X
Luke's Strategy—The Garrison Outwitted—The Friar's Opinion—Another Tower to be Sacrificed—The Friar's Confidence—Amabel's Mission—The Count Takes the Southwest Tower—The Tower Burned—A Surprise—The Explosion of the Mine—The Besiegers Are Panic-Stricken—Their Retreat—Fall of the Southwest Tower—Terror of the Besiegers—The Siege Suspended—Fears of a Sortie—Departure of the Lady Amabel—Will the Castle Holdout?
CHAPTER X
During the interval the commanders of the castle forces held a consultation in the great hall upon the ground floor of the keep. Edgar, though the wound in his shoulder was painful, found himself not seriously disabled, and his victory over the Count de Ferrers seemed to him cheaply bought at so small a price. The Friar also was not dissatisfied with his efforts during that exciting afternoon, for he felt that the burning of the siege-tower was due greatly to his accurate marksmanship with the fire-darts. Hugh, alone, seemed depressed. It is true that his aid at a critical time had saved the men stationed at the inner gateway, and had enabled them to make good their retreat to a safer shelter, but this was rather the saving of a defeat than a victory.
It could not be denied that the afternoon had proved most fortunate for the besiegers. They had lost some men, but they were in possession of a large part of the castle; and if the Count had been overcome by Edgar's battle-ax, he had been carried from the field and was not seriously injured. Hugh recognized that the garrison had been outwitted.
"It was the strategy of Luke the Lurdane," Hugh said, "that misled us. He was wise in generalship, and sent his strongest force against the weakest point, while leading us to think that the tower—now, thank the Lord, a pile of charred logs!—was the main reliance of the assault. That showed cleverness, and he overreached me; I admit it." Hugh looked deeply depressed.
"But," the Friar replied, "how could you foretell where he would strike his heaviest blow? You could not see into the tower, and the lines of battle were formed back in the woods, out of sight. Besides, I am not so sure that Luke did not blunder. Suppose that he had packed the tower full of men, and had then poured them out upon the ramparts, armed with scaling-ladders, hooks, and rams—do you not think, my good Hugh, that these men might have beaten in the doors of the tower or keep, and then captured us by assault? It seems to me that Luke's shrewdness overshot his mark. These men of slyness are too apt to think more of deceiving their enemies than of gaining their ends. Come, Hugh, you reasoned well, and it is not strange that an honest head like yours should not always foresee the windings of a shifty rogue such as Luke. Cheer up, man! The besiegers have gained no more than they might under better leadership have gained long since—no more than you expected would fall into their hands. And, thanks to our young chieftain's battle-ax, Count de Ferrers is more likely to be upon a camp-bed than upon horseback for some hours to come. All this is raking in the embers of past events. We still hold all the main buildings of the castle, and, as you well know, the task of these invading villains becomes more dangerous to them, as well as to us, now that we fight at closer range, and with the advantage of holding the higher places. What say you, Lord Edgar—shall we consider the outer walls lost, and destroy them, so far as may be?"
"I know," the young commander replied, "that you have undermined a part of the two walls on the west and south, so as to cut them off from the rest of the castle. But will not the southwest tower be left in the hands of the enemy, if we should now abandon it? Have you arranged to destroy that also?"
"My lord," Hugh replied, "we have stored the lowest rooms with loose heaps of faggots soaked well with pitch. If a torch be set to them, the tower will fall within an hour."
"Is there any hope," Edgar demanded, "that we can hold that tower, now that the enemy is in possession of the outer bailey and of the southern walls? If we cannot hold it—the sooner it goes down the better."
"It cannot be held," Hugh assured him, shaking his head to emphasize the words. "If they are willing to lose a few of their men, they can force their way into it from the ramparts; or, they can bring up their ram and batter it to pieces. Besides, I believe that it is undermined. You remember how far the Count's miners had advanced the tunnel when we smoked them out last night? No doubt they will expect us to hold that tower, and while it is attacked from without, the miners below will set fire to the wooden props, and will let the whole structure fall to the ground. Let us, therefore, make only a show of defending it, and, then, firing the faggots below, our men can retreat to the neighboring tower, leaving it ablaze. No doubt, seeing us in retreat, the Count's soldiers will hasten to enter the tower, and may even pursue our men along the ramparts. In which case they are likely to come to a sudden stoppage, if the Friar can be believed."
"I wall answer for it that when the signal is given, the Count's soldiers will go back faster than they came," Friar Bacon said.
