adverse comment, Edgar dropped it an inch or so and left it, hoping that
it might be thought that the blow his headpiece had received had damaged
the hinges of his vizor. With a final salute, first to the earl and then
to the Wolsingham ladies, he rode dully from the lists. The cheers of
the spectators fell on deaf ears, for though he had defeated Sir
Gervaise and upheld Sir John's honour, he felt that he was still as far
as ever from solving the mystery of his master's disappearance.
As he reached the door of his tent, Matthew and Peter came running up,
their faces wreathed with smiles at their young master's victory.
"Aid me to strip off this armour," cried Edgar, the moment he had
entered the tent, "and remember that Sir John is gone--gone upon the
visit to Faucigny Castle, in the lands of the lady Beatrice, that he has
had all along in mind. He gained the earl's permission some time since,
as he told me himself. Thus at least we gain some precious days in
which to continue our enquiries."
"Pardon, Master Edgar," cried Peter, suddenly stopping, "with thy
permission I will hie me to Sir Gervaise's tent. It may well be that
this is a time when it might advantage us to keep close watch upon those
about him."
"Go, Peter. His esquire will be bringing him back in a few minutes. He
is but stunned. Listen for what thou canst hear. Who knows but that a
few chance words may tell us all?"
Waiting for no more, Peter sped off upon his errand, and when, a
half-hour later, Sir Gervaise was carried into his tent, he was snugly
ensconced beneath a pile of horse's trappings at the very door.
*CHAPTER X*
*News of Sir John*
The dusk of evening was falling as Sir Gervaise raised himself from the
couch upon which he had been restlessly tossing ever since he had been
carried in. His head was swathed in bandages, and the light of the
single lamp showed a face pale beneath its sunburn, in which a pair of
fierce black eyes burned with an unnatural brightness.
"I have waited in suspense long enough," he muttered to himself. Then,
in a louder key, he called to his esquire who was in attendance upon
him.
"Arnaud, I have business that I must transact this night. Fetch me
hither, then, the varlet James Baulch, and then betake thyself to thy
tent. Stay, first fill up my cup, for my head still throbs consumedly
from the blow that trickster Chartris gave me."
The esquire obeyed, and in a minute the wounded knight was alone. Freed
from the restraint of his esquire's presence, Sir Gervaise groaned aloud
with the pain of his bruised and swollen head, and muttered savagely to
himself what sounded like threats and imprecations against his
successful foe and also the varlet James, who seemed somehow to have
incurred his especial displeasure.
Presently the man arrived escorted by the esquire, who seemed to look
somewhat askance at his charge. He glanced significantly at his master
as he was about to leave the tent, and, interpreting the look, the
knight cried as he scowled savagely at the man: "Yes, Arnaud, remain
outside within call. I may require thy services."
Arnaud bowed and retired, and the knight, raising himself, not without
difficulty, into a sitting posture and placing a dagger ready to his
hand, beckoned the man to approach.
"So thou hast played me false, James Baulch, murderer and vagabond?" he
cried in a voice thick with rage. "Thou, whom I have but to lift a
finger to consign to the gibbet--thou hast dared to lie to me."
The man cowered before the knight's pallid face and gleaming eyes.
"There is some mistake," he stammered, "I----"
"Aye--thou art right," cried the knight savagely, "'tis the mistake I
made when, with a trumped-up tale, I snatched thee from the sheriff's
men. I had better have let thee hang and moulder--but 'tis not yet too
late. The arm of the law is strong and swift even in Gascony, and on
the word of a knight thy shrift----"
"My lord! My lord!" cried the man, grovelling in terror on the floor.
"I swear there is some mistake. With mine own eyes at dawn this morning
I saw Sir John, bound and helpless, lying at the bottom of a wagon. I
rode straight hither, and he who fought with thee must be some other.
My lord, it must be so."
"Bah! Scoundrel! That is but a tale--another lie--to save thy wretched
neck from the gallows."
"It is not--it is not!" almost shrieked the man. "Didst not mark--but
thou wert senseless--has not, then, thine esquire told thee that he who
fought as Sir John did not drop his vizor even when he saluted the
earl?"
"Say'st thou so?" cried the knight, startled. "Strange!" he went on,
muttering to himself. "I seemed to feel a difference as he entered the
lists. Both horse and man seemed doubly full of fire, while Sir John
always rode heavily."
