maidens, while Edgar stayed where he was, leaning quietly against the
blocks of stone. For all his easy posture, the half darkness of the
underground passage hid a face grown pale and anxious, for the peril in
which the party now stood was extreme. It was not the advance of the
body of men, who, carrying torches and headed by Sir Eustace de Brin in
person, were now bearing rapidly down upon him, that filled him with
anxiety. These he was prepared to oppose with the utmost desperation.
It was the thought that sentinels might be posted at the farther end of
the tunnel, and that Peter might be unable to cleave a way to freedom
with his charges, that made his heart sink with a sickening feeling of
dread.
*CHAPTER XXI*
*Through the Darkness*
Meanwhile events were moving with equal rapidity above-ground. The
charge of Sir Eustace and his men-at-arms across the filled-in moat had
completely dispersed the last of the peasants still remaining in the
open. The priest had done his best to rally his men and to resist the
horsemen, but his followers were infected by the panic which had seized
upon those who had been engaged in storming the gates, and would not
stand. He himself was wounded and must have been slain had not several
of the more courageous of his band seized him and dragged him into the
woods by force.
Once in the thickets the peasants were safe, and, realizing the folly of
pursuing them with so small a force as he had at his disposal, De Brin
contented himself with leading his men against the peasants still
working at the mangonels. These fled hastily at his approach, and his
men promptly proceeded to heap faggots around the machines. A light was
procured, and, amid the cheers of the men-at-arms, the flames shot up
until the engines were in the midst of a huge bonfire.
At this moment De Maupas spurred rapidly from out the castle and sought
De Brin. His vizor was raised, and on his face was a look of savage
joy. "Ho, there, Eustace!" he cried. "Their leader, this Edgar Wintour,
hath taken refuge in the donjon. Doubtless he hopeth to escape through
the underground passage. Quick, close this end, and he will be snugly
trapped!"
"Ha, ha!" laughed De Brin. "If 'tis so, then he hath saved us much
trouble, and mayhap provided us with some rare sport. Do thou, De
Maupas, remain here, and see that he receiveth a warm reception if he
seeketh to emerge this end. I, for my part, will see that his hot blood
runs chilly in his veins before we have done with him. Ha, ha! But
first we must seal him up completely within the cavern."
With a look of cruel anticipation upon his face that might of itself
have chilled Edgar's blood had he been there to see it, Black Eustace
spurred back through the gates and took charge of the men already
engaged in hewing down the door of the donjon. As soon as the door
showed signs of weakening, he drew aside two of the men and sent them on
an errand that took them outside the walls.
Here the men looked about them for some moments before seizing upon one
of the big ladders constructed by the peasants. The uprights were thick
and strong, and one of these was knocked away from the crosspieces and
the end carefully pointed. For what purpose these preparations were made
was not apparent, but, from the haste with which the men completed their
work, it seemed that they had at least some connection with the plight
of the two fugitives in the castle donjon.
De Maupas had for some moments gazed thoughtfully around him before he
set about his part of the task of destroying the fugitives. His eyes
fell upon the great bonfire which now marked the spot whence the
mangonels had discharged their deadly missiles, and with a grim smile he
directed the men about him to pick up some of the big bundles of
brushwood that had been left over when the filling-in of the moat had
been accomplished. Then he led the way to the tiny glade where the tree
with the hollow trunk had stood when Edgar had escaped with Sir John a
short time before. Pointing to a certain spot in the ground, he
directed his men to fling down their bundles and scoop away the earth.
A large flagstone was soon disclosed, and on its being lifted a black
pit, down which led a flight of steep stone steps, yawned before them.
Kneeling, De Maupas called:
"Bruyard! Ho, there! Bruyard!"
After a moment's pause, a muffled voice replied:
"Who calleth?"
"De Maupas. Come hither!"
The noise of the opening and shutting of a door next ascended to the
ears of the men above, and presently a man-at-arms appeared. He climbed
the steep steps in leisurely fashion, and then stood blinking in the
sunlight.
"What is it ye want, Sir Knight?" he asked surlily.
"Hast locked the door?" asked De Maupas impatiently.
"Nay, I have not. What need, if the enemy is driven off?"
"No matter," replied De Maupas shortly. "Come, men, pile your faggots
about these steps, and hasten back for more. We will make a merry
blaze, for I expect visitors from yon dismal depths. Pile the faggots
high, and let us see if they will escape by the secret way a second
time."
