THE BATTLE WITH THE WERE-WOLVES
"Let us get out of this hellish place," cried James Douglas so soon as
he had seen with his eyes that which lay within the bedchamber of the
witch woman, and made certain that it was all over with Cæsar Martin.
So the three men issued out into the gloom of the night, and made
their way to the stable wherein they had disposed their horses so
carefully the night before.
The door lay on the ground smashed and broken. It had been driven to
kindling wood from within. Its inner surface was dinted and riven by
the iron shoes of the frightened steeds, but the horses themselves
were nowhere to be found. They had broken their halters and vanished.
The three Scots were left in the heart of the enemy's country without
means of escape save upon their own feet.
But the horror which lay behind them in the house of La Meffraye drove
them on.
Almost without knowing whither they went, they turned their faces
towards the west, in the direction in which lay Machecoul, the castle
of the dread Lord of all the Pays de Retz. Malise, as was his custom,
walked in front, Sholto and the Lord James Douglas a step behind.
A chill wind from the sea blew through the forest. The pines bent
soughing towards the adventurers. The night grew denser and blacker
about them, as with the wan waters of the marismas on one side and the
sombre arches of the forest on the other, they advanced sword in hand,
praying that that which should happen might happen quickly.
But as they went the woods about them grew clamorous with horrid
noises. All the evil beasts of the world seemed abroad that night in
the forests of Machecoul. Presently they issued forth into a more open
space. The greyish dark of the turf beneath their feet spread further
off. The black blank wall of the pines retreated and they found
themselves suddenly with the stars twinkling infinitely chill and
remote above them.
They were now, however, no more alone, for round them circled and
echoed the crying of many packs of wolves. In the forest of Machecoul
the guardian demons of its lord had been let loose, and throughout all
its borders poor peasant folk shivered in their beds, or crouched
behind the weak defences of their twice barred doors. For they knew
that the full pack never hunted in the Pays de Retz without bringing
death to some wanderer found defenceless within the borders of that
region of dread.
"Let us stop here," said Sholto; "if these howling demons attack us,
we are at least in somewhat better case to meet them and fight it out
till the morning than in the dense darkness of the woods."
In the centre of the open glade in which they found themselves, they
stumbled against the trunk of a huge pine which had been blasted by
lightning. It still stood erect with its withered branches stretching
bare and angular away from the sea. About this the three Scots posted
themselves, their backs to the corrugations of the rotting stump, and
their swords ready in their hands to deal out death to whatever should
attack them.
Well might Malise declare the powers of evil were abroad that night.
At times the three men seemed wholly ringed with devilish cries. Yells
and howls as of triumphant fiends were borne to their ears upon the
western wind. The noises approached nearer, and presently out of the
dark of the woods shadowy forms glided, and again Sholto heard the
soft pad-pad of many feet. Gleaming eyes glared upon them as the
wolves trotted out and sat down in a wide circle to wait for the full
muster of the pack before rushing their prey.
Sholto knew well how those in the service of Satan were able to change
themselves into the semblance of wolves, and he never doubted for a
moment that he and his friends were face to face with the direct
manifestations of the nether pit. Nevertheless Sholto MacKim was by
nature of a stout heart, and he resolved that if he had to die, it
would be as well to die as became a captain of the Douglas guard.
The blue leme of summer lightning momentarily lit up the western sky.
The men could see the great gaunt pack wolves sitting upon their
haunches or moving restlessly to and fro across each other, while from
the denser woods behind rose the howling of fresh levies, hastening to
the assistance of the first. Sholto noted in especial one gigantic
she-wolf, which appeared at every point of the circle and seemed to
muster and encourage the pack to the attack.
[Illustration: ALL THE WILD BEASTS APPEARED TO BE OBEYING THE SUMMONS
OF THE WITCH WOMAN.]
The wild-fire flickered behind the jet black silhouettes of the dense
trees so that their tops stood out against the pale sky as if carved
in ebony. Then the night shut down darker than before. As the
soundless lightning wavered and brightened, the shadows of the wolves
appeared simultaneously to start forward and then retreat, while the
noise of their howling carried with it some diabolic suggestion of
discordant human voices.
