THE ESCAPE.
The prisoner seemed to submit to his fate with patience. He thanked the
attendant who brought him his rations with a nod and smile, and disposed
of the food with an appetite which seemed to indicate a cheerful temper. A
visit which the peddler paid him the second day of his imprisonment was
apparently received as a welcome relief. The two had a long and friendly
conversation, nor did Cedric utter a word of complaint against his
treatment.
In reality the young chief was keeping under his rage with an effort
almost unbearably painful. That he should be chained like a dog to the
wall was an intolerable grievance; he, a free man, and the son of a long
line of chiefs which boasted the blood of the great Odin himself! The iron
did indeed enter into his soul, and the seeming calm of his outward
patience concealed a whole volcano of inward fury. It was only the hope of
freedom that kept him calm. It was that he might not diminish this hope,
this almost desperate chance, by the very smallest fraction that he ate
and drank with such seeming cheerfulness. He would want, he knew, all his
strength for an escape. He would support it and husband it to the utmost.
And for an escape, unknown to his keepers, he was steadily preparing. The
chain which bound him to the wall was fastened round his right arm and
leg, and the fastening would have seemed secure to any ordinary observer.
But such an observer would not have made the necessary allowance for the
young man’s ordinary vigour and endurance. His hand was large and
muscular; far too much so, one would have thought, to pass through the
ring which had been welded round the arms. But he possessed an unusual
power of contracting it. To exercise this power was indeed a painful
effort, causing something like an agonizing cramp; still it was an effort
that could be made, and made without disabling the limb. It could not,
however, be done twice, because the hand, recovering its shape from the
extraordinary pressure to which it had been subjected, would infallibly
swell. Cedric, accordingly, after satisfying himself that it could be
done, postponed actually doing it till the moment of escape had arrived.
The fastening of the leg was less manageable. He would not have scrupled
to do as the Spartan prisoner is said to have done, and cut off the foot
which impeded his escape, but he had positively nothing with which this
could be done. The only alternative was to drag the staple from the wall,
and to carry it and the chain along with him. Fortunately, strong as it
was, it was light. The staple at first seemed obstinate. It had indeed
been subjected to tests which satisfied the villa blacksmith of its
capacity of resistance. But repeated efforts, made with all the enormous
strength which the young giant could bring to bear, weakened its hold, and
at last it gave. The prisoner was prudent enough not to complete the
separation of the iron from the walls. It would have been difficult to
replace it so as to escape the notice of the attendant. Accordingly the
drag was relaxed as soon as the first indications of yielding were felt.
The time for attempting the escape was a subject of much anxious
deliberation. The obvious course would have been to choose some hour
between midnight and dawn; but Cedric had heard from time to time the step
of some one walking up and down before his prison, and he guessed that it
might be guarded at night, but left during the day-time, on the
presumption that the captive would scarcely make an effort to escape while
it was light. It was this accordingly that he resolved to do. Shortly
after sunrise the attendant paid him his customary visit, bringing with
him the morning meal. Cedric pretended to be but half awake, and,
returning his salutation in a mumbling, sleepy tone, turned again on his
side, as if to continue his slumbers. But the moment after the man had
left the room he was at work. He dragged his hand through the ring, at the
cost of a pang which taxed his endurance to the utmost; pulled the staple
from the wall, wound the chain round his leg, and wrenching away one of
the iron bars of the window, dropped through the opening thus made on to
the ground. His calculation was correct. The ground was clear. Then
another question presented itself to him. Should he attempt to escape as
he was? He knew where a boat was commonly kept, and it had been his plan
to take this and row out to sea in the hope of meeting some one of his
countrymen’s galleys. If he once got off from the shore he was free, for
if the worst came to the worst, he could at least die as a free man
should. But should he go unarmed, and with the hampering chain about his
leg? A moment’s consideration—no more was possible—decided him. He would
make one more bold effort. The forge was close at hand, and he knew from
having worked there that at that hour in the morning it was commonly
empty, the workmen leaving it for their morning meal. There he could find
what he wanted, a file to release himself from the chain, and a weapon.