With a roar of savage enjoyment the men hastened to obey. They now saw
the object of the move, and with many a joke to one another they hauled
great bundles of wood to the fatal spot with every sign of gusto.
A brand was brought from the blazing mangonels, and the pile ignited.
It blazed up and burned fiercely. Heavier and thicker pieces of wood
were then flung on until the exit from the tunnel was ringed about with
a veritable wall of fire. Satisfied that any man who attempted to
plunge through such a furnace must perish miserably, De Maupas strolled
up and down, awaiting with some impatience the news that the fugitives
had indeed taken refuge in the tunnel, and that De Brin had succeeded in
sealing up the castle end.
As he paced the greensward he noticed the two men who had been sent upon
an errand by De Brin. They were just then busily engaged in sharpening
the end of a long thick pole which they had obtained.
"What is this?" asked De Maupas. "Who set ye on to this, and for what
purpose?"
"De Brin," replied one of the men laconically, giving his thumb a jerk
in the direction of the castle gates. Then he indicated the moat, and
ejaculated: "Cold water."
De Maupas stared at the man for a moment in some perplexity. Then the
truth dawned upon him, and he went off into a fit of laughter.
"Ha, ha! Now I see what De Brin meant. Chill his hot blood--ha, ha!
But even he knoweth not the final reception we have prepared for his
uninvited guests. Ha, ha, ha!"
* * * * *
"Yield thyself!" cried De Brin, bearing down upon Edgar as he stood,
sword in hand, at the head of the stairs leading to the underground
tunnel. "Yield thyself, for thou art trapped!"
"I will yield myself when thou hast vanquished me, De Brin," replied
Edgar, fencing vigorously as their blades clashed together. "How hast
thou trapped me?"
"Thou seekest to escape through the passage, as once before. Know then
that the farther end is guarded by thine enemy, De Maupas, and a dozen
men. Thy friend, the priest, and all his flock are in full flight, and
all is lost."
Edgar could not but believe. He had hoped that his pursuers would
ransack the donjon for him before coming to the conclusion that he had
flown to the tunnel for refuge. But unfortunately for him they had
guessed that he would make for the passage, and had sealed it up. And
with him were the two maidens.
The responsibility of their charge was crushing. Had there been only
Peter he would, with a light heart enough, have dashed for the farther
end in an attempt to break through, though to be unsuccessful was death.
But his heart almost failed him when he thought of the terrible
situation of the ladies. In his preoccupation he gave ground before De
Brin's onslaught, and in a minute or two was driven back to the head of
the flight of steps. Here he stood his ground for a few moments, and
then, after feinting fiercely and compelling De Brin to give back,
sprang down the steps to the open door below.
At this moment a man-at-arms pressed through the body of men about their
leader, and whispered a few words in the knight's ear.
The effect was electrical.
"Ho, there! Edgar Wintour!" cried De Brin furiously. "Madman that thou
art, they tell me that thou hast carried away the lady Beatrice and her
maid with thee. 'Tis to certain death thou art dragging them. Yield
them up, fool! There is escape neither for them nor for thee."
"If thou wilt promise to let them ride hence in peace, I will yield them
up," replied Edgar quickly.
"Bah!" cried De Brin. "Thou hast yet to learn how completely thou art
trapped. Let this teach thee!"
As he spoke the black knight set his weight against one of the huge
blocks of stone piled by the head of the flight of steps. It moved, and
bounded down the slope with tremendous weight and force. Luckily for
Edgar it struck the massive doorpost, and did not come full into the
doorway, or he must have been struck down and perhaps killed outright.
Dreading lest such a mass of stone should bound along the tunnel and
perhaps reach the ladies, our hero whipped the door to and put his
weight against it.
Somewhat to Edgar's surprise, De Brin made no attempt to force the door,
but instead ordered his men to hurl down upon it the piled-up blocks of
stone. For some minutes a perfect avalanche of these rolled and bounded
down upon the door, and every minute Edgar feared that it would be burst
open. In the hope of adding a little to its strength he kept his weight
against it, though the shock of each stone jarred him to the bone. At
last the well formed by the steps began to be filled, and the jar and
shock lessened until but a slight tremor followed as the rocks were
still flung down. Soon the work was complete, and the castle end of the
passage was blocked by a mass of stone that it would take hours' work by
a score of men to clear away.
