posture, the half darkness of the underground passage hid a face grown pale and anxious, for the peril in which the party now stood was extreme. It was not the advance of the body of men, who, carrying torches and headed by Sir Eustace de Brin in person, were now bearing rapidly down upon him, that filled him with anxiety. These he was prepared to oppose with the utmost desperation. It was the thought that sentinels might be posted at the farther end of the tunnel, and that Peter might be unable to cleave a way to freedom with his charges, that made his heart sink with a sickening feeling of dread.CHAPTER XXIThrough the DarknessMeanwhile events were moving with equal rapidity above-ground. The charge of Sir Eustace and his men-at-arms across the filled-in moat had completely dispersed the last of the peasants still remaining in the open. The priest had done his best to rally his men and to resist the horsemen, but his followers were infected by the panic which had seized upon those who had been engaged in storming the gates, and would not stand. He himself was wounded and must have been slain had not several of the more courageous of his band seized him and dragged him into the woods by force.Once in the thickets the peasants were safe, and, realizing the folly of pursuing them with so small a force as he had at his disposal, De Brin contented himself with leading his men against the peasants still working at the mangonels. These fled hastily at his approach, and his men promptly proceeded to heap faggots around the machines. A light was procured, and, amid the cheers of the men-at-arms, the flames shot up until the engines were in the midst of a huge bonfire.At this moment De Maupas spurred rapidly from out the castle and sought De Brin. His vizor was raised, and on his face was a look of savage joy. "Ho, there, Eustace!" he cried. "Their leader, this Edgar Wintour, hath taken refuge in the donjon. Doubtless he hopeth to escape through the underground passage. Quick, close this end, and he will be snugly trapped!""Ha, ha!" laughed De Brin. "If 'tis so, then he hath saved us much trouble, and mayhap provided us with some rare sport. Do thou, De Maupas, remain here, and see that he receiveth a warm reception if he seeketh to emerge this end. I, for my part, will see that his hot blood runs chilly in his veins before we have done with him. Ha, ha! But first we must seal him up completely within the cavern."With a look of cruel anticipation upon his face that might of itself have chilled Edgar's blood had he been there to see it, Black Eustace spurred back through the gates and took charge of the men already engaged in hewing down the door of the donjon. As soon as the door showed signs of weakening, he drew aside two of the men and sent them on an errand that took them outside the walls.Here the men looked about them for some moments before seizing upon one of the big ladders constructed by the peasants. The uprights were thick and strong, and one of these was knocked away from the crosspieces and the end carefully pointed. For what purpose these preparations were made was not apparent, but, from the haste with which the men completed their work, it seemed that they had at least some connection with the plight of the two fugitives in the castle donjon.De Maupas had for some moments gazed thoughtfully around him before he set about his part of the task of destroying the fugitives. His eyes fell upon the great bonfire which now marked the spot whence the mangonels had discharged their deadly missiles, and with a grim smile he directed the men about him to pick up some of the big bundles of brushwood that had been left over when the filling-in of the moat had been accomplished. Then he led the way to the tiny glade where the tree with the hollow trunk had stood when Edgar had escaped with Sir John a short time before. Pointing to a certain spot in the ground, he directed his men to fling down their bundles and scoop away the earth. A large flagstone was soon disclosed, and on its being lifted a black pit, down which led a flight of steep stone steps, yawned before them. Kneeling, De Maupas called:"Bruyard! Ho, there! Bruyard!"After a moment's pause, a muffled voice replied:"Who calleth?""De Maupas. Come hither!"The noise of the opening and shutting of a door next ascended to the ears of the men above, and presently a man-at-arms appeared. He climbed the steep steps in leisurely fashion, and then stood blinking in the sunlight."What is it ye want, Sir Knight?" he asked surlily."Hast locked the door?" asked De Maupas impatiently."Nay, I have not. What need, if the enemy is driven off?""No matter," replied De Maupas shortly. "Come, men, pile your faggots about these steps, and hasten back for more. We will make a merry blaze, for I expect visitors from yon dismal depths. Pile the faggots high, and let us see if they will escape by the secret way a second time."With a roar of savage enjoyment the men hastened to obey. They now saw the object of the move, and with many a joke to one another they hauled great bundles of wood to the fatal spot with every sign of gusto.A brand was brought from the blazing mangonels, and the pile ignited. It blazed up and burned fiercely. Heavier and thicker pieces of wood were then flung on until the exit from the tunnel was ringed about with a veritable wall of fire. Satisfied that any man who attempted to plunge through such a furnace must perish miserably, De Maupas strolled up and down, awaiting with some impatience the news that the fugitives had indeed taken refuge in the tunnel, and that De Brin had succeeded in sealing up the castle end.As he paced the greensward he noticed the two men who had been sent upon an errand by De Brin. They were just then busily engaged in sharpening the end of a long thick pole which they had obtained."What is this?" asked De Maupas. "Who set ye on to this, and for what purpose?""De Brin," replied one of the men laconically, giving his thumb a jerk in the direction of the castle gates. Then he indicated the moat, and ejaculated: "Cold water."De Maupas stared at the man for a moment in some perplexity. Then the truth dawned upon him, and he went off into a fit of laughter."Ha, ha! Now I see what De Brin meant. Chill his hot blood--ha, ha! But even he knoweth not the final reception we have prepared for his uninvited guests. Ha, ha, ha!"* * * * *"Yield thyself!" cried De Brin, bearing down upon Edgar as he stood, sword in hand, at the head of the stairs leading to the underground tunnel. "Yield thyself, for thou art trapped!""I will yield myself when thou hast vanquished me, De Brin," replied Edgar, fencing vigorously as their blades clashed together. "How hast thou trapped me?""Thou seekest to escape through the passage, as once before. Know then that the farther end is guarded by thine enemy, De Maupas, and a dozen men. Thy friend, the priest, and all his flock are in full flight, and all is lost."Edgar could not but believe. He had hoped that his pursuers would ransack the donjon for him before coming to the conclusion that he had flown to the tunnel for refuge. But unfortunately for him they had guessed that he would make for the passage, and had sealed it up. And with him were the two maidens.The responsibility of their charge was crushing. Had there been only Peter he would, with a light heart enough, have dashed for the farther end in an attempt to break through, though to be unsuccessful was death. But his heart almost failed him when he thought of the terrible situation of the ladies. In his preoccupation he gave ground before De Brin's onslaught, and in a minute or two was driven back to the head of the flight of steps. Here he stood his ground for a few moments, and then, after feinting fiercely and compelling De Brin to give back, sprang down the steps to the open door below.At this moment a man-at-arms pressed through the body of men about their leader, and whispered a few words in the knight's ear.The effect was electrical."Ho, there! Edgar Wintour!" cried De Brin furiously. "Madman that thou art, they tell me that thou hast carried away the lady Beatrice and her maid with thee. 