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</div>
<h2>By
<br /><span class="small"><i>THOMAS A. H. MAWHINNEY</i></span></h2>
<dl class="int"><dt>THE SWORD OF THE HOUSE OF DE MARILLAC</dt>
<dt>ENGLISH OAK AND SPANISH GOLD</dt></dl>
<div class="img" id="pic1">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-img001.jpg" alt="The Lance Was Almost Torn From His Grasp" width="500" height="751" />
<p class="ccaption">The Lance Was Almost Torn From His Grasp</p>
</div>
<div class="box">
<h1>THE MESSENGER
<br /><span class="small">OF THE</span>
<br />BLACK PRINCE</h1>
<p class="center"><span class="large">By
<br />THOMAS A. H. MAWHINNEY</span></p>
<p class="tbcenter">Illustrated by
<br /><span class="sc">Manning deV. Lee</span></p>
<p class="tbcenter">THE PENN PUBLISHING
<br />COMPANY PHILADELPHIA
<br /><span class="small">1928</span></p>
</div>
<p class="center">COPYRIGHT 1928
<br />BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY</p>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-img002.png" alt="" width="261" height="232" />
</div>
<p><span class="small">Made in the U. S. A.</span></p>
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<dl class="toc">
<dt class="jr"><span class="jl"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></span> <span class="small">PAGE</span></dt>
<dt><span class="cn">I. </span><a href="#c1">The King&rsquo;s Fool</a> 7</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">II. </span><a href="#c2">I Am Attacked in the Woods</a> 22</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">III. </span><a href="#c3">A Visitor in the Night</a> 31</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">IV. </span><a href="#c4">A Trickster</a> 36</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">V. </span><a href="#c5">What I Learned in the Woods</a> 48</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">VI. </span><a href="#c6">We Hunt the Wild Boar</a> 59</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">VII. </span><a href="#c7">The Black Prince</a> 69</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">VIII. </span><a href="#c8">The Silver-Hafted Dagger</a> 82</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">IX. </span><a href="#c9">A Solitary House in the Woods</a> 91</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">X. </span><a href="#c10">The Highwayman of Tours</a> 107</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XI. </span><a href="#c11">I Find a Companion</a> 117</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XII. </span><a href="#c12">The Three Crows Inn</a> 123</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XIII. </span><a href="#c13">The Silver-Hafted Dagger</a> 133</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XIV. </span><a href="#c14">Pursued</a> 141</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XV. </span><a href="#c15">The Scrivener Disappears</a> 150</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XVI. </span><a href="#c16">The Scrivener Turns Traitor</a> 162</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XVII. </span><a href="#c17">On the Highway</a> 172</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XVIII. </span><a href="#c18">Escape!</a> 183</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XIX. </span><a href="#c19">On the Island</a> 190</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XX. </span><a href="#c20">No Man&rsquo;s Land</a> 198</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXI. </span><a href="#c21">The Defense of the Cave</a> 206</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXII. </span><a href="#c22">Trapped!</a> 227</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXIII. </span><a href="#c23">The Fight in the Inn</a> 239</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXIV. </span><a href="#c24">Besieged</a> 247</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXV. </span><a href="#c25">Friends and Enemies</a> 257</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXVI. </span><a href="#c26">The Abbot of Chalonnes</a> 270</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXVII. </span><a href="#c27">The Black Prince Again</a> 283</dt>
<dt><span class="cn">XXVIII. </span><a href="#c28">Victory ... and Home</a> 292</dt>
</dl>
<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<dl class="toc">
<dt><a href="#pic1">The Lance Was Almost Torn From His Grasp</a> <i>Frontispiece</i></dt>
<dt><a href="#pic2">The Arrow Struck With a Click</a> 78</dt>
<dt><a href="#pic3">They Came Into View From Among the Thick Trunks</a> 146</dt>
<dt><a href="#pic4">His Countenance Was Black With Anger</a> 218</dt>
</dl>
<div class="pb" id="Page_7">7</div>
<h1 title="">The Messenger of the Black Prince</h1>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c8.png" alt="" width="545" height="323" />
</div>
<h2 id="c1">CHAPTER I
<br /><span class="small">THE KING&rsquo;S FOOL</span></h2>
<p>I remember the beginning of it as though it were
yesterday. My brother Andr&eacute; had sent me to the
armorer&rsquo;s to have some broken links mended in his gear.
I was standing near the forge watching Le Brun
send the sparks flying from his anvil and marveling with
what strength and ease he was able to turn the stubborn
bits of steel, when a man appeared at the door and
with a smile bid us the time of day. There is nothing
strange in that, to be sure. But yet the manner of his
saying it struck us both, for his tone held a kind of
sharpness as of mockery. I looked around quickly.
Le Brun eased off the stroke as it came down. With
a scowl upon his brow he leaned his weight upon the
hammer. His big chest heaved as he glared towards
the door.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_8">8</div>
<p>&ldquo;I agree, stranger,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It is a fair day.&rdquo; He
waved with his hand. &ldquo;You will find the inn about half
a league further down the road.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was a strong hint for the man to be on his way,
but he took no more notice of it than if Le Brun were a
child. Three quick steps and he was beside the bellows
with the smile broader than before.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do I look like a man who could eat in an inn?&rdquo; he
demanded. At the same time he pointed to his clothes
which were indeed only rags. He took the soiled cap
from his head and threw it on the floor. Then, without
a word he placed the palm of his hand upon it and
turned the swiftest somersault that you could imagine.
When he was standing upright again, he gazed into our
faces with an expression as though he had performed
the cleverest trick in the world.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Look here!&rdquo; growled the armorer with a frown.
&ldquo;You were here yesterday. I gave you a piece of silver
to get rid of you. You are back again. Do you
think&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_9">9</div>
<p>The fellow threw his hand in the air.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course I am back again,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Is it a crime
for me to want to pay my debt?&rdquo; With that he fumbled
in the lining of his coat and brought forth a shining piece
of gold. &ldquo;There!&rdquo; he called, flinging it on the anvil till
it rang. &ldquo;You have three times and more the sum you
gave me!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The slow-witted Le Brun looked at me and I at him.
Both of us were sorely puzzled. The armorer shook
his head.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A beggar one day&mdash;a rich man the next,&rdquo; he began.
&ldquo;There is but one conclusion&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; interrupted the other. &ldquo;Do not say the word.
It is ugly and I&rsquo;d rather say it for you. The long and
short of it is that you take me for a thief.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Gold doesn&rsquo;t grow on trees,&rdquo; remarked Le Brun
darkly. &ldquo;Listen, sir stranger,&rdquo; he said advancing a
step, &ldquo;have you no honest calling?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I thought the fellow would flare into a rage, but to
my surprise he threw back his head and laughed a long
trilling laugh almost like the song of a bird. When he
ceased, he laid his palms on his hips and bowed mockingly
at us.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_10">10</div>
<p>&ldquo;I told you yesterday that I was a fool,&rdquo; he said.
&ldquo;I am the same today&mdash;a king&rsquo;s fool. Look!&rdquo; He put
his hand into his coat again and drew out a silly-looking
cap, which he placed over one ear, and a bauble
with tiny bells. He shook it with the glee of a child. The
more it tinkled, the broader grew his grin. As though
he was actually captivated by the sound, he began to
caper about and finally struck into a quickly moving
dance.</p>
<p>He stopped as suddenly as he began. Then he
bowed once more.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;can you tell me, sirs, where
I can find a position?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;as a fool?&rdquo; I asked with a smile.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; I replied, &ldquo;by what I have seen you are
clever enough to amuse the King of France himself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He jerked his head around and shot a look at me.
For one second I saw a flash of hate and anger. In
the next a wise smile curled about his mouth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Strange words,&rdquo; he muttered and repeated it.
&ldquo;Strange words to fall from the lips of a Norman lad.
Have you all grown so weak? There was a time when
the gentry of Normandy thought the only way to amuse
the King of France was with spears and swords and
battle-axes, not with such toys as these.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_11">11</div>
<p>He spoke slowly and with a half smile, but under it
lay a sting that cut me to the bone. I cast a sidelong
glance at Le Brun who stood scowling as black as night,
but withal puzzled. He was no good hand at solving
of riddles nor in the sifting of double meaning statements.
His way was with a cuff or blow, and there
an end to it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is this a jest, sir Fool?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Would you have
the Norman barons arm themselves and fight when there
is no need for it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>For a reply all that he did was to break into a long
low whistle and toss the bauble into the air. When it
came down, he caught it with great deftness and twirled
it about in his fingers. Then he shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There was a meeting at Rouen&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; he said and
curled his brows, as though I ought to understand the
rest.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I know that,&rdquo; I replied quickly. &ldquo;There was a meeting
of the Norman barons at Rouen&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Here I
stopped and eyed him closely. &ldquo;Such things were better
left to themselves. For all I know, sir Fool, to give
you a short answer, I may even be talking to a King&rsquo;s
spy.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The man tossed his head to one side and uttered a
little painful laugh.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_12">12</div>
<p>&ldquo;The Black Prince of England,&rdquo; he went on as
though he would brush my objection aside, &ldquo;has left
Bordeaux. He is ranging along the western coast of
France. There is no one to oppose him. Not a soldier of
the King is within a hundred leagues. He is toppling
over one castle after the other&mdash;&mdash;Suppose,&rdquo; he said
closing one eye and looking at me cunningly, &ldquo;the King
of France were to rush towards the west to destroy
him? Would any of you Normans come to his aid?&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was a question far too deep for my boyish brain.
Besides I knew that silence was the beginning of caution,
so I flung my hand in the air as though the affair
were of no importance to me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;From what I have heard,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;the Black Prince
is well able to care for himself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I saw an expression of contempt gather on his face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The meeting at Rouen was a blow to your country,&rdquo;
the man went on with more perseverance than
ever. &ldquo;A good dozen of your finest blood lost their
lives. It&rsquo;s a good thing,&rdquo; he added with biting scorn,
&ldquo;that you were not there yourself!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was growing angry.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; I demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because,&rdquo; he replied with cutting deliberation, &ldquo;you
would not have had the courage to raise an arm in
your own defence!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_13">13</div>
<p>The hot blood stole slowly to my neck and face. I
saw out of the corner of my eye that the armorer was
rolling his sleeves up over his elbows, while one hand
reached out for the hammer that lay alongside the
anvil.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you come here to pick a quarrel?&rdquo; I demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;As you wish,&rdquo; he said and spat derisively upon the
ground.</p>
<p>It was a challenge flung into my teeth. I was but a
lad, of course, but for all that of big bone and strong
from the life which I had lived in the open. My opponent
was a man full grown and, from what I had
just seen, as quick and slippery in his actions as an
eel. For the moment in my wrath I took little heed of
these things but knotted my fists together and advanced
towards him.</p>
<p>I thought that if I could strike the first blow I could
settle him once for all and so end his insolence. With
a lunge that ought to have carried him off his feet
I made at him. To my surprise I beat only into the
empty air. The fellow had slipped to the one side
with a light gliding motion that for quickness fairly
took my breath away. Then, to add fire to my discomfiture,
he calmly placed his hands flat upon his
hips and stood smiling at me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A Norman calf!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;If the rest of your
race can fight no better than that, it is no wonder that
the King of France will soon devour you!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_14">14</div>
<p>I made no answer. The taunt struck me with the
sharpness of a knife. If I was full of wrath before,
I was boiling with anger now. I steadied myself on
the balls of my feet and looked the fellow in the eye.
Then, with greater quickness than at first, I rushed
again upon him. But he was ready, even more than
I had expected. Instead of leaping to the side, he
jumped back and, as I came towards him, struck me
a sharp blow on the face with his open hand.</p>
<p>By this time I was fighting mad, but rather at my
own bungling than at his adroitness. I would have
given my right arm to have caught him a single stunning
crash. I plunged forward, reckless and determined
to the last degree. Now he slipped past me so
close that I was able to touch the sleeve of his coat.
Again his hot breath touched my face. He came in
so near that he gave my arm a twist. But with all my
effort I could not lay a finger on him. It was like a
game&mdash;a contest with speed on one side and strength on
the other&mdash;&mdash;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Henri!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_15">15</div>
<p>It was Le Brun&rsquo;s voice coming like a warning. I
knew I had to be on the alert. But before I realized
what my opponent was about, he had caught me by
sliding his arm entirely under mine. I felt a twang
run across my shoulder as though it was being
wrenched from the socket. My feet loosed themselves
from the ground and in the next second I was rolling
over towards the anvil of the armorer.</p>
<p>But I was not entirely gone. With a kind of instinct
I extended my hand to grasp whatever might
save me from utter humiliation. It was mere luck, I
know, but even at that I had to grit my teeth and hang
on with what strength was still in me. My fist was
closing around the Fool&rsquo;s wrist and the surer I was of
myself, the harder I held on. A sudden jerk brought
him slightly towards me. A hard steady pull bent
him still further. With a twist I threw myself with
my back upon the ground. I had two hands free now
and I wrapped both around his wrist with the sureness
of a vise. He struggled like an animal taken in a
trap. With the fingers of his free hand he tried to pry
my grip loose. He twisted and squirmed. He dug his
nails into my flesh. He jumped from one position to
another. He pretended to fall towards me and then
with his arms relaxed sprang suddenly back again.
But I clung to him as though it were my only hope
for life until his tugs and pulls spent themselves and
I grew the more confident of victory.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_16">16</div>
<p>His breath was getting shorter and a paleness overspread
his face. It was now or never for me, so with
one firm effort I drew him steadily down until his
face was near mine and his feet kept tapping at my
ribs. Then, he fell. His whole body covered mine.
His knees dug into my stomach and the crook of his
elbow fastened itself in my throat.</p>
<p>For a moment I feared I would choke. I had to let
go his wrist with one hand to clear myself of his weight.
As soon as I had shoved him away, I reached out to
grasp him by the throat if I could, but in the same
moment I felt him clutching at mine.</p>
<p>We were struggling with every sinew, each for the
mastery. With a quickness that I might have been
expecting, my opponent gave one final lurch. It was
an effort that wrenched free the hand which I held in
my grip. I tried again and again to clutch it, but I
succeeded only in closing my fist in the air. I caught
his body between my knees in the hope that I could
squeeze the breath out of him. I squirmed this way
and that. Now I had his arm or his wrist between my
fingers, but before I was sure of myself he had twisted
out of danger. We rolled over locked together like
tangled pieces of twine, but with every rolling it was
he, because of his adroitness, who came uppermost and
it was I who was prone upon my back upon the ground.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_17">17</div>
<p>At last the end came. By a piece of mere chance I
had slid my arm forward with its entire length under
his. Then with a twist of my wrist I laid my hand
around his throat. His shoulder was like the resting
place of a lever. I began to press steadily. His chin
went back and his eyes turned upwards. A little more
and his mouth opened showing a row of even white
teeth. I was on the verge of tossing him from me
when he squirmed once more, this time to the one side.
He slid from out the vise that was closing in on him
and almost with the same effort sprang quickly to his
feet.</p>
<p>I jumped up of course, for I thought the conflict
but begun when he raised his hand as though to tell me
that he had enough and between the heavings of his
breath called in a shaking voice, &ldquo;I did not come here
to fight!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I almost laughed in his face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why, then, did you come?&rdquo; demanded Le Brun
with a growl.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I came to make friends!&rdquo; was the answer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;to make friends?&rdquo; I echoed. &ldquo;Do you think a
man makes friends through jibes and insults?&rdquo;</p>
<p>By this time both of us had somewhat recovered our
breath. In the most serious manner imaginable he
threw his hands apart and looked from the armorer to
me.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_18">18</div>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s an unfortunate habit I have,&rdquo; he exclaimed.
&ldquo;It lies in my disposition to dig to the bottom of
things&mdash;to prod people till they squirm.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Some day,&rdquo; said I by way of admonishment, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll
prod the wrong person. In such dangerous times as
these, when everyone is the other&rsquo;s enemy, it&rsquo;ll likely
cost you your life.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He paid no more heed to me than if I had not spoken.
As though he was aroused by a sudden curiosity, he
half closed his eyes and made a mental measurement
of me as I have often seen a buyer measure a horse.
He took a step or two to the rear. He circled around
me. I saw his lips move as though he was noting this
or that to himself. Then, with the same ease and confidence
as though we had been life-long friends, he
came up to me and laid his fingers on the upper part of
my arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;All brawn,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Tough. Great endurance,
but a trifle slow in action.&rdquo; And with a smile of satisfaction
he clapped me heartily on the shoulder. &ldquo;Can
you fight?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>I wrinkled my brows.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I held my own with you, didn&rsquo;t I?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Na. Na. Lad. Not that,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That was
no fight. It was only a little rolling in the dirt. What
I mean is this: Are you good with a sword, an ax or a
dagger?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_19">19</div>
<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I answered slyly, &ldquo;a bit ago you made an
accusation. You upbraided me for being a Norman.&rdquo;</p>
<p>His head came up with a jerk and the fire flashed
from his black eyes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That was only a bit of my prodding,&rdquo; he replied
quickly. &ldquo;I wanted to stir you up. Oh,&rdquo; he cried when
I looked questioningly at him, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ll all need stirring
up. What skill you have in the handling of weapons
will soon be sorely useful. Can&rsquo;t you realize that the
King of France is watching you like a cat watches a
mouse?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; I answered rather downcast, &ldquo;he would
like to add our territories to his own.&rdquo;</p>
<p>By this time the armorer had returned to his forge.
His great hairy arm lay along the shaft of the bellows.
The sparks from the coals of peat flew like tiny shooting-stars
towards the rafters. He was like a great ox,
patient and plodding, that did not realize its strength.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are too much like him,&rdquo; came the answer as
the Fool pointed to Le Brun, &ldquo;&mdash;powerful, but not
far-sighted. What you ought to have is a bit of cunning
to match your wits against your foes.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_20">20</div>
<p>I said not a word for I did not know exactly what
he was driving at. With a toss of my head I ambled
slowly towards the door. The Fool went with me talking
and jabbering at my elbow. When we came to the
threshold, he slid his body carefully along the wall and
like a thief peered up and down the road with more
than usual circumspection. Then as though he was
thoroughly alarmed he spun about and took me
anxiously by the arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t say that I have been here, will you?&rdquo; he
begged.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; I laughed, &ldquo;as far as that goes I shall forget
all about you within an hour.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The expression on his face fell. He looked at me as
though I had dealt him a terrible blow.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No you won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;The fact is that
you&rsquo;ll remember me till your dying day. You&rsquo;ll tell
your children about me long after I&rsquo;m dead.&rdquo; Here
he seized my arm again even more firmly than before.
&ldquo;I must be off,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;And you won&rsquo;t forget, will
you? Never breathe to a soul that I&rsquo;ve been here!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was puzzled but yet more amused. I was sure
that it was some whim or other that had taken hold
of his fancy. So to flatter him I promised that his
presence here would never be mentioned. With that
he seemed pleased and with a skip and a hop he made
his way around to the back of the forge where he was
quickly lost among the trees.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_21">21</div>
<p>To satisfy my own curiosity I gazed a long time up
and down the road. There was nothing as far as I
could see that could have given him cause for alarm.
The whole highway was as void as a desert save that
on the brow of the hill, like a speck in the sky, there
came riding towards us a solitary horseman, booted
and spurred, in all likelihood a guest for the village
inn for the night. At most he was only a passing
stranger like hundreds of others. I smiled at myself
that I had taken the Fool so seriously. I went back
to have my laugh out with Le Brun and to wait for my
brother&rsquo;s gear.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_22">22</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c1.png" alt="" width="551" height="303" />
</div>
<h2 id="c2">CHAPTER II
<br /><span class="small">I AM ATTACKED IN THE WOODS</span></h2>
<p>It was late in the afternoon when I left the armorer&rsquo;s.
The sky was covered with low dark clouds. A
fine rain fell which cut through the skin with the keenness
of a sharp knife.</p>
<p>Our house (where I lived alone with my brother
Andr&eacute;) lay above a mile from the village around a
long bend in the road&mdash;a track I rarely traveled, for I
knew a shorter path through the woods. So with my
brother&rsquo;s armor slung lightly over my shoulder I
started briskly on my way.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_23">23</div>
<p>I was without a serious thought. The birds, in the
face of the oncoming night, were settled in their nests.
The branches of the trees began to drip moisture over
my face and neck. The grass and the underbrush were
a bit soggy under my feet, but even with that the lightness
of my heart prompted me to whistle a little tune.</p>
<p>I had gone about half way. The thoughts of a
bright fire and warmth were uppermost in my brain.
Save for the dripping of the rain the woods were as
silent as an empty tomb.</p>
<p>A sound startled me&mdash;a swish like the hurry of a
deer or a wild-boar scurrying through the weeds. I
stopped and peered carefully through the gathering
gloom. The sound was repeated, directly in front of
me. Quite instinctively I backed away to seek the protection
of the nearest tree, and waited. But for a
second all I could hear was the thumping of my heart
against my ribs.</p>
<p>After a little I began to feel that my fear was
founded on imagination, so with cautious steps I slowly
ventured once more ahead. I had not gone five strides
when the swish came again to my ears, this time more
distinct and very near. I was about to swerve to my
left to avoid the danger that might be threatening me,
when a rough-looking fellow stepped out of the semi-darkness
and made towards me.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_24">24</div>
<p>As well as I could distinguish, he was of the commoner
type, clad in the wooden shoes of the peasantry
and with a coat and breeches of some black material
almost threadbare, crumpled and soiled from being
lived and slept in. His hair hung out in clumps from
under the edges of an old cap and around his neck was
knotted a ragged scarf.</p>
<p>I caught all this in a flash, you may be sure. But
what attracted me most was neither his clothes nor even
his threatening aspect, for I started with terror when
I caught a glimpse of a dagger that he held grasped in
his right hand.</p>
<p>I stopped and drew a long breath. But he came on
with the weapon raised on a level with his shoulder, and
with his heavy eyes glaring at me as though I were a
wild animal that was to be stricken to death. I shifted
to the one side and he shifted likewise with me. I saw
him moisten his lips and half-shut his eyes. With what
quickness I could, I sprang further on and dodged
safe for the moment behind a tree.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My name is La Mar!&rdquo; I called. &ldquo;I am Henri La
Mar. I live in that house over there at the edge of
the woods.&rdquo; I stopped long enough for him to understand.
Then, &ldquo;Surely you have made a mistake,&rdquo; I
cried still louder. &ldquo;You must be waiting here for
someone else!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_25">25</div>
<p>He lunged stupidly after me. The breath was coming
from between his lips in a kind of a wheeze. At
the same time he uttered in a deep growl, &ldquo;La Mar.
The old Count of Gramont&mdash;the rest of them&rdquo;&mdash;and
something which sounded like an oath, but which I
was not able to understand.</p>
<p>We were within five feet of each other. All the
time he held the dagger on high always ready to strike.
It flashed through my senses that I was dallying long
enough, so with a jump I flew away from my tree and
made deeper into the woods.</p>
<p>But it seemed that I had run into a trap. I had
not gone twice the length of my body when a second
fellow, dressed the same as the first, confronted me.