"_La Meffraye! La Meffraye! Meffraye!_"
So to the excited minds of the three Scots the wolf legions seemed to
be crying with one voice as they came nearer. All the wild beasts of
the wood appeared to be obeying the summons of the witch woman.
The strain of the situation first told upon the Lord James Douglas.
"Great Saints!" he cried, "let us attack them and die sword in hand. I
cannot endure much more of this."
"Stand still where you are. It is our only chance," commanded Sholto,
as abruptly as if James Douglas had been a doubtful soldier of his
company.
"It were better to find a tree that we could climb," growled Malise
with a practical suggestiveness, which, however, came too late. For
they dared not move out of the open space, and the great trunk of the
blasted pine rose behind them bare of branches almost to the top.
"Your daggers in your left hands, they are upon us!" cried Sholto,
who, standing with his face to the west, had a lower horizon and more
light than the others. The three men had cast their palmers' cloaks
from their shoulders and now stood leaning a little forward,
breathing hard as they waited the assault of foes whom they believed
to be frankly diabolic and instinct with all the powers of hell. This
required greater courage than storming many fortifications.
Almost as he spoke Sholto became aware that a fierce rush of shaggy
beasts was crossing the scanty grass towards him. He saw a vision of
red mouths, gleaming teeth, and hairy breasts, into the leaping chaos
of which he plunged and replunged his sword till his arm ached. Mostly
the stricken died snapping and tearing at each other; but ever and
anon one stronger than the rest would overleap the barrier of dead and
dying wolves that grew up in front of the three men, and Sholto would
feel the teeth click clean and hard upon the mail of his arm or thigh
before he could stoop to despatch the brute with the dirk which he
grasped in his left hand.
The rush upon Sholto's side fortunately did not last long, but while
it continued the battle was strange and silent and grim--this notable
fight of man and beast. As the youth at last cleared his front of a
hairy monster that had sprung at his throat, he found himself
sufficiently free to look round the trunk of the blasted pine that he
might see how it fared with his companions.
At first he could see nothing clearly, for the same strange and weird
conditions continued to permeate the earth and air.
For a moment all would be dark and then flash on continuous flash
would follow, the wild-fire running about the tree-tops and glinting
up through the recesses of the woods as if the heavens themselves were
instinct with diabolic light.
As he looked, Sholto saw his father, a gigantic figure standing black
and militant against the brightest of it. His hand grasped a huge wolf
by the heels, and he swung the beast about his head as easily as he
was wont to handle the forehammer at home. With his living weapon
Malise had swept a space about him clear, and the beasts seemed to
have fallen back in terror before such a strange enemy.
But what of the Lord James? Overleaping the pile of dead and dying
wolves which his sword and dagger had made, and from which savage
heads still bit and snarled up at him as he went, Sholto ran round to
seek the young Lord of Avondale. At the first flash after leaving the
tree trunk he was nowhere to be seen, but a second revealed him lying
on the ground, with four shaggy beasts bending over him and tearing
fiercely at his gorget and breast-armour. With a loud shout Sholto was
among them. He passed his sword through and through the largest, and
in its fall the wounded monster turned and bit savagely at the fore
leg of a companion. The bone cracked as a rotten branch snaps
underfoot, and in another moment the two animals were rolling over and
over, locked together in the death grapple.
Once, twice, and thrice Sholto struck right and left. The rest of the
beasts, seemingly astonished by the sudden flank attack, turned and
fled. Then, pushing off a huge wounded brute which lay gasping out its
life in red jets upon the breast of the fallen man, he dragged James
Douglas back to the tree which had been their fortress and propped him
up against the trunk.
At the same moment a long wailing cry from the forest called the
wolves off. They retreated suddenly, disappearing apparently by magic
into the depths of the forest, leaving their dead in quivering heaps
all about the little bare glade where the unequal fight had been
fought.