'Tis to certain death thou art dragging them. Yield them up, fool! There is escape neither for them nor for thee.""If thou wilt promise to let them ride hence in peace, I will yield them up," replied Edgar quickly."Bah!" cried De Brin. "Thou hast yet to learn how completely thou art trapped. Let this teach thee!"As he spoke the black knight set his weight against one of the huge blocks of stone piled by the head of the flight of steps. It moved, and bounded down the slope with tremendous weight and force. Luckily for Edgar it struck the massive doorpost, and did not come full into the doorway, or he must have been struck down and perhaps killed outright. Dreading lest such a mass of stone should bound along the tunnel and perhaps reach the ladies, our hero whipped the door to and put his weight against it.Somewhat to Edgar's surprise, De Brin made no attempt to force the door, but instead ordered his men to hurl down upon it the piled-up blocks of stone. For some minutes a perfect avalanche of these rolled and bounded down upon the door, and every minute Edgar feared that it would be burst open. In the hope of adding a little to its strength he kept his weight against it, though the shock of each stone jarred him to the bone. At last the well formed by the steps began to be filled, and the jar and shock lessened until but a slight tremor followed as the rocks were still flung down. Soon the work was complete, and the castle end of the passage was blocked by a mass of stone that it would take hours' work by a score of men to clear away.There was no more to be done there, and with a heavy heart Edgar left the door, and made his way along the tunnel. In the far distance a light had sprung up, and he guessed that Peter had managed to obtain a spark and had lit one of the torches they had been careful to snatch from the wall before they left the upper room."What was that dreadful noise?" asked Beatrice anxiously, as Edgar joined them. "It echoed along the passage until we thought giants indeed must be battering at the door.""Nay, 'tis worse even than that, Beatrice," replied Edgar solemnly. "They have hurled down stones and walled us in.""Well, is not that good news? They cannot pursue, and if we hasten we shall escape before they can cut off our retreat. Peter telleth me that we are almost through this dreadful passage.""They have already cut off our retreat, Beatrice," replied Edgar. "Like a fool, I have brought thee into nothing but a trap. De Brin taunted me that the farther end was guarded, and I fear 'tis true. I had hoped that ye would all have been out long ere this. What hath delayed thee, Peter? The little chance that once we had hath, I fear, gone for ever."We came upon some obstruction in the passage, Master Edgar," replied Peter earnestly, "and I dared not go on with the ladies in the darkness, not knowing what pitfalls might lie in wait for us. I stopped to light a torch, and my flint and steel work none too fast in this damp and dismal dungeon. But here is the door, and I see no sentinel.""Was yon great chest the obstruction? Didst open it?""Nay, I would not stop. Shall I go batter it in?""Nay, let us press on and test the strength of the guard about this end. Perchance, after all, when the good priest heareth the sound of a conflict, he may bring down some of his men and make an attack. We might then break through. Come, hew down that door.""How stifling is this passage, Edgar!" cried Beatrice appealingly. "The heat is becoming dreadful. Whence cometh it?""I cannot understand it," replied Edgar, whose face, in spite of his brave words of hope, had grown grey and pinched. "No such heat was here when last we-- But see!--what is that light that glinteth beneath the door? Give me the axe, Peter! Something is going on beyond that barrier that giveth me fears I never felt before."Swinging the axe with feverish impatience, he smote the lock with tremendous force. The door instantly flew open, and a glare of light and a wave of hot air burst in upon them, blinding and scorching them so fiercely that, with one impulse, they fled backwards a dozen paces into the shelter or the passage."What is this--dreadful fate--thou hast brought us into, Edgar?" cried Beatrice in gasps, as Jeannette sank to the ground by her side in a deep swoon. "Are we, then, to be choked and scorched alive?""Reproach me not, Beatrice," replied Edgar in a tremulous voice, almost unmanned by the terrible plight into which he had unwittingly brought the two maidens. "I told thee the hope of escape was faint, but I never dreamed that such a fearful end might be in store for us.""Forgive me, Edgar," cried Beatrice impulsively, placing her hand gently on the young esquires arm. "I was overhasty in my alarm. I am a warrior's daughter, and I will not play the coward again.""'Tis nothing. Myself I shall not forgive," muttered Edgar. In his prostration he had sunk back against the wall, his arms resting on the haft of his great axe and his head bowed down upon them. For a few minutes he was silent with the silence of despair. Then he resolutely roused himself from his stupor. "Come," he said, "we are in no immediate danger here, except it be from stifling. Let us retreat back beneath the moat. It will be cooler there."Headed by Peter with the torch, the little party threaded its way in dumb despair back into the deeper recesses of the tunnel, Edgar bearing the limp form of the insensible Jeannette. On arriving at the spot where the great iron-bound chest half-blocked the passage, Peter halted and proposed that they should seat themselves. Jeannette was laid upon the top of the box and Beatrice took her seat upon it, while Edgar and Peter stood at her side, conversing in low tones upon the hopeless situation in which they found themselves. The spot at which they had halted was, as near as they could judge, beneath the castle moat, and the air was far cooler than at the end towards the fire."At least they cannot reach us," said Edgar presently. "The fire which bars our escape equally bars their attack. If they have no desire to encounter us hand to hand beneath the ground, they will have to keep the fires burning night and day.""That will not be difficult with the woods so close at hand," replied Peter, shaking his head. "They will know that after a day or two we shall be weakened by hunger and thirst.""But if the priest liveth he will guess the reason of these great fires, and will gather men to harass De Brin. They will find it hard to maintain themselves.""I fear the Father will be dead. When De Brin and his men swept across the broken drawbridge, doubtless he would head the peasants. Who so likely to be slain?""Hark!" exclaimed Beatrice suddenly. "Surely that is the sound of knocking I hear above my head?"Both men ceased talking and listened intently.A slow and measured beat could be heard distinctly. Even as they listened it seemed to increase in volume, until it sounded as though someone were striking the roof above their heads with a muffled sledge.Peter stared at his young master wide-eyed. Stout-hearted and faithful though he was, even he seemed to have been struck with fear at last."They are----" he began."Hush!" whispered Edgar warningly, turning away and again leaning head and arms on the haft of his great axe."What is it, Edgar?" asked Beatrice softly, placing her hand gently on the young man's shoulder. "Hide it not from me. Thou wilt, I hope, find that I can show fortitude when need be.""I doubt it not," replied Edgar in a breaking voice. "But can I bring thee to such a pass and see thee perish unmoved?""But what is it?" reiterated Beatrice appealingly. "What meaneth this knocking which grows louder every moment? Look! The very wall seems to shake beneath these mysterious blows.""Aye. It meaneth, Beatrice, that Black Eustace or blacker De Maupas is driving in the tunnel where it passes beneath the moat. Doubtless they are using an iron bar or a baulk of wood. Their unknightly and shameful plot is to drown us like rats, or to compel us to run the gauntlet of their fires. A few minutes and one or other fate is ours."Horror-struck, Beatrice gazed at the roof of the passage, now perceptibly quivering beneath the blows from above. Already the water was trickling in between the widening cracks of the masonry and running in tiny streams down the wall to their feet. Once a block of stone had been driven in, an onrush of water must ensue that would quickly fill the tunnel. Though the dam that had held up the waters of the moat had been broken down, the stream water still flowed in volume sufficient to fill the tunnel a hundred times over."I must return to the mouth of the tunnel and seek speech with De Brin," cried Edgar, suddenly starting to his feet after contemplating the widening cracks in gloomy silence. "Better that thou shouldst wed De Maupas, evil fate though it be, than that thou shouldst perish thus miserably here.""Nay, Edgar," replied Beatrice firmly. "Thou shalt do no such thing. 'Tis for me to say which fate is the better, and I elect to perish here among friends rather than to live elsewhere among enemies. Calm thyself and fret not at this mischance.Ireproach thee not."In spite of his agitation, Edgar could not help gazing in sheer admiration at his companion. She seemed the calmest and most unconcerned of the three. His attention was then caught by Peter's movements.The lad had, half-absentmindedly, prized open with his dagger a loose board near the top of the great chest. He had then plunged in his hand and taken out a handful of its contents, which seemed to be merely black dry earth. Holding the substance close to the torch, he examined it in some perplexity."What hast thou there, Peter?" eagerly asked Edgar, in whose mind a suspicion of the truth had already begun to dawn."I know not. 'Tis a handful of black grains, of which the chest seems full.""Ha!" ejaculated Edgar with a gasp of excitement, reaching out and drawing Peter's hand to him. "'Tis that mysterious new powder of which we have heard of late. It possesseth a strange and mighty power which some think will bring great changes. I have heard it said[#] that it showeth promise of becoming a force to be reckoned with in warfare, even by knights clad in full armour."