There was no more to be done there, and with a heavy heart Edgar left
the door, and made his way along the tunnel. In the far distance a
light had sprung up, and he guessed that Peter had managed to obtain a
spark and had lit one of the torches they had been careful to snatch
from the wall before they left the upper room.
"What was that dreadful noise?" asked Beatrice anxiously, as Edgar
joined them. "It echoed along the passage until we thought giants
indeed must be battering at the door."
"Nay, 'tis worse even than that, Beatrice," replied Edgar solemnly.
"They have hurled down stones and walled us in."
"Well, is not that good news? They cannot pursue, and if we hasten we
shall escape before they can cut off our retreat. Peter telleth me that
we are almost through this dreadful passage."
"They have already cut off our retreat, Beatrice," replied Edgar. "Like
a fool, I have brought thee into nothing but a trap. De Brin taunted me
that the farther end was guarded, and I fear 'tis true. I had hoped
that ye would all have been out long ere this. What hath delayed thee,
Peter? The little chance that once we had hath, I fear, gone for ever.
"We came upon some obstruction in the passage, Master Edgar," replied
Peter earnestly, "and I dared not go on with the ladies in the darkness,
not knowing what pitfalls might lie in wait for us. I stopped to light
a torch, and my flint and steel work none too fast in this damp and
dismal dungeon. But here is the door, and I see no sentinel."
"Was yon great chest the obstruction? Didst open it?"
"Nay, I would not stop. Shall I go batter it in?"
"Nay, let us press on and test the strength of the guard about this end.
Perchance, after all, when the good priest heareth the sound of a
conflict, he may bring down some of his men and make an attack. We
might then break through. Come, hew down that door."
"How stifling is this passage, Edgar!" cried Beatrice appealingly. "The
heat is becoming dreadful. Whence cometh it?"
"I cannot understand it," replied Edgar, whose face, in spite of his
brave words of hope, had grown grey and pinched. "No such heat was here
when last we-- But see!--what is that light that glinteth beneath the
door? Give me the axe, Peter! Something is going on beyond that
barrier that giveth me fears I never felt before."
Swinging the axe with feverish impatience, he smote the lock with
tremendous force. The door instantly flew open, and a glare of light
and a wave of hot air burst in upon them, blinding and scorching them so
fiercely that, with one impulse, they fled backwards a dozen paces into
the shelter or the passage.
"What is this--dreadful fate--thou hast brought us into, Edgar?" cried
Beatrice in gasps, as Jeannette sank to the ground by her side in a deep
swoon. "Are we, then, to be choked and scorched alive?"
"Reproach me not, Beatrice," replied Edgar in a tremulous voice, almost
unmanned by the terrible plight into which he had unwittingly brought
the two maidens. "I told thee the hope of escape was faint, but I never
dreamed that such a fearful end might be in store for us."
"Forgive me, Edgar," cried Beatrice impulsively, placing her hand gently
on the young esquires arm. "I was overhasty in my alarm. I am a
warrior's daughter, and I will not play the coward again."
"'Tis nothing. Myself I shall not forgive," muttered Edgar. In his
prostration he had sunk back against the wall, his arms resting on the
haft of his great axe and his head bowed down upon them. For a few
minutes he was silent with the silence of despair. Then he resolutely
roused himself from his stupor. "Come," he said, "we are in no
immediate danger here, except it be from stifling. Let us retreat back
beneath the moat. It will be cooler there."
Headed by Peter with the torch, the little party threaded its way in
dumb despair back into the deeper recesses of the tunnel, Edgar bearing
the limp form of the insensible Jeannette. On arriving at the spot
where the great iron-bound chest half-blocked the passage, Peter halted
and proposed that they should seat themselves. Jeannette was laid upon
the top of the box and Beatrice took her seat upon it, while Edgar and
Peter stood at her side, conversing in low tones upon the hopeless
situation in which they found themselves. The spot at which they had
halted was, as near as they could judge, beneath the castle moat, and
the air was far cooler than at the end towards the fire.
"At least they cannot reach us," said Edgar presently. "The fire which
bars our escape equally bars their attack. If they have no desire to
encounter us hand to hand beneath the ground, they will have to keep the
fires burning night and day."
