good cheer for the news he had brought showed that at any rate Sir John
was alive. A rescue would, he trusted, only be a matter of time.
Though the ladies were unable to accept so hopeful a statement, yet they
felt a real thrill of hope. The dash and daring of the young esquire in
the lists outside Bordeaux, the determination displayed by him in his
onslaught upon the miscreant Baulch in the riverside inn, and the not
less striking success which had attended both ventures gave them a
ground for hoping at which they would have laughed a week ago.
Two hours later Edgar left the camp, accompanied by Peter, and took the
road which led in the direction of Ruthenes. Both were dressed as small
traders, though it must be confessed that their mounts were vastly
superior to the steeds such men usually bestrode. Both carried sword
and dagger, and Edgar wore beneath his outer garments the light shirt of
steel mail which had already done him such good service. Permission to
leave had readily been granted to him on the understanding that he was
_en route_ to rejoin Sir John Chartris.
Before he left, Edgar called Matthew and gave him strict instructions to
keep vigilant watch and ward over the Wolsingham ladies, and especially
to see that neither went abroad unaccompanied by a proper escort. His
fears for them, however, largely vanished when Matthew told him that De
Maupas had recovered sufficiently to leave the camp for a destination
which he had been unable to discover. The man Baulch appeared to have
been left behind.
After a three-days' journey over rough roads, oftentimes mere tracks,
Edgar and Peter reached a village in the vicinity of the castle of
Ruthenes. Their arrival created something of a stir, for the village and
district were so remote from the trade routes and highways that
strangers were hardly ever seen. Somewhat disturbed that they were not
able, as they wished, to pass unnoticed about their business, Edgar
enquired whether the village boasted an inn. It did not, but the house
which performed the nearest approach to that office was pointed out to
him, and they made their way there and dismounted. A target for
curiosity, and also, apparently, for barely concealed hostility, the two
sat down to the poor hospitality the place afforded, feeling that the
difficulties before them were greater even than they had anticipated.
It was evening when they arrived, and they had scarcely been there half
an hour before no less a personage than the village priest called,
ostensibly as a chance visitor, but really, as Edgar shrewdly suspected,
to examine the two strangers, and to ascertain, if possible, what their
visit portended.
"Ye are strangers here," remarked the priest, as he brought a mess of
soup to the table at which Edgar and Peter were seated, and sat down
himself.
Edgar assented and went on with his meal, though he kept a watchful eye
upon the priest. The man was past middle age, tall and well built to all
appearances, and had a kindly and pleasant, though careworn, face.
Kindly as he looked, Edgar felt anxious to keep the real object of his
visit there a secret from this man more than any other, for of all those
in the village it was most probable that the local priest was on
friendliest terms with the lord of the soil at Castle Ruthenes.
"Doubtless 'tis to visit the castle, and not us poor villagers, that ye
are come," said the priest quietly, after a few minutes' pause.
"Nay, we know not Sir Eustace, and though we should like to see so fine
a castle before we pass on, we shall not seek his hospitality."
"Are ye for us or against us?" asked the priest suddenly, fixing a pair
of steady grey eyes upon Edgar.
"I know not what ye mean," said Edgar uncomfortably.
"I mean, are ye for the downtrodden and oppressed, or do ye uphold those
who grind and ill-use the weak and helpless?"
"Certainly not the latter," cried Edgar quickly.
"Then join thyself to us, and make thyself famous in aiding a noble
cause," cried the priest, his face flushing and his eyes sparkling like
those of a zealot.
"What is this cause of which ye speak?" asked Edgar warily.
"It is to deliver these downtrodden folk amongst whom it is my sad lot
to work. Have ye not heard of the ill fame of this Black Eustace, as he
is called--and rightly called? Tell me that ye are not of his
party--but I am sure ye are not, otherwise I would not have spoken so
plainly."
"I am not. 'Tis but three days since I heard his name for the first
time."
"Ah! then ye know not that he is the scourge of all this land, and doth
kill and burn and flay without let or hindrance? He hath powerful
friends, and never a thing is done when he ill-uses the poor ignorant
folk who inhabit the land he calls his own. I have seen things with my
own eyes that call aloud to heaven for vengeance, and yet the time
cometh not."
