"In the King's name!"
The old seneschal at the drawbridge eyed with glances of awed suspicion
the gallant young knight who had ridden so boldly up to the walls of
Saut and had bidden him lower the bridge. A few paces behind the leader
was a compact little body of horsemen, all well mounted and well armed,
though it was little their bright weapons could do against the solid
walls of the grim old fortress, girdled as it was with its wide and deep
moat. The pale sunshine of a winter's day shone upon the trappings of
the little band, and lighted up the stone walls with something of
unwonted brightness. It revealed to those upon the farther side of the
moat the perplexed countenance of the old seneschal, who did not meet
Gaston's bold demand for admittance with defiance or refusal, but stood
staring at the apparition, as if not knowing what to make of it; and
when the demand had been repeated somewhat more peremptorily, he still
stood doubtful and hesitating, saying over and over to himself the same
words:
"In the King's name! in the King's name!"
"Ay, fellow, in the King's name," repeated Gaston sternly. "Wilt thou
see his warrant? I have it here. Thou hadst best have a care how thou
settest at defiance the King's seal and signet. Knowest thou not that
his royal son is within a few leagues of this very spot?"
The old man only shook his head, as if scarce comprehending the drift of
these words, and presently he looked up to ask:
"Of which King speak you, good Sir Knight?"
"Of the English King, fellow, the only King I acknowledge! Whose servant
doth thy master call himself? Thou hadst better go and tell him that
King Edward of England has sent a message to him."
"Tell my master!" repeated the seneschal, with a strange gesture, as he
lifted his hand and touched his head. "To what good would that be? My
master understands no word that is said to him. He raves up and down the
hall day by day, taking note of naught about him. Thou hadst best have a
care how thou beardest him, Sir Knight. We go in terror of our very
lives through him."
"Ye need go no longer in that fear," cried Gaston, with a kindling of
the eyes, as he bared his noble head and looked forth at the old man
with his fearless glance, "for in me ye will find a master whom none
need fear who do their duty by him and by the King. Seneschal, I stand
here the lawful Lord of Saut -- lord by hereditary right, and by the
mandate of England's King, the Roy Outremer, as you call him. I am
Gaston de Brocas, of the old race who owned these lands long before the
false Navailles had set foot therein. I have come back armed with the
King's warrant to claim mine own.
"Say, men, will ye have me for your lord? or will ye continue to serve
yon raging madman till England's King sends an army to raze Saut to the
ground, and slay the rebellious horde within these ancient walls?"
Gaston had raised his voice as he had gone on speaking, for he saw that
the dialogue with the old seneschal had attracted the attention of a
number of men-at-arms, who had gradually mustered about the gate to hear
what was passing.
Gaston spoke his native dialect like one of themselves. The name of De
Brocas was known far and wide in that land, and was everywhere spoken
with affection and respect. The fierce rapacity of the Navailles was
equally feared and hated. Even the stout soldiers who had followed his
fortunes so long regarded him with fear and distrust. No man in those
days felt certain of his life. If he chanced to offend the madman, a
savage blow from that strong arm might fell him to the earth; whilst
some amongst their companions had from time to time mysteriously
disappeared, and their fate had never been disclosed.
A sense of fearfulness and uncertainty had long reigned at Saut. The mad
master had his own myrmidons in the Tower, who would do his bidding
whatever that bidding might be; and that there were dark secrets hidden
away in those underground dungeons and secret chambers everybody in the
Castle well knew. Hardly one of the men now gathered on the opposite
side of the moat but had awakened at some time or other from a horrid
dream, believing himself to have been spirited down into those gloomy
subterranean places, there to expiate some trifling offence, according
as their savage lord should give order. Many of these men had assisted
at scenes which seemed frightful to them when they pictured themselves
the victims of the cruelty of the fierce man they had long served, but
whom now they had grown to fear and distrust.