If you had stood the two together you could not have
told the one from the other. And this one, too, had a
dagger like the first and stood with his legs spread
out to block my way.</p>
<p>I was as good as dead. I came to a stop as though
I had struck a stone wall and then veered over to the
one side as I did before. At the same instant I bent low
and ran as fast as I could in the hope that, if my assailant
made a lunge at me, there might be some chance
that it would only be a glancing blow and do me little
harm.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_26">26</div>
<p>I had calculated too rashly on the sloth of my enemy.
Indeed he was as sure of me as a hunter is of
game that is already brought to earth. As I passed, he
took one leap after me. His hand came down with the
speed of an arrow and the next thing I knew I felt a
jar in the middle of my back that sent the stars before
my eyes and flattened me on my stomach on the ground.
Then a shriek echoed among the trees that sent the
blood curdling through my veins and after that the
woods were still again.</p>
<p>I was partly dazed by my fall. To tell you the truth,
by every right I ought to have been killed. But the
armor which I had slung so lightly over my shoulder
had saved me. When the blow struck, the point of the
dagger caught in the meshes of the twisted links. The
weapon was a straight knife with no cross piece to form
a protection for the hand. The impact was so sudden
and so unexpected that my enemy lost his grip on the
haft. His hand slipped down the blade and, as I learned
afterwards, was cut along the fingers and the palm.
It was the pain of it that made him cry out and to that
the frenzy of it caused him to take to his heels and run
away.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_27">27</div>
<p>There was danger on every side of me. I had no time
to breathe a word of thanks for my deliverance but got
up as quickly as I could and made forward in the direction
I was bent on. Then came my third surprise. I
had started at a fairly good gait when an arrow whistled
past my face and buried itself in the trunk of a great
tree. My flesh crept from the very terror of my situation.
There was one thing to do, I thought, and that
was to take the bridle in my teeth and make the best of
it.</p>
<p>I plunged on ahead recklessly. I am sure that I was
as white as a ghost. It is one thing to have an enemy
in front of you with whom you are matched on even
terms. It is another to be beset by lurking foes who are
able to strike unseen and who have every advantage in
position and in weapons. But even at that the spirit of
desperation was strong within me, for I was resolved
to use my last speck of strength to worm myself through
the woods and to make for home.</p>
<p>But my resolutions were nipped in the bud before I
had fairly formed them. I was just getting into full
career when another arrow passed my face, this time
closer than the first and whistled on among the trees.
But I did not stop. I bent my head low to the ground.
I grasped the piece of mail more firmly in my hand. I
was breathing hard, but more from the strain I was
under than from actual labor. Three strides further
and a third arrow buried itself in the turf straight before
me and snapped with a little click.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_28">28</div>
<p>I could not help looking down for my face was directed
towards the ground. To my amazement, even in
the gloom of the woods, I spied a piece of parchment
tied in a hard knot on the haft of the missile.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A message,&rdquo; I thought. &ldquo;Is it a warning from a
friend? Or a threat from a hidden foe?&rdquo;</p>
<p>As quick as a flash I stooped and snatched it open.
There I read in letters scrawled as coarsely and as
rudely as a child would write the words:</p>
<p class="center"><span class="small">GO BACK BY THE ROAD</span></p>
<p>I trembled a little, I must confess. Whether from
friend or foe, it was wisest to obey. If I insisted on
going on ahead, I knew I would surely be killed. If I
were to go back&mdash;well, there was a ray of hope.</p>
<p>I turned. I was as much in the hands of Fate as ever
was any man alive. This time I did not run but kept
on at a steady gait. At every step I was in expectation
of some fresh attack, to be confronted by one of the
two men who had assailed me, or by a knife darting
through the air, or even by an arrow. But to my surprise
the woods were as calm as when I first entered
them. The rain dripped slowly from the overhanging
branches and the light wind fanned and cooled my
heated cheeks.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_29">29</div>
<p>I was soon past the place where I had met my first
foe. To my imagination it was like a tale I had heard
of a superstitious person&rsquo;s passing a place haunted by a
ghost. My eyes were on the alert. At any second I
expected a fresh attack. I thought I heard a low groan.
I let the thought pass as though it were the promptings
of fear. Then I heard it again and with it some words
that I could not understand. I looked about and there
to my amazement I saw the fellow who had first threatened
me with his back to a tree. A strong cord held his
wrists tied together, while another wrapped around his
body held him firmly fastened against the trunk.</p>
<p>At the sight of me he cleared his throat.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Come here!&rdquo; he commanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Will you loose these bonds?&rdquo; he said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I know when I&rsquo;m safe,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do nothing
of the kind.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He growled something under his breath.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you do,&rdquo; he went on half coaxingly and half in a
threat, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you a story that&rsquo;s worth while.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve told me enough already,&rdquo; said I, and started
on my way.</p>
<p>But he was insistent.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; he commanded once more. &ldquo;Will you give
me a mouthful of water, then?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s enough dripping from the trees,&rdquo; I shot
back at him. &ldquo;Turn your face up and you&rsquo;ll easily
slacken your thirst.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_30">30</div>
<p>He growled deeper than before but he realized that
I was not to be taken as lightly as he thought. I went
on. There was no more interruption. The fellow with
the wounded hand might have been lurking somewhere
in the neighborhood. He might even be standing behind
a tree. But as far as I was concerned, he did not
appear and in quicker time than I had come in, I was
out of the woods and on the road that led in a roundabout
way to my home.</p>
<p>I breathed a great sigh of relief when I tramped up
the gravel walk that led to the house. With no ado I
pushed open the front door and entered. In the great
hall there were two men, the one my brother Andr&eacute; and
the old Count of Gramont who lived in the castle on the
hill. They had just finished lighting the candles. There
was no fire in the open hearth and the room was cold and
chilled with the damp. The old Count was pacing nervously
up and down the floor muttering to himself in
his deep rolling tones. My brother&rsquo;s face was as white
as chalk and lines of worry lay across his forehead. He
was standing at the long oaken table that stood in the
centre of the room winding a piece of linen about his
lower arm. I did not speak for at the first glance I
noticed that, as he wound, the blood kept oozing through
the bandages from the place where he had been
wounded.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_31">31</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c3.png" alt="" width="552" height="289" />
</div>
<h2 id="c3">CHAPTER III
<br /><span class="small">A VISITOR IN THE NIGHT</span></h2>
<p>I stood stock still in the middle of the floor. My
brother looked at me from head to foot.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Le Brun has been here, Henri,&rdquo; he said calmly. And
then in a low voice, &ldquo;I was afraid that something had
happened to you, you return so late.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Something has happened,&rdquo; I burst forth and in
shaking tones told him of my adventures in the woods.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They are agents of the King,&rdquo; cried the old Count.
&ldquo;They are everywhere about us. They are not satisfied
that they have taken my son. They will&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>My mouth fell open in amazement.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They have taken Charles?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Is it true
then that he was at the meeting at Rouen? You
can&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_32">32</div>
<p>&ldquo;It was a meeting of the nobles of Normandy,&rdquo; he
interrupted. &ldquo;I thought I was too old to go myself so
I sent my only son. They were to make plans to protect
us against the aggressions of the King. But the secret
leaked out. Some traitor in our ranks betrayed us.
Every man in the gathering was taken. A full dozen
were beheaded behind the walls of the town. A few
were sent off as prisoners, to be scattered among the
castles of the King.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;and Charles?&rdquo; I cried.</p>
<p>The old man sighed and ground his teeth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He is on his way down the valley of the Loire,&rdquo; he
rumbled deep in his throat, &ldquo;to be mewed up till the
crack of doom.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The blood left my face. A chill of horror ran through
every limb.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We shall bring him back, Henri,&rdquo; said Andr&eacute; with
a ring in his voice. &ldquo;If it takes the last drop of blood
of the last Norman, we shall bring him back. But we
shall have to wait.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The old Count flung his hand in the air. The fire
flashed from his eyes and he began to stride again
across the floor.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_33">33</div>
<p>&ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;Wait! That is the only
word you know. We have waited long enough already.
I&rsquo;ll not bide another day.&rdquo; He turned wildly towards
the rack that held my brother&rsquo;s arms. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take this,&rdquo;
he cried laying his strong hand upon a battle-ax. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
go to the King, where he sits upon his throne. I&rsquo;ll
demand of him why he dared to lay his finger upon my
son. I&rsquo;ll offer him his choice, whether he will give me
my son back&mdash;or perish at my feet.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Here Andr&eacute; raised his hand for peace.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you do that,&rdquo; he said quietly, &ldquo;you will only be
playing into their nets. It will mean the destruction of
us all.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Count flung himself into a chair.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s one last fight in me yet, Andr&eacute;,&rdquo; he growled
in his heavy voice. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll summon a thousand archers
from the countryside. I&rsquo;ll find the castle where they
have him prisoner. We&rsquo;ll storm it and burn it to the
ground.&rdquo;</p>
<p>But Andr&eacute;, who ever was on the side of wisdom, saw
the folly of his intentions.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you do,&rdquo; he warned, &ldquo;it will only be a signal for
an attack. The armies of France will sweep us from
our homes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He took two or three paces to and fro in the room
and returned to me. There was a smile of sadness on
his face as he spoke.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The Black Prince of England is our only hope,&rdquo; he
said.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_34">34</div>
<p>&ldquo;He is ravaging the western coast of France,&rdquo; I told
him. &ldquo;It is his presence there that holds the King in
check.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to answer but the long whine
of one of the dogs out of doors interrupted him. We
kept silent until the sound died away. Then he took up
a tinder and went to the hearth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I shall make a fire,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The chill of the air
has pierced me to the bone.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I looked at his wounded arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;How did you get that, Andr&eacute;?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>He laughed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We were attacked by knaves as we came along the
road.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The whine of the dog began again. Then like a
chorus there arose a barking and yelping as though the
whole pack of them had gone suddenly mad.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There is someone in the yard,&rdquo; muttered the old
Count without raising his head. &ldquo;I thought I heard
the crunching of the gravel on the walk.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_35">35</div>
<p>With a kind of instinct I turned towards the window.
I could not see clearly what it was, but there flashed
across the pane what seemed to be the image of a man&rsquo;s
face. By the suddenness with which he moved away, it
struck me that he must have been loitering there, peering
in. My heart rose in my throat for I thought of the
enemies who were lurking about the house.</p>
<p>I was on the verge of raising my hand to point and
call out, when amid the sharp howling of the dogs there
came a rapping on the panels of the door. Like a flash
Andr&eacute; sprang forward. Without a single weapon in
case he was attacked he jerked the door open. The
light of the candles shone dimly into the haze. For all
that, I was able to see the figure of a man standing on
the stone step. He was booted and spurred and clad
from neck to heels in the long black cloak of a traveler.
He wore a broad brimmed hat with a feather in it.
When he saw the anxious expression on my brother&rsquo;s
face he smiled and touched his forehead like a salute.
Then he bowed with the gravity of a courtier.</p>
<p>&ldquo;May I come in out of the rain?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_36">36</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c4.png" alt="" width="529" height="264" />
</div>
<h2 id="c4">CHAPTER IV
<br /><span class="small">A TRICKSTER</span></h2>
<p>Of all the men I ever saw this stranger struck my
fancy to the highest degree. He strode into the room
with as much confidence and poise as though he were
the actual master of the house and we the humblest of
his servants. He looked neither to the right nor the
left. Yet, as he passed us, without shifting his gaze,
he seemed to sweep each of us out of the corner of his
eye with a glance that measured us from head to heel.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_37">37</div>
<p>He stopped at the great oaken table and raised his
hat with a sort of mincing delicacy. With a swish
through the air he knocked the water from it and laid it
carefully down. When he took off his cloak we saw
that he carried a silver mounted sword and wore a
doublet and breeches of the finest velvet ornamented
about the edges with a fine lace. He curled his
moustache with his thumb and forefinger. Then, with
his hand over his heart and a bland smile on his face he
turned and bowed with as much reverence as you would
pay to a king.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll never forget this,&rdquo; he said, but there his voice
dropped so that the rest of it sounded like hollow mockery,&ldquo;&mdash;this
unexpected hospitality.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Andr&eacute; was the first to speak.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a sour night,&rdquo; said he carefully eyeing the
stranger&rsquo;s wet boots and dripping clothes, &ldquo;for a man
to be abroad.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The visitor gave a short laugh.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A little warmth,&rdquo; he replied with a nod towards the
hearth, &ldquo;would add greatly to my comfort.&rdquo; He began
to chafe his hands the one in the other as though he were
frozen to the marrow. &ldquo;Will you please bestir yourself!&rdquo;</p>
<p>There was a ring of insolence in his tone. His words,
though uttered smoothly, had a kind of sly meaning at
the bottom that touched us to the quick. It was clear
that he intended to nettle us. The old Lord of Gramont
squared his shoulders. He let out a low quiet whistle
and walked away. But Andr&eacute;, who was quicker and
more easily hurt, flushed the color of scarlet and knotted
his fists.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_38">38</div>
<p>For a moment there was empty silence. Our visitor
looked at each of us in turn with the corners of his lips
curved in a taunting smile. He strutted past the hearth
with his spurs clanking and glanced with a sneer about
the room.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have often heard that the cattle in Normandy were
better housed than their masters,&rdquo; he began. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s even
colder here than it is out of doors.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That is one reason why we are so healthy,&rdquo; replied
my brother looking him full in the face. &ldquo;And that is
why we are so strong.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The stranger broke out into a loud laugh.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why, man,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;you have more wit than
I imagined.&rdquo; He bowed low again. &ldquo;It is to your
credit, sir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Andr&eacute; yawned.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is indeed cold,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But your tongue has a
chill all of its own. Do you know, my friend, I should
have had a fire going by this time if you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; But he
stopped short, knowing that as a host he should not be
the first to openly offend.</p>
<p>But the stranger tossed back his head. He clapped
my brother soundly on the shoulder.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_39">39</div>
<p>&ldquo;I shall finish it for you,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You meant to
say, &lsquo;&mdash;if I had not come into the house.&rsquo;&rdquo; He flung
his arm in the air in a wild gesture of mirth. &ldquo;You
too have a tongue in your head. To tell you truly I am
amazed, for at first sight of you I thought you nothing
but a country dullard!&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he stared brazenly into Andr&eacute;&rsquo;s face. Then
with the lightness of a feather, he spun around and
threw himself into one of the chairs.</p>
<p>My brother went as white as chalk. For a second he
seemed stupefied. Then a redness swept over him. He
walked deliberately to the rack that held the arms. The
old Lord of Gramont halted where he had been pacing
half way across the room and looked sharply back. As
for me my breath stuck in my throat.</p>
<p>Andr&eacute; returned bearing a naked sword in his hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There is no light outside of the house,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We
must finish, what we have begun, here.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The other arose. The same taunting smile played
around his mouth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I had not thought you would have the courage,&rdquo; he
remarked. And then, &ldquo;Will you stain the floor of the
house with your own blood?&rdquo;</p>
<p>My brother took his position but, for a second, the
old Count of Gramont interfered.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Will you tell us your name?&rdquo; he asked the stranger.
&ldquo;In case anything happens, it will be well to know.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_40">40</div>
<p>&ldquo;My name?&rdquo; repeated our visitor laying his finger-tips
on his chest, and with the shadow of a bow. &ldquo;I am
called the Sieur De Marsac. To all with whom I am
acquainted, a faithful servant of his Majesty, the King.&rdquo;</p>
<p>There were no words more. The swords rang in the
air. De Marsac began as though it were only a fancy
play, my brother with all the seriousness of his nature.
There was a difference between the two that was soon
seen. Our visitor had the advantage in litheness and
in trickery. Andr&eacute; was the better in strength of wrist
and in driving into his enemy with force and steadiness.</p>
<p>The fight began with a few light thrusts and parries
that on each side were only trials of the other&rsquo;s skill.
Then of a sudden De Marsac unleashed a savage attack.
His sword came darting in like the fangs of a snake
with the point directed towards Andr&eacute;&rsquo;s heart. A part
of a second and it would have been too late, but my
brother, who, I saw, was making sure of his defense,
swung his weapon to the side and caught his enemy&rsquo;s
blade, steel against steel. The swords locked at the
pommels like the horns of deer and for a second the two
stood glaring into each other&rsquo;s eyes.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_41">41</div>
<p>It was here that Andr&eacute;&rsquo;s sturdiness showed itself, for
it was a test of the one man&rsquo;s brawn against the other&rsquo;s.
My brother&rsquo;s jaws came together with determination.
The veins in his neck swelled. He raised himself slowly
on the balls of his feet and pressed forward with all his
might. A cold look came into De Marsac&rsquo;s eyes and
a frown crossed his forehead. I saw him go back little
by little on his heels. His arm was bending in towards
his body. Andr&eacute; took a step forward and our enemy
to save himself from being thrown off his balance sprang
quickly backwards.</p>
<p>De Marsac began anew. His smile of confidence
faded into seriousness. He tried again with a few
feints to find an opening in my brother&rsquo;s defense. Each
time he was blocked with neatness and surety. Each
time he drew back with a scowl. The color in his face
gave way to a pallid white. His breath came short.
But there was a look of gathering hate on his countenance
and a shifting expression in his eyes that roused
me in alarm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Look out for a trick, Andr&eacute;!&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was foolish for me to cry out. It is no thing to do
when men are in a conflict that means life or death, for in
the second when he heard my voice, my brother shot a
look towards me that told me as plainly as words that
he knew what he was about. But I had given De Marsac
his opportunity. In that brief moment when my
brother&rsquo;s eyes were turned, our enemy sprang forward
with the quickness of a tiger. The light of the candles
ran like a flash along his blade. His arm, the sleeve of
black velvet and fancy lace, straightened itself in the
direction of my brother&rsquo;s chest.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_42">42</div>
<p>But for the terror that I felt, I would have closed my
eyes, for in the next breath I expected to see Andr&eacute;
fall. But instead he showed a nimbleness that I never
dreamed was his. Like a spring he was down and up
again. By the breath of a hair De Marsac&rsquo;s weapon
passed over his shoulder. Our enemy&rsquo;s body was open
for the fatal blow and my brother, heated with the conflict,
wrapped his knuckles about his sword to strike his
insulter to his feet.</p>
<p>His sword came forward. He had put one foot before
the other to drive home the blow with all the might
that lay in him. The point caught De Marsac in the
middle of the chest as straight as ever a thrust was aimed
and, I am sure with as much power behind it as any
average man can put.</p>
<p>I expected to see our enemy crumble to the floor&mdash;dead.
To our extreme amazement, as Andr&eacute; struck, we
heard a sharp click. The sword which De Marsac held,
fell, to be sure, rattling to the floor. But no blood
flowed, and his body, as though it had been violently
pushed, or struck by a man&rsquo;s fist, tumbled back. He
tried to keep on his feet but was too far gone. He
measured his length on the floor and in falling knocked
his head against one of the legs of the long oaken table.</p>
<p>It was the old Count of Gramont who spoke first.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_43">43</div>
<p>&ldquo;A coat of linked mail!&rdquo; he cried running over to him.
&ldquo;He wears a coat of mail under his velvet jerkin.&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac was stunned. The old Count caught him
roughly by the shoulder and jerked him to his feet.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A trickster!&rdquo; he shouted in his face. &ldquo;You are a
low-born coward.&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac never uttered a word. He blinked and
ran his hand over his eyes till they cleared. The old
smile of cunning curled around his lips, but this time it
was mingled with contempt and hate.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You Norman dogs!&rdquo; he hissed. &ldquo;Do you think I
would match my life with yours?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The old man went white with anger. He held his big
hand out at arm&rsquo;s length. He curled it slowly into a
knot of a fist and took a deep breath. With what force
he could summon he whirled about and struck De Marsac
a hard blow in the face. We had not expected it
and I think De Marsac was taken by surprise too. His
knees sagged under him and his arms fell limp at his
side. He would have fallen, had not the old Count
caught him again by the shoulder and pushed him into
a chair.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_44">44</div>
<p>&ldquo;You are not the first of your breed that this fist has
struck down,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;In the days gone by it has
wielded a battle-ax that laid dozens of your countrymen
low. If the time comes,&rdquo; he added darkly, &ldquo;it is still
strong enough to match itself with another foe.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He took to pacing once more up and down the hall.
Andr&eacute; walked quietly to the rack and put his sword
away. When he came back he picked up De Marsac&rsquo;s
weapon where it had fallen and handed it to him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You will have no further need of this,&rdquo; he said in an
even tone, &ldquo;&mdash;at least while you are here.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Of the four of us in that room it was De Marsac who
first regained his poise. The sting of the rebukes which
had been flung into his face soon faded away. He arose
without a look at any of us and took his coat over his
arm. Then he put his hat upon his head and snapped
his sword back into its scabbard. Without a word he
walked towards the door and as he went I thought I
saw his former jauntiness returning.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; he said with his fingers on the latch and
in a voice of sneering mockery. &ldquo;You have won tonight,
for it is difficult for a man to fight two against
one. There will come another meeting when there will
be fairer odds. At that time I promise you a different
ending to the story.&rdquo;</p>
<p>None of us answered. He closed the door behind
him quietly and with no show of anger passed out of the
house.</p>
<p>I breathed a long sigh.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_45">45</div>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad he&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; I said.</p>
<p>My brother and the old Count exchanged glances.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something back of that fellow,&rdquo; said Andr&eacute;.
&ldquo;We must be on our guard for I think we shall hear
from him again.&rdquo;</p>
<p>We sat for almost an hour. None of us stirred except
Andr&eacute; who busied himself in making a fire. When
the blaze had spread warmth about the room he came
and sat down with us again. A tiny spot of blood was
oozing through the bandages.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s from the exertion,&rdquo; he explained with a smile.
&ldquo;I wonder if the fellow who attacked us on the road was
a hireling of De Marsac?&rdquo;</p>
<p>At that the dogs began barking and yelping as they
did before. The old Count of Gramont started to the
door, but before he reached it, it flew wide open. It
was De Marsac who burst into the room. He must
have fallen into the mud for his velvet breeches were
splattered with clay. A wild look shone from his eyes
and he was of the color of death.</p>
<p>&ldquo;An attack has been made upon my life!&rdquo; he cried.</p>
<p>We rose from our seats.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_46">46</div>
<p>&ldquo;I was making down the road towards the armorer&rsquo;s
where I left my horse. I was set upon by a band of
men. Look here!&rdquo; he exclaimed and drew an arrow
from under his cloak. &ldquo;But for the coat of mail I was
wearing this would have gone through my heart!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you enemies in the neighborhood?&rdquo; demanded
the old Count.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There are enemies following me,&rdquo; declared De
Marsac. &ldquo;There is one who would snap out my life as
you would snap a piece of straw. But this is not his
work. This is the work of another.&rdquo; Terrified, he
looked around the room. &ldquo;Have you ever heard of the
&lsquo;Will-o&rsquo;-the-Wisp&rsquo;?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No. Who is he?&rdquo; we cried together.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A highwayman,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;&mdash;a bold desperate
highwayman. For a month at a time he terrifies the
countryside. Then he disappears. Miles and miles
away he is heard from again. He is seldom seen. He
works alone. It is his disguises that trick people. He
can masquerade as a nobleman, a beggar, a soldier&mdash;anything.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He flung himself into a chair but was up in a flash
again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Gentlemen, we have had our little dispute,&rdquo; he said
hurriedly. &ldquo;It is all over now and done with. You see
I cannot venture out into the night without fear for my
life. In the name of your hospitality I am going to
ask you to let me rest here until the morning.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_47">47</div>
<p>The old Count looked warningly at my brother and
silently shook his head &lsquo;no.&rsquo; But Andr&eacute;, who was easily
touched on the softer side, arose and bowed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I offer you every courtesy,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;It is
past midnight and no doubt you are weary from your
ride. I shall light you to your room.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He took the candle and went before. In a few minutes
he was down again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I could not do otherwise,&rdquo; he explained.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He is not to be trusted, Andr&eacute;,&rdquo; I said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The man&rsquo;s a rogue,&rdquo; added the Count of Gramont.
