Part 11

Relinquishing his share of the burden to his companion, Edgar drew his sword and prepared to defend himself against the attack he knew must come from Sir Eustace. For a moment, however, the latter could see nothing save shadowy figures hovering in the gloom. Sir John had again fallen silent, as though exhausted by his furious outburst.

"Is that thee, Duprez? Art come at last, ye tardy rascal? And what was yon shouting? It sounded like the voice of the mad knight, Chartris. Speak, man! hast lost thy voice?"

Receiving no answer, the speaker, with an angry threat, plunged back into his room, and, plucking a torch from the wall, sprang out into the passage, sword in hand.

Edgar instantly attacked him. Aiming at the torch held on high, he severed it in twain at the first blow. The lighted end dropped down upon the black knight's chest, and from thence to the floor in front of him. Lunging forward to the attack once more, Edgar set his foot upon it and plunged the passage in total darkness, while his sword rattled vengefully against Sir Eustace's harness.

With a cry of impotent fury Sir Eustace sprang back into the room he had left. In the light of the falling torch he had recognized in his adversary the esquire whom he had imprisoned and for whom he was even at that moment impatiently waiting. He had come, indeed, but scarcely in the manner he had expected.

"Thou art mine still!" he shouted madly over his shoulder. "Dearly shalt thou pay for thine insolence!"

Freed for the moment, Edgar turned and sped down the passage as fast as the pitchy darkness would allow. But before he had caught up Peter the quick sharp clang of the alarm bell of the castle rang out with insistent clangour upon the stillness of the night. Instantly shouts and cries arose from all sides as the Ruthenes household and garrison sprang excitedly from their beds. Sir Eustace had lost no time in summoning the castle to arms, and to all appearances Edgar and his companions were caught in the iron jaws of a trap.

"We are lost, Master Edgar," cried Peter despairingly, as Edgar caught him up at the head of the winding staircase which, led downward to the dungeons they had left. "The alarm is sounded, and 'tis impossible that we can escape in face of the castle garrison."

"Courage, Peter!" cried Edgar. "Let me aid thee with Sir John. There is still a slender thread of hope left to us, and we must follow it."

"But why to our dungeons? Dost desire only to sell our lives as dearly as possible?"

"Nay, Peter. Dost not remember that just before we parted from the priest he spoke of a legend among his folk which told of the existence of an underground passage leading from out the castle? As we came from our dungeon a while since, didst not note the flight of stone steps that plunged yet deeper into the bowels of the earth? Our only chance is that the legend is true, and I feel a mighty hope that 'tis so. Onward, lad, onward!"

"But surely there will be gates to either end which we must pass?"

"We have Duprez's keys, and by God's will they will open all doors. Press on! Already I hear the tramp of men along the passages above. See, 'tis the glint of torches in the distance. We are but a minute ahead of despair."

As he spoke they reached level ground at the foot of the winding stairs, and at the entrance to the passage which led into the labyrinth of dungeons. Feeling about, Edgar found the stone steps which he had noticed as he passed, and which at the time had made him wonder momentarily whither they could lead, yet deeper into the earth. Groping and stumbling, the two lads found their way to the bottom with their burden. As they had half-expected, they found farther progress barred by a massive iron-studded door.

Groping down the side, Edgar found a keyhole and inserted a key. It did not fit. Another and another he tried with feverish impatience. The sound of voices and approaching footsteps every moment grew in volume. The search party was already at the foot of the winding staircase, and entering the passage to the dungeons. The light of the torches they carried grew until Edgar could dimly make out the outline of the door which alone, for the moment, stood between them and safety.

Another key--and with a sigh of relief Edgar felt it sink into the lock. A turn with all his strength, and the rusty wards slowly and gratingly yielded. At the very moment when the pursuers reached the head of the stairs above them the door slowly opened, letting out a waft of dank, earthy air that even in their extremity gave them pause. Pitchy foul blackness stretched before them, but behind were the savage retainers of the black knight of Ruthenes.

Suddenly a torch was flung down the narrow flight of steps. Doubtless someone among the searchers above had heard a noise, or suspected that the darkness below perhaps hid the fugitives they sought. The torch fell upon the bottom steps and blazed up, revealing as with the light of day the three crouching figures. There was a wild, irregular shout of surprise and exultation from the men above.

*[Illustration: THE TORCH FELL UPON THE BOTTOM STEPS, REVEALING THE THREE CROUCHING FIGURES. (missing from book)]*

"Onward with Sir John, Peter!" cried Edgar, as he once more turned back, sword in hand, to hold the rear. As he did so a sudden thought struck him. Darting forward, he snatched up the blazing torch, sprang back through the doorway, and, dropping his sword, heaved at the door with all his strength. With a dull thud it swung to, shutting out all sight of their pursuers and deadening to a murmur the shout of fury that went up as Sir Eustace and his men saw further pursuit for the time hopelessly blocked.

