CHAPTER XV
TRAPPED!
BEFORE the raiders had proceeded very far a short exclamation fromone of the men-at-arms caused them to pull up sharply.
"What's amiss?" demanded Raymond in a whisper.
"The peasant's horse hath gone lame," replied one of the soldiers."Can we not despatch the guide, for, certes, he is of no further use,and it will save us the trouble of looking after him?"
"Nay!" replied Raymond sturdily. "I am loth to cause a harmlesspeasant to be slain. Make him mount behind thee, Robert, but keep atight hold on his chain."
Once again the advance was resumed, the horses floundering over theslippery, leaf-strewn path, their riders being put to great troubleby reason of the overhanging branches that often almost swept themfrom their saddles.
Presently they began to descend a steep declivity, the sloperequiring all the skill of the horsemen to keep their steeds on theirfeet, while the rain, now falling in torrents, had transformed thelittle path into a foaming stream.
Suddenly a vivid flash of lightning rent the darkness of the night,and in the dazzling glare Raymond beheld, with a thrill of horror,two of the men who were leading disappear into a yawning chasm almostat his feet, their cries drowned by the appalling crash of theaccompanying thunder. By dint of reining in his horse till the animalwas almost on its haunches, the young squire saved himself from asimilar fate, and slipping to the ground he awaited, in terriblesuspense, the next flash that would give some idea of his position.The succeeding period of darkness seemed to weigh upon him like asuffocating shroud, while the silence was broken only by the franticprancing of the remaining horses, the feeble groans of one of thefallen men, and a low gurgling sound a short distance away--a soundthat caused indescribable terror in the mind of the young squire.
Then came another crash and a ponderous mass fell across the path hehad just passed, and another shriek of agony rent the air. To thehorrified Raymond, whose superstitious feelings were aroused by thewar of the elements and the tragedy of his surroundings, the placesavoured of the infernal regions; and gazing with wide-open eyes intothe inky blackness, he dumbly awaited the next gleam of blindinglight.
At length, after a seemingly endless suspense, it came--a doubleflash. Short as was the duration of the glare it served to intensifythe horror of his position.
At his feet yawned the pit, wherein the feebly-moving limbs of twoof his men still writhed in the throes of death, while their horseswere frantically kicking each other in the confined space. Behind himlay another man-at-arms, the blood welling from a gaping wound in histhroat, while a fourth lay crushed--beyond recognition by a heavytree-trunk that, falling across the path, effectually prevented aretreat. There was no sign of their guide, but the fifth soldier wasleaning against a tree-trunk, his hands pressed tightly over his eyesas if trying to shut out the ghastly scene.
The next flash showed that he, too, had vanished, and Raymond wasalone, though the shouts and cries of the unfortunate man-at-armsbetokened that he was being haled off through the forest by someinvisible agency--whether by men, animals, or spirits the squiredared not imagine.
And now the underwood on either side seemed alive with movement, andRaymond felt, or fancied he felt, rough hands groping towards him.Frenzy took possession of his shaking body, and, lashed into theenergy of despair, he unsheathed his sword and slashed madly abouthim. The blade came in violent contact with an overhanging bough andsnapped off close to the hilt; at the same moment the squire felt apair of sinewy arms encircle his feet, and with a lusty heave he wasupset and thrown with a crash to the ground, the point of a knifepressing against his throat warning him of the utter uselessness offurther resistance.
Bound hand and foot, the unfortunate squire was carried or draggedthrough a thick growth of underwood, till at length his captorsgained a large clearing. By the aid of a momentary flash he saw theoutlines of a low building. In response to a violent knocking heheard the sound of bolts being withdrawn, and, borne on the shouldersof four strong men, he was carried into the house, and droppedunceremoniously upon the rush-strewn floor.