&ldquo;If I were you, Andr&eacute;, I would put a guard about the
house. There&rsquo;s something brewing that we have no
knowledge of.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I shall have one of the servants watch in the hall upstairs,&rdquo;
my brother said. &ldquo;Another will stay here during
the night. We must learn what his purpose is so
that we can meet the situation. In the morning if he
smiles again, I shall be like honey to him. I think that
is the better way.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The old Count laughed in his throat and grunted.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If this were my house,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I would make
short work of him.&rdquo;</p>
<p>And he made a sign that meant that he would string
him to a tree.</p>
<p>We were all tired. One by one we bade each other
goodnight and went to bed.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_48">48</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c7.png" alt="" width="445" height="269" />
</div>
<h2 id="c5">CHAPTER V
<br /><span class="small">WHAT I LEARNED IN THE WOODS</span></h2>
<p>The next morning when I awoke the sun was shining
big and fairly warm. The chill of the night before
had yielded to a gentle breeze that blew now steadily
from the south.</p>
<p>I heard the clatter of pots and pans in the pantry
below. The fresh odor of small bacon was wafted to
my nostrils. In fits and starts the low rumble of men&rsquo;s
voices arose like the heaviness of distant thunder here
and there between a loud laugh that echoed high against
the rafters.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_49">49</div>
<p>By this I knew it was time that I was stirring. As
fast as I could I washed and dressed myself and hurried
down the stairs. I laid my hand on the latch to enter
when another burst of laughter louder than the others
smote upon my ears. I thought that some travelers or
friends from the neighborhood were making a morning
call, so I jerked open the door and with a smile of
greeting entered the room.</p>
<p>In the next breath I stood stock still. There were but
three men at the table&mdash;the old Count of Gramont, my
brother Andr&eacute; and the intruder of the night before.
But what struck me first was that they were in the merriest
of moods. The old Count was grinning and staring
hard before him. Andr&eacute; with his face in his palms
was smiling like a pleased child. And De Marsac, as
vivacious as a young colt, was babbling and talking like
a running brook. His face was flushed. He was waving
his hands as wildly as a windmill.</p>
<p>I never saw men so completely changed. It was
all sham I knew&mdash;a kind of play in which the one was
trying to beguile the other. There was no sincerity
in their actions or their words. For a second I was
amazed.</p>
<p>De Marsac must have seen the puzzled expression on
my face. He leaped from his seat and hastened towards
me. With the same show of outward delight
with which you would greet an old acquaintance, he
clapped my hand in his and tucked it under his arm.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_50">50</div>
<p>&ldquo;A sound sleeper,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;An easy mind.&rdquo; And
then, as though it were an amusing thing for a lad of my
age to have a mind at all, he turned with a knowing gesture
and broke into a laugh.</p>
<p>I flushed uncomfortably. I tried to withdraw from
his grasp. But the more I pulled, the more firmly I felt
the pressure of his arm. At length the two of us
reached the seat which I usually occupied. Here he let
go. As I sat down he continued to stand before me.
With his hand over his heart he bowed pretty much as
he had done the night before. Then he straightened
himself again and laid his palm upon my shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Here is what I call the makings of a man,&rdquo; he said
to the Count and Andr&eacute; in tones like an orator. &ldquo;Strong
arms. Sturdy limbs.&rdquo; He let his eye run the length of
my body. &ldquo;A great fighter some day&mdash;and a stubborn
one. Is it not true, Henri?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I smiled a sour smile, for his mockery was all too
clear. He was, to my discomfort, treating me like a
baby. He took his seat next to me. Then he began to
pile my platter high with meat and wheaten cakes and
poured a noggin full of whey. I sat there like a log,
boiling within and wishing him out of the way.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_51">51</div>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll be great friends yet, won&rsquo;t we, Henri?&rdquo; he
said in a soft sneering tone. &ldquo;You know I was down
to the armorer&rsquo;s long before you were out of bed. My
horse has gone lame. It&rsquo;ll be three or four days before
he&rsquo;ll be well again. In the meantime I&rsquo;m going to be
your guest.&rdquo; He stopped and drummed lightly on the
table. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll be glad of that, won&rsquo;t you, Henri?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I went on eating.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be sorry,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;&mdash;for the horse.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At that he turned to the Count and my brother,
breaking out into a loud laugh, like a father whose child
has said something unusually clever.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Henri and I are going into the woods today,&rdquo; he
went on in the same annoying voice. &ldquo;After that we&rsquo;ll
pay a visit to the forge. I want to show him my horse.&rdquo;
Then he added slowly, &ldquo;You can ride, can&rsquo;t you,
Henri?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;As well as any of them,&rdquo; I answered and went on
hurrying through my meal.</p>
<p>De Marsac saw that I was nettled. He dared not
drive his cajolery too far, for my brother was looking
at him with half closed eyes, and the old Count had
arched one brow gazing at me to see how I was standing
his thrusts.</p>
<p>At length our visitor turned his conversation to the
older men. He chattered like a magpie. One story followed
the other with flashes of wit between. The spirit
of merriment which was in the air when I entered the
room came back. I saw my chance. As quietly as I
could I arose and slipped softly out of the door.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_52">52</div>
<p>With a feeling of relief I turned the corner of the
house and was making down the gravel path when I
heard a crunching of the stones behind me. I cast a
glance over my shoulder. To my discomfort there was
De Marsac coming quickly after me. He had his head
thrown back and with his eyes towards the sky was
whistling an air.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he exclaimed when I turned, &ldquo;you are going
somewhere?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I stopped.</p>
<p>&ldquo;To the armorer&rsquo;s,&rdquo; I said shortly. Then in the
hope that he would leave me to myself, &ldquo;I have business
there&mdash;of a private nature.&rdquo;</p>
<p>My hint fell flat. In a kind of running walk he
caught up to me and said, &ldquo;That&rsquo;s fine. We&rsquo;ll go
together.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I would have run away had I been able. Why was I
to be bothered by a man who was nothing but a nuisance
and a pest? I tried to think of one excuse or other to
rid myself of him. None came, so for the while I made
the best of it.</p>
<p>We went on in silence. He had his head in the air
looking brightly about. I had mine down for I hated
even the sight of his face. After a little he made a
jab or two but they failed. When he saw that his nonsense
was of no purpose he turned serious and prodded
me with all kinds of questions.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_53">53</div>
<p>He showed an interest in the extent of our land. In
a sly way he got out of me how far it ran and what
crops it bore. Then he mentioned the old Count of
Gramont and the size of his estates. He touched on
the strength of his castle on the hill&mdash;the number of
men which he kept under arms&mdash;the revenues that came
from his possessions in the valley and what wealth he
was said to have.</p>
<p>You may be sure that I told him as little as I could.
In some respects I was as good a play-actor as he, for
to most of his questionings I had but one stupid answer,
&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo; If it was his intention to treat me like
a dunce, I was more than willing to act the part of one.</p>
<p>Finally a fresh thought came to me. I halted of a
sudden and stepped away from him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve changed my mind,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not going
to the armorer&rsquo;s. I&rsquo;m going through the woods.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He let his arms fall to his sides.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;through the woods?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
<p>His eyes narrowed in suspicion.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I had an accident there last night,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;I
should like to see what became of a certain man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes as though he was thinking&mdash;trying
to measure me in his mind.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s your game, Henri?&rdquo; he asked. His voice
was low but I felt a threat lurking in it.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_54">54</div>
<p>I began to explain.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You see, as I was coming home last night, I happened
upon two men who were quarreling in the woods,&rdquo;
said I, watching his face closely.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The one got the better of the other,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;and
the man who lost was tied by the victor to a tree.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He did not change his expression, but looked steadily
into my eyes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No. Alive.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The breath came back to him. He tried not to show it
but a faint smile of satisfaction played around his
mouth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I understand you now, Henri,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;You
have a good heart. If he is still there, you want to set
him free.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he clapped my arm under his as he had
done just before breakfast. With a little more hurry
than was necessary he made with me towards the woods.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_55">55</div>
<p>I led him to the spot where I thought the man was
lashed to the tree. But the only trace of him we found
was a length of rope. It was frayed and worn at the
ends. No doubt he had set himself free by hours of
rubbing against the rough bark. The ground about the
trunk was stamped and torn as though by the marching
of a hundred feet.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The villain&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; I remarked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why do you call him a villain?&rdquo; De Marsac came
back at me with his soft sneer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Because, Sieur De Marsac,&rdquo; said I with more boldness
than caution, &ldquo;he tried to take my life.&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac whistled.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And he failed?&rdquo; he said. His voice flattened as
though it was a thing he regretted. Then he came close
to me. &ldquo;Do you know, Henri,&rdquo; he continued in the
same slow tone, &ldquo;any of us might be killed without a
moment&rsquo;s warning. There is a man following me at
this very minute who is thirsting for my life.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It might be the same fellow,&rdquo; I suggested craftily.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;your fellow is an ordinary lout&mdash;stupid.
He has made a mess of his work. The man
who is following me is far deadlier. He never misses&mdash;and
never fails.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I drew cautiously away, for De Marsac&rsquo;s words and
the snake-like subtlety of them threw me on my guard.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What do you mean,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;when you say that
&lsquo;he has made a mess of his work&rsquo;? Is it your opinion
that I really ought to have been killed?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_56">56</div>
<p>His eyes sharpened. Like a man ready to strike a
blow his face grew red with anger and he shifted forward.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are a smart lad, Henri,&rdquo; he said drawing his
eyes together till they were almost closed, &ldquo;but you
should be taught to speak more respectfully to your
betters.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I hardly knew what to say. There was no good in
the man. He was underhand in his actions. He had
something up his sleeve that he was going to have out
with me. It struck me that the sooner it was over the
better.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are not plain enough, Sieur De Marsac,&rdquo; I
said, &ldquo;for me to answer you.&rdquo; Then rashness got the
upper hand of me and I burst out, &ldquo;Why did you follow
me this morning, anyway?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He only stood glaring at me. His lips tightened. A
wicked glint gathered in his eyes and he stepped in towards
me. I was now truly alarmed. I looked from
one side of me to the other for a way of escape. I saw
him finger at his belt for his dagger. His answer came
like a thunderbolt.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;to finish the bungling of last night!&rdquo; he hissed.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_57">57</div>
<p>I was entirely on the defensive for I had no weapons.
As he reached out to grasp me, I sprang to one side.
Then I turned to run for it. We were somewhat aside
of the path and the underbrush was matted and tangled.
I made a leap, thinking to get as far from him as possible.
My foot caught in a weed or trailing vine which
held it as though it were tied there.</p>
<p>In the next second my legs were knocked from under
me. I fell forward on my hands and face. Then I got
another jolt as though someone were thumping me on
the side and shoulders with a heavy log. I could not see,
for the undergrowth was sharp and I was forced to
close my eyes. A deep grunt and a squeal started near
me. A brushing of the weeds and vines followed. Terror
crept into my soul for I realized that it was an
animal which I had startled and disturbed.</p>
<p>My heart was jumping like a hammer. I rose on one
elbow and looked fearfully around. To my amazement
and horror, as I scrambled to my feet, I saw a wild
boar with its snout to the ground make its way through
the underbrush and disappear deeper into the woods.</p>
<p>Then came another surprise. De Marsac was standing
as white as a corpse. He seemed to have forgotten
me entirely. His eyes were fastened on the direction
which the boar had taken. His whole body was moving
nervously as though he were greatly excited. From
what I had noticed before I knew a fresh thought had
started in his mind. Like a flash he was over helping
me to my feet.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_58">58</div>
<p>&ldquo;Henri,&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;You can thank me for saving
your life! If I hadn&rsquo;t warned you in time, you would
have been gored to death!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I made no reply for the thoughts were scared out of
me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go home now, Henri,&rdquo; De Marsac said in a
trembling voice.</p>
<p>I went along with him. From the time we left the
woods he spoke not a word to me nor did he seem conscious
of my presence. There was something brewing
in his mind. He continually snapped his fingers as
though he was impatient. He muttered under his
breath and shook his head in approval of what was
stirring in his thoughts.</p>
<p>Once I heard him mumble, &ldquo;The wild boar. The very
thing. We&rsquo;ll hunt the wild boar.&rdquo; Again, when he appeared
forgetful that I was there, he growled, &ldquo;It will
be an easier way&mdash;when we hunt the wild boar.&rdquo; He
laughed confidently to himself. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll start tomorrow&mdash;at
dawn.&rdquo; When we came to the gravel path that led
to the house, he clapped me on the shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tomorrow will be my lucky day&mdash;eh, Henri?&rdquo; he
said.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_59">59</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c5.png" alt="" width="553" height="283" />
</div>
<h2 id="c6">CHAPTER VI
<br /><span class="small">WE HUNT THE WILD BOAR</span></h2>
<p>We reached home in the early afternoon. It was
then that I got a clearer vision of De Marsac&rsquo;s duplicity
and of the game that he was playing. No sooner had we
laid eyes upon my brother and the Count, when he began
to tell of our adventure in the woods in the most excited
fashion. He drew a most vivid picture of the danger I
had been in. He painted himself in the r&ocirc;le of my
rescuer. His voice took on a high tremulous tone as
though he too had suffered from the shock and were
really alarmed at my nearness to death. Every now and
then he turned to me to bear him out in this or that
assertion but went rapidly on again before I had time
to utter a sound. He clapped me on the back. He
tugged me by the elbow. He looked beamingly into my
face. To see and hear him you would have thought
that I was lucky to be alive and you would have considered
him the bravest man in the world.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_60">60</div>
<p>At last with a fine frenzy he concluded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We must track this monster to his lair,&rdquo; he shouted.
&ldquo;We must drive him to his death.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was like a fish floundering on dry land. To me this
man was all fraud and froth. I looked appealingly
towards my brother with the hope that he would see
beneath it all.</p>
<p>The old Count rose and stretched himself.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Andr&eacute;,&rdquo; he said with a sly wink, &ldquo;it&rsquo;ll be a fine
day&rsquo;s sport. What do you say?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;We shall have everything ready by the morning,
Sieur De Marsac,&rdquo; he said dryly. Then he turned to
the old Count and said, &ldquo;We must drive this monster
to its doom.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he grinned and walked away.</p>
<p>That was final, I knew. I went off to the barn and
busied myself during the afternoon with odds and
ends that interested me. The day passed and the
night came. We lighted the candles. Until the time
for bed we sat in the great hall exchanging worthless
gossip.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_61">61</div>
<p>I dragged myself upstairs first, tired and weary.
But I managed to keep awake until I heard the others
follow one by one. When I thought them fast asleep,
I crept noiselessly into Andr&eacute;&rsquo;s room and sat softly
down on the side of his bed. To my surprise he had
not closed his eyes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I was expecting you, Henri,&rdquo; he said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I came to speak to you about De Marsac,&rdquo; I began.
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you think he is bent on harm?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Are you worried?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have good reason to be,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;It was only
by a lucky chance that I was not killed today.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He sat bolt upright in the bed and took me by the
arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;By him?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; And I told him of the happenings in the
woods.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That is going too far,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Tomorrow must
be his last day among us. He must forth from the
house.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why does he linger here, Andr&eacute;?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Do
you know?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I can only guess,&rdquo; he answered.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is to get possession of our estate,&rdquo; I ventured,
&ldquo;&mdash;ours and the estate of the Count of Gramont.
There is a plot hatching. The men who set upon me
in the woods are in it. And I believe that De Marsac
is the leader.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_62">62</div>
<p>&ldquo;I rather thought,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that he was an agent
of the King.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He is that and more too,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;Andr&eacute;, you
may take my word for it. De Marsac wants this place
for himself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He made no answer. We sat there in the dark for
a long time. At length he laid his hand upon my
shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Henri,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we must give the matter deep
thought. But this I promise you, come what may,
after the boar hunt tomorrow I shall drive this schemer
from the house.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that I went slowly to my room. My sleep
was fitful. All night long I dreamed the wildest
dreams so that when morning came I was not half
rested. I leaped from my bed with my heart thumping,
for there below I heard the cocks crowing in the
yard. There was a clamor of men shouting to each
other. The horses&rsquo; hoofs clattered on the ground.
There was the clang of steel against steel. The animals
snorted as they sensed the excitement in the air.
And above all I heard Andr&eacute;&rsquo;s voice shout a command.
I knew that it was high time for me to be about
and stirring.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_63">63</div>
<p>I slipped down the stairs fastening my belt as I
went. In less time than it takes to tell I was across
the yard and was leading out the roan which I had
always claimed as my own.</p>
<p>We were divided into two parties. I was to accompany
the one led by the Count of Gramont, while
Andr&eacute;, with De Marsac, was to take the other. Our
enemy was in high spirits. He had borrowed one of
Andr&eacute;&rsquo;s horses and to display himself made it cavort
and caper about with the glee of a child. I fastened a
look on him. I am sure I felt nothing but contempt
for a man so vain. I let my eye run from his hat with
the feather in it to the spurs upon his boots. The
rest of us wore tight-fitting jerkins of smooth leather,
but he had on his long black cloak. It struck me as
being quite strange. I was beginning to wonder if
he had a motive for it when I saw that it was another
trick of his, for beneath the skirts I discovered that
he had brought along with him his sword!</p>
<p>I did not think twice. I slipped from my horse and
ran into the hall. In a second I was back again with
the weapon which my brother had used only two nights
before. I went to Andr&eacute; where he was among the
others and tugged at his sleeve.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Take this,&rdquo; I urged. &ldquo;Later on I&rsquo;ll tell you the
reason why.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_64">64</div>
<p>With that I was on my horse again. A long loud
blast of the horn and we were off. Andr&eacute; and De
Marsac swerved far to the west. The Count of Gramont
and our followers turned towards the south.</p>
<p>We were soon in the woods. The dogs ran hither
and thither searching for a scent. We rode where the
trees were furthest apart lest the branches that hung
low might knock us from our saddles. Here and there
the ground was soggy, but for the most part we were
not troubled with our footing for we followed a road
that the woodsmen had made, rough, irregular, to be
sure, but known to me and my companions.</p>
<p>Deeper and deeper we went into the forest. The
smell of moss rose to my nostrils and the odor of logs,
rotted on the damp ground. The dogs spread out
more and more like a fan, with their noses to the earth,
eager and tense.</p>
<p>Presently one of them raised his head in the air. He
let out a long quivering bark that echoed strangely
through the woods. Then the others followed. The
whole pack jumped and yelped as though they had
suddenly gone mad, and ran heedlessly forward. I
was in need of no one to tell me that they had caught
the scent and were flying after their prey.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_65">65</div>
<p>Then, after another short while, the sound of a horn
floated high through the branches of the trees. It
seemed very far away. We rode on and on. The
heat of the excitement was showing in our faces. The
horses, too, snorted as though they were conscious of
the strain.</p>
<p>The blast of the horn came again. This time it
seemed nearer and more prolonged, with a quivering
at the end that sounded like jubilation.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve stirred the boar,&rdquo; the old Count said to
me, turning in his saddle, and with a motion of his
hand he gave the signal to one of his followers to answer
with a returning blast.</p>
<p>We were in the very thick of the woods. We had
left the path and were in places where the underbrush
was dense. The trees, too, seemed larger and of greater
girth. Now and then a bird circled over our heads and
flew chattering about us.</p>
<p>A quarter of an hour passed, with the horn sounding
now and then to give us the direction. The dogs
were running with their tongues hanging wet and red
from their mouths. The going was getting more and
more difficult.</p>
<p>Suddenly a blast, so loud that it shook us in our
saddles, resounded in our ears. The shouts of men
came to us through the trees. The barking of the dogs,
sharp like the cracking of a whip, cut in between.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_66">66</div>
<p>Before we knew it we were out in the open. That
is we came to a place where few trees grew. All was
covered with a soft marsh that was like ooze under the
horses&rsquo; feet. The weeds and vines were waist high and
so knotted and enmeshed that we must go carefully
through them.</p>
<p>The shouts came again. This time they were so near
that I was able to distinguish the words. I looked
ahead to catch a glimpse of Andr&eacute; and his men. I
saw the brush part at a spot not far away. Then, to
my amazement, I heard the angry snort of a boar and,
directly following, the long hairy back of the animal
burst upon my vision.</p>
<p>I reined in my horse. The old Count of Gramont
(who was to the fore of me) caught his spear by the
haft. The dogs came pouring into the opening like
rain. One of them ventured in close to the boar and
in the next second was sent yelping back with a wound
in his shoulder where he had been pierced by a white
tusk.</p>
<p>The animal was foaming at the mouth from frenzy.
He knew that he was beset by enemies on all sides. He
lowered his head till it touched the ground and made
a mad plunge forward.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_67">67</div>
<p>At the same moment I saw Andr&eacute; appear through
the trees. At his side rode De Marsac. They let out
a shout and looked swiftly over to us. The old Count
and I raised our spears on high. I knew that in a
moment the boar was doomed, for between us there
was little chance of his escape.</p>
<p>While I leaned back to get the greatest force behind
my blow, I caught sight of my brother and our enemy
opposite. A smile started on my face but it died away
again. Both men whipped their spears aloft. Without
a moment&rsquo;s delay they whirled sidewise in their
saddles. Their arms shot back and then forward again.
The bright steel darted through the air like long glistening
threads. They crossed in their flight as shears are
crossed when you open them, and flitted onward. At
the same time I let mine go too and fixed my eyes
upon the boar.</p>
<p>Only one of the spears struck, but it was hurled with
such force that it caught the boar in the middle of the
back and pierced clean to the region of his heart. While
it was in full career, it faltered in its plunge. Stumbling,
it dug its tusks into the earth. Then it rolled over,
kicking among the underbrush, and stretched out dead.</p>
<p>You must remember that all this happened in a very
brief time. A feeling of triumph ran along every nerve.
I turned towards the old Count with my face beaming
with delight, when I saw him swaying unsteadily in
his seat. He had gone ashen pale. The spear had
dropped from his hand and his fingers were clutching
at the empty air. Then, unable to steady himself
any longer, he leaned far to the one side and
tumbled headlong from his saddle.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_68">68</div>
<p>On the instant I forgot all about the boar. I was
down from my horse like a flash and at his side. To
my horror the fresh blood was flowing in a steady
stream from a wide-open gash in his chest. I raised
his head and laid it in the hollow of my bended arm
and looked around appealingly for help. His lips
moved as though he would speak. But no words came.