"The country folk would then like to be rid of Sir Eustace?"
"Aye, they would like to rid themselves of him if only it were possible
to poor and ill-armed men. Woe to me, a priest, that I should have to
uphold the meeting of violence by violence! but I have tried to find
another way and failed. I have been told that such a state as exists
here exists in many other parts of France. If that be so, terrible
things will be witnessed in the years to come.[1#] I cannot believe,
however, that things can be so bad elsewhere as they are here, for
whereas we are poor and ignorant, in other places the people are rich
and powerful, and can resist oppression in many ways."
[#] The priest was right. In the rising of the "Jacquerie", which took
place a few years later, dreadful scenes of violence and bloodshed were
witnessed.
"Undoubtedly," murmured Edgar, nodding his head in agreement.
"But what we most lack is leaders," went on the priest in a still more
earnest tone. "There is no one here, save myself, who stands out from
the herd of poor miserable folk, and without leaders men with no
knowledge of warfare are doubly useless. We want leaders," he
reiterated in a meaning tone, fixing his eyes upon Edgar in a way that
made that young man feel most uncomfortable.
"Yes, yes," replied Edgar in a soothing tone. "Doubtless the leaders ye
need will be forthcoming when the time comes."
"The time has come, but the leaders are absent," cried the priest; and
he was apparently about to say more when he stopped suddenly, as though
with a great effort, and stared frowningly at the table.
Devoutly hoping that the priest had done and would spare them any
further confidences, Edgar turned towards Peter and began to talk upon
other topics. In a minute or two, however, the priest raised his head
and went on:
"But what are ye here for? Ye say ye are not visitors to the castle.
Yet art thou, sir, if I am not mistaken, a man trained to war, and your
steeds tell the same tale. What else can there be in this remote spot
that would attract thee save the castle? Thy patois is strange and
unfamiliar to me, for I have travelled little; but undoubtedly thou hast
journeyed here from afar."
Edgar smiled. His knowledge of the French tongue had been for the most
part acquired at Wolsingham, where several had a good knowledge of it.
On to this, however, had been grafted, since his arrival, a strong
Gascon flavour that more than possibly assorted somewhat ill with his
previous acquirements.
The priest was waiting for a reply, and Edgar quickly made up his mind
to confide in him the true reason for his presence there. It was
practically certain that did he not do so the priest would have him
watched, and that, he felt, would be disastrous.
"Yes," he said, "I have travelled here from afar. Like you, I am at
enmity with those who shelter behind the walls of Castle Ruthenes, and,
like you, I seek to outmanoeuvre them. They hold prisoner one whom I
must rescue at all costs." Then Edgar went on to describe briefly what
had happened to Sir John, and how he had come to believe that he had
been carried away to Ruthenes.
The priest listened attentively to the end. "Then your interests are
identical with ours," he said in a voice which rang with triumph. "Why
should ye not throw in your lot with us and aid us to fling down yon
frowning battlements? Your knight shall thus be saved and my poor
downtrodden folk delivered from the oppressor. Ye are trained to war,
to the siege of castles, and to the command of men: take command of my
people jointly with me. 'Tis a righteous cause--unhesitatingly I
proclaim it."
Moved in spite of himself by the priest's deep earnestness and
sincerity, Edgar for some moments could find no words with which to
reply. He had heard many tales of the misery and degradation of the
poorer classes of France, and their truth had been brought home by the
sights that had met his gaze on the long journey thither. There could
be little doubt that that unhappy condition was due in a very large
measure to unjust extortion and oppression by the ruling classes. But
his first duty was to Sir John.
"I fear it cannot be," he said presently. "I must accomplish the rescue
of my master at once, or I may find it too late. Then, when I have
delivered him, I shall be at his disposal, and can therefore make no
promise of aid to thee. Your folk, if I mistake not, are not yet ready
for the rising ye project. They are not organized, they have not been
taught to obey any given set of signals, and they have no belief in one
another. There must be weeks of patient work ere they can be led to
attack a fortalice defended by trained and resolute men. Nay, victory
cannot be snatched by a rising on the spur of the moment. There must be
much work of patient preparation."
There was a long pause. Then the priest, his face full of trouble, rose
from the bench on which he had been sitting, and began feverishly to
pace the room.