A sense of horror had long been hanging over Saut, and since the
disappearance of the maiden who once had brightened the grim place by
her presence, this horror had perceptibly deepened. Not one of all the
men-at-arms dared even to his fellow to propose the remedy. Each feared
that if he breathed what was in his own mind, the very walls would
whisper it in the ears of their lord, and that the offender would be
doomed to some horrible death, to act as a warning to others like-minded
with himself. Since the loss of his niece, almost as mysterious to him
as the escape of Raymond de Brocas from the prison, the clouds of doubt
and suspicion had closed more and more darkly round the miserable man,
who had let himself become the slave of his passions until these had
increased to absolute madness. His unbridled fury and fits of maniac
rage had estranged from him even the most attached of his old retainers,
and in proportion as he felt this with the instinct of cunning and
madness, the more did he exact from those about him protestations of
zeal and faithfulness, the more did he watch the words and actions of
his servants, and mark the smallest attempt on their part to restrain or
thwart him.
Small wonder was it, then, when Gaston de Brocas stood forth in the
sunshine, the King's warrant in his hand, words of good augury upon his
lips, and a compact little body of armed men at his back, proclaiming
himself the Lord of Saut, and inviting to his service the men who were
now trembling before the caprices and cruel cunning of a madman, that
they exchanged wondering glances, and spoke in eager whispers together,
fearful lest the Navailles should approach from behind ere they were
aware of it, and feeling that there was here such a chance of escape
from miserable bondage as might never occur again.
And whilst they still hesitated -- for the fear of treachery was never
absent from the minds of those bred up in habits and thoughts of
treachery -- another wonder happened. Out from the little knot a few
paces behind the young knight two more figures pressed forward, and the
men-at-arms rubbed their eyes and looked on in silent wonder: for one of
the pair was none other than the fairy maiden who had lived so long
amongst them, and had endeared herself even to these rude spirits by her
grace and sweetness and undefinable charm; the other, that youth with
the wonderful eyes and saint-like face who had been captured and borne
away to Saut after the battle before St. Jean d'Angely, and whose body
they all believed had long ago been lying beneath the sullen waters of
the moat, where so many victims of their lord's hatred had found their
last resting place.
And as they stared and looked at one another and stared again, a silvery
voice was uplifted, and they all held their breath to listen.
"My friends," said the lady, urging her palfrey till she reached
Gaston's side, and could feel his hand upon hers, "I have come hither
with this noble knight, Sir Gaston de Brocas, because he is my betrothed
husband and liege lord, and I have the right to be at his side even in
the hour of peril, but also because you all know me; and when I tell you
that every word he has spoken is true, I trow ye will believe it. There
he stands, the lawful Lord of Saut, and if ye will but own him as your
lord, you will find in him a wise, just, and merciful master, who will
protect you from the mad fury of yon miserable man whom now ye serve,
and will lead you to more glorious feats of arms than any ye have
dreamed of before. Hitherto ye have been little better than robbers and
outlaws. Have ye no wish for better things than ye have won under the
banner of Navailles?"
The men exchanged glances, and visibly wavered. They compared their
coarse and stained garments, their rusty arms and battered
accoutrements, with the brilliant appearance of the little band of
soldiers standing on the opposite side of the moat, their armour shining
in the sunlight, their steeds well fed and well groomed, arching their
necks and pawing the ground, every man and every horse showing plainly
that they came from a region of abundance of good things; whilst the
military precision of their aspect showed equally well that they would
be antagonists of no insignificant calibre, if the moment should come
when they were transformed from friends to foes.
Constanza saw the wavering and hesitation amongst her uncle's men. She
well knew their discontent at their own lot, their fearful distrust of
their lord. She knew, too, that it was probably some fear of treachery
alone that withheld them from making cause at once with the De Brocas --
treachery having been only too much practised amongst them by their own
fierce master -- and again her voice rang out clear and sweet.
"Men, listen again to me. I speak to counsel you for your good; for
fierce and cruel as ye have been to your foes, ye have ever been kind
and gentle to me when I was with you in these walls. What think ye to
gain by defying the great King of England? Think ye that he will spare
you if ye arouse him to anger by impotent resistance? What more could
King have done for you than send to be your lord a noble Gascon knight;
one of your own race and language; one who, as ye all must know, has a
far better right to hold these lands than any of the race of Navailles?
