XII
A Traitor in the Castle—He Deserts to the Enemy—How the Count Received Him— His Interview with Luke—Amabel's Enterprise Betrayed—Luke Suggests a Trick—The Keep the Last Hope of the Garrison—How Its Defenses Were Prepared—The Attack Slackens—The Friar's Wonderful "Seeing Tube"—An Inventor in His Laboratory—A Message from Edgar—The Count's Letter—Lady Mortimer's Anxiety—The Friar Detects the Fraud—A Devotee of the "White Art,"
CHAPTER XII
The commanders of the castle, Edgar, Hugh, and their aid and counselor the Friar, had believed that the departure of the Lady Amabel was known only to themselves; but in this they were mistaken. There is no eye so keen as that of a malicious enemy, and in the garrison was one man whom Amabel had offended. It was not that she had willingly done him wrong, but she had caused him to be detected in an act of carelessness, and thus earned for him a severe reprimand and a punishment. At the time Amabel had detected the attempt to scale the precipice on the river-side of the castle, it will be remembered that the sentry who should have been on the watch against such a surprise had deserted his post, and gone to the roof of the keep in order to watch the repulse of the siege-tower. Though Edgar wished to be lenient and kindly toward every member of the garrison, this man's fault could not be entirely overlooked. Consequently, after the repulse of the attack, owing to Amabel's alertness, Edgar called the careless sentry before him, after dinner in the great hall, and depriving him of his rank—for he was a petty officer—reprimanded him before all his comrades. This was done with much consideration for the man's previous good conduct, but the offense was one that deserved the severest punishment, and Edgar did not dare to let it go unnoticed.
But to the sentry, it seemed that he had been, wronged. He had not meant to desert his post, and had gone where he believed he could still keep on the watch over the rear of the castle; so he resented both the reprimand and the degradation in rank. Then, most unfairly, he blamed the Lady Amabel because it was her discovery that had led to his disgrace. He became sullen, and brooding over his wrong, he had resolved to retaliate upon her. Consequently, he had kept a watch upon all that she did, and thus was a witness to her parting with Hugh and the Friar. At the first glance he had not recognized her in the boy's costume, but, seeing the deference shown to her by Hugh and the Friar, he had been surprised; and stealing closer, he detected the disguise. Though he did not see her actually leave the castle, yet he very soon concluded she had done so because she no longed appeared in the great hall, nor with Lady Mortimer, yet nothing was said to account for her absence. All this, together with the fact that Edgar had hinted to the garrison—for the sake of encouraging them—that there might be relief expected from outside, led this shrewd man to the truth. He guessed that Amabel had been sent out to carry the news of the siege; and, seeing that she was thus beyond his malice, he made up his mind to desert from the garrison. An opportunity came during the taking of the intrenchment. He threw himself to the ground, as if he had been killed, and remained among the Count's men after the capture of the earthwork.
Then, awaiting his opportunity, he seized the Count's foot as he was passing. Instantly the Count snatched his foot away, and raising his sword was about to slay the fallen man, when the soldier cried:
"Wait, my lord! I am a deserter, and I have news for you."
The Count, reaching down, caught the man by the collar and jerked him roughly to his feet, asking at the same moment, "Where are you wounded, knave?"
"I am not wounded," the soldier replied. "I fell to the ground that I might have speech with your lordship."
"A scoundrelly deserter!" exclaimed the Count frowning at the man, who trembled before him, seeing that the Count gripped his sword-handle as if uncertain whether he would not strike the fellow down. "I hate a coward, and have half a mind to send you back to your young lord that he may hang you as you richly deserve.
"The castle is mine, and shall be taken; but, by my faith, the young Mortimer has held out bravely, and has gained my good-will by that doughty stroke of his battle-ax! But I shall take my own by force, not by the favor of a dastardly knave!"
