upon it, and, overjoyed, Edgar instantly began to haul himself up hand
over hand until he reached the top. Here he rested arms and shoulders
on the wall while he paused a moment to listen. All was quiet, however,
and drawing himself right up he signalled to Peter with the rope that
all was clear for him to ascend in his turn.
In a few minutes both were safely on the wall, crouching in the deepest
shadows they could find. The first stage of their enterprise had been
successfully accomplished, and though cold and wet and shivering as with
the ague, they felt elated that they were well on the way to the
accomplishment of their formidable task.
"Draw up and coil the rope, Peter. We must take it with us, for
doubtless we shall need it 'gainst our return."
Peter silently obeyed.
"Now follow me quietly, lad," and Edgar led the way softly along the
wall, keeping well in the shadow, until they reached a narrow flight of
stone steps that led down to the castle courtyard. Against them loomed
the deep shadow of a corner turret, and, thinking that this might
possibly be a likely place for a man-at-arms to be stationed on the
watch, Edgar paused and listened intently.
"Forward, Peter," he whispered; "Black Eustace and his men are asleep, I
verily believe."
"Black Eustace never sleeps," echoed a rough voice from the blackness of
the turret, and a dark form sprang suddenly upon Edgar and nearly
brought him to the ground. Other figures followed, and in a twinkling
Edgar and Peter were struggling in the grip of half a dozen men.
"Slay them not--at present," commanded the deep voice of the man who had
first spoken. "Bring torches and bind them well. Then shall we see who
hath dared to set foot upon the walls of the castle of Eustace de
Brin--Black Eustace, one of the knaves called me, did he? We shall see.
Mayhap he will be right."
It was but a spring from the walls to safety, and Edgar struggled
fiercely to fling off his many assailants. A desperate effort freed his
right arm, and a heavy blow rid him of one of them for a time. But he
was no nearer even temporary freedom, for one of the men had clutched
him firmly round the waist from behind with one hand while with the
other he seized him by the hair and dragged his head forcibly back.
Slowly but surely, notwithstanding his most frantic efforts, Edgar found
his head dragged relentlessly back until his neck seemed on the point of
snapping beneath the cruel strain. To struggle on was hopeless, and,
weak from his exertions and with his senses nearly gone, Edgar allowed
his arms to be drawn behind his back and there secured without further
resistance.
Torches were brought. One was thrust close to Edgar's face--so close
that his hair was singed and his cheek scorched--and a man peered
searchingly at him.
[Illustration: "A TORCH WAS THRUST CLOSE TO EDGAR'S FACE"]
"I know not the varlet," he growled, and Edgar recognized the voice of
the man who had first spoken and who had admitted himself to be Eustace
de Brin. "He seemeth not to belong to these dogs of peasants who would
dearly love to bite the hand of their master an they got the chance.
Here, camarade, perchance this is one of the hounds thou hast feared
might be on thy track."
A man who had held aloof from the struggle came forward at the call, and
Edgar, whose head had now been released from its intolerable strain, had
no difficulty in recognizing, in spite of his bandages, the fierce eyes
and harsh visage of Sir Gervaise de Maupas. The recognition was mutual,
for with a shout of astonishment and savage joy, the knight cried:
"It is! It is! This is none other than that braggart esquire of whom I
told thee, Eustace."
"What! The boy who gave thee that clout in the lists that nearly sent
thee where thou art so eagerly awaited?" cried De Brin with a loud
laugh.
"Nay, Eustace," cried De Maupas, giving the speaker no very friendly
look. "He is the boy who played me a base trick that by an unfortunate
mischance I could not frustrate. But he will play me no more. Give him
to me, Eustace, as an earnest of the goodwill thou hast so often spoken
of, but of which I have seen little enough solid evidence; as some
slight return, too, for the many profitable ventures I have put thee in
the way of."
"Well, well, we will talk more of that anon, camarade Gervaise. The
disposal of the boy's body is nothing to me, so long as he is punished
for his insolent daring in scaling the walls of my castle; but first I
must know how we stand in this business. D'ye know the other man?"
Peter was next examined. "Yes," growled the knight, "this dog is one of
the plotters. He is somewhat of a cripple--Baulch hath told me of
him--but is not too crippled to give us trouble. Guard him well,
Eustace, or thou wilt regret it."
