Part 7

It was observed by more than one that on the sudden entry of his antagonist Sir Gervaise showed signs of excitement. He seemed agitated and shook--with gusts of anger, those who noticed it supposed--and for some moments his charger reared and backed unmanageably, as though sharing his master's fierce emotions.

After a moment or two, however, the knight regained control over his steed, and with cruel jabs of the spur urged him back into position. The charger had been celebrated in the past for its unusual power and strength, and to this fact the reputation of Sir Gervaise was in a great measure due. It had now, however, passed its prime, and De Maupas could no longer count upon its excellence giving him the advantage of his competitors.

Edgar had profited by the moments occupied by Sir Gervaise in regaining the mastery over his steed, and had settled down quietly into position. His thoughts had flown back to the sacrifice his father had made to save Sir John at Sluys, and he resolved that he would be as ready as his father to lay down his life, if necessary, in this his own moment of call. Firmly grasping his lance, he fixed his eyes warily upon his adversary through his vizor slits. Horse and man seemed as steady and immovable as a rock, in striking contrast to Sir Gervaise, who fidgeted with his weapons and seemed impatient during the trying pause before the onset sounded: "_Laissez aller_".

With the speed of arrows the steel-clad warriors crashed together in the middle of the lists. Each man aimed his lance at the centre of his opponent's shield, and both struck fair and true. The impact hurled the chargers violently back upon their haunches and forced their riders backwards to the limit of endurance, while their stout ash lances were bent and split from end to end! De Maupas, for the moment, kept his seat successfully, but his horse, pawing the air and snorting frantically, struggled in vain to regain its balance, and presently rolled over ignominiously upon the ground. Edgar, on the other hand, though the shock had been just as severe, managed, by dint of voice and spur, to aid his steed's recovery, and in a few seconds it was on its feet, with its rider ready for the foe.

Disentangling himself from his horse's trappings, Sir Gervaise drew sword, and, furious at his undignified mischance, sprang towards his adversary, thirsting to retrieve his fallen fortunes.

Disdaining to meet him at any advantage, Edgar flung away the fragments of his lance, seized Sir John's heavy battleaxe, and slipped lightly from the saddle. Scarce had he faced Sir Gervaise when the furious knight was upon him with sword up-raised. Knowing that his battleaxe was almost useless for defence, Edgar heeded not the blow, but, half-turning, swung his own heavy weapon sideways at his opponent's head. The knight's blow fell first with a stroke that bit deep into Edgar's casque, but before De Maupas could spring back out of reach, the axe stroke smote him on the side of his helmet with a weight and momentum that sent him crashing headlong to the ground.

A dull roar of applause arose from the whole circle of the lists.

Dropping his axe, Edgar snatched his dagger from his belt and sprang towards the fallen man. Kneeling upon his chest he cried aloud:

"Yield thee vanquished, Sir Gervaise de Maupas!" Then in a low voice, but in tones thrilling with resolve, he went on, "_Tell me where Sir John if, or thy life is forfeit!_"

There was no response.

"Desist, Sir John," cried one of the marshals of the lists, hurriedly approaching, "he is stunned, if not dead. Thou art acknowledged victor--retire while we see to the stricken man."

Heavy with disappointment at being thwarted at the moment when he hoped all might be won, Edgar mechanically mounted and rode slowly round the lists. The air still rang with the plaudits of the spectators, and, as he passed along, loud cries reached him, some, wishing to do him the more honour, calling upon him to unhelm.

Fearing that his refusal at least to lower his vizor might cause some adverse comment, Edgar dropped it an inch or so and left it, hoping that it might be thought that the blow his headpiece had received had damaged the hinges of his vizor. With a final salute, first to the earl and then to the Wolsingham ladies, he rode dully from the lists. The cheers of the spectators fell on deaf ears, for though he had defeated Sir Gervaise and upheld Sir John's honour, he felt that he was still as far as ever from solving the mystery of his master's disappearance.

As he reached the door of his tent, Matthew and Peter came running up, their faces wreathed with smiles at their young master's victory.

