A SORTIE FROM THE CASTLE
AS evening came on these speculations grew more grave. It was not
pleasant to think of spending the night in the open meadow. And we were
very hungry. There was also our captive to consider. Ease his bonds as
we might, and render to him all the consideration that was within our
power, he was yet in sore case.
Towards sundown, while we were still wondering in what sort we could
bear the rigours to which we were like to be exposed, a furious clamour
was heard proceeding from the direction of the castle. Far and away the
meadows had suddenly begun to echo with the beating of drums and the
call to arms. We came out of our hiding-place, and going forth into the
open fields, were able to discern that the drawbridge of the castle had
been lowered and that a body of mounted soldiers from the garrison was
making a foray.
The purport of this was so plain to us that we could have cast our hats
into the air for joy. It was clear that the English giant had found his
way within those four walls, and now by a bold raid was about to bring
us and our prize also within them.
Even as we stood at gaze, we thought we could detect far away through
the mists of the evening the plumed bonnets of madam’s defenders.
Close by us straggling companies of the King’s soldiery, unconnected
twos and threes, were running in no sort of order towards the lower
bridge. This was but carelessly held by the arms of Castile, and now
that an assault was to be delivered upon it, it was little likely
to be repelled. Our enemies, having lost their King, seemed to lack
discipline and leadership; and we did not doubt that the bold and
masterful Sir Richard Pendragon, swollen with great achievement as he
was, and a most cunning and accomplished warrior, would prevail in his
design.
Such proved to be the case. We had not long to abide the issue. The
oncoming darkness had not time to envelop us ere the meadows began
to shake under a mighty thunder of hoofs; and Sir Richard Pendragon,
mounted upon a splendid war-horse, the choicest in the stable of our
mistress, and accompanied by a body of horsemen riding in admirable
close order, came straight for our little clump of alder trees.
“A Pendragon! A Pendragon!” arose the great baying voice of our
formidable captain. His bare sword, seeking occupation, cut at the tall
grasses as he rode through them.
“Where are you, you good souls?” he cried as he drew rein before the
place in which we held the King.
He needed not to call again, for the Count of Nullepart and I came out
at once, carrying our royal prize, which, for the reason that it was
habited in a night-gown only, was still covered by the bag. Two led
horses had been brought for our use; and Sir Richard Pendragon had the
captive lifted on to the front of his own saddle. The chief part of
the design being then accomplished, the whole company galloped back
to the bridge, which was no longer held by the arms of Castile. Our
enemies had been beaten off with some loss by this sudden and totally
unexpected foray.
No sooner had we crossed this bridge and had come again into safety,
with the upper path leading to the drawbridge lying before us free
of all our foes, than our formidable leader declared that not the
capture of the King alone would content him. He had the royal prisoner
transferred from his own saddle to that of the Count of Nullepart; and
then he bade us both take the captive behind the walls of the castle
into security, whilst he with a following of two hundred horsemen would
proceed to inflict a further stroke upon the disorganized army in the
plain below.
The Count of Nullepart and myself were loth to assent to this proposal.
For our blood being roused by this martial brilliancy, we also could
have wished to go forward upon this enterprise. Yet it is the business
of a soldier to obey his commander, and Sir Richard Pendragon had come
to stand towards us in that relation. Besides, it was necessary that
responsible persons should hold the custody of the royal captive.
Regretfully, therefore, we continued along the upper path with our
great prize. And Sir Richard Pendragon riding down the hill, we could
hear him marshalling with voice and with trumpet the two hundred
horsemen that were gathered about the lower bridge to await his
commands. And the last thing we heard of him as we took a turn in the
path was an admonishment of these troopers in his mighty voice upon
their discipline. With his own right hand he threatened to cut down
each mother’s son that dared to forsake his duty for private rapine.
“By my soul,” said the Count of Nullepart, laughing softly, “I believe
that mad English fellow is the first captain of the age.”