"Ha! ha! ha! friend Gervaise, thou wilt, when thou know'st me better,
find that I have a shorter way than that with those who might
inconvenience me did they but get the chance."
The words were spoken with meaning, and De Maupas looked doubtfully at
the speaker, as though neither liking nor understanding what he meant.
"If thou meanest to imply----" he began at length.
"Lead on, men," cried Eustace de Brin, taking no notice of his friend.
"Conduct the prisoners to the strongest cell beneath the donjon and see
them fast. Duprez, thou wilt have to answer for them--so guard them
well."
Down the stone steps Edgar and Peter were marched until they reached the
courtyard. Here several of the men-at-arms left them, and, escorted
only by Duprez and one other, they skirted the massive walls of the
donjon until they came to a small low door. Through this door they were
hurried, and found themselves in what seemed to be a vast system of
underground passages and vaults which must have dated back to the
remoter days of the first beginnings of the castle. Some of the vaults
were below the donjon, while others seemed to burrow beneath the
flagstones of the courtyard.
By the light of a single torch they were conducted along a passage whose
gloomy arched walls echoed back the sound of their footsteps with a
sullen insistence that seemed to make them contract yet more closely
upon the unhappy prisoners. Presently they reached an ancient,
monastic-looking cell, which they judged to be one of those situated
beneath the courtyard. Into this they were roughly thrust. The torch
was stuck into an iron ring above the doorway, and by its light Duprez
and his assistant proceeded to release the arms of their prisoners from
their bonds, and to load them afresh with heavy iron shackles which had
been hanging ready for use from a hook upon the wall. The chamber was
dank and heavy with moisture, and the shackles were thickly coated with
rust, wet and smeary to the touch.
"Thou wilt find these safe enough for all their looks," growled Duprez,
as he shackled Edgar's right arm to his left leg and his left arm to his
right leg, so that he could barely stand upright. "These shackles have
held secure captives as strong as thou--aye, and men of noble and
knightly birth. Not once in my time has their grip relaxed until death
claimed their victims. Sir Eustace said I would have to answer for
thee--I object not to that, ha! ha!"
"'Tis a poor thing to make merry at thy prisoners' expense," replied
Edgar shortly.
Duprez stared at him as though scarcely comprehending his meaning.
Probably the sentiment was foreign to him. Then he turned to Peter and
trussed him in similar fashion, growling half to himself:
"Cripple though thou art, 'twill be as well to shackle thee. After all,
'tis an honour to treat thee as a man of sound limbs, so let that
thought comfort thee 'gainst thy pleasant stay in the dungeons of
Ruthenes. Come, Rolfe, pick up their swords and daggers, and let us be
off to our beds. Long enough have we spent over this business."
Sardonically bidding them good night, Duprez and his man left the
chamber, carrying with them the torch and the weapons they had taken
from their prisoners. The door clanged heavily to behind them, and
Edgar and Peter were left in total darkness to think over their most
perilous situation, and to wonder for how much of it they had to thank
their old foe, Sir Gervaise de Maupas.
*CHAPTER XIII*
*Prisoners*
Worn out and dispirited, Edgar and Peter sank to the floor and lay there
motionless. Their sudden capture, after so successful a beginning, was
a stunning blow, and though neither was easily discouraged, they needed
time and thought to recover from it.
After a time they grew drowsy, and presently forgot their troubles in
sleep. When they awoke they judged it to be broad daylight. Their cell
was still in semi-darkness, the only light that entered coming from a
grating high up at the summit of the arched stone roof. This grating,
Edgar calculated from his recollection of the trend of the passages they
had traversed, was on a level with the flagstones of the courtyard.
The priest had told Edgar something of the history of the castle, and
from the appearance of the cell he came to the conclusion that the
network of underground dungeons and passages belonged to its more
ancient days, and had been left intact when it had been partially pulled
down and rebuilt. The conclusion brought him little additional hope,
for the walls were massively built of stone, and seemed to have been but
slightly affected by the lapse of time.
"Canst think of any plan, Peter, by which we may effect our escape?"
asked Edgar, when he had carefully weighed all the chances in his own
mind.
"Nay, unless we can reach up to the grating by standing on one another's
shoulders."
"With these shackles? I fear there is little hope there, unless we can
first rid ourselves of these irons."
"Yes, we must knock off our shackles first. As thou know'st, Master
Edgar, I was an armourer's assistant, and know something of chains and
rivets. If there be any weak spots I can find them, and shall know how
to deal with them. Had they left us but a dagger it would not have been
long, I'll warrant thee, before we moved our limbs in freedom."
