THE POSTERN FACED WITH POINTS OF STEEL
About three months after this event the captives were aroused from their
sleep by the door of their prison being thrown open. Accompanied by four
men-at-arms was Sir Denis de Valadour.
Instinctively both lads realized that something untoward was at hand,
and starting to their feet they steeled themselves to meet the coming
ordeal with stout hearts.
"Greetings, gentles," exclaimed Sir Denis, with a forced attempt at a
smile. "Your pardon for this intrusion, for 'tis unbetimes; yet methinks
the nature of my visit will make amends for all things. To be brief,
after due consideration, 'tis my bounden duty to admit that I owe ye
courteous treatment."
He paused and eyed the lads narrowly, endeavouring to note the effect of
his words. But, receiving no reply to his somewhat vague utterances, the
knight continued—
"Certes, 'tis strange how the wheel of fate is ordered by small matters.
When my brother, Sir Yves, fell beneath thy father's hand, Master
Geoffrey, only his son stood betwixt me and the castle and estates of
Malevereux. Henri was ever a lusty youth, and bade fair to live to a
green old age—always excepting the chance of dying in harness. Yet, alas
and alack! he must needs attempt to swallow a carp's bone, with the
result that I am an uncle no longer."
Once more Sir Denis paused, a hypocritical look of sorrow overspreading
his saturnine features.
"And mark ye, carp, lordly salmon, and the roast beef ye Islanders boast
so much about! On these he was fed by thy father's bounty, while I have
given thee but craven fare. Fie on me! Yet I will make amends. As Lord
of Malevereux—for such I now am—'tis in my power to do so. More, 'tis my
wish. Therefore I give you both your freedom."
The youths could scarce grasp the full significance of the word
"freedom." To them the ever-present longing for liberty had grown
fainter and fainter, till only a feeble hope was left them. Now, with
startling suddenness, freedom awaited them.
"Sir Knight, I thank thee," exclaimed Geoffrey when at length he found
words.
"Nay, 'tis nought," replied Sir Denis. "I trust that Malevereux will be
at peace with its neighbours. But, fair sirs, of your charity pray for
the soul of Henri de Valadour, my nephew. By so doing my reward for the
deed is assured."
"When are we permitted to leave the castle?" asked Oswald.
"When ye list. There is no time like the present, fair sirs. But I must
needs point out that my act of clemency is ill-regarded by a section of
the garrison, therefore 'twould be better to depart secretly. Though the
night be dark, the way is easy. Therefore, when we have supped I myself
will conduct ye to the postern."
So saying, Sir Denis clapped his hands, and in response to the summons a
serving-man entered the cell bearing a trencher loaded with good cheer.
After months of poor fare the repast was doubly welcome, though in their
excitement the lads could scarce do justice to the tempting viands.
While the meal was in progress the new Lord of Malevereux stood leaning
against the wall, the glare of a torch held by one of the men-at-arms
throwing his features into strong relief. Was it fancy, thought
Geoffrey, that he saw a sinister gleam in the eyes of Sir Denis?
"Are ye ready, young sirs?" asked the baron when the lads had finished
their repast. "Then follow me; tread boldly, for there is none to hinder
ye."
Traversing three long passages, interrupted by short flights of steps,
the Lord of Malevereux stopped before a low archway where strong bars
took the place of a solid door. Outside the youths could see the dim
outline of a stone wall, feebly lighted by the torch of the attendant
man-at-arms, while the twinkling stars beyond seemed to beckon the
captives to the freedom that had so long been denied them.
"Here is a cloak apiece," said Sir Denis, as a soldier handed the
garments to the lads. "These will not come amiss, I take it, for 'tis
cold without. Now, Hubin, unlock the portal, I pray thee."
The man-at-arms, fumbling at a bunch of keys at his waist, at length
produced the required article, and, thrusting it into the lock,
contrived with much exertion to open the rusty wards.
"'Tis but rarely that men pass this way," explained Sir Denis. "But see,
yonder lies thy path. Adieu, fair sirs."
As the twain passed under the archway the grille was closed with a
ponderous clang, but with feelings of intense thankfulness the lads
realized that they were on the right side of the detaining bolts and
bars.
