from rescuing the two knights struggling in the pit. Desperately he
fought, but the men-at-arms as desperately charged forward, and with all
their weight and impetus swept him and his men violently back. The two
knights, clad in full armour, were little hurt by their heavy fall, and
in a few minutes they were successfully extricated from the struggling
mass and helped upon spare horses. Then with loud cries of
encouragement to one another, the men-at-arms re-formed in a solid body
and began to forge their way slowly and irresistibly back to the castle.
Time after time Edgar flung himself into their ranks, attended by such
of his men as dared to follow, and strove to break up their formation
and keep them from winning their way back to shelter. But though his
vastly superior swordplay enabled him easily to vanquish individuals, a
surge forward of several men each time flung him roughly backwards, and
at last the survivors of the garrison reached the edge of the wood, and
were able to gallop unchecked across the sward to the castle drawbridge.
The bridge was still down, and the battered remnant filed sullenly and
silently back into the castle courtyard. The gates crashed to behind
them, and with many jolts and jars the drawbridge was drawn up,
interposing the still waters of the moat between them and their exulting
foes.
*CHAPTER XVIII*
*The Plight of Beatrice*
It was known that the garrison of the castle numbered some fifty men all
told, exclusive of the two knights. In the attack on the cattle guard
ten men had been accounted for, and in the battle about the pit
seventeen had been killed outright or had fallen into the hands of their
enemies. The garrison was thus reduced to less than half its former
strength. Confident that there was now no likelihood of a sally of a
body of mounted men which might prove disastrous on the open ground
about the castle, Edgar re-formed his men and led them in a solid body
out of the woods towards the castle gates. After so decisive a victory
it seemed well to try to overawe the garrison by a demonstration of
strength, in the hope that some of their number might sue for terms.
Horns were blown, and, after a few minutes' interval, two figures
appeared on the outer walls above the gates. They were Sir Eustace de
Brin and Sir Gervaise de Maupas.
Sir Eustace appeared almost beside himself with rage and humiliation.
Shaking his mailed fist at the men ranged in rank upon the green sward
below, he shouted furiously:
"Brood of vipers--who commands?"
Edgar looked at the priest, who motioned him to reply.
"Father Armand and I, Edgar Wintour, esquire of Wolsingham, command."
"And bitterly shall ye rue the day ye lifted hand against Eustace de
Brin. Think ye to overcome me? Think ye I have no friends who will
send hosts of men-at-arms to trample you into the mud whence ye came?"
"Sir Eustace de Brin," replied Edgar calmly, "think well over thy
situation. No word will we allow to reach the outer world from this
castle, and the men-at-arms of which thou speakest will never come to
thine aid."
"Ha! Thy cleverness, Sir Squire, is already outmatched. Hours ago a
messenger left this castle to seek aid."
"He is our prisoner, Sir Eustace."
"Dog!" cried the knight violently, "I tell thee that my friends will
soon miss my visits and send to enquire the reason. Withdraw from
before this castle, and I will then see how lenient I can be even to
braggart rebels such as ye."
"The Earl of Derby is advancing into the lands of the King of France,
and all the men-at-arms that can be spared will be sorely needed to
rally to his standard. None of thy friends will think of aught but the
enemy of France in this time of trouble. Thine is a sad plight, Sir
Eustace, and thou wouldst do well to recognize it."
Gulping down his rage with an effort, the knight replied in a calmer
tone:
"What meanest thou? What wantest thou? Speak!"
"We want thy surrender----"
"What! Darest thou suggest that Eustace de Brin surrender his castle of
Ruthenes to a rabble of rebel vassals? Base and renegade esquire--one
who warrest against those of his own station on behalf of dogs of
rebels--I tell thee thou knowest not our strength nor how far the arm of
chivalry can reach. Withdraw from the ranks of these peasants, or it
will most surely reach thee."
"Chivalry will ne'er support thee when it knows of thy black crimes,
Eustace de Brin," replied Edgar, altogether unmoved. "It is I who
represent chivalry this day, for, as thou shouldst know, it is the proud
boast of chivalry to take the part of the weak and oppressed. But it is
not of this that I wished to speak. We demand thy surrender and that of
the ladies so basely torn from their friends by the false knight who
stands by thy side. Surrender is the only course that can save the lives
of the soldiers of the garrison, and the only course that will give thee
a chance to plead thy case before thy countrymen. Sir Gervaise de
Maupas, too, will have at least an opportunity of answering a charge of
treachery before the English earl. Persist in thy refusal and thou art
lost, for once the blood of this people thou hast oppressed is inflamed
against thee, neither Father Armand nor I may be able to restrain them."