"Yes, yes; but it must be done without a dagger. And before we start we
must have some plan by which to escape when our shackles are off.
'Twould be useless to remove them only to be discovered by Duprez on his
next visit. They would be replaced by a stronger pair, and our plight
would be hopeless indeed. We must have a plan first. What doth the
door offer? Let us examine it carefully."
Both moved eagerly to the door. As they did so their chains clanked
hideously, making a sound that seemed to strike into their hearts with
dread, bringing irresistibly home to them their desperate position.
"Of a truth, it would be worth much to be rid of these shameful bonds
alone," cried Edgar passionately. "Nevertheless, we must not think of it
until we have our plans ready formed to our hands, Peter. Ha! 'Tis as I
feared. This door belongeth not to the age when these walls were built.
It is of far later make, and seems prodigiously strong--shake it and
feel its weight, Peter."
Peter did so, and then stood back and gave a despondent shake of the
head. "Had they left us a piece of metal, however small, Master Edgar,
we might in time have scraped a hole through the door around the lock
and so opened it. But they have left nothing with me. Art sure they
have left thee nothing?"
"They have left me nothing, Peter. They have taken my purse and all it
contains, so that not even a coin remains for such a task. But
stay--they have not touched my shirt of mail. Perchance we might do
something with a few of its links, small as they are."
"Let us try--but hush, Master Edgar, someone approaches. I hear
footsteps in the passage outside."
Both held their peace, and then, at a gesture from Edgar, sat down again
on the stones in an attitude of dejection. A key grated in the lock of
the door, and with much creaking and groaning the door was opened. Two
men were outside--Duprez and another man, a stranger to Edgar. One bore
an armful of rugs and the other some rough cakes and a pitcher, probably
containing water.
"Thy bedding," grunted Duprez surlily. "Here, Guilbert, fling it in yon
corner. Thou art lucky," he went on, turning to Edgar, "to get as
much."
"Lucky indeed," replied Edgar in a tone of weary indifference; "but can
thine other prisoner spare the rugs?"
"Aye, they belong not--But what know ye--why talk ye of another
prisoner?" cried Duprez savagely, as he began to suspect that he had
told too much.
"Oh, nothing! Surely one might guess ye had other prisoners in so large
a castle. Is this our food, friend Duprez? They do not intend to
starve us at any rate. Doubtless we may expect a meal twice or thrice
in the day?"
"Ye may expect me when ye see me," cried the man harshly. "Ye would
like me to tell ye all, I make no doubt. Get ye to your food, and cease
to bandy words with me, or it may chance you will lose all appetite."
"Hast ever found thy prisoners kept their appetites in such noisome and
dismal dungeons as these?" cried Edgar indignantly. "Didst thou take
away the desire to eat, doubtless 'twould but do the work this cell will
do as surely in a few short weeks."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Duprez with great zest. "Thou art a sharp fellow.
'Tis very true. My customers soon lose appetite, and finding they do
not appreciate my trouble in bringing them their food, sometimes I
forget it for a day or two. Ha! ha! It saves a lot of trouble in the
end, and Sir Eustace makes no bones."
"Begone! callous brute that ye are," cried Edgar, jumping to his feet in
a burst of involuntary indignation. "Kill us outright an ye be a man."
Duprez's merriment instantly vanished, and was succeeded by a burst of
passion that he made no attempt to hold in check. "Silence, knave!" he
cried savagely, as he struck Edgar violently on the mouth with his
clenched fist. He then gave the pitcher his man had brought a vicious
kick that dashed it into fragments, and, turning on his heel, sullenly
left the cell.
* * * * *
As soon as they had eaten the cakes still left to them, Edgar and Peter
began to ponder means of escape. The shirt of mail was tried, and
several links obtained after much labour, but they were so small and so
unsuited to the purpose the two had dimly in view that after a few
minutes' trial the idea was given up in disgust. Even if it escaped
detection, an attempt by such means would have taken so long as to be
almost hopeless of success.
During the remainder of the day Duprez never came near the prisoners.
Doubtless he had counted upon his destruction of the pitcher inflicting
much suffering upon them. But happily the water had splashed upon the
oaten cakes, and had wetted them so thoroughly that they had rather
helped to assuage the pangs of thirst than added to them.