With light steps they traversed the groined passage. Another ten paces
and they would be under the canopy of Heaven.
"Hold, Oswald!" exclaimed Geoffrey, grasping his companion by the arm,
at the same moment dragging him backwards. "By St. Paul! what have we
here?"
Geoffrey's warning came only just in time. Another step would have
precipitated them into a gloomy and unfathomable pitfall.
The stars had been obscured by passing clouds, and so intense was the
darkness that, although the loom of the country was faintly discernible,
the extent of the new danger was totally concealed.
"The false knight hath betrayed us," exclaimed Oswald. "What is to be
done?"
"We cannot do better than stand where we are till dawn," replied
Geoffrey. "To proceed is to court a speedy death; to return is to suffer
a worse fate. Perchance when 'tis light we may find a way."
As he spoke Geoffrey looked towards the open bars of the doorway through
which they had just passed. The torches had been extinguished, but a low
mocking laugh told the lads that some one was listening and waiting to
enjoy their discomfiture.
"Is this the way a knight keeps his pledge?" asked Oswald.
"Why doubt my word?" replied a deep voice that the youths had recognized
as that of Sir Denis of Malevereux. "Did I not tell ye the way was open?
Fare ye well, then. If so be ye will not profit by my advice, then stay
and starve. On the morrow, ay, and many succeeding morrows, I'll watch
the struggle 'twixt thy choice of death."
Slowly the night passed. The sky, hitherto slightly overcast, became so
clouded that the pitch-like blackness restricted the youths' field of
vision to such an extent that they could scarce discern each other.
With the banking up of the clouds a strong wind sprang up, increasing in
violence till ere long it blew with terrific violence.
Crouching on the stone floor against the side of the vault-like tunnel,
the lads awaited the dawn. The wind pierced them like a knife, and in
their scanty clothing their bodies shivered with the cold.
Occasionally they would converse in short broken sentences, debating
upon the turn of events and the probable disclosures brought by the
dawn. Fortunately, they did not as yet feel the pangs of hunger, thanks
to their repast ere they were taken from their prison; but the vague
threats in which Sir Denis referred to slow starvation filled them with
gloomy fears.
When at length the eastern sky began to assume a vivid crimson hue the
lads staggered to their feet, eager to take stock of their surroundings.
Almost at their feet the floor of the passage terminated abruptly,
descending into what was undoubtedly a part of the fosse or dry moat.
Its depth was not very considerable, being barely twenty feet from the
coping to the bottom of the ditch, which was about ten paces broad, with
its furthermost side sloping steeply to the normal level of the
surrounding land.
But, to the lads' consternation, the whole of the floor of the moat was
studded with sharp stakes, each about the height of a man. In serrated
rows they stood, so close that it was impossible to essay a leap without
being impaled upon one, at least, of the spikes.
Grasping Oswald's hand, Geoffrey leant cautiously forward and examined
the wall on either side of the postern. As far as he could see the
masonry was smooth and even, so that there was no means of finding a
foothold. Above the archway the wall towered to a height of thirty feet,
while, from the presence of two loopholes, through which the ends of
rusty chains still hung, it was evident that at one time a light
drawbridge crossed the moat at this point, forming a means of
communication between the postern and the open ground. On a level with
the loopholes a row of cross-shaped oyelets, or apertures, for
discharging crossbows commanded the approach on this side of the Castle
of Malevereux.
"We are fairly trapped," exclaimed Oswald as they completed their
examination of the moat. "This passage is like to be our death-chamber."
"What lieth at the other end?" asked Geoffrey. "Methought there was a
wide space betwixt the grille and the wall, though yesternight I caught
but a brief glimpse in the torchlight."
"We can but see," replied Oswald. "But we must needs wait awhile, till
the light is strong enough to overcome the gloom of the archway."
Upon investigation the archway was found to afford no possible means of
escape, though, owing to a slight deviation in its general direction, an
intervening curve in the masonry hid the outer portion from the
observation of a person standing without the gate.
As for the latter, it was composed of wrought iron with massive hinges.
The upper part from a distance of three feet from the ground was open,
but secured by the bars of the grille, the space betwixt each bar being
sufficient to enable a man to insert his head without allowing his body
to follow.
