Part 14

"Yea, lady, who else should it be?" replied De Maupas in a soft voice, as he bowed with the utmost gallantry and advanced into the centre of the room. "Who else would risk his all--name, career, and life--out of love for thee? None but Sir Gervaise de Maupas, knight of England, I do venture to assert."

As he spoke, De Maupas drew himself up with dignity. He was clad in a richly inlaid suit of armour, over which a splendid cloak had been carelessly flung. But for the hawk-like and cruel expression of his thin face, he would have looked a goodly and martial sight enough.

"Love for me? What dost mean, sir?" cried Beatrice roundly, though for all her boldness her limbs trembled beneath her.

"Most assuredly. I have long worshipped thee in secret. It is only my unhappy enmity with thy guardian that hath prevented me from approaching thee, and hath forced me to resort to this expedient to enable me to proffer thee my love. As doubtless thou know'st, I am a knight of good lineage, and one whose lands, if thy guardian granted my rightful claims, would be both wide and rich."

"Thy love hath no attractions for me, Sir Gervaise de Maupas," cried Beatrice, with difficulty restraining a desire to sink back upon the couch. "I believe thee to be nothing less than a traitor. What hast done with Sir John? I believe thee to be at the bottom of his disappearance."

For a moment De Maupas appeared startled. But after a moment's pause in indecision he replied calmly: "I do not wish to deny it, lady. 'Twas indeed I who arranged his capture. But 'tis said that all is fair in love and war, and to love for thee and war towards Sir John I must ascribe the deed."

"Where is he?" cried Beatrice breathlessly.

"He is here."

"In this castle?"

"In this castle, lady."

There was a momentary pause. Beatrice's lips trembled so that they would scarcely frame her words. Then she resolutely mastered her emotion and asked:

"How is it named?"

De Maupas hesitated for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders and went on: "I see no harm in letting thee know. This castle is called Ruthenes."

"_Oh!_"

The tone of the interjection was so singular that De Maupas stared at Beatrice in astonishment. She had turned slightly aside, and was looking not at him but at the door.

"The name seemeth familiar," he said coolly. "Perchance Sir John's hot-headed esquire, Edgar Wintour, hath mentioned it to thee?"

As he spoke De Maupas toyed with the sword girded at his side, and, with a sickening shock, Beatrice recognized the weapon. It was Edgar's! He, too, must then be a prisoner!

"I see thou dost recognize the weapon," said De Maupas grimly, as he noticed with secret satisfaction how the blood had left her face and how she had to bite her lips to subdue their trembling.

"Is he then also a prisoner in this castle?" she asked after a pause, during which she managed to regain a semblance of composure.

"Yes," replied De Maupas, without a blush. "He and that limping youth of his are both fast in the dungeons of Ruthenes. I fear they will never see the light unless----" He stopped and shook his head forebodingly. Then he walked slowly to the window, and stood gazing out as though lost in thought.

Beatrice waited for some minutes for De Maupas to finish, but he seemed to have forgotten her existence.

"What dost intend to do with Sir John and his esquire?" she asked presently in a pleading voice. "Surely thou wouldst not do harm to thine own countrymen?"

"That question, lady, is not so much for me as for the owner of this castle to answer," replied De Maupas with an air of regret. "Hark! He is at the door; we will enquire his intentions concerning his prisoners."

The door opened and Sir Eustace de Brin entered. He was clad from head to foot in black armour, without any sort of relief or ornament whatever, and the effect was grim and forbidding to the last degree. If the two poor captives had needed anything further to destroy their last hopes, the sight of this grim-visaged, black-bearded, and black-mailed knight would have supplied it. Indeed, at the sight of him Jeanette screamed aloud and Beatrice sank down upon the couch and covered her face with her hands.

Turning towards the maid, De Brin gave her so fierce a look that she was reduced to instant silence. Then he turned to De Maupas and asked:

"Doubtless the lady Beatrice gladly welcometh thy suit, friend De Maupas?"