His eye-lids quivered. Then, with a gasp, he fell back.</p>
<p>In the meantime Andr&eacute; and De Marsac were at my
side. My brother stooped down and spoke to the old
Count. That other stood aloof. His glance was turned
half-way towards us and half-way towards the woods.
The faintest trace of a smile flickered on his face and
his eyes beamed as though with inward satisfaction.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is he dead?&rdquo; he demanded finally.</p>
<p>I laid the old Count gently down. Andr&eacute; and I stood
for a moment with our heads bowed to breathe a prayer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He has been killed!&rdquo; replied my brother with anger
and bitterness bursting his heart.</p>
<p>To our amazement De Marsac stepped forward and
touched Andr&eacute; on the arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You will have to answer for this deed with your
life, Andr&eacute; La Mar,&rdquo; he said coldly. &ldquo;You are the
murderer of one of the foremost barons of Normandy!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_69">69</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c6.png" alt="" width="552" height="289" />
</div>
<h2 id="c7">CHAPTER VII
<br /><span class="small">THE BLACK PRINCE</span></h2>
<p>Andr&eacute; drew back like a man taken unawares as
though he would avoid a blow. He stood motionless
for a moment to gather his dazed thoughts. A silence
fell over us like the hollowness of an empty tomb, with
only the long strained cawing of a crow overhead to
break the tenseness.</p>
<p>Then a clearness came into his eyes and with it a
hardness about his mouth and jaws. He took one step
forward and blazed a look of hate at our enemy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I know now, De Marsac,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;why you have
come among us. You planned this from the beginning.&rdquo;</p>
<p>That other shifted his gaze and pointed to where the
old Count of Gramont lay.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_70">70</div>
<p>&ldquo;You understand what this means?&rdquo; he asked with
a glare in his eyes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Better than you imagine,&rdquo; answered my brother,
with his voice lifting high among the trees. &ldquo;By foul
means young Charles of Gramont&mdash;that man&rsquo;s son&mdash;was
lured into a snare and carried off, a prisoner of
him you choose to call your King. By fouler means
still you crept into our house like a viper under pretense
of hospitality. You picked a quarrel with me
the moment you arrived, thinking you would kill me
in the fight. You were thwarted in that. You tried
to murder Henri there in the woods.&rdquo; He cast a look
in the direction of the old Count. A smile of scorn
curled about his mouth when he faced De Marsac again.
&ldquo;The only plan of yours to succeed was in the slaying
of an old man. Pshaw! I never dreamed a human
being could stoop so low!&rdquo;</p>
<p>A flush of wrath colored De Marsac&rsquo;s face, but
slowly died out to a dead white. With his eyes shifting
and shining, I thought with murder in them, he
flouted my brother once again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are wasting words, my friend La Mar,&rdquo; he
sneered. &ldquo;The whole brood of you is like a dying
candle. It is hardly worth the snuffing out.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_71">71</div>
<p>My brother heard this with the coolness and firmness
of a rock. When the last syllable of De Marsac&rsquo;s
scorn faded in the air, Andr&eacute; planted his feet squarely
on the ground. Then, with his open palm, he struck
that other a stinging blow across the face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have brought your sword, De Marsac,&rdquo; he
said in an even voice. &ldquo;By good fortune I also have
brought mine.&rdquo; Here he laid his hand upon the
pommel. &ldquo;We were interrupted once. We can
continue&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>Before he could end the sentence the steel was in the
air. Both men in their eagerness stepped in close to
each other. The blades rang out as they crossed up
to the hilts. They both drew back again and made a
wicked exchange of thrust and parry. They played
fast and furiously at arm&rsquo;s length. They shifted swiftly
on the loose ground. Then, after De Marsac missed
his aim at a point above the heart, Andr&eacute; touched him
lightly with the point of his sword upon the ear.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Your armor, De Marsac,&rdquo; he cried with a mocking
laugh, &ldquo;makes it difficult. To kill you I must
strike you in the neck or face.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_72">72</div>
<p>De Marsac, at the first blood, had drawn back. He
was gathering his sword in his hand for another trial,
when a dark shadow came towards us from behind the
trees. It was the figure of a man with an oaken staff
in his hand. And before any of us could stir he called
out in a deep voice as though he was applauding the
stroke he had just seen the single word: &ldquo;Bravo!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I gave a little start, for the suddenness of his appearance
surprised me. And as though they had heard a
command both my brother and De Marsac lowered their
blades and gazed, one with curiosity, the other with
alarm at the stranger.</p>
<p>He was clad entirely in black from the close-fitting
cap upon his head to the toes of his fine leather boots.
His doublet encircled his chest with the tightness of a
drum and was of a rich cloth, durable but severely plain.
As far as I could see he was without weapons of any
sort save the knotted staff which he had in his hand.</p>
<p>He was what you might call of medium height and
build. But the longer you looked at him, the more you
grew aware of some hidden strength that lay within.
His face was square and large boned and of a ruggedness
of color that bespoke a life in the open. His eyes
were deep set in their sockets. When he looked at you
the steadiness of his gaze was midway between a frown
and a scowl. He moved like a man who was accustomed
to time his actions to the moment, but withal
with such lightness and ease that constantly reminded
you that, at the slightest need, he could spring forward
with the litheness of a tiger and strike with the swiftness
of lightning.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_73">73</div>
<p>He remained for a while standing looking from my
brother to De Marsac. Then, of a sudden he laughed.
But it was a laugh that had no mirth in it but which
rang like a mocking echo through the trees.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Still at your old tricks, I see, De Marsac,&rdquo; he said
as he advanced. &ldquo;You have profited little from the
lesson that I so lately taught.&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac&rsquo;s hand shook. He rested his sword with
the point upon the ground. He shifted uneasily, glancing
in one direction then another. The flush on his
face died out to the whiteness of parchment.</p>
<p>He breathed. &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he cried, but his voice choked.
&ldquo;You!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The man in black folded his arms across his chest
and let his club swing lightly from between his fingers.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We have a little argument to settle
between us. You will remember we began one but
never finished.&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac flashed a look of hate at the man.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have not done with him there,&rdquo; he said, pointing
at Andr&eacute;. &ldquo;After this&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>The stranger grinned and raised his brows.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_74">74</div>
<p>&ldquo;From what I have seen, De Marsac, there may be
no &lsquo;after this&rsquo;,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You know how disappointed
I would feel to see you die!&mdash;that is by hands other than
my own! Would you have me call you a coward in
the presence of these witnesses?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;Coward&rsquo;?&rdquo; echoed our enemy. &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t say
that. You know I fought you like a man until&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>The stranger mocked him again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You did. That is&mdash;until you ran
away!&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac&rsquo;s eyes sought the ground. He was like
a rat that is cornered. A heavy frown crossed his
brows and he ground his teeth in rage.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Come!&rdquo; The man in black coaxed him. &ldquo;I shall
give you every advantage. You have a sword there
in your hand. I have only an oaken staff. Could I
offer you easier terms?&rdquo;</p>
<p>There was no way out of it. This our enemy saw.
Like a man who will risk all on one cast, without a
sign of warning, he sprang with all his quickness with
his sword pointed outwards at his foe. So fast was
he that I feared he would kill him on the spot. But
the man in black must have expected such a move. As
lithely as a cat he stepped to one side. De Marsac,
with no object to bring him to a stop, plunged furiously
headlong and fell stumbling to the turf.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_75">75</div>
<p>It was as ridiculous a situation as I ever saw. My
brother and I, forgetful of the seriousness of the
moment, let out loud peals of laughter. The stranger
hardly stirred and that only to follow his enemy guardedly
with his eyes. De Marsac was filled with shame
and wrath that he had been so smoothly outwitted. He
raised himself cautiously on his hands and knees and
looked around. Then, seeing that he was not threatened,
he sprang again to his feet and faced his foe.</p>
<p>There followed a single exchange that I shall not
forget as long as I shall draw the breath of life. De
Marsac raised his sword on high, as you would a battle-ax,
and with all the force he could summon started a
blow. If it had ever reached its mark, it would have
split the stranger&rsquo;s skull in twain. But the man in
black was this time even more alert than he had been
before. With a quick step he jumped in close to his
foeman&rsquo;s body. He raised the oaken staff over his
head. He caught the blade on it as it descended. The
edge of the steel must have cut deep into the wood, for
it held there as firmly as though it were in a vise. A
quick twist of the wrist and it was torn from De Marsac&rsquo;s
grasp and flew twirling and spinning in the air.
Like a bird that has been pierced by an arrow it came
down and clattered to the earth.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_76">76</div>
<p>The man in black showed no more concern than if he
were plucking a flower from a field. He went over
and took the sword in his hand. He ran his fingers
along the blade and wiped away the clay that had stuck
to it where it had fallen. Then with the utmost deliberation,
he snapped it across his knee and tossed the
pieces contemptuously at De Marsac&rsquo;s feet.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I could crush the life out of you now, De Marsac,&rdquo;
he said, &ldquo;with this club of mine. Or for a second time
I might let you go.&rdquo; He hesitated as though he was
thinking and with a snap of his fingers said, &ldquo;Pshaw!
What are you to me but a worm crawling on the
ground.&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac uttered not a word. He stood with his
arms at his side, his body swaying slightly waiting for
a new turn in the affair. The man in black took to
pacing up and down. For a moment he was deep in
thought as though he had forgotten our existence. Then
he looked suddenly up and with heavy brows addressed
our enemy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Go back to your King, De Marsac,&rdquo; he growled,
and with a sweep of his hand as commanding as an
emperor. &ldquo;Tell him that I defy him to his teeth. Tell
him that before the year&rsquo;s end I shall sweep him from
his throne.&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac frowned. He glared at the stranger with
hate and anger in his eyes. Then, hesitating with every
step, he made slowly towards the trees. When he felt
himself secure, he faced us and raised his arm on high.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_77">77</div>
<p>&ldquo;It is you who will be blotted from the earth,&rdquo; he
cried. &ldquo;Before the year&rsquo;s end we shall meet again. We
shall see then who will have the upper hand.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he disappeared among the trees.</p>
<p>The man in black continued his pacing up and down
upon the ground. What Andr&eacute; and I had seen and
heard cautioned us to keep our peace. At length he
stopped and raised a finger in warning.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I caution you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that that fellow will be
back again. He&rsquo;ll scheme and plan until he gets
revenge. That&rsquo;s the kind of vermin the King of France
sends out to stir up trouble among the Norman barons.
You did wrong to let him cross the threshold of your
house.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Once more he paced to and fro. No doubt he was
thinking some matter to the bottom. We stood open-mouthed,
wondering at his confidence and his bearing.
The next time he halted it was of another matter
that he spoke.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The heir of Gramont is gone,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He was
taken a prisoner down the valley of the Loire. Is it to
your interest to have him back?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He was like a brother to us,&rdquo; said Andr&eacute;, &ldquo;and the
son of my father&rsquo;s warmest friend. We would gladly
give our lives for him. I am sure in like predicament
he would do the same for us.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_78">78</div>
<p>The man&rsquo;s eyes lit up with a kind of fire. His jaws
tightened. By the flicker of a smile that played about
his mouth I was sure he was pleased with Andr&eacute;&rsquo;s
answer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The old spirit of the Norman race is with you yet,&rdquo;
he said, &ldquo;tough and stubborn to the last. It is a good
sign. If you will bring Charles of Gramont back, let
one of you go down the valley of the Loire. It will
be a dangerous undertaking, for you will be among the
enemies of your country. Above all, take heed of what
you see and hear. Beyond Angers the open territory is
dominated by a man called the Abbot of Chalonnes. It
will be your business to find him. And it will be he
who will return to you the lad you seek&mdash;young
Charles.&rdquo;</p>
<p>We looked at each other, Andr&eacute; and I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It may be a fool&rsquo;s errand,&rdquo; remarked my brother.
&ldquo;How will the Abbot know?&mdash;what sign or token shall
we give?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The man in black spun on his heels like a top. He
said nothing, only ripped open his doublet wide across
his chest. To our amazement we saw that underneath
instead of a shirt he wore the tanned hide of an animal&rsquo;s
skin with the hair turned outward. With his hand he
reached down and from under his belt brought forth a
fine yellow plume such as great leaders wear on their
helmets on the field of battle.</p>
<div class="img" id="pic2">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-img010.jpg" alt="The Arrow Struck With a Click" width="500" height="748" />
<p class="ccaption">The Arrow Struck With a Click</p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_79">79</div>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know this?&rdquo; he cried, holding it before us.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is the tail of a leopard made into a plume,&rdquo; said
Andr&eacute;.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It will be enough, then,&rdquo; he said shortly, &ldquo;to say
to the Abbot of Chalonnes that you have seen this.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He made to go.</p>
<p>&ldquo;One word more,&rdquo; called Andr&eacute; after him. &ldquo;Is it too
much for us to know your name?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The stranger stopped on the fringe of the woods.
He turned and looked back.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My father sits upon the English throne,&rdquo; he said.
&ldquo;I am known as the Black Prince!&rdquo;</p>
<p class="tb">Slowly and sadly, with the body of the old Lord of
Gramont borne tenderly among us, we wended our
way towards our home. We had much to talk about,
but in our grief we held our tongues. We passed each
other with bowed heads and sorrowful faces. There
was a gloom about the place like the coldness of death.</p>
<p>We laid the old warrior away in the tomb of his
fathers. In the evening we sat alone together&mdash;Andr&eacute;
and I&mdash;in the light of the candles. The early September
day had been unusually warm and the casements
were flung wide. The servants had long since gone to
bed. There was scarcely a sound except our own
breathing.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_80">80</div>
<p>&ldquo;I must go, Henri, to the Abbot of Chalonnes,&rdquo; said
my brother, breaking the silence. &ldquo;There must be no
more delay.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you go,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;De Marsac will appear
again. There will be no one left to defend the estate.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Andr&eacute; bit his lips but did not answer. He walked
across the room and stood at the side of the great oaken
table in the centre of the room. I arose, too, and stood
opposite him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let us toss for it, Andr&eacute;,&rdquo; said I taking a newly-minted
groat from my pocket. &ldquo;If it fall heads, you
go, shields, I go.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I flung the piece in the air. It fell, but fell on its
edge and rolled down from the table across the room.
I was about to go after it when an arrow came floating
through the open window. It struck with a click and
fastened its point in the hard wood. Upon the shaft,
wound with a tight cord, was tied a small piece of
parchment.</p>
<p>Andr&eacute; drew back.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Another enemy!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Will there never be an
end?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;You are wrong. This time it is a
friend.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_81">81</div>
<p>With feverish fingers I drew the arrow from the
wood and unrolled the parchment. With a kind of
inward triumph I spread it open before my brother&rsquo;s
eyes. At the bottom there was drawn the figure of
a leopard, very roughly to be sure, but still as plain as
day. Above it in a scrawl so crude that it could hardly
be deciphered were these words:</p>
<p>&ldquo;Send the lad!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;There, Andr&eacute;!&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Will this decide it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>My brother waved his hand in the air like a man
who yields to the will of Fate and moved across the
room.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I stay,&rdquo; he said, and sank into the nearest chair.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_82">82</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c2.png" alt="" width="539" height="279" />
</div>
<h2 id="c8">CHAPTER VIII
<br /><span class="small">THE SILVER-HAFTED DAGGER</span></h2>
<p>That night I slept but little. The excitement of the
day had been too much for me. The old Count&rsquo;s death,
the treachery of De Marsac, and the appearance in
our parts of so great and widely known a man as the
Black Prince&mdash;all this set my brain in a swirl and
kindled in it a kind of fire. Besides, too, there was the
prospect of the long journey that lay before me, visions
of the strange characters I would meet, the odds and
ends of places through which I should surely pass, and
by no means least of all, the snares and pitfalls that
were certain to be a menace to my unwary feet.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_83">83</div>
<p>At the first grey of dawn I was up from my bed.
As quickly as I was able I dressed myself in the same
clothes that I had worn on the day of the boar-hunt&mdash;a
jerkin of strong sewed leather, a doublet that would
keep out both wind and rain, breeches of soft deer-hide,
knitted stockings of our home-spun wool, a pair
of shoes that were oiled and worked until they were
as pliant as the skin upon my hand&mdash;plain clothes, but
strong and lasting, clothes that would draw no comment
either for their richness or their meanness. And
as a last touch I set a little cap with a feather in it upon
my head.</p>
<p>I breakfasted on a cold meat-pie that was left over
from the night before. All was quiet about the house.
I thought that as yet there was no one stirring. But
when I walked into the open to my surprise there was
Andr&eacute; coming from the stables, leading a horse on
either hand&mdash;his own and the one I was accustomed
to call mine.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I will ride with you as far as the brow of the hill,&rdquo;
he said, and that in a voice that was almost at a breaking
point.</p>
<p>I would have answered but a lump as big as an apple
rose to my throat, so that without a word I took the
reins that he offered me and swung into the saddle.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_84">84</div>
<p>We started down the road at a slow canter. The
freshness of the morning air sent the blood tingling
through my veins. The brightness of the sun shone
on every dewy leaf. The easy motion of the horse had
a charm of its own. But with all this I could not scatter
the cloud of seriousness that had come between us.</p>
<p>Presently we fell into an easy talk, but it was a talk
that hid rather than revealed what lay deepest in our
bosoms. Not a word was spoken of the happenings of
the past week nor of the mission I was on until after
more than an hour&rsquo;s ride. We came to the crest of the
hill that rises southward from our home. Here we
slowly gathered in the reins. We halted our horses
and sat side by side for a moment in silence. Then
Andr&eacute; drew a long breath and extended his hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Good-by, Henri,&rdquo; he said, and added in a faltering
voice, &ldquo;You will come safe home to me, I know.&rdquo;</p>
<p>That was all. I took his hand in mine. Our eyes
met. But I had to turn mine quickly aside again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I shall do my best,&rdquo; I replied. It wasn&rsquo;t much of
an answer, but it was as brave a speech as I was able
to bring over my lips. The truth is my tongue failed
me. When I looked up again a little wistful smile lay
in the corners of my brother&rsquo;s mouth and he was drawing
in the reins to turn about.</p>
<p>We parted. I urged the roan forward and started
off down the other side of the hill. Now and then the
impulse rose within me to turn and wave a last farewell,
but ever as it did, new strength came to me and I
set my face resolutely forward.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_85">85</div>
<p>The horse broke into a loose trot. Faster and faster
I went over the uneven road. More than once I thought
I would be pitched headlong from my mount. I entered
a sharp bend in the hills. As I turned the horse&rsquo;s head
the tall trees stood between me and my home like a
great black wall. Within an hour or two I realized that
I was treading on new ground. Yet the further I went,
the freer I felt. I was like a bird loosed from long
confinement in a cage. The joy of exploration was
lending me fresh thoughts and my dependence on those
at home was shaken gradually from me like the last
threads of an old garment.</p>
<p>The highway was like a country in itself. It had its
inhabitants and its customs, its laws and traditions. Its
population, too, began to strike me as singularly fanciful.
Traveler after traveler passed me, the one on
the heels of the other. But all of them of interest.
Indeed so different were they from one another that I
was soon set speculating and wondering what manner
of life they led and above all where in the world could
they be going.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_86">86</div>
<p>The first person worth mentioning whom I came
across was a scrivener. That is to say, one of those
wandering scholars&mdash;a man skilled in the art of writing.
He was sitting on a stone near a little brook that ran
bubbling from the cool of the trees. He was munching
at some bread and cheese as contentedly as you
could wish. Alongside of him in the grass lay a long
round bundle wrapped in a dirty cloth. Beside this
lay a handful of quills and a horn in which he carried
his ink. His appearance was nothing to boast of. His
forehead and hands were streaked and smeared black
and a full week&rsquo;s growth of beard covered his face.
And the worst thing about him was his clothes&mdash;an
ill-fitting suit of velvet of dark blue, spotted and ragged,
which some one had given him.</p>
<p>At the first sight of me his jaw fell agape. The
bread which he had just stuffed into his mouth fell in
crumbs over his knees. His eyes glared at me as though
they would start from their sockets. I thought a kind
of fright had overtaken him, but in the next second
he jumped to his feet with the lightness of a hare and
laid his hand over his heart in a way that reminded me
strongly of De Marsac. Then he swept the ground
with his soiled cap and bowed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; he said with the utmost seriousness, &ldquo;I
am alone. I lack company. Will you be gracious
enough to dine with me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>At that he straightened up and smiled.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am no lord,&rdquo; I answered with a twinkle in my eye.
&ldquo;Nor am I hungry. I have a long ride ahead of me
and must be on my way.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_87">87</div>
<p>With that I made to be off. But the scrivener seemed
to have no hearing. He clapped his cap upon his head
and with a skip was out in the middle of the road.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you are not a noble,&rdquo; he said with his grin spreading
from ear to ear, &ldquo;you ought to be. But I am sure
of one thing&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; He let the last words trail in the
air as though he would puzzle me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Your horse is!&rdquo; he cried. And then he bent over
and laughed as though he had made the smartest remark
in the world.</p>
<p>I was feeling uneasy. The thought came to me that
I was wasting my time with a madman and the sooner
I could get off from him the better.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I replied dryly, &ldquo;maybe he is. But don&rsquo;t
let me interrupt your meal.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I looked down the road to let him know that I was
anxious to be off. The hint was wasted, for he stepped
in close to the roan and started to stroke him on the
neck, muttering and mumbling to himself words of the
highest praise.</p>
<p>He twisted his head to the one side like a bird on
a perch and winked at me knowingly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know what I&rsquo;d give for this horse?&rdquo; he
demanded.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_88">88</div>
<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not for sale,&rdquo; I said with some abruptness. But
he went on as though I had not spoken.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d give everything I have,&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d give
my parchment, my inkhorn and my quills. And I&rsquo;d
be willing to forget all I know of the art of writing, if
I could call him my own!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I almost laughed in his face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re generous, master scrivener,&rdquo; said I, and
once more gathered in the reins.</p>
<p>But he was not to be so easily shaken off. He made
a pretense of great affection for the animal. He laid
his cheek against its head. He took to stroking its
mane. Then he looked up into my face with a cunning
leer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; he began slyly, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe the
horse is yours at all.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What!&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Do you take me for a thief?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he exclaimed, raising his brows. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve hit a
soft spot, now, haven&rsquo;t I? Why, it&rsquo;s true then that you
gentlemen of the road are as touchy as a flock of crows.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was almost overcome. That I would be taken for
a highwayman was far from what I had ever dreamed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Look here!&rdquo; I called. &ldquo;Take your hand from that
horse. I&rsquo;ll give you till I count &lsquo;three.&rsquo; If you&rsquo;re not
out of the way then, I&rsquo;ll ride you down.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_89">89</div>
<p>The scrivener paid me no more attention than he
would a fly. Without taking his eyes from me, he
reached into his belt and drew forth a dagger. As he
held it in the air, I saw that it was of unusual value
and workmanship. The blade was as thin as a blade
of grass and rang to his touch like the finest steel.
