Chapter 16

Constans had determined to make use of his old quarters in the "Flat-iron" building, on the south side of the Citadel Square, and his relief was great when the last man passed within the shelter of its walls. Once mustered in one of the large rooms on the fourth floor, the haversacks and canteens were quickly requisitioned, and the men feasted gloriously upon oat-cake and cold coffee, brewed from parched grain, with a pipe for dessert. After this agreeable interlude, there was nothing to do but to wait, and the majority curled themselves up in some convenient corner and resumed their interrupted slumbers. Constans posted himself at a window overlooking the square, with the intention of keeping close watch on all that passed below. But, in spite of all his efforts, Nature insisted upon her rights, and he, too, slept.

Over at Arcadia House, Nanna, being wakeful with the torture of an aching tooth, happened to glance through the north windows of the room occupied by the sisters and saw a dull-red glow on the horizon--a conflagration. She aroused Esmay, and the two girls watched it, wondering.

"It is in the direction of the High Bridge," said Esmay, and Nanna nodded acquiescence. "And it is the morning of the third day," continued Esmay, and Nanna nodded again.

The fire was a long way off, low down on the northern sky-line. But every now and then a crimson streamer would leap upward almost to the zenith, showing how great and vehement the conflagration must be. As the two girls stood watching it, they heard a window flung up sharply, and Quinton Edge's voice calling to Old Kurt and bidding him saddle a horse with all speed.

Nanna's eyes glowed. "It is something big," she said, excitedly, and began scrambling into her masculine attire. "Something that is worth our while to know all about," she continued.

"But, Nanna----" began Esmay, doubtfully.

"Do you suppose that our master is going out to pick flowers? Help me with this buckle, little sister, and talk not so foolishly."

And forthwith Esmay submitted to this new Nanna in doublet and small-clothes, who spoke with authority and took such tremendously long strides. If great events were really at hand, it were well to be forewarned, and Nanna, thanks to the dash of wild-folk blood in her veins, would be both hawk and hound upon such a trail. So Esmay contented herself with an admonition to caution, and helped the impatient one to depart, stealing down with her into the great hall, in order to rebolt the outer door. She feared lest she might meet Quinton Edge as she remounted the stairs and flew along the corridor to her room, but she regained its shelter undisturbed. It had been many weeks now since the master had returned, but Esmay had only seen him at a distance, walking for hours at a time in the garden. Strange, that seemingly he should have forgotten her very existence, but neither sign nor message had come to her. Even his larger plans had apparently been laid aside; not once had he left the boundaries of Arcadia House, except for the weekly council meeting at the Citadel Square. But perhaps, again, this was the crisis for which he had been waiting; even as she meditated she heard his step in the hallway and his knock at her door; then it opened, and Quinton Edge stood before her.

He did not appear to notice Nanna's absence, but crossed over to the window where Esmay stood. "Come," he said, and Esmay obeyed, being yet faint with terror lest his hands should touch her. And this he must have guessed, for he drew aside and passed out first, motioning her to follow. The door leading to his apartments stood open. Esmay hesitated.

"Yes," said Quinton Edge, and the girl turned and searched his face. She did not understand what she saw there, yet it contented her, and she crossed the threshold. Quinton Edge followed, reappearing almost immediately and carefully locking the door behind him. He descended the stairs and passed out to the eastern portico, where his horse should have been in waiting. It was not there, and Quinton Edge grew angry. "Kurt!" he called, once and twice and thrice. Then at last the delinquent appeared. The sullenness of sleep was still upon him, and when his master would have reproved him for his tardiness he answered back insolently.

"Enough!" said Quinton Edge, and struck him across the mouth with his riding-whip. Then vaulting into the saddle, he spurred through the gateway, riding hard for the northwest.