"Not exactly, Sir Eustace. She was, however, asking after Sir John and his esquire as thou wert entering. She would wish to know what thou dost intend concerning them."

"Their fate? Spies and enemies of my beloved France? They must die," replied De Brin instantly.

"Would nothing move thee from thy purpose?" asked De Maupas persuadingly. "If what I desire cometh to pass, their fate will become of some moment to me. Wouldst then, for our friendship's sake, allow me to intercede for their lives?"

De Brin slowly paced the length of the room and back again.

"Eustace de Brin never turned a deaf ear to the pleading of a friend," he said in a quieter tone. "For our friendship's sake, then, if thou dost intercede for their lives' on behalf of thy wife I will listen. If 'tis for aught else I will not move one single hair's breadth from my purpose."

"Hearest thou, Beatrice? Wilt thou----?"

De Maupas stopped and looked enquiringly at his formidable companion. De Brin had given a sudden start, and appeared to be gazing at the window with an intent expression on his face.

Roused by De Maupas's sudden silence, Beatrice lifted her face from her hands and looked at the two men. Both were listening intently, and she caught a sound as of the winding of a distant horn. It ceased as though broken off short, and the two men looked significantly at one another.

"Didst hear?" said De Maupas laconically.

"Yes--an attack," growled De Brin, grinding his teeth with fury. "So much the worse for the attackers. Come--to horse, De Maupas; we have tarried with this obstinate girl too long already;" and with a dark look at Beatrice, De Brin hurried from the room, followed closely by his companion. The moment they were gone Beatrice rushed to the window and peered eagerly out. The trampling of steeds on the flagstones of the courtyard, the winding of horns, and the shouting and cheering of the men-at-arms indicated that the garrison were about to issue forth in force. Clearly something had occurred to alarm the inmates of the castle seriously. What could it be? Think as she would, Beatrice could find no satisfactory answer.

*CHAPTER XIX*

*The Assault*

"The dam is down!" cried Father Armand excitedly, rejoining Edgar in the woods opposite the castle gateway as the latter was superintending the construction of two great mangonels. "The dam is down and the water is rushing away like a mill sluice."

"'Tis well," replied Edgar; "in an hour or so the moat will be half-empty, and we can begin to make ready for the first assault."

"So soon?" enquired the priest in surprise.

"Yes, good Father. I am on fire with impatience. While the lady Beatrice d'Alencon is held in yon fortalice how can I be aught else? Think not that I shall endanger our cause by my hastiness. The garrison hath had a rude shock this day, and if we can deliver another before they have had time to recover, the advantage is all on our side."

"Say on, then, Sir Squire. Thy counsel hath been good hitherto, and I am most ready to listen. What is next to be done?"

"Set all the men but those at the mangonels to work cutting great bundles of undergrowth. Let the women and children also help, and let the faggots be cut at some little distance, so that the thickness of the woods here, which is our protection against a sortie, be not destroyed. The bundles of undergrowth we must use to fill up the moat and give us a foothold for the assault upon the gates and walls."

"Yes, yes; I thought that would be the next move."

"Then I want thee to strip a wagon of its strongest pair of wheels. Leave them on the axle. Then fell a tall young tree, with trunk about the thickness of a man's thigh. Lop off all its branches and cap the end with iron. Then lay it across the axle and lash it there. Running easily on its wheels, and thrust by a score of men, the tree will make a battering-ram that will, I promise thee, reduce the drawbridge and gates of Castle Ruthenes to splinters within the space of a few minutes."

"Ha! but will not the wheels of thy ram sink into the filled-in moat and there stick fast?"

"Nay; make the ram so long that ere the wheels shall reach the edge of the moat the battering end will reach drawbridge and gates. I tell thee, good Father, we shall get to grips beneath yon frowning gateway before many hours are past. Have thy men the spirit for a conflict, stark and grim, waged with trained men in a narrow space where numbers are of little avail?"

"I will answer for them, Sir Squire," replied the priest quickly. "They have no training, but they have desperation, and that will carry them on."

