When Gaston missed his brother from his side in the triumphant turning
of the tables upon the French, he felt no uneasiness. The battle was
going so entirely in favour of the English arms, and the discomfited
French were making so small a stand, that the thought of peril to
Raymond never so much as entered his head. In the waning light it was
difficult to distinguish one from another, and for aught he knew his
brother might be quite close at hand. They were engaged in taking
prisoners such of their enemies as were worthy to be carried off; and
when they had completely routed the band and made captive their leaders,
it was quite dark, and steps were taken to encamp for the night.
Then it was that Gaston began to wonder why he still saw nothing either
of Raymond or of the faithful Roger, who was almost like his shadow. He
asked all whom he met if anything had been seen of his brother, but the
answer was always the same -- nobody knew anything about him. Nobody
appeared to have seen him since the brothers rode into battle side by
side; and the young knight began to feel thoroughly uneasy.
Of course there had been some killed and wounded in the battle upon both
sides, though the English loss was very trifling. Still it might have
been Raymond's fate to be borne down in the struggle, and Gaston,
calling some of his own personal attendants about him, and bidding them
take lanterns in their hands, went forth to look for his brother upon
the field where the encounter had taken place.
The field was a straggling one, as the combat had taken the character of
a rout at the end, and the dead and wounded lay at long intervals apart.
Gaston searched and searched, his heart growing heavier as he did so,
for his brother was very dear to him, and he felt a pang of bitter
self-reproach at having left him, however inadvertently, to bear the
brunt of the battle alone. But search as he would he found nothing
either of Raymond or Roger, and a new fear entered into his mind.
"Can he have been taken prisoner?"
This did not seem highly probable. The French, bold enough at the outset
when they had believed themselves secure of an easy victory, had changed
their front mightily when they had discovered the trap set for them by
their foes, and in the end had thought of little save how to save their
own lives. They would scarce have burdened themselves with prisoners,
least of all with one who did not even hold the rank of knight. This
disappearance of his brother was perplexing Gaston not a little. He
looked across the moonlit plain, now almost as light as day, a cloud of
pain and bewilderment upon his face.
"By Holy St. Anthony, where can the boy be?" he cried.
Then one of his men-at-arms came up and spoke.
"When we were pursuing the French here to the left, back towards their
own lines, I saw a second struggle going on away to the right. The
knight with the black visor seemed to be leading that pursuit, and
though I could not watch it, as I had my own work to do here, I know
that some of our men took a different line, there along by yon ridge to
the right."
"Let us go thither and search there," said Gaston, with prompt decision,
"for plainly my brother is not here. It may be he has been following
another flying troop. We will up and after him. Look well as you ride if
there be any prostrate figures lying in the path. I fear me he may have
been wounded in the rout, else surely he would not have stayed away so
long."
Turning his horse round, and closely followed by his men, Gaston rode
off in the direction pointed out by his servant. It became plain that
there had been fighting of some sort along this line, for a few dead and
wounded soldiers, all Frenchmen, lay upon the ground at intervals.
Nothing, however, could be seen of Raymond, and for a while nothing of
Roger either; but just as Gaston was beginning to despair of finding
trace of either, he beheld in the bright moonlight a figure staggering
along in a blind and helpless fashion towards them, and spurring rapidly
forward to meet it, he saw that it was Roger.
Roger truly, but Roger in pitiable plight. His armour was gone. His
doublet had been half stripped from off his back. He was bleeding from
more than one wound, and in his eyes was a fixed and glassy stare, like
that of one walking in sleep. His face was ghastly pale, and his breath
came in quick sobs and gasps.
"Roger, is it thou?" cried Gaston, in accents of quick alarm. "I have
been seeking thee everywhere. Where is thy master? Where is my brother?"
"Gone! gone! gone!" cried Roger, in a strange and despairing voice.
"Carried off by his bitterest foes! Gone where we shall never see him more!"
There was something in the aspect of the youth and in his lamentable
words that sent an unwonted shiver through Gaston's frame; but he was
quick to recover himself, and answered hastily:
"Boy, thou art distraught! Tell me where my brother has gone. I will
after him and rescue him. He cannot be very far away. Quick -- tell me
what has befallen him!"
