the flame of his wrath? A mighty and a terrible god, yet he would have
left his servant to starve before his altar--you have seen that for
yourselves. It is ten days now since even a woman has condescended to
kneel at his shrine and make her offerings of meat and drink. I, his
high-priest, may eat no common food, but how should the lord of heaven
and earth keep such trivial circumstances in mind? He had forgotten, and
so I must have died but for your opportune coming and pious gifts.
"One might argue that our lord employed you as the instruments of my
deliverance," continued the priest, musingly. "I might think it, but
that I know the Shining One of old. It is his pleasure to punish, not to
help; to slay and not to make alive. Never has he given aught of grace
to me who have served him faithfully for these threescore years. And
to-day, if I should sit with him upon the death-chair, he would consume
me as utterly as though I were the foulest-mouthed blasphemer in all
Doom. What think ye, in all honesty, of the Shining One? Is he a god to
be propitiated by sacrifice and offering, to be worshipped and
adored--supreme, almighty, everlasting? Or are we but blind fools,
trembling before a blind force that knows and sees and is nothing,
except as we, its lords and masters, may compel it to work our will?"
The muttering of thunder broke in upon the priest's last words. A
storm-cloud was driving in from the west, low-hanging and menacing. The
priest's face changed.
"He comes! he comes!" he continued, with fanatic intensity. "This is our
lord, in very truth, who now stands before us, calling upon his people
to turn to him ere it be too late. Yet three days, and Doom, Doom the
Mighty, is fallen, is fallen! He has said it--yet three days."
The two women stayed neither to see nor to listen further. Hand-in-hand
they gained the street and ran in the direction of the Citadel Square,
heedless of the rain that was now beginning to fall. Several blocks away
they paused, exhausted, compelled to seek shelter in a doorway from the
fury of the storm. Some one was already there--a man. He turned as they
entered, and Esmay saw that it was Ulick.
For several moments they stood side by side without exchanging a word,
and, indeed, no speech would have been audible amid the almost
continuous crashing of the thunder-peals. Then, as the first violence of
the storm expended itself, Esmay heard her name uttered, and realized
that Ulick was holding her hand in both his own.
"Don't!" she pleaded, and drew her hand away.
Ulick's face hardened. "I might have known it," he said, bitterly. "Yet
he who has been false to friendship may betray love as well."
"He is dead," she said, and Ulick started.
"Constans--dead!" he stammered.
"Hanged at the yard-arm of the _Black Swan_. But Quinton Edge still
lives."
"You loved him?" persisted Ulick, the sense of his injury still strong
within him.
The girl drew herself up proudly. "Yes, I loved him--that is for you and
all the world to know. But be comforted; he cared not a whit for me.
That, in the end, was made plain enough."
Ulick's fare was pale. "But he still stands between us?" he said.
"Yes," she answered, simply.
The rain had almost ceased; Esmay made a movement to depart.
"There is nothing--no way in which I can serve you?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing. I am going back to Arcadia House, but I
shall have Nanna with me. There is nothing to fear."
He regarded her fixedly. "What can you do against Quinton Edge? He is
the master--our master."
"I do not know; I have not thought. But I can watch and I can wait."
"Waiting! If that were all----"
"No, no! it could not be." She colored hotly, and he stopped, abashed.
"You must go now," she went on, gently. "Ulick, dear Ulick, I am sending
you away, but, indeed, it is better so. And I shall remember--always."
He would have spoken again, but something in her face restrained him. He
bent and kissed her reverently, as a brother might, and went out. And
she, watching him go, found her vision suddenly blurred by a mist of
tears. For there is something in every woman's heart that pleads a true
man's cause, for all that she may not accept the gift he proffers.
Nanna had disappeared into the house some few minutes before; now she
returned from her journey of discovery, wearing an expression of gravity
quite new to her. "Come," she said, "I want to show you something."
She drew Esmay after her down the draughty passage that led to the
offices of the long-since-deserted dwelling-house. There was a large
apartment at the end of the passage--the kitchen, to judge from the
character of the fittings. The room had been formerly lighted by
electricity, and Nanna pointed out a lampwire whose free end was
dangling in close proximity to a lead water-pipe. Underneath was a small
heap of oil-soaked rags.
"You remember what we saw at the House of Power?" said Nanna,
significantly.