"Aye, I think so too. And now let us to work, and make ready as quickly as we can."

All the remainder of the day the preparation for the assault upon the castle went on with untiring energy. In the depths of the woods the women and children of the village and district laboured at a work to which they were well accustomed, cutting down young saplings and undergrowth and carrying them to a point in the roadway near the castle gates, where men bound them firmly into great bundles.

Close by, a few yards from either side of the roadway, at the very edge of the wood, and masked only by a thin screen of bushes, men were hard at work constructing mangonels under Edgar's supervision. At another point a gang of men were making ready the great ram on wheels which was expected to do such execution, and at still another a number were constructing ladders which were intended to be placed against the walls to draw off some of the garrison from the fight about the gates. Even after nightfall the work was continued, and none thought of rest until the preparations were complete.

The first streaks of dawn had scarcely appeared in the sky before the men were aroused from their slumbers and marshalled for the beginning of the assault. Eagerly they answered to the call. The first fight had been won, and every man was impatient to begin the main and final attack upon the stronghold which harboured the last of their lifelong foes.

Suddenly, at a signal from Edgar, streams of men bearing huge bundles of faggots issued from the woods at a point nearest the castle gateway, and advanced rapidly towards the moat. Loud cries of alarm sounded from the walls, followed by a hurried call to arms. Undeterred by these signs of resistance, the lines of men hastened to the half-empty moat, flung their burdens in, and sped rapidly back for more. In a moment or two the walls were lined with men-at-arms, and missiles began to whistle through the air downwards upon the scurrying men below. But the bundles of undergrowth held up in front were a full protection to the men, and it was only when returning that the missiles could take effect. Naturally, however, the return journey was made at top speed by the unencumbered men, and comparatively few were hit, and these for the most part were but slightly injured.

Scarcely had the garrison had time to warm to their work before, to their utter astonishment, a loud whirring noise was heard, and a great rock came singing upwards with a momentum that sent it over walls and donjon into the woods on the other side of the castle. Ere they had recovered from their amazement another rock, better aimed, swept a man bodily off the walls and plunged heavily against the upper part of the keep.

In sudden consternation, not knowing how many engines there might be casting the great stones, the garrison fled under cover, and left their opponents free to do their work as they listed. Finding, however, that there were only two engines, the men-at-arms presently ventured back and resumed their task. Forced to take refuge ever and anon from the great stones cast upwards, their own missiles lost much of their power, and the work of the attackers went on wellnigh unchecked.

After little more than an hour's work the moat, for a hundred yards on either side of the gates, was filled and piled up to a height of three or four feet.

To allow the garrison breathing space was no part of Edgar's policy, and with scarce a pause he ordered his men to get ready for the assault. He and Peter had donned full armour, as it had been arranged that they should lead the attack upon the gateway as soon as bridge and gates were down. The priest was to direct the attack upon the walls, and try to call off as many of the garrison as possible from the deadlier conflict beneath the gateway.

The battering-ram was wheeled out, and twenty of the strongest peasants, covered by a line of men on either side bearing big wooden shields, advanced, cheering loudly, to the attack.

Again there was a shout of alarm from the garrison at the sight of this new danger, and after a few minutes' commotion the master of the castle, Sir Eustace, appeared on the walls above the gate. He was clad in full armour, and, recklessly exposing himself to the fire of the mangonels, strove to encourage his retainers by himself taking the lead in hurling great stones at the bearers of the ram. His example was followed, and with shouts of encouragement to one another the defenders crowded to the ramparts and recommenced the fusillade with the greatest energy. A perfect rain of stones and rocks descended upon the men driving the ram, and for a moment the advance was checked.

"Hang not back, men," cried Edgar with energy. "Press forward the more quickly and our task will be the sooner ended. Forward!"

With a shout the line of men bent to their work, and the great tree rolled forward with terrific weight and momentum. The ram was well aimed, and with a mighty crash struck the raised drawbridge full in the centre and split it from top to bottom.