Old Kurt gazed after his master. "Thirty lashes at Middenmass," he muttered, "and now this--this----"

* * * * *

Three hours later a boyish figure scaled the wall and dropped into the sunken way. Fangs, who was sunning herself on the terrace, looked up with white teeth bared, then rose, wagging her tail in friendly greeting. But Nanna, with a hasty word to the dog, entered the house and ran up to Esmay's room. Great news indeed! But where was the child? Nanna stood stock-still, gazing stupidly around the empty room. "Esmay," she murmured, in a half-whisper, and passed out into the corridor. She went straight to the door leading to Quinton Edge's apartments. A tiny hair-pin of tortoise-shell lay on the floor. Nanna picked it up with a sob and regarded it fixedly. She knocked twice upon the door, but there was no response. She tried her strength against it, and shook her head. Nothing could be done here. She went down-stairs, and looked to see if the key of the wicket gate was hanging in its accustomed place behind the master's leather chair. It was there; she took it and let herself into the street. There was only Fangs, the great, black bitch, to watch her go, the dog whining and leaping upon the wicket gate as it swung back into place.

XXIV

THE EVE OF THE THIRD DAY

A touch upon Constans's shoulder and a voice in his ear aroused him. He sprang to his feet; the sunshine was streaming through the glazeless casements, and Constans, being yet heavy with sleep, blinked against it as a man drunken with wine. Oxenford confronted him. "The attack?" questioned Constans, and for the life of him could not help yawning prodigiously.

Red Oxenford laughed. "In that case I should have pulled your ear off instead of wasting time shouting into it. By the thunders of God, man, but you sleep soundly."

Constans was fully awake now. He glanced at the sun, which was high in the sky, and then at Oxenford's gaunt face.

"I have left you to do the watching alone," he said, apologetically.

"What matter?" was the indifferent answer. "For me slumber would not have meant forgetfulness, and the watching made the waiting so much the easier."

Constans stood by the window looking across the Citadel Square and directly up the Palace Road. "I see no sign of Piers Major," he said at length.

"Down in the square," replied Oxenford, laconically.

In truth there was a most unusual activity pervading the stronghold of the Doomsmen. Already the long rows of guard-huts were tenanted by a throng of women and children, and the number was being constantly reinforced by fresh arrivals. Guards were pacing the walls, and a squad of the younger men were engaged in setting up the artillery machines for hurling stones so as to command the open space in front of the north gate. New ropes were being fitted to the torsion levers, and an ox-cart loaded with ammunition, in the shape of rounded boulders, creaked noisily through the gateway.

"The warning must have come down from the High Bridge at an early hour," said Constans, thoughtfully. "How long has all this been going on?"

"Only within the last hour," returned Oxenford. "I waited for the old gray wolf himself to seek his lair before arousing you. He has but just crawled into it--out of arrow-shot," he added, regretfully.

Constans could see half a dozen of the green-jerkined guards lounging about the entrance to the White Tower, evidence that Dom Gillian was resting within. There was nothing to be seen of Quinton Edge, but surely he would not be far away from the storm-centre. Probably he was directing the defence at the northern boundary or even at the High Bridge.

Slowly the day dragged on for the watchers in the "Flat-iron." It was impossible to form any conjecture as to how the preliminary conflict was proceeding; it was not even certain that it had begun. Piers Major had undoubtedly forced the passage of the bridge, but apparently he had been content with holding his advantage. He might not begin to move until late in the day, and he would proceed slowly and cautiously.

From time to time a messenger galloped down the Palace Road. At once he would be surrounded by an eager throng and escorted to the guard-room of the White Tower, where Ulick had set up his headquarters. For it was Ulick who had been left in command of the citadel garrison and intrusted with the preparations for the impending siege. Twice Constans had caught him fairly with his binoculars, and he could not be mistaken in the features and carriage of his friend. His friend--one might say the only friend that he had ever had--and Constans felt his heart heavy within him, knowing that they must henceforth walk on diverging paths.

Constans found it difficult to keep his men under discipline. It was all-important that their presence should be unsuspected by the enemy, but it would have been betrayed a score of times had not his vigilance intervened. Red Oxenford, in particular, grew more and more unmanageable; he had neither eaten nor slept now for three days, and the strain was telling on him. Finally he announced that he would wait no longer. The north gate was open, and what should prevent his walking straight up to the White Tower and sticking his boar-spear into the gray wolf's hide? "And I will--by the seven thunders of God!" His voice rose into a shriek.