Esmay examined the wire carefully. At the broken end the insulating
fabric had been stripped off and the copper scraped clean and bright
with a knife-blade.
"I found this on a nail in the passage," went on Nanna, and held out a
bit of cloth that had been torn from a garment. It was of that peculiar
weave worn only by the priests of the Shining One.
Esmay looked at it with troubled eyes. "What does it mean?" she asked,
but Nanna only shook her head.
"Of course, I remember what happened at the temple," said Esmay,
hesitatingly. "We saw him turn a handle, and the wire a hundred feet
away spouted fire. If a hundred feet, why not half a mile?"
"It is a trap," asserted Nanna.
"But for what purpose?"
Nanna was not to be moved. "A trap," she persisted. "I do not
understand, but I can feel what it is just as do the wolverine and the
fox. Come away."
They walked down the street.
"What could Prosper hope to catch in such a snare--for whom could he have
set it?" asked Esmay, putting into audible language the question over which
both were puzzling. "Unless," she went on, thoughtfully--"unless this is
only one of many."
Nanna nodded. "Dozens, hundreds of them, and scattered all over the
city. It is the harvest-field of which he spoke."
As they passed a street corner that commanded a view of the Palace Road,
Nanna caught Esmay by the arm and bade her look. Towering head and
shoulders above the throng of idle men and gossiping women strode
Prosper, the priest, and as he went he proclaimed the woe that must
shortly come upon the city, a message to which none gave heed. But for
all their mocking he would not forbear, and long after he had passed out
of sight Esmay could distinguish the accents of his powerful voice
rising above the din that strove to drown it:
"Yet three days, and Doom the Mighty--is fallen, is fallen!"
XXIII
THE RED LIGHT IN THE NORTH
It had been Constans's original plan to cross the river some miles above
Croye, and so avoid attracting the attention of the Doomsmen should any
of their parties be afield. The expedition would then move cautiously
down the east bank in the hope of surprising the guard at the High
Bridge, and so gain entrance to the city. But Piers Major, at the
council of war that first evening, brought about a reconsideration.
"Against the citadel," he said, shrewdly, "we should rather choose to
direct an unexpected blow. The bridge may be carried by a rush, but not
so the stone walls that guard the heart of Doom. In that assault a man's
life must be paid for each rung gained on the scaling-ladders. We have
no batteries with which to hammer at the gate-hinges, and as for a
siege--well, it is weary work starving out rats whose fortress is a
granary in itself. Let us move, indeed, but cautiously, prudently.
"Splendor of God!" shouted Red Oxenford, and he sprang to his feet. A
man of full habit and ruddy face he had been in his day, but since the
death of the young Alexa he seemed to have aged and whitened visibly.
His eyes were bright, as though with fever, and he went on with growing
vehemence:
"Are we, then, chapmen of Croye, calling to collect an overdue
account--prepared to sit down in humble expectancy at Dom Gillian's door
until it may pleasure him to open it? Caution, expediency! he is no
friend to Oxenford who would utter such words as these."
But Piers Major was not to be daunted. He put his hands on the shoulders
of the angry man and forced him backward into his seat.
"Nay, but you have not heard me out," continued Piers Major. "It is a
debt, indeed, for which we are pressing payment--only one of blood
rather than of gold. All the more reason, then, that the settlement
should be in full and the cost of collection kept small. Now, Dom
Gillian has shut his door in our faces, and it is a strong one. If we so
elect we may butt out our brains against it, and be none the better off.
"A fortress and a woman, there is always more than one way in which they
may be taken. Let us find that back door, and some of us may quietly
enter there while the others are parleying at the front. Once within the
walls, the fire-sticks should quickly clear the house for us."
"Ay, man," broke in Oxenford, impatiently, "but all this is words, not
deeds. What can we do so that Dom Gillian hangs from his own door-post
before a second rising of the sun?"
"I propose, then," answered Piers Major, "that the score of men who are
armed with the new weapons shall take boat down the river and make a
landing to the south of the Citadel Square, remaining in hiding until
the rising of the moon to-morrow night. The main body will force the
High Bridge at the coming dawn, and should be able to drive the Doomsmen
to cover within the next twelve hours. Then the frontal attack in force
and the gun-fire from behind. If they follow each other at the proper
interval, our victory is assured."