"He has been carried off -- more I know not. He has been carried off by
foulest treachery."
"Treachery! Whose treachery? Who has carried him off?"
"The knight of the Black Visor."
"The Black Visor! Nay; thou must be deceived thyself! The Black Visor is
one of our own company."
"Ay verily, and that is why he succeeded where an open foe had failed.
None guessed with what purpose he came when he and his men pushed their
way in a compact wedge, and sundered my young master from your side,
sir, driving him farther and farther from all beside, till he and I (who
had managed to keep close beside him) were far away from all the world
beside, galloping as if for dear life in a different direction. Then it
was that they threw off the pretence of being friends -- that they set
upon him and overpowered him, that they beat off even me from holding
myself near at hand, and carried me bound in another direction. I was
given in charge to four stalwart troopers, all wearing the black badge
of their master. They bound my bands and my feet, and bore me along I
knew not whither. I lost sight of my master. Him they took at headlong
speed in another direction. I had been wounded in the battle. I was
wounded by these men, struggling to follow your brother. I swooned in my
saddle, and knew no more till a short hour ago, when I woke to find
myself lying, still bound, upon a heap of straw in some outhouse of a
farm. I heard the voices of my captors singing snatches of songs not far
away; but they were paying no heed to their captive, and I made shift to
slacken my bonds and slip out into the darkness of the wood.
"I knew not where I was; but the moon told me how to bend my steps to
find the English camp again. I, in truth, have escaped -- have come to
bring you word of his peril; but ah, I fear, I fear that we shall never
see him more! They will kill him -- they will kill him! He is in the
hands of his deadliest foes!"
"If we know where he is, we can rescue him without delay!" cried Gaston,
who was not a little perplexed at the peculiar nature of the adventure
which had befallen his brother.
To be taken captive and carried off by one of the English knights (if
indeed the Black Visor were a knight) was a most extraordinary thing to
have happened. Gaston, who knew little enough of his brother's past
history in detail, and had no idea that he had called down upon himself
any particular enmity, was utterly at a loss to understand the story,
nor was Roger in a condition to give any farther explanation. He
tottered as he stood, and Gaston ordered his servants to mount him upon
one of their horses and bring him quietly along, whilst he himself
turned and galloped back to the camp to prosecute inquiries there.
"Who is the Black Visor?" -- that was the burden of his inquiries, and
it was long before he could obtain an answer to this question. The
leaders of the expedition were full of their own plans and had little
attention to bestow upon Gaston or his strange story. The loss of a
single private gentleman from amongst their muster was nothing to excite
them, and their own position was giving them much more concern. They had
taken many prisoners. They believed that they had done amply enough to
raise the siege of St. Jean d'Angely (though in this they proved
themselves mistaken), and they were anxious to get safely back to
Bordeaux with their spoil before any misadventure befell them.
Gaston cared nothing now for the expedition; his heart was with his
brother, his mind was full of anxious questioning. Roger's story plainly
showed that Raymond was in hostile hands. But the perplexity of the
matter was that Gaston had no idea of the name or rank of his brother's
enemy and captor.
At last he came upon a good-natured knight who had been courteous to the
brothers in old days. He listened with interest to Gaston's tale, and
bid him wait a few minutes whilst he went to try to discover the name
and rank of the Black Visor. He was certain that he had heard it, though
he could not recollect at a moment's notice what he had heard. He did
not keep Gaston waiting long, but returned quickly to him.
"The Black Visor is one Peter Sanghurst of Basildene, a gentleman in
favour with the King, and one likely to rise to high honour. Men whisper
that he has some golden secret which, if it be so, will make of him a
great man one of these days. It is he who has been in our company,
always wearing his black visor. Men say he is under some vow, and until
the vow is accomplished no man may look upon his face."
Gaston drew his breath hard, and a strange gleam came into his eyes.
"Peter Sanghurst of Basildene!" he exclaimed, and then fell into a deep
reverie.
What did it all mean? What had Raymond told him from time to time about
the enmity of this man? Did not Gaston himself well remember the
adventure of long ago, when he and his brother had entered Basildene by
stealth and carried thence the wretched victim of the sorcerer's art?
