Part 12

"Aye. Nicely was I tricked. I was riding at my ease along a narrow lane when an old woman stopped me and asked an alms. As I stooped, two men, with swords drawn, sprang out upon me from the shelter of some bushes near by. I was quick enough to be ready for their onslaught, but as I slashed at them, my horse sank suddenly to the ground--hamstrung by a third man whose approach I had not seen. As I fell, I received a swordthrust in the thigh, and before I could rise I was seized by so many hands that all resistance was futile. I was bound hand and foot, conveyed to a farmer's wagon in waiting close by, and flung unceremoniously into it. Two men mounted, and we drove on for days, whither I knew not, until we reached yon gloomy castle. Then came De Maupas's offer and my refusal. What befell after that thou know'st better than I, for what with my wound, my rage against De Maupas, and the dreadful gloom and dampness of my cell, I fell sick and my senses left me. It all seems like an evil dream. Were it not for my weakness and this cart, I should look to wake up at Wolsingham or Bordeaux once again."

In due course the wagon and its occupants arrived at the inn where the ladies Gertrude and Beatrice had made their temporary home. Gaily Edgar hailed the good man, for their troubles seemed to be at an end. Sir John was back again and, though still weak and feeble, had been rapidly on the mend ever since he had been taken from the castle.

"The ladies Chartris and D'Alencon, landlord! Tell them the knight Sir John is back," cried Edgar, springing down from his seat on the wagon and aiding Peter to lift Sir John down and carry him into the inn.

"Ah! sir----" cried the landlord. Then he stopped and stared uncomfortably from Edgar to Sir John and back again.

"What is it, man?" cried Sir John, with sudden apprehension. "Doth aught ail them? Which is it? Speak!"

"Oh, my lord, 'tis not the lady Gertrude--she is above. 'Tis the lady Beatrice."

"Ah! But what has chanced? Canst not speak? Is she dead?"

"Nay, nay--she is not dead. She hath been carried off by robbers or outlaws--none knoweth by whom. The lady Gertrude is in despair. We have done all we could to find where she hath been taken, but without avail."

"Woe, woe!" cried the knight, sinking back on the couch on which he had been placed. "Enemies seem to encompass me and mine. She was placed in my charge and I have failed in my duty. Why didst leave the ladies all unguarded, Edgar, to come to my aid? That was not well thought of. I cannot value my rescue if it hath been obtained at the expense of my ward's life and honour."

"I gave the ladies into Matthew's charge, Sir John," replied Edgar brokenly. "How could I think aught would befall? Reproach me not, I beg of thee, for I feel I cannot forgive myself--and yet, could I let thee perish without a blow struck?"

"Let it pass, Edgar. 'Twas in my despair that I reproached thee. It was not just. 'Tis Matthew who shall feel the weight of my displeasure. Landlord, fetch down the lady Gertrude, for we must know all and see if there be aught that can still be done."

In a minute or two Gertrude appeared, wild with joy at hearing that her father had at last returned. "Father, Father, how glad I am that thou hast come back!" she cried, throwing herself on her knees and winding her arms about him in joyous rapture. Then, seeing how thin and weak and ill he looked, her gladness gave place to anxiety and concern. "Thou must come back with me to England," she said persuasively, "and let me nurse thee back to health and strength. Thou hast done enough for a little while. How I wish poor Beatrice were here to welcome thee and share my gladness!"

"Tell us of the dreadful event," said Sir John, after the first greetings were over. "We must consider what is best to be done. Tell us everything."

The story was short enough. It appeared that the day after Edgar's departure, Beatrice, knowing that he could not be back for a week or more, suddenly determined that she would pay the expected visit to her castle home at Faucigny. Her maid accompanied her, and, at Gertrude's desire, she took Matthew and another of the Wolsingham men-at-arms as an escort, the forward move of the English forces not having yet begun. Three leagues beyond Bordeaux, whilst passing through a small wood, the party was suddenly ambushed by four men.