"Aid me to strip off this armour," cried Edgar, the moment he had entered the tent, "and remember that Sir John is gone--gone upon the visit to Faucigny Castle, in the lands of the lady Beatrice, that he has had all along in mind. He gained the earl's permission some time since, as he told me himself. Thus at least we gain some precious days in which to continue our enquiries."

"Pardon, Master Edgar," cried Peter, suddenly stopping, "with thy permission I will hie me to Sir Gervaise's tent. It may well be that this is a time when it might advantage us to keep close watch upon those about him."

"Go, Peter. His esquire will be bringing him back in a few minutes. He is but stunned. Listen for what thou canst hear. Who knows but that a few chance words may tell us all?"

Waiting for no more, Peter sped off upon his errand, and when, a half-hour later, Sir Gervaise was carried into his tent, he was snugly ensconced beneath a pile of horse's trappings at the very door.

*CHAPTER X*

*News of Sir John*

The dusk of evening was falling as Sir Gervaise raised himself from the couch upon which he had been restlessly tossing ever since he had been carried in. His head was swathed in bandages, and the light of the single lamp showed a face pale beneath its sunburn, in which a pair of fierce black eyes burned with an unnatural brightness.

"I have waited in suspense long enough," he muttered to himself. Then, in a louder key, he called to his esquire who was in attendance upon him.

"Arnaud, I have business that I must transact this night. Fetch me hither, then, the varlet James Baulch, and then betake thyself to thy tent. Stay, first fill up my cup, for my head still throbs consumedly from the blow that trickster Chartris gave me."

The esquire obeyed, and in a minute the wounded knight was alone. Freed from the restraint of his esquire's presence, Sir Gervaise groaned aloud with the pain of his bruised and swollen head, and muttered savagely to himself what sounded like threats and imprecations against his successful foe and also the varlet James, who seemed somehow to have incurred his especial displeasure.

Presently the man arrived escorted by the esquire, who seemed to look somewhat askance at his charge. He glanced significantly at his master as he was about to leave the tent, and, interpreting the look, the knight cried as he scowled savagely at the man: "Yes, Arnaud, remain outside within call. I may require thy services."

Arnaud bowed and retired, and the knight, raising himself, not without difficulty, into a sitting posture and placing a dagger ready to his hand, beckoned the man to approach.

"So thou hast played me false, James Baulch, murderer and vagabond?" he cried in a voice thick with rage. "Thou, whom I have but to lift a finger to consign to the gibbet--thou hast dared to lie to me."

The man cowered before the knight's pallid face and gleaming eyes. "There is some mistake," he stammered, "I----"

"Aye--thou art right," cried the knight savagely, "'tis the mistake I made when, with a trumped-up tale, I snatched thee from the sheriff's men. I had better have let thee hang and moulder--but 'tis not yet too late. The arm of the law is strong and swift even in Gascony, and on the word of a knight thy shrift----"

"My lord! My lord!" cried the man, grovelling in terror on the floor. "I swear there is some mistake. With mine own eyes at dawn this morning I saw Sir John, bound and helpless, lying at the bottom of a wagon. I rode straight hither, and he who fought with thee must be some other. My lord, it must be so."

"Bah! Scoundrel! That is but a tale--another lie--to save thy wretched neck from the gallows."

"It is not--it is not!" almost shrieked the man. "Didst not mark--but thou wert senseless--has not, then, thine esquire told thee that he who fought as Sir John did not drop his vizor even when he saluted the earl?"

"Say'st thou so?" cried the knight, startled. "Strange!" he went on, muttering to himself. "I seemed to feel a difference as he entered the lists. Both horse and man seemed doubly full of fire, while Sir John always rode heavily."

"Yes, yes," cried the man eagerly. "It was noticed by others. I heard two men say that Sir John was riding lighter in the saddle than he used to."

"Can this be the explanation?" went on De Maupas, still speaking half to himself. "I never thought of such a daring ruse being played upon me. Who can the man be? Doubtless one of Sir John's friends--but who? 'Twill be the worse for him an I find out the truth," he ended darkly, clenching his teeth with suppressed rage.