As near as the pair could judge, it was late on the afternoon of the
second day when they again heard footsteps outside the door. Their
first thought was that Duprez and his man were returning at last; but as
the footsteps came nearer they gathered that only one person was
approaching, and that probably that someone was more lightly shod than
either of their jailers. The door opened, and to their astonishment Sir
Gervaise de Maupas entered.
At the sight of him Edgar involuntarily sprang to his feet, dominated
for the moment by feelings of anger and excitement.
De Maupas raised his hand and calmly waved him back. "It seems thou art
surprised to see me," he said easily. "Thou wilt, I think, be more so
when thou hast learned somewhat of mine errand and found how magnanimous
I can be."
With an effort, Edgar mastered his indignation and simply nodded his
head as though waiting to hear more before accepting such a statement.
The knight spoke with quiet confidence. Most of his bandages were now
gone, and he seemed himself again and sure that the errand on which he
had come would end as he desired.
"What ye have learned of me," he went on, pacing slowly up and down the
narrow limits of the cell, "doubtless ye have learned from Sir John.
Well, know this, that Sir John is the lifelong enemy of me and mine, and
the fault of it lies not with me but with him. Aught that he hath told
ye to my disadvantage is therefore not to be relied upon, for he hateth
me and maligns me for his own base purposes. He is no true knight, and
ye are mistaken in espousing his cause. I have told you the truth, so
that ye may know that ye are honourably released from all allegiance to
him."
"But if thou art the true knight thou sayest, how comes it that thou art
staying as a friend in the castle of this Eustace de Brin, a knight of
ill reputation and one of the enemies of our country?"
De Maupas frowned and momentarily checked his stride. "That is a long
story," he said. "I am here out of no alliance with the enemies of our
country; rather indeed to further its interests, for I am gaining much
useful knowledge. But thou art indeed right when thou sayest the owner
of this grim castle is a man of ill reputation. The scenes these cells
have beheld would appal the stoutest heart could they be unfolded.
Beware, then, that thou sharest not the fate of thy predecessors. Sir
Eustace, I know, is deeply enraged with thee. He says thou art the
first man to dare enter his castle without his permission, and he
purposes to slay thee. Knowing thee for a fellow countryman, I
intervened, and with such influence as I possess begged him to allow me
to offer thee a hope of life--life in the open air and sunshine, not
cooped within the narrow limits of a cell that must sooner or later
drive thee mad. Say then, dost desire to accept my offer?"
"What is this offer?" asked Edgar shortly. "We are ready enough to leave
this cell, as thou canst well imagine. But we must carry our honour
unsullied with us."
"I will watch over thine honour as I would over mine own," cried De
Maupas emphatically. Then, not noticing the half-smile his declaration
had conjured up, he went on, "Ye may have heard that I claim to be the
rightful owner of the estates now held by Sir John Chartris? Mine they
are, and I hold that he is keeping me out of them by nothing less than
trickery and fraud. I have vowed to meet trickery by trickery, fraud by
fraud, and I have, as ye know, captured Sir John and am holding him to
ransom. My price for his release is an acknowledgment of my better
claim to the estates. What could be more reasonable? Unfortunately,
for himself as well as for me, he is proving obstinate. He will not
yield his ill-gotten lands, and in my good nature, desiring not to do
him hurt, I have cast about and found a way out of the difficulty. He
shall keep the lands, but must assist me to the best of his power to win
compensation in another direction. That is most fair, is it not, young
sir? You see, I am trusting you fully, well knowing the justice of my
cause."
"Yes, yes," replied Edgar quickly, "but what is this compensation?" The
knight's tone and bearing were so smooth and peaceable, and he seemed in
so reasonable a frame of mind, that Edgar's opinion of him, well
grounded though it was, was almost shaken.
"'Tis simply this. I am deeply enamoured of his ward, Beatrice
d'Alencon, and would fain win her hand in marriage. All I ask are his
good offices and influence to aid my suit. Could I be more magnanimous
towards one whom I regard as a lifelong foe?"
Utterly astounded at the extraordinary change of front, for a moment
Edgar could but gape. Then he recovered himself and asked quickly, "But
thou know'st not the lady D'Alencon. Thou hast, to my knowledge, spoken
not one word to her. How then canst say thou art enamoured of her?"