"Yes, yes," cried the man eagerly. "It was noticed by others. I heard
two men say that Sir John was riding lighter in the saddle than he used
to."
"Can this be the explanation?" went on De Maupas, still speaking half to
himself. "I never thought of such a daring ruse being played upon me.
Who can the man be? Doubtless one of Sir John's friends--but who?
'Twill be the worse for him an I find out the truth," he ended darkly,
clenching his teeth with suppressed rage.
"Give me leave to find out the knight's name, my lord," interrupted
Baulch in an eager voice.
Sir Gervaise for a minute or two made no reply, but gazed at his
accomplice with so gloomy and menacing a look that the man literally
shook with fear.
"Very well, Baulch," he said sternly after a pause, "thy neck may rest
at peace on thy shoulders for a space, while thou art finding out who it
was that masqueraded as Sir John. Find out, I say, find out! Dare to
bungle a second time, and the gallows that gape for thee shall have thee
fast!"
With trembling lips the man hastily promised to find out the truth.
Nodding carelessly, Sir Gervaise went on to talk of other matters.
There could be no doubt that his confidence in the ascendancy he had
obtained over the man was not misjudged. The man was obviously under a
spell, mastered by a hidden terror so great that all else was completely
swallowed up.
* * * * *
It was noon the following day when the man again made his appearance and
requested Arnaud to tell Sir Gervaise that James Baulch craved a few
minutes' further speech. Arnaud complied, though from the expression of
his face it might have been inferred that the desire to kick the man was
the feeling uppermost in his mind.
"Well, Baulch?" growled the knight, who still reclined upon a couch, and
whose temper seemed in no way improved by his night's rest. "Hast news
to tell? If not 'twill be the worse for thee."
"I have news, my lord--strange news. Whether 'twill please thee or not,
I cannot say, but----"
"Peace, knave! Tell thy news and madden me not with thy thoughts of
what pleases me."
"'Twas Edgar Wintour fought with thee in the lists," blurted out the man
hurriedly. "I have heard words let fall that make the matter clear."
"Edgar Wintour--and who is Edgar Wintour?" cried the knight with savage
impatience.
"He is Sir John's esquire."
The look that came into the knight's face made Baulch regret the success
of his enquiries. De Maupas gasped, grew even paler than before, and
clutched convulsively at the couch on which he lay. Then a sudden
passion seemed to galvanize him into activity and he rose to his feet
almost with a bound.
"What!" he thundered. "Dare ye tell me that----?"
But his strength was unequal to the effort, and clutching at his
bandages with both hands, as though his head were about to split in
twain, he sank slowly and painfully back upon the couch.
"A pretty debt I owe the boy if thy tale is true," he muttered at last
in a changed voice. "Art sure of thy facts?"
"Sure, my lord. I saw him mounted upon Sir John's charger early this
morning, and the way he rode made me think at once of the spring and
fire of thine adversary yesterday. Then I heard some words let drop by
one Matthew, a man-at-arms of Sir John, and I knew 'twas so."
"So that was what was in his mind when he gave me that strange look
yesterday," muttered De Maupas to himself. "It was on my lips to demand
an explanation. Would I had done so! I might have forced the quarrel
then and there with the advantage on my side, mailed and ready for a
conflict as I was."
"Canst not let the good earl know of the trick he played?" said the man
presently. "Surely he would punish him for daring so to dupe the
marshals of the lists?"
"Be silent, fool! Dost think I want all the world to know that I, a
knight, was beaten by an unfledged esquire? See to it that no word of
it is breathed by thee."
For some time Sir Gervaise remained silent, staring viciously at the
ground the while. The expression on his face was not good to see, and
it might have been as well had Edgar Wintour been there to see it.
"Baulch," said the knight at last, "Baulch, I gave thee money for Sir
John Chartris--alive. I offer thee double the sum for this Edgar
Wintour--dead. Dost understand?"
The tone of the knight's voice was low and measured, but the expression
of his face was so deadly that the blackest rage would have seemed less
implacable. Baulch seemed to have no great stomach for the task put to
him, but one furtive look at the knight's face was sufficient, and he
answered hastily:
"I understand, my lord."
"Then begone."
* * * * *
"Couldst hear no more than that, Peter? Nothing save a few words of
angry reproach against the man when De Maupas's voice rang highest?"