"Give me leave to find out the knight's name, my lord," interrupted Baulch in an eager voice.

Sir Gervaise for a minute or two made no reply, but gazed at his accomplice with so gloomy and menacing a look that the man literally shook with fear.

"Very well, Baulch," he said sternly after a pause, "thy neck may rest at peace on thy shoulders for a space, while thou art finding out who it was that masqueraded as Sir John. Find out, I say, find out! Dare to bungle a second time, and the gallows that gape for thee shall have thee fast!"

With trembling lips the man hastily promised to find out the truth.

Nodding carelessly, Sir Gervaise went on to talk of other matters. There could be no doubt that his confidence in the ascendancy he had obtained over the man was not misjudged. The man was obviously under a spell, mastered by a hidden terror so great that all else was completely swallowed up.

* * * * *

It was noon the following day when the man again made his appearance and requested Arnaud to tell Sir Gervaise that James Baulch craved a few minutes' further speech. Arnaud complied, though from the expression of his face it might have been inferred that the desire to kick the man was the feeling uppermost in his mind.

"Well, Baulch?" growled the knight, who still reclined upon a couch, and whose temper seemed in no way improved by his night's rest. "Hast news to tell? If not 'twill be the worse for thee."

"I have news, my lord--strange news. Whether 'twill please thee or not, I cannot say, but----"

"Peace, knave! Tell thy news and madden me not with thy thoughts of what pleases me."

"'Twas Edgar Wintour fought with thee in the lists," blurted out the man hurriedly. "I have heard words let fall that make the matter clear."

"Edgar Wintour--and who is Edgar Wintour?" cried the knight with savage impatience.

"He is Sir John's esquire."

The look that came into the knight's face made Baulch regret the success of his enquiries. De Maupas gasped, grew even paler than before, and clutched convulsively at the couch on which he lay. Then a sudden passion seemed to galvanize him into activity and he rose to his feet almost with a bound.

"What!" he thundered. "Dare ye tell me that----?"

But his strength was unequal to the effort, and clutching at his bandages with both hands, as though his head were about to split in twain, he sank slowly and painfully back upon the couch.

"A pretty debt I owe the boy if thy tale is true," he muttered at last in a changed voice. "Art sure of thy facts?"

"Sure, my lord. I saw him mounted upon Sir John's charger early this morning, and the way he rode made me think at once of the spring and fire of thine adversary yesterday. Then I heard some words let drop by one Matthew, a man-at-arms of Sir John, and I knew 'twas so."

"So that was what was in his mind when he gave me that strange look yesterday," muttered De Maupas to himself. "It was on my lips to demand an explanation. Would I had done so! I might have forced the quarrel then and there with the advantage on my side, mailed and ready for a conflict as I was."

"Canst not let the good earl know of the trick he played?" said the man presently. "Surely he would punish him for daring so to dupe the marshals of the lists?"

"Be silent, fool! Dost think I want all the world to know that I, a knight, was beaten by an unfledged esquire? See to it that no word of it is breathed by thee."

For some time Sir Gervaise remained silent, staring viciously at the ground the while. The expression on his face was not good to see, and it might have been as well had Edgar Wintour been there to see it.

"Baulch," said the knight at last, "Baulch, I gave thee money for Sir John Chartris--alive. I offer thee double the sum for this Edgar Wintour--dead. Dost understand?"

The tone of the knight's voice was low and measured, but the expression of his face was so deadly that the blackest rage would have seemed less implacable. Baulch seemed to have no great stomach for the task put to him, but one furtive look at the knight's face was sufficient, and he answered hastily:

"I understand, my lord."

"Then begone."

* * * * *

"Couldst hear no more than that, Peter? Nothing save a few words of angry reproach against the man when De Maupas's voice rang highest?"

"No, sir. I could get no nearer, for De Maupas's esquire, Arnaud, paced to and fro outside, doubtless by his master's orders. Most of the time the two spake only of the tournament, though once I feel sure they talked of Sir John, but they dropped their voices and only formless words reached my ears."