Besides, the haft shone with a brightness that could
hardly be believed, for it was not only of the clearest
silver but was set with a scattering of brilliant stones.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s start the bargaining over again, my lord,&rdquo; he
said. &ldquo;Will you exchange your horse for this?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was at my wit&rsquo;s end. I was sure now that he was
not only a madman but a knave as well. The longer
I lingered there with him, the more dangerous seemed
my situation. I set my jaws in resolution. He must
have noticed the expression on my face, for he reached
out and grasped the bridle firmly in his hand. At the
same time he held out the weapon in the hope it would
strike my fancy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who is the thief now, master scrivener?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wouldn&rsquo;t you like to have it?&rdquo; he questioned with
another sly wink. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s yours for the taking&mdash;if you will
only give me your horse.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_90">90</div>
<p>At that he began tossing the dagger over his head
and with much deftness catching it again in his hand.
I sat watching him with anger swelling in my heart.
Higher and higher the dagger went. The more difficult
the catch, the easier it seemed to him. At length it rose
far over his head, spinning and twirling like a leaf in
the wind. Then a thought came to me. With one
grasp I reached far out. By merest chance I caught
the weapon by the hilt. I sank my heels into the horse&rsquo;s
flank. In his amazement the scrivener loosed his hold
on the bridle and I was free from him.</p>
<p>Before I was out of hearing I drew the horse to a
stop. I turned and saw the scrivener standing in the
middle of the road. He had his hands flat over his hips
and was grinning with all his might.</p>
<p>I held the dagger on high.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you see this?&rdquo; I called. &ldquo;I am going to keep
it until I find the man to whom it belongs.&rdquo;</p>
<p>His answer sent the chills down my spine.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Fine!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Take it to the Abbot of
Chalonnes!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_91">91</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c8.png" alt="" width="545" height="323" />
</div>
<h2 id="c9">CHAPTER IX
<br /><span class="small">A SOLITARY HOUSE IN THE WOODS</span></h2>
<p>The rest of that day passed pleasantly enough. To
be sure, there were wayfarers whom I met. I remember
most distinctly a few scattered soldiers with heavy
beards who talked deep and boastingly in their throats.
Then there came a barber with a satchel in his hand. He
had a white curled wig on his head and a comb tucked
jauntily in the side of it over his ear. No doubt he
was going the rounds among his customers, the gentry
of the neighborhood. By the mincing way in which
he walked, the fancy lace upon his sleeves and collar,
together with the display of a red waistcoat and a pair
of polished silver-buckled shoes he must have thought
himself equal to any doctor of Physic of the great university
of Bologna.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_92">92</div>
<p>He doffed his cap to me with some show of delicacy.
He began to ask me if any great houses lay in the
direction from which I had come, where he could earn
a handful of groats. He told me that if there were
any sick in the neighborhood, he could make them well
again by the skill he had in cupping and leeching. I
knew that barbers had the reputation as idle gossips,
so I answered as evasively as I could. Then, when he
saw that he was strumming on the wrong string, he grew
bolder and more direct. He said flatly that I needed
a little care myself. He invited me down from the
horse. He assured me that, if I would sit on a stone
on the side of the road for the space of half an hour,
he would make a new man of me by the application of
his art.</p>
<p>But my experience with the scrivener had been
enough. I knew that it was best to deal with this new
nuisance as deftly as I might. I first said that he looked
the master of his trade in every way. At which he
puffed up like a pigeon and seemed highly flattered.
Then I slowly let him know that my stock of money
was very low, that I could hardly reckon on a resting
place for the night (which of course was true) and
that I was cautioned to be careful in the expenditure
of every single coin.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_93">93</div>
<p>I might have gone further. But when my lack of
money became known to him, he dropped his smile and
shot a look at me that had poison in it. He picked
up his satchel, grumbling and growling under his
breath, and with a remark about beggars riding on
horseback, quickly strode away.</p>
<p>The next was a fellow with a cart, or rather a wagon
on two wheels. He had shafts to it and instead of a
horse had fastened himself to them by a strap similar
to a yoke which reached over his shoulders. He
was twice the size of an ordinary man. The rolls of fat
hung under his chin and across his stomach in great
layers. He came along puffing and snorting and mopping
the sweat from his brow. At the same time he
seemed as happy as a lark, for he was whistling a light
tune as merrily as could be.</p>
<p>He no sooner saw me than he lowered the cart on
two props and disengaged himself from his harness. I
was now so near that I saw that he had a kind of traveling
show such as often stopped in our village in the
early Spring. Only this fellow had no performing bear
on a rope or a monkey or an acrobatic clown, but piled
high on the cart, row after row, were small wooden
cages. In each cage was a bird. Along the bottom
were the parrots and then the further up they went
the smaller the birds became until at the top sat perched
the tiniest of wrens.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_94">94</div>
<p>I was agog with curiosity. When I came within earshot
the big fellow stepped out into the middle of the
road. His smile spread the width of his broad face.
He bowed to me from afar and then screwed his mouth
into a knot and puffed out his cheeks. With such suddenness
that it startled me he ran the gamut of a score
of notes from the lowest to the highest, lingering now
and then to warble and trill some of them in the most
entrancing fashion.</p>
<p>At the first sound of the man&rsquo;s whistling there was
a flutter in all the cages. Before he had uttered half
a dozen notes the birds began to sing. When he had
no more breath and was forced to let off, they had
reached a harmony that was truly surprising. The
sounds rose higher and higher. It was like the early
morning at home when I awoke but even more thrilling
and delightful. Then, just as I approached, the
fellow put his knuckle in his mouth. He blew one loud
shrill blast. The birds in the next instant were as silent
as the grave.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_95">95</div>
<p>I could not help smiling. And the man himself
was even more pleased than I. He stood in the road
grinning like a great calf. His eyes sparkled. He
was beaming with joy as though he had just performed
a truly remarkable feat. He stuck his thumb under
his arm and straightened himself up as proud as an
emperor.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Greetings, sir Traveler,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;from the King
of the Birds.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I drew in my horse. He took this as a sign that I
was interested. He screwed up his mouth again and
let out a short shrill note. Of a sudden, as though they
had been waiting for it, every bird in the cages started
once more to sing. They were soon at the highest point.
The fellow had his head cocked on one side with his
ear turned towards the cages like a music master trying
to detect a false note. Then, as he did before, he put
his knuckle in his mouth. He blew one quick blast
and the sounds died away as quickly as though the
birds had been stricken dead.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said the King of the Birds with a wave of his
hand, &ldquo;the parrot there can tell your fortune. He is
like the owl, one of the wisest of birds.&rdquo; To suit his
action to his words he tapped the parrot on the head.
He placed a box which held a number of pieces of
parchment before it. The parrot bent over and with
its beak tossed one of the small sheets out on the ground.
The King pounced upon it and held it out before my
astonished eyes.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_96">96</div>
<p>&ldquo;Unfold it, sir, and read it at your leisure,&rdquo; said the
man. &ldquo;It may help you on your way.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he bowed and stood rubbing his hands. I
smiled of course at his simplicity. A sort of pity took
hold of me. In bulk he was almost the size of an ox.
Without doubt he was as poor as any of his birds. He
was dependent for all that he got upon his ability to
amuse those who fell across his path. Yet, with all that,
the seriousness of the world had no resting place upon
his shoulders. In his own province he was, as he
claimed, as absolute as a king, and to my way of thinking
far happier than any of whom I have ever heard.</p>
<p>I did not want to wound his feelings. With the pretext
that I must be going, I leaned over and tossed a
handful of small silver into his hands. At the same
time I clapped my heels against the horse&rsquo;s flanks and
with a wave of my arm bade him &ldquo;Adieu.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_97">97</div>
<p>I thought I had done with him. I had given him
more than he had counted on, I am sure. I had no
other idea but that he would gather up his cart and
make his way to the nearest village. But my horse
had scarcely carried me ten steps when there fell upon
my ears the same whistling with which he had first
greeted me. Then followed the chorus of the birds. I
turned in the saddle and looked back. The great fellow
was standing in the middle of the road. His hands
were extended towards me. His chest was heaving
like a bellows and the sweat was streaming from his
forehead. For all that he was smiling like a pleased
child. His little eyes were twinkling and blinking in
the light of the sun. When he saw that I had turned
about, he struck still higher notes and the birds with
him.</p>
<p>I rode slowly on and on. I turned now and then to
wave back at him. At each turning I saw the same
figure in the middle of the road and heard the same
trilling sounds. They grew fainter and fainter. The
man himself grew dimmer and dimmer. At length the
warbling ceased. For the last time I waved &ldquo;farewell.&rdquo;
But as I did, there he was with his head thrown back,
his thumb under his arm and one foot proudly before
the other. When he realized that I would soon be out
of sight he threw both arms out towards me to wish me
good fortune on my way.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_98">98</div>
<p>So it went with me. On that great highway I found
myself in a new and varied world. One strange character
passed after the other with each quite different
from the one before. At first I thought them only the
odds and ends of all humanity driving forward without
aim or purpose. But after a while I had to acknowledge
that of the people I met, I was the least in
experience of them all. I began to make a fresh estimate
of men and their manners. They soon impressed
me with the thought that they knew what they were
about as well as I. The only difference between them
and me was that they had interests other than my own.
And to cap it all a certain shrewdness warned me that
if I were to continue to cope with them, I must sharpen
my wits to the keenness of theirs.</p>
<p>I went on and on. I took time to feed my horse and
eat a bite myself in the shade of the trees. The afternoon
came and went. The sun was dropping behind
the hills. An uneasiness took hold of me lest I be
forced to lie out in the open exposed to the uncertainties
of the night. It was rapidly getting dark. My uneasiness
was turning into fear, when I came upon a bend
in the road and behind it a broad stretch of thick woods.</p>
<p>I stopped and looked circumspectly around. I might
have passed on, but, as I gazed, I spied a little house
or cottage hidden far in among the trees. Not a soul
was in sight. It seemed a place deserted. The walls
were of stone and very old for they were covered with
moss in patches here and there. There was a blackness
about them from the dust of the road, besides, on
the corners and the window-ledges they were worn with
pieces knocked off. The windows themselves were
hardly visible. They were matted with cobwebs and
dirt so that it was scarcely possible that any light could
shine through them.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_99">99</div>
<p>An old slab of stone served as a door-step, but it was
surrounded with weeds that grew waist-high even as
far as the edge of the road. There was little inviting
about the house. Indeed, the more I examined it, the
more I felt that I should leave it as it was.</p>
<p>I was about to give my horse the rein when I observed
a thin curl of smoke lifting lazily in the air from a
chimney in the rear. I knitted my brows in surprise.
I looked again to make certain. Then, with curiosity
getting the better of me, I got down from the horse,
led him by the bridle and tied him to the nearest tree.</p>
<p>I cannot tell you why I did it. I suppose it was the
mystery and the strangeness about the place, but before
I gave thought to the consequences, I had brushed my
way through the weeds and was knocking at the antiquated
door.</p>
<p>I drew a deep breath and stood waiting. The time
seemed very long indeed. My heart began to flutter in
my breast. A feeling that my actions were rash stole
over me. The horse neighed. The sound struck me
like a warning that I ought to let well enough alone
and be further on my way. I was about to turn when
I heard a board creak within. The quick shuffling of
feet came to me through the door. Then there fell a
silence that was like the hollowness of an empty cave.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_100">100</div>
<p>I was curious and fearful alike. I walked back to
the middle of the road. The smoke came from the
chimney in a thicker volume than before. I shifted in
my mind to reason out the situation. When I had considered
every side of it, I laughed at my fears.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is only some poor peasant,&rdquo; I thought, &ldquo;&mdash;probably
too deaf to hear.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With my mind fixed I strode boldly back. I knocked
more loudly and resolutely than before. But no sound
came. I waited a moment and knocked again. The
only answer was the cawing of a crow that passed soaring
over my head. My impatience burst its bounds. I
took the latch in my hand, thinking to rattle it, when
to my surprise the door yielded to my touch. As by
some magic it swung slowly open and I beheld the
interior of the room.</p>
<p>I expected to find the place within as uninviting as it
was without. A fire was burning at the far end and
over it hung on a chain a pot which was bubbling and
boiling and giving out a most savory odor. At the side
of the wall stood a chair, but of the kind you might
think belonged not in a peasant&rsquo;s hut but in the palace
of a king. It was of the finest make. The legs and
back were curved and scrolled and gilded like new and
the cushions of a velvet delicately blue. In that one
flash I saw, too, a table standing in the middle of the
room. The top reflected the shine of the fire, for it
was polished like wax.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_101">101</div>
<p>If I was surprised at the first glance, I was the more
amazed as my eyes got accustomed to the semi-darkness
of the interior. The walls, instead of being black or
grimy were as white and cheerful as though they were
entirely new and instead of the stone flags which I
expected to find, the floor was laid in the smoothest
wood.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Whoever lives here,&rdquo; I said half aloud, &ldquo;has gone
out for a while. I&rsquo;ll take a seat. When they return,
we can strike a bargain for a lodging for the night.&rdquo;</p>
<p>To suit the purpose I shut the door. It was swinging
slowly when of a sudden it was dashed past my face
and struck the door-jam with a bang. The unexpectedness
of it made me wink. When I opened my eyes
there was a man standing before me. His brows were
drawn into an ugly frown. The look on his face was
of the blackness of night. His jaws were set but his
lips were curled back in a snarl and his fists knotted
in anger as though he was about to strike.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dog!&rdquo; The word came from between his teeth in
a hiss.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_102">102</div>
<p>I was so taken unawares that I retreated a step. I
glared helplessly at him. Then a bitter smile of hatred
slowly crossed his features like that of a savage who
has run down an enemy.</p>
<p>&ldquo;So,&rdquo; he drawled, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve proved the mouse at last.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was too stupefied to reply.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why!&rdquo; I gasped. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s some mistake&mdash;mouse&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve fallen into a trap, haven&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>By degrees my breath came back to me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never seen you before,&rdquo; I managed to say.
&ldquo;Surely&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>He cut me off with a growl.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t have to see a man to do him a harm, do
you?&rdquo; he said, and took a step towards me. &ldquo;The next
time a man is tied to a tree and asks for a drink of
water&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>He did not finish, but made a lunge at me with his
arms outstretched. It took all my alertness to spring
back out of his way. Then, like a flash the thought of
the scrivener&rsquo;s dagger popped into my mind. I jerked
it from my belt and raised it menacingly over my head.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_103">103</div>
<p>The fellow stopped in his tracks. He shot a glance
over my shoulder to the back of the room. I swung
the dagger in the air with the thought that if I forced
him from the door, I might escape. But my arm was
hardly half way around when a sharp crack caught me
on the wrist. The pain shot through me like the cutting
of a knife. I loosed my grasp. The dagger flew
across the room and fell clattering onto the wooden
floor.</p>
<p>In the next breath my arms were caught from behind.
They were pinned together with the firmness of a vise.
A foot shot out and entangled itself in mine. A quick
twist and I was jerked sideways and sent tumbling
like the dagger across the room.</p>
<p>I was stunned from the force of the fall. I got
slowly up on one elbow and looked dazedly around.
The fire was dancing as though it mocked me. I laid
my hand on my hip where it hurt me most. My fingers
fumbled aimlessly somehow or other around my pocket.
I was so stupefied that I was hardly conscious of what
I was doing. My thumb and forefinger touched the
bit of parchment which the King of the Birds had given
me. I drew it out. By good fortune my assailants were
at my back. I unfolded it more by habit than by purpose.
When it lay open before the light of the blazing
wood I was amazed to read a warning that had come
altogether too late:</p>
<p>&ldquo;Avoid the house in the woods!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_104">104</div>
<p>With nervous fingers I put the parchment back again.
The one fellow who had faced me first came over and
jerked me roughly to my feet. Then, as though I were
a log, shoved me back until I fell into the chair.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Where did you get that dagger?&rdquo; he demanded.
He had picked the weapon from the floor and had
thrown it on the table.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I took it from a man on the road,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Was it a short fellow&mdash;a churchman&mdash;dressed like
an Abbot?&rdquo; he asked further.</p>
<p>I was loath to give these rascals more information
than was good for them so my answer was as short as I
could make it.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know whether he was an Abbot or not,&rdquo; I
said. &ldquo;I couldn&rsquo;t tell.&rdquo;</p>
<p>They looked at each other in alarm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If he&rsquo;s in the neighborhood,&rdquo; said the first, &ldquo;we&rsquo;d
better get out.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The other came forward into the light of the fire.
His hand was bandaged with a strip of an old shirt and
the blood was caked where it had oozed through and
hardened.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know me?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You tried to kill me in the woods,&rdquo; I said, without
lifting my eyes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you see this?&rdquo; he went on.</p>
<p>I looked at his hand.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_105">105</div>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s cut to the bone,&rdquo; he said, threateningly. &ldquo;It&rsquo;ll
take weeks for it to heal.&rdquo; He narrowed his eyes till
they were mere slits and studied me. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re going
to pay for this, do you hear?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I said nothing, but looked helplessly around.</p>
<p>The first fellow had his gaze upon the floor. He
was worried, that I plainly saw. Then, after a little,
he touched this fellow on the shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s put him out of the way,&rdquo; he said, glancing
towards me. &ldquo;If we&rsquo;re caught here, we&rsquo;ll be in a trap
ourselves.&rdquo;</p>
<p>They were both willing, but still some doubt held
them in leash.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If we do,&rdquo; was the answer, &ldquo;what will De Marsac
say? You know he wants him&rdquo; (meaning me) &ldquo;for a
purpose.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The word De Marsac struck strangely on my ears.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;De Marsac had better look
out for himself. There is some one on his heels.&rdquo;</p>
<p>They turned to me together like a flash.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What!&rdquo; they exclaimed. &ldquo;Who?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The Black Prince!&rdquo; I called boldly. &ldquo;He will&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>They laughed in my face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The Black Prince is on his way to the west to join
the starving remnants of his army,&rdquo; I was told. &ldquo;We
thought you meant the Abbot of Chalonnes.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_106">106</div>
<p>My mouth fell agape. I searched their faces and
they searched mine. The fellow who had grappled with
me first made a signal to the other, and turned towards
the table to pick up the dagger. The man with the
wounded hand slouched over towards me. He had his
good fist curled in a knot, no doubt to crash it against
my skull.</p>
<p>I felt that it was my end. I took a firm hold on the
arms of the chair to dodge or fight them to the last
of my strength.</p>
<p>The door suddenly flew back on its hinges and banged
against the wall. Both men jumped and in my tenseness
I jumped with them. They stood with frightened
faces looking towards the entrance.</p>
<p>A form appeared&mdash;the form of a little man clad in
rags, smeared with ink and dirt so that his face was
hardly to be seen. His beard was clotted with mire
where he had been sleeping in the open. His quills
and ink-horn and roll of parchment were gone but he
still wore the same curious grin that I had noticed earlier
in the day.</p>
<p>With one skip he was in the middle of the room. He
clapped the fellow with the injured hand roundly on
the back and cried in a voice of glee.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, I see you have him at last!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_107">107</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c1.png" alt="" width="551" height="303" />
</div>
<h2 id="c10">CHAPTER X
<br /><span class="small">THE HIGHWAYMAN OF TOURS</span></h2>
<p>The three of us turned with amazement on our faces.
Before a word was spoken the scrivener bounded clear
across the room. He came to a stop before the table
and took the dagger in his hand. Then he faced us.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I should like to know who gave
you permission to befoul my house?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He spoke in a high, commanding key. One of the
fellows shifted slowly to the side of the room. The
other looked uneasily about. The scrivener, who held
his head, pointed at each of them in turn with the
dagger.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know, my gentles,&rdquo; he demanded in a terrible
voice, &ldquo;who I am?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_108">108</div>
<p>The two men knotted their brows, puzzled. One of
them bit his lips and the other growled under his breath
and flashed a knowing look at his companion. It was
a hint, I knew, that at the first chance they would make
the attack together.</p>
<p>The scrivener seemed to consider them as children.
He took his soiled cap from his head and flung it on
the floor.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know me now?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Have you never
heard of &lsquo;Will-o&rsquo;-the-wisp&rsquo;?&rdquo;</p>
<p>As though they had been struck by a club, both men
drooped and turned instinctively towards the door.
Then they called out loud enough for me to hear, &ldquo;The
highwayman of Tours!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener snapped his fingers in the air. Then
like a showman he took the dagger by the point. He
gave it a twist and sent it spinning towards the floor.
It struck and buried itself in the wood, where it stood
quivering like a living thing.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_109">109</div>
<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;The highwayman of Tours!&rsquo;&rdquo; he echoed after them.
&ldquo;The only man who ever had the courage to stand
before the Abbot of Chalonnes and flaunt him to his
face. That dagger there I took from him&mdash;with a
dozen of his followers at his back. I was the only man
in all the country round to meet the Dwarf of Angers&mdash;alone&mdash;unarmed&mdash;in
the woods&mdash;at night. I killed the
Dwarf and threw his body into the waters of the Loire.&rdquo;
He stopped and laughed a long, weird, tormenting
laugh that rang through the room like the echo of a
ghost. &ldquo;The man who is my enemy is foredoomed to
die!&rdquo;</p>
<p>A chill crept along my spine. A sullen look spread
over the faces of my two captors. They exchanged
glances once again and grinned.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t fool us with talk like that,&rdquo; said one.
&ldquo;We&rsquo;re men.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener whistled a quick, sharp note and with
the ease of a kitten sprang upon the table.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There is a price upon my head!&rdquo; he called. Then
he pointed to the dagger. &ldquo;If either of you has the
boldness to collect it, let him pluck that weapon from
the floor.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The fellow who had spoken brightened up. He
lurched forward. His huge body bent over and his
arm reached out to take the scrivener at his word. But
his slow brain had reckoned without thought to the consequences.
He had no sooner taken a step when the
scrivener raised himself on the balls of his feet. He
shot through the air with the straightness and speed of
an arrow. He landed with all his weight on the back
of his enemy. His one hand encircled his throat. The
other, by a calculation as unerring as it was quick,
caught the dagger by the hilt.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_110">110</div>
<p>There followed a struggle that I shall not soon forget.
The scrivener twisted his lithe body like a snake.
He squirmed around and before I could wink was on
top of his foe. He was smiling as though he was highly
pleased with the dagger now raised ready for the descending
blow.</p>
<p>He knew that the second fellow would not allow his
companion to be killed. He halted the weapon so that
it rested not more than an inch from his opponent&rsquo;s
throat.</p>
<p>&ldquo;One move and you&rsquo;re a dead man!&rdquo; he cried. Then
he looked to the side. He saw the other coming on
with venom in his eyes.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Take your choice,&rdquo; he called to him. &ldquo;Lay a finger
on me and you&rsquo;re this man&rsquo;s murderer!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The fellow stopped. In the twinkling of an eye the
scrivener sprang to his feet. He faced the two with
his face lit up and a confidence that was amazing. The
man with the wounded hand slid his hand into his shirt.
He drew forth a long knife with a curved blade. He
ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them and with
one bound made for his enemy.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_111">111</div>
<p>I expected to see him run the scrivener through. But
once again his quickness surprised me. He sprang onto
the table again with even greater suppleness than
before. This time he jumped feet foremost. He caught
the fellow in the middle of the chest. The knife went
flying from his hand and he was hurled back against
the wall. His head struck with a thump and his knees
buckled under him as he sagged to the floor.</p>
<p>Up to this time the action had been so fast and so
unexpected that I was hardly able to take a breath
let alone take a part in it. But when I saw the knife
flying across the room my senses stirred within me. I
saw the second fellow take a hasty glance at the knife.