The forge was empty, as he had expected. The question was, How long would
it remain so? The workmen, he could see, had but just left it. The fire
had not died down to the lowest, showing that the bellows had been
recently at work, and a piece of iron that had been left, half-wrought, on
the anvil, was still hot, as he could feel from putting his hand near it.
It might be safest to take a file and escape with it at once. On the other
hand, it would be far better to release himself at once from his
encumbrance, in the event of having to run or fight for his life. He might
count, he thought, upon half an hour, and he resolved to file away the
chain then and there. With admirable coolness he sat down and applied all
the strength and skill which he possessed to the work, and had finished it
in little more than half the time which he had reckoned to have
undisturbed. He then caught up a sword which hung on one of the walls. It
was an old-fashioned weapon, but Cedric, who knew good iron when it came
in his way, had tried its temper, and knew it to be capable of doing good
service.
So far everything had favoured him, nor did his good fortune desert him
now. He found the boat, which was one commonly used for fishing by the
inmates of the villa, ready furnished with oars and a small mast and sail.
There were even, by good luck, a small jar of water, some broken food in a
hamper, left by a party which had been using it the day before, with some
fishing lines. These, Cedric thought to himself, might be useful if he
failed to fall in with any of his countrymen.
Jumping on board, he plied his sculls rapidly, going in the direction of
the sea, and keeping as close under the shore as possible, so as to be out
of sight of the villa. As it happened, this precaution was unnecessary.
His absence was not discovered till shortly afternoon, when the attendant,
bringing the midday meal, was astonished beyond measure to find the room
empty. But another danger threatened him, a danger which he had not indeed
forgotten, but against which he had known it to be impossible to take any
precautions. This was the chance of meeting with the Count’s squadron as
it was returning to the island; and it was this that he actually
encountered.
Just as he had reached the mouth of the Haven and was turning his boat
eastward, he saw within a hundred yards of him one of the Roman galleys.
It was not the Count’s own vessel, for this had been delayed by an
accident to the rigging, and was now many miles behind, but was in charge
of the second-in-command. The recognition was mutual. Cedric’s tall figure
was not one that could be easily mistaken, nor could it be doubted that he
was attempting an escape. Had the Count been there he would probably have
parleyed with the fugitive. The officer in command was not so considerate.
“Shoot,” he cried, “he is trying to escape,” and as he spoke he seized a
bow which lay on deck, and took aim at the Saxon. His order was
immediately observed, and a shower of missiles was directed at the boat.
They all fell short, for Cedric had by this time increased his distance.
In a minute or two, however, the ship was put about, and then began to
gain rapidly on the solitary rower.
Another volley was discharged, and this time one of the arrows took
effect, wounding the fugitive slightly in the left arm. The situation was
desperate. To remain in the boat was to await certain death. A third
volley would unquestionably be fatal. Cedric jumped overboard, but still
clung to the side of the boat. It was only just in time. The third volley
was discharged, and rattled on the upturned keel of the boat so thick as
to show plainly what the fate of the occupant would have been. Still,
though he had escaped for the moment, Cedric’s fate seemed sealed. The
boat had given him shelter for the time, but to go on clinging to it would
be to ensure his capture. He left it, and after making a few vigorous
strokes, threw up his arms from the surface of the water, and uttering a
loud cry, disappeared.
His quick eye had discerned a great mass of sea-weed floating on the water
about fifty yards away, and his ready intelligence had seen a chance,
small indeed and almost desperate, but still a chance of escape. Swimming
under water to the sea-weed, he was able to come to the surface and to
take breath under its shelter.
[Illustration: Cedric’s Escape.]
On board the galley every one of course supposed him to have sunk. His
action of the lifted arms and the loud cry had been natural enough to
deceive the most wary observer. The boat was righted and secured by a
rope, and the galley pursued its way to the villa, while Cedric was left
to make the best of his way to the land.