"It is so," he said. "I feel it, though I am impatient to get to grips
with the evildoers. I must begin at once, though when we are ready we
shall still lack leaders. But mayhap ye will have failed to succour
your knight, and will be glad to fall back upon our aid. Who knows?"
"Who knows, indeed? But I hope and believe not. If I have not rescued
my master by then, I fear it will be because I am either dead or
captured. But canst tell me aught of this castle? Is it strong? Doth it
consist of a single donjon, or hath it outer walls?"
"It is an ancient castle, the origin of which is buried in the obscurity
of the past. It hath a central donjon and also outer walls, most of it
and all the stronger parts being built in its later days in imitation of
the castles built by the Northmen in other parts of France. 'Tis
strong, I know, for I have studied it with intent to discover its
weakest spots."
"Hast discovered aught? I would fain learn, Sir Priest, any points that
would help me in my quest. In return I will joyfully impart to you such
knowledge as may come to me in my enterprise."
"I fear it hath no weak spots worthy of the name. Nothing save hard
fighting can win yon fortalice, unless, as has of late been the case,
the garrison wax careless from long inaction and freedom from alarums."
"Stratagem might effect its capture. It is on stratagem that I rely
most for my own venture. But I would now fain bid thee good night, Sir
Priest, and thank thee for thy kindly information. Perchance we shall
meet again. Come, Peter!"
"Good night, Sir Squire! May ye prosper and win your way both in and
out of the blood-stained lair of Black Eustace! God speed!"
*CHAPTER XII*
*Castle Ruthenes*
Early on the following day Edgar, accompanied by Peter, reconnoitred
Castle Ruthenes from the shelter of the thick woods which stretched to
within less than a hundred yards of its walls. In the light of his
knowledge of the castles of the time, Edgar could study the stronghold
with a real appreciation of its strong and weak points. Its chief
characteristic was a square central donjon, apparently of great age,
which towered high above the outer walls. These were somewhat low,
though of a very massive build, and appeared to belong to a later date
than the donjon, having probably been thrown out as an additional screen
against a surprise attack.
About the walls ran a moat, fairly wide and apparently deep, formed by a
stream from the mountains being dammed back and looped, so as to
complete the circumference of the walls. The castle stood in a hollow,
and the moat ran sluggishly at a level with the surrounding land, which
was boggy and springy, as though the water often overflowed and covered
it inches deep. The place seemed to reek with moisture, the walls being
mossgrown and discoloured; while the thick woods, encroaching closely
upon the narrow patch of grassy plain, seemed to add to the forbidding,
cheerless air of the gloomy fortalice.
The outer walls were pierced in one spot only, and that was at the main
gateway. Here the moat was spanned by a drawbridge of modern
appearance, but Edgar could see no traces of a portcullis, its place
being taken by heavy oaken gates faced with plates of iron.
Struck by the gloomy, unhealthy look of the castle, Edgar could not help
exclaiming in a voice of deep concern:
"I hope, Peter, they have treated Sir John well. The dungeons of such
castles usually lie deep below the level of the moat. If they have
immured him in one of those I fear for him. Sir John's health hath
suffered much from his many campaigns."
"I hope not, Master Edgar. But we must hasten the more to release him,
though how 'tis to be done I know not."
"We, or I, might perhaps gain entrance in disguise, though that would
mean a daylight entry, and we should be under observation, and could
hardly hope to effect much. Besides, since the simple old priest so
quickly penetrated our disguise, I have lost faith in our abilities in
that direction--our tongue, I fear, betrayeth us all too quickly."
Peter nodded in agreement.
"Come, let us make the full circuit of the walls, Peter, keeping well
within the shadow of the woods. So far, I can see no way in save by
scaling the walls themselves."
"By a ladder?" queried Peter.
"Nay, a ladder would betray us, if not before we entered, certainly at
dawn the following morning. Nay, but a rope and grapnel in patient hands
should win an entrance."
"A rope and grapnel!" cried Peter. "A rope we can doubtless obtain from
someone among the country folk, but where may we obtain a grapnel?"