Edgar, who did not consider that he could lend aid in these discussions, now inquired whether it was not time to send out some messenger—the Lady Amabel, in default of another—to see whether aid could be lent to the garrison. Edgar proposed this with reluctance, but explained that it was by her own wish he spoke of it. "The Lady Amabel will not let me rest. She insists that unless she shall go soon, it may be too late. She thinks the earlier she goes the better, and the more likely she is to bring aid to us. So long as the besiegers had obtained no foothold in the castle, I was able to reassure her, and to claim that the siege might be raised without need of risking her life. Now, however, I can no longer make that excuse. The Count has effected a lodgment, and bids fair to go further. What say you, Friar Bacon—what say you, Hugh?"
There was a long silence, for although it had been decided that it was best the young girl should go upon her dangerous mission, yet when the moment came, all hesitated. At length the Friar answered,
"We have lost lives in defense of the castle, and shall—unless Providence intervene—lose more. The Lady Amabel is but one of us, and she risks only her life as do all of us. She is shrewd as a man, ready as a boy, and may pass safely where any of the men might be taken. She longs to go, and I say that it would be right to let her go. If she is to go at all, surely the time has come; for the siege will be decided before many more days have passed. Besides, now it will be easy for her to slip away while the tower is flaming—for that will hold every eye for a mile about. Let her disguise herself well; in anything but minstrel garb, I should say, for that bolt has been shot, and has missed its mark."
"The Friar is right," said Hugh, "for it is her own wish, and hi her place one might well long to do something for the baron who has opened his home to a defenseless maiden. Besides, she is, as the Franciscan says, shrewd and ready. I believe she may bring us relief. To whom can she go? Have you any ally in mind?"
"She says." Edgar replied, for the question was put to him, "that there is a friend to Baron Mortimer and an old ally of her father from whom help may be hoped for. His castle lies some fifty miles northward, and she is confident she can persuade him to march to our relief. My mother also thinks so, for he is an enemy to the Count de Ferrers. It is the Earl of Huntingdon."
"A good soldier, and a trusty knight. I know him of old," exclaimed Hugh. "If he will take up our cause, we may yet save the castle from this robber whose head you well-nigh crushed—would you had quite done so, my lord!"
"I will warn the Lady Amabel to be ready," said Edgar reluctantly. "And she will rejoice, though we may grieve." So saying, Edgar rose and left the hall.
When alone, Hugh and the Friar discussed the plan for the night's campaign, and had hardly finished when a sudden alarm sent them out upon the battlements again.
It was late dusk by this time, and dark enough to make it difficult to make out just what was going on forward; but when Hugh and the Friar had passed along the western wall and entered the southwest tower, they saw from its top that the Count had returned and was leading a body of his men against the entrance to the tower. He had caused a heavy beam, one of those which had formed part of the crane, and which had been left in the outer bailey near the breached wall, to be carried up to the rampart. With this, manned by a row of his soldiers, he was endeavoring to break down the door, while those who were stationed to guard the tower kept up a brisk shower of missiles upon the assailants. Protected by their shields, the Count's men pressed forward, and suffered little except when a heavy rock or a beam of wood could be dropped directly upon them from the roof of the tower. The attacking party were able to deliver heavy blows upon the door, which was cracking and must soon be forced.
In order to strengthen the door, Hugh and the Friar ordered their men to chop to pieces the mangonel that still stood upon the tower-roof, and to brace its beams against the door from within. But though the axmen went to work with a will, there was not time. The door cracked, bent inward, and then gave way at its lower hinge. At this moment, there fell a long beam from the top of the tower, striking the head of the ram, and carrying down two of the foremost soldiers who were carrying it. This brought a short delay before the delivery of the next blow, and Hugh, running nimbly down the tower stairs, set fire in several places to the faggots piled up in a lower room. Returning, he gave orders that his men should withdraw from the tower, and as noiselessly as they could they slipped out one by one, ran across the rampart, and took refuge in the northwest tower, whence they sent their arrows against the Count's men.
Hardly had the garrison deserted the tower, when the door fell, and the assailants dropping the ram, rushed in with drawn swords, only to find the tower empty, and to be met by rolling volumes of stifling smoke. They could not remain within the tower, for it was impossible to breathe the hot and choking fumes of the pitch; and so they were compelled to retreat again to the south wall, whence they could only watch the advance of the flames that now shone red through the loopholes, and poured out of the doorway as if from the mouth of a volcano. They seemed uncertain what to do. But suddenly the voice of Luke the Lurdane was heard crying: "To the other tower! Down with the door!"
Encouraged by the hope of capturing at least one of the towers, the great beam was lifted again, and with a rush they dashed it upon the oak door. But the Friar had expected this attack, and had provided for it. This was one of the portions of the wall that he and Hugh had undermined, and as soon as an attack was fairly begun upon the door of the southeast tower, the Friar, drawing from his bosom a whistle that hung by a hempen cord around his neck, blew it shrilly three times, and then, after a pause, three times again.