Here before you stands Sir Gaston de Brocas, offering you place in his
service if ye will but swear to him that allegiance he has the right to
claim. The offer is made in clemency and mercy, because he would not
that any should perish in futile resistance. Men, ye know that he comes
to this place with the King's mandate that Saut be given up to him. If
it be not peaceably surrendered, what think ye will happen next?
"I will tell you. Ye have heard of the Prince of Wales, son of the Roy
Outremer; doubtless even to these walls has come the news of that
triumphal march of his, where cities have surrendered or ransomed
themselves to him, and nothing has been able to stay the might of his
conquering arm. That noble Prince and valiant soldier is now not far
away. We have come from his presence, and are here with his knowledge
and sanction. If we win you over, and gain peaceable possession of these
walls, good; no harm will befall any living creature within them. But if
ye prove obdurate; if ye will not listen to the voice of reason; if ye
still hold with rebellious defiance to the lord ye have served, and who
has shown himself so little worthy of your service, then will the Prince
and his warriors come with all their wrath and might to inflict
chastisement upon you, and take vengeance upon you, as enemies of the King.
"Say, men, how can ye hope to resist the might of the Prince's arm? Say,
which will ye do -- be the free servants of Gaston de Brocas, or die
like rats in a hole for the sake of yon wicked madman, whose slaves ye
have long been? Which shall it be -- a De Brocas or a Navailles?"
Something in this last appeal stirred the hearts of the men. It seemed
as though a veil were torn from their eyes. They seemed to see all in a
moment the hopelessness of their position as vassals of Navailles, and
the folly of attempting resistance to one so infinitely more worthy to
be called their lord. It was no stranger coming amongst them -- it was
one of the ancient lords of the soil; and the sight of the youthful
knight, sitting there on his fine horse, with his fair lady beside him,
was enough to stir the pulses and awaken the enthusiasm of an ardent
race, even though the nobler instincts had been long sleeping in the
breasts of these men. They hated and distrusted their old lord with a
hatred he had well merited; and degraded as they had become in his
service, they had not yet sunk so low but that they could feel with the
keenness of instinct, rather than by any reasoning powers they
possessed, that this young knight was a man to be trusted and be loved
-- that if they became his vassals they would receive vastly different
treatment from any they had received from the Sieur de Navailles.
There was one long minute's pause, whilst looks and whispered words were
exchanged, and then a shout arose:
"De Brocas! De Brocas! We will live and die the servants of De Brocas!"
whilst at the same moment the drawbridge slowly descended, and Gaston,
at the head of his gallant little band, with Raymond and Constanza at
his side, rode proudly over the sounding planks, and found himself, for
the first time in his life, in the courtyard of the Castle of Saut.
"De Brocas! De Brocas!" shouted the men, all doubt and hesitation done
away with in a moment at sight of the gallant show thus made, enthusiasm
kindling in every breast as the sweet lady rained smiles and gracious
words upon the rough men, who had always had a soft spot in their heart
for her; whilst Raymond's earnest eyes and Gaston's courtly and
chivalrous bearing were not without effect upon the ruder natures of
these lonely residents of Saut. It seemed to them as though they had
been invaded by some denizens from another world, and murmurs of wonder
and reverent admiration mingled with the cheering with which Gaston de
Brocas was received as Lord of Saut.
But there was still one more person to be faced. The men had accepted
the sovereignty of a new lord, and were already rejoicing in the escape
from the dreaded tyranny they had not had the resolution to shake off
unprompted; but there was still the Sieur de Navailles to be dealt with,
and impotent as he might be in the desertion of his old followers, it
was necessary to see and speak with him, and decide what must be done
with the man who was believed by those about him to be little better
than a raging maniac.
"Where is your master?" asked Gaston of the old seneschal, who stood at
his bridle rein, his eyes wandering from his face to that of Raymond and
Constanza and back again; "I marvel that this tumult has not brought him
forth."