Without the door all was quiet. The stone passage, wrapped in sombre
gloom, was deserted. Deeming his prisoners perfectly secure, the Lord of
Malevereux had purposely neglected to post a sentry at this gate.
"The way is clear," said Oswald. "Could we but squeeze through yon bars,
perchance we might lie hidden in some dark recess."
"To what purpose? We should still be within the castle."
"We cannot make our position one whit the worse, Geoffrey. Who knows but
that we may be able to escape by some other postern? Thou art the
slighter build, though certes, we both are as thin as a stripped
distaff. Through with thee, and I'll do my best to follow."
Geoffrey immediately essayed the difficult task, but though he raised
one arm well above his head and kept the other close to his side, while
his comrade assisted by heaving and pushing, his slender body was too
large to pass betwixt the narrow space in the grille. Yet not till he
was black in the face and utterly exhausted by his struggle did Geoffrey
confess himself beaten.
As the sun rose higher in the heavens the wind died away, and by high
noon the atmosphere was in a state of extreme sultriness. Though
protected from the fierce rays by the stonework of the arch, both lads
began to feel the torture of an agonizing thirst, which was intensified
by the tantalizing sight of a small brook meandering through the fields
at a short distance from the castle.
Once did Sir Denis, clad in complete armour, approach the bars of the
door to gloat over his captives, but after a few moments' stay he went
away without a word. Shortly afterwards the lads saw him at the head of
a body of mounted men riding rapidly from the castle.
"Yon base caitiff will trouble us no more awhile," observed Geoffrey,
pointing towards the receding troop. "Come, now, art willing to hazard a
leap?"
"Nay," replied Oswald, regarding the formidable array of spikes with a
shudder. "Cold steel I'd face in battle as becomes an Englishman, but,
by St. George, to be skewered by a rusty spearhead—for thus I perceive
them to be—is more than I can stomach."
"Then I will essay the leap," exclaimed Geoffrey, stripping off his
cloak and rolling it into a ball as a protection for his hands. "If I
fail perchance my weight will thrust aside sufficient of these spikes
for thee——"
"Nay, art mad?" interrupted his companion, laying a detaining hand upon
Geoffrey's shoulder.
"Anything but this horrible thirst."
"Methinks that will shortly be assuaged. Mark yon cloud; observe how it
draws nigh 'gainst the little wind that blows. Within half an hour
'twill be passing strange if there be not a thunder-storm."
Oswald was right in his surmise. Ever and anon a dull rumble could be
heard, the sound gradually increasing in intensity, till, accompanied by
incessant flashes of lightning and deafening rolls of thunder, a
torrential rain descended.
Eagerly the lads extended their open palms to catch the thirst-quenching
moisture, till, feeling greatly relieved, they were glad to retreat to
the furthermost end of the archway to escape the fury of the elements.
"Ho, ho! young sirs. What, still here? Why are ye not well on your way
to Taillemartel?" exclaimed a gruff voice.
Both youths turned at the sound of the voice, and at the same time a
dazzling flash of lightning played upon the steel cap and breastplate of
one of the men-at-arms. Geoffrey instantly recognized him as the man who
had stayed his advance on the occasion of the memorable joust-day.
"Art hungry?" continued the soldier.
Unable to resist the apparent invitation, the lads made their way to the
barred door. Without stood the man-at-arms, with a loaf of rye bread in
his hand, held in such a manner that the glare of a torch enabled it to
be clearly seen.
Ostentatiously the man cut off a slice with his dagger, then replacing
the weapon in a sheath that hung at his right side, he proffered the
bread to the prisoners. Ere they could stretch out their hands the
soldier conveyed the food to his own mouth, his body shaking with
merriment at the lads' disappointment.
Twice he repeated these tantalizing tactics, till, realizing that 'twas
no intention on the part of the man-at-arms to provide them with food,
Geoffrey and Oswald retired a few steps from the grille.
"What! Too tired to take thy food?" roared the rogue. "Nay, that will
not serve. See, here is a tempting morsel."
A sudden inspiration came to Geoffrey. The man had thrust his arm
betwixt the bars in order to still further tantalize the famished lads.