So saying, the Count struck the deserter with the flat of his sword upon the shoulder, felling him to the ground, and turned away. But Luke, who had come up while they were speaking, raised the fallen man as the Count strode off, and set him upon his feet.
"You are but a fool," said Luke disdainfully. "If you had spoken wisely, the Count might have listened to you. Tell me your story, and you shall be cared for. The Count strikes first, and thinks after. Surely you would not have come over to us without good reason."
Thoroughly frightened, the deserter saw his only safety in gaining Luke's protection, and told his story—how he had been unjustly punished, and how he had made up his mind to desert—not for the purpose of betraying his comrades, against whom he had no grudge, but that he might revenge himself against the Lady Amabel for bringing punishment upon him when he had not deserved it.
The crafty Luke affected to sympathize with him, and soon drew from him the story of Amabel's departure, a description of her disguise, and the deserter's belief that she had gone to summon aid in raising the siege. Once possessed of the man's story, Luke led him out upon the plateau and then advised him to take himself off, adding that the Count would be sure to string him up to the branch of a tree if he were caught. The deserter thankfully took to his heels, glad to escape so cheaply, and Luke went to the Count. He repeated what the man had told him, but the Count did not attach much importance to the matter.
"Let the light-heeled wench go," said he. "Before she can be back we shall be in possession, and anyone will think twice before attacking us."
"Very true, my lord," Luke replied. "Besides, you may well say, 'Let her go,' since she is already gone, and beyond our stopping. But what is to prevent our sending a scroll to the young Lord Mortimer saying that we have taken this Lady Amabel, and that he can redeem her from our hands only by surrendering the castle? The Lady Mortimer and her son will think twice before they refuse and condemn her to death."
"It is a wise plan—if we had captured her; but when they shall demand her, or at least a sight of her—what is to do?"
"We will exhibit our captive to them," Luke answered. "What can be easier than to bring some country lass, with hair clipped short, and show her to them bound at a distance, just beyond the distance at which they might see clearly? They will suspect no fraud, and after they have surrendered the castle, why, we will surrender the maid."
"Then they will discover the fraud."
"What fraud?" asked Luke, with a grin. "Are we bound to know the Lady Amabel? If by mistake we have captured some simple country lass in her brother's clothing, and believe it to be the Lady Amabel—are we to be blamed?"
The Count laughed heartily. He had little faith in the success of the trick, but he found it amusing, and bade Luke try it, saying that if it failed no harm would be done, and they could renew the assault by attacking the two towers, which taken, would leave only the keep to be reduced. As the plan was entirely to Luke's taste, he at once departed to put it into execution.
While talking this over, Luke and the Count had been sheltered behind the intrenchment, which protected them in front, while the walls of the cat protected one flank, and a close wall of palisades had been erected to guard them from the archers on the other. Thus they were in a three-sided fort, and entirely covered from the fire of the garrison, except from arrows or stones that might be shot upward, and these could do little execution, and few attempts to fire upon this attacking party were made.
Hugh now looked upon the keep as the only portion of the castle that was capable of standing long against a determined attack, and he had set all the men to work at strengthening its defenses in every part. The door that opened upon the courtyard was firmly braced with heavy timbers extending to the floor, and there resting against great spikes driven deep into the ground. On top of the keep were placed several enormous bags made of rawhide and stuffed with wool. These, by means of ropes fastened to them at two corners could be lowered over the battlements in order to prevent a battering-ram from acting effectively. This chief doorway to the keep was sunk into the wall, and above there were openings—called machicolations—through which hot water, melted lead, or boiling oil could be thrown upon the heads of soldiers attacking the door.
From the lowest floor of the keep—the great hall—a winding stone stairway was the only way leading to the upper rooms. At each floor of this stair, Hugh had prepared stout gates secured by heavy bars and bolts, and with openings through which arrows or bolts could be shot, or spears could be thrust.