It took half a dozen men to gag and bind him; he lay on a truss of straw, his eyes fixed malevolently on Constans, whose orders had prevented him from carrying out a plan so eminently practicable.

The shadows were growing long when Piers Minor pointed out a cloud of dust far up the Palace Road. Later on they could distinguish the figures of men and horses. Stragglers and wounded began to dribble away from the fighting-line; they came running down the Palace Road, one by one, then in bunches of two and three and four. Piers Major, with his greatly superior force, was evidently driving the defenders back.

Half an hour later the conjecture became accomplished fact. The Doomsmen, retreating with admirable steadiness, fell back upon the shelter of the citadel walls. Quinton Edge, with a score of mounted cross-bowmen, brought up the rear, and he himself was the last man to pass through the north gate.

Three hundred yards away the Stockaders came suddenly into view, but it was close to sunset, the time for the evening meal, and, as though by mutual consent, both sides laid aside their arms for the homelier utensils of the cuisine. Down in the Citadel Square a hundred little fires started up, and as many pots and kettles began to bubble cheerfully. The invaders contented themselves with building huge bonfires, intended for warmth rather than for cooking, since their light marching order precluded the carrying of anything more than cold rations. From far up the avenue came the boom of an ox-horn, militant, almost brazen in its sonority. A drum, beaten noisily, rattled back an impudent defiance from the citadel.

XXV

ENTR'ACTE

There had been no final understanding between Constans and Piers Major as to the precise line of the attack upon the citadel. That must depend upon the successful carrying of the defences at the boundary and upon the duration of the skirmishing in the streets. Both had agreed, however, that a night assault offered the better chances of victory. The Stockaders had no siege artillery with which to batter down the gates at long range; they would have to march straight to the walls, and the darkness would be in the nature of a protection from the missiles of the enemy. The moon, a little past the full, rose about nine o'clock, but its light was liable to be obscured by clouds. One of the sudden changes characteristic of the month of May was in progress, and a cold wind was blowing from the northwest. It promised to be half a gale by midnight, and already the sky was partially overcast. The initiative lay, of course, with Piers Major, and Constans must use his own judgment in making the diversion in the rear.

"They are throwing up an inner barricade," said Piers Minor, at Constans's elbow. He looked, and saw that the space immediately in front of the storehouses was being enclosed by a barrier of earth and paving-stones. The Doomsmen were prepared, then, for the possible carrying of the main walls by assault. What could be the weak point in the defence?

"The gate," suggested Piers Minor.

Constans levelled his glass and examined the barrier with attention. The vaulted archway through the walls was about sixteen feet long by ten wide and as many high. At the street end it was closed by a gate consisting of two wooden leaves, swung on hinges in the ordinary manner, and having as a central support a stout post firmly sunken into the ground. The timber construction was of the heaviest, but axe and sledge would make short work of it could they be brought near enough for effective use.

At the inner entrance to the archway was suspended a portcullis of wrought-iron bars. This was the real barrier, for, even if the attacking party succeeded in battering down the outer gate, they would find themselves cooped up in the passageway and exposed to missiles discharged both through the grating and from trap-doors in the vaulted ceiling. A well-conceived theory of defence, but its present practice was complicated by an unexpected difficulty--the portcullis, long unused, had become jammed in the ways and refused to descend. A squad of men were sweating at the task, but so far they had accomplished nothing.

"You are right," said Constans, letting the glass fall and turning to Piers Minor. "What can they be thinking of--wasting time in that hopeless tinkering? The one important thing is to close the passageway--if possible, by means of the portcullis; failing that, to block it up. If Piers Major but knew--nay, he _must_ know."

Piers Minor nodded; he understood the appeal.