Was not that the beginning of an enmity which had never been altogether
laid to sleep? Had he not heard whispers from time to time all pointing
to the conclusion that Sanghurst had neither forgotten nor forgiven, and
that he felt his possession of Basildene threatened by the existence of
the brothers whose right it was? Had not Raymond placed himself almost
under vow to win back his mother's lost inheritance? And might it not be
possible that this knowledge had come to the ears of the present owner?
Gaston ground his teeth in rage as he realized what might be the meaning
of this cowardly attack. Treachery and cowardice were the two vices most
hateful in his eyes, and this vile attack upon an unsuspecting comrade
filled him with the bitterest rage as well as with the greatest anxiety.
Plain indeed was it that Raymond had been carried off; but whither? To
England? that scarce seemed possible. It would be a daring thing indeed
to bring an English subject back to his native land a prisoner. Yet
where else could Peter Sanghurst carry a captive? He might have friends
amongst the French; but who would be sufficiently interested in his
affairs to give shelter to him and his prisoner, when it might lead to
trouble perhaps with the English King?
One thought of relief there was in the matter. Plainly it was not
Raymond's death that was to be compassed. If they had wished to kill
him, they would have done so upon the battlefield and have left him
there, where his death would have excited no surprise or question. No;
it was something more than this that was wanted, and Gaston felt small
difficulty in guessing what that aim and object was.
"He is to be held for ransom, and his ransom will be our claim upon
Basildene. We both shall be called upon to renounce that, and then
Raymond will go free. Well, if that be the only way, Basildene must go.
But perchance it may be given to me to save the inheritance and rescue
Raymond yet. Would that I knew whither they had carried him! But surely
he may be traced and followed. Some there must be who will be able to
give me news of them."
Of one thing Gaston was perfectly assured, and that was that he must now
act altogether independently, gain permission to quit the expedition,
and pursue his own investigations with his own followers. He had no
difficulty in arranging this matter. The leaders had already resolved
upon returning to Bordeaux immediately, and taking ship with their spoil
and prisoners for England. Had Gaston not had other matters of his own
to think of, he would most likely have urged a farther advance upon the
beleaguered town, to make sure that it was sufficiently relieved. As it
was, he had no thoughts but for his brother's peril; and his anxieties
were by no means relieved by the babble of words falling from Roger's
lips when he returned to see how it fared with him.
Roger appeared to the kindly soldiers, who had made a rude couch for him
and were tending him with such skill as they possessed, to be talking in
the random of delirium, and they paid little heed to his words. But as
Gaston stood by he was struck by the strange fixity of the youth's eyes,
by the rigidity of his muscles, and by the coherence and significance of
his words.
It was not a disconnected babble that passed his lips; it was the
description of some scene upon which he appeared to be looking. He spoke
of horsemen galloping through the night, of the Black Visor in the midst
and his gigantic companion by his side. He spoke of the unconscious
captive they carried in their midst -- the captive the youth struggled
frantically to join, that they might share together whatever fate was to
be his.
The soldiers naturally believed he was wandering, and speaking of his
own ride with his captors; but Gaston listened with different feelings.
He remembered well what he had once heard about this boy and the strange
gift he possessed, or was said to possess, of seeing what went on at a
distance when he had been in the power of the sorcerer. Might it not be
that this gift was not only exercised at the will of another, but might
be brought into play by the tension of anxiety evoked by a great strain
upon the boy's own nervous system? Gaston did not phrase the question
thus, but he well knew the devotion with which Roger regarded Raymond,
and it seemed quite possible to him that in this crisis of his life, his
body weakened by wounds and fatigue, his mind strained by grief and
anxiety as to the fate of him he loved more than life, his spirit had
suddenly taken that ascendency over his body which of old it had
possessed, and that he was really and truly following in that strange
trance-like condition every movement of the party of which Raymond was
the centre.
At any rate, whether he were right or not in this surmise, Gaston
resolved that he would not lose a word of these almost ceaseless
utterings, and dismissing his men to get what rest they could, he sat
beside Roger, and listened with attention to every word he spoke.