So sharp was the sound that it could be distinguished above all the din of conflict and voices of besiegers and besieged, and it reached the ear for which it was intended. For a soldier had been stationed in the ground floor of that tower, with orders to light a fuse that projected from a hole in the wall at his side. Hearing the whistle, he struck a spark into his tinder-box, lighted a match and as soon as he had applied the flame to the fuse, took to his heels.
Fortunately for the besiegers, the explosion of the Friar's mine happened to take place just as they had retired in order to repeat their assault with the ram; and only a few of the foremost men were near enough to be injured. With a roar and a shock that deafened them, the mine exploded, shattering the wall above it, and leaving a wide gap between the tower and the ruined end of the wall. But the effect of the explosion upon the assailants was much greater than any harm done by it to them or to the castle. The noise, like nothing they had ever heard except a thunderbolt, the terrific power shown by the flying upward of the massive stonework, the shattering of the heavy wall at a single blow, the flash of light and flame, and above all the sulphurous fumes and the heavy smoke—all combined to make the Count's men think that the infernal regions had opened at their very feet. Without a moment's pause they broke and fled wherever they could go, dropping the great beam, and some of them even flinging down their weapons as they ran. In vain the Count and a few of his bravest followers strove to halt the panic-stricken soldiers. The smell of sulphur meant to these superstitious soldiers the very presence of Satan himself, and they could not be stayed. A number were pushed over the edge of the rampart and falling into the courtyard were killed or seriously injured; but most of them made their way down the ladders and disappeared in the darkness.
Hugh, seeing the confusion into which the attacking party had been thrown by the explosion, led a body of his archers out into the courtyard through a side opening in the diagonal intrenchment, and by delivering a heavy volley of arrows put to flight the few men of the Count who were still upon the rampart of the south wall—so that it was once more cleared of the enemy. Hugh would have been only too glad if he could have held the recaptured ground, but he did not think it worth the lives it would cost them. As soon as the Count's men could be rallied, he knew that the breach would admit them to the outer bailey, and that since the burning of the southwest tower there would be no hope of making a stand once more at the inner gate, where Edgar had engaged the Count in single combat. So he withdrew his men to the shelter of the defenses that were yet uninjured, where they stood watching the fountain of fire that rose from the southwest tower.
Later in the night, the event showed that the besiegers had, as the Friar supposed, mined the tower. For, as its burning timbers fell and plunged through the floors, an opening into the mine below must have admitted some flaming brands to the props, which caught fire, burned away, and felt the stonework without support. The whole tower toppled, cracked, and then fell with a shock that shook the castle to its lowest foundations.
Hugh knew that the western wall was also mined just beyond the northwest tower, and he now proposed to the Friar that it be blown up, so as to leave standing only the triangular portion formed by the two remaining walls and the intrenchment that joined them. The Friar, however, reminded Hugh of the panic caused among their enemies by the first mine, and advised that the other be kept in reserve for an effective moment. Hugh could not deny that there was good sense in the suggestion, and it was agreed to wait until the attack should be renewed. But the rest of that night passed without the return of the besiegers. They had withdrawn entirely from the neighborhood of the castle, and it was with great diffculty that the Count and his faithful Luke could keep them from abandoning the siege altogether. Luke went among them arguing, entreating, and making promises to keep them up to their task. He was met by the statement that "they had engaged to fight men—not devils and enchanters. If they were to meet swords, spears, and arrows—that was all in a soldier's lifetime, and they could return as good as they received. But they did not mean to fight thunder and lightning, nor the foul sorcery of the Black Art."
To all this Luke replied that there was no sorcery in the matter. There had been a mining of the wall, and some Greek fire stored below had become ignited, making a great light and turmoil. But it was all over now, and the defenders had but put another breach into their own walls for the easier entry of their foes. Luke assured them that he had often seen Greek fire used in the Crusades, and there was no sorcery in it. Gradually, the effect of the awful explosion having passed from their minds, Luke won back their confidence, and by assuring the men that the castle must surrender soon, gave them some heart for the fight. But both Luke and the Count deemed it wiser to wait until daylight before renewing the attack, since another such experience in the darkness might send their men away forever.
Although the Count and Luke had kept up a brave face before their soldiers, when they were alone in the Count's tent, they talked much less confidently of the night's great happening.
"What devil's work is this, Luke?" the Count asked. "Heard ever a man such a horrible roar? And did you see, Luke, how the wall rocked like a cockleshell on the waters, before it fell? Where did the Mortimers get the infernal compound that rends rocks as if they were but eggshells?"
