The House of Walderne Part 47

"So shall I rest in peace, like the warriors of old time, over whose tomb they slew many victims and cut many throats. I believe in no creed, but the old one of our ancestors suits me best, and I hope I shall find my way to Valhalla, if Valhalla there be."

When the last stragglers of the royal army had been swallowed up in the recesses of the forest, Marboeuf began to ponder over his engagement. But presently up came the janitor of the dungeons.

"Hast thou the key of the friar's dungeon?"

"Nay. The young lord has not left it with me."

The men looked at each other.

"He locked it himself, this morning, and put the key into his gypsire."

"And he has gone off with it. Doubtless he will send it back directly he finds it there."

"I doubt it."

"Shall we send after him?"

"No!" said Marboeuf.

"He is a friar. We must not let him starve."

"Humph! It will not be our fault. I tell thee thou dost not yet know our lord, and too much zeal may only damage you in his goodwill."

The gaoler retreated, and went slowly down to the dungeons. He walked along the pa.s.sage moodily. At length he heard a voice breaking the silence:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

The man felt moved. It seemed to him as if he were near a being of another mould, and old memories of years long past were awakened in his mind--how once such a friar had found him wounded almost to death in the battlefield, and had saved the body, like the good Samaritan, and striven to save his soul. How he had vowed amendment and forgotten it, or he had not been found herding with such black sheep as Drogo and his band. And earlier thoughts, how when his mother had fallen sick of the plague, another friar had tended her dying moments, when every other earthly friend had failed her for fear of infection.

"He shall not perish if I can help it, and it may be put to my account in purgatory."

"Father," he cried.

"My brother," was the reply, "what hast thou to ask?"

"What food hast thou?"

"Yet half a loaf, and a cruse nearly filled with water."

"It is all thou mayst get till my lord return. He has taken the keys. Use it sparingly."

For a moment there was silence, then a calm voice replied:

"He who fed Elijah by the ministry of the ravens will not fail me."

"But if Sir Drogo be absent many days thou mayst starve."

"Though he slay me, yet will I put my trust in him."

"I do believe he will be saved, by a miracle if needs be," muttered the man. "The saints will never let him starve, he is one of them."

The second day pa.s.sed, and Martin's bread and cruse yet held out.

But his gaoler was very uneasy, and wandered about the dark pa.s.sages like a restless spirit. Neither could he help breathing his despair to Martin, as hours pa.s.sed away and no messenger returned from Drogo with the key.

But the answer from the captive was always full of hope.

"Be of good cheer, for there has been with me an angel of G.o.d, who has a.s.sured me that the tyranny will soon be overpast. Meanwhile I feel not the pangs of hunger."

The fourth day from the departure of the royal army arrived. No one had as yet brought back the key. It was a day of awful suspense, for although no sound of artillery announced the awful strife, yet it was generally known that a battle was imminent, and was probably going on at that moment. They sent two messengers out at dawn of day, and one returned at eventide, breathless and sore from long running.

He had been on that group of downs which lies eastward of Lewes, of which Mount Caburn is the highest point, and from which Walderne Castle was visible. There they had raised a beacon fire, and he had left his comrade to fire it in case the king lost the battle. But ere he departed he had seen, as he thought, the royal array in hopeless confusion.

The afternoon brought another messenger, who confirmed the evil tidings, but was in hope that the prince, yet undefeated and then rampaging on the hill amongst the baggage, might retrieve the fortune of the day. When sunset drew nigh many of the garrison of Walderne betook themselves to the elevation on which the church is placed, whence they could see the Castle of Lewes through an opening, and watched, fearing to see the bale fire blaze, which should bid them all flee for their lives, unless they were prepared to defend the castle, to be a refuge in case their lord might survive and come to find shelter amongst them.

On this point there were diverse opinions. A waggon had gone out in the early morning to collect forage and provisions by way of blackmail--at this moment it was seen approaching the gateway below.

The sun had set, and the shades of evening were falling fast. All at once a single voice cried, "Look! the fire!" and the speaker pointed with his finger.

The eyes of all present followed his gesture, and they saw a bright spot of light arise on the summit of the downs, distant some twelve miles.

"It is the signal. All is lost! The rebels have won, and we must fly for our lives."

"They may be merciful."

"Nay, we have too black a name in the Andredsweald. We should have to answer for every peasant we have hanged or hen roost we have robbed."

"That would never do. By 'r lady, what injustice! Would they be so bad as that?"

"We will not wait to see."

All at once loud outcries arose from the castle below. They looked aghast, for it was the sound of fierce strife and dread dismay.

What could it be?

They started to run to the help of their comrades, when a thousand cries, a wild war whoop, burst from the arches of the forest and in the dim twilight they saw numberless forms gliding over the short s.p.a.ce which separated the castle from the wood.

"The merrie men!"

"The outlaws!"

"The wild men of the woods!"

The discomfited troopers paused--turned tail--fled--leaving their comrades to their fate, whatever it might be.

Let us see.

The waggon aforesaid had approached the gateway in the most innocent manner. It creaked over the drawbridge. It was already beneath the portcullis, when the driver cut the traces and thrust a long pole amidst the spokes of the wheel. At the same instant a score of men leapt out, who had been concealed beneath the loose hay.

All was alarm and confusion. The few defenders of the castle were overpowered and slain, for the gross treachery practised upon the "merrie men" a few days earlier had hardened their hearts and rendered them deaf to the call for pity or mercy. The few women who were in the castle fled shrieking to their hiding places. The men died fighting.