"True, I remember now. . . The flat-nosed one alone escaped. . . Did
De Bury ever speak to you of enemies in these parts?"
"Never directly; though, as you know, he seemed to dislike the Abbot of
Kirkstall and suspected him of being, at least, party to the other
attack."
"Well, we must wait for even a plausible solution until we have a few
facts. Yet I would wager much it is an abduction--and God grant it be
so. . . Of course, it may be the villains did not molest the Countess.
In that case, find Sir John and you find her, too."
"The chance is slight," De Lacy said quickly, "yet I shall ride rapidly
back for a few miles and, perchance, it may be so. If I be not here by
daybreak, Sire, I will join the men en route."
"It will be a relief for you to be on the move," said Richard kindly;
"but return here for your escort. We may have clues then; and if the
Countess has been abducted, she is quite as likely to be carried South
as North."
"I shall be here at daybreak," Aymer answered. He saddled Selim with
his own hand, and with Dauvrey beside him hurried away. They rode in
silence with eyes alert, scanning sharply the ground on both sides of
the road that lay like a silver stream before them. A mile from the
castle a soldier rode out from the shadow and reined across the track,
his casquetel and drawn sword glistening in the moonlight.
"Hold!" he ordered.
"Yorkshire!" said De Lacy . . . "Any news?" he demanded, as they swept
by.
"None, my lord."
At the first cross-road two horsemen barred the way. Aymer paused to
question them, but learning nothing, the pace was resumed. Another
mile was passed, and they had tarried a moment to breathe and water the
horses at a rivulet that gurgled across the road, when Selim suddenly
threw up his head.
"Some one comes!" said De Lacy . . . "it is news . . . he rides
furiously; he must be stopped."
They drew out into the middle of the track and waited. Presently a
running horse shot into view ahead, and the rider, seeing the two in
front, shouted the royal messenger's call: "Way! In the King's name!
Way!"
"Stay, Allen," Giles Dauvrey cried, recognizing him. "What word?"
"Sir John has been found," the man answered, drawing up short.
"Dead?" Aymer demanded.
"No, my lord, not yet."
"And the Countess of Clare?"
"Gone, my lord; no trace."
"God in Heaven! . . . Where Is Sir John?"
"Half a league further on."
"Tell the King I have gone thither," Aymer called over his shoulder as
he raced away.
In a patch of moonlight, fifty feet or so in from the road, lay Sir
John de Bury, his eyes closed, his face upturned, motionless--to all
appearances a corpse. De Lacy sprang down and knelt beside him.
"He is not dead, my lord," said a soldier.
Aymer laid back the doublet and shirt, wet and heavy with blood that
had come from a deep wound in the right breast, and was still oozing
slowly. The heart was beating, but very faintly, and forcing the set
jaws apart with his dagger, he poured a measure of cordial down Sir
John's throat.
"May it please you, sir," said one of the men, "we have arranged a
litter of boughs, and if you think it good we will bear him back to the
castle."
"It can do him no harm," De Lacy answered. . . "How say you, Giles?"
"With even step it will not hurt him," the squire replied.
Lifting the old Knight carefully they placed him on the litter and
Aymer wrapped his own cloak around him, then nodded to the soldiers to
proceed.
"Go slowly," he ordered, "a jolt may end his life. Watch his heart
closely; if it grow weaker, use the cordial," and he handed them the
flask.
"The fight was not at this place," said Dauvrey after a moment's
examination of the ground; "there are no mingling hoof marks. De Bury
likely fell from the saddle here and the horse kept on to the castle;
his tracks point thither."
"Let us follow the back track," De Lacy exclaimed.
For a score of paces it led them, slowly and laboriously, into the dark
forest, and then vanished, and though they searched in all directions,
no further trace was found. It was a fruitless quest; and at length
the squire persuaded his master to abandon it and await the coming of
the dawn.
Reluctantly De Lacy remounted and they rode slowly back to Pontefract.
The soldiers bearing Sir John de Bury had reached there some time
before, and he lay on the couch in his own room. There was no material
change in his condition, though under the candle-light there was less
of the ghastly pallor of death in the face; and about the ears were
evidences that the blood was beginning to circulate more strongly. The
King's own physician, Antonio Carcea--an Italian--sat beside him with
his hand on the pulse and, ever and anon, bent to listen to the
respiration.
At Be Lacy's entrance he glanced up with a frown which faded when he
saw who it was.
"He will live, Signor," he said in Italian. "He has not yet come to
consciousness, but it is only a matter of a little while."
"Will he speak by daybreak?" De Lacy asked.
"Most likely, Signor."
"Summon me on the instant, and may the Good God aid you."
Going to his quarters and waving Dauvrey aside when he would have
relieved him of his doublet, Aymer threw himself upon the bed. He had
ridden far that day, and with the coming of the sun would begin what
promised to be a labor long and arduous. He could not sleep--and his
closed eyes but made the fancies of his brain more active and the
visions of his love, abducted and in hideous peril, more real and
agonizing. Yet to serve her he must needs be strong and so he tried to
compose himself and rest his body. There was scanty time until
morning; but an hour of quiet now might breed a day of vigor in the
future.
Presently there came a sharp knock and Ratcliffe entered.
"Lie still," he said, as De Lacy would have risen. "I know you found
no trace of the Countess else you would not be here. Yet, perchance,
Sir John may speak or some of the scouts return with a clue. If not,
the sunlight, doubtless, will reveal what the night has hidden. The
King has retired, but he bade me say to you not to depart without word
with him. Meanwhile if any of the scouts come in they are to report to
you."
Slowly the minutes dragged themselves out. The shadows lengthened more
and more as the moon went to its rest behind the distant Craven hills.
Then of a sudden, light and shadow mingled and all was dark. Presently
a cock crowed; and the sound seemed loud as a roar of a bombard. Again
the cock crowed, and from the retainers' houses another and another
answered, until the shrill cry ran along the outer bailey and across
the wall and on down the hill to the village, growing fainter and
fainter until, at the last, it was like a far distant echo, more memory
than reality.
De Lacy turned his head toward the window, hoping for some sign of day,
but the East was black. With an impatient sigh he lay back. Was ever
man so sorely tried--so cruelly used--so choked by horrors of the
probable! Then came a troubled slumber--a tossing and a waking--that
was ended by a quick step in the corridor, and with a bound he reached
the door and flung it open.
"Sir John------" the page began, but got no farther--De Lacy was gone.
Sir John de Bury lay as when Aymer left him, but the color was coming
back to his face and his eyes were open, and he smiled very faintly in
greeting.
"He may speak?" De Lacy asked.
"A few words, Signor," the Italian answered.
Just then the King entered hastily, a long gown about him. Sir John
tried to raise his hand in salute, but Richard quickly caught the weak
fingers.
"Nay, nay, my friend," he said; "another time for that." . . . Then to
Carcea: "Has he spoken?"
"Not yet, Sire; and if it please Your Majesty, it would be well to ask
the questions so that they can be answered by a motion of the head.
The patient's strength will permit few words."
"Do you understand, John?" Richard asked.
De Bury smiled faintly and indicated that he did.
"Were you attacked?" the King went on.
"Yes," said the nod.
"By highwaymen?"