[#] Gunpowder was used at Crécy shortly afterwards. It had, of course, been used in battle by the Venetians years before."What doth it here?" asked Peter, glancing at the chest with sudden awe."'Twas not here when last we came this way, and perchance Black Eustace, hearing of the unrest among his vassals, thought to overawe them by this strange and wellnigh supernatural force. Our sudden attack, and the rapid blows we never ceased to strike, have given him no opportunity to make use of his dread possession. Lift down the maid, Peter, and let us prize open the lid."Peter obeyed, and in a moment the great chest lay open before them. It was full almost to the brim with the little black grains."A way of escape is opening before us!" cried Edgar, in a voice which vibrated with a new and mighty hope. "Beatrice, wilt thou permit us to leave thee and thy maid while we make a last attempt to carve a way to freedom? The risk is great, and it may well prove that we shall burst in the gates of death rather than wedge open those of life. But to remain here is to abandon hope."For a moment Beatrice hesitated. The thought of being left alone with the insensible Jeannette in the gloomy tunnel evidently terrified her. In a moment or two, however, she answered bravely: "I will stay, Edgar.""Then follow to the far end. We will leave thee a torch. Come, Peter, not an instant is to be lost--see how the water begins to gush through in streams!"Rapidly Beatrice and Jeannette were conveyed to the castle end of the passage. Then the two young men sped quickly back to the great chest, replaced the lid, and lifted and carried it along in the opposite direction. Soon they reached the place where the door stood open, admitting the glare and heat of the great fires burning fiercely above."Set this down for a moment," cried Edgar, dragging the door to. He then seized his axe and attacked the hinges which held it in position. A dozen heavy blows rained down with the fierce rapidity of one fighting for his life, and the door fell outwards with a crash, letting in again the fierce glare which had been momentarily shut out.As the door fell, the sound of cheers, followed by loud laughter, became audible. Evidently the thunder of the axe strokes had reached the ears of the men above, and had been received by them as evidence that the fugitives, driven frantic by the fear of an inrush of water, had thoughts of making an effort to break through the ring of fire."Wilt yield thee now, braggart esquire?" rang out the stentorian voice of De Brin, high above the crackling of the fires."Doubtless--an he gets the chance," answered De Maupas with a loud laugh of derision.The sally was received with a roar of laughter from the assembled men-at-arms, whose enjoyment of the anticipated proceedings seemed great. At last they were obtaining some return for the alarms and defeats inflicted upon them by the despised peasantry."We shall see," muttered Edgar to himself as he darted out into the blazing heat about the steps, lifted the door, and bore it back into the tunnel. Then he again darted out, and with quick swings of the foot scattered the heap of burning brands at the foot of the steps until a space was cleared. The heat was great--wellnigh insupportable."Now, Peter," he gasped, once more bounding back into the partial shelter of the passage, "aid me to carry the chest to the foot of the steps. 'Tis our last and only hope."Livid with superstition and fear, Peter obeyed. The box was quickly lifted to the foot of the steps and there set down. Then Peter darted back into the tunnel and Edgar followed, grasping the door as he passed and carrying it along with him.The peril was tremendous, for at any moment the burning brands which dropped and rolled down the steps with every puff of wind might set light to the box and explode its contents. Knowing this, Edgar strained every nerve to put as much space between himself and the fires as possible. Half the length of the passage was traversed in safety, and then, with the thought of Beatrice in his mind, he called Peter back and raised the door upright so that it nearly closed the tunnel."Aid me to hold it thus, Peter. Set all thy weight against it. Perchance we may then keep the flame from penetrating to our charges. I know not much of this powder, but I fear the explosion will be terrible."For nearly half a minute the two young men waited, holding the massive door in position. Then with a mighty roar and flash the explosion came. The noise was terrific, and the shock made the very earth tremble. The door was blown back flat, dashing the two young men to the ground like straws, and a rush of hot air sped over them like a hurricane. Jumping to their feet the instant it had passed, they lifted the door back into position and held it there, choking and gasping with the thick fumes and smoke of the fiery blast.For a moment there was a calm, followed by the ominous sound of falling objects as the rocks, flung into the air by the explosion, dropped heavily back to the ground. Then all was still again."Prop this in position while we go back and see how fared the lady Beatrice," gasped Edgar. "If all is well with her, I believe we may yet win through to safety."Back through the passage beneath the moat, now knee-deep in water, the young men pressed. The torch had been blown out by the rush of air, and all was pitchy dark."Beatrice! Beatrice!" shouted Edgar loudly."Here--I am safe--but in sore distress," came the reply, and with a cry of triumph Edgar sprang to her side.Half-choked by the smoke and fumes, with torch blown out and knee-deep in water, Beatrice's heart had almost failed her, not knowing how her friends had fared exposed to the nearer shock of the dread explosion. Had they perished, her plight and that of poor Jeannette, whom she bore in her arms, would have been mournful indeed.Burning with a desire to see the last of the passage which had almost become their tomb, Edgar lifted Jeannette without a word, grasped Beatrice by the hand, and stumbled back along the tunnel, Peter going on ahead. A faint light could be seen gleaming in the distance, and full of hope that the way lay open to the sky, they pressed on faster and faster.Two-thirds of the length of the passage had been traversed when they encountered great heaps of fallen earth and masonry, over the top of which the gleam of daylight dimly struggled. Crawling and scrambling on all-fours as best they could, they made their way onward still, until at last they emerged into the open air in the midst of a great pit torn in the earth by the force of the explosion.The air was still sultry with the heat of the fires, burning embers and blackened branches lay strewn about in all directions, and a thin veil of smoke lay over all. But not a sign of life was there, save upon the walls of the castle, where one or two figures could be seen peeping fearfully over the battlements.Clambering up the side of the pit, the little party plunged hurriedly into the woods. The fate of the soldiery who had revelled about the fires they knew not, but they had no mind to be recaptured after all the terrors and privations they had endured. Even when well within the shelter of the woods, they still pressed breathlessly onward until they met a party of the peasants approaching the scene of the strange explosion with slow and timid steps. At the sight of Edgar's party they stopped and made as though to flee."Where is Father Armand?" cried Edgar quickly. "Fear not--we are flesh and blood. Take us to Father Armand--if he still lives."With their fear changed into amazement the peasants clustered about the fugitives with every manifestation of joy and gladness. Then, at Edgar's repeated request, they led the way for a few hundred yards through the woods to where a larger number of the peasantry were gathered, doubtless awaiting the report of their scouts before venturing to approach the scene of the explosion. In their midst, supporting himself against the trunk of a tree, was Father Armand. At the sight of Edgar and his companions he gave a cry of pleasure, and, wounded as he was, made shift to stumble towards them with hands eagerly outstretched."All hope had I given up of seeing you again," he cried in a voice trembling with emotion. "I feared that you had stayed to fight on, and had been beaten down at last. Thank God you are safe!""Thank God indeed!" replied Edgar reverently, "for were it not for a strange discovery at the last moment we must have met a dreadful fate. Almost we were spent.""That dread noise and quaking of the earth was it then thy doing?""Aye, Father; but of that I will tell thee later. Canst now have these maidens taken to a place of calm and safety, where some of the peasant women may minister to them? They have been through a trial this day that might well shake the courage of men used to facing death in many forms.""They shall be taken to the cave, and there treated with loving care and hospitality," cried the priest; and calling two of his men he sent them off running to the village. Soon they were back with two women, who took charge of the maidens, and set out with them for the shelter of the cave.With the departure of the ladies, Edgar's thoughts turned again to the task still remaining unaccomplished. Their enemies had no doubt been thrown into a panic by the strange and unexpected explosion, and, though exhausted and nerve-shaken, he felt reluctant to lose an opportunity of subduing them before they had had time to recover. So he proposed to Father Armand that he should lead those among the peasantry whose courage was still unbroken to the attack of the castle once more. The spirits of the depressed peasants had risen considerably at the appearance of the second of their leaders, and when the priest called for volunteers to follow Edgar nearly all responded.Without a moment's delay, and straight forward to the gates of the castle, Edgar led the men. Crossing the filled-in moat, the band pressed through the gateway, and found their way barred by the merest handful of the defenders of the castle. At