If, however, all these defenses should be carried, and the survivors of the garrison driven into the highest parts of the tower, there was yet provided for them a meant of escape. Within the thickness of the stone wall was a narrow stair descending spirally to the ground and communicating with the different floors and with the underground passage, through which Amabel had made her escape. At the head of this secret stair was a great stone door, a heavy slab that could be swung shut and fastened with steel bolts. This could not be quickly forced, and would by its resistance give the fleeing survivors time to be far beyond reach of pursuit.
Hugh did not mean to surrender the keep, however, and he provided in every way the means of prolonging the siege. Friar Bacon also exerted his utmost ingenuity to strengthen every point that seemed defensible. Among other devices one especially excited Edgar's admiration. At the head of each portion of the main stairway, the Friar had placed three or four large boxes on wheels, and had packed these full of heavy stones. These were to be sent tumbling down to break up any column that might try to rush up the stairs. Whatever spare time was left after completing these defenses, was given to constructing catapults that would discharge large bolts upon threatened points.
At the stair-heads also were placed heavy mattresses, to serve as defense against the missiles of the attacking parties. While thus preparing the keep, the other towers were not neglected, being strongly garrisoned with watchful guards, who fired at the besiegers in the courtyard whenever any were exposed.
Outside, though the van of the besiegers were for the time contented with what they had gained, and remained quietly watching for a favorable time to advance further, there was a renewal of the artillery attack. The mangonels had been brought closer to the southwestern corner of the castle—the corner where the burnt tower had stood—and renewed their fire, sending heavy stones over the heads of their own party in the courtyard. These missiles were directed mainly against the keep, and they gradually demolished the battlements of its roof. But its walls were too thick to be much damaged, except at the corners. A few stones were cracked, but this in no way weakened the keep; seeing which, the mangonels were next directed toward the less strongly built towers, the tops of which were somewhat injured, and the roofs entirely destroyed. This fire had the effect of confining the archers of the garrison to the loopholes, and thus of rendering their efforts to annoy the besiegers much less effective.
But it was evident to the defenders that the Count had no immediate intention of continuing the assault, and they therefore concluded that he meant to wait until nightfall before exposing his men to the arrows from the castle. This conclusion was true enough, but the Count had another reason for his delay. He was waiting for Luke to carry out his plan of reporting to the garrison the capture of Lady Amabel; and it was necessary for Luke's plan to send out a party of men to some neighboring village to procure a country girl who would serve as a substitute for the captive. Until Luke's scheme should fail, the Count was willing to suspend the attack, especially as he felt sure of taking the castle within a few days more at most.
So, though the garrison was upon the alert all night, there was no alarm, and when morning dawned, no new enterprise on the part of the besiegers could be discovered. Within the captured intrenchment had been left a party only large enough to hold it against a sortie, and the rest of the Count's force had withdrawn, some to the shelter of the ruined walls, and still others to their old camp near the woods south of the plateau.
It was a bright cold day, and a light fall of snow—the first of coming winter—lay upon the ground. From the various camp-fires of the besiegers long thin lines of blue smoke rose lazily in the air, where the men were cooking the morning meal. Within the castle also all seemed peaceful, except that the men were in their armor, and kept their arms near at hand. Edgar and Lady Mortimer were at breakfast in the hall, and Hugh was making his morning visit to all parts of the defenses, noting the number of men placed at each point, and giving the officers his instructions for the day. The Friar who gave every moment of leisure to his scientific experiments, was at the window of his own room, gazing through a long tube into which he had fixed lenses that he had ground for himself. This tube was in sliding portions and the Friar, pushing them in or out, was attentively examining the further shore of the river. After taking an observation thus, he would once more adjust the tubes or straighten his lenses, and try again. When at last he secured a clear view, he carefully placed the instrument upon his table, with a sigh and a smile of satisfaction over its successful working.