"No, sir. I could get no nearer, for De Maupas's esquire, Arnaud, paced
to and fro outside, doubtless by his master's orders. Most of the time
the two spake only of the tournament, though once I feel sure they
talked of Sir John, but they dropped their voices and only formless
words reached my ears."
"Ah! Then I fear it behoves us to find out," cried Edgar in a decided
tone. "We cannot afford to go on like this, Peter. The Wolsingham
ladies are becoming most anxious, and if we cannot soon get news, we
must acquaint the earl of the truth and implore his aid, though I fear
it will bring us little comfort. Ye say ye know where this man Baulch
lives?"
"Yes, he lives at a low inn in the lowest and most rascally quarter of
the town."
"Good! 'Tis the better for our purpose. At nightfall, Peter, I must
visit this inn, and see what stratagem or the sword will accomplish.
Tell me how I may find it, and then be off and get me some peasant's
clothing, old and soiled with use, and have it ready an hour or two
before the gates are closed."
At the time appointed Peter produced a bundle of clothing, and Edgar was
soon well disguised as a young countryman on a visit to the town to make
his purchases. The clothing was somewhat malodorous, but as this added
considerably to the realistic effect, Edgar recked little of that. His
own sword was far too well made and well finished to be taken, so Peter
obtained for him the least pretentious amongst those carried by Sir
John's men-at-arms. This was buckled on in an awkward and clumsy manner,
so as to give as unwarlike an air to a warlike weapon as possible.
Foreseeing the possibility of a fight in a locality of such unsavoury
reputation, Edgar took the precaution to don his light flexible shirt of
steel mail before putting on the peasant's garments, and to have a
dagger concealed beneath his clothes ready to hand in case of an attack
too sudden and at too close quarters to allow him to draw his sword.
It was a few minutes short of the hour at which the gates of the city
closed when, as a peasant, he rapped loudly at the door of a low-lying,
rambling, single-story structure overlooking the river Garonne. The
street was in complete darkness, save for the dim light emitted through
the shuttered windows of one or two of the hovels and crazy dwellings
which huddled together along each side of the narrow roadway.
After a short delay the door opened, and one of the most
villainous-looking men Edgar had ever set eyes on made his appearance.
"What seek ye?" he enquired, peering suspiciously first at the newcomer
and then over his shoulder, as though to find out whether he was alone.
"Some of thy good cheer, landlord. I was seeking another inn which a
neighbour of mine speaks well of, but lost my way, and a man I chanced
upon by good hap outside sent me to thee. Give me sup of thy best; I
have money and can pay," and Edgar, assuming an air of pride and
importance, flaunted a handful of coins under the man's eyes.
"Thou shalt have it, noble sir," cried the landlord, with a leer which
was meant to encourage his guest, and he led the way into a long room,
bare of furniture save for a couple of tables and some rough benches.
The room was fairly lofty, but numbers of smoked hams and other objects
hanging from the rafters made it appear low and gloomy. Half a dozen
men, amongst whom Edgar was quick to discern James Baulch, lounged upon
the benches drinking and dicing.
Edgar took stock of his surroundings as the landlord led him to the end
of the room farthest from the other occupants, and, fetching a chair
from a side room and carefully placing it in position at the table,
invited his guest to take a seat.
In a few minutes some food, rough and unpalatable, was brought, and
Edgar made shift to eat it, as though with a good appetite. Then he
leaned back in his chair, and, half-shutting his eyes, pretended to be
nearly asleep. He hoped that most of the men would soon leave, and that
he might have an opportunity of accosting Baulch alone or of following
him to his room, wherever that might be.
Presently he missed one of the men, and shortly after the others broke
into a rough drinking song. Edgar then realized, with something of a
shock, that instead of being the pursuer he was now the pursued. It was
not the mere withdrawal of one of the men that made him think this, but
the quiet, stealthy manner in which the man must have left, and the way
in which the other men began their song simultaneously, as though at a
signal. It almost seemed that the song was intended to cloak something,
perhaps the arrival of a further band of ruffians. Edgar began to
regret that he had exhibited his money so freely--or could it be that
Baulch had seen through his disguise?
A slight rustling noise close to him attracted his attention, and giving
up the pretence of being nearly asleep, he opened his eyes wide and
looked warily about him. The men had stopped their song, and were
gazing in his direction with an air of covert expectation. Something
was going on--that much was clear as noonday. Another slight rustle,
and Edgar looked quickly above him into the blackness beyond the hams
and other objects hanging from the rafters. He was just in time to
catch a glimpse of something as it dropped down over his head. It was a
rope!