the first attack these, dumbfounded and dispirited, threw down their arms and surrendered.Directing several men to take charge of the prisoners and to treat them well, Edgar next made for the door of the keep. This again was weakly defended, and he realized that almost without a stroke the castle had been won. What, then, could have become of De Brin and De Maupas? Could they have perished in the explosion?Questioning the prisoners, Edgar found that only a bare half-dozen of burnt and panic-stricken men had succeeded in making their way back into the castle from the circle of fires in the woods. From none of these could news be obtained of their leaders, and it could only be concluded that they had been blown to pieces in company with the major part of their followers.Desirous of avoiding the giving-up of the castle to promiscuous plunder, Edgar posted a guard at the gates, and withdrew with the rest of the band to the woods. Amid the rapturous cheers of the peasantry he reported their success to Father Armand. The good priest was indeed overjoyed to hear that the power of the oppressors of his flock was broken at last, and that no more bloodshed need be incurred.With Edgar's desire to prevent indiscriminate plundering he heartily agreed, and a plan was quickly arranged by which all that was useful and valuable in the castle might be saved and used for the common good, and the building then be razed to the ground.This arrangement was carried out to the letter, and in a day or two the site which had been disgraced by the grim Castle of Ruthènes bore nothing but a heap of tumbled ruins. No more could the mercenaries of the castle sally out and burn and destroy without let or hindrance, and no more need the poor villagers live in hourly dread of violence and extortion.The survivors of the garrison were given the choice of settling down in the neighbourhood, where they could be kept under observation, or of being conducted over the mountains into Spain, well out of harm's way. Most elected to take the former offer, and were soon living on good terms with their erstwhile enemies.As Father Armand and Edgar well knew, such summary justice might in ordinary times have brought a fresh body of soldiery to the spot, intent to rivet a yoke, perchance every whit as irksome, afresh upon their necks. But the confusion caused by the invasion of the English was so great that they had hopes that it might pass unnoticed.Indeed, the invasion of the English was followed closely by the fearful depredations of the Free Companies and the general insurrection of the peasantry. Convulsed by these successive blows, France had little time or energy to spare for internal affairs, and if the news of the capture of Ruthènes ever reached the ears of the authorities, they were too much occupied to take any action, and the matter was allowed to fade into the obscurity of the past.
CHAPTER XX
The Last Hope
"Hark!" cried Beatrice, springing from the couch on which she had passed her second night at Ruthènes. "Hark, Jeannette, the call to arms is once more sounding! Dawn is breaking, and some deadly conflict is, I feel sure, about to begin outside."
From all sides indeed the blare of trumpets and the shouts of the men-at-arms, as they roused themselves from their slumbers and hastened excitedly to obey the call, resounded through the air. To one accustomed to the routine of castles it was clear that something of tremendous moment was happening, and hurrying to the little window of their chamber, Beatrice strove to catch a glimpse of what was afoot.
The thickness of the walls, however, was so great that, strain as she would, she could see no more than a few feet of the courtyard about the gates, and here, save for a few men-at-arms passing to and fro, nothing unusual was going on. Upward upon the outer walls, however, men were clustering more thickly, and in a moment or two they began to busy themselves in hurling down stones upon some enemy beyond. It was evident that the castle was attacked. But De Maupas had said that Edgar Wintour was a captive: who, then, could be the enemy? Suddenly there was a tremendous thud against the walls a few yards above her head, and splinters of stone flew in all directions.
"Oh, the castle is being battered down!" cried Jeannette in alarm.
"Yes; that must have been a great stone cast by a mangonel or catapult, Jeannette. 'Twill go hard with us if one strikes here. 'Tis fortunate our window is not above the level of the outer walls."
"Hist, mistress--someone is at the door!"
It was true someone was at the door--someone, too, who appeared on secrecy bent, for the approach had been made without a sound and the key was being turned with the greatest caution. At last the door swung open and De Maupas entered.
He appeared to be labouring under great excitement, for his bearing was nervous and his looks were disordered.
"Maiden," he cried, speaking rapidly, "I must have thine answer to my proposal. Wilt thou become my bride and save the lives of Sir John and his esquire? Choose quickly, for we are attacked by a cruel and infuriated peasantry, who will spare neither age nor sex. At any moment they may break through our defences, for the castle is but half-manned and the peasants are fighting like men possessed. If thou wilt consent I am able to convey you all to safety outside the castle by a secret way. Decide quickly, or it will be too late.
"But wouldst desert thy friend?" cried Beatrice with cool disdain. "Perchance this is some new ruse to obtain my consent to a proposal I abhor. This castle is strong--why shouldst thou be so anxious to leave it?"
"Lady, 'tis no ruse. Your peril is great, for as I have said, though the castle is strong the garrison is weak. More than half our men did we lose in a skirmish outside the walls but yesterday.
"This is brave news thou art telling me, Sir Gervaise," cried Beatrice, whose serene bearing was in such contrast to the agitation of De Maupas that their situations appeared to have been reversed. "These peasants will not make war upon the tyrant's prisoners. They will accept as friends the victims of their oppressor."
"Think not so, lady," cried De Maupas vehemently. "Thou know'st not this rabble. They hate those of gentle blood with so deadly a hatred that all inside these walls who are not of themselves they will destroy. Sir John and Edgar Wintour will perish beneath the burning ruins, if they have not been dragged out of their cells and slain before the work of the torch begins."
For a moment Beatrice covered her face with her hands, as though the thought appalled her. Then she answered bravely:
"I prefer the mercies of the revolted peasantry to thine, Sir Gervaise. As for Sir John and his esquire, I refuse to believe that the rage of the peasants will extend even to the poor creatures buried alive in the castle dungeons. Besides----"
Beatrice stopped suddenly, for loud insistent shouts for De Maupas rang within the donjon and outside in the castle courtyard.
"'Tis De Brin calling me," cried De Maupas savagely, as he rushed hastily to the door. "Think not that thou wilt escape me," he added vengefully over his shoulder as he left the chamber. "If the worst comes to the worst I will bear thee hence by force."
A cry from Jeannette, who had gone to the window while her mistress had been parleying with De Maupas, brought back Beatrice's attention to the conflict being waged outside.
"The gates are down, Mistress Beatrice!" the maid cried in a voice shrill with excitement. "See, the defenders are gathering thickly in the breach."
Beatrice craned her neck to see, just in time to catch the first glimpse of the great rush of the peasantry which followed closely upon the battering-in of the gates. A confused medley of fiercely-fighting men was all she could make out for some minutes, but presently, as the defenders were driven back inch by inch towards the courtyard, two figures began to stand out from the press, and she recognized with a thrill of astonishment and joy--Edgar Wintour and his servant, Peter! De Maupas had lied--and they were alive and free! Then might not Sir John also----?
The fight at the gates was growing in intensity, and all her thoughts became concentrated on the exciting scene. Would they win a way through? Beatrice was a knight's daughter and could gauge a warrior's powers at a glance. She could see that the real strength of the attack lay in Edgar and Peter alone, and that the ill-armed peasantry, brave though they were, could make little impression on the mail-clad and well-disciplined men-at-arms.
Nevertheless she felt, with a certainty that surprised her, that victory would at last reward the attackers and that the castle would be won. She seemed to feel that one who could play such a part as Edgar Wintour in the lists of Bordeaux was not born to be defeated here. But see!--the attackers were gathering for a last leap forward--Edgar had raised his battle cry--Hurrah! the defenders were fleeing headlong down the courtyard, and the castle was won----
Ere Beatrice could cry aloud in the joy of victory, a sudden fearful change swept over the scene. From the roof of the donjon, somewhere above her head, a burning hail of molten lead swept down, and the cries of victory were quenched and smothered in a louder burst of screams and wails. So dreadful were the anguished cries of many of the poor creatures, scorched and withered by the burning blast, that Beatrice, completely unnerved, cowered down upon the floor and wept.