"Ah! Then I fear it behoves us to find out," cried Edgar in a decided tone. "We cannot afford to go on like this, Peter. The Wolsingham ladies are becoming most anxious, and if we cannot soon get news, we must acquaint the earl of the truth and implore his aid, though I fear it will bring us little comfort. Ye say ye know where this man Baulch lives?"

"Yes, he lives at a low inn in the lowest and most rascally quarter of the town."

"Good! 'Tis the better for our purpose. At nightfall, Peter, I must visit this inn, and see what stratagem or the sword will accomplish. Tell me how I may find it, and then be off and get me some peasant's clothing, old and soiled with use, and have it ready an hour or two before the gates are closed."

At the time appointed Peter produced a bundle of clothing, and Edgar was soon well disguised as a young countryman on a visit to the town to make his purchases. The clothing was somewhat malodorous, but as this added considerably to the realistic effect, Edgar recked little of that. His own sword was far too well made and well finished to be taken, so Peter obtained for him the least pretentious amongst those carried by Sir John's men-at-arms. This was buckled on in an awkward and clumsy manner, so as to give as unwarlike an air to a warlike weapon as possible.

Foreseeing the possibility of a fight in a locality of such unsavoury reputation, Edgar took the precaution to don his light flexible shirt of steel mail before putting on the peasant's garments, and to have a dagger concealed beneath his clothes ready to hand in case of an attack too sudden and at too close quarters to allow him to draw his sword.

It was a few minutes short of the hour at which the gates of the city closed when, as a peasant, he rapped loudly at the door of a low-lying, rambling, single-story structure overlooking the river Garonne. The street was in complete darkness, save for the dim light emitted through the shuttered windows of one or two of the hovels and crazy dwellings which huddled together along each side of the narrow roadway.

After a short delay the door opened, and one of the most villainous-looking men Edgar had ever set eyes on made his appearance.

"What seek ye?" he enquired, peering suspiciously first at the newcomer and then over his shoulder, as though to find out whether he was alone.

"Some of thy good cheer, landlord. I was seeking another inn which a neighbour of mine speaks well of, but lost my way, and a man I chanced upon by good hap outside sent me to thee. Give me sup of thy best; I have money and can pay," and Edgar, assuming an air of pride and importance, flaunted a handful of coins under the man's eyes.

"Thou shalt have it, noble sir," cried the landlord, with a leer which was meant to encourage his guest, and he led the way into a long room, bare of furniture save for a couple of tables and some rough benches. The room was fairly lofty, but numbers of smoked hams and other objects hanging from the rafters made it appear low and gloomy. Half a dozen men, amongst whom Edgar was quick to discern James Baulch, lounged upon the benches drinking and dicing.

Edgar took stock of his surroundings as the landlord led him to the end of the room farthest from the other occupants, and, fetching a chair from a side room and carefully placing it in position at the table, invited his guest to take a seat.

In a few minutes some food, rough and unpalatable, was brought, and Edgar made shift to eat it, as though with a good appetite. Then he leaned back in his chair, and, half-shutting his eyes, pretended to be nearly asleep. He hoped that most of the men would soon leave, and that he might have an opportunity of accosting Baulch alone or of following him to his room, wherever that might be.

Presently he missed one of the men, and shortly after the others broke into a rough drinking song. Edgar then realized, with something of a shock, that instead of being the pursuer he was now the pursued. It was not the mere withdrawal of one of the men that made him think this, but the quiet, stealthy manner in which the man must have left, and the way in which the other men began their song simultaneously, as though at a signal. It almost seemed that the song was intended to cloak something, perhaps the arrival of a further band of ruffians. Edgar began to regret that he had exhibited his money so freely--or could it be that Baulch had seen through his disguise?

A slight rustling noise close to him attracted his attention, and giving up the pretence of being nearly asleep, he opened his eyes wide and looked warily about him. The men had stopped their song, and were gazing in his direction with an air of covert expectation. Something was going on--that much was clear as noonday. Another slight rustle, and Edgar looked quickly above him into the blackness beyond the hams and other objects hanging from the rafters. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of something as it dropped down over his head. It was a rope!