"We can improvise one. A sword wrapped in cloths might be well lodged
in the spaces betwixt those blocks on the summit of the wall--thy steel
scabbard, Peter, with the rope tied to its middle, flung up and properly
lodged, would easily take the weight of one of us. Ha, 'tis easy after
all!"
"But could we fling scabbard and rope to the summit of the wall from the
distance of the edge of the moat?"
"'Twill certainly be a long throw. Is there no place where a bank at
the bottom of the wall will give us a footing? Look closely, Peter, and
see if thou canst discern such a bank anywhere. If we can see none we
must, when the time comes, swim the whole circle of the walls and feel
for one. A footing in mud and water will serve our turn."
"I see something, Master Edgar. See--where that clump of reeds shows a
foot above the water against the walls--the bottom must be near the
surface there."
"Maybe--unless there be but soft mud. Look again, Peter--we must, if we
can, find a place where we can swing our rope full freely."
Before the circuit of the walls had been completed, a place had been
found where a low bank lay between the moat and the foot of the wall.
This was hailed with satisfaction as a step in the direction of scaling
the outer defences of the castle, and during the remainder of the day
Edgar and Peter sat down to watch all that went on, and particularly
what sentries were posted and how far their observation extended.
Ere the day was out they had made up their minds that a good watch was
kept, and that the slackness referred to by the priest had either never
existed or had recently, from one cause or another, been entirely
removed. Two men-at-arms were always upon the walls, keeping watch from
opposite angles, from which the whole extent of the outer defences could
be easily surveyed. Another man was posted at the gateway, to operate
the drawbridge and to keep a lookout upon all who came to claim
admittance. These sentries, too, were not only present, but appeared to
be watchful and alert to all that went forward. Depressed at the
evidence of the keen watch kept, but elated at finding a bank from which
the rope and grapnel might be cast with some chance of success, Edgar
and Peter returned to the poor dwelling at which they had obtained
temporary shelter, there to await the time when their first attempt
should be made.
As on the evening before, the priest appeared and supped with them, more
for company's sake on this occasion, it seemed, than with any desire to
keep watch upon them and their movements. Feeling a good deal of
confidence in the kindly, careworn face with the steady grey eyes, Edgar
told the priest what they had learned and how he proposed to effect an
entrance. The news that the garrison was keeping a careful watch seemed
to fill the priest with surprise and some concern.
"Can it be that they have heard of your arrival?" he said. "And yet if
that were so 'twould not be the posting of extra guards that I should
expect, but the sally of a score of their blood-stained men-at-arms, who
would pour into this village in an iron stream as they have done so
often before. Ye would have been routed out, and within five minutes the
branches of the nearest tree would have groaned beneath your weight.
That is what has been before. Why, then, have they posted sentinels?
Nothing else hath occurred save the arrival at the castle of a man who
must indeed be of some consequence, seeing that he was accompanied by an
escort of two men-at-arms."
"When did this man arrive?" asked Edgar quickly.
"On the morning of the day of your arrival--that is, yesterday."
"Canst describe him to me?"
"I did not see the man, and those who reported it to me, as all do the
most trifling events, said that they could see little of him, as his
head was swathed in bandages."
"It is he," murmured Edgar half to himself.
"Who? Whom dost mean? Dost know the man?" cried the priest sharply.
"I fear so. I think it must be this evil knight of whom I have told
thee. The blow with which I worsted him in the lists at Bordeaux was
severe, and I know that his head had to be much bandaged. Then before I
left I learned that he had already gone. 'Tis he of a surety. He hath
followed his victim."
"Can he know that thou art here?"
"I think not; but one cannot be sure, and he will guess that I would not
remain idle."
"Then it is this knight, this enemy of thine, who hath caused the watch
to be doubled. 'Twill be the harder for thee to find a way in by thy
stratagem. Hast brought a rope with thee?"
"No. I must make enquiries and obtain one."
"I will do so for thee. Thou wilt only arouse suspicion and make folk
talk. Leave it to me, Sir Squire."
