DUKE REINALD'S CROSS.
He wrapp'd his cloak upon his arm, he smote away their swords,
Striking hard and sturdy buffets on the mouths of those proud lords;
Snapping blades and tearing mouths, like a lion at his meal,
Laughing at the stab of dagger, and the flashing of their steel.
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
Great was the impatience of the earl and of his satellite, James
Achanna, to learn the result of the snare they had laid for Sir Patrick
Gray. If successful in its cruelty, the first felt assured that a
formidable obstruction to his plans would be removed for ever; and the
latter flattered himself that he would be a richer man by a thousand
silver crowns of the Rhine. Then he had his plans to mature for turning
Count Ludwig into as much ready money as the Dyck Graf would pay for
him. Our utilitarian felt that he was on the eve of making his fortune!
That the ill-fated Sir Patrick Gray had left his hostelry punctually,
Achanna had already ascertained, and duly reported to the earl.
"It is easier," says Goldsmith, "to conceive than to describe the
complicated sensations which are felt from the pain of a recent
injury and the pleasure of approaching vengeance," but in the present
instance, it was the mere delight of cruel and wicked hearts in a
lawless revenge (without the sense of real injury) that fired the
hearts of the earl and Achanna.
They had not an atom of compunction!
Albany was aware, by the recent interview at the auberge, that his
more favoured rival was to be removed; how, he scarcely knew (he
had been so tipsy), and _how_, he little cared; but he pitied--for
this exiled and outlawed prince was not quite destitute of
generosity--Murielle, as the poor girl, in joyous anticipation of
the morrow's meeting with her lover, had assumed her cithern, and
all unconscious of the horrors impending, sang one or two sweet old
Galloway songs; but they failed to soothe either the savage earl, or
his more unscrupulous follower, who, from the recess of a window,
surveyed her with gloomy malignity in his cat-like eyes, which, as
already described, were situated singularly far apart in his head, from
the conical top of which his red hair hung in tufts.
When the hour of ten was tolled from the spire of the cathedral (where
time was regulated then by great hour-glasses), the curiosity of
Douglas and Achanna could no longer be repressed.
"You have an order from the Dyck Graf to pass the gates," whispered the
earl.
"Yes; at any hour."
"Then set forth; seek that fellow whom you name: what is it they call
him?"
"Count Ludwig of Endhoven."
"A rare noble, by the Mass! Seek him and bring me sure tidings of what
has transpired."
Within twenty minutes after this, Achanna had mounted and left Bommel,
after duly presenting to the captain of the watch his pass, signed by
Jacques de Lalain. Taking the road to Ameldroyan, he rode slowly--very
slowly at first, listening to every sound; but all seemed still by the
wayside, and coldly and palely the waning moon shone on the waters
of the Waal, and of the sluices and marshes which there intersected
the level country. The windmills--unusual features to a Scotsman's
eye--stood motionless and silent, like giants with outstretched arms.
Now a sound came upon the wind at times, and he reined up his horse to
listen. Anon he rode forward again, for that sound made him shudder. It
was the wild weird cry of a wolf in the forest, baying to the moon.
Feeling alternately for his sword and his crucifix (just as a Spaniard
of the present day would do), he neared the appointed spot, and his
keen eyes detected a lurking figure which withdrew at his approach.
This was Carl Langfanger the scout.
A cruel joy filled Achanna's heart with a strange glow, and his large
coarse ears quivered like those of a sleuth-bratch in his eagerness to
catch a passing sound.
Was it all over--were the thousand crowns his? Had Gray been blinded
by the burning iron, manacled, stripped and bound to the goaded horse
which was to bear him to the wild forest, and to the wolves' jaws? Did
the baying he had heard in the distance announce that the chase was
over, and their repast begun--that horse and rider had been torn limb
from limb?
He asked these questions of himself as he rode on. Soon he saw the
votive lamp that flickered before Duke Reinald's cross. Then he
detected a red gleam that wavered under some willow trees. It came
from the brazier in which Ludwig had heated the blinding iron. He
spurred impatiently forward. There was a shout, and amid cries of, "Der
Schottlander, donner and blitzen, der Schottlander!" he was struck from
his horse and pinioned in a moment, before he could utter a cry for
mercy or for explanation.