"Bah! These walls laugh thee and thy rabble to scorn. Do thy worst,
Master Squire. Here is our first greeting."
[Illustration: "'BAH! THESE WALLS LAUGH THEE AND THY RABBLE TO
SCORN!'"]
As he spoke, the knight raised his arm as a signal, and a number of men,
who had evidently been secretly preparing all the time the parley had
been proceeding, crowded to the walls. In their hands they bore stones
and rocks, which they instantly began to rain violently down upon the
men on the ground beneath.
"Back--out of range," cried Edgar, immediately he saw the men-at-arms
appear, and amid the hurtling missiles the men rushed to the shelter of
the edge of the woods. A reply to the fusillade was not at once
possible, as, like the garrison, scarcely any of the peasants were able
to use the bow with any degree of success. To return the fire with
stones would be wellnigh useless, as the height of the walls would rob
the missiles of all their power and momentum.
"We cannot assault the castle yet?" said the priest to Edgar
enquiringly. "There must be preparations?"
"Yes; we can do nothing until we have filled in a portion of the moat.
Didst not tell me once that the moat is a stream dammed back below the
castle?"
"Yes, that is so."
"Then I would that a few men be sent to break down the dam at once.
That will aid us famously in our onslaught upon the moat. A half-empty
moat will be a good step forward."
"It will indeed. I will see to it, Sir Squire."
"Are any of thy folk skilled in carpentry or woodfelling? If so, let
them get to work cutting down trees and preparing timber without delay,
for I like not that our men should be unable to reply to the showers of
missiles from the walls."
"What wouldst do then?"
"I would build mangonels. I saw many in the camp outside Bordeaux, and
had a fancy to see how they were put together. I think we can construct
them with success. They will hurl rocks that will blister the walls
even of yon fortress, and if they fall into the courtyard may do dire
execution."
"The men shall be found," cried the priest exultingly. "Our cause
advances. I believe that Heaven will give us the victory."
* * * * *
So well arranged and so swift had been the capture of Beatrice d'Alencon
that her defenders had been stricken down and all was over before she
had fully grasped that they were attacked. It was not indeed until she
had ridden for some distance with one of her captors on either side that
she realized that she and her maid were prisoners in the hands of
unknown men, who seemed, from the purposeful way in which they rode, to
have a definite and well-planned object in view. To escape was her
first impulse, but a grip of iron fell upon the bridle the instant she
attempted to turn her horse's head.
"What meaneth this?" she cried out at last in indignation and distress.
"Where are you taking me, and with what purpose?"
A stolid silence, broken only by the trampling of the steeds, met her
cry.
More alarmed still, if possible, by the silence of her captors, Beatrice
dragged desperately at her bridle and made her horse plunge violently.
With a savage word one of the men (it was Baulch) tore the bridle
roughly from her grasp. "Be still!" he cried. "Play me that trick again
and thou shalt ride in front of my saddle. Ha, ha! Perchance that will
suit thee better, maiden?" he added with a leer.
"Ruffian," cried Beatrice with a shudder of disgust, "ruffian, what
meaneth this shameful assault upon my retainers, and why drag ye me thus
away from all my friends? Answer me."
"Remain still or not a word wilt thou get," growled the man who had
before spoken. "We are taking thee to a friend of thy guardian. Ha,
ha!--a friend who hath watched over his welfare right carefully of late,
and one, too, who knoweth thee well, and who desireth to know thee
better. Ha, ha, ha!"
So hateful to Beatrice was the man's coarse laugh and evil look that she
preferred to remain silent rather than provoke another sally. Without
further resistance or attempt to find out whither she was going, she
allowed herself to be led across country for mile after mile. Her maid,
weeping hysterically, rode behind in charge of another of the ruffians,
and even the consolation of closer intercourse was for some time denied
them.
To Beatrice's surprise, and even more to her utter consternation, the
strange journey went on, not for hours but for days, and it was not
until some five days after her capture that the party reached what she
guessed to be their destination. This was a castle of so grim and gloomy
an appearance that the sight of it made her heart sink with terror and
apprehension. What fate might not be in store for her in a place so
remote and in a prison looking so strong and ruthless?