The man-at-arms was struck down before he could lift a hand in his defence, and on Matthew fell the whole brunt of the attack. He made a splendid defence but was eventually overcome and, covered with wounds, left for dead upon the field. What then happened to the lady Beatrice and her maid no one knew. Fortunately, Matthew was discovered by passing peasants a few hours later and was carried to a hovel a mile or two away. Here he was tended until the arrival of a search party which had been sent out the instant the riderless horse of the man-at-arms galloped back into the camp with blood upon saddle and flank.

As soon as he could speak Matthew was eagerly questioned, but was able to tell them little. He could not say what had become of the lady Beatrice. He only knew that one of the ruffians had held her horse by the bridle whilst the other three occupied themselves in overpowering all resistance. Of their assailants all he could tell was that he was certain that he had seen one of them before. This man, too, appeared to be their leader, and he fancied that he must be a man he had once or twice seen lurking about the camp.

At this piece of news Edgar and Peter exchanged glances full of anxious significance.

"Did he ever describe the man, Mistress Gertrude?" asked Edgar.

"Yes. He said he was a tall and sparely built man with an evil-looking face. Nobody else about the camp, however, seemeth to know the man, and although we have made enquiries far and wide, we have found no clue save at a village many miles away to the south-east. Here an old man and a boy said that, while working in the fields, four men and two women, all on horseback, rode past them across country, as though purposely avoiding the roads. That hath been all that we could discover, and it is little enough, even if the two women with the band were indeed those we sought."

"The missing clues I think we can supply, Sir John," said Edgar, "though I greatly fear they will in no wise lessen our apprehensions."

"Ye know, then, this man that Matthew had seen before?"

"Yes, he is a man we believe to be in league with thine enemy, Sir Gervaise de Maupas."

"Ah!--that man again!" cried Sir John, starting to his feet in indignation. His strength, however, was unequal to the effort, and he sank back again immediately with his hand pressed against his thigh.

"What is it, Father, what is it?" cried Gertrude anxiously.

"Only my wound, child. It is far from healed, and I must put no strain upon it for a while. But go on, Edgar. We must think out what is to be done. We must act quickly if we are to act at all."

"I told thee, sir, the offer De Maupas made to me in exchange for thy life and mine? It was, thou wilt remember, my support in persuading thee to agree to his marriage with thy ward--her lands being taken in exchange for his claims to thine. The capture of the lady Beatrice is, I see clearly, but one more link in the infamous plan. With her safely in his clutches, he doubtless thought he would be in a still stronger position to dictate his terms. Moreover, if we consented, he could make certain that we should never be able to repudiate the promise as having been made under compulsion, by calling in a priest and having the ceremony performed offhand. A right deadly plan it hath been, and it hath all but succeeded--even now it may succeed, for with the lady Beatrice in his hands he is almost as strong as with us all."

"Then ye think Beatrice hath been taken to Ruthenes?" said Sir John, after a long and painful pause.

"Yes, I am sure of it. She must have arrived there soon after we escaped."

"'Tis dire news. How dreadful that place is none of us would like to admit to any but ourselves! What, then, will it be to a maid? Edgar, thou didst accomplish the impossible in rescuing me--canst do anything to rescue the maid? Be sure that they will be doubly on the alert this time."

"I am ready and more than ready to try, Sir John."

"I would send to the earl and implore his aid, did I think it likely that he would help me. But he hath his hands full and would not care to send a force into a spot so remote as Ruthenes. No, I fear 'tis on ourselves alone that we must depend."

"I will go, Sir John. I will take Peter and fresh horses. Where we have penetrated once we can penetrate again. Besides, this time we know the secret way into the castle, and may avoid the untimely capture into which we blundered so badly last time."

"Be cautious and not too sanguine. The guards will be doubled, thou mayst be sure. When canst start? Forgive me for sending thee away so soon after bringing me into safety, but it is dreadful to me to think of Beatrice immured in some lonely chamber of yon blood-stained fortalice."