"It is your idea that I should go with the flanking-party?" asked
Constans.
"Naturally, since you alone know the city. We can reach the Citadel
Square from our side without difficulty, for it is a simple matter of
hewing our way thither. But with your party it must be the progress of
the snake through the grass."
Without further parley the plan proposed was adopted. Piers Major would
command the main body in person--about one hundred and fifty men in all.
Constans selected Piers Minor, son of Piers Major, as his lieutenant,
and, somewhat to his surprise, Oxenford elected to join the smaller
command. "It is the better chance," he explained, grimly, "for my
getting a face-to-face look at the old, gray wolf."
Fortunately, the question of transportation for the river party was
quickly settled. One of Messer Hugolin's flat-boats, coming down from
the upper river with a cargo of hides, had anchored for the night a
half-mile up-stream; it was an easy matter to impress crew and vessel
into service. The hides were tossed ashore, and by midnight the
expedition was ready to start. The scow was fitted with two masts,
carrying square sails, and, as the wind was directly astern and blowing
strongly, the clumsy craft swept away from her moorings with imposing
animation, leaving a full half-acre of bubbles to mark her wake.
"For the third time," said Constans to himself as he sat in the bow with
his back to the squat foremast and watched the river flowing darkly by.
Twice now had he measured strength with Doom the Forbidden, and twice
had the battle been drawn, the issue left undecided. This time one or
the other must fall.
The long night wore away, and presently the sky was streaked with the
pink and saffron of the coming dawn. A landing was made without
difficulty, and Constans was soon leading his little band through the
rubbish-encumbered thoroughfares to the appointed station. The men
marched along in sulky silence, for their night's rest on the open
boat-deck had been an uncomfortable one, and they wanted their
breakfast.
Constans had determined to make use of his old quarters in the
"Flat-iron" building, on the south side of the Citadel Square, and his
relief was great when the last man passed within the shelter of its
walls. Once mustered in one of the large rooms on the fourth floor, the
haversacks and canteens were quickly requisitioned, and the men feasted
gloriously upon oat-cake and cold coffee, brewed from parched grain,
with a pipe for dessert. After this agreeable interlude, there was
nothing to do but to wait, and the majority curled themselves up in some
convenient corner and resumed their interrupted slumbers. Constans
posted himself at a window overlooking the square, with the intention of
keeping close watch on all that passed below. But, in spite of all his
efforts, Nature insisted upon her rights, and he, too, slept.
Over at Arcadia House, Nanna, being wakeful with the torture of an
aching tooth, happened to glance through the north windows of the room
occupied by the sisters and saw a dull-red glow on the horizon--a
conflagration. She aroused Esmay, and the two girls watched it,
wondering.
"It is in the direction of the High Bridge," said Esmay, and Nanna
nodded acquiescence. "And it is the morning of the third day," continued
Esmay, and Nanna nodded again.
The fire was a long way off, low down on the northern sky-line. But
every now and then a crimson streamer would leap upward almost to the
zenith, showing how great and vehement the conflagration must be. As the
two girls stood watching it, they heard a window flung up sharply, and
Quinton Edge's voice calling to Old Kurt and bidding him saddle a horse
with all speed.
Nanna's eyes glowed. "It is something big," she said, excitedly, and
began scrambling into her masculine attire. "Something that is worth our
while to know all about," she continued.
"But, Nanna----" began Esmay, doubtfully.
"Do you suppose that our master is going out to pick flowers? Help me
with this buckle, little sister, and talk not so foolishly."
And forthwith Esmay submitted to this new Nanna in doublet and
small-clothes, who spoke with authority and took such tremendously long
strides. If great events were really at hand, it were well to be
forewarned, and Nanna, thanks to the dash of wild-folk blood in her
veins, would be both hawk and hound upon such a trail. So Esmay
contented herself with an admonition to caution, and helped the
impatient one to depart, stealing down with her into the great hall, in
order to rebolt the outer door. She feared lest she might meet Quinton
Edge as she remounted the stairs and flew along the corridor to her
room, but she regained its shelter undisturbed. It had been many weeks
now since the master had returned, but Esmay had only seen him at a
distance, walking for hours at a time in the garden. Strange, that
seemingly he should have forgotten her very existence, but neither sign
nor message had come to her. Even his larger plans had apparently been
laid aside; not once had he left the boundaries of Arcadia House, except
for the weekly council meeting at the Citadel Square. But perhaps,
again, this was the crisis for which he had been waiting; even as she
meditated she heard his step in the hallway and his knock at her door;
then it opened, and Quinton Edge stood before her.