"Is this, then, the vile prison-house to which thou hast been leading
me?" she cried to Baulch, as she drew rein in front of the drawbridge
and looked wildly about her for some possible way of escape from her
captors.
"It is, lady. Lead on," responded Baulch grimly, as he forced her horse
on to the drawbridge and led it across into the castle courtyard. "This
is thy new home. My advice to thee is to make the best of it."
Dismounting, Beatrice and her maid were led to the door of the central
donjon and up the stone staircase to a chamber almost on a level with
the outer walls. The door was flung open, and they were roughly bidden
to enter. They did so, feeling that it was useless to resist, and
feeling, too, that at any rate matters would now soon come to a head and
end their pitiable state of uncertainty and suspense. Immediately the
door was clanged to and bolted behind them.
The room in which they found themselves was small and sparsely
furnished, but was not uninviting. The number of rich rugs which
plentifully bestrewed the floors seemed to indicate that at least an
attempt had been made to give an air of something approaching comfort to
a room otherwise plain and bare. This fact might have reassured them
somewhat had it not indicated the far more terrifying fact that they had
been expected. Who he might be, and what his purpose, that had
stretched out so long and powerful an arm as to drag them to this remote
and lonely spot, Beatrice could not even hazard a guess. Nevertheless,
in spite of the mystery and terrifying uncertainty in which she found
herself, she strove to keep a brave heart, as much for the sake of her
maid--to whom she was much attached--as for her own.
About an hour after their arrival, footsteps were heard approaching the
chamber. They came to a stop at the door, and a moment later a man
entered.
It was Sir Gervaise de Maupas.
At the sight of this man, whom she both knew and dreaded, Beatrice
involuntarily sprang up from the couch on which she had been reclining.
"Thou!" she cried, in a voice in which anger, scorn, and fear all had a
place.
"Yea, lady, who else should it be?" replied De Maupas in a soft voice,
as he bowed with the utmost gallantry and advanced into the centre of
the room. "Who else would risk his all--name, career, and life--out of
love for thee? None but Sir Gervaise de Maupas, knight of England, I do
venture to assert."
As he spoke, De Maupas drew himself up with dignity. He was clad in a
richly inlaid suit of armour, over which a splendid cloak had been
carelessly flung. But for the hawk-like and cruel expression of his
thin face, he would have looked a goodly and martial sight enough.
"Love for me? What dost mean, sir?" cried Beatrice roundly, though for
all her boldness her limbs trembled beneath her.
"Most assuredly. I have long worshipped thee in secret. It is only my
unhappy enmity with thy guardian that hath prevented me from approaching
thee, and hath forced me to resort to this expedient to enable me to
proffer thee my love. As doubtless thou know'st, I am a knight of good
lineage, and one whose lands, if thy guardian granted my rightful
claims, would be both wide and rich."
"Thy love hath no attractions for me, Sir Gervaise de Maupas," cried
Beatrice, with difficulty restraining a desire to sink back upon the
couch. "I believe thee to be nothing less than a traitor. What hast done
with Sir John? I believe thee to be at the bottom of his
disappearance."
For a moment De Maupas appeared startled. But after a moment's pause in
indecision he replied calmly: "I do not wish to deny it, lady. 'Twas
indeed I who arranged his capture. But 'tis said that all is fair in
love and war, and to love for thee and war towards Sir John I must
ascribe the deed."
"Where is he?" cried Beatrice breathlessly.
"He is here."
"In this castle?"
"In this castle, lady."
There was a momentary pause. Beatrice's lips trembled so that they
would scarcely frame her words. Then she resolutely mastered her
emotion and asked:
"How is it named?"
De Maupas hesitated for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders and
went on: "I see no harm in letting thee know. This castle is called
Ruthenes."
"_Oh!_"
The tone of the interjection was so singular that De Maupas stared at
Beatrice in astonishment. She had turned slightly aside, and was looking
not at him but at the door.
"The name seemeth familiar," he said coolly. "Perchance Sir John's
hot-headed esquire, Edgar Wintour, hath mentioned it to thee?"
As he spoke De Maupas toyed with the sword girded at his side, and, with
a sickening shock, Beatrice recognized the weapon. It was Edgar's! He,
too, must then be a prisoner!
"I see thou dost recognize the weapon," said De Maupas grimly, as he
noticed with secret satisfaction how the blood had left her face and how
she had to bite her lips to subdue their trembling.