Malise the Brawny flung down the wolf whose head had served him with
such deadly effect as a weapon against his brethren. The beast had
long been dead, with a skull smashed in and a neck dislocated by the
sweeping blows it had dealt its kin.
"Sholto! My Lord James!" cried Malise, coming up to them hastily. "How
fares it with you?"
"We are both here," answered his son. "Come and help me with the Lord
James. He has fallen faint with the stress of his armour."
After the disappearance of the wolves the unearthly brilliance of the
wild-fire gradually diminished, and now it flickered paler and less
frequently.
But another hail from Sholto revealed to Malise the whereabouts of his
companions, and presently he also was on his knees beside the young
Lord of Avondale.
Sholto gave him into the strong arms of Malise and stood erect to
listen for any renewal of the attack. The wise smith, whose skill as a
leech was proverbial, carefully felt James Douglas all over in the
darkness, and took advantage of every flicker of summer lightning to
examine him as well as his armour would permit.
"Help me to loosen his gorget and ease him of his body mail," said
Malise, at last. "He has gotten a bite or two, but nothing that
appears serious. I think he has but fainted from pressure."
Sholto bent down and with his dagger cut string by string the stout
leathern twists which secured the knight's mail. And as he did so his
father widened it out with his powerful fingers to ease the weight
upon the young man's chest.
Presently, with a long sigh, James Douglas opened his eyes.
"Where are the wolves?" he said, with a grimace of disgust. Sholto
told him how all that were left alive had, for the present at least,
disappeared.
"Ugh, the filthy brutes!" said Lord James. "I fought till the stench
of their hot breaths seemed to stifle me. I felt my head run round
like a dog in a fit, and down I went. What happened after that?"
"This," said Malise, sententiously, pointing to the heaps of dead
wolves which were becoming more apparent as the night ebbed and the
blue flame rose and fell like a fluttering pulse along the horizon.
"Then to one or the other of you I owe my life," said Lord James
Douglas, reaching a hand to both.
"Sholto dragged you from under half a dozen of the devils," said
Malise.
"My father it was who brought you to," said Sholto.
"I thank you both with all my heart--for this as for all the rest. I
know not, indeed, where to begin," said James Douglas, gratefully.
"Give me your hands. I can stand upright now."
So saying, and being assisted by Malise, he rose to his feet.
"Will they come again?" he asked, as with an intense disgust he
surveyed the battle-field in the intermittent light from over the
marshes.
"Listen," said Malise.
The low howling of the wolves had retreated farther, but seemed to
retain more and more of its strange human character.
"_La Meffraye! La Meff--raye!_" they seemed to wail, with a curious
swelling upon the last syllable.
"I hear only the yelling of the infernal brutes," said the Lord James;
"they seem to be calling on their patron saint--the woman whom we saw
in the house of the poor cripple. I am sure I saw her going to and fro
among the devils and encouraging them to the assault."
"'Tis black work at the best," answered Malise; "these are no common
wolves who would dare to attack armed men--demons of the nethermost
pit rather, driven on by their hellish hunt-mistress. There will be
many dead warlocks to-morrow throughout the lands of France."
"Stand to your arms," cried Sholto, from the other side of the tree.
And indeed the howling seemed suddenly to grow nearer and louder. The
noise circled about them, and they could again perceive dusky forms
which glided to and fro in the faint light among the arches of the
forest.
In the midst of the turmoil Malise took off his bonnet and stood
reverently at prayer.
"Aid us, Thy true men," he cried in a loud and solemn voice, "against
all the powers of evil. In the name of God--Amen!"
The howling stopped and there fell a silence. Lord James would have
spoken.
"Hush!" said Malise, yet more solemnly.
And far off, like an echo from another world, thin and sweet and
silver clear, a cock crew.
The blue leaping flame of the wild-fire abruptly ceased. The dawn
arose red and broad in the east. The piles of dead beasts shone out
black on the grey plain of the forest glade, and on the topmost bough
of a pine tree a thrush began to sing.