Roger lay with his eyes wide open in the same fixed and glassy stare. He
spoke of a halt made at a wayside inn, of the rousing up with the
earliest stroke of dawn of the keeper of this place, of the inside of
the bare room, and the hasty refreshment set before the impatient
travellers.
"He sits down, they both sit down, and then he laughs -- ah, where have
I heard that laugh before?" and a look of strange terror sweeps over the
youth's face. "'I may now remove my visor -- my vow is fulfilled! My
enemy is in my hands. My Lord of Navailles, I drink this cup to your
good health and the success of our enterprise. We have the victim in our
own hands. We can wring from him every concession we desire before we
offer him for ransom.'"
Gaston gave a great start. What did this mean? Well indeed he remembered
the Sieur de Navailles, the hereditary foe of the De Brocas. Was it,
could it be possible, that he was concerned in this capture? Had their
two foes joined together to strive to win all at one blow? He must
strive to find this out. Could it be possible that Roger really saw and
heard all these things? or was it but the fantasy of delirium? Raymond
might have spoken to him of the Lord of Navailles as a foe, and in his
dreams he might be mixing one thought with the other.
Suddenly Roger uttered a sharp cry and pressed his hands before his
eyes. "It is he! it is he!" he cried, with a gasping utterance. "He has
removed the mask from his face. It is he -- Peter Sanghurst -- and he is
smiling -- that smile. Oh, I know what it means! He has cruel, evil
thoughts in his mind. O my master, my master!"
Gaston started to his feet. Here was corroboration indeed. Roger no more
knew who the Black Visor was than he had done himself an hour back. Yet
he now saw the face of Peter Sanghurst, the very man he himself had
discovered the Black Visor to be. This indeed showed that Roger was
truly looking upon some distant scene, and a strange thrill ran through
Gaston as he realized this mysterious fact.
"And the other, Peter Sanghurst's companion -- what of him? what
likeness does he bear?" asked Gaston quickly.
"He is a very giant in stature," was the answer, "with a swarthy skin,
black eyes that burn in their sockets, and a coal-black beard that falls
below his waist. He has a sear upon his left cheek, and he has lost two
fingers upon the left hand. He speaks in a voice like rolling waves, and
in a language that is half English and half the Gascon tongue."
"In very truth the Sieur de Navailles!" whispered Gaston to himself.
With every faculty on the alert, he sat beside Roger's bed, listening to
every word of his strange babble of talk. He described how they took to
horse, fresh horses being provided for the whole company, as though all
had been planned beforehand, and how they galloped at headlong pace away
-- away -- away, ever faster, ever more furiously, as though resolved to
gain their destination at all cost.
The day dawned, but Roger lay still in this trance, and Gaston would not
have him disturbed. Until he could know whither his brother had been
carried, it was useless to strive to seek and overtake him. If in very
truth Roger was in some mysterious fashion watching over him, he would,
doubtless, be able to tell whither at length the captive was taken. Then
they would to horse and pursue. But they must learn all they could first.
The hours passed by. Roger still talked at intervals. If questioned he
answered readily -- always of the same hard riding, the changes of
horses, the captive carried passive in the midst of the troop.
Then he began to speak words that arrested Gaston's attention. He spoke
of natural features well known to him: he described a grim fortress, so
placed as to be impregnable to foes from without. There were the wide
moat, the huge natural mound, the solid wall, the small loopholes.
Gaston held his breath to hear: he knew every feature of the place so
described. Was it not the ancient Castle of Saut -- his own inheritance,
as he had been brought up to call it? Roger had never seen it; he was
almost assured of that. What he was describing was something seen with
that mysterious second sight of his, nothing that had ever impressed
itself upon his waking senses.
It was all true, then. Raymond had indeed been taken captive by the two
bitter enemies of the house of De Brocas. Peter Sanghurst had doubtless
heard of the feud between the two houses, and of the claim set up by
Gaston for the establishment of his own rights upon the lands of the
foe, and had resolved to make common cause with the Navailles against
the brothers. It was possible that they would have liked to get both
into their clutches, but that they feared to attack so stalwart a foe as
Gaston; or else they might have believed that the possession of the
person of Raymond would be sufficient for their purpose. The tie between
the twin brothers was known to be strong. It was likely enough that were
Raymond's ransom fixed at even an exorbitant sum, the price would be
paid by the brother, who well knew that the Tower of Saut was strong
enough to defy all attacks from without, and that any person
incarcerated in its dungeons would be absolutely at the mercy of its
cruel and rapacious lord.