"Back to the drawbridge!" cried Sir Eustace, almost beside himself with rage. "Pounce upon them as they emerge at the other end." Then, realizing that the secret of the underground passage would be at an end did the garrison sally out indiscriminately, he gulped down his anger, and commanded: "Nay, watch yon door lest the rascals return. Sir Gervaise, and you, Duprez, and Manton, follow me across the drawbridge!"

* * * * *

By the light of the captured torch, Edgar and Peter made rapid progress along the underground passage. The air was so foul and noisome that even the torch burned dim, but their lives were in such jeopardy that they had no thought but to press on. The passage was cut straight through the earth, and was lined with stone. It seemed of great age. Big clumps of fungi studded the walls, and water stood in pools at their feet. Though in reality but a few minutes, it seemed an age before they reached another door, which they guessed marked the farther end of the tunnel. Once through this they doubted not that they would be safely out of the castle.

Edgar rapidly tried the keys until he found the one to fit. Again the lock turned, though slowly and unwillingly, as though it had been years since any had passed that way, and through the door they staggered, gasping. The air was comparatively fresh on the other side, and above their heads, in a tiny patch, they could see the stars. Holding up the torch, Edgar saw a row of ladder-like steps leading straight upwards. By the side of the steps a heavy iron chain hung down. Sending Peter up in advance, Edgar took Sir John, laid him over his shoulder, and grasping the chain with both hands, clambered painfully up. As he reached the top of what seemed like a wooden chimney, he heard a dull rattle and roar in the distance.

"'Tis the drawbridge, Peter," he cried. "Where are we now?"

"At the top of the trunk of a hollow tree, Master Edgar. We are in the woods."

"Hold Sir John while I clamber down. Then lower him down to me, and, if I cannot reach him, let him drop. There is no time to think of a better plan."

Ere their pursuers had reached the edge of the woods Sir John had been safely lowered into Edgar's arms, and Peter, in his turn, had successfully clambered down. Bearing their burden between them, the two lads moved quietly away among the trees. Fortunately for them, Sir John had fallen quite silent and lay inert, as though in his weak state the foul air of the tunnel had overcome him. Their escape was effected just in time, for their pursuers were only a few yards away, their presence betrayed by their angry mutterings.

"Surround the tree!" they heard Sir Eustace order. "They can scarcely be out so soon, bearing a sick man. Keep in the shadow of the undergrowth, and fall upon them unawares. They are still ours to crush, how and when we will."

Filled with a thankfulness too great for words at having safely escaped from a dreadful fate, Edgar and Peter moved softly away until they could feel that they were safe. Then they sank upon the ground, overcome by an exhaustion that their imminent peril had not allowed them to heed until safety was assured.

*CHAPTER XV*

*Ill News at Bordeaux*

After half an hour's rest Edgar judged it time to make a move. It was clearly dangerous to keep Sir John in the chill night air longer than was absolutely necessary, well wrapped up though he was. The village was little more than half a mile away, and towards this the two lads made their way through the woods, with many a stumble in the darkness. Just as they were beginning to think that they had mistaken the direction in which it lay, they suddenly came upon it.

"Shall we make for the innhouse?" enquired Peter.

"Nay, let us first seek the priest. It may be that Sir Eustace will think that we have come from the village and will return there. He may send in a messenger or a body of men to intercept us. Let us first seek advice of the priest. I know his house; it lieth on the outskirts, to the south."

Struggling on for a few more minutes, the two lads found themselves at last at the priest's house. It was in darkness, but presently, in response to cautious knocks, a light appeared, and the door was unbolted and opened.

"Who seeks Father Armand at this late hour?" he asked.

"The two strangers. We are back from Ruthenes and seek thine aid. We have rescued the prisoner, but he is sick and sorely needs attention."

"What! Escaped from Ruthenes?" cried the priest, as he stepped quickly outside the house and laid his hand on Edgar's arm. "Warmly do I felicitate you, for verily ye are the first that ever did so. And hast rescued the prisoner ye sought? Marvel of marvels! But if that is so 'tis dangerous for you to stay here a minute longer. When Sir Eustace finds you have escaped he will lose little time in riding in and searching this village through and through. Come--I will accompany you--ye must return to the woods awhile until ye can ride away in safety."

"Thank you, good father! But the knight is sick, and I fear 'twill be bad indeed for him to lie abroad in the woods."

"The night is dry, and there is no alternative, unless ye wish him to be dragged back to Ruthenes. Come--demur not, for ye will, I hope, be off at daybreak. Your horses are safe, for I have had them sent away to a secret place in the woods, knowing well that were they found at the inn-house nothing could save them."