Before he had time to spring to his feet and fling it off his shoulders,
it was drawn tightly round his neck with a quick jerk, and he was lifted
almost off his feet. The peril was extreme, and realizing in a flash
that only the most desperate exertions could save him, Edgar grasped the
rope above the slip knot with his left hand, while with his right he
drew his dagger and reached up to cut the rope, straining on tiptoe to
get a purchase.
Suddenly a trapdoor, upon which his chair had evidently been placed,
gave way beneath his feet, and the whole of his weight fell upon his
left arm. Choking, half-strangled, with eyes starting from his head,
Edgar strove to cut the rope with his dagger. One stroke, feeble from
his straining position and reeling brain--a second stroke--then a third,
into which all his remaining strength was put--and like a stone he fell
half-fainting through the trapdoor into a cellar below.
For a moment or two he was unable to move. Half-strangled and half-dazed
by the dread attack and sudden fall, he was in so helpless a condition
that he could not have lifted a hand to save his life. The noise of
footsteps on the stone stairs leading to the cellar and the harsh
grating of a key in the lock roused him a little, however, and he feebly
extricated himself from the legs of the chair upon which he had fallen.
Scarcely had he done so before two men, one of whom bore a torch, ran
hurriedly in and rushed at him with knives upraised. The man bearing
the light Edgar recognized as James Baulch.
Against their attack Edgar at first could defend himself but feebly.
His hand still clutched the dagger with which he had severed the rope,
but before he was in a condition to use it he had received several body
thrusts that would have dispatched him outright had it not been for the
shirt of steel mail he wore beneath his clothing.
Every moment, however, his strength came back, and, watching his chance,
presently he parried a blow from Baulch's companion, and brought the
hilt of his own dagger down upon the ruffian's head with all his
strength. The man dropped prone in his tracks amid a yell of wrath from
the men in the room above, who were eagerly peering down at the conflict
from the opening in the floor.
Feeling that his chance had come, Edgar sprang fiercely upon Baulch and
flung him to the floor, the torch spinning from his hand to the other
end of the cellar. Kneeling upon the man's chest and placing his dagger
at his throat, Edgar cried sternly:
"Tell me where is Sir John Chartris, or thou shall die."
The man gasped with amazement and fear, and cried hastily: "At
Ruthenes."
"Where is this Ruthenes?" cried Edgar quickly.
But the man seemed already to have repented that he had told so much,
and with an effort made shift to grasp the hand that held the
threatening dagger. Doubtless he had seen the faces of his four friends
above disappear from the trap, and had heard the scurry of their feet as
they rushed across the room and made for the stairs. It could be but a
matter of seconds before they were on the scene. Edgar, too, had heard
the scurry of feet, and realized at once that he could get no more
information before it would be too late. Wrenching himself free from
Baulch's grasp and springing to his feet, he seized the chair and placed
it upright beneath the trapdoor.
The instant he was free Baulch scrambled to his feet, and, emboldened by
the approach of help--for the others' footsteps now sounded loudly upon
the stairs--rushed at Edgar with a yell, and tried to prevent him
mounting upon the chair.
"We will have thee yet, Edgar Wintour," he cried exultingly.
Edgar had flung away his dagger, but at this attack he turned and shot
out his arm with all his strength. The blow caught the man full in the
face, and felled him headlong.
The first of the men, leaping down the stairs, burst into the cellar
just as Edgar, seizing the edge of the floor above with his hands,
sprang off the chair, head and shoulders, into the room overhead.
Flinging up his right leg and making another effort, he lifted himself
until he stood upright upon the floor.
For the moment the room was empty, but the men below, mad with rage at
being again tricked, were already in pursuit, shouting like wild beasts,
and there was no time to be lost. Without an instant's delay,
therefore, Edgar sprang to the window, flung aside the shutters, and
looked eagerly out. As he expected, the gleam of water met his gaze,
and, placing one hand upon the sill, he sprang headlong out and vanished
into the waters of the Garonne.
*CHAPTER XI*
*In Pursuit*
An hour later a weary-looking, soaked figure knocked loudly and
insistently at the door of the inn which sheltered the ladies Gertrude
and Beatrice. It was Edgar, exhausted by a long swim in sodden garments
and shirt of mail, which had well nigh dragged him to the bottom of the
river. After a short parley the landlord admitted him, and, seeing his
sorry condition, proceeded to light a fire to dry his wet garments, and
good-naturedly lent him others until they were ready for use.