"I can start at once, Sir John. All I want is a little money, some food for the journey, and another mount."

"Thou shalt have all thou canst want. Gertrude, give the lad money from my own purse. Food and another horse thou canst get, Edgar, as thou art passing through the camp. Delay not, lad, for I am on fire with impatience to know that something is being done. I would that I were strong enough to go."

"Farewell then, Sir John! I hope that when we return thou wilt be well and strong again, and ready to join in the earl's advance."

Edgar hurriedly withdrew, and leaving Peter to dispose of the horse and cart and to follow as soon as he could, he mounted their one charger and rode out of the city into the camp to the lines of the Wolsingham contingent. Calling one of the men-at-arms, he instructed him to saddle and make ready another of Sir John's chargers and to prepare a store of food while he occupied himself in selecting his best weapons and a spare suit of mail. This suit he did not wear, but had it packed up with a few pieces of mail for Peter in two portions, one of which was to be borne on either horse. By the time his preparations were complete, Peter had joined him, and without any further delay the two mounted and rode out of the camp upon the road to Ruthenes once more.

*CHAPTER XVI*

*A New Quest*

"Now, dear Father," cried Gertrude, as soon as Edgar had left, "now that thou art in my charge I must bid thee to bed. All is done that can be done, and thou canst rest content."

"All is done for the moment, and I will indeed obey thee, my Gertrude. But I have yet to make my peace with the earl. I must dispatch a missive to Sir James d'Arcy, one of the marshals of the tournament. To him I can explain how 'twas I failed, like a poltroon, to answer to the challenge of Sir Gervaise de Maupas. When he seeth my condition and heareth my tale, I have hopes that he will believe me."

"Hath not Edgar then----?" began Gertrude, opening her eyes in amaze.

"Hath not Edgar what; maiden? Is anything wrong?" cried Sir John, a sudden look of apprehension coming into his face. "Surely the earl hath not made proclamation of my disgrace because of my non-appearance in the lists? Tell me quickly!"

"Nay, nay, Father, 'tis far from that. Indeed there is no need to trouble Sir James or the earl. Thine honour is safe. Edgar should have told thee all and not left it to me."

"Gertrude," cried Sir John, with a touch of sternness, "there is some mystery here. Tell me what it may mean. Delay not, girl."

Without more ado Gertrude related to her father the events that followed the first discovery of his disappearance--how, as the hours passed by, they had grown convinced that De Maupas in some way had had him removed with the object of disgracing him by his failure to appear in the lists, and how at last Edgar, to save his honour, had determined to personate him.

"What!" interrupted Sir John at this point. "Personate me! But surely not in the combat in the lists?"

"Yes, yes, in the lists. 'Twas to save thine honour, and to punish Sir Gervaise."

"'Twas a bold thought," murmured Sir John in wonderment. "But how could he hope for aught but defeat against such a lance as De Maupas? And yet he seemeth to have come to no great harm."

"He did not, Father. The first onset was terrific, but neither gained much advantage, though Sir Gervaise's steed lost its balance and rolled over. But in the encounter on foot Edgar handled Sir Gervaise most roughly, and with a single axe-blow felled him senseless to the ground."

"What! He won?" cried Sir John in utter astonishment. "You tell me he won? Truly never have I heard the like since the days of the paladins of old. Ah, it must be to his extraordinary earnestness to learn that he oweth so great a victory. His hard schooling at Gaspard's and his constant practice elsewhere--ho! ho! De Maupas was well repaid, and that right quickly, for his black treachery."

"None know the truth but ourselves," Gertrude went on. "Everyone believed that Sir John Chartris left the camp immediately after the encounter to pay the visit to Faucigny for which he had a few days before obtained the earl's permission. All is well, Father, and thou canst take up the threads where they fell when thou wert stolen away."