"I am going to tell him," he said, imperturbably. "I will be careful about keeping out of sight until well away from the vicinity of the 'Flat-iron.' So as not to spoil sport for you," he added, smiling.

Constans accompanied Piers Minor to the street entrance, going over in detail the message that he was to bear to his father. A final admonition of caution, and they parted. It was still broad daylight, and Constans returned to his post of observation.

Of course, the expected happened. A report of the portcullis's unserviceable condition had been finally made to Quinton Edge, and already he was on the scene--a master indeed. The confusion, the contradictory babel of voices, dies away into order and silence, and, as Constans had foreseen, his orders were to suspend operations on the portcullis and proceed with all speed to the blocking-up of the archway. Choked to the ceiling with loose stones and other debris, it would be a formidable barricade to carry by assault.

Constans strode up and down the room, devoured by impatience. Piers Minor had been gone now upward of half an hour, and yet there was no sign of preparation in the camp of the allies. It would take possibly an hour longer to make the vaulted passage impassable; Piers Major must advance within half that time if he would take advantage of this secret weakness in the defence. Failing to do so, he would be thrown back upon the desperate adventure of the scaling-ladders, and the whole issue would then hang upon the effectiveness with which Constans could bring off his attack from the rear.

The restless fit passed, and Constans leaned out upon the window-sill, watching the darkening sky. A fierce revulsion seized him as he pictured to himself the scene upon which the morning sun would look--the kennels red with blood, the horrors huddled in every corner, all the dreadful jetsam cast up by the ensanguined tide of war. Of necessity, perhaps, must such things be--the endurance of a lesser evil that the greater wrong might be forever blotted out. And yet his heart was heavy.

He looked out again upon the ruined wilderness of stone that hemmed him in. How he hated this monstrous city of Doom, infernal mother of treacheries and spoils! How weary he was of wandering through its stony labyrinths, fit symbol of his own oft-thwarted hopes! A vision of green fields and quiet waters rose before him, he seemed to be walking knee-deep in the lush grass starred with purple asters and the sweet meadow-flag--it was the old home paddock of the Greenwood Keep; there was the copse of white beeches, and through it came the flutter of a woman's gown. Eagerly he watched as she came to meet him--Issa; then she turned her face full towards him, and he saw that it was Esmay. He sprang forward.

A roll of drums beating the charge, and Constans started. "At last!" he said.

* * * * *

Piers Minor, keeping as closely as possible to cover, worked his way slowly to the northward and towards the Stockader camp, on the Palace Road. But, being unfamiliar with the topography of the district, he insensibly kept edging into dangerous proximity to the Citadel Square; suddenly he found himself within a short block of its eastern front. He turned to retreat, and came face to face with a slender, black-eyed youth who must have been following close upon his heels. Discovered, he tried to dodge, but Piers Minor was too quick, and they closed. The youth struggled gallantly, but the Stockader had all the advantage in strength; in another moment Piers Minor had his antagonist crushed helplessly into a corner. He looked at the boy contemptuously.

"Not a sound, mind, or I'll twist your throat as I would a meadow-lark's. Why were you following me?"

The black eyes snapped back at him unwinkingly.

"Let me speak, then--you hurt me."

Piers Minor loosened his hold upon the slender throat.

"Go on."

"You are a Stockader, and there is a young man with you, fair-haired and with dark eyes--Constans by name? Do you know him?"

"Well, and if I do?"

"Will you tell me where and how I can see him? Just a word, or, if not, then to send him a message."

"It is impossible," said Piers Minor, stolidly. "This is a time of war, and only for life and death----"

"It is a question of that," insisted the youth.

Piers Minor shook himself impatiently.

"Speak out, can't you? What is it that he would care to know?"

"Tell him, then, that last night Esmay disappeared, and yet still remains in Arcadia House. He will understand, for he knows Quinton Edge."

"A woman!" ejaculated Piers Minor, in supreme disdain. "Always that."

"Yes, always that," retorted the boy, and Piers Minor burst into a laugh.