Edgar thanked the priest warmly, and stipulated that it should be both
light and strong. Then they went on to talk of other things, and the
priest told Edgar stories of his work amongst the poor peasantry. Some
were humoursome, others bright stories illustrating the homely virtues
of the folk and their generosity one to another; but the greater part
were tales of cruelty and oppression, which made Edgar's blood
boil--tales of men tortured into revealing where their little store of
worldly wealth, laid by with much self-denial, had been hidden away; and
tales of men done to death for their "obstinacy", when they had no store
whose whereabouts they could reveal to satisfy their relentless
persecutors. It all seemed almost incredible to Edgar, until he
recollected the stories he had heard handed down of the deeds done in
his own land but a century or two before.
It was three days before Edgar obtained a rope that he thought gave him
the least hope of success in the venture he had in hand. The good
priest did all in his power, and scarce a rope in the neighbourhood but
was brought in and tried. But the ropes that the peasants possessed
were rough and heavy and in no way suited to Edgar's purpose. In
despair, at last he saddled his steed and rode away to the nearest town
and purchased one there, returning by a forced march the same day.
That same night Peter and he, accompanied by the priest, made their way
into the woods surrounding Castle Ruthenes. By a stroke of good fortune
the night was a favourable one. Heavy clouds shrouded the light of the
moon, and made even the biggest objects loom black and indistinct. A
watcher on the walls would need the sharpest eyes to see a figure at the
foot, and with the comforting feeling that all was so far going in their
favour the two young men took leave of the priest at the edge of the
wood and stole across the narrow strip of sward.
"God be with thee!" the priest had whispered, and with a pressure of the
hand that Edgar now knew to be the hand of a friend, he had bade them
adieu.
The point at which they left the woods was, they knew, in a line with
that part of the moat where the low bank rose at the foot of the wall,
and as soon as they reached the edge of the water, both slipped
noiselessly in and swam gently towards the castle walls.
Both were good swimmers, even Peter, in spite of his infirmity, having
long since learned to keep himself afloat without difficulty. Edgar
carried the line and the improvised grapnel, which had been well swathed
in cloths to ensure its falling dully wherever it struck. He also, wore
his shirt of mail and his sword. The weight was considerable, but he
was too practised a swimmer for that to trouble him for a few dozen
yards, and he had a decided objection to being quite defenceless when he
had gained entry into the enemy's quarters.
The water struck chill. Heavy weeds that appeared almost to choke the
stream clung to their legs and impeded their progress. They could see
nothing save a wall of blackness that rose before them forbiddingly.
All seemed to be as silent as the tomb.
They were slow in making the passage, as their one desire was to make no
sound, but presently they reached the side. Touching bottom in several
feet of mud, they slowly raised themselves out of the water and began to
crawl up the bank.
Suddenly they were startled beyond measure by a tremendous screech and
flutter which arose from right under their very noses. In their
amazement and alarm they sprang back a couple of feet into deep water
with a splash, and then saw, or rather heard, a flock of frightened
ducks rise with a whirr and cackle from the bank and fly above their
heads round the angle of the castle walls.
Deeply chagrined, the two young men crawled from the moat upon the bank
and lay there listening intently. Such a mischance they had never
dreamed of, and it seemed more than possible that it might have alarmed
one of the guards and brought him to the spot to learn the cause of the
birds' alarm. With deepest annoyance Edgar upbraided himself for not
observing that a flock of half-wild ducks belonging to the castle had
made a home on the bank he had counted upon in his plans.
For half an hour the two lay in the mud and water without stirring,
listening with all their ears and gazing up at the outline of the top of
the walls, which they could discern dimly against the sky. But the
peering figures of the sentinels that they half-expected to appear never
came.
"All is well after all, I think, Peter," said Edgar at last. "That was
a bad start indeed, and had I not thought Sir John's need a most urgent
one, I should have been tempted to try another night. But as 'tis, if
any have marked the flutter and scare they have doubtless thought them
due to winged enemies of the wild fowl, and not to those with intent to
disturb the peace of the castle. Now let us try the powers of the line
and grapnel we obtained after so much time and trouble. 'Twould be hard
indeed to find them fail us now."
The outer walls were comparatively low, little more than twenty feet or
so in height, and the throw of the grapnel was not a very difficult one.
But it proved exceedingly difficult to obtain a lodgment with it. Time
after time it was thrown with success well over the wall, but the
darkness of the night forced them to fling it at random, and as soon as
a strain was put upon it, down it fell again.