"In that same conflict (woe is me!) befell,
This fatall chaunce, this dolefull accident
Whose heavy tidings now I have to tell.
First all the captives which they here had hent
Were by them slaine by generall consent."
Dom Anselm was strolling about the courtyard of the castle at Hilgay.
His hands were behind his back, and his head was thrust forward and
slowly oscillated from side to side.
It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, and he was pretending to
take an intelligent interest in the activity all round. He regarded four
great bundles of newly made arrows tied up with rope in the manner of a
connoisseur. He even took one out from its bundle, felt the point, and
held it on a level with his eye to make sure that the shaft was
perfectly straight and true.
Then he went to a heap of raw hides and felt their texture. This done he
stood before a mangonel, which was being hoisted up upon the walls by a
windlass, and surveyed it with an affectation of the engineer and a
flavour of the expert at home. But he did it very badly, and the whole
proceeding was an obvious effort. After that, feeling that he had done
his duty, he went to the draw-well in the centre of the courtyard, and,
sitting on the ground on the shady side--for it was a structure of
masonry some four feet high, like all Norman walls--composed himself to
sleep. The creature felt out of place. Upon first news of the coming
attack he was hard at work shriving blackguards, and allowing each one
to believe that should an arrow of the enemy put a swift end to his
sinful life, the saints and angels would meet them at the jasper gates
of heaven with trumpets and acclamations. The fools believed him; it
flattered them to hear of these fine things provided for an unpleasant
contingency, and no one was more important than Sir Anselm. Then came
the ceremonial importance of the funeral and the votive Mass. That kept
him well in the public eye for a little time. But this and that done, he
found time hang very heavy upon his hands.
All round him activity was being pushed to its furthest limit, and in
all that hive he was the only drone. The squires passed him with a jest,
the waiting maids threw a quip at him. Lewin alone was friendly, but the
minter had but little time to spare. That quick brain and alert eye for
the main chances in life were very valuable at Hilgay, and Lewin was in
constant request. The man suggested, advised, and directed operations
which were the wonder of all who saw them.
But he said nothing of the crack in the orchard wall.
The precious couple were quite resolved upon the treachery which they
had plotted in the fen. In truth Fulke was a bestial young fool, and
offered no inducement to his followers to be faithful. Roger Bigot was a
bigger man in the world, and reputed to be very fair with all his
people. Lewin certainly would gain by the change. As for Dom Anselm, he
knew perfectly that Roger would never need a priest, for--a strange fact
even in those dreadful days--he was an open scoffer. At the same time,
the scoundrel was rather tired of the business. Among men-at-arms it was
not lucrative, though their superstition enjoined a certain amount of
respect for him. He knew a little about the rude medicine of that time,
had some skill in simples, and he would, he thought, join Roger as a
chirurgeon provided that all went well.
So he and Lewin laid their plans together.
Dom Anselm slept on the cool side of the wall, all undisturbed by the
noise around. The appearance of the courtyard had quite altered by this
time. Sloping scaffolds of wood, connected by plank galleries, ran up to
the walls and made it possible to instantly concentrate a large force of
men upon any given point which should be attacked.
The fantastic arms of the mangonels and trebuchets, and other slinging
instruments rose grimly above the battlements. A great crane upon the
top of a tower, slung up piles of rocks and barrels of Greek fire with
steady industry. Shields of wood, covered with damp hide and pierced
with loopholes, frowned on the top of the battlements towards the
outside world.
Great heaps of a sort of hand grenade, made of wicker work and full of a
foul concoction of sulphur and pitch, were arranged at intervals, and
iron braziers, standing on tripod legs, were dotted here and there, so
that the soldiers could at once obtain a light for a pitch barrel or
grenade.
A large copper gong with a wooden club to beat it was being fitted to a
stand of ash-wood. The harsh reverberations of this horrid instrument
could be heard above the din of any fight, and made a better signal than
trumpets.
Amid all the metallic noises, the dishonoured priest slept sweetly. He
was roused by two startling events.
The first was this. With a great clatter a soldier rode into the
courtyard. His horse was foam-flecked, his furniture and arms all
powdered grey with dust. He swore with horrid oaths that he had one
great overpowering desire, and that not to be denied. It was beer he
said that he wanted, and would have before he spoke a single word. He
bellowed for beer. When they brought it him, in a crowd, for he was a
scout with news from the Norwich road, he gurgled his content and
shouted his news.
Lord Roger had pressed on with great speed, and was now close at hand.
Probably as evening fell that day, certainly during that night, his
force would camp round the walls. They took him away to Fulke's chamber,
where that worthy, who had been up all night, was snatching a little
sleep. They thronged round him clamouring for more news.
Dom Anselm once more sat him down in the cool shade of the draw-well,
this time with a feeble pretence at reading in his dirty drink-stained
little breviary. It was curious to see how early habit reasserted itself
in this way.