"Yes," he said, leaning back in his chair, "my reasonings are correct, and with this little tube I can make out what to the eye is but a blur! With this, the sailor at sea may tell whether the shore is rocky or offers a safe anchorage; the sea-fighter may tell the character of a coming vessel from afar, and decide whether to bear up or to set sail and away! The general may detect the nature of an opposing battle-array, and dispose his forces so as to meet the strategy of his foe; the" But the Friar was interrupted in his reverie by a knocking at his door. He rose, took the instrument with which he had been experimenting and put it away in his cupboard before drawing the bolt. Meanwhile the knocking was repeated. The Friar opened the door, and there stood a soldier, who, glancing curiously at the odd pieces of apparatus standing about the room, forgot for a moment to deliver his message to the waiting Friar.
"Did you wish to speak to me?" asked the Franciscan.
"Yes," the soldier replied, coming to himself. "Lord Edgar asks that you will come to him at once. He has received a scroll from the Count de Ferrers and wishes you to give him your counsel in regard to it." Then, with a final suspicious look at the contents of the room, the soldier who had never before been so near to the haunts of an astrologer, retired to report its wonderful mysteries to his comrades.
The Friar put his hood over his head, and went to join Lord Edgar, whom he found in consultation with Hugh upon the ramparts. The young lord seemed greatly troubled, and was gazing with knitted browns upon the strip of parchment held in his hand. When the Friar arrived, Edgar asked him to be seated until the arrival of Lady Mortimer, whom also he had sent for, and meanwhile handed the Franciscan the scroll.
Glancing at the signature, although the soldier had told him the message was from the Count, the Friar read the words which Luke had written:
"The Count de Ferrers, now besieging you, and so far successful in his attack as to render further resistance upon your part merely a cause of useless bloodshed, has hitherto declared that he would not grant quarter to any of the garrison when the castle falls into his hands. But the Count has not meant these terms to apply to others than the combatants, or those actively aiding in the defense, such as that dastardly minstrel-friar, who shall be hanged the day the castle is taken—[the Friar raised his eyebrows with a smile of contempt]—and the artisans who have constructed enginery of war. Lady Mortimer shall be dismissed under escort wherever she may choose to go, and you, the son and heir of the baron, shall be held to ransom. The Count also had fully intended to include in his terms of clemency the young Lady Amabel, in the belief that she too was no more than an honorable maiden doing her duty in succoring the distressed and caring for the wounded. But the said Lady Amabel having taken upon herself the character of an open enemy, engaged in carrying messages through our lines, and having fallen by the fortune of war into our hands, we do declare her a spy, and consider her life forfeited by the rules of war. Yet the Count de Ferrers, remembering her tender years, is loath to put her to death, and therefore offers the following terms. If the castle which you are now unlawfully withholding be yielded up without resistance, avoiding the sacrifice of life that is now useless, the Count will pardon the Lady Amabel and restore her uninjured. This offer will be held open until noon of the day this scroll is delivered. If it remain unanswered or unaccepted, the Count de Ferrers will hang the said spy within sight of the castle walls, and will then grant no quarter except, as already said, to the Lady Mortimer and her youthful son.
"Besides the surrender of the castle, the Count demands also that the said pretended minstrel or friar shall be dismissed from the protection of the castle or its garrison that he may be soundly flogged, and then hanged for a warning to all of his kind, practicers of evil acts and sorcery.
"The Count de Ferrers, to remove all doubt from the minds of any of the garrison, will show the captured spy within sight of the castle as near as may be prudent.
"So witness the seal and mark of Guy, Count de Ferrers, hereto attached, and the hand of his scribe, Luke Fletcher, commonly known as Luke the Lurdane, this tenth day before the kalends of December, A. D. 1270."