"Not so, my child," said Sir John thoughtfully. "I cannot allow laurels undeserved to be bestowed upon me so freely. I must let the earl know the truth. Think not that I am the less indebted to Edgar for his daring and successful championing of my cause. Had De Maupas been allowed to win his bloodless victory, a dark cloud of disgrace and suspicion would have gathered about my poor name, and hard to disperse should I have found it. A few might have believed my tale, but the greater part would have continued to shake their heads dubiously whenever my name was mentioned. As it is, I can tell the earl the story of my capture at the same time that I tell him 'twas not I that appeared in the lists. All will thus be well. Scarce a soul but will then believe the tale."

"Edgar will surely be sorry. He will think thou art flinging away the fruits of his victory."

"Nay, he will understand, for 'twould be what he would do himself were he in my place. Sorrow not for him, for he will be the gainer. The earl will love the tale, even though 'twill make him pull a wry face to think how he and they all were fooled. My hopes rise, Gertrude. Urged on by such daring and energy as this, truly we may well look to Edgar to bring back our Beatrice. May God speed him!"

"May God keep him out of the hands of De Maupas!" replied Gertrude feelingly; and Sir John echoed her words with deepest emphasis.

* * * * *

Riding to the limit of the endurance of their horses, Edgar and Peter made rapid progress, and were soon back again in the neighbourhood of Ruthenes. This time they did not ride directly into the village, but, when within a mile or so, led their horses into a thick covert and tied them to a tree. They then set off on foot for the castle, keeping well away from the village.

"Tread silently, Peter, and keep a vigilant watch. I would not that any saw us, especially of those belonging to the castle."

As soon as they came within sight of the castle Edgar gave the signal to stop, and, keeping well out of sight of watchers on the wall, the two young men reconnoitred it eagerly.

"There are more sentinels than ever," said Edgar, after a long and earnest scrutiny. "I feared as much. Well, let us now work round to the tree which masks the entrance to the underground passage. If that way is still open to us, all is well."

"But surely they will have found the keys we left behind in the last scramble up the steps cut within the tree trunk?" asked Peter. "They will have locked the doors, and we shall be barred out."

"Doubtless, but I care not for that so long as there is no watcher posted at the doors. With patience we can win a way through the stoutest barriers. But if a sentinel is there, our hope of a silent entry is gone."

Presently Edgar stopped and looked about him in some perplexity. "'Twas near here, was it not, Peter, that the great tree spread its branches? Nevertheless, I can see nothing of it."

"Yes, 'twas certainly near here, Master Edgar. Yon clump of undergrowth--was it not through that we made our way out of sight and reach of Black Eustace and De Maupas?"

"I fear they have cut down the tree and carried it away," said Edgar forebodingly. "Search for the scar in the ground--ah, here 'tis, carefully covered with leaves and twigs, to show no sign."

The two young men gazed down at the smooth patch of loose earth in silent consternation. It was on the continued existence of the secret passage that they had built most of their hopes, for in all their discussions they had agreed that it would be almost an impossibility for them to make their way over the walls and into the castle a second time. Their first attempt had ended in capture, and it was not likely that a second, with the garrison on the alert, would be any more successful.

"They have filled up the passage," cried Peter despondently. "What hope is there now to find a way into the castle? Would that we had wings!"

"This is a heavy blow," said Edgar slowly. "I can think of no way in at present. But we have always one thing to fall back on, so lose not hope so soon, lad."

Peter looked up quickly. "Mean you to----"

"Yes, to throw in our lot with the priest. If we cannot win our way in by strategy we must fall back on force of arms. But before the die is cast for an assault upon the castle, let me think if there is no other means possible."

For half an hour Edgar paced up and down the tiny glade formed by the removal of the great tree whose hollow trunk had been so cunningly made use of by the builders of the castle. From every point of view he conned over in his mind the defences of the castle, and wrestled with the problem of circumventing them. But he could think of no way that offered any real hope of success, save by waiting and watching for some special opportunity. This, however, was out of the question, for the thought of the delicate and high-spirited Beatrice d'Alencon confined in a castle whose gloom had weighed heavily upon the spirits even of men inured to war and hardship was simply intolerable.