Jeannette replaced her at the lattice and, with many ejaculations of disappointment, told of the charge of the armour-clad horsemen and the defeat and destruction of the broken remnants of the gallant peasants. Of Edgar and Peter she could see nothing. Knowing how loath they would be to flee, Beatrice felt, with a crushing sense of sorrow and disappointment, that even if they had escaped the showers of molten lead they must of a certainty have been overwhelmed and slain by the charging horsemen.
She was aroused from her prostration by another cry from Jeannette, who had turned from the window and was hearkening, not to the clangour outside, but to a noise that had attracted her attention within the donjon.
"It must be De Maupas," she cried excitedly. "I hear footsteps--doubtless it is De Maupas returning to press his suit now that the peasants are destroyed?"
Beatrice jumped quickly to her feet. Her prostration had vanished, and she faced the door with her eyes flashing and her little hands clenched. Jeannette could see that something had roused her beyond measure.
"Let not De Maupas approach me after slaying my poor friends!" she cried, stamping her foot with anger. "Refuse him admittance--tell him I abhor him and will not see him."
Jeannette fled to do her bidding. As she reached the door, however, it suddenly opened and a man strode hastily in, brushing aside the hand which the maid put out to detain him. It was Edgar Wintour.
At the sight of him Beatrice gave a gasp and looked as though she were about to fall. Edgar darted instantly to her side and took her gently by the arms. "Come, Beatrice," he cried, with breathless rapidity. "Our cause is lost, but if thou wilt trust thyself to me I will strive yet to save thee. The hope is indeed faint, but at the worst if I fail they can but compel me to surrender thee again."
[Illustration: "'COME, BEATRICE, I WILL STRIVE YET TO SAVE THEE.'"(missing from book)
"I would come," replied Beatrice vehemently, "though there had been no hope. But how canst dream of escape when the courtyard is held by the enemy?"
"Because a few days since a secret way led from out this donjon beneath courtyard and moat into the shelter of the woods. If 'tis not destroyed we may yet escape thence."
"It is not destroyed," cried Beatrice triumphantly. "'Tis but an hour since De Maupas besought me to let him bear me to safety through it."
"Then we shall yet escape," cried Edgar joyously. "Come--no more delay, for even now Black Eustace and his men are thundering at the gate. Onward, Peter--bring Jeannette, for we must be gone."
He sprang to the door and, taking Beatrice by the hand, hurried her along the passages towards the stone staircase by which he had escaped with Sir John but a few days before. As they passed the main stairway leading to the gate, the sound of axe and hammer strokes reverberating upwards made him pause.
"The door is giving way," he cried anxiously. "I fear they will be hotfoot upon our track in a few moments." Raising his voice he bade Peter hasten and hurried his companion on downwards to the vaults below. Scarcely had they reached them when there was a sudden crash from above, followed by a roar of savage cheers.
At the dread sound, Jeannette gave a scream of terror and almost collapsed.
"Hush!" cried Edgar sharply. "Dost wish to bring them upon us? Be silent as the tomb, or we are lost."
In another moment they reached the level of the dungeons and were within sight of the flight of steps leading downwards to the door of the underground passage. Most anxiously Edgar gazed before him into the gloom. It might well be that a guard had been posted.
No sign of a guard was to be seen, but a barricade of some sort appeared to have been erected at the head of the stairs. Could it be that the way was blocked after all? Running quickly to the spot, Edgar saw that what he had taken to be a barricade was a pile of great blocks of stone, similar to those heaped about the staircase, no doubt placed ready to fling down and block the way of an enemy advancing through the underground passage. The steps themselves were clear, and with a deep sigh of relief Edgar turned to his companions and once more bade them hasten.
There was of a truth no time to lose. The cheers from above had died away, but the more ominous rattle and clank of armed and mail-clad men advancing down the winding staircase was to be heard in its place. It was clear that De Brin or De Maupas had guessed that Edgar's object in taking refuge in the keep had been to escape by the underground passage, and that they were seeking him first in that direction. A bare half-minute would see them upon the scene.
"Canst not hew down the door?" cried Peter, as Edgar hesitated for a moment.
"Take my axe and give me thy sword," replied Edgar curtly. "Do thou hew it down while I defend the passage against our pursuers. Thou shalt save time. On, Peter, on!"
Peter seized the axe, sprang down the steps, and without an instant's pause attacked the door. After the first blow he gave a startled exclamation.
"What is it?" cried Edgar, turning as he was about to advance towards the enemy now almost at the foot of the stone stairway.
"The door is open!" cried Peter in an awed tone. "I fear a trap!"
"Either 'tis a trap or there is a sentinel stationed at the farther end," cried Edgar. "But we cannot now draw back. Onward, lad, and win a way through. Maidens, I beseech ye heed not the darkness but descend and follow closely upon Peter."
Peter moved onwards into the gloomy cavern, followed by the shrinking maidens, while Edgar stayed where he was, leaning quietly against the blocks of stone. For all his easy posture, the half darkness of the underground passage hid a face grown pale and anxious, for the peril in which the party now stood was extreme. It was not the advance of the body of men, who, carrying torches and headed by Sir Eustace de Brin in person, were now bearing rapidly down upon him, that filled him with anxiety. These he was prepared to oppose with the utmost desperation. It was the thought that sentinels might be posted at the farther end of the tunnel, and that Peter might be unable to cleave a way to freedom with his charges, that made his heart sink with a sickening feeling of dread.
CHAPTER XXI
Through the Darkness
Meanwhile events were moving with equal rapidity above-ground. The charge of Sir Eustace and his men-at-arms across the filled-in moat had completely dispersed the last of the peasants still remaining in the open. The priest had done his best to rally his men and to resist the horsemen, but his followers were infected by the panic which had seized upon those who had been engaged in storming the gates, and would not stand. He himself was wounded and must have been slain had not several of the more courageous of his band seized him and dragged him into the woods by force.
Once in the thickets the peasants were safe, and, realizing the folly of pursuing them with so small a force as he had at his disposal, De Brin contented himself with leading his men against the peasants still working at the mangonels. These fled hastily at his approach, and his men promptly proceeded to heap faggots around the machines. A light was procured, and, amid the cheers of the men-at-arms, the flames shot up until the engines were in the midst of a huge bonfire.
At this moment De Maupas spurred rapidly from out the castle and sought De Brin. His vizor was raised, and on his face was a look of savage joy. "Ho, there, Eustace!" he cried. "Their leader, this Edgar Wintour, hath taken refuge in the donjon. Doubtless he hopeth to escape through the underground passage. Quick, close this end, and he will be snugly trapped!"
"Ha, ha!" laughed De Brin. "If 'tis so, then he hath saved us much trouble, and mayhap provided us with some rare sport. Do thou, De Maupas, remain here, and see that he receiveth a warm reception if he seeketh to emerge this end. I, for my part, will see that his hot blood runs chilly in his veins before we have done with him. Ha, ha! But first we must seal him up completely within the cavern."
With a look of cruel anticipation upon his face that might of itself have chilled Edgar's blood had he been there to see it, Black Eustace spurred back through the gates and took charge of the men already engaged in hewing down the door of the donjon. As soon as the door showed signs of weakening, he drew aside two of the men and sent them on an errand that took them outside the walls.
Here the men looked about them for some moments before seizing upon one of the big ladders constructed by the peasants. The uprights were thick and strong, and one of these was knocked away from the crosspieces and the end carefully pointed. For what purpose these preparations were made was not apparent, but, from the haste with which the men completed their work, it seemed that they had at least some connection with the plight of the two fugitives in the castle donjon.