He did not appear to notice Nanna's absence, but crossed over to the
window where Esmay stood. "Come," he said, and Esmay obeyed, being yet
faint with terror lest his hands should touch her. And this he must have
guessed, for he drew aside and passed out first, motioning her to
follow. The door leading to his apartments stood open. Esmay hesitated.
"Yes," said Quinton Edge, and the girl turned and searched his face. She
did not understand what she saw there, yet it contented her, and she
crossed the threshold. Quinton Edge followed, reappearing almost
immediately and carefully locking the door behind him. He descended the
stairs and passed out to the eastern portico, where his horse should
have been in waiting. It was not there, and Quinton Edge grew angry.
"Kurt!" he called, once and twice and thrice. Then at last the
delinquent appeared. The sullenness of sleep was still upon him, and
when his master would have reproved him for his tardiness he answered
back insolently.
"Enough!" said Quinton Edge, and struck him across the mouth with his
riding-whip. Then vaulting into the saddle, he spurred through the
gateway, riding hard for the northwest.
Old Kurt gazed after his master. "Thirty lashes at Middenmass," he
muttered, "and now this--this----"
* * * * *
Three hours later a boyish figure scaled the wall and dropped into the
sunken way. Fangs, who was sunning herself on the terrace, looked up
with white teeth bared, then rose, wagging her tail in friendly
greeting. But Nanna, with a hasty word to the dog, entered the house and
ran up to Esmay's room. Great news indeed! But where was the child?
Nanna stood stock-still, gazing stupidly around the empty room. "Esmay,"
she murmured, in a half-whisper, and passed out into the corridor. She
went straight to the door leading to Quinton Edge's apartments. A tiny
hair-pin of tortoise-shell lay on the floor. Nanna picked it up with a
sob and regarded it fixedly. She knocked twice upon the door, but there
was no response. She tried her strength against it, and shook her head.
Nothing could be done here. She went down-stairs, and looked to see if
the key of the wicket gate was hanging in its accustomed place behind
the master's leather chair. It was there; she took it and let herself
into the street. There was only Fangs, the great, black bitch, to watch
her go, the dog whining and leaping upon the wicket gate as it swung
back into place.
XXIV
THE EVE OF THE THIRD DAY
A touch upon Constans's shoulder and a voice in his ear aroused him. He
sprang to his feet; the sunshine was streaming through the glazeless
casements, and Constans, being yet heavy with sleep, blinked against it
as a man drunken with wine. Oxenford confronted him. "The attack?"
questioned Constans, and for the life of him could not help yawning
prodigiously.
Red Oxenford laughed. "In that case I should have pulled your ear off
instead of wasting time shouting into it. By the thunders of God, man,
but you sleep soundly."
Constans was fully awake now. He glanced at the sun, which was high in
the sky, and then at Oxenford's gaunt face.
"I have left you to do the watching alone," he said, apologetically.
"What matter?" was the indifferent answer. "For me slumber would not
have meant forgetfulness, and the watching made the waiting so much the
easier."
Constans stood by the window looking across the Citadel Square and
directly up the Palace Road. "I see no sign of Piers Major," he said at
length.
"Down in the square," replied Oxenford, laconically.
In truth there was a most unusual activity pervading the stronghold of
the Doomsmen. Already the long rows of guard-huts were tenanted by a
throng of women and children, and the number was being constantly
reinforced by fresh arrivals. Guards were pacing the walls, and a squad
of the younger men were engaged in setting up the artillery machines for
hurling stones so as to command the open space in front of the north
gate. New ropes were being fitted to the torsion levers, and an ox-cart
loaded with ammunition, in the shape of rounded boulders, creaked
noisily through the gateway.
"The warning must have come down from the High Bridge at an early hour,"
said Constans, thoughtfully. "How long has all this been going on?"
"Only within the last hour," returned Oxenford. "I waited for the old
gray wolf himself to seek his lair before arousing you. He has but just
crawled into it--out of arrow-shot," he added, regretfully.