Some one took a torch from its socket and bent over the prostratesquire. Raymond recognised the features--it was the traitorous guide!But gone was the heavy lustreless expression of his eyes and thestolid set of his swarthy jaws; instead a look of malevolentintelligence overspread his face, and by the subservience with whichhe was treated by his comrades it was evident that he was a man ofauthority.
"Ah! Dolt, fool, beast of an Englishman! How nicely hast thou bornethe Count of Tancarville back to the camp of the cursed invader ofNormandy! Dead or alive, eh? Little didst thou know how near thypurpose was fulfilled when thy base _routier_ made to pass a knifeacross my throat. I--even I--am the Count of Tancarville!"
He paused to observe the effect of this startling announcement, butRaymond preserved a dignified silence.
"And that simpleton the Constable, thy master," he resumed. "To thinkthat the Count of Tancarville would be dallying at a hunting lodgewhen base English defile the coasts of Normandy! Ah! That was a nearone," he added as another blinding flash of lightning lit up theroom.
"Knowest thou, thou miserable fool," he continued as soon as thecrash of the thunder permitted, "that did that fiery fork but touchthis place thou and I would be scattered, so that all the armies ofPhilip and Edward would fail to find a fragment? Eh, I interest thee?'Tis well; I'll tell thee more, seeing that the knowledge will profitthee but little. Henri! Cut asunder the bonds that bind thisEnglishman's legs, and do thou and Etienne stand close lest he dohimself an injury!"
Handing the torch to a serving-man, the Count led the way, closelyfollowed by Raymond and his two guards. In an adjoining apartment, soopen to the winds that the torch was almost extinguished, lay sevensinister-looking objects, which the squire readily recognised asbombards.
These early cannon were composed of straight lengths of flat iron,held together by shrunk-on iron hoops, and lashed down to a heavybaulk of timber, so that in training these clumsy contrivances,carriage and gun were practically one piece.
"These are the beasts I hunt in this forest," quoth the Count. "KingPhilip hath need of them, and, by our Lady of Nimes, 'twill be asight to see the vaunted English bowmen being bowled over by thesebombards. And food these beasts must have! Forward, garcons, and showthis dolt mine animals' food. But, Bertrand, stand aside with thattorch. I am in no mind to go heavenwards yet awhile."
The next room was little better than a cell, lightened by the feeblelight of an oil lamp that glimmered through a horn lanthorn. In a farcorner could be discerned the bent figure of a monk, his cowl thrownback on his shoulders and his arms bared to the elbow. Ignoring theinterruption, he continued his labours, working a pestle withuntiring energy.
"Behold the worthy successor to Michael Schwartz! My faith! It doesmy heart good to show the accursed English the resources of la belleFrance; yet, 'tis passing strange that the secret of the making ofthe devil's powder should be divulged to a priest of God. Five scorebarrels full of the powder are ready for the use of our forces, andI'll warrant---- Ah! What wouldst thou? Down with him, mes garcons!"
For Raymond, suddenly fired with a reckless determination, had thrownhimself upon the torch-bearer, and with a shower of sparks theburning brand was dashed upon the floor, missing the bench with itsdangerous compound by less than a span!
The Count and the monk, both white with fear, stamped upon theblazing embers, while the guards with no gentle hand had forced theirprisoner to the ground.
"A senseless piece of folly," growled the Norman. "And little creditto thyself."
"'Twould have rid the King of England of a dangerous foe," repliedRaymond stoutly, opening his lips for the first time since hiscapture.
"Away with him, till I find a means to make use of him, Etienne!"exclaimed the Count, taking no notice of the squire's remark.
"To the oubliette?"
"Nay; two of these accursed Englishmen in one den would plague us fa
rmore than if kept apart. One never knows what the rogues get up towhen they plan amongst themselves. Lock him in the old arrow-store."
The old arrow-store was a damp and dismal chamber next to the cellwhere Raymond had seen the monk at his researches. It was on theground floor, and lighted only by one lancet-shaped window, far toonarrow to admit the passage of a man. The roof was vaulted, thearches springing from a central pillar, while the floor was pavedwith heavy slabs set in strong cement.