With a swift and surprising spring Geoffrey threw himself at the door
and grasped the fellow's arm by the wrist.
"Quick, Oswald!" he exclaimed.
Oswald had mistaken his comrade's intention, for without attempting to
seize the food that was still grasped in the man's hand, he thrust his
hand between the grille and laid hold of the soldier's dagger.
The next instant the man had fallen a corpse upon the floor, with his
own dagger plunged into the nape of his neck, Geoffrey still retaining
his hold of the soldier's wrist.
"One villain the less," exclaimed Oswald triumphantly.
Fortunately, a deafening peal of thunder had drowned the scream of the
stricken man. This storm was proving a blessing in disguise to the two
desperate youths, for the remnant of the garrison, driven from their
posts by the tempest, had already taken shelter.
"I see a way," whispered Geoffrey earnestly. "Here, take yon dagger and
strip off the fellow's breastplate."
Without stopping to question his companion Oswald did as he was told,
Geoffrey the while holding the wrist of the corpse to prevent it from
falling below the grille. A few minutes sufficed to ease the man-at-arms
of his steel plate and cap, and, retaining the dagger, the lads ran to
the edge of the moat.
"Now dost see, Oswald? I am going to leap upon these spikes holding the
breastplate in front of me to turn the points aside. Should I, with the
blessing of Heaven and the protection of my patron saint, succeed in my
attempt, 'twill be an easy matter to clear aside a space for thee to
leap."
"'Tis possible," replied Oswald, as he broke the captured bread and
divided it between his comrade and himself. "But why shouldst thou take
the honour and the risk of this enterprise? Rather let me essay the
leap."
Finding that Geoffrey remained obdurate, the young squire continued—
"'Tis untoward to stand here debating this matter, since every moment is
precious. Let us draw lots."
So saying, Oswald pulled two threads of unequal length from his frayed
doublet, and, holding them in his hand, allowed one end of each only to
be visible.
"To me!" he exclaimed, as Geoffrey drew the shorter thread. "Certes. If
I fail I trust my failure will be the means of thy safety."
Grasping the breastplate in front of him so that the hollow side would
be uppermost, Oswald boldly leapt into the moat. The steel plate turned
aside two of the spear-heads, and in the space thus cleared the squire
alighted, though the fleshy part of his right leg was badly lacerated by
one of the still standing spikes.
Regardless of the pain, the lad staggered to his feet, and, grasping the
shafts of the spears nearest to him, wrenched them from their supports.
This done, Geoffrey took a careful leap and alighted close to his
companion's side, safe and unhurt.
In fear and anxiety the two lads began to force their way through the
maze of up-pointed weapons, expecting every moment to hear a challenge
from the towering walls behind them, or the sharp hiss of a shaft from a
vigilant bowman; but, thanks to the blinding rain, and the storm being
at its height, the sentinels had relaxed their customary watchfulness.
On gaining the edge of the furthermost side of the moat the lads broke
into a run, in spite of Oswald's painful wound, for it was expedient
that the belt of level ground should be traversed with the utmost
despatch.
Without detection they reached the banks of the little stream that they
had observed from the postern, now swollen into a foaming torrent. Here,
taking advantage of a slight dip in the ground, they followed the course
of the stream, since Geoffrey felt certain that 'twas the same that
crossed the road 'twixt Malevereux and Taillemartel.
For two days and nights the weary fugitives continued their journey,
subsisting on roots and turnips, for the countryside had been swept by a
party of marauders, so that not a farm nor a cottage had escaped
destruction by fire.
Oswald's wound, also, began to cause great anxiety, for the lack of rest
and proper attention had aggravated the injury. But in spite of the
great disadvantages under which they laboured, the lads manfully pursued
their way, till they were rewarded by the sight of the Castle of
Taillemartel.
Encouraged by the prospect of a safe ending of their tribulations, the
fugitives quickened their pace, till Geoffrey suddenly came to a halt.
"Do I see aright, Oswald?" he exclaimed. "Behold the banner over the
keep."
Oswald shaded his eyes and looked, and as he did so a look of dismay
passed over his face. For in place of the mullet and the three stars of
the Lysles floated the black eagle of De Chargné—one of the most
powerful adherents to the Orleanist cause.