Constans could see half a dozen of the green-jerkined guards lounging
about the entrance to the White Tower, evidence that Dom Gillian was
resting within. There was nothing to be seen of Quinton Edge, but surely
he would not be far away from the storm-centre. Probably he was
directing the defence at the northern boundary or even at the High
Bridge.
Slowly the day dragged on for the watchers in the "Flat-iron." It was
impossible to form any conjecture as to how the preliminary conflict was
proceeding; it was not even certain that it had begun. Piers Major had
undoubtedly forced the passage of the bridge, but apparently he had been
content with holding his advantage. He might not begin to move until
late in the day, and he would proceed slowly and cautiously.
From time to time a messenger galloped down the Palace Road. At once he
would be surrounded by an eager throng and escorted to the guard-room of
the White Tower, where Ulick had set up his headquarters. For it was
Ulick who had been left in command of the citadel garrison and intrusted
with the preparations for the impending siege. Twice Constans had caught
him fairly with his binoculars, and he could not be mistaken in the
features and carriage of his friend. His friend--one might say the only
friend that he had ever had--and Constans felt his heart heavy within
him, knowing that they must henceforth walk on diverging paths.
Constans found it difficult to keep his men under discipline. It was
all-important that their presence should be unsuspected by the enemy,
but it would have been betrayed a score of times had not his vigilance
intervened. Red Oxenford, in particular, grew more and more
unmanageable; he had neither eaten nor slept now for three days, and the
strain was telling on him. Finally he announced that he would wait no
longer. The north gate was open, and what should prevent his walking
straight up to the White Tower and sticking his boar-spear into the gray
wolf's hide? "And I will--by the seven thunders of God!" His voice rose
into a shriek.
It took half a dozen men to gag and bind him; he lay on a truss of
straw, his eyes fixed malevolently on Constans, whose orders had
prevented him from carrying out a plan so eminently practicable.
The shadows were growing long when Piers Minor pointed out a cloud of
dust far up the Palace Road. Later on they could distinguish the figures
of men and horses. Stragglers and wounded began to dribble away from the
fighting-line; they came running down the Palace Road, one by one, then
in bunches of two and three and four. Piers Major, with his greatly
superior force, was evidently driving the defenders back.
Half an hour later the conjecture became accomplished fact. The
Doomsmen, retreating with admirable steadiness, fell back upon the
shelter of the citadel walls. Quinton Edge, with a score of mounted
cross-bowmen, brought up the rear, and he himself was the last man to
pass through the north gate.
Three hundred yards away the Stockaders came suddenly into view, but it
was close to sunset, the time for the evening meal, and, as though by
mutual consent, both sides laid aside their arms for the homelier
utensils of the cuisine. Down in the Citadel Square a hundred little
fires started up, and as many pots and kettles began to bubble
cheerfully. The invaders contented themselves with building huge
bonfires, intended for warmth rather than for cooking, since their light
marching order precluded the carrying of anything more than cold
rations. From far up the avenue came the boom of an ox-horn, militant,
almost brazen in its sonority. A drum, beaten noisily, rattled back an
impudent defiance from the citadel.
XXV
ENTR'ACTE
There had been no final understanding between Constans and Piers Major
as to the precise line of the attack upon the citadel. That must depend
upon the successful carrying of the defences at the boundary and upon
the duration of the skirmishing in the streets. Both had agreed,
however, that a night assault offered the better chances of victory. The
Stockaders had no siege artillery with which to batter down the gates at
long range; they would have to march straight to the walls, and the
darkness would be in the nature of a protection from the missiles of the
enemy. The moon, a little past the full, rose about nine o'clock, but
its light was liable to be obscured by clouds. One of the sudden changes
characteristic of the month of May was in progress, and a cold wind was
blowing from the northwest. It promised to be half a gale by midnight,
and already the sky was partially overcast. The initiative lay, of
course, with Piers Major, and Constans must use his own judgment in
making the diversion in the rear.
"They are throwing up an inner barricade," said Piers Minor, at
Constans's elbow. He looked, and saw that the space immediately in front
of the storehouses was being enclosed by a barrier of earth and
paving-stones. The Doomsmen were prepared, then, for the possible
carrying of the main walls by assault. What could be the weak point in
the defence?
"The gate," suggested Piers Minor.