"Dost wish me to tell Sir John's ladies that thou art come?" he asked
presently.
"Nay, I will spend the night before this fire, and speak to them early
in the morning. Tell me when ye hear them stirring."
Long before Edgar awoke in the morning Peter had arrived, anxious to
know if anything had been heard of his master. Seeing him asleep, and
hearing of the exhausted condition in which he had arrived, he sat down
patiently to wait until he should awake.
"Hast learned aught?" he cried as soon as Edgar opened his eyes.
"Aye, though what 'tis worth I know not;" and Edgar related the
incidents of the attack and escape the night before. "Baulch said that
Sir John was at Ruthenes, or a place that sounded much like it. Whatever
that name may be worth to us, it would seem that Sir John is at least
still alive."
"Ruthenes!" echoed Peter thoughtfully. "Methinks I have heard a word
that sounded like that before. Yes, I have it; it was a word spoken
more than once by De Maupas to that rascal Baulch. I could not catch it
fully, but now I know the word, I feel sure it was that they were
repeating."
"Then we are on the right track," cried Edgar joyfully. "Now we must
find where Ruthenes is. Call mine host."
The landlord was called and asked if he knew of a place called Ruthenes.
After a moment's thought he announced that he had heard of it as a
castle of evil reputation situated on the lower slopes of the Pyrenees
many leagues distant. It belonged to a knight named Eustace de Brin,
who appeared to be better known amongst the country folk and peasantry
as Black Eustace. Exactly why he should have earned so terrible a name,
however, the landlord was unable to say.
Satisfied that Baulch had not lied to him, Edgar desired the landlord to
send someone to arouse the ladies, and to tell them that Sir John's
esquire begged a few minutes' audience with them upon a matter of great
importance. Then he turned to Peter and instructed him to return to the
camp, to saddle Sir John's two best horses, and to make all ready for a
long journey. On his way through the town he was to obtain more
countrymen's clothes of a better cut and quality than his last
purchase--such, indeed, as might be worn by small traders travelling on
business from one part of the country to another.
Very shortly both the ladies appeared, eager to know why Edgar had come
to them so early in the day, and guessing that he must have news to
tell.
In a few brief sentences Edgar described the scene at the inn, and the
means by which he had extracted one single word from Baulch, which, he
hoped, contained the key to Sir John's whereabouts. Then he announced
that he had made up his mind to set out forthwith for Castle Ruthenes,
accompanied only by Peter, and to do all in his power to deliver Sir
John from his captors.
"But will not this Eustace offer him to ransom?" cried Beatrice. "We
will gladly pay a ransom, however great, so long as we can get him
safely back."
"I much misdoubt me whether Sir John would consent to a ransom being
paid to dishonourable captors," replied Edgar. "'Tis not as though he
had been captured in fair fight. Besides, would De Maupas consider
himself avenged by a share in a ransom, for, of course, he must be in
league with this Black Eustace?"
"I know not," cried Beatrice, stamping her foot in vexation. "But what
seek ye to do? How can ye two carry Sir John away by force from a
stronghold such as Castle Ruthenes seems to be?"
"By stratagem, backed by force if need be. There is naught else to be
done. The earl is not yet ready to move, and even if he were, he could
not move for months into so remote a part of the enemy's country as the
district in which Ruthenes lies."
"Well, then, go, Edgar. Gertrude and I will pray for thy success even
more heartily than in the combat with De Maupas. But trust not to thy
sword too much. Ye hotheaded esquires think far too much of prowess in
arms."
"I thank thee, maiden. I will try to remember thy counsels," replied
Edgar, with a slight smile.
"But what are we to tell those who enquire for my father?" cried
Gertrude.
"That is already settled. A day or two before he disappeared Sir John
obtained leave from the earl to visit the lands of the lady Beatrice in
Faucigny. Many called to congratulate him on his defeat of De Maupas,
but hearing that he had left, supposed that he had already gone thence.
I think it would be best if the lady Beatrice went to Faucigny for a
time, and that thou didst return to Wolsingham."
"Nay, I shall not return home until I know what hath befallen my
father," cried Gertrude decidedly. "Beatrice may please herself whether
she visits her tenants at Faucigny, but I remain here. If the earl
moves forward in thy absence the men-at-arms must go, but Matthew I
shall keep with me."