"The walls are thick," replied the old man, "and he lives for days
together in a world of his own, no sound or sight from without
penetrating his understanding. Then again he will awaken from his dream,
and show us that he has heard and seen far more than we have thought.
And if any man amongst us has dropped words that have incensed him --
well, there have been men who have disappeared from amongst us and have
never been seen more; and tales are whispered of horrid cries and groans
that have issued as from the very bowels of the earth each time
following their spiriting away."
Constanza shuddered, and a black frown crossed Gaston's face as he gave
one quick glance at his brother, who had so nearly shared that
mysterious and terrible doom.
"The man is a veritable fiend. He merits scant mercy at our hands. He
has black crimes upon his soul. Seneschal, lead on. Take us to him ye
once owned as sovereign lord. I trow ye will none of you lament the day
ye transferred your allegiance from yon miscreant to Gaston de Brocas!"
Another cheer, heartier than the last, broke from the lips of all the
men. They had been joined now by their comrades within the Castle, and
in the sense of freedom from the hateful tyranny of their old master all
were rejoicing and filled with enthusiasm.
For once they were free from all fear of treachery. Gaston's own picked
band of stalwart veterans was guarantee enough that might as well as
right was on the side of the De Brocas. The sight of those well-equipped
men-at-arms, all loyal and full of affectionate enthusiasm for their
youthful lord, showed these rude retainers how greatly to their
advantage would be this change of masters; and before Gaston had
dismounted and walked across the courtyard towards the portal of the
Castle, he felt, with a swelling of the heart that Raymond well
understood, that Saut was indeed his own.
"This is the way to the Sieur de Navailles," said the old seneschal, as
they passed beneath the frowning doorway into a vaulted stone hall. "He
spends whole days and nights pacing up and down like a wild beast in a
cage. He scarce leaves the hall, save when he wanders forth into the
forest, and that has not happened since the cold winds have blown hard.
You will find him within those doors, good gentlemen. Shall I make known
your presence to him?"
It was plain that the old man had no small fear of his master, and would
gladly be spared this office. Gaston looked round to see that some of
his own followers were close behind and on the alert, and then taking
Constanza's hand in his, and laying his right hand upon the hilt of his
sword, he signed to the seneschal to throw open the massive oaken doors,
and walked fearlessly in with Raymond at his side.
They found themselves in the ancient banqueting hall of the fortress --
a long, lofty, rather narrow room, with a heavily-raftered ceiling, two
huge fireplaces, one at either end, and a row of very narrow windows cut
in the great thickness of the wall occupying almost the whole of one
side of the place; whilst a long table was placed against the opposite
wall, with benches beside it, and another smaller table was placed upon
a small raised dais at the far end of the apartment. On this dais was
also set a heavy oaken chair, close beside the glowing hearth; and at
this moment it was plain that the occupant of the chair had been
disturbed by the commotion from without, and had suddenly risen to his
feet, for he stood grasping the oaken arms, his wild gray hair hanging
in matted masses about his seamed and wrinkled face, and his hollow
eyes, in which a fierce light blazed, turned upon the intruders in a
glare of impotent fury.
"Who are ye who thus dare to intrude upon me here? What is all this
tumult I hear in mine own halls?
"Seneschal, art thou there? Send hither to me my soldiers; bid them bind
these men, and carry them to the dungeons. I will see them there. Ha,
ha! I will talk with them there. I will deal with them there. What ho!
Send me the jailer and his assistants! Let them light the fires and heat
hot the irons. Let them prepare our welcome for guests to Saut. Ha, ha!
Ho, ho! These brave gallants shall taste our hospitality. Who brought
them in? Where were they found? Methinks they will prove a rich booty.
Would that good Peter Sanghurst were here to help me in the task of
entertaining these new guests!"
