OF AN ASTOUNDING EPISODE
SCARCELY had Sir Richard Pendragon made a hole that was large enough to
accommodate his great bulk when we heard the footsteps of the sentinel
coming round to see that all was well. In a gentle voice, so that
he might not wake the King, we heard him singing of his love, who,
it seemed, was a flower of Andalucia. Yet just as he came up to us,
with his sword gleaming in the moonlight, he tripped over Sir Richard
Pendragon’s outstretched leg and measured his length upon the earth.
Before he could utter a cry, Sir Richard Pendragon had buried a knife
in his heart.
“The dead don’t speak,” he whispered in a soft voice. He wiped the
stains from his dagger upon the gaberdine of the man he had slain and
replaced it in his jerkin.
In the next moment he had disappeared. In the fashion of a hugeous
reptile he had crawled through the hole he had made into the interior
of the King’s pavilion. In the weary time of suspense that followed
upon his absence the Count of Nullepart and myself lay in the grass
listening to the beating of our hearts, and occasionally exchanging a
whisper to assure each other that we did not dream.
Beside us lay the dead soldier. At any instant his comrades were likely
to be here to seek him. Had they come, I fear there would have been
only one course open to us; although I think that both the Count of
Nullepart and myself, being peacefully given, breathed a prayer that we
should be spared the occasion to enter upon it.
It seemed an age, yet it could have been little more than five
minutes, ere this suspense was terminated; and then, without a sound
or a struggle from within the tent, a huge sack filled with a heavy
substance was pushed through the hole.
The sight of the sack gave me a thrill I cannot describe. Something
cold and sharp ran in my veins, and I nearly cried out. The next thing
of which I was aware was the smiling and sinister countenance of the
Englishman as he crept through the hole. Considering his bulk it was
surprising that he could squeeze so noiselessly through such a little
space. And in the same moment we heard a second sentinel coming round
the pavilion.
I could hardly tell what happened, it was all so quick and so horrible.
In a dull bewilderment I watched Sir Richard Pendragon creep through
the hole, and then as the oncoming sentinel caught a view of the sack
and the corpse of his fallen comrade he uttered a cry. But in so doing
he spoke for the last time. With incredible swiftness and dexterity the
unlucky wretch was slain.
“Now there is that third poor soul,” said the Englishman in a hushed
voice. “Do you abide here, good friends, for honest Dickon, while that
good mother’s son relieves the poor soldier of his necessity.”
Taking the dagger in his teeth, he began to crawl on his belly round
the corner of the pavilion. While he was gone upon this errand, which,
however ruthless in its character, was yet highly politic in its
intention, both the Count of Nullepart and myself derived satisfaction
from some tokens of animation which proceeded from the interior of the
bag.
“Mon Dieu!” said the Count of Nullepart, laughing softly, “is it
not well, my dear, that you and I are spared that abominable crime
of regicide, which all the best authors are agreed doth stink so
particularly in the nostrils of Heaven?”
“It is very well, most virtuous Count of Nullepart,” said I, fetching a
deep sigh of relief. Yet it was not given to me, reader, to embellish
this solemn occasion with any great depth of philosophy. Pearls of
wisdom have to be delved for in the inner nature; and at this moment,
notwithstanding that it was great with destiny, there was not time to
seek them, for hardly had I spoken ere Sir Richard Pendragon, standing
upon his two legs and strutting like a turkey, and bearing his dagger
in his right hand, came round the corner of the pavilion of the great
Castilian prince.
In his good pleasure he waved the weapon above his head and smiled
down upon the Count of Nullepart and myself in a manner of the gravest
amiability.
“Stand you now upon your ten toes, my dear and good brothers,” said he.
“Go ye not upon your bellies no more. Prithee walk no more like the
crawling serpent, which is the symbol of deceit and devious courses. My
dear and good brothers, I would have you proceed upon your flat feet
under our chaste lady the moon. For that third poor soul is delivered
of his need. ’A sweated as ’a felt the stroke, but by his eyes I could
read that his passing was worthy.”
Without more ado our formidable and ruthless captain laid his dagger
into his jerkin and hoisted the huge sack upon his mighty shoulders.
With incredibly swift strides, considering the burden that he bore, he
was soon in the shelter of the thicket. The Count of Nullepart and I
followed breathlessly, in a kind of amaze, and in a very little while
we had come to the mules, which were tethered a short way off the
winding track to Montesina.
It was discomposing to the sensibilities of men of birth such as the
Count of Nullepart and myself that the bag and its contents were flung
into the empty water-cart with somewhat more of violence than the
circumstances called for. But I cannot believe that at this moment it
was within our province to protest. Indeed, so far was the Count of
Nullepart--who in some respects was apt to baffle me as completely as
did Sir Richard Pendragon--from recording his displeasure that at first
he was unable to proceed on his journey in the wake of the water-cart
owing to the contortions of mirth into which he was thrown.
“Get up, little Neddies,” said the English giant, giving the mules a
lusty smack with the palm of his hand that started them at a jolt and a
rattle along the road. Then, as he ran beside them, he rested one hand
upon the bag and addressed its occupant in a humble voice.
“I trust your gracious Majesty rides pleasantly and in comfort,” he
said.
Now that we had this strange burden in our hands there was no immediate
need for secrecy. We made good progress with the water-cart. That
clumsy vehicle grunted and jolted along the deep-rutted track under
the light of the moon; and Sir Richard Pendragon, running beside it
cheerfully, in high good spirits, whistled lusty ditties and sang
ribald peasant songs in indifferent Castilian. When we passed a
sentinel or a camp-fire we exchanged friendly greetings, and asked
the hour of the night. Once or twice, it is true, we had to submit to
curses for disturbing the repose of some weary trooper. To these we
returned an appropriate pleasantry.
The moon was still our friend by the time we came near to the mighty
rock upon which was set the proud castle of Montesina. Here it was that
our leader deemed other courses to be necessary. We were still within
the lines of the King of Castile, for they extended to the base of the
rock; also the lower portion of the steep winding track that led to the
castle was in possession of his troops.
Now, one of our leader’s wisdom did not need to be told that a
water-cart would not be allowed to proceed to a garrison that was being
starved into surrender. Therefore, as soon as the frowning face of
the rock began to loom in our path, a new and very grave problem was
presented to his strategy. Yet it appeared that even of this matter he
had already had the wit to take cognisance.
Half a league before we reached the entrance to the narrow winding
road leading directly to the gates of the castle, upon which we must
have been challenged, Sir Richard Pendragon turned the heads of the
mules towards the meadows. Although these were invested by the King’s
soldiers, they appeared to be held very carelessly.
At the foot of the rocks was a wide and deep stream. When we had come
to its margin Sir Richard unharnessed the four mules and turned them
loose. They strayed away in all directions. He then removed the bag
from the water-cart, and with our aid proceeded to destroy that clumsy
and primitive vehicle. It was easy enough to lift the body from the
wheels and break it in pieces. These were cast fragment by fragment
into the stream, so that very soon the whole contrivance was completely
vanished from the ken of man.
We bore the bag and its strange burden along the banks of the stream,
until we were come presently to a goodly thicket of alder trees which
grew at the water’s edge. Taking care that we were not observed, we
carried our burden into this concealment; and then the redoubtable
Englishman, leaving us in this security to mount guard over our
treasure, and bidding us not to show our faces in the open against his
return, took his way towards the castle. It was his hope that, under
Providence, he might find his way into it by the further exercise of
those ingenious arts in which none excelled him.