De Maupas had for some moments gazed thoughtfully around him before he set about his part of the task of destroying the fugitives. His eyes fell upon the great bonfire which now marked the spot whence the mangonels had discharged their deadly missiles, and with a grim smile he directed the men about him to pick up some of the big bundles of brushwood that had been left over when the filling-in of the moat had been accomplished. Then he led the way to the tiny glade where the tree with the hollow trunk had stood when Edgar had escaped with Sir John a short time before. Pointing to a certain spot in the ground, he directed his men to fling down their bundles and scoop away the earth. A large flagstone was soon disclosed, and on its being lifted a black pit, down which led a flight of steep stone steps, yawned before them. Kneeling, De Maupas called:
"Bruyard! Ho, there! Bruyard!"
After a moment's pause, a muffled voice replied:
"Who calleth?"
"De Maupas. Come hither!"
The noise of the opening and shutting of a door next ascended to the ears of the men above, and presently a man-at-arms appeared. He climbed the steep steps in leisurely fashion, and then stood blinking in the sunlight.
"What is it ye want, Sir Knight?" he asked surlily.
"Hast locked the door?" asked De Maupas impatiently.
"Nay, I have not. What need, if the enemy is driven off?"
"No matter," replied De Maupas shortly. "Come, men, pile your faggots about these steps, and hasten back for more. We will make a merry blaze, for I expect visitors from yon dismal depths. Pile the faggots high, and let us see if they will escape by the secret way a second time."
With a roar of savage enjoyment the men hastened to obey. They now saw the object of the move, and with many a joke to one another they hauled great bundles of wood to the fatal spot with every sign of gusto.
A brand was brought from the blazing mangonels, and the pile ignited. It blazed up and burned fiercely. Heavier and thicker pieces of wood were then flung on until the exit from the tunnel was ringed about with a veritable wall of fire. Satisfied that any man who attempted to plunge through such a furnace must perish miserably, De Maupas strolled up and down, awaiting with some impatience the news that the fugitives had indeed taken refuge in the tunnel, and that De Brin had succeeded in sealing up the castle end.
As he paced the greensward he noticed the two men who had been sent upon an errand by De Brin. They were just then busily engaged in sharpening the end of a long thick pole which they had obtained.
"What is this?" asked De Maupas. "Who set ye on to this, and for what purpose?"
"De Brin," replied one of the men laconically, giving his thumb a jerk in the direction of the castle gates. Then he indicated the moat, and ejaculated: "Cold water."
De Maupas stared at the man for a moment in some perplexity. Then the truth dawned upon him, and he went off into a fit of laughter.
"Ha, ha! Now I see what De Brin meant. Chill his hot blood--ha, ha! But even he knoweth not the final reception we have prepared for his uninvited guests. Ha, ha, ha!"
* * * * *
"Yield thyself!" cried De Brin, bearing down upon Edgar as he stood, sword in hand, at the head of the stairs leading to the underground tunnel. "Yield thyself, for thou art trapped!"
"I will yield myself when thou hast vanquished me, De Brin," replied Edgar, fencing vigorously as their blades clashed together. "How hast thou trapped me?"
"Thou seekest to escape through the passage, as once before. Know then that the farther end is guarded by thine enemy, De Maupas, and a dozen men. Thy friend, the priest, and all his flock are in full flight, and all is lost."
Edgar could not but believe. He had hoped that his pursuers would ransack the donjon for him before coming to the conclusion that he had flown to the tunnel for refuge. But unfortunately for him they had guessed that he would make for the passage, and had sealed it up. And with him were the two maidens.
The responsibility of their charge was crushing. Had there been only Peter he would, with a light heart enough, have dashed for the farther end in an attempt to break through, though to be unsuccessful was death. But his heart almost failed him when he thought of the terrible situation of the ladies. In his preoccupation he gave ground before De Brin's onslaught, and in a minute or two was driven back to the head of the flight of steps. Here he stood his ground for a few moments, and then, after feinting fiercely and compelling De Brin to give back, sprang down the steps to the open door below.
At this moment a man-at-arms pressed through the body of men about their leader, and whispered a few words in the knight's ear.
The effect was electrical.
"Ho, there! Edgar Wintour!" cried De Brin furiously. "Madman that thou art, they tell me that thou hast carried away the lady Beatrice and her maid with thee. 'Tis to certain death thou art dragging them. Yield them up, fool! There is escape neither for them nor for thee."
"If thou wilt promise to let them ride hence in peace, I will yield them up," replied Edgar quickly.
"Bah!" cried De Brin. "Thou hast yet to learn how completely thou art trapped. Let this teach thee!"
As he spoke the black knight set his weight against one of the huge blocks of stone piled by the head of the flight of steps. It moved, and bounded down the slope with tremendous weight and force. Luckily for Edgar it struck the massive doorpost, and did not come full into the doorway, or he must have been struck down and perhaps killed outright. Dreading lest such a mass of stone should bound along the tunnel and perhaps reach the ladies, our hero whipped the door to and put his weight against it.
Somewhat to Edgar's surprise, De Brin made no attempt to force the door, but instead ordered his men to hurl down upon it the piled-up blocks of stone. For some minutes a perfect avalanche of these rolled and bounded down upon the door, and every minute Edgar feared that it would be burst open. In the hope of adding a little to its strength he kept his weight against it, though the shock of each stone jarred him to the bone. At last the well formed by the steps began to be filled, and the jar and shock lessened until but a slight tremor followed as the rocks were still flung down. Soon the work was complete, and the castle end of the passage was blocked by a mass of stone that it would take hours' work by a score of men to clear away.
There was no more to be done there, and with a heavy heart Edgar left the door, and made his way along the tunnel. In the far distance a light had sprung up, and he guessed that Peter had managed to obtain a spark and had lit one of the torches they had been careful to snatch from the wall before they left the upper room.
"What was that dreadful noise?" asked Beatrice anxiously, as Edgar joined them. "It echoed along the passage until we thought giants indeed must be battering at the door."
"Nay, 'tis worse even than that, Beatrice," replied Edgar solemnly. "They have hurled down stones and walled us in."
"Well, is not that good news? They cannot pursue, and if we hasten we shall escape before they can cut off our retreat. Peter telleth me that we are almost through this dreadful passage."
"They have already cut off our retreat, Beatrice," replied Edgar. "Like a fool, I have brought thee into nothing but a trap. De Brin taunted me that the farther end was guarded, and I fear 'tis true. I had hoped that ye would all have been out long ere this. What hath delayed thee, Peter? The little chance that once we had hath, I fear, gone for ever.
"We came upon some obstruction in the passage, Master Edgar," replied Peter earnestly, "and I dared not go on with the ladies in the darkness, not knowing what pitfalls might lie in wait for us. I stopped to light a torch, and my flint and steel work none too fast in this damp and dismal dungeon. But here is the door, and I see no sentinel."
"Was yon great chest the obstruction? Didst open it?"
"Nay, I would not stop. Shall I go batter it in?"
"Nay, let us press on and test the strength of the guard about this end. Perchance, after all, when the good priest heareth the sound of a conflict, he may bring down some of his men and make an attack. We might then break through. Come, hew down that door."
"How stifling is this passage, Edgar!" cried Beatrice appealingly. "The heat is becoming dreadful. Whence cometh it?"
"I cannot understand it," replied Edgar, whose face, in spite of his brave words of hope, had grown grey and pinched. "No such heat was here when last we-- But see!--what is that light that glinteth beneath the door? Give me the axe, Peter! Something is going on beyond that barrier that giveth me fears I never felt before."
Swinging the axe with feverish impatience, he smote the lock with tremendous force. The door instantly flew open, and a glare of light and a wave of hot air burst in upon them, blinding and scorching them so fiercely that, with one impulse, they fled backwards a dozen paces into the shelter or the passage.
"What is this--dreadful fate--thou hast brought us into, Edgar?" cried Beatrice in gasps, as Jeannette sank to the ground by her side in a deep swoon. "Are we, then, to be choked and scorched alive?"