Before he had time to spring to his feet and fling it off his shoulders, it was drawn tightly round his neck with a quick jerk, and he was lifted almost off his feet. The peril was extreme, and realizing in a flash that only the most desperate exertions could save him, Edgar grasped the rope above the slip knot with his left hand, while with his right he drew his dagger and reached up to cut the rope, straining on tiptoe to get a purchase.

Suddenly a trapdoor, upon which his chair had evidently been placed, gave way beneath his feet, and the whole of his weight fell upon his left arm. Choking, half-strangled, with eyes starting from his head, Edgar strove to cut the rope with his dagger. One stroke, feeble from his straining position and reeling brain--a second stroke--then a third, into which all his remaining strength was put--and like a stone he fell half-fainting through the trapdoor into a cellar below.

For a moment or two he was unable to move. Half-strangled and half-dazed by the dread attack and sudden fall, he was in so helpless a condition that he could not have lifted a hand to save his life. The noise of footsteps on the stone stairs leading to the cellar and the harsh grating of a key in the lock roused him a little, however, and he feebly extricated himself from the legs of the chair upon which he had fallen. Scarcely had he done so before two men, one of whom bore a torch, ran hurriedly in and rushed at him with knives upraised. The man bearing the light Edgar recognized as James Baulch.

Against their attack Edgar at first could defend himself but feebly. His hand still clutched the dagger with which he had severed the rope, but before he was in a condition to use it he had received several body thrusts that would have dispatched him outright had it not been for the shirt of steel mail he wore beneath his clothing.

Every moment, however, his strength came back, and, watching his chance, presently he parried a blow from Baulch's companion, and brought the hilt of his own dagger down upon the ruffian's head with all his strength. The man dropped prone in his tracks amid a yell of wrath from the men in the room above, who were eagerly peering down at the conflict from the opening in the floor.

Feeling that his chance had come, Edgar sprang fiercely upon Baulch and flung him to the floor, the torch spinning from his hand to the other end of the cellar. Kneeling upon the man's chest and placing his dagger at his throat, Edgar cried sternly:

"Tell me where is Sir John Chartris, or thou shall die."

The man gasped with amazement and fear, and cried hastily: "At Ruthenes."

"Where is this Ruthenes?" cried Edgar quickly.

But the man seemed already to have repented that he had told so much, and with an effort made shift to grasp the hand that held the threatening dagger. Doubtless he had seen the faces of his four friends above disappear from the trap, and had heard the scurry of their feet as they rushed across the room and made for the stairs. It could be but a matter of seconds before they were on the scene. Edgar, too, had heard the scurry of feet, and realized at once that he could get no more information before it would be too late. Wrenching himself free from Baulch's grasp and springing to his feet, he seized the chair and placed it upright beneath the trapdoor.

The instant he was free Baulch scrambled to his feet, and, emboldened by the approach of help--for the others' footsteps now sounded loudly upon the stairs--rushed at Edgar with a yell, and tried to prevent him mounting upon the chair.

"We will have thee yet, Edgar Wintour," he cried exultingly.

Edgar had flung away his dagger, but at this attack he turned and shot out his arm with all his strength. The blow caught the man full in the face, and felled him headlong.

The first of the men, leaping down the stairs, burst into the cellar just as Edgar, seizing the edge of the floor above with his hands, sprang off the chair, head and shoulders, into the room overhead. Flinging up his right leg and making another effort, he lifted himself until he stood upright upon the floor.

For the moment the room was empty, but the men below, mad with rage at being again tricked, were already in pursuit, shouting like wild beasts, and there was no time to be lost. Without an instant's delay, therefore, Edgar sprang to the window, flung aside the shutters, and looked eagerly out. As he expected, the gleam of water met his gaze, and, placing one hand upon the sill, he sprang headlong out and vanished into the waters of the Garonne.

*CHAPTER XI*

*In Pursuit*