"Back a dozen yards and then press to the attack again," cried Edgar, and the tree, moving with comparative ease upon the big wheels, swung back and was urged forward once more. Again the ram struck the drawbridge, widening the cracks and bending its timbers back towards the great gates behind. Six times the ram was swung before the last remnants of the bridge gave way before its onslaught, leaving naught but a pile of splintered boards and a few pieces of woodwork dangling from the chains on either side of the gateway.

The attack had not been without its penalties. Eight men had fallen crushed and bruised beneath the stones flung with such furious energy by the defenders. Their places had been instantly taken by fresh men, for the blood of the peasants was now up, and none recked of the danger so long as the attack went on unchecked.

"Now for the gates, men!" cried Edgar cheerily, as they prepared to swing forward for the seventh time. The fusillade from the walls had now slackened, for the imminence of an attack upon the gates had compelled the defenders to withdraw half the men from the ramparts and to station them in the courtyard ready for the moment when the gates had been battered down. No one, not even the defenders, believed that the gates were capable of withstanding the onslaughts of the deadly weapon devised by the attackers.

Missing the grim figure of De Brin from the walls, Edgar hoped, with no little satisfaction, that they would soon meet hand to hand beneath the gateway. So far all had gone as he had anticipated. Every surprise had been sprung by the attackers, but, to his sorrow, he had yet to find that the defenders had one or two things left to them that he had not taken full account of. So uniform had been his success thus far that it seemed that but one more effort need be made, and the castle would be won.

Four times, with four tremendous crashes, the ram was swung against the iron-plated gates, and still they held. The fifth time they gave, and fell inwards so suddenly and completely that the ram rolled forward almost unchecked until the wheels sank to the axles in the mud and brushwood of the filled-in moat.

Loudly the horns were wound, and every man of the peasants' force rushed to do his appointed work. The men commanded by Father Armand advanced in little clusters from a dozen points and planted great ladders in position against the walls. Led by the priest in person, they began to mount with every sign of determination. Again the move was evidently unexpected by the garrison, for the few men now left upon the walls shouted loudly to their comrades for aid. A number answered to the call, and set about repelling the attack with the utmost desperation. Some essayed to lever out with their halberds the ladders weighted with their loads of climbing men, and strove to cast them bodily backwards. Others occupied themselves in casting down great stones in the hope of smashing the ladders or sweeping their occupants downwards to destruction.

The ladder by which the priest was himself mounting was one of the first singled out for attention. Ere he had reached the top and could lift a hand to interfere, two men who had been savagely thrusting at it with all their might succeeded in lifting it outward a couple of feet. Unable to thrust it farther, they gave it a savage side jerk and let go. Down it fell with a crash, bringing with it another ladder just reared a yard or two away.

Fortunately most of the men fell upon the brushwood, and were more shaken than hurt. The priest himself, nothing daunted, again sprang to the attack with a fresh ladder, and with varying fortunes the fight went on. Once or twice a footing was gained upon the walls, but every time a combined rush by the defenders flung the attackers backwards before the footing could be made good.

Beneath the gateway the conflict was even more fierce and deadly. The instant the gates were down Edgar and Peter had sprung forward, followed by the best and strongest fighters among the peasantry. They were met by the most heavily armed of the men-at-arms among the garrison, and were opposed with fierce determination. The defenders knew only too well how their merciless cruelties had inflamed the countryside against them, and feared that if the castle were won their own chances of mercy were slight indeed. Thus they bent to their work with the fierce stubbornness born of despair.

Of De Maupas or De Brin Edgar could catch no glimpse, and though he called their names aloud as he fought, and challenged them to meet him hand to hand, there was no response. Concluding at last that they must be directing operations from the walls, our hero devoted all his energies to overcoming the resistance of the defenders at the gate and winning a way through to the courtyard. Once a footing could be obtained inside, the continued defence of the walls would be useless.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, Edgar and his band fought their way onward. Most of the execution was done by his own and Peter's sword, for the peasantry had neither the skill nor the weapons to oppose the men-at-arms with much success in a hand-to-hand combat. The front of the fighting beneath the gates was a narrow one, and the peasants could fight only man to man, and were unable to bring their superior numbers into play. In spite of this disadvantage, however, the defenders were driven back slowly and surely, until Edgar felt that the moment for the final effort had come.