"That will not be difficult with the woods so close at hand," replied
Peter, shaking his head. "They will know that after a day or two we
shall be weakened by hunger and thirst."
"But if the priest liveth he will guess the reason of these great fires,
and will gather men to harass De Brin. They will find it hard to
maintain themselves."
"I fear the Father will be dead. When De Brin and his men swept across
the broken drawbridge, doubtless he would head the peasants. Who so
likely to be slain?"
"Hark!" exclaimed Beatrice suddenly. "Surely that is the sound of
knocking I hear above my head?"
Both men ceased talking and listened intently.
A slow and measured beat could be heard distinctly. Even as they
listened it seemed to increase in volume, until it sounded as though
someone were striking the roof above their heads with a muffled sledge.
Peter stared at his young master wide-eyed. Stout-hearted and faithful
though he was, even he seemed to have been struck with fear at last.
"They are----" he began.
"Hush!" whispered Edgar warningly, turning away and again leaning head
and arms on the haft of his great axe.
"What is it, Edgar?" asked Beatrice softly, placing her hand gently on
the young man's shoulder. "Hide it not from me. Thou wilt, I hope,
find that I can show fortitude when need be."
"I doubt it not," replied Edgar in a breaking voice. "But can I bring
thee to such a pass and see thee perish unmoved?"
"But what is it?" reiterated Beatrice appealingly. "What meaneth this
knocking which grows louder every moment? Look! The very wall seems to
shake beneath these mysterious blows."
"Aye. It meaneth, Beatrice, that Black Eustace or blacker De Maupas is
driving in the tunnel where it passes beneath the moat. Doubtless they
are using an iron bar or a baulk of wood. Their unknightly and shameful
plot is to drown us like rats, or to compel us to run the gauntlet of
their fires. A few minutes and one or other fate is ours."
Horror-struck, Beatrice gazed at the roof of the passage, now
perceptibly quivering beneath the blows from above. Already the water
was trickling in between the widening cracks of the masonry and running
in tiny streams down the wall to their feet. Once a block of stone had
been driven in, an onrush of water must ensue that would quickly fill
the tunnel. Though the dam that had held up the waters of the moat had
been broken down, the stream water still flowed in volume sufficient to
fill the tunnel a hundred times over.
"I must return to the mouth of the tunnel and seek speech with De Brin,"
cried Edgar, suddenly starting to his feet after contemplating the
widening cracks in gloomy silence. "Better that thou shouldst wed De
Maupas, evil fate though it be, than that thou shouldst perish thus
miserably here."
"Nay, Edgar," replied Beatrice firmly. "Thou shalt do no such thing.
'Tis for me to say which fate is the better, and I elect to perish here
among friends rather than to live elsewhere among enemies. Calm thyself
and fret not at this mischance. _I_ reproach thee not."
In spite of his agitation, Edgar could not help gazing in sheer
admiration at his companion. She seemed the calmest and most
unconcerned of the three. His attention was then caught by Peter's
movements.
The lad had, half-absentmindedly, prized open with his dagger a loose
board near the top of the great chest. He had then plunged in his hand
and taken out a handful of its contents, which seemed to be merely black
dry earth. Holding the substance close to the torch, he examined it in
some perplexity.
"What hast thou there, Peter?" eagerly asked Edgar, in whose mind a
suspicion of the truth had already begun to dawn.
"I know not. 'Tis a handful of black grains, of which the chest seems
full."
"Ha!" ejaculated Edgar with a gasp of excitement, reaching out and
drawing Peter's hand to him. "'Tis that mysterious new powder of which
we have heard of late. It possesseth a strange and mighty power which
some think will bring great changes. I have heard it said[#] that it
showeth promise of becoming a force to be reckoned with in warfare, even
by knights clad in full armour."
[#] Gunpowder was used at Crecy shortly afterwards. It had, of course,
been used in battle by the Venetians years before.
"What doth it here?" asked Peter, glancing at the chest with sudden awe.
"'Twas not here when last we came this way, and perchance Black Eustace,
hearing of the unrest among his vassals, thought to overawe them by this
strange and wellnigh supernatural force. Our sudden attack, and the
rapid blows we never ceased to strike, have given him no opportunity to
make use of his dread possession. Lift down the maid, Peter, and let us
prize open the lid."