This much the young squire saw while the men were making a cursoryexamination by the aid of two additional torches; and after removingan old chest they quitted the room, bolting and locking the heavyiron-plated door behind them.
Left to himself, Raymond fell a prey to the deepest despondency. Thefailure of his ill-starred attempt, the comparative ease of hiscapture, and the mortification which the Constable would feel at hisnon-return, weighed upon the unhappy squire far more than the dangerof his hopeless position, and, grief-stricken, he lay on a stonebench, listlessly marking the sound of the rapidly-retreating storm,till a feeble glimmer through the lancet window betokened that theday was dawning. He had one consolation, sorry though it was--thereremained another Englishman within the stronghold, the solitarysurvivor of five picked men-at-arms.
Presently Raymond stood up and stretched his cramped limbs, thenstanding on the bench he found that he could just reach the window.Grasping the stone ledge with his hands, he raised himselfsufficiently to look out.
It was a cheerless outlook. In front, a bow-shot away, lay the densemasses of the forest, still hazy with the morning mist. An openspace, broken only by a moat full of slimy water, lay between theforest and the stronghold, though no drawbridge was visible on thatside.
And beyond the forest lay, at an unknown distance, the English camp,where even now Sir John Hacket was doubtless expecting his returnwith the expected captive. Overcome with the irony of the situation,Raymond clambered down from the window and relapsed into his moodyand despondent attitude.
For several hours he remained thus, till aroused by the drawing backof the bolts of his prison door. The door was thrown open, and anarmed man entered, bearing a pitcher of water and a trencher of blackbread, while another man stood without, for fear of an outburst ofthe prisoner. Without a word the jailer set down the meal andretired.
Twice daily was this done, and thus the days sped, slowly andcheerlessly, but no visit from the Count of Tancarville served tobreak the dismal monotony.
On the fifth day Raymond heard the sound of martial preparations, andclimbing to the window he caught a brief glimpse of a body of armedand mounted men riding past his prison; one of whom, he had no doubt,was the Count. Then came the rumble of heavily-laden wains, but inwhich direction the party disappeared the squire was unable to see.
Evidently the little garrison of this sylvan fortress wasconsiderably depleted, for Raymond noticed that his jailer came intohis prison alone. He thought, though, that this might have beenthrough a sense of familiarity at his prisoner's dejected mien. Yetdaily, for hours together, the sound of the pestle, dimly heardthrough the thick adjoining wall, showed that the taciturn old monkstill pursued his dangerous task.
Four more days passed in dreadful solitude, till, maddened by thehopelessness of his condition, Raymond resolved on desperate measuresto attempt his escape. Plan after plan flashed through his brain,only to be put aside as impracticable. Feigning death, burrowingthrough the stone walls of his prison, attacking his jailer, allseemed hopeless, till at length a scheme, hazardous in the extreme,yet capable of meeting with possible success, matured in his mind andhourly increased his hopes of ultimate success.
Usually the jailer found him sitting dejectedly upon the stone bench,practically invisible in the gloom to any one entering from thedazzling sunlight without. But on this particular morning Raymond,awaiting the jailer's footsteps, carefully removed his surcoat andhid behind the door. Directly the man entered he made, as was hiswont, direct for the bench, when the squire, springing upon him frombehind, muffled his head in the surcoat and bore him to the ground.The jug and platter fell with a resounding crash, and Raymond,seizing the broken pitcher, struck the jailer such a shrewd blow thatit all but split his skull, leaving him senseless on the floor.
Hastily dragging his body across to the darkest corner, Raymondpossessed himself of his dagger and escaped from his prison.
Without a moment's hesitation he burst into the adjoining apartment,where the old monk, engrossed in his work, did not take the slightestnotice of his abrupt entry. Raymond had argued with himself that apriest engaged in warlike pursuits thereby puts himself without thepale of the Church; so, overcoming his scruples, he wrenched thepestle from the hand of the astonished monk and stunned him ere hecould utter a sound.