He moved with all his speed towards it. He was stooping
over to snatch it up, when I realized the danger we
would be in if he were able to get it in his grasp.</p>
<p>I took a flying leap like the scrivener, only I went
face down, sliding along the smooth floor. Just as
my fingers were curling around the haft, the fellow was
upon me. I must have slid under him for he fell over
me with all his weight. The breath was knocked out of
my body. A thousand stars flicked across my vision. A
pain shot over my back. My nose and forehead were
crushed against the boards and a smothering made it
hard for me even to gasp.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_112">112</div>
<p>But I clung to the knife with all my strength. My
assailant dug his hands into my ribs. He caught my
wrist and twisted it till the pain almost made me cry
out. He took a firm hold upon my neck and tried to
squeeze the life out of me. He bent my arm back till
it cracked in the socket. But with all that I clung to
my knife as though it was the dearest thing I possessed.</p>
<p>As a last trial the fellow dug his knees into my sides
and held them there. I felt the breath leaving me.
Then with an effort that took all my strength I jerked
myself loose and turned over on my back. The danger
now was even greater for my opponent than it was for
me. Although I was down, yet I had a freer swing
for my weapon. If I had thought in time I could have
slashed him on the legs and probably cut him across
the arm. But he saw what was coming. He stood up
and backed away and in the same moment, with what
was left of me, I, too, got hastily to my feet.</p>
<p>In the next second it was all over. A form came
hurtling through the air. I felt the breeze of the passing
body fan my cheeks. It was the scrivener who had
gotten once more upon the table. He must have been
on the alert for such an opportunity. He caught my
fellow, as he had done the other. His feet struck him a
dull blow full on the chest. As though he were a
sack of meal he gave a low groan and crumpled together
against the wall.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_113">113</div>
<p>I stood for a moment with my mouth open, gasping
for breath. I was anxious, too, about the first fellow
whom the scrivener had knocked senseless against the
wall. He was slowly opening his eyes and made a move
as though he would rise. His hands were behind him.
He twisted and pulled to bring them forward. Then
it dawned on me that while I was deep in the struggle,
the scrivener had tied them securely behind his back.</p>
<p>I felt a clap on my shoulder. There stood the scrivener
with his eyes shining. His head was darting from
side to side like a bird&rsquo;s. He danced a few steps on
the hard floor and to my surprise leaned over and turned
a handspring as smoothly as you please.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a grand fighter, lad,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;A grand
fighter.&rdquo; He held out his hand and grasped mine.
&ldquo;And to think I don&rsquo;t even know your name.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I took the hint.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Henri,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Henri La Mar.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, Henri,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll get along fine together,
you and I.&rdquo; He looked me over and felt of
the muscles of my arm. &ldquo;The makings of a man,&rdquo; he
muttered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make the greatest highwayman of you
that ever lived.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was stopped for an answer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not so sure that I want to be one,&rdquo; I replied,
but with a smile that I would not anger him. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a
dangerous calling.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_114">114</div>
<p>His face fell in astonishment. He looked for all
the world as though he had received a blow.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the only life for a man to live,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Ah,
if you were to tell the truth, I think you enjoyed the
little fight tonight as well as I.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad we won,&rdquo; I said. Then I fell to thinking.
After a while I drawled out, &ldquo;Listen, master scrivener,
haven&rsquo;t I seen you some time before?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He waved me aside and pointed to the two on the
floor.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to fix them for the night so they&rsquo;ll do
no harm,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Come, we&rsquo;ll carry them outside
and tie them to the trees.&rdquo;</p>
<p>We took them one by one and dragged them out of
the house. We bound them hand and foot and lashed
them each to a single tree. When we had finished the
scrivener started to whistle a tune.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re good at that, master scrivener,&rdquo; I began
again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Good at what?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;at tying men to trees,&rdquo; I suggested slyly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m good at everything I touch,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Never
yet has any man got the better of me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Then he whistled again louder than before.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re good with the bow and arrow, too, aren&rsquo;t
you?&rdquo; I insisted.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_115">115</div>
<p>&ldquo;I could knock the eye out of you at a hundred
paces,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll do it if you say the word.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I laughed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to be killed yet,&rdquo; I said. Then I continued,
&ldquo;You&rsquo;re quick on your feet. You&rsquo;re a shifty
wrestler. Are you just as clever tying messages to the
haft of an arrow?&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was a sly dig, for I had my suspicions and was
curious to learn the truth. His answer was just as
evasive as before.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I told you I could do anything,&rdquo; he replied like a
flash, &ldquo;whether it be tying messages or tying men.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s that,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;When a bird won&rsquo;t sing,
no one can force him. No doubt, you&rsquo;ve heard that
saying before, master scrivener?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;What you hear and what&rsquo;s the truth,&rdquo; he came back,
&ldquo;are sometimes at great variance.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At this the whistling grew louder and, I thought,
more piercing than ever. The scrivener stuffed his
hands into his shirt and strutted up and down the floor.
On each occasion when I turned to him to speak, he
threw back his head and let the notes out of him with
such vehemence that I was almost deafened. At length
he ceased from sheer exhaustion.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_116">116</div>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a fine masquerader, master scrivener,&rdquo; I continued
prodding him. &ldquo;You remind me of a certain
fool.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I meant of course the man with the bauble and the
bells whom I happened on at the armorer&rsquo;s forge.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wise man who can play the fool,&rdquo; he winked.
&ldquo;Sometimes it&rsquo;s handier than a sharp sword.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was plain I could get nothing from him. I raised
my brows and looked at him from head to heel. First I
grinned. Then I laughed openly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re a dark, secret man, master scrivener, full of
tricks and wiles,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;But with all your cunning
I am sure of this, if you shaved the hair from your face
and washed the dirt away, you would strongly remind
me of a certain gentleman with whom I had a little tiff
a week or so ago at Le Brun&rsquo;s forge.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_117">117</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c3.png" alt="" width="552" height="289" />
</div>
<h2 id="c11">CHAPTER XI
<br /><span class="small">I FIND A COMPANION</span></h2>
<p>He turned on me like a flash.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; said he with an assumption of great
dignity, &ldquo;that when you are in another man&rsquo;s house, it is
wise to take things as they are!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is this really your house?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Or are you
toying with me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He spun on his heel and went to the far end of the
room. He came back with a candle in his hand which
he had lit at the open fire.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show you the rest of it,&rdquo; he remarked. &ldquo;Come
with me.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_118">118</div>
<p>At that he inserted his finger in what seemed to be a
knot-hole in the floor. To my surprise he lifted a great
door which was set in the wood and bent it back on its
hinges. Then, with the light high over his head he
passed down a set of broad oak steps. A dank odor of
damp air came to my nostrils. I set my foot on the first
step with much caution and circumspection. I descended
one by one until I stood on a clay floor. All
around me were solid stone walls with no opening for
air or ventilation. And here and there in these walls
I saw recesses which were covered with doors that were
of natural wood stained with dirt and finger-marks.</p>
<p>Without stopping the scrivener went to the largest of
these closets at the furthest corner of the cave and flung
it open. If I was amazed at first I was quite beside myself
now, for the whole of it was filled with all sorts
of articles of clothing. Some of them were the trappings
of soldiers with gilt and lace, others were suits
of velvet, quite new, smooth and beautiful to see. Again
there were common clothes such as peasants wear or
even common laborers in the fields.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I know now,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;why those fellows called you
the &lsquo;Will-o&rsquo;-the-wisp&rsquo;. You&rsquo;re never the same man.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_119">119</div>
<p>&ldquo;When you live as I live, my lad,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;you
must use your wits.&rdquo; Then he turned my attention to
another box or closet in the wall. When this was open
he took from it a bundle tied and wrapped with thick
cloth and matted straw. As carefully as if it were alive
he untied the knots one by one and laid it flat upon the
floor.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My arsenal,&rdquo; he said. Then he revealed a bow about
as long as he was high and with it a quiver containing
a score of arrows. So unexpected was this that I let out
a gasp.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I keep them wrapped up like this to protect them
from the damp,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;When trouble
comes&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But why do you need all these?&rdquo; I cried.
&ldquo;Surely&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>He rose and pointed sternly towards the stairs.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If I&rsquo;m hard pressed, I&rsquo;m as safe here as in a castle,&rdquo;
he explained. &ldquo;If they happen to get in the house, I
can take refuge here. Look! Don&rsquo;t you think I could
drop them easily enough as they came down those steps
one by one?&rdquo;</p>
<p>It seemed true enough but I was not yet satisfied.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Suppose they set the house afire?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_120">120</div>
<p>He took me by the arm and led me to the part of the
cave that was hidden under the stairs. Here it was
gloomiest and very dark. The rays from the candle
flickered as though they were sucked by a slight current
of air. But where I expected to find a wall there was no
wall at all, only a great hole large enough for a man to
enter by stooping a little. It was of jagged rock on all
sides, as canny a place as I had ever seen.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let them fire the house,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;There is
the way to freedom and the open air. It is fifty roods
long. The other end leads out among rocks and the
roots of ancient trees. You&rsquo;d never find it in a week&rsquo;s
search not even if I showed it to you beforehand.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He put the clothing and the bow and arrows back
as he had found them and we went again up the stairs.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why have you shown me this hiding place of yours,
master scrivener?&rdquo; I inquired. &ldquo;Aren&rsquo;t you afraid lest
some day I betray you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He snapped his fingers.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s known already,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have to abandon
it. Those two knaves outside will spread the news
to all the world.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a shame,&rdquo; I ventured.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It has served its purpose,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;But the
Highwayman of Tours has a card up his sleeve. Further
down the valley of the Loire I have another even
better than this.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_121">121</div>
<p>He tossed his head and sat down in the chair. He
stared for a while at the floor deep in thought. I bethought
me of my horse, for it was high time that I
looked to him for the night. I went out to where I had
tied him. My heart sank in my breast, for he was gone.
I went over to where the two knaves had been lashed to
the trees. All I found was a couple of strands of rope
upon the ground.</p>
<p>I burst into the house hot and excited.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They have gone!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;They have taken my
horse with them!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener never raised his head.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I was hoping they would go,&rdquo; he said calmly.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s your fault, master scrivener,&rdquo; I flung at him.
&ldquo;When you were tying them, I noticed that you didn&rsquo;t
draw the knots tight enough.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s true,&rdquo; he replied looking out from under
his brows with a crafty smile. &ldquo;But, Henri, you
wouldn&rsquo;t like to stand with your back against a tree for
the whole night long, now, would you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But my horse?&rdquo; I said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They took that too?&rdquo; he smiled.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, well. It&rsquo;s a great loss, indeed,&rdquo; he replied.
&ldquo;A great loss.&rdquo; He rose and yawned. Then he
stretched himself. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s another way to look at it,
Henri. What do you care about the horse when you
have me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But I want him back,&rdquo; I insisted. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve a
long&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_122">122</div>
<p>&ldquo;Tut. Tut. Lad,&rdquo; the scrivener returned. &ldquo;I know
where they&rsquo;ve taken him. He&rsquo;ll be at the inn of &lsquo;The
Three Crows&rsquo;. That&rsquo;s the gathering place for all the
desperate characters in the neighborhood. We&rsquo;ll be
there tomorrow and I&rsquo;ll see to it that you get him back
again.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_123">123</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c4.png" alt="" width="529" height="264" />
</div>
<h2 id="c12">CHAPTER XII
<br /><span class="small">THE THREE CROWS INN</span></h2>
<p>We came to the &lsquo;Three Crows&rsquo; about the middle of
the afternoon. The place was set in somewhat from the
road and like the scrivener&rsquo;s house, almost surrounded
by trees. It must have been a hundred years old. The
walls were of wood rough hewn from the forest. In
some places the bark still hung in shreds where it waved
in the breeze. The logs themselves were as brown as
walnuts where the rain had beaten upon them. The
windows were quite small&mdash;hardly large enough for a
man to climb through and to judge by the cob-webs and
dust had not been cleaned for ages.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_124">124</div>
<p>The scrivener had been swinging along with me the
whole day. He was as lighthearted as a kitten. The
thought of the danger we were approaching never
seemed to enter his mind. Even when we crossed the
green that was between the inn and the road he was
whistling a tune and smiling away as hard as you please.
Then he suddenly grasped me by the arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They are playing bowls,&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Look
there!&rdquo;</p>
<p>To be sure, I saw two men at the end of a long alley
on the green. They were at bowls, as the scrivener said.
That is, they had pins set up and were rolling smooth
round rocks or stones at them to knock them down.
It was nothing new to me for I am sure that you will
find the same sport in the smallest village in France.
I was about to ask what there was unusual about it all
when he clapped me on the back.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you any money?&rdquo; he demanded with some
eagerness.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A little,&rdquo; I answered. Then the thought came to
me that he made his living by tricks and even more questionable
means. For all I knew he might have at the
back of his head some scheme or other to rob me of what
money I had. So I asked him cautiously, &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to double it,&rdquo; he replied in an off-hand
way.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_125">125</div>
<p>We made directly for the bowling-place. The scrivener
strutted over to the men with all the airs of a great
baron with an army at his back. He clapped his hands
when a good stroke was made. He let out a loud &ldquo;ah&rdquo;
when the stone rolled out of its track and missed the
pins. He capered from one end of the alley to the
other, following the stone and talking to it encouragingly
as though it had life. He clapped the players on
the back. In short he did all in his power to make a
show of himself.</p>
<p>From where I stood it struck me that he was acting
like a fool. But at that time I did not know the man. I
realized that he could masquerade in a dozen different
r&ocirc;les, but I little imagined that he was able to alter the
character of his disposition.</p>
<p>Finally the play came to an end. The winner&mdash;a
tall gaunt man whose name was Nicole&mdash;straightened
himself and puffed out his chest. The scrivener was
on him in an instant. He shook him by the hand. He
beamed in his face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A master!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You can play almost as well
as I can play myself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Nicole&rsquo;s smile faded. He looked down at the scrivener
and frowned.</p>
<p>&ldquo;For ten years,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve beaten every man who
has set his foot upon this green.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener struck him a hard blow upon the chest.
Then he laughed a high mocking laugh.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_126">126</div>
<p>&ldquo;A fine boast!&rdquo; he cried and snapped his fingers under
Nicole&rsquo;s nose. &ldquo;Well, the tenth year will be your
last.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The fire gathered in the man&rsquo;s eye. The blow was
humiliating enough but the words cut him like a sharp
knife. He swallowed hard and flung one hand out.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Will you play with me?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;for money?&rdquo; asked the scrivener.</p>
<p>&ldquo;For the clothes on your back, if you will,&rdquo; was the
reply.</p>
<p>At that the scrivener leaped into the air. He placed
his hand on the ground and turned a circle as neatly as
he had done on the day I met him at the forge. Then
he stuck his hand in his shirt and looked as important
as a prince.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Boy!&rdquo; he called to me as though I were his servant.
&ldquo;Come here and count me ten crowns from my purse.&rdquo;
He turned to Nicole. &ldquo;This lad of mine carries my
wealth. If we are beset by thieves, no one would look
to him for the money. Is not that a wise trick?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He laughed loud again as though he might be proud
of his cunning. I hesitated. I tried to make an estimate
of what was going on in his mind. I was wavering
in uncertainty, when he snapped me a wink from the
corner of his eye.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_127">127</div>
<p>&ldquo;Not so slow!&rdquo; he commanded. Then when I counted
the money, he threw it contemptuously on the grass.
&ldquo;Ten crowns, Nicole,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That will be one for
every year you have been the master of bowls.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Nicole drew forth a well-worn leather purse such
as merchants carry. With a sly smile he looked sideways
at the scrivener and slowly counted out the money.
This he threw piece by piece on the grass. It was as
though he was trying to shake the scrivener&rsquo;s nerves with
his deliberation.</p>
<p>With a bound the scrivener seized the stone ball. He
swung it around his head two or three times, spinning
on his heel. He drew far back and came forward on the
run. He let out a warning shout. He was about to
make the heave when to the amazement of all, his feet
slid from under him. The stone rolled harmlessly to
the side of the green. The scrivener fell on his back
and his heels kicked in the air.</p>
<p>It was a ridiculous situation of course. In the beginning
I was burning with anger that he should make
such a show of himself. But when I considered the nature
of the man, his unexpected whims and fancies, I
knew that he was playing a r&ocirc;le that would be wise
enough in the end.</p>
<p>When he arose he looked crestfallen. With a serious
expression on his face he brushed the dirt away from his
clothes. He even growled under his breath at his poor
luck.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_128">128</div>
<p>Nicole was standing with his arms folded across his
chest as proudly as though he were already the victor.
He took forth his purse once more and held it dangling
in his fingers. With a taunting sneer he winked at me
and then turned to the scrivener.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Another ten?&rdquo; he asked with raised brows.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You must be a rich man,&rdquo; the scrivener replied.
&ldquo;Are you a merchant that you have so much to waste?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I make my living from such as you,&rdquo; Nicole answered,
&ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;who think they can play&mdash;and can&rsquo;t!&rdquo;</p>
<p>At this cut the scrivener flew into a rage. He threw
his arms above his head and paced up and down. He
jerked his fists convulsively.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It was a slip,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Only a slip. I know I
can do better than that.&rdquo; He spat upon the ground as
though he had finally come to a resolution.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Henri!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Twenty crowns more!&rdquo; Then
in a flash to Nicole, &ldquo;Have you the courage?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_129">129</div>
<p>In a trice the coins were on the ground, both mine
and the stranger&rsquo;s. Then they went at it again. At
the first stroke the scrivener lagged far behind. At the
second his nerves grew more collected. After a little
he was skillful enough to topple over all the pins with
the one try. As the game went on he began a running
talk with Nicole. His voice grew high. He made light
of his opponent&rsquo;s efforts. He counseled him to stand
this way or that. He interrupted him at the moment
when he was about to cast the stone. He clapped him
on the back when he made a bad play and comforted him
with the hope that he would do better on the next try.
In short he did all in his power to confuse him.</p>
<p>The ruse worked well. Nicole played with a sort of
canny caution. But when the scrivener had equaled
his score, his nerves gave way on him. He took more
time to poise himself before the cast. He fussed about
to be sure of his footing. His brows narrowed and an
expression of intense seriousness crossed his face.</p>
<p>Towards the end it was nip and tuck. Now Nicole
was ahead, now the scrivener. The longer the game
lasted, the more boastful my companion became. He
took to strutting about between shots like a cock-o&rsquo;-the-walk.
He wanted to double the money he had laid on
himself. He shouted aloud that he was the master of
the best man in the Kingdom of France. He said he
could prove it with a wager that would be the ransom
for a prince. Then at last just when Nicole was measuring
the green with his eye he let out a whoop, turned
one of his somersaults, put his knuckles in his mouth
and whistled so shrilly that it rent the very air.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_130">130</div>
<p>The stone that Nicole held in his hand shot forward.
But the scrivener had done his work. It flew in full
career down the middle of the green. Then it seemed
to strike a tuft of hidden grass for it bounced a little
in the air and veered over towards the side. It struck
the pins however, but only slightly. Three of the nine
were tumbled over and the rest left standing.</p>
<p>The scrivener raised the stone. He walked to the
green with his head high. He made the cast without so
much as an aim, but I saw that he put all his force
behind it. It sped on in a straight line. It crashed in
among the pins with the straightness and speed of an
arrow. It hit the middle one and sent it leaping over to
the side. The stone continued on its course in among
the others. They fell one by one in quick succession
until the last spun around and rolled in a semi-circle
out over the green.</p>
<p>At that the scrivener snapped his fingers and gave a
cry. He turned to Nicole.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have seven still to make,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have
only two to win. Will you&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>Nicole had had enough. With a frown of disappointment
he waved his hand towards the green and then
towards the money.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is yours,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never played so poorly in
my life.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_131">131</div>
<p>He was soured to the core. But with all that I picked
up the coins and put them in my purse. We went into
the inn and sat down at a long oaken table. Soon we
had the meat before us and were eating to our hearts&rsquo;
content.</p>
<p>It was well on towards dark when we finished. One
by one the country gossips entered and took their places.
The landlord lit the oil lanthorn that hung from the
ceiling. Its yellow rays cast flitting shadows about the
room. The air was heavy from the odor of the cooking
and the dampness of the clay floor. The scrivener eyed
every stranger in the place as keenly as though he were
cutting him open with a knife. He began to yawn. He
bade me fling a coin on the table to pay the score and
make ready for bed.</p>
<p>We stood up. We were about to turn when the door
of the inn flew open with a bang. I jumped as though
the floor had suddenly given way. We both turned.
In the next second my heart sank to my shoes, for in
the wavering light of the lanthorn I saw De Marsac
with half a dozen troopers at his back peering eagerly
over his shoulders. He strode to the middle of the
floor and whirled searchingly around. When his eyes
rested on us, he raised his arm and pointed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I knew I would find you here!&rdquo; he cried. His voice
was shaking between joy and anger. &ldquo;I have caught
you like mice in a trap!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_132">132</div>
<p>I looked searchingly at the scrivener. He stood with
his hands at his side as unmoved as a piece of marble,
with only the flicker of a smile playing about the edges
of his mouth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is my friend, De Marsac!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You have
indeed cornered us at last.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A chill shot down my spine. De Marsac flung out
his arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Seize them!&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;Bind them till the thongs
cut into their flesh. Let one of you stand guard over
them for the night.&rdquo; He spun on his heel. His men
rushed at us as though we were mad dogs. In the
twinkling of an eye we were thrown to the floor and
lashed hand and foot with thongs of deer hide.</p>
<p>De Marsac halted at the door.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tomorrow, at the break of day, they are to be
hanged upon the nearest tree!&rdquo;</p>
<p>In the next breath he was lost in the dark.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_133">133</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c7.png" alt="" width="445" height="269" />
</div>
<h2 id="c13">CHAPTER XIII
<br /><span class="small">THE SILVER-HAFTED DAGGER</span></h2>
<p>In another hour the inn was deserted. The scrivener
and I lay huddled together on the floor. One of
De Marsac&rsquo;s crew remained guard over us&mdash;an ugly
fellow with a face scarred with small-pox and earrings
in his ears. He must have come from somewhere in the
south of France for his language was heavier than the
French in our part of the country.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_134">134</div>
<p>For a while he paced up and down the floor and
glanced suspiciously at us at every turn. About midnight
he began to yawn and stretch his arms over his
head. Then he came and sat on a bench opposite us.
The quiet of the place was like a balm for he fell into
short naps. He arose and went to the other side of the
table (where he could see us) and spread out his elbows.