The man was a raving lunatic; that was plain to the most inexperienced
eye from the first moment. He knew not his own niece, he knew not the De
Brocas brothers, though Raymond's face must have been familiar to him
had he been in his right senses. He was still in fancy the undisputed
lord of these wide lands, scouring the country for English travellers or
prisoners of meaner mould; acting here in Gascony much the same part as
the Sanghursts had more cautiously done in England, and as the Barons of
both France and England had long done, though their day of irresponsible
and autocratic power was well-nigh at an end.
He glared upon the brothers and their attendants with savage fury, still
calling out to his men to carry them to the dungeons, still believing
them to be a band of travellers taken prisoners by his own orders,
raving and raging in his impotent fury till the gust of passion had worn
itself out, and in a sullen amaze he sank into his seat, still gazing
out from under his shaggy brows at the intruders, but the passion and
fury for a moment at an end.
"He will understand better what you say to him now, Sir Knight,"
whispered the old seneschal, who alone of the men belonging to the
Castle dared to enter the hall where their maniac master was. "His mind
comes back to him sometimes after he has raved himself quiet. We dread
his sullen moods almost more than his wild ones.
"Have a care how you approach him. He is as cunning as a fox, and as
crafty as he is cruel. He always has some weapon beneath his robe. Have
a care, I say, how you approach him."
Gaston nodded, but he was too fearless by nature to pay much heed to the
warning; he felt himself more than a match for that bowed-down old man.
Giving Constanza into Raymond's charge, he stepped boldly up to the
dais, and doffing his headpiece, addressed himself to his adversary in
firm though courteous accents.
"My Lord of Navailles," he said, "I am come to claim mine own. If thou
knowest me not, I will tell thee who I am -- Gaston de Brocas, the Lord
of Saut in mine own right, and by the mandate of the King which I hold
in mine hand. Long hast thou held lands to which thou hadst no right,
but the day has come when I claim mine own again, and am prepared to do
battle for it to the death. But here is no battle needed. Thine own men
have called me lord; they have obeyed the mandate of the King, and have
opened their gates to me. I stand here the Lord of Saut. Thy power and
thy reign are over for ever. Grossly hast thou abused that power when it
was thine. Now, like all tyrants, thou art finding that thy servants
fall away in the hour of peril, and that thou, who hast been a cruel
master, canst command no service from them in the time of need. I, and I
alone, am Lord of Saut. Hast thou aught to say ere thou yieldest
dominion to me?"
Did he understand? Those standing round and breathlessly watching the
curious scene could scarce be sure; but there was a look of
comprehension and of intense baffled rage and malice in those cavernous
eyes that sent a shiver through Constanza's light frame.
"Have a care, Gaston; have a care!" she cried, with sudden shrillness,
as she saw a quick movement of those knotted sinewy hands beneath the
coarse robe the old man wore; and in another moment both she and Raymond
had sprung forward, for there was a flash of keen steel, and the madman
had flung himself upon Gaston with inconceivable rapidity of motion.
For a moment there was a hideous scuffle. Blood was flowing, they knew
not whose. Gaston acted solely on the defensive. He would not raise his
hand against one who was old and lunatic, and near in blood to her whom
he held dear; but he wrestled valiantly in the iron grip of arms
stronger than his own, and he felt that some struggle was going on above
him, though for the moment his own breath seemed suspended, and his very
life pressed out of him.
Then came a sudden sense of release. His enemy had relaxed his bear-like
clasp. Gaston sprang to his feet to see his enemy falling backwards in a
helpless collapse, the hilt of a dagger clasped between his knotted
hands -- the sharp blade buried in his own heart.
"He has killed himself!" cried Constanza, with eyes dilated with horror,
as she sprang to Gaston's side. It had all been so quick that it was
hard to tell what had befallen in those few seconds of life-and-death
struggle. Gaston was bleeding from a slight flesh wound in the arm, but
that was the only hurt he had received; whilst his foe --
"He strove to plunge the dagger in thy breast, Gaston," said Raymond,
who was supporting the head of the dying man; "and failing that, he
thought to smother thee in his bear-like clasp, that has crushed the
life out of enemies before now, as we have ofttimes heard. When he felt
other foes around him unloosing that clasp, and knew himself balked of
his purpose, he clutched the weapon thou hadst dashed from his hand and
buried it in his own body. As he has lived, so has he died -- defiant to
the very end. But the madness-cloud may have hung long upon his spirit.