"Come, Peter," Edgar cried at last in the brisk voice of one who has made up his mind, "come; I see no way in but by the sword, and while that castle holdeth Sir Gervaise de Maupas little do I regret it. Let us now seek Father Armand, and place ourselves by his side."

Peter gave a suppressed cheer, and followed with an eagerness that showed that the prospect of an assault upon the castle appealed to him not one whit less than it did to his master.

As soon as they had found their horses the two young men mounted and rode quietly into the village. At the house which served as an inn they stopped, and, calling the landlord, enquired for Father Armand.

"He is away from the village," replied the man, eyeing them narrowly. "What want ye the good father for?"

"We desire a few words with him," replied Edgar. "It is most important. Canst not fetch him or take us to him?"

The man shook his head.

"Perchance he is at the cave," suggested Edgar quietly. "If so, we will go ourselves, for he hath told us the way."

The man's attitude changed at once. "Yes, sir, he is at the cave. I did not know he had told thee all. I will go with thee and lead thy horses. It will not be well to leave them in the village--thou know'st why," he added, again eyeing Edgar narrowly.

Edgar nodded and accepted the man's offer to accompany them, though he guessed it was made more with a view to keeping them under observation than to assisting them. The man's attitude indicated plainly that the priest had been as good as his word, and that the banner of revolt, if it had not already been raised, was at least being nailed ready to the staff.

At the cave they came upon a scene of animation. Yards of bush had been cleared away, and in the open space scores of men were at work drilling or furbishing up their arms. The drilling was of a most crude and primitive nature, and would have appeared ludicrous to Edgar under other circumstances. But he was too well aware of the cruelty and oppression under which these men had groaned for so many years to smile at the poor figure they cut in a soldier's eyes.

Moreover, he knew that nothing but the determination born of despair could have brought them to the pitch of assaulting a strong and well-garrisoned castle, unequipped as they were with any of the engines of war. For a moment or two he could not see Father Armand, but presently he espied him, with hood flung back and gown tucked up, explaining and demonstrating to some of the more stupid of his levies what they were expected to do when he gave certain orders. The moment he saw Edgar and Peter he left his work and ran quickly forward to meet them.

"Sir Squire," he cried eagerly, "doth thy return mean that thou art----?"

"Yes, yes, Father," cried Edgar, grasping the hands which the priest extended to him, and pressing them warmly. The sight of the kindly face, with its lines that told of care and sorrow, stirred him strangely. How gallant was the old man thus to take up the sword in what must have seemed almost a forlorn hope to one unused to any sort of warfare but that of the spirit! "Yes, Father, we have come to throw in our lot with you. For weal or woe, we are members of your band."

"Not members--leaders," cried the priest impetuously. "We sadly lack skill and knowledge, and of these I know ye possess as much as, if not more than, our ancient enemy. Come, let me tell my people the brave news. It will cheer their hearts, for, though they have answered to my call willingly and eagerly, it is more the willingness of men to go to death rather than remain in soul-destroying bondage than that of men marching forward with the expectation of victory."

Calling to the assembled bands, the priest bade them form in two lines in something approaching military formation. Then he told them the story of Edgar's and Peter's first coming, and how they had, single-handed, made entry into the castle and, in spite of capture and alarums, succeeded in bringing away him whom they had set out to rescue.

Though Edgar could not follow the whole of the priest's patois, he could see that the story was well and graphically told, and that it made a deep impression on the listeners. Then the priest went on to tell of how he had made request to the two strangers to stop and assist them in their undertakings, and how, in loyalty to their sick master, they had reluctantly refused. Finally he told them that they had now returned and placed themselves at his disposal in their righteous war for freedom.

A roar of applause rose as the priest paused for a moment and placed his hand on Edgar's shoulder.

"They have knowledge of war, and must lead us," he went on. "This man I appoint to lead us in the field. He shall be co-equal with me. I shall command, except when we move forward to battle, when Sir Squire will take the lead, and I shall fight by his side."