The King of England had his hands full enough as it was without taking
up the quarrel of every wronged subject. What was done would have to be
done by himself and his own followers; and Gaston set his teeth hard as
he realized this, and went forth to give his own orders for the morrow.
At the first glimpse of coming day they were to start forth for the
south, and by hard riding might hope to reach Saut by the evening of the
second day. Gaston could muster some score of armed men, and they would
be like enough to pick up many stragglers on the way, who would be ready
enough to join any expedition promising excitement and adventure. To
take the Castle of Saut by assault would, as Gaston well knew, be
impossible; but he cherished a hope that it might fall into his hands
through strategy if he were patient, and if Roger still retained that
marvellous faculty of second-sight which revealed to his eyes things
hidden from the vision of others.
He slept all that night without moving or speaking, and when he awoke in
the morning it was in a natural state, and at first he appeared to have
no recollection of what had occurred either to himself or to Raymond.
But as sense and memory returned to him, so did also the shadow of some
terrible doom hanging over his beloved young master; and though he was
still weak and ill, and very unfit for the long journey on horseback
through the heat of a summer's day, he would not hear of being left
behind, and was the one to urge upon the others all the haste possible
as they rode along southward after the foes who had captured Raymond.
On, on, on! there were no halts save for the needful rest and
refreshment, or to try to get fresh horses to carry them forward. A fire
seemed to burn in Gaston's veins as well as in those of Roger; and the
knowledge that they were on the track of the fugitives gave fresh ardour
to the pursuit at every halting place.
Only a few hours were allowed for rest and sleep during the darkest hour
of the short night, and then on -- on -- ever on, urged by an
overmastering desire to know what was happening to the prisoner behind
those gloomy walls.
Roger's sleep that night had been disturbed by hideous visions. He did
not appear to know or see anything that was passing; but a deep gloom
hung upon his spirit, and he many times woke shivering and crying out
with horror at he knew not what; whilst Gaston lay broad awake, a
strange sense of darkness and depression upon his own senses. He could
scarce restrain himself from springing up and summoning his weary
followers to get to horse and ride forth at all risks to the very doors
of Saut, and only with the early dawn of day did any rest or refreshment
fall upon his spirit.
Roger looked more himself as they rode forth in the dawn.
"Methinks we are near him now," he kept saying; "my heart is lighter
than it was. We will save him yet -- I am assured of it! He is not dead;
I should surely know it if he were. We are drawing nearer every step. We
may be with him ere nightfall."
"The walls of Saut lie betwixt us," said Gaston, rather grimly, but he
looked sternly resolute, as though it would take strong walls indeed to
keep him from his brother when they were so near.
The country was beginning to grow familiar to him. He picked up
followers in many places as he passed through. The name of De Brocas was
loved here; that of De Navailles was loathed, and hated, and feared.
Evening was drawing on. The woods were looking their loveliest in all
the delicate beauty of their fresh young green. Gaston, riding some
fifty yards ahead with Roger beside him, looked keenly about him, with
vivid remembrance of every winding of the woodland path. Soon, as he
knew, the grim Castle of Saut would break upon his vision -- away there
in front and slightly to the right, where the ground fell away to the
river and rose on the opposite bank, crowned with those frowning walls.
He was riding so carelessly that when his horse suddenly swerved and
shied violently, he was for a moment almost unseated; but quickly
recovering himself, he looked round to see what had frightened the
animal, and himself gave almost as violent a start as the beast had done.
And yet what he saw was nothing very startling: only the light figure of
a young girl -- a girl fair of face and light of foot as a veritable
forest nymph -- such as indeed she looked springing out from the
overhanging shade of that dim place.
For one instant they looked into each other's faces with a glance of
quick recognition, and then clasping her hands together, the girl
exclaimed in the Gascon tongue:
"The Holy Saints be praised! You have come, you have come! Ah, how I
have prayed that help might come! And my prayers have been heard!"