Warmly Edgar thanked the priest for his kindness.

"Thank me not, Sir Squire. I am always most ready to aid the enemies of the castle; and besides, I still nourish hopes that ye may throw in your lot with us. Come, now, let us get away into the woods while there is time."

Following the priest's lead, Edgar and Peter bore Sir John back within the shelter of the woods. A comfortable litter was then constructed from two of the rugs stretched across young saplings, and the march began towards the secret place where the horses had been sent. After an hour's slow travelling the party came to a steep cliff in a spur of the mountains where a landslip appeared to have hollowed out a shallow cave. The dying embers of a fire still glowed in the entrance, and as the party approached, a man sprang to his feet, knife in hand.

"Peace, brother!" said the priest quietly. "Where hast stabled the horses?"

"Yonder," replied the man, pointing to another similar cave a few yards away.

"'Tis well," responded the priest. Then turning to Edgar he explained: "This place is often used as a refuge by the villagers when they fear interference. It is fairly close at hand, and provides a temporary shelter for man and beast."

"It will serve us well until we can obtain a wagon in which to carry Sir John to Bordeaux," replied Edgar. "If he can be moved, I am most anxious to start at once. Doubtless thou wilt know someone who has a horse and cart to lend or sell?"

"Yes, I can obtain you what you want. But sit ye down by the fire and sup. Jules here will give us of his store so far as it will go, and meanwhile I will attend to your sick knight. I have some knowledge of herbs and simples, and often have to tend the sick in body as well as the diseased in mind."

Fresh wood was thrown upon the fire, and by its light the party made themselves and Sir John comfortable. Barely half an hour had elapsed since they reached the cave when the man Jules held up a warning finger.

"Hark!" he said.

All stopped and listened intently. In the distance, borne clearly on the still air, could be heard a noise as of shouts and cries. It came from the direction of the village.

"My people!" cried the priest in a voice of anguish. "My people again being harried by the hirelings of the castle! I must go to them. Scant respect do they give me indeed, but what I can do I must do. Farewell, young sir!"

With hasty tread he strode off into the woods, leaving Edgar most uncomfortable and perplexed, and sorely tempted to follow him. It was clear that the raid upon the village was due to his escape from the castle, and the thought that innocent men and women were suffering for his success was most distressing. The priest, too, in his eagerness to protect his flock and in his hatred of the tyrants might well be betrayed into a zeal that would bring down upon him the more active hostility of the garrison. Edgar shuddered to think what might then happen.

For some time the cries continued unabated, and then they gradually died away until all was still once more. Feeling the tension somewhat relaxed, Edgar and Peter, after seeing that Sir John was as comfortable as it was possible to make him, threw themselves down and slept until daybreak.

Soon after they had risen and had made a few preparations for breakfast, the priest strode quickly up. Edgar could see that something was wrong by his quick irregular tread and by the way in which his hood was drawn well forward over his face. He came to a pause as he reached the cave, and after replying with a gesture of the hand to Edgar's salutations, remained standing for some minutes in silence, as though in deep and anxious thought.

"I hope there hath been no bloodshed," said Edgar earnestly, when the silence of the priest had become almost insupportable.

"There hath been little actual bloodshed," replied the priest in a hollow voice; "merely a repetition of the scenes of violence and cruelty that I have had to witness for years past, but which I was hoping were gone for good. I am in doubt. I know not whether to raise the banner of revolt without delay or to wait, as ye counselled, until our forces have some sort of organization. I now incline to begin the fight at once, for I fear that the spirit of my people will be broken beyond redemption if such cruelties are allowed to go on much longer unchecked."

Wearily he seated himself on the ground, unconsciously throwing back his hood and revealing a livid weal which ran across his face from one side to the other.

"They have ill-used thee," cried Edgar, with a burst of indignation. "The cowards have struck thee with their whips--and I am to blame. 'Tis on my account that they have ridden into the village and done violence to thy poor folk."

"My hurt is nothing," replied the priest, contemptuously waving his hand as though to thrust the idea aside. "'Tis true it is the first time I have received actual violence at their hands, but I care nothing for that. But my poor people have not, I fear, my hope in the future, and upon them the stripes fall with a deadly sting that toucheth me not. You say you fear 'tis on your account that these things have been done. Regard it not. Perchance 'tis the spark that setteth alight the fire to make us free. I would though, Sir Squire, that thou wouldst throw in thy lot with us, for 'tis a heavy thing for a priest, untutored in the art of war, to lead the people he loveth to what may be defeat and destruction. If thou dost feel thy responsibility for the night's violence--fling thy sword into the balance, and thou wilt have paid back thy debt in full."

"My hands are tied," replied Edgar, shaking his head. "My master there hath first claim upon my services, and until he hath been put in a place of safety I dare think of naught else."