Then the second startling event occurred.
There came a burst of distant cheering, an explosion of fierce cries at
the gates, and a little mob of men-at-arms rushed into the bailey,
followed by half a dozen sentinels with pikes in their hands.
In the middle of the crowd a man stood bound, dressed in a leathern
jacket, and the soldiers were beating him over the head with the shafts
of their pikes. His face ran with blood and there was an awful stare of
horror in his eyes.
So Hyla came back to Hilgay.
At the gate of the castle they had halted him, with many oaths, and
turned his head towards a tree, from one of whose branches hung the
naked swollen corpse of Elgifu.
Dom Anselm lurched up from the side of the well and shouldered his way
through the press. Here again was his dramatic opportunity. Face to
face with the prisoner, he stopped short and spat venomously into his
face. With that, Dom Anselm also passes out of the story.
They held Hyla and buffeted him, while the soldiers from all parts of
the castle works ran towards the courtyard.
They came running down the slanting bridges leading from the walls, and
their feet made a noise like thunder on the echoing boards. The cooks
came out of the kitchens, the serfs from the stables, until there was a
great bawling, shouting crowd, struggling and fighting to get a look at
the captive.
None were louder in their menace than the serfs.
Some zealous soul, inspired by uncontrollable excitement, feeling the
curious need of personal action that often comes to an excitable nature
labouring under a sudden nerve stress, got him to the chamber at the
foot of Outfangthef and fell to pulling lustily at the castle bell.
Suddenly, with the swiftness of a mechanical trick, a deep stillness of
voice and gesture fell upon the tumult. It was as though some wizard had
made his spell and turned them all to stone. Every eye turned towards
Outfangthef and a lane opened among the people. Fulke was seen coming
down the steps, and behind him was his sister, the Lady Alice de la
Bourne.
The lady stayed on her coign at the head of the stairway, palpitating,
and he came slowly down towards the prisoner. In a second they were face
to face.
Twice Fulke put his hand to the pommel of his dagger, and twice he let
it fall away. He said nothing, but his sinister eyes looked steadily at
Hyla till the serf dropped his head before the gaze of his victim's son,
so hard, bitter, and cruel it was.
At last Fulke turned to the soldiers: "Take him to the guard-room," he
said, "and keep him in safety there until I send you word. As for the
rest of you, get you back to work, for there is not a moment to lose.
Let the portcullis fall and heave the drawbridge up, keep station all of
you. I promise you a merry sight with that"--he pointed to Hyla--"ere
long. He will cry meculpee with his heart's black blood."
He saw the two squires and Lewin among the crowd, and nodded that they
should come to him. Then, turning, he went with them into the tower, to
his own room again.
To be frank, there was very little drama in that meeting. One might have
expected drama, Romance would certainly require it, but Fulke was not
the nature to rise to the occasion. He lacked temperament. He would have
better pleased his men if he had made more display. Indeed, as they
separated into little groups and discussed the incident, Dom Anselm was
discovered as the hero of the moment. Holy Church had distinctly scored.
When the Baron reached his room he proceeded to discuss the method of
Hyla's execution with his friends.
He wanted, he said, to make a very public thing of it, indeed he was
quite determined to hang him from the very top of Outfangthef. At the
same time that was far too easy a death.
They turned their four evil brains to the question of torture, a grim
conclave, and, curiously enough, it was the keenest and most refined
intelligence which invented the worst atrocities. Lewin proposed things
more horrible than Fulke could ever have thought of. They applauded him
for his very serviceable knowledge of anatomy. The pain of Hyla, it was
eventually settled, was to last till he could bear no more, and he
should hang from the Tower at the end. With that decision made they fell
drinking, for Hyla was not to suffer until after the mid-day meal.
The two men chosen to inflict the torture were two swarthy foreign
scoundrels from Mirebeau, men who knew no earthly scruple. About two in
the afternoon a little procession started to the guard-house.
Lewin's interest in the proceedings was already over. He did not join
them. He had suggested various tortures, it was a mental exercise which
amused him, but that was all. Nothing would have induced him to watch
his own horrible brutalities being inflicted on the victim.
He threaded his way among the pens of lowing cattle and the litter of
war material to a tower in the forework, and presently, as the long
afternoon waned lazily away, his quick eyes caught sight of a clump of
spears, a mile away, on the edge of the wood.
By half the night was over, Hilgay was invested. All round the walls
camp-fires glowed in the dark, and snatches of song in chorus could be
heard, or a trumpet blaring orders. Now and again the guards upon the
battlements would hear the thunder of a horse's hoofs, as some officer
or galloper went _ventre à terre_ down the village street, and a few
random arrows went singing after him.
Every one anxiously awaited the day.