Perchance some of the worst of his crimes may not be laid to his charge."
As Raymond spoke, the dying man opened his eyes, and fixed them upon the
face bending over him. The light of sullen defiance which had shone
there but a few short moments ago changed to something strange and new
as he met the calm, compassionate glance of those expressive eyes now
fixed upon him. He seemed to give a slight start, and to strive to draw
himself away.
"Thou here!" he gasped -- "thou! Hast thou indeed come from the spirit
world to mock me in my last moments? I know thee now, Raymond de Brocas!
I have seen thee before -- thou knowest how and where. Methinks the very
angels of heaven must have spirited thee away. Why art thou here now?"
"To bid thee ask forgiveness for thy sins with thy dying breath,"
answered Raymond, gently yet firmly; "to bid thee turn thy thoughts for
one last moment towards thy Saviour, and though thou hast scorned and
rebelled against Him in life, to ask His pardoning mercy in death. He
has pardoned a dying miscreant ere now. Wilt thou not take upon thy lips
that dying thief's petition, and cry 'Lord, remember me;' or this
prayer, 'Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner'?"
A gray shadow was creeping over the rugged face, the lips seemed to
move, but no words came forth. There was no priest at hand to listen to
a dying confession, or to pronounce a priestly absolution, and yet
Raymond had spoken as if there might yet be mercy for an erring,
sin-stained soul, if it would but turn in its last agony to the
Crucified One -- the Saviour crucified for the sins of the whole world.
It must be remembered that there was less of priestcraft -- less of what
we now call popery -- in those earlier days than there came to be later
on; and the springs of truth, though somewhat tainted, were not
poisoned, as it were, at the very source, as they afterwards became.
Something of the purity of primitive times lingered in the minds of men,
and here and there were always found pure spirits upon whom the errors
of man obtained no hold -- spirits that seemed to rise superior to their
surroundings, and hold communion direct with heaven itself. Such a
nature and such a mind was Raymond's; and his clear, intense faith had
been strengthened and quickened by the vicissitudes through which he had
passed. He did not hesitate to point the dying soul straight to the
Saviour Himself, without mediation from the Blessed Virgin or the Holy
Saints. Love and revere these he might and did; but in the presence of
that mighty power of death, in that hour when flesh and heart do fail,
he felt as he had felt when he believed his own soul was to be called
away -- when it seemed as though no power could avail to save him from a
fearful fate -- that to God alone must the cry of the suffering soul be
raised; that into the Saviour's hands alone could the departing soul be
committed. He did not speak to others of these thoughts -- thoughts
which in later days came to be branded with the dreaded name of "heresy"
-- but he held them none the less surely in the depths of his own
spirit; and now, when all but he would have stood aside with pitiful
helplessness, certain that nothing could be done for the dying man in
absence of a priest, Raymond strove to lead his thoughts upwards, that
though his life had been black and evil, he might still die with his
face turned Godwards, with a cry for mercy on his lips.
Nor was this hope in vain; for at the last the old man raised himself
with a strength none believed him to possess, and raising his hand he
clasped that of Raymond, and said:
"Raymond de Brocas, I strove to compass thy death, and thou hast come to
me in mine hour of need, and spoken words of hope. If thou canst forgive
-- thou so cruelly treated, so vilely betrayed -- it may be that the
Saviour, whose servant thou art, can forgive yet greater crimes.
"Christ have mercy upon me! Lord have mercy upon me! Christ have mercy
upon me! My worldly possessions are fled: let them go; they are in good
hands. May Christ pardon my sins, and receive me at last to Himself!"
He looked earnestly at Raymond, who understood him, and whispered the
last prayers of the Church in his ear. A look of calm and peace fell
upon that wild and rugged face; and drawing one sigh, and slightly
turning himself towards his former foe, the old ruler of Saut fell
asleep, and died with the two De Brocas brothers standing beside him.