"I will see to his welfare in a place of safety," exclaimed the priest. "Higher up the mountains I know several such places, and, tended by one or two of our folk, he will mend rapidly and well."

"Nay, I must take him back to his kinsfolk," replied Edgar decidedly. "Even then 'tis doubtful whether he will give me permission to ride back hither to engage in a private war on the side of a people at war with my countrymen. With all my heart I desire thy success and the deliverance of thy people, good father, but my duty is elsewhere. Press me not, I beg, but let me on."

The priest inclined his head. "Be it so," he said sadly. "Thou art still a friend though thou canst not, or wilt not, stand shoulder to shoulder with me in the conflict. Thou shall return as quickly as my help can compass it. We will not talk more of this matter; but let me see to thy master. A happy man is he to have won such unswerving loyalty."

With a touch as light and gentle as that of a woman, the priest tended the sick knight. His mind yet wandered, but he seemed to be easier than when Edgar and Peter had first entered his chamber in the donjon of Ruthenes. By some subtle means he seemed to know that he was now in friendly hands, and had grown more restful and contented.

For two days Edgar remained at the cave watching over Sir John. At the end of that time the priest pronounced the knight well enough to travel, and within a few hours a horse and cart were ready waiting in the road at the point nearest to the mountain refuge.

Sir John was placed upon the litter, gently carried to the cart, and there comfortably ensconced on a thick bed of dry leaves covered with a rug. Then with a most cordial farewell to Father Armand, Edgar mounted the cart and drove away. Peter rode alongside on one of their chargers, their second having been left behind as payment for the horse and cart. After six days' travelling by slow and easy stages they entered the gates of the city of Bordeaux.

During the first two days of the return journey, Sir John's mind still wandered. On the third day, however, to Edgar's great delight, he awoke with his mind clear and lucid, although he was still very weak and feeble. He said nothing more than a bare half-dozen words of greeting all that day, but seemed content to lie there and let his eyes wander from the lads' faces to cart and tree and sky, as though well satisfied to be where he was. The following day he showed more animation, and talked about the villages and scenery through which they passed. He said no word of Ruthenes, however, and appeared to wish to avoid the subject as if it were a painful one that he was anxious to put away from him as long as possible.

The day before the party reached Bordeaux, on Edgar mentioning that he hoped they would arrive in time to join the ladies just before they sat down to their midday meal, Sir John seemed to come to a sudden decision within himself. Struggling into a half-sitting posture upon his bed of leaves and rugs, he said in a firm and steady voice: "Edgar, I wish you now to tell me all--how you came to be at Ruthenes and how I came to be released. I have some fears that the story will bring me no credit, but I desire thee to tell me everything."

Although Edgar did not quite know what Sir John meant by his last remark, he took no notice, but told the whole story from the time of his setting out with Peter up to the last desperate dash to safety through the underground passage.

When he had finished, Sir John gave so deep a sigh of relief that Edgar could not help looking at him with some astonishment.

"Thou art surprised at my relief, lad," observed Sir John, with a faint smile. "Well, then, thou shalt know how it is my mind feels so relieved that I could almost shout for joy. Ever since I was able to think connectedly, I have had at the back of my mind the fear that away there in Ruthenes I had given way to the tortures and threats of De Maupas and Eustace de Brin--given way, and passed my knightly word to further their base schemes at the expense of my successors or of the lady Beatrice. How else could I account for my freedom save by supposing that I had played the dastard, and had been handed over to thee in payment of the debt and to complete the bond? Now ye tell me that I have been rescued and that my honour is still my own. Canst now understand my relief, Edgar? 'Tis more difficult for me to understand how thou couldst have rescued me. It seems marvellous to one who for days tramped frantically up and down his cell like a caged beast, impotent to find a way of escape."

"Talk not nor think of that, Sir John, or thou wilt retard thy recovery. We, too, felt the dread spell of those fearful dungeons, but we were two, and could support one another's drooping spirits."

There was a pause for a few minutes, and then Sir John said suddenly: "What of the tournament, Edgar? What thought they of me when I appeared not? Did they think I blenched from the combat?"

"Nay, nay, Sir John--not one," evasively replied Edgar, who rather shrank from the recital of his masquerade as Sir John. It seemed so likely that the knight might resent the liberty, undertaken in his interest though it had been.

"He will have gained nothing by the trick," said Sir John, half to himself, in a despondent tone. "I will see to it that the earl doth know of his baseness, and I doubt if he will dare again to cross my path. Better will it be for him to stay at Ruthenes, where he is in safety among companions as base as himself."

"I could wish that thou wouldst tell me how they made thee prisoner, Sir John," said Edgar, anxious to change the subject. "Thou wert wounded, I know, for when the priest tended thee he found that great gash in thy thigh."