"How could I approach her? My enmity with Sir John was so great that I
should but have exposed myself to humiliation had I tried to make her
closer acquaintance. As it was, I was forced to worship from afar."
"De Maupas, thou art twice her age and more, and I find it hard indeed
to believe thy story. Her lands are wide, and in their breadth alone I
fear thy love has found its birth."
"It is not so, Edgar Wintour. I have a real fancy for the maid, though
I would not deny that her lands are of importance in my eyes. But I am
a knight of birth; one too, who, if he had his rights, would own lands
as wide and rich as hers. Therefore it seemeth to me that I am a fitting
match for Beatrice d'Alencon. But enough of explanations. I am about to
make the offer to Sir John, and to thee I make an offer no less
generous. Aid me in persuading Sir John and after, and ye shall both go
free. Refuse, and ye must rot in this loathsome dungeon--rot or go mad:
one or other is as certain in the course of a few weeks as it is certain
that Gervaise de Maupas stands before thee."
Our hero was undoubtedly staggered at the offer so skilfully held out as
an honourable exchange for Sir John's life and the claims De Maupas had
long laid to his estates. Sir John's life was all important in Edgar's
eyes, and could a means be found by which it might be honourably saved
the loss of the estates of either ward or guardian weighed with him but
little by comparison. The offer of De Maupas was therefore not one to
be dismissed without consideration. He therefore took refuge in
silence, while he tried to wrest any hidden motives for the offer there
might be from the network of clever words in which he half-feared De
Maupas had shrouded his real plans.
There could be no doubt that Sir John had refused to purchase his life
at the expense of his estates and the rights of his successors. That
much was clear from De Maupas's presence in the cell that moment.
Foiled in his first move, and unwilling to take Sir John's life while
some profit might be made of it, he had bethought him of a plan by which
he might purchase his rights and influence over his ward, the lady
Beatrice. Her lands were even wider and richer than her guardian's, and
the wily plotter had hit upon a way of obtaining them that would, he
knew, pass muster readily enough as knightly and honourable.
The story of his passion for her was doubtless trumped up for the
occasion, to give an air of romance and honourable dealing to what was
little more than barefaced robbery. Nevertheless, it was a story that
would be widely believed, though that Beatrice must and always would
loathe the man, Edgar felt not the slightest doubt.
It was more than probable, too, that De Maupas had already broached his
plan to Sir John, and, meeting with a rebuff, had bethought him of Edgar
and hoped to obtain his aid in persuading his master. The more Edgar
thought over the scheme, however, and the more he stripped it of its
trappings of pretended love and romance, the more he felt it to be every
whit as shameful as the first plan by which De Maupas had sought to
obtain the Wolsingham lands by threats and violence.
"What is to be your answer to my generous offer, young sir?" said De
Maupas at length. He still paced slowly to and fro the length of the
cell, and his bearing was as easy and confident as ever. Edgar, however,
had been not unheedful of the quick furtive glances he had cast at him
every now and again as he turned in his stride.
"I will have no part in this matter, De Maupas," Edgar replied quickly.
"I trust thee not, and much of thy story I cannot believe. More than
that, I am not ready to purchase my life at another's expense."
"It is Sir John's life, too, that thou art casting away like a fool,"
cried De Maupas angrily.
"Sir John hath, I doubt not, already told thee that he prefers death to
dishonour. I, his esquire, say the same, on both his account and my
own."
A malignant look flamed up on the knight's face, and Edgar knew that he
had judged his plans and motives aright.
"Death thou certainly shalt have, boy--I have sworn it long since,"
cried De Maupas furiously, placing his hand on his dagger as though he
longed to carry his threat into instant execution. "But if thou
think'st to obtain an honourable death with thy blood coursing warmly
through thy veins, thou wilt be mistaken. Slowly, inch by inch, in
silence and despair, shalt thou die--not with the plaudits of thousands
ringing in thine ears as when, like a mad fool, thou didst brave my
lifelong anger. Bah! I shall yet see thee blench and, cringing at my
feet, beg for thy life and a glimpse of open air and sky. I can tell
thee that the past has shown that these monkish walls have a secret of
their own for crushing wills stronger far than thine."
As he spoke the last few words the knight eyed Edgar with a gaze so
stern and menacing that it seemed as though he hoped by its very
intensity to cow him into submission.
"Never will I cringe to thee, Gervaise de Maupas," cried Edgar hotly,
returning him look for look.