"Is he then also a prisoner in this castle?" she asked after a pause,
during which she managed to regain a semblance of composure.
"Yes," replied De Maupas, without a blush. "He and that limping youth of
his are both fast in the dungeons of Ruthenes. I fear they will never
see the light unless----" He stopped and shook his head forebodingly.
Then he walked slowly to the window, and stood gazing out as though lost
in thought.
Beatrice waited for some minutes for De Maupas to finish, but he seemed
to have forgotten her existence.
"What dost intend to do with Sir John and his esquire?" she asked
presently in a pleading voice. "Surely thou wouldst not do harm to thine
own countrymen?"
"That question, lady, is not so much for me as for the owner of this
castle to answer," replied De Maupas with an air of regret. "Hark! He
is at the door; we will enquire his intentions concerning his
prisoners."
The door opened and Sir Eustace de Brin entered. He was clad from head
to foot in black armour, without any sort of relief or ornament
whatever, and the effect was grim and forbidding to the last degree. If
the two poor captives had needed anything further to destroy their last
hopes, the sight of this grim-visaged, black-bearded, and black-mailed
knight would have supplied it. Indeed, at the sight of him Jeanette
screamed aloud and Beatrice sank down upon the couch and covered her
face with her hands.
Turning towards the maid, De Brin gave her so fierce a look that she was
reduced to instant silence. Then he turned to De Maupas and asked:
"Doubtless the lady Beatrice gladly welcometh thy suit, friend De
Maupas?"
"Not exactly, Sir Eustace. She was, however, asking after Sir John and
his esquire as thou wert entering. She would wish to know what thou
dost intend concerning them."
"Their fate? Spies and enemies of my beloved France? They must die,"
replied De Brin instantly.
"Would nothing move thee from thy purpose?" asked De Maupas
persuadingly. "If what I desire cometh to pass, their fate will become
of some moment to me. Wouldst then, for our friendship's sake, allow me
to intercede for their lives?"
De Brin slowly paced the length of the room and back again.
"Eustace de Brin never turned a deaf ear to the pleading of a friend,"
he said in a quieter tone. "For our friendship's sake, then, if thou
dost intercede for their lives' on behalf of thy wife I will listen. If
'tis for aught else I will not move one single hair's breadth from my
purpose."
"Hearest thou, Beatrice? Wilt thou----?"
De Maupas stopped and looked enquiringly at his formidable companion.
De Brin had given a sudden start, and appeared to be gazing at the
window with an intent expression on his face.
Roused by De Maupas's sudden silence, Beatrice lifted her face from her
hands and looked at the two men. Both were listening intently, and she
caught a sound as of the winding of a distant horn. It ceased as though
broken off short, and the two men looked significantly at one another.
"Didst hear?" said De Maupas laconically.
"Yes--an attack," growled De Brin, grinding his teeth with fury. "So
much the worse for the attackers. Come--to horse, De Maupas; we have
tarried with this obstinate girl too long already;" and with a dark look
at Beatrice, De Brin hurried from the room, followed closely by his
companion. The moment they were gone Beatrice rushed to the window and
peered eagerly out. The trampling of steeds on the flagstones of the
courtyard, the winding of horns, and the shouting and cheering of the
men-at-arms indicated that the garrison were about to issue forth in
force. Clearly something had occurred to alarm the inmates of the
castle seriously. What could it be? Think as she would, Beatrice could
find no satisfactory answer.
*CHAPTER XIX*
*The Assault*
"The dam is down!" cried Father Armand excitedly, rejoining Edgar in the
woods opposite the castle gateway as the latter was superintending the
construction of two great mangonels. "The dam is down and the water is
rushing away like a mill sluice."
"'Tis well," replied Edgar; "in an hour or so the moat will be
half-empty, and we can begin to make ready for the first assault."
"So soon?" enquired the priest in surprise.
"Yes, good Father. I am on fire with impatience. While the lady
Beatrice d'Alencon is held in yon fortalice how can I be aught else?
Think not that I shall endanger our cause by my hastiness. The garrison
hath had a rude shock this day, and if we can deliver another before
they have had time to recover, the advantage is all on our side."
"Say on, then, Sir Squire. Thy counsel hath been good hitherto, and I
am most ready to listen. What is next to be done?"