Peter obeyed, and in a moment the great chest lay open before them. It
was full almost to the brim with the little black grains.
"A way of escape is opening before us!" cried Edgar, in a voice which
vibrated with a new and mighty hope. "Beatrice, wilt thou permit us to
leave thee and thy maid while we make a last attempt to carve a way to
freedom? The risk is great, and it may well prove that we shall burst
in the gates of death rather than wedge open those of life. But to
remain here is to abandon hope."
For a moment Beatrice hesitated. The thought of being left alone with
the insensible Jeannette in the gloomy tunnel evidently terrified her.
In a moment or two, however, she answered bravely: "I will stay, Edgar."
"Then follow to the far end. We will leave thee a torch. Come, Peter,
not an instant is to be lost--see how the water begins to gush through
in streams!"
Rapidly Beatrice and Jeannette were conveyed to the castle end of the
passage. Then the two young men sped quickly back to the great chest,
replaced the lid, and lifted and carried it along in the opposite
direction. Soon they reached the place where the door stood open,
admitting the glare and heat of the great fires burning fiercely above.
"Set this down for a moment," cried Edgar, dragging the door to. He
then seized his axe and attacked the hinges which held it in position.
A dozen heavy blows rained down with the fierce rapidity of one fighting
for his life, and the door fell outwards with a crash, letting in again
the fierce glare which had been momentarily shut out.
As the door fell, the sound of cheers, followed by loud laughter, became
audible. Evidently the thunder of the axe strokes had reached the ears
of the men above, and had been received by them as evidence that the
fugitives, driven frantic by the fear of an inrush of water, had
thoughts of making an effort to break through the ring of fire.
"Wilt yield thee now, braggart esquire?" rang out the stentorian voice
of De Brin, high above the crackling of the fires.
"Doubtless--an he gets the chance," answered De Maupas with a loud laugh
of derision.
The sally was received with a roar of laughter from the assembled
men-at-arms, whose enjoyment of the anticipated proceedings seemed
great. At last they were obtaining some return for the alarms and
defeats inflicted upon them by the despised peasantry.
"We shall see," muttered Edgar to himself as he darted out into the
blazing heat about the steps, lifted the door, and bore it back into the
tunnel. Then he again darted out, and with quick swings of the foot
scattered the heap of burning brands at the foot of the steps until a
space was cleared. The heat was great--wellnigh insupportable.
"Now, Peter," he gasped, once more bounding back into the partial
shelter of the passage, "aid me to carry the chest to the foot of the
steps. 'Tis our last and only hope."
Livid with superstition and fear, Peter obeyed. The box was quickly
lifted to the foot of the steps and there set down. Then Peter darted
back into the tunnel and Edgar followed, grasping the door as he passed
and carrying it along with him.
The peril was tremendous, for at any moment the burning brands which
dropped and rolled down the steps with every puff of wind might set
light to the box and explode its contents. Knowing this, Edgar strained
every nerve to put as much space between himself and the fires as
possible. Half the length of the passage was traversed in safety, and
then, with the thought of Beatrice in his mind, he called Peter back and
raised the door upright so that it nearly closed the tunnel.
"Aid me to hold it thus, Peter. Set all thy weight against it.
Perchance we may then keep the flame from penetrating to our charges. I
know not much of this powder, but I fear the explosion will be
terrible."
For nearly half a minute the two young men waited, holding the massive
door in position. Then with a mighty roar and flash the explosion came.
The noise was terrific, and the shock made the very earth tremble. The
door was blown back flat, dashing the two young men to the ground like
straws, and a rush of hot air sped over them like a hurricane. Jumping
to their feet the instant it had passed, they lifted the door back into
position and held it there, choking and gasping with the thick fumes and
smoke of the fiery blast.
For a moment there was a calm, followed by the ominous sound of falling
objects as the rocks, flung into the air by the explosion, dropped
heavily back to the ground. Then all was still again.
"Prop this in position while we go back and see how fared the lady
Beatrice," gasped Edgar. "If all is well with her, I believe we may yet
win through to safety."
Back through the passage beneath the moat, now knee-deep in water, the
young men pressed. The torch had been blown out by the rush of air, and
all was pitchy dark.
"Beatrice! Beatrice!" shouted Edgar loudly.
"Here--I am safe--but in sore distress," came the reply, and with a cry
of triumph Edgar sprang to her side.