Then with feverish haste he stripped off and donned the monk'scapacious gown, pulling the cowl well down over his eyes; then,strapping the wooden sandals over his own pointed shoes, he walkedboldly into the corridor, with bent head and clattering gait.
At the end of the passage was another heavily-barred door, at which aspearman stood on guard. Holding his dagger firmly in his right handand concealing it within the folds of his long sleeve, Raymond movedstraight up to the man. The sentinel opened the door, and with bowedhead stood aside to let the supposed monk pass. In a well-feignedhighly-pitched voice the young squire gave the customary blessing;then, almost amazed at his good fortune, he gained the free air oncemore.
But his difficulties were not yet over. The road from the strongholdran under the shelter of the low walls for some distance, then turnedabruptly and crossed the moat by a drawbridge, at the end of whichwas a small postern and barbican.
All went well till Raymond was upon the bridge, and the gate-keeperwas making ready to throw open the outer gate, when the sham monkdropped one sandal upon the bridge, where it lay conspicuously in thedazzling sunshine.
For a moment the guard paused, gazing in undisguised astonishment atthe tell-tale object, then with a crash he closed the gate and raiseda horn to his lips. But ere he could blow a blast Raymond was uponhim; a glint of cold steel, and the man uttering a choking cry, threwup his arms and fell in a huddled heap.
Disguise was no longer necessary, and the squire, opening the gateand casting off his gown as he ran, sped over the open space towardsthe sheltering forest.
He heard some one behind him shouting the alarm, but by the time thewatchers on the wall could wind their cross-bows Raymond was almostout of range, though a dropping bolt, shot at a venture, hummed closeto his head and buried itself in the springy turf at the foot of thenearest tree.
Though skilled in finding a course by observing the position of thesun, Raymond was but indifferently versed in woodcraft, and in thegloom of the forest all idea of direction was beyond him. Onward heplunged, crashing through the bracken and undergrowth, till to hisgreat delight he struck a narrow path. This he followed, till atlength he came upon the scene of his ambuscade. A yawning pit,partially concealed by a screen of hurdles and bracken, lay acrossthe narrow way, while a score of paces beyond was a tree trunk,which, having been skilfully cut through close to its base, neededbut little effort to fall into its present position, effectuallybarring the road to any but unmounted men.
With a sickening feeling of horror Raymond gazed into the pit, wherelay the mangled remains of two of his men-at-arms, though it wasevident that the plunderer had already been there, as the corpseswere stripped of their arms and accoutrements, while the trappings ofthe horses had vanished.
Under the fallen trunk lay the body of the third soldier, plunderedalso as far as the ponderous timber would allow, while of the fourthno trace remained but a dark stain on the clayey soil.
Clambering over the last obstacle, the squire found himself on thesteep path that had been so dangerous a road but a short fortnightbefore. On and on he hastened, till he emerged on the high road thatled to the camp, which he estimated to be about four and a halfleagues distant, provided a general advance
had not taken place inthe meantime.
He was hatless and without his surcoat, having left that garment withhis late jailer, and there were no distinguishing marks to show thathe belonged either to the army of the King of England or of Philip ofFrance.
Tying his blood-stained scarf over his chin, he strode boldlyforward, trusting in the role of a wounded soldier to avoid beingquestioned. At length he gained the summit of a hill, from which helooked down upon a lovely fertile valley, and in the distance theblue waters of the English Channel.
A spur of rising ground hid the view on his right, but a few minutessufficed to gain its crest, and on looking down he saw a sight thatfilled him with joy, for below lay a large unwalled town, which herightly guessed to be Caen, while a league off was the English hostin battle array, and between him and the army was a motley array ofFrenchmen issuing from the town to join battle with the invaders.
The Winning of the Golden Spurs Page 16