He yawned again and muttered something under his
breath. Then little by little his head sank and before
long it fell between his arms and he was snoring like the
rumble of distant thunder.</p>
<p>As gently as I could I shoved the scrivener in the
ribs.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;ll we do?&rdquo; I whispered.</p>
<p>His answer was a gentle touch on the arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; he said.</p>
<p>I was more than uncomfortable. The thongs were
cutting into my wrists and ankles. At my shoulders
where the muscles were stretched back a numbness crept
over me. The hardness of the floor made me wish that
I could stand up and walk a bit. But the worst of all
was the dryness that was parching my tongue and
mouth.</p>
<p>I heard a cock crow loud and long like the blast of a
trumpet as if it would awaken the world. I looked at
our captor. He never stirred. His mouth was open
and he breathed in heavy sighs.</p>
<p>A door to my left creaked. The rays of the yellow
lanthorn were only a little better than the gloom. I
wanted to turn but the scrivener pressed his knee against
my thigh. Out of the corner of my eye I could see
the door open wider and wider but so slowly that I
imagined an hour was passing.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_135">135</div>
<p>Then I saw a face. It was the landlord. I had not
noticed him much during the meal but now his nose
seemed sharper than ever and the leanness of his face
was almost of the keenness of a knife. He had his eyes
drawn together and his teeth clenched showing white.</p>
<p>As he came towards us the tassel of his nightcap
bobbed about in a little circle and his slippers gave to
his steps the softness of a cat&rsquo;s. His long loose nightgown
made him look like a ghost. But he was a kindly
ghost at that for he carried a noggin of water in his
hand.</p>
<p>Without a word he stooped over the scrivener and
moistened his lips. Then he gave me a swallow. Always
with one eye on the sleeping guard he made a sign
towards the door.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Guarded!&rdquo; he whispered, &ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;from the outside!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener&rsquo;s eyes almost burnt a hole in him so
intensely did he look at him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you no sense?&rdquo; he demanded in a tone that
was low but hard.</p>
<p>The landlord raised his brows slightly as though he
did not understand.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_136">136</div>
<p>&ldquo;I cannot die with a bad conscience,&rdquo; muttered the
scrivener. &ldquo;Nor will I die with a murder on my hands.&rdquo;
He stopped a breath and glared even harder than before.
&ldquo;The lad here is a dangerous character. He&rsquo;ll
not give up till the last. He be like to kill some one in
the struggle.&rdquo; He halted but kept his eyes steadily on
the landlord as though he would speak with them.</p>
<p>The guard gave a loud sigh. He breathed with a
deep moan. His lips quivered like a horse snorting.
He tried to raise his head but it fell again like a dead
weight across his arms.</p>
<p>Not one of us stirred. The cock crowed again. The
sound of it sent my nerves quivering. Then the scrivener
spoke again in a voice that was quiet but determined.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I want you to search the lad there,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He
has a knife in his jacket that can do much harm&mdash;or
good. Take it away from him. If you have a grain
of sense you will understand.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I felt myself jump in my bonds. On the impulse I
wanted to resist. I wanted to throw myself on the
scrivener and denounce him for a traitor and a coward.
My second thoughts were calmer. I was as good as
done for as I was. Was there a hidden understanding
between him and the landlord that had a meaning of its
own?</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_137">137</div>
<p>Before I could think further the landlord had his
hand under my doublet. The dagger which I was to
carry to the Abbot of Chalonnes was torn from me with
no further ado. For one second he held it under the
rays of the lanthorn. The light, dull as it was, shone like
a clear stream along the silver haft. In spite of himself
he gave a start and looked searchingly from the one of
us to the other. Then without a word he shuffled slowly
away and disappeared behind the door.</p>
<p>I nudged the scrivener in the ribs. I wanted some
kind of explanation to be sure. But all I got was a
yawn and a reply that came like a rebuke.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Go to sleep!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener curled up on his side as well as he
could. Whether he was feigning or not I cannot tell
but before a quarter of an hour had passed he was snoring
as loudly as the guard. I was wide awake, alert, for
I expected the landlord to return. I felt that something
would happen. A half hour passed. A dullness
came into my eyes. The thoughts of what had occurred
during the day revolved themselves in my mind. A
dread of the morning took hold of me, for I realized that
the chances were that I was to die. Then a weariness
seized me. My head drooped to one side. All kinds of
fanciful images started chasing one another in my brain.
After that, sheer exhaustion laid a hand on me and
with my nose against the scrivener&rsquo;s shoulder I, too, fell
into a slumber.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_138">138</div>
<p>It was a fitful sleep at best. The dreams that tumbled
around in my mind must have made me cry out. I
awoke trembling with the sound of my voice still echoing
in the air. I started up. To my amazement my
bonds no longer held me. I swung my arms to make
sure that I was not dreaming and even pinched my
leg.</p>
<p>Then I looked about. The lanthorn was still there,
lit, burning as it had during the entire night. The guard
was as quiet as a mouse with his head down between his
arms. I turned my head. No sign of the scrivener
could I see. Then it flashed upon me that something
had happened while I slumbered and I rose startled to
my feet.</p>
<p>It was as if I had been suddenly dropped from the
clouds. I wanted to run for it as fast as I could to the
door and make my escape while it was possible. With
long stealthy steps I made to pass the guard. My eyes
were fastened on him with dread and fear. If he should
awake I would be even worse off than before.</p>
<p>Then I stopped dead in my tracks. A long sobbing
breath came to my throat. The dagger which the landlord
had taken from my doublet earlier in the night lay
straight before me on the table. It was covered with
fresh blood the whole length of the blade. I looked
closer. I was about to touch the guard&rsquo;s shoulder
when I recoiled in terror. The back of his coat was
torn and in the rent a stream of red oozed slowly down!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_139">139</div>
<p>For a moment I stood dazed. I rubbed my eyes to
make sure that I was actually awake. The stillness of
the inn reminded me of the emptiness of a tomb. A
fear of the awfulness of it all sent the shivers down my
legs and I looked around me for some sign of a living
creature who might be able to explain.</p>
<p>Then the thought of what might happen if I lingered
there the space of one second came to me. De Marsac&rsquo;s
command that I should hang in the morning knocked
the dullness out of me. I took the dagger and wiped
the blade against the guard&rsquo;s coat. He did not stir
but seemed like a block of solid wood.</p>
<p>I remembered the landlord&rsquo;s warning that the front
of the inn was guarded so I crept silently towards the
back. I opened the door through which he had entered
when he gave us the drink of water. It creaked a little
and cast a scare over me. I passed through the kitchen
where the pots and pans hung in order from pins, all of
them bright and shining. I put my hand on the latch
of the back door. To my surprise it opened almost at
the touch. In the next moment I was outside in the
open.</p>
<p>It was still dark but a haze covered the sky to the
east. By that I knew it would soon be dawn. I ran
across the open space between the inn and the woods.
When I was hidden among the trees I gave a great sigh
of relief.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_140">140</div>
<p>But I did not stop. I ran on and on. I did not know
where I was going but followed a kind of forest path
that was like a thread rather than a road, for in no
place was the grass worn entirely away. The light to
the east grew brighter and brighter. Then the birds
began to chatter and whistle in the branches over my
head. A hare crossed in front of me and with the fear I
was in it almost took my breath away.</p>
<p>There was little that I noticed. It was only weariness
that slackened my pace. My running fell away to a
shambling nervous walk. I was on the high ground
overlooking a valley that lay off to my left. I knew that
within an hour my enemies would be in full hue and cry
after me so I decided to keep far away from the highway.</p>
<p>I came to a tiny brook that rippled out from between
some broken rocks. I stooped and drank one deep
draught after another. I was about to go on when I
spied a man sitting on a boulder. It was the scrivener
smiling as calmly as you please. He had a loaf of bread
under his arm and was stuffing a lump into his mouth.
On the grass next to him I noticed a fairly large lump
of fresh cheese.</p>
<p>As though we were at peace with all the world he
grinned as gleefully as a child.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Good morning, Henri,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have you had
your breakfast?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_141">141</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c5.png" alt="" width="553" height="283" />
</div>
<h2 id="c14">CHAPTER XIV
<br /><span class="small">PURSUED</span></h2>
<p>I sank down on the rock beside him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re in for it now,&rdquo; I said.</p>
<p>He raised his brows.</p>
<p>&ldquo;To my way of thinking, Henri,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;we&rsquo;re
just out of it.&rdquo; He munched on his bread thoughtfully
for a while. With a pleased expression on his face he
turned to me. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it a grand thing to be in trouble?&rdquo;
he asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right if you have friends,&rdquo; I returned. &ldquo;Master
scrivener,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;do you realize that you have
killed a man?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_142">142</div>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;and that&rsquo;s a great pity, isn&rsquo;t it,&rdquo; he remarked
dryly. He looked at me carefully as though he was
trying to read my thoughts. &ldquo;Have you proof of that,
Henri?&rdquo; he said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who else would have done it?&rdquo; I demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why, if you put two and two together, it was the
landlord who took the dagger. You saw him with your
own eyes. You know I fell fast asleep. I was bound
hard and fast. You couldn&rsquo;t take an oath on it, now,
could you, Henri?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well, no,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;But I&rsquo;m sure of this, it was
either you or the landlord.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He patted me on the arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you are talking sense. As far as
you are concerned it was the landlord, for I wouldn&rsquo;t
like you to think you were traveling with a murderer.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Was it you, really?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;As far as the landlord goes, it was,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It all
depends which side of the fence you are on.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He left me more puzzled than ever. I tried again
but with the same result. The same dry smile and the
same cunning expression from those knowing eyes
greeted me at every turn.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I said after we had finished our meal. &ldquo;What
are we to do now?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Play the fox,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;We must do the contrary
to what they think we&rsquo;ll do.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_143">143</div>
<p>&ldquo;They will think that we&rsquo;ll keep on ahead to get out
of the way,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that natural?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; he agreed. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re a gentleman of fine understanding.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He lowered his head thoughtfully and gathered a few
loose stones in his hand. These he threw into the air
and caught again as they came down. He broke out
into a soft whistle and stamped his foot to the tune. I
got up from my seat and stood before him waiting for a
move.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Are you going to loiter here till we&rsquo;re caught, master
scrivener?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If we&rsquo;re caught, there&rsquo;s always a way out,&rdquo; he remarked.
&ldquo;You have seen already it&rsquo;s a little knack I
have.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he arose slowly and brushed the crumbs
from his clothes. He took a last draught of water from
the stream and gazed about.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll not go far,&rdquo; he said at length. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll keep
in the neighborhood. The worst of it is that we&rsquo;ve no
arms but your dagger.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_144">144</div>
<p>He went on ahead and I followed. Whatever his
thoughts were I cannot tell. But I know that mine
were none of the lightest. I was beset with dread. In
my imagination I heard the confusion when the body
of the guard was found. I saw the consternation of the
rest of them. I pictured to myself the fury they were
in. That they would not let us off unpunished was all
too clear. It was about two hours since I left the inn.
By this, no doubt, they were on foot and even in pursuit
of us.</p>
<p>I soon felt a jar run through me. We had wandered
straight along the side of the hill in a line with the valley.
Of a sudden we came to a point of rock that stood jutting
higher than the ground roundabouts. There were
no trees upon it, only the bare stone. When we reached
the summit the whole country spread on either hand
like a rolling field. A white line curled and circled in
and around the wanderings of a little stream that flowed
slowly towards the south. It was the great highway
that leads down the valley of the Loire to the west of
France. It was the road that I would have been traveling
in peace and comfort, if it had not been for the
interference of my enemies.</p>
<p>Of a sudden the sound of clattering hoofs came to
my ears. Then there shot into view two horsemen with
bows and arrows slung over their shoulders. From
where I was I could even see the grim expression on
their faces and the foam dripping from their horses&rsquo;s
mouths.</p>
<p>I glanced anxiously at the scrivener.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There they go,&rdquo; he remarked.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_145">145</div>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;after us?&rdquo; I inquired.</p>
<p>He nodded his head.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you feel the thrill of it?&rdquo; he asked beaming in
my face. &ldquo;And doesn&rsquo;t it warm your blood to see them
go flying past when we are standing here at our ease?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I had to laugh in spite of myself, but for all that the
seriousness of our situation tormented me. To live like
a hunted animal was little to my liking. The long and
short of it was that the scrivener was used to danger. I
had my trials yet to come.</p>
<p>We had to keep on the move so we started back to
wander under the protection of the trees. We crossed
the forest path at a right angle and directed our steps
towards the north. Here the woods grew thicker. The
ground was more and more covered with brush and
knotted weeds and there ran tiny streams down the hillside
in and out among the rocks.</p>
<p>I came to a sudden stop and touched the scrivener
on the arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I hear a noise of some one walking,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;A
stone just clattered against a rock.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener raised his finger to silence me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I saw them when we were watching the horsemen
ride past,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s two fellows armed with bows
and arrows. They are behind us.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_146">146</div>
<p>I asked no further questions. I knew that they were
on our tracks. It was a sign that our enemies were
combing the country round in their search and would
leave no stone unturned till they found us.</p>
<p>The scrivener halted and pointed to a large tree.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Hide there,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s where they will
pass. When they come abreast of you, keep your eye
open. Wait for an opportunity.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With not another word he was off through the woods.
I stood for a moment in doubt. Then I walked quickly
to the place he had pointed out and took my position in
the shelter of the tree. My heart was thumping like a
hammer. I laid my hand involuntarily on my dagger.
I gave a pull at my jerkin. I was now on one foot, now
on the other. A nervousness came over me that made
me as uneasy as a young colt.</p>
<p>Presently the sound of voices came through the trees&mdash;deep
rumbling voices of men. Then the brush swished
and here and there the noise of a stone that one of them
kicked with the toe of his heavy boot. I peered out as
cautiously as I could. They came into view a flash at
a time from among the thick trunks.</p>
<p>Then I summoned my will and took in a deep breath.
The men were not ten feet away muttering and talking
and growling that they had been aroused so untimely
from their sleep. I saw their faces clearly and even the
color of their eyes.</p>
<div class="img" id="pic3">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-img018.jpg" alt="They Came Into View From Among the Thick Trunks" width="500" height="752" />
<p class="ccaption">They Came Into View From Among the Thick Trunks</p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_147">147</div>
<p>Suddenly they looked up and stopped as though they
had been confronted by a ghost. I sprang to the other
side of my tree and peered out again. To my amazement,
the scrivener was standing directly before them.
He was swinging his cap low so that it swept the ground
and he laid his hand over his heart like a courtier. With
a bow that might have shamed a prince he said in a soft
voice:</p>
<p>&ldquo;Gentlemen, I am the highwayman of Tours. Are
you looking for me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I knew it was my time to act. While the two fellows
stood thus uncertain trying to collect their wits, I leaped
out. Before either of them could stir, I had gathered
my fist into a ball. I swung as hard as ever I delivered
a blow in my life. My bare knuckles struck the man
nearest me so violently that I felt the jar of it clear to
my elbow. I caught him behind the ear. He hung
for a second as though he were suspended in the air.
Then, like a bag that is suddenly dropped, he sank
unconscious to the earth.</p>
<p>Before I could glance about the scrivener had
straightened himself. With one of his springs he came
hurtling through the air. The fellow had half turned
when he saw his companion fall and was not entirely on
his guard. The scrivener&rsquo;s heels struck him like a weight
in the chest. As though his legs were cut away from
under him, he flew back and rolled over to the foot of
the tree.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_148">148</div>
<p>&ldquo;Quick!&rdquo; cried my companion.</p>
<p>I needed no urging. As fast as my anxious fingers
could manage, I undid the fastenings that bound the
quiver of arrows to my fellow&rsquo;s shoulder. Then I
snatched up the bow and turned to see what the next
move would be.</p>
<p>The scrivener had done as I had done, only with more
dispatch. He stepped back and laid an arrow in the
bow.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Up with you!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Back to your master,
De Marsac, and say that the highwayman of Tours
sends him his compliments. Tell him that we shall meet
him further down the road on the way to Angers. Tell
him to keep a keen edge on his sword for when we
meet again the one or the other of us shall die!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I never saw a man fly before an enemy so quickly.
Before I could wink he had turned and was soon hidden
among the trees.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s one of them,&rdquo; muttered my companion. He
pointed to the man whom I had felled. He was rolling
over and trying to raise himself on his elbow. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
safe enough where he lies,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;By the time
he has his wits again, we shall be out of reach.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_149">149</div>
<p>&ldquo;Where are we going now, master scrivener?&rdquo; I
asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sure, my lad,&rdquo; he said. He pointed to the
sun which stood over our heads. &ldquo;First we&rsquo;ll eat what
is left of our breakfast. We&rsquo;ll go ahead slowly for a
while. When it gets dark I shall make a quiet visit to
the inn.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_150">150</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c6.png" alt="" width="552" height="289" />
</div>
<h2 id="c15">CHAPTER XV
<br /><span class="small">THE SCRIVENER DISAPPEARS</span></h2>
<p>It was far into the night when the scrivener returned.
The first quarter of the moon was all the light we had,
but even at that how he made his way through the gloom
of the trees was more than I could guess. He had left
me in a spot that was far back from the highway where
there was no path nor even a rock to guide him. But
he was as unerring as one of his arrows.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We have been outlawed,&rdquo; he said with a laugh.
&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a price on our heads.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; was all that I could say.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_151">151</div>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s posted in the inn,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;and on some
of the trees, for him who can to read. Fifty crowns for
each of us, dead or alive.&rdquo; He clapped me playfully
on the shoulder. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s more than I ever counted myself
to be worth.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I knotted my brows. For all his gaiety I felt a chill
climb slowly up my back. I was little more than an
animal to be a target for all mankind.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re done for, then,&rdquo; I said and sighed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If they catch us,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Even if they do, we
have fifty arrows and two strong bows. If you can
shoot, that will mean that fifty of them will drop before
they lay hands on us. Don&rsquo;t you think the odds are in
our favor?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was not so sure.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Fifty crowns is a large sum,&rdquo; I said half to myself.
&ldquo;A man will go far for that.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener made no answer but laid a bundle on
the ground, which he spread out with the greatest care.
In the light of the moon I saw him quietly smiling to
himself.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve brought enough for a week,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;cheese
and bread and smoked meat. While they are running
mad in search of us, we can live like kings.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With all my fears, I was as hungry as a bear. The
two of us sat down upon the hard ground with a flat
stone for a table. We ate in silence, for each of us was
busy with his own thoughts. Now and then I caught
the scrivener glancing up at me through his brows with
that quaint smile on his face, as though he was secretly
amused.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_152">152</div>
<p>&ldquo;I can go with you until we come into the country
of the Abbot of Chalonnes,&rdquo; he said suddenly. &ldquo;After
that it will be for you to shift for yourself.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Scrivener,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;who is this Abbot of Chalonnes?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s a strong man, Henri,&rdquo; came the answer. &ldquo;A
man to be feared.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But what is his importance?&rdquo; I demanded. &ldquo;Has
he an army? Does he rule a part of France? Or is
he only a churchman?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No one knows&mdash;exactly,&rdquo; replied the scrivener cautiously.
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s as mysterious as a fox. He has power
enough to move a mountain. He can break the most
arrogant prince. He can tear his castle down about his
ears. But his ways are dark and secret. He is seldom
seen. He has no followers as far as I can learn, but
somehow men are afraid to go against his will.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But his land? Where does he live?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s uncertain, too,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;mostly
in the valley of the Loire beyond the fortress of
Angers.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you ever seen him?&rdquo; I continued.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Never! Never in my life!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_153">153</div>
<p>The answer came quick and sudden. The scrivener
sprang from the ground and looked circumspectly
about. He put his hand to his ear as though he was
listening to a sound and stood in utter silence for several
minutes. At length he dropped his arm to his side and
walked away.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I thought it was some one moving about in the
woods,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It was only a deer or boar rustling
the leaves.&rdquo;</p>
<p>If I hadn&rsquo;t been so tired I would have laughed in his
face. I was enough at home in the woods to know that
there had been no sound, not even of the tiniest bird.
The truth of the matter was that I had put a question
to him that he was loath to answer. He had been evasive
before when I tried to pry him open and now he had
made this pretext to avoid me once again. I let the
matter drop, but the determination lingered that at the
first opportunity I would corner him and drive my questioning
further.</p>
<p>He wandered off to pick up some sticks and shreds
of moss and dried grass. When he had his arm full, he
returned and spread what he had gathered upon the
ground. He took off his coat and laid it like a pillow
under his head. Then, without a word or even a look at
me, he lay down and curled himself into a knot. It was
not long before he was breathing deeply and snoring
like the croaking of a frog.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_154">154</div>
<p>I was weary with the day&rsquo;s excitement. Perhaps the
example of the scrivener set me to yawning. However
it was, I was soon stretched out beside him asleep under
the waving branches of the trees and the stars.</p>
<p>It was bright day when I awoke. The scrivener was
about whistling with the merriment of a lark. He had
a fire going in a crevice between two craggy rocks and
on it was the remains of the meat which he had brought
from the inn the night before. I fell to with a good
appetite. When I arose to brush the crumbs from my
clothes, he took to walking about with his hands behind
him, lost in study with his brow wrinkled, frowning and
talking to himself, as though he was trying to solve a
riddle. Then suddenly he halted before me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got to get away from here,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a
wasps&rsquo; nest. They&rsquo;re searching the woods. If we stay,
we&rsquo;ll be shot down like dogs.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I looked at him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Lead,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;and I&rsquo;ll follow.&rdquo;</p>
<p>We went off among the thickest of the trees and over
ground that was almost impassible for jutting rocks.
We made no speed for at every dozen steps the scrivener
stopped and peered around. The woods were as silent
as a grave with only the faintest breeze blowing in our
faces that ruffled the leaves and sighed gently over our
heads.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_155">155</div>
<p>Now and then he stooped to examine the ground for
signs of footsteps or of human visitation, that is, in
places where there was clay or soil. On and on we went,
slowly. I for my part had a stifling fear in my heart
that boded no good; the scrivener as quiet and preoccupied
as I had as yet seen him.</p>
<p>By noon we had covered the length of the whole range
of hills. We were come into a deep valley with a little
stream winding through it. The place was dank with
moisture and very dark, for the trees were well watered
and the soil lost much of its rockiness. With cautious
steps we went ahead. We stumbled over projecting
roots and long spindling weeds. A hare started out of
the underbrush and nearly frightened me to death. Not
a sound did we make save the laboring of our breaths
and an occasional rattle when the toe of a boot caught
against a scattered stone.</p>
<p>We were on the edge of the forest. For a moment
the scrivener hesitated and gazed thoughtfully around.
He touched me on the arm and with his finger bade me
look ahead. The direction in which he pointed was
between an opening among the trees. I peered carefully
but at first saw nothing. Then, as my eyes got
more accustomed to the distance, I was able to make
out a thin curl of white smoke rising in the air. When it
reached a level with the tops of the trees it scattered
and disappeared in the sky.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_156">156</div>
<p>&ldquo;We can go no further,&rdquo; the scrivener said. &ldquo;The
whole side of the valley is filled with men.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;searching for us?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered with a nod of his head.</p>
<p>I knew that they were lying there to block us off.
My thoughts turned this way and that. I looked at my
companion for some sign or other but his face was set
with the seriousness of a stone.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you think it so fine now to be in danger?&rdquo; I cast
at him.</p>
<p>A hard smile caught at the corners of his mouth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have I shown fear?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re drawing a ring around us,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll
starve in the woods in a day or two. We&rsquo;ll be as weak
as cats. Then they&rsquo;ll close in.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The scrivener gave a twang to his bow-string. The
old spirit of his flashed out for a second and he grinned.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I wish they would close in now,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;They
know the mettle of the highwayman of Tours. They
know how I can strike when they least expect it.