"Reproach me not, Beatrice," replied Edgar in a tremulous voice, almost unmanned by the terrible plight into which he had unwittingly brought the two maidens. "I told thee the hope of escape was faint, but I never dreamed that such a fearful end might be in store for us."
"Forgive me, Edgar," cried Beatrice impulsively, placing her hand gently on the young esquires arm. "I was overhasty in my alarm. I am a warrior's daughter, and I will not play the coward again."
"'Tis nothing. Myself I shall not forgive," muttered Edgar. In his prostration he had sunk back against the wall, his arms resting on the haft of his great axe and his head bowed down upon them. For a few minutes he was silent with the silence of despair. Then he resolutely roused himself from his stupor. "Come," he said, "we are in no immediate danger here, except it be from stifling. Let us retreat back beneath the moat. It will be cooler there."
Headed by Peter with the torch, the little party threaded its way in dumb despair back into the deeper recesses of the tunnel, Edgar bearing the limp form of the insensible Jeannette. On arriving at the spot where the great iron-bound chest half-blocked the passage, Peter halted and proposed that they should seat themselves. Jeannette was laid upon the top of the box and Beatrice took her seat upon it, while Edgar and Peter stood at her side, conversing in low tones upon the hopeless situation in which they found themselves. The spot at which they had halted was, as near as they could judge, beneath the castle moat, and the air was far cooler than at the end towards the fire.
"At least they cannot reach us," said Edgar presently. "The fire which bars our escape equally bars their attack. If they have no desire to encounter us hand to hand beneath the ground, they will have to keep the fires burning night and day."
"That will not be difficult with the woods so close at hand," replied Peter, shaking his head. "They will know that after a day or two we shall be weakened by hunger and thirst."
"But if the priest liveth he will guess the reason of these great fires, and will gather men to harass De Brin. They will find it hard to maintain themselves."
"I fear the Father will be dead. When De Brin and his men swept across the broken drawbridge, doubtless he would head the peasants. Who so likely to be slain?"
"Hark!" exclaimed Beatrice suddenly. "Surely that is the sound of knocking I hear above my head?"
Both men ceased talking and listened intently.
A slow and measured beat could be heard distinctly. Even as they listened it seemed to increase in volume, until it sounded as though someone were striking the roof above their heads with a muffled sledge.
Peter stared at his young master wide-eyed. Stout-hearted and faithful though he was, even he seemed to have been struck with fear at last.
"They are----" he began.
"Hush!" whispered Edgar warningly, turning away and again leaning head and arms on the haft of his great axe.
"What is it, Edgar?" asked Beatrice softly, placing her hand gently on the young man's shoulder. "Hide it not from me. Thou wilt, I hope, find that I can show fortitude when need be."
"I doubt it not," replied Edgar in a breaking voice. "But can I bring thee to such a pass and see thee perish unmoved?"
"But what is it?" reiterated Beatrice appealingly. "What meaneth this knocking which grows louder every moment? Look! The very wall seems to shake beneath these mysterious blows."
"Aye. It meaneth, Beatrice, that Black Eustace or blacker De Maupas is driving in the tunnel where it passes beneath the moat. Doubtless they are using an iron bar or a baulk of wood. Their unknightly and shameful plot is to drown us like rats, or to compel us to run the gauntlet of their fires. A few minutes and one or other fate is ours."
Horror-struck, Beatrice gazed at the roof of the passage, now perceptibly quivering beneath the blows from above. Already the water was trickling in between the widening cracks of the masonry and running in tiny streams down the wall to their feet. Once a block of stone had been driven in, an onrush of water must ensue that would quickly fill the tunnel. Though the dam that had held up the waters of the moat had been broken down, the stream water still flowed in volume sufficient to fill the tunnel a hundred times over.
"I must return to the mouth of the tunnel and seek speech with De Brin," cried Edgar, suddenly starting to his feet after contemplating the widening cracks in gloomy silence. "Better that thou shouldst wed De Maupas, evil fate though it be, than that thou shouldst perish thus miserably here."
"Nay, Edgar," replied Beatrice firmly. "Thou shalt do no such thing. 'Tis for me to say which fate is the better, and I elect to perish here among friends rather than to live elsewhere among enemies. Calm thyself and fret not at this mischance.Ireproach thee not."
In spite of his agitation, Edgar could not help gazing in sheer admiration at his companion. She seemed the calmest and most unconcerned of the three. His attention was then caught by Peter's movements.
The lad had, half-absentmindedly, prized open with his dagger a loose board near the top of the great chest. He had then plunged in his hand and taken out a handful of its contents, which seemed to be merely black dry earth. Holding the substance close to the torch, he examined it in some perplexity.
"What hast thou there, Peter?" eagerly asked Edgar, in whose mind a suspicion of the truth had already begun to dawn.
"I know not. 'Tis a handful of black grains, of which the chest seems full."
"Ha!" ejaculated Edgar with a gasp of excitement, reaching out and drawing Peter's hand to him. "'Tis that mysterious new powder of which we have heard of late. It possesseth a strange and mighty power which some think will bring great changes. I have heard it said[#] that it showeth promise of becoming a force to be reckoned with in warfare, even by knights clad in full armour."
[#] Gunpowder was used at Crécy shortly afterwards. It had, of course, been used in battle by the Venetians years before.
"What doth it here?" asked Peter, glancing at the chest with sudden awe.
"'Twas not here when last we came this way, and perchance Black Eustace, hearing of the unrest among his vassals, thought to overawe them by this strange and wellnigh supernatural force. Our sudden attack, and the rapid blows we never ceased to strike, have given him no opportunity to make use of his dread possession. Lift down the maid, Peter, and let us prize open the lid."
Peter obeyed, and in a moment the great chest lay open before them. It was full almost to the brim with the little black grains.
"A way of escape is opening before us!" cried Edgar, in a voice which vibrated with a new and mighty hope. "Beatrice, wilt thou permit us to leave thee and thy maid while we make a last attempt to carve a way to freedom? The risk is great, and it may well prove that we shall burst in the gates of death rather than wedge open those of life. But to remain here is to abandon hope."
For a moment Beatrice hesitated. The thought of being left alone with the insensible Jeannette in the gloomy tunnel evidently terrified her. In a moment or two, however, she answered bravely: "I will stay, Edgar."
"Then follow to the far end. We will leave thee a torch. Come, Peter, not an instant is to be lost--see how the water begins to gush through in streams!"
Rapidly Beatrice and Jeannette were conveyed to the castle end of the passage. Then the two young men sped quickly back to the great chest, replaced the lid, and lifted and carried it along in the opposite direction. Soon they reached the place where the door stood open, admitting the glare and heat of the great fires burning fiercely above.
"Set this down for a moment," cried Edgar, dragging the door to. He then seized his axe and attacked the hinges which held it in position. A dozen heavy blows rained down with the fierce rapidity of one fighting for his life, and the door fell outwards with a crash, letting in again the fierce glare which had been momentarily shut out.
As the door fell, the sound of cheers, followed by loud laughter, became audible. Evidently the thunder of the axe strokes had reached the ears of the men above, and had been received by them as evidence that the fugitives, driven frantic by the fear of an inrush of water, had thoughts of making an effort to break through the ring of fire.
"Wilt yield thee now, braggart esquire?" rang out the stentorian voice of De Brin, high above the crackling of the fires.
"Doubtless--an he gets the chance," answered De Maupas with a loud laugh of derision.
The sally was received with a roar of laughter from the assembled men-at-arms, whose enjoyment of the anticipated proceedings seemed great. At last they were obtaining some return for the alarms and defeats inflicted upon them by the despised peasantry.
"We shall see," muttered Edgar to himself as he darted out into the blazing heat about the steps, lifted the door, and bore it back into the tunnel. Then he again darted out, and with quick swings of the foot scattered the heap of burning brands at the foot of the steps until a space was cleared. The heat was great--wellnigh insupportable.