Luke shook his head. He was pale and thoughtful, for he could not account for the explosion. He had seen Greek fire in the Holy Land, where it had been spouted through tubes. hurled in kegs, and poured from the walls of besieged towns. But he well knew that there was something more than Greek fire at work when that castle wall flew upward. At length he raised his head suddenly, as he remembered the visit of the Franciscan to their camp.
"My lord," said he with conviction, "I believe that I have the key to the mystery. Do you remember that old Friar whom, dressed as a minstrel, we captured in our lines?"
"Yes; but what of him? He was but a doddering old fool, begging his way through the countryside."
"Those friars are often learned men," Luke answered, "and since they travel throughout the world, they come upon strange secrets. Besides, they confide in one another, and they tell each other all the mischief they know."
"What matters it?" asked the Count, impatiently.
"He is the man," said Luke positively. "He must have learned the wisdom of the East; and has made some infernal compound that tears rocks and splinters them. I wish we had hung the shaven-pated wretch while we had him! But you would let him go, my lord."
"Yes," the Count answered boldly, "and would again. I meddle not with the gray, black, or brown friars. It brings bad luck, and I'll none of it. Why, once I did but cause one of them to be flogged and sent about his business when he came begging about my castle-gate, and, Luke, within a fortnight I did sprain my wrist and lost a favorite hawk! I send them about their business still, but I harm them not."
"If we fail to take the castle," Luke broke out, "it will be through the gray-coated friar—mark me—my lord, for I do not jest. I hope he has no more such infernal contrivings to let loose upon us, for not a man of all our force will stir abroad this night. And while we are idling here, who knows what is doing at the castle? They will be but laggard if they do not at least clear out the moat again."
But Luke was wrong. Hugh was too cautious to risk his men in the open. He feared that the forces of the enemy might be near enough to charge upon his workmen; and besides, he realized that to dig away the earth that formed the causeway across the moat would not long delay the besiegers. They could easily construct a rolling bridge and place it over the moat within an hour or two. Also, his men were weary, and they, too, had been greatly alarmed by the explosion, although he and the Friar had done their best to assure them that it was no accident, but a prearranged surprise. So he sent them to rest, after serving out an ample supply of food and ale, leaving only double sentries upon the walls.
Amabel, having been informed that it was decided she should set out that night, went to her own apartment, and with the assistance of Lady Mortimer, arranged her disguise. She had made her costume ready some time before. This was not a difficult undertaking, since it was only such a ragged dress as the poorest farmer's boy might wear. Around her waist, underneath her clothing, she had a leather belt, made double and containing a few gold bezants. She carried her little dagger in her bosom, and over her shoulder was a battered scrip containing some bits of bread and meat. She carried no written message of any sort, since it would have been an unnecessary risk. She had soiled and begrimed her face and hands, and her long hair was cropped close in peasant fashion. When all was done, Lady Mortimer stood back and holding a large candle examined the work critically, feeling that any error in the disguise might cost Amabel her life. But there was nothing to criticise, To all appearance the young girl was changed into a rough peasant boy, except that her skin was not tanned by the sun and outdoor air. But to account for this, Amabel had a story to tell. She meant to represent herself as an orphan boy, who had been left destitute and ill, and was now on his way to an uncle living not far from Nottingham. As Amabel had lived near Nottingham only a few years before, and was well acquainted with the region, she expected no difficulty in telling a straight story; or, rather, a crooked story that would seem straight.
When all was ready she bade Lady Mortimer, Hugh, and the Friar farewell, and accompanied by Edgar, who awaited her, went by a secret passage underground that led her to the bank of the river, where there was an opening far from the castle. Edgar carried his battle-ax and a small taper to light the way, and went first as the passage might possibly have been discovered and guarded by the Count's men.
But on reaching the opening they found nothing suspicious, and so stepped boldly out into the fresh night air. Edgar was anxious and almost repented his consent to her going; but the young girl, now that her course was resolved upon, and her enterprise begun, seemed not only cheerful but even gay. She insisted upon being called "Harry," and refused to consider the possibility of failure.
With a last embrace, Edgar bade her Godspeed, and choked down a lump in his throat as he saw her disappear in the darkness. He had little fear that she would be met by any of the Count's men, and he was uneasy only because of the long journey before her, and the many accidents that might happen. Yet he was fully convinced that she would carry out her mission better than any other inmate of the castle, and believed that no other could as well be spared. He was discouraged by the rapid progress of the siege, and saw that every man of the garrison might be needed if they were to hold out until relief could come.
He turned away at last, with a heavy sigh, and entering the low opening, carefully concealed it by replacing the bushes and stones that had been displaced.