"You are a bold one," he said, half admiringly. "Well, I will tell him; I promise you that. And now what am I to do with you?"

The boy made a grimace. "We may part as we have met, with no one the wiser."

"I am not so sure of that," said the other, suspiciously. "You are a Doomsman, and you know me to be a Stockader--a spy, if you like. If it were for myself alone I might trust you, but so much may hang----"

He stopped abruptly and his eyes darkened. "The only sure way lies at my knife-point." He scanned intently the face which paled before his gaze, yet changed not in the smallest line.

"Good!" said Piers Minor, heartily. "Although, indeed, I could never have done it. Yet I must bind and gag you," he added.

The boy pouted. "No; I will not have you touch me." He tried by a sudden movement to slip under Piers Minor's detaining hand. The shock displaced his cap, a fastening gave way at the same instant, and a mass of long, black hair tumbled down upon the youth's shoulders. Even then Piers Minor, being of masculine slow wit, might not have guessed the truth but for a bright blush that overspread brow and cheek, a confession that even his dull senses could not misinterpret.

"A woman!" he said, confusedly, and blushed as unrestrainedly in his turn.

Beholding his embarrassment, Nanna was relieved of her own.

"You will have to trust me, you see," she said, coldly.

The abashed Piers Minor murmured an indistinct assent.

"And you will not forget my message?"

"No, no! He shall have it at the earliest possible moment."

"Very good--it is understood, then. Now you may go."

Piers Minor had not a word to say. He had been meditating upon a thousand possible explanations, excuses, apologies, and his tongue would not utter one of them. He accepted his orders meekly, but as he turned to go he managed to stammer out, "Of course--to meet again."

Nanna, to her own infinite amazement, answered with a look that meant yes, and knew that he had not failed to so understand it. As she walked over to the Citadel Square she could feel that he was standing where she had left him and looking after her. She would have turned to fittingly rebuke behavior so indecorous, but something told her that her insulted dignity would be better saved by removing it to a greater distance.

Nanna entered the Citadel Square after some parley with the sentinels on the walls, who grumbled at the trouble to which they were put to let down a rope-ladder; but, being a daughter of the Doomsmen, she could not be denied.

A little crowd of women and elderly men gathered about an ox-cart in the centre of the square attracted her attention. They were listening to a speaker who, standing upright in the wagon-body, was haranguing them earnestly. Nanna recognized him--Prosper, the priest.

It was the old story--repentance, the wrath of the Shining One, and the imminence of the judgment. The men of the garrison, absorbed in their preparations for defence, paid no heed; only this handful of old men and fearful women, who crept a little closer together as they listened and sought one another's hands. "To-day, to-day, even to-day, and Doom is fallen, is fallen!"

A disquieting thought flashed into Nanna's mind, the remembrance of those carefully arranged broken wires in the empty house not more than a block away from the Citadel Square. Then of those other wires in the temple of the Shining One, spluttering their wicked-looking sparks. She strained her ears to catch the humming drone of the engines in the House of Power, but there was no sound to be heard--they could not be running.

"Yet there will be mischief worked to-night if the priest has his way," said Nanna to herself, and shook her black-polled head safely. "I almost wish that I had told _him_ of that, too." And then, unaccountably, she blushed again, for all that it was dark and no one was looking at her.

XXVI

THE SONG OF THE SWORD

It did not take long for Constans to arouse and collect his men; tired of inaction, they were only too glad to respond to the summons. And at the last, Constans, unable to withstand the entreaty in Red Oxenford's eyes, ordered his release.

"But, with the others, you must wait upon my word," he said, sternly, and Oxenford, fearful above all things of being left behind, gave ready assent to the condition.

Under the south rampart of the citadel they halted. There were but two guards on duty here, and they were easily surprised and secured before they could give an alarm. As one by one the rest of the company ascended the scaling-ladder, they were ordered to throw themselves prone on the flat top of the wall, to await the final signal. Over at the north gate the clamor grew momentarily--there were blows of axes on wood, and clash of arms, and the confused crying of many voices.