The wretch had fallen into his own trap.
His clothes were roughly rent from his body, and if he opened his
mouth the point of a sword menaced his throat. Covered with blood and
bruises, and screaming like a terrified woman for mercy, he was dragged
into the hollow where Count Ludwig was seated before the brazier, with
the brandy-jar by his side.
Amid shouts of ferocious laughter and imprecations his head was grasped
by several of the ruffians, while Carl Langfanger drew forth the
gleaming iron from the brazier. Achanna uttered a last scream of terror
and agony on beholding it, and then his voice seemed to leave him. The
cold bead-drops burst upon his throbbing temples; his eyes started from
their sockets as if to anticipate their doom, and the pulses of his
heart seemed to stand still--he could only sigh and gasp.
He felt the hot glow upon his cheek--already it seemed to burn into
his brain, and he gave himself over for lost, when there was a sudden
shout and a rush of horses' hoofs; he saw the flashing of swords above
his head, and heard the rasp of steel on steel as the blades emitted
red sparks. There was a sudden shock, and a conflict seemed to close
over him as he fell to the earth on his face fainting, and some time
elapsed before he became sufficiently conscious to understand that he
was free, and rescued by the valour of a single horseman, who was clad
in a helmet and chain shirt, and whose sword was dripping with the red
evidence of how skilfully he had used it in the recent fray.
But what were the emotions of James Achanna when by a sudden gleam from
the expiring contents of the brazier, as the night wind swept through
the hollow, he recognized in his preserver, Sir Patrick Gray of Foulis!
Astonishment with craven fear prevailed; but not the slightest emotion
of gratitude. He felt rather a glow of rage and bitterness that Gray,
by a mistake, or by loitering so long, had been too late for his own
destruction!
Sir Patrick, as Achanna learned, had left his hostelry in sufficient
time to be at the false rendezvous; but being without an order from the
Dyck Graf to pass the gates, (a document with which he had not provided
himself, lest a knowledge of the application for it might lead to his
discovery by the Douglases) he had been refused egress by the guards;
and after spending an hour in attempting every gate of Bommel--an hour
of impatience and fury--during which he strove in vain to corrupt by
gold the trusty Walloons who watched them, he swam his horse at last
through the Waal, and having thus to make a great detour, arrived
at a most critical time for the fate of Achanna, who gazed at him,
speechlessly and helplessly, afraid to utter a word lest Gray might
recognise his voice, and pass through his body the sword which had just
saved him.
Sir Patrick, however, _did_ recognise him as he cut his cords, but not
immediately; though there was no mistaking his hideous visage and green
cat-like eyes, or the red hair and beard that mingled together.
"So it is thee, James Achanna," said he; "dog and son of a dog, had I
met you mounted and armed as I now am I would have slain you without
remorse or mercy. As it is, go, and remember that you receive your
miserable life at the hand of one who spares it rather from profound
disdain, than that you may have time for repentance--a time that may
never come to you!"
With these words Gray smote him on the cheek, sheathed his sword,
remounted his horse, and, bewildered by the whole affair, rode rapidly
off, leaving Achanna to find his way back to Bommel as he best could.
Sir Patrick was filled with rage, but he knew not against whom to
direct it. He half suspected that a snare had been laid for him, and
then dismissed the idea, believing that the circumstance of his being
in Bommel, or even in Flanders, was unknown to all save the abbot and
Murielle, the mission on which Crichton had sent him being almost a
secret one: for these reasons he did not make himself known to Achanna
_by name_.
It was not until dawn, when the gates were open to admit the boors
and peasantry to the markets, that the rescuer and the rescued made
their way, but by different routes, into Bommel; and a scurvy figure
the latter made when he presented himself at the residence of the
Douglases, minus horse, arms, and clothing, with an ill-devised tale
of his having been assaulted by Brabanciones, while the fierce jibes
of the earl, and the narrow escape from a dreadful death, inspired
him with more hatred than ever against Gray and Murielle, for he had
learned to combine them in one idea.