"On, on! Strike home!" he cried loudly, and at the call his men gave a surge forward that gained a couple of yards and brought them almost through the gateway into the courtyard.

Suddenly a shrill whistle sounded, and, as though by a prearranged signal, the defenders disengaged themselves from the conflict and fled at the top of their speed down the courtyard and round an angle of the donjon.

With loud shouts of exultation, the peasants surged unchecked through the gateway and began to advance along the courtyard in pursuit of their beaten foes. Scarcely, however, had they taken a dozen steps when there came a terrible interruption. From the roof of the keep fell showers of molten lead! In streams and showers, burning, blinding, and scorching, the fearful liquid fell, and the shouts of joy were turned into screams of dreadful agony. With one thought but to escape the fearful hail, the men who had won their way with such dauntless courage into the courtyard turned and flung themselves madly back into the gateway, struggling and fighting with those still pouring in. Their flight was assisted by more showers of the metal, flung in burning streams upon those massed in the gateway, until, with one accord, the victorious body of peasantry turned tail in utter panic and fled headlong back across the moat to the cover of the woods.

At this moment the thunder of horses' hoofs was heard, and round the angle of the courtyard swept a body of armour-clad horsemen. Eustace de Brin, De Maupas, and wellnigh a dozen men-at-arms clad in full armour, in a line stretching from wall to wall, bore down upon the already fleeing men like a living wall of steel. Edgar and Peter alone, shoulder to shoulder, stood fast--not because their courage was more unquenchable than that of their followers, but because their mail had enabled them to endure the burning showers better. The charge of the horsemen swept them headlong against the walls of the keep.

Peter received a stunning blow upon the helmet, and, dizzy and sick, was forced to cling to the wall to save himself from falling. Wielding a battleaxe he had snatched from a stricken man-at-arms, Edgar beat off those who assailed him, and the horsemen, unable to stop their impetuous charge, swept heavily onwards past him. Some thundered through the gateway hot upon the track of the fleeing peasants, whilst others, after careering a dozen yards along the courtyard, checked their steeds and prepared to charge back again upon the only two of their enemies yet remaining on their feet within the four walls of the castle.

To Edgar all seemed lost. The peasants were in hopeless flight, and the way to safety through the castle gates was barred by the horsemen already spurring through. De Maupas was one of the horsemen who had refrained from following up the fleeing peasantry, and seeing the hopeless plight of the young esquire, he gave a cry of savage joy and shouted to his companions to spur down upon him and beat him into the dust.

To rush for the gateway, and to strive to escape that way, meant being caught in the rear by the charging horsemen. This was obvious, and, with the speed of thought, Edgar seized upon another opening so bold and desperate that it appeared the counsel of sheer despair.

"Quick, Peter!" he cried in sentences short and sharp, like the jab of a sword. "To the donjon--we must take refuge there! Rouse thyself, or we are sped!"

Shaking off his dizziness as best he could, Peter tottered towards the open door of the keep a yard or two away. It was guarded by two men-at-arms, but Edgar had already attacked them with the energy born of despair and of the ruin of all his plans. Swinging his axe with a strength that crushed down all his opposition, he clove his way through the doorway, seized the great iron-plated door, and, as Peter sprang through, flung it violently to behind him.

"A hand here, Peter, if thou canst!" he cried rapidly, indicating a number of great blocks of stone piled against the wall to halfway up the stairs. Dropping his axe and seizing one with both hands, he swung it against the door. Another and another followed, until in a few seconds the strength of the door was doubled and trebled by the weight of a solid mass of great stones piled behind.