"Set all the men but those at the mangonels to work cutting great
bundles of undergrowth. Let the women and children also help, and let
the faggots be cut at some little distance, so that the thickness of the
woods here, which is our protection against a sortie, be not destroyed.
The bundles of undergrowth we must use to fill up the moat and give us a
foothold for the assault upon the gates and walls."
"Yes, yes; I thought that would be the next move."
"Then I want thee to strip a wagon of its strongest pair of wheels.
Leave them on the axle. Then fell a tall young tree, with trunk about
the thickness of a man's thigh. Lop off all its branches and cap the
end with iron. Then lay it across the axle and lash it there. Running
easily on its wheels, and thrust by a score of men, the tree will make a
battering-ram that will, I promise thee, reduce the drawbridge and gates
of Castle Ruthenes to splinters within the space of a few minutes."
"Ha! but will not the wheels of thy ram sink into the filled-in moat and
there stick fast?"
"Nay; make the ram so long that ere the wheels shall reach the edge of
the moat the battering end will reach drawbridge and gates. I tell
thee, good Father, we shall get to grips beneath yon frowning gateway
before many hours are past. Have thy men the spirit for a conflict,
stark and grim, waged with trained men in a narrow space where numbers
are of little avail?"
"I will answer for them, Sir Squire," replied the priest quickly. "They
have no training, but they have desperation, and that will carry them
on."
"Aye, I think so too. And now let us to work, and make ready as quickly
as we can."
All the remainder of the day the preparation for the assault upon the
castle went on with untiring energy. In the depths of the woods the
women and children of the village and district laboured at a work to
which they were well accustomed, cutting down young saplings and
undergrowth and carrying them to a point in the roadway near the castle
gates, where men bound them firmly into great bundles.
Close by, a few yards from either side of the roadway, at the very edge
of the wood, and masked only by a thin screen of bushes, men were hard
at work constructing mangonels under Edgar's supervision. At another
point a gang of men were making ready the great ram on wheels which was
expected to do such execution, and at still another a number were
constructing ladders which were intended to be placed against the walls
to draw off some of the garrison from the fight about the gates. Even
after nightfall the work was continued, and none thought of rest until
the preparations were complete.
The first streaks of dawn had scarcely appeared in the sky before the
men were aroused from their slumbers and marshalled for the beginning of
the assault. Eagerly they answered to the call. The first fight had
been won, and every man was impatient to begin the main and final attack
upon the stronghold which harboured the last of their lifelong foes.
Suddenly, at a signal from Edgar, streams of men bearing huge bundles of
faggots issued from the woods at a point nearest the castle gateway, and
advanced rapidly towards the moat. Loud cries of alarm sounded from the
walls, followed by a hurried call to arms. Undeterred by these signs of
resistance, the lines of men hastened to the half-empty moat, flung
their burdens in, and sped rapidly back for more. In a moment or two
the walls were lined with men-at-arms, and missiles began to whistle
through the air downwards upon the scurrying men below. But the bundles
of undergrowth held up in front were a full protection to the men, and
it was only when returning that the missiles could take effect.
Naturally, however, the return journey was made at top speed by the
unencumbered men, and comparatively few were hit, and these for the most
part were but slightly injured.
Scarcely had the garrison had time to warm to their work before, to
their utter astonishment, a loud whirring noise was heard, and a great
rock came singing upwards with a momentum that sent it over walls and
donjon into the woods on the other side of the castle. Ere they had
recovered from their amazement another rock, better aimed, swept a man
bodily off the walls and plunged heavily against the upper part of the
keep.
In sudden consternation, not knowing how many engines there might be
casting the great stones, the garrison fled under cover, and left their
opponents free to do their work as they listed. Finding, however, that
there were only two engines, the men-at-arms presently ventured back and
resumed their task. Forced to take refuge ever and anon from the great
stones cast upwards, their own missiles lost much of their power, and
the work of the attackers went on wellnigh unchecked.
After little more than an hour's work the moat, for a hundred yards on
either side of the gates, was filled and piled up to a height of three
or four feet.
To allow the garrison breathing space was no part of Edgar's policy, and
with scarce a pause he ordered his men to get ready for the assault. He
and Peter had donned full armour, as it had been arranged that they
should lead the attack upon the gateway as soon as bridge and gates were
down. The priest was to direct the attack upon the walls, and try to
call off as many of the garrison as possible from the deadlier conflict
beneath the gateway.