The Friar put down the long letter, and was lost in thought. He saw no reason for doubting the capture of the Lady Amabel, and that once granted, there was nothing improbable in the Count's letter. The resistance had been so obstinate that his granting of terms in the hope of terminating the fighting was plausible enough; while the threat against the Friar himself might be explained by the superstition of the Count and the resentment caused by the explosion of the mine. It was likewise true that Amabel, having taken it upon herself to bring aid to the garrison, might fairly be considered a spy. Altogether—Luke's letter, long-winded and artificial as he had made it, was a skillful composition, well calculated to deceive.
While the Friar was still considering the matter. Lady Mortimer arrived, and the letter was read to her. She never doubted its truth, but with the tears running from her eyes looked appealingly at her son. Hugh also, to judge by his dejected expression, was also a dupe to Luke's ingenious fraud. But the Friar, asking Edgar to let him read the letter again, suddenly stopped when he came to the phrase, "to remove all doubt from the minds of any of the garrison," and began to shake his tonsured head.
"Lord Edgar," said he, "this scroll is the work of a sly double-dealer and a fork-tongued rascal. It is possible nevertheless that it may be true. Yet I doubt it. Had it been true, I think that Luke would not have been so careful to 'remove all doubt.' And if the letter be untrue, then of a surety, he cannot show us the Lady Amabel, but will have someone—some sleek boy—to play the part. Let us wait before we answer this impudent letter, and if he tries to deceive us by some substitution, I may find a means of coming at the truth. Be of good cheer. Is the Count's messenger awaiting our answer?—or has he gone back?"
"The fellow, who came under a flag of truce, rode away as soon as the message was delivered," Edgar answered. "I hope, Brother Roger, that you are right, but I fear I did wrong in letting her go, and so I dread"
"Wait, wait!" cried Lady Mortimer, rising as she spoke, and going to the battlements. "See, I believe they are bringing the prisoner even now. Look—she is coming near—oh, would I had the sharp eye of a hawk, that I might see whether it be indeed our dear Amabel!"
"If your ladyship will but wait my return, you shall see further than either hawk or eagle," said the Friar, rising as if he were twenty years younger than his white beard proved him. Across the rampart, into the keep, to his own room, and back again the Friar hurried, while the party upon the walls remained watching the approaching group—which was seen, as it came nearer, to consist of four horsemen riding slowly, while a figure on foot walked between. As they halted, this figure was seen to raise its arms as if appealing for aid to the castle.
And Lady Mortimer, seeing the gesture, sobbed with grief, exclaiming, "Edgar, let them take the castle, and ransom poor Amabel! What is it but a pile of stone? She has risked her life for us, shall we grudge her anything we have?"
But Edgar, hoping that the Friar was right, made no reply. He was afraid to express himself. He was as ready as his mother to sacrifice anything to save Amabel's life, but he remembered his father's words, commanding him to defend the castle to the last; and he also remembered that the Count demanded the surrender of the Friar—the good Friar, who had worked early and late in their service, giving all his learning to strengthen the defense.
Fortunately, Lady Mortimer did not press him for an answer, and the Friar soon returned. The men who were in charge of the prisoner now separated, leaving her standing in the center of a square of which they occupied the four corners. Roger Bacon, handing the tube he had brought to Lady Mortimer, directed her how to look through it. For a moment she could not adjust her sight to the instrument, but when she saw clearly, a cry of astonishment burst from her lips.
"Ah—h!" she almost screamed, "what magic is this, good Friar! It is as if the whole field moved toward me—I can see almost the blades of grass. Let me find poor Amabel!"
She moved the glass to and fro, and at length saw one of the horsemen. In an instant more she brought the glass to bear upon the prisoner, and then an exclamation of surprise burst from her lips, "The false, lying, deceitful villains! It is a country wench they have tricked out to cheat us. Thank God, the child is yet safe!"
Edgar and Hugh, overjoyed, took their turn at the glass, and were amazed, as Lady Mortimer had been. Then Edgar, turning to the Friar, said: "The Black Art? Thou hast the White Art of defeating the wiles of evil-doers, of saving and aiding those in trouble! May the Lord bless thee!"