"Now, Peter," he gasped, once more bounding back into the partial shelter of the passage, "aid me to carry the chest to the foot of the steps. 'Tis our last and only hope."
Livid with superstition and fear, Peter obeyed. The box was quickly lifted to the foot of the steps and there set down. Then Peter darted back into the tunnel and Edgar followed, grasping the door as he passed and carrying it along with him.
The peril was tremendous, for at any moment the burning brands which dropped and rolled down the steps with every puff of wind might set light to the box and explode its contents. Knowing this, Edgar strained every nerve to put as much space between himself and the fires as possible. Half the length of the passage was traversed in safety, and then, with the thought of Beatrice in his mind, he called Peter back and raised the door upright so that it nearly closed the tunnel.
"Aid me to hold it thus, Peter. Set all thy weight against it. Perchance we may then keep the flame from penetrating to our charges. I know not much of this powder, but I fear the explosion will be terrible."
For nearly half a minute the two young men waited, holding the massive door in position. Then with a mighty roar and flash the explosion came. The noise was terrific, and the shock made the very earth tremble. The door was blown back flat, dashing the two young men to the ground like straws, and a rush of hot air sped over them like a hurricane. Jumping to their feet the instant it had passed, they lifted the door back into position and held it there, choking and gasping with the thick fumes and smoke of the fiery blast.
For a moment there was a calm, followed by the ominous sound of falling objects as the rocks, flung into the air by the explosion, dropped heavily back to the ground. Then all was still again.
"Prop this in position while we go back and see how fared the lady Beatrice," gasped Edgar. "If all is well with her, I believe we may yet win through to safety."
Back through the passage beneath the moat, now knee-deep in water, the young men pressed. The torch had been blown out by the rush of air, and all was pitchy dark.
"Beatrice! Beatrice!" shouted Edgar loudly.
"Here--I am safe--but in sore distress," came the reply, and with a cry of triumph Edgar sprang to her side.
Half-choked by the smoke and fumes, with torch blown out and knee-deep in water, Beatrice's heart had almost failed her, not knowing how her friends had fared exposed to the nearer shock of the dread explosion. Had they perished, her plight and that of poor Jeannette, whom she bore in her arms, would have been mournful indeed.
Burning with a desire to see the last of the passage which had almost become their tomb, Edgar lifted Jeannette without a word, grasped Beatrice by the hand, and stumbled back along the tunnel, Peter going on ahead. A faint light could be seen gleaming in the distance, and full of hope that the way lay open to the sky, they pressed on faster and faster.
Two-thirds of the length of the passage had been traversed when they encountered great heaps of fallen earth and masonry, over the top of which the gleam of daylight dimly struggled. Crawling and scrambling on all-fours as best they could, they made their way onward still, until at last they emerged into the open air in the midst of a great pit torn in the earth by the force of the explosion.
The air was still sultry with the heat of the fires, burning embers and blackened branches lay strewn about in all directions, and a thin veil of smoke lay over all. But not a sign of life was there, save upon the walls of the castle, where one or two figures could be seen peeping fearfully over the battlements.
Clambering up the side of the pit, the little party plunged hurriedly into the woods. The fate of the soldiery who had revelled about the fires they knew not, but they had no mind to be recaptured after all the terrors and privations they had endured. Even when well within the shelter of the woods, they still pressed breathlessly onward until they met a party of the peasants approaching the scene of the strange explosion with slow and timid steps. At the sight of Edgar's party they stopped and made as though to flee.
"Where is Father Armand?" cried Edgar quickly. "Fear not--we are flesh and blood. Take us to Father Armand--if he still lives."
With their fear changed into amazement the peasants clustered about the fugitives with every manifestation of joy and gladness. Then, at Edgar's repeated request, they led the way for a few hundred yards through the woods to where a larger number of the peasantry were gathered, doubtless awaiting the report of their scouts before venturing to approach the scene of the explosion. In their midst, supporting himself against the trunk of a tree, was Father Armand. At the sight of Edgar and his companions he gave a cry of pleasure, and, wounded as he was, made shift to stumble towards them with hands eagerly outstretched.
"All hope had I given up of seeing you again," he cried in a voice trembling with emotion. "I feared that you had stayed to fight on, and had been beaten down at last. Thank God you are safe!"
"Thank God indeed!" replied Edgar reverently, "for were it not for a strange discovery at the last moment we must have met a dreadful fate. Almost we were spent."
"That dread noise and quaking of the earth was it then thy doing?"
"Aye, Father; but of that I will tell thee later. Canst now have these maidens taken to a place of calm and safety, where some of the peasant women may minister to them? They have been through a trial this day that might well shake the courage of men used to facing death in many forms."
"They shall be taken to the cave, and there treated with loving care and hospitality," cried the priest; and calling two of his men he sent them off running to the village. Soon they were back with two women, who took charge of the maidens, and set out with them for the shelter of the cave.
With the departure of the ladies, Edgar's thoughts turned again to the task still remaining unaccomplished. Their enemies had no doubt been thrown into a panic by the strange and unexpected explosion, and, though exhausted and nerve-shaken, he felt reluctant to lose an opportunity of subduing them before they had had time to recover. So he proposed to Father Armand that he should lead those among the peasantry whose courage was still unbroken to the attack of the castle once more. The spirits of the depressed peasants had risen considerably at the appearance of the second of their leaders, and when the priest called for volunteers to follow Edgar nearly all responded.
Without a moment's delay, and straight forward to the gates of the castle, Edgar led the men. Crossing the filled-in moat, the band pressed through the gateway, and found their way barred by the merest handful of the defenders of the castle. At the first attack these, dumbfounded and dispirited, threw down their arms and surrendered.
Directing several men to take charge of the prisoners and to treat them well, Edgar next made for the door of the keep. This again was weakly defended, and he realized that almost without a stroke the castle had been won. What, then, could have become of De Brin and De Maupas? Could they have perished in the explosion?
Questioning the prisoners, Edgar found that only a bare half-dozen of burnt and panic-stricken men had succeeded in making their way back into the castle from the circle of fires in the woods. From none of these could news be obtained of their leaders, and it could only be concluded that they had been blown to pieces in company with the major part of their followers.
Desirous of avoiding the giving-up of the castle to promiscuous plunder, Edgar posted a guard at the gates, and withdrew with the rest of the band to the woods. Amid the rapturous cheers of the peasantry he reported their success to Father Armand. The good priest was indeed overjoyed to hear that the power of the oppressors of his flock was broken at last, and that no more bloodshed need be incurred.
With Edgar's desire to prevent indiscriminate plundering he heartily agreed, and a plan was quickly arranged by which all that was useful and valuable in the castle might be saved and used for the common good, and the building then be razed to the ground.
This arrangement was carried out to the letter, and in a day or two the site which had been disgraced by the grim Castle of Ruthènes bore nothing but a heap of tumbled ruins. No more could the mercenaries of the castle sally out and burn and destroy without let or hindrance, and no more need the poor villagers live in hourly dread of violence and extortion.
The survivors of the garrison were given the choice of settling down in the neighbourhood, where they could be kept under observation, or of being conducted over the mountains into Spain, well out of harm's way. Most elected to take the former offer, and were soon living on good terms with their erstwhile enemies.
As Father Armand and Edgar well knew, such summary justice might in ordinary times have brought a fresh body of soldiery to the spot, intent to rivet a yoke, perchance every whit as irksome, afresh upon their necks. But the confusion caused by the invasion of the English was so great that they had hopes that it might pass unnoticed.
Indeed, the invasion of the English was followed closely by the fearful depredations of the Free Companies and the general insurrection of the peasantry. Convulsed by these successive blows, France had little time or energy to spare for internal affairs, and if the news of the capture of Ruthènes ever reached the ears of the authorities, they were too much occupied to take any action, and the matter was allowed to fade into the obscurity of the past.