Pshaw!&rdquo; He spat contemptuously on the ground.
&ldquo;They have all the same feeling&mdash;if they harm a hair of
my head, they will die like dogs!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_157">157</div>
<p>&ldquo;If you&rsquo;re not afraid, master scrivener,&rdquo; I went on,
&ldquo;why are you so serious?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He spun around like a top.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Serious!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Do you think a man ought
not to plan? Why, lad, I&rsquo;m scheming as hard as I can
to pull you out of this difficulty.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;me!&rdquo; I cried.</p>
<p>He shot a look at me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you think I care for myself?&rdquo; he answered.
&ldquo;Why, lad, if I were alone, I would be on my way by
this and as free as a bird in the air.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I considered for a moment.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why have you stuck to me at all, master scrivener?&rdquo;
I asked slyly. &ldquo;Is there a purpose to it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He examined me suspiciously out of the corner of his
eye. He rolled his forehead upwards and set his mouth
to whistle a tune. I realized that he was going to evade
my question as he did before.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Scrivener,&rdquo; I began deliberately, &ldquo;why don&rsquo;t you
lay aside the mask? You know you are leading me as
you would a dog upon a string. Can&rsquo;t you be frank
enough to tell me why?&rdquo;</p>
<p>At these words he leaped in the air. He let out one
long breath of surprise and threw his arms towards the
sky.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_158">158</div>
<p>&ldquo;Listen to him, will you!&rdquo; he cried as though he were
speaking with some one invisible. &ldquo;Harken to his nonsense!
Has there ever been&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>He stopped as suddenly as he began. His arms
dropped to his side. He put his finger over his mouth
to caution me to silence and gazed intently far over my
shoulder. Then he backed away towards the trunk of
the nearest tree.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Pist!&rdquo; he exclaimed under his breath. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
move!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I had no time to judge whether it was one of his
pranks or not, whether it was an attempt to turn a conversation
that was distasteful to him. A click at my
feet threw a cloud of dust in my face and sprinkled me
with a shower of small stones. I looked and there
standing before me was an arrow a yard long with its
point buried deep in the earth.</p>
<p>In spite of the warning I jumped up. At the same
time another arrow sped past me so near and with such
speed that I felt the breeze fan my cheeks. I made a
leap to get within the protection of a tree when I
glanced to the side and saw the scrivener lay an arrow
in his bow. The string gave a twang. He followed the
missile with his eyes. A slow pleased smile spread over
his countenance and he turned to me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He has shot his last shot,&rdquo; he said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know who it was?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_159">159</div>
<p>&ldquo;Stay where you are,&rdquo; he cautioned, &ldquo;If you are
threatened, run for it as fast as you can.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He disappeared among the trees. As for me, I had
not seen the man who sent the arrow at all, nor was I
even able to figure the exact place from which it had
come. I took my bow in my hands to have it ready. I
listened with all my ears for the slightest sound. I kept
turning this way and that. Minute after minute passed
in the utter silence of those woods. I expected the
scrivener to return at almost any second. I took to pacing
up and down. A nervousness stirred within me for
I was growing conscious that I was next to helpless
against the odds that surrounded me. Where had the
scrivener gone and what was detaining him?</p>
<p>I waited. The time went by so slowly that it seemed
an age. My heart beat off the seconds as though it
were counting out the span of my life. My head was
now in this direction, now in that, for the fear of a
surprise was strong in my mind.</p>
<p>Then a thought struck me. Perhaps he was more in
need of me than I was of him. Maybe the man who shot
the arrow was only a decoy to lead him into a trap.
Could it be possible that he had been captured and
killed while I was loitering there in idleness?</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_160">160</div>
<p>My mind was running on with one thought chasing
the other. My nerves were jumping like strings. I
grasped the bow in my hand and began to run. I took
the same course as the scrivener. With all my speed I
leaped over roots of trees, rocks and what lay in my
path. I covered twice the space that an arrow could
fly. I went out of my course and made a wide circle
through the woods. I wound in and about here and
there so that finally I returned to the spot from which
I had set out. Not a sound did I hear. Not a trace of
a human being did I discover. It was as though I were
standing in the emptiness of a desert.</p>
<p>I sat down on a rock to think the matter over. The
more I pondered, the deeper the mystery became. To
add to my concern the sun was sending slanting rays
from the west. By that I was sure that in another half
hour it would be dark and in that sea of enemies I would
have to shift for myself.</p>
<p>I resolved that I would make one more search. I got
to my feet with much misgiving and bent my steps once
again through the woods. I had not gone ten paces
when I came across a dark body huddled up against the
root of a tree. It was in a spot where the shadows were
thickest and I had to peer closely to observe it.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_161">161</div>
<p>Then I received a shock that went through me like the
stab of a dagger, for there face down in the grass lay
the scrivener. In the middle of his back stuck an arrow.
He must have been dragged from the place where he
was killed, for his shoes were gone and his coat was
ripped and torn under the arm-pits, and the old hat
which he wore was crushed down over his head as though
his murderer had flattened it.</p>
<p>With a gulp in my throat as big as an apple I stooped
and shook him by the arm. He was stone dead for he
moved with the heaviness of a log. Then I arose and
took my hat in my hands to mutter a prayer. In the
next second a hand as hard as iron and as strong as a
vise was laid on my shoulder. I turned my head. In
the growing darkness I looked into a face that was
frowning as black as night. The fellow was of about
the same size as myself. He had on a coat and trousers
such as the soldiers wear only they were threadbare and
very ragged. A rough cap was pulled down over his
eyes and a loose scarf was wound about his throat and
came up over his chin. As he grinned at me I remember
that a pair of silver ear-rings shook menacingly from
his ears.</p>
<p>The sight of him made me as limp as a rag. I realized
instantly all that had happened. The bow fell from my
grasp and I turned helplessly away.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Forward!&rdquo; a rough voice commanded. At the same
time I was shoved roughly in the direction of the
highway.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_162">162</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c1.png" alt="" width="551" height="303" />
</div>
<h2 id="c16">CHAPTER XVI
<br /><span class="small">THE SCRIVENER TURNS TRAITOR</span></h2>
<p>I stumbled along over the uneven ground with my
captor at my back. By the time we reached the road
it was pitch dark. The trees grew on either side of us
like a great dark wall. There was no light save the
glimmering of the new moon and an occasional star or
two.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_163">163</div>
<p>For the first half hour I was as docile as a lamb, for
I was shaken by the unexplained loss of the scrivener
and by the seriousness of my own plight. My captor
never uttered a word. Indeed I would not have been
aware of his presence had it not been for the crunching
of the stones under his feet and a cautioning pinch
on the arm when I lagged in my gait.</p>
<p>But I soon found a ray of hope in my situation and
new and daring thoughts popped up in my mind. It
was easily two miles to the inn. We were utterly
alone. The thought of what would happen to me once
I fell into De Marsac&rsquo;s power strengthened my resolution.
I was determined, if I could ferret out a means,
that I would escape and take my chances again in
the woods.</p>
<p>I tossed the question about in my brain. The night
was warm for the season of the year. I had on a heavy
jerkin of deer-hide that was beginning to be uncomfortable.
If I took it off, I should certainly find relief.
I drew one arm out slowly with a grunt to let my captor
know that I was suffering from the heat. Then
I had it entirely free. I rolled it up into folds as though
I was going to tuck it under my arm. When I had it
ready, I wheeled on my heel and with a swift swing
hurled it with all my strength into his face!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_164">164</div>
<p>I started to run. In that one moment of his confusion
I had to make the best of my opportunity. In
three strides I had gotten a start. My feet flew over
the hard ground as they never flew before. A certain
joy filled my heart that I was on my way to freedom.
A few more strides and I was headed for the trees.
It was my only salvation, for once I could lose myself
in the darkness of the woods my captor would have
his own trouble in finding me.</p>
<p>I jumped over the ditch that lined the road with
the swiftness of a hare. I was making good headway
up the side of the bank when my feet were suddenly
entangled and I fell my whole length on the sod. It
was the coat that I had thrown into my captor&rsquo;s face.
He was more alert than I had reckoned. He must
have recovered instantly from his surprise and have
started after me. With an aim that was as accurate
as it was quick he was able to enmesh my feet as I ran.</p>
<p>He was upon me like a cat. With a jerk at my
collar he landed me on my feet. Then with a shove
so violent that his fist dug into my ribs he urged me
on ahead.</p>
<p>&ldquo;One trick more,&rdquo; he growled, &ldquo;and it will be the end
of you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I took the affair evenly enough. It was a chance in
which I failed. But, even at that, I was resolved that
at the next opportunity, I would try again.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_165">165</div>
<p>Throughout the length of that march I tormented
him to the full. At times I walked as fast as my legs
could carry me, thinking to wear him out. I expected
him to catch me again by the collar and command me
to go more slowly, but I met only with disappointment.
Every time I turned he was at my heels breathing as
smoothly as if he were sitting in a chair. Then I lagged.
I drew my feet after me as though they were a
weight. I zigzagged from one side of the road to the
other. I stopped to pick up a stick that lay in my
path and took to swishing the weeds along the edges
of the highway. In a word I tried all manner of nonsense
to worry and anger him with the notion that at
the end he would call me to account. I had hopes that
in case he fell into a quarrel with me, it would come
to an open fight in which I was sure I would have as
great advantage as he.</p>
<p>My pranks came suddenly to an end. I had forgotten
the dagger which I still had concealed in my
shirt. Surely I could make use of it, even if my captor
had his bow and arrows, if I chose a moment when he
was off his guard.</p>
<p>I steadied myself and walked along in the middle
of the road. I glanced over my shoulder and at the
same time felt for the weapon. The haft was near
my hand. In a second I could draw it forth and take
my enemy by surprise. Slowly and more slowly I
advanced. I did not turn again but listened intently
for the crunching of the stones under his feet. By
the sound I could measure the distance between him
and me. When he came near enough I could&mdash;&mdash;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_166">166</div>
<p>&ldquo;Do you want to die?&rdquo; His voice came like a sound
from the tomb. So surprised was I that I wheeled
about.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;die?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Get that thought out of your head!&rdquo; he commanded.</p>
<p>My hopes fell. I knew now for the first time that
I had a man of more than usual insight and cunning
to deal with. If I were to try any further tricks, they
must be managed with the utmost skill and daring.</p>
<p>We went on. The moon rose higher in the heavens.
The trees waved their long branches over our heads.
The road twisted and turned like a snake. One scheme
after another came into my head, but I cast them all
aside, for with his alertness and the quickness of his
mind my captor had a hold on me as firm as chains.</p>
<p>Of a sudden the road bent. As we turned the corner
the dull light from the windows of the inn shone before
us. To make sure that I would not make a final break
for freedom, the fellow behind me grasped me by the
arm.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_167">167</div>
<p>In a few steps we were at the inn door. It was standing
open. The old dust-covered lanthorn was hanging
from the ceiling in the middle of the room, sputtering
forth its uncertain yellow light. To my dismay I saw
De Marsac sitting directly under it at the table. He
seemed impatient for he was twisting his mustache with
the thumb and forefinger of one hand and drumming
nervously with the other.</p>
<p>My captor had just shoved me across the threshold.
He opened his mouth to speak when two fellows in the
garb of common soldiers brushed roughly past. Their
faces were white from fear, and from the way they were
breathing I judged that they had been running. They
threw themselves at De Marsac&rsquo;s feet.</p>
<p>&ldquo;My lord!&rdquo; they cried. &ldquo;The highwayman of Tours
is running wild in the forest! He has shot three of
your men already. If you will&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>My captor broke him off. He advanced with his
chest thrown out and his head high in the air.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The highwayman of Tours is dead!&rdquo; he growled in
a voice deep in his throat. &ldquo;I shot him with my own
hand. His body lies under a tree about a league to the
south on the left of the road. To prove it, here is the
boy who accompanied him.&rdquo; He stopped for a moment
and gazed proudly at De Marsac. &ldquo;My lord,&rdquo; he went
on, &ldquo;the fifty crowns that you have offered as a reward
is mine!&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac rose slowly from his seat. He stuffed
his hands in his pockets and let his eye roam over me.
He smacked his lips and smiled, as though I was a
tender morsel he was about to devour.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_168">168</div>
<p>&ldquo;I was glad you weren&rsquo;t hanged this morning,&rdquo; he
said with a sly leer. &ldquo;If you had died, my scheme would
have gone astray. I&rsquo;m going to care for you now like
a bird in a cage. I&rsquo;m going to send you down the river
to a safe, snug place where you will come to no harm.&rdquo;
He rubbed his hands together like a merchant who has
just made a clever deal. &ldquo;When your brother sees
fit to surrender his estates, I shall give you back to
him. Till then&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; He raised his arm and snapped
his fingers in the air.</p>
<p>He turned to the fellow who had taken me and
clapped him on the back.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have earned every groat of your reward, my
man,&rdquo; he said, and drew from an inside pocket a
leather purse. &ldquo;I am proud of you.&rdquo; Then he counted
out upon the table the fifty crowns in glittering pieces
of gold.</p>
<p>My captor was beside himself from joy and bashfulness&mdash;joy,
that he had been the lucky one to effect
my capture, bashful, that he was made so much of by
so great a person as De Marsac. He wanted to mutter
a word of thanks, but he choked in trying it, so that all
he could do was to hang his head and turn his face
aside.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_169">169</div>
<p>But after he had put the money in his jerkin, he took
me by the arm and led me to a place at the far end of
the room. By merest chance it was the very seat I
had occupied the night before.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have been the means of making me a rich man,
lad,&rdquo; he puffed as he sat down. &ldquo;And I&rsquo;m going to
feast you to your heart&rsquo;s content for it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The landlord came&mdash;the same wiry hatchet-faced
fellow who had taken my dagger. Not a sign of recognition
showed on his face. As though he had never
laid eyes on me before, he bowed graciously to us, asked
us what we would eat and was off.</p>
<p>While we sat waiting, I ran my eyes searchingly
around the room. In the semidarkness of the old
lanthorn, I noticed De Marsac sitting over his supper
with the same smile upon his face. Soldiers came in
and out, some of them to bring reports to their master,
others to snatch a bite and to make off again.</p>
<p>I rested my gaze upon my captor. The cap was
still drawn down half way over his eyes. The flaring
red scarf hung about his neck, reaching well up under
his chin. A scowl crossed my brow. I fastened a look
on him that was filled with hate and chagrin. His two
beady eyes twinkled their strange light into mine as
though they were laughing at me. The corners of his
lips curled slightly up in amusement. Then he winked
slyly at me as though there was something I ought to
understand.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_170">170</div>
<p>I grew interested. As though he were a curiosity,
I began to examine him more closely. The shine of
those eyes and the slight arch of his nose seemed
strangely familiar to me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You like to eat, don&rsquo;t you?&rdquo; he asked, but in a
low tone and in a voice that was different from the
heavy growl that he had used on our way to the inn.</p>
<p>I leaned towards him across the table. He shot an
inquiring glance around the room. Then he put his
forefinger straight over his lips. It was a signal that
I must be on my guard. With the same motion he let
the scarf fall from his chin.</p>
<p>I nearly tumbled from the chair. Of all the surprises
of my life this was the greatest. For the man
whose prisoner I was, who had sold me to De Marsac
for a handful of gold, who had betrayed me as though
I were the meanest dog, was the man whom I for
the past days had considered my closest friend&mdash;the
scrivener!</p>
<p>I opened my mouth and gasped.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You!&rdquo; was all I could say.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Pist!&rdquo; he cautioned.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I thought you were dead!&rdquo; I went on.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; he said with a shrug of his shoulders. &ldquo;Not
much.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_171">171</div>
<p>&ldquo;Why, I saw you lying there under the tree,&rdquo; I
argued. &ldquo;I touched you and you didn&rsquo;t stir.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, you didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he contradicted, &ldquo;not me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why, your clothes&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; I began.</p>
<p>He waved his finger before my face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he remarked. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s where you are jumping
at conclusions. It&rsquo;s a lesson you&rsquo;ll have to learn,
and you might as well begin now&mdash;you should never
judge a man by his clothes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I didn&rsquo;t know what to say.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Why did you do this?&rdquo; I demanded finally.</p>
<p>&ldquo;To save your life&mdash;and mine,&rdquo; he answered blandly.
&ldquo;There were too many of them in the woods.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you realize that this will be the end of me?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s only the beginning.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Where will they take me?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Down the valley of the Loire. Keep your ears
and eyes open,&rdquo; he said with all seriousness.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;and what about you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going back,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;The country&rsquo;s too
dangerous.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Will you tell my brother never to give up the estates&mdash;no
matter what happens?&rdquo; I asked, &ldquo;&mdash;even if I&rsquo;m
a prisoner in De Marsac&rsquo;s castle for life?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It won&rsquo;t be necessary,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll never see
De Marsac&rsquo;s castle.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_172">172</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c7.png" alt="" width="445" height="269" />
</div>
<h2 id="c17">CHAPTER XVII
<br /><span class="small">ON THE HIGHWAY</span></h2>
<p>That was a long night. I fell asleep with my head
in my arms over the table with the scrivener opposite
me. De Marsac took no chances of my escape. He
left four men in the room, two to stand guard in turn
while the others snatched a wink of sleep. After he
had cleared the plates and dishes away the landlord
disappeared. Once in a while I awoke and looked
around. But this time I was sure there would be no
rescue, no helping hand.</p>
<p>The first streaks of dawn were struggling in at the
little window when I got to my feet. My muscles were
as sore as if I had been dragged a mile through a mire.
I yawned and stretched myself and listened for a moment
to the birds chirping and quarreling in the ivy
that covered the outer walls of the inn.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_173">173</div>
<p>One of my guards brought breakfast for us all. It
was then that I observed for the first that my companion,
the scrivener, was nowhere to be seen. He
must have slipped out in the dead of night, unnoticed.
The men looked at each other in question, puzzled, but
I smiled to myself. I knew it was one of those little
tricks that he so dearly loved to play.</p>
<p>We went once again out on the highway. The sun
was up big and red. Three of the men remained at the
inn, but the fourth, a fellow called Pierre, was to lead
me far down the valley of the Loire. For days I was
to be his prisoner. I was to eat and sleep with him.
He was to be all the companion I was to have, so I
determined I would make the best of it and be on as
friendly a footing as I could.</p>
<p>But I found from the first that he was the surliest
and coarsest man alive. During the afternoon, he
scarcely uttered a word, but went on grumbling and
muttering to himself. His face wore a perpetual scowl.
He kicked viciously at the stones along the road as if
they were actually his enemies. He complained of the
long journey ahead of us.</p>
<p>&ldquo;One man gets the money,&rdquo; he said under his breath.
&ldquo;Another does the work.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_174">174</div>
<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t have to go,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;If you say the
word, I&rsquo;ll leave you.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He shot a look at me that was enough to kill me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Try it,&rdquo; he growled. And his jaws came together
with a snap.</p>
<p>After that I shrank back into my shell. I knew
I was in company with a savage. At the slightest sign
of trifling, I was convinced, he would stick a dagger
into my heart and leave me on the road to die.</p>
<p>At noon we halted in the shade of the trees along
the side of the highway. He took from his shoulder
a packet which he had brought from the inn. In it
were a lump of cheese and a length of hard bread.
With as much deliberation as he could show, he took a
dagger from his coat and wiped the blade two or three
times over the knees of his trousers. Then he cut the
cheese into squares and tore the bread into pieces with
his hands. As though I were only an animal to be fed,
he tossed them to me through the air.</p>
<p>The first piece flew past me and fell into the dirt.
The second landed at my feet. Another caught me in
the chest and tumbled in between my folded hands. I
was hungry, of course, but the manner of the man sickened
me. So I sat there glaring into his face.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_175">175</div>
<p>He fell to with the appetite of a bear. He stuffed
one lump after another between his teeth and shoved
them into his mouth with his thumb. He gulped to
swallow and that so hard that I thought he would
choke. When he had eaten twice as much as an ordinary
man he rose and threw what remained into my
lap.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You should starve,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;&mdash;you spy!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am no spy,&rdquo; I declared.</p>
<p>He made no answer but gave me a look that was
filled with hate.</p>
<p>I picked up the pieces that were clean and began to
eat slowly. Thoughts of my home and of the comfort
I had there started to run through my mind. A
burning anger rose within me that I should be treated
thus by a fellow who was no equal of mine&mdash;who should
have been glad to run at my beck and call.</p>
<p>Without a word of warning he came over and caught
me by the collar. With a swift jerk he landed me on
my feet. I was amazed at the suddenness of it and
the enormous strength of the man. I was sure that he
could have held me in the air with his outstretched
arm as easily as I could have held a bundle of straw.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_176">176</div>
<p>We were on the road again, both going along in
silence. During the afternoon, I noticed small groups
of men, some clad as ordinary soldiers, some in finer
dress like captains and officers, others on horseback with
armor and coats of mail. I had seen the like before
in the village at home to be sure, for in my day there
was always war in this or that part of France to attract
the minds of men. But what struck me was that these
were all going in the same direction (towards the west);
they all seemed bent on the same errand; and they were
so numerous that I was set wondering.</p>
<p>That night we found no place in an inn. The common
room was crowded to the doors with swashbuckling
soldiers of every kind. Loud talk and boasting filled
the air, together with the clanking of swords, the thumping
of heavy boots on the floor, the clamoring of men
hungry for their supper, quarrels over this or that and
even blows struck and returned.</p>
<p>We were lucky to get any food at all, but the worst
of it all was that we were forced to sleep in the open.
Pierre found a spot in the shelter of the barn where
we would be protected from the wind. He brought an
armful of straw and scattered it over the ground. Then
he took from his pockets two strands of rope and bade
me lie down. He tied one strand firmly about my right
wrist, the other about my left. The ends he drew apart
in opposite directions, tying one to a post at the corner
of the barn, the other he fastened on the other side
of me to a stone that was imbedded in the soil.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_177">177</div>
<p>It was as though I was stretched out like a cross.
I could move my hands outwards as far as I liked. But
when I drew them together as far as the ropes allowed,
they remained more than a foot apart. If I rolled
over on my side the one arm was behind me and the
other in front. If I had tried to get to my feet, I
wouldn&rsquo;t have been halfway up before I would have
been forced down again.</p>
<p>It was thus I passed the night. You can imagine
that I slept only in fits and starts, for as soon as I
was in a doze I was sure to stir and the tautness of
the ropes, with the pain awakened me.</p>
<p>The day came as a relief. My captor let me lie until
he brought me my breakfast. Then he loosed my bonds.
After we had eaten we started out on the journey that
was becoming irksome and even a torment.</p>
<p>That day passed about the same as the first. We
toiled along the road for the most part in gloomy
silence. The soldiers were pouring in thicker and
thicker. Sometimes as many as two hundred of them
in a single body passed us so that we were forced to
leave the highway and stand on the banks to let them
go by.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_178">178</div>
<p>At another time later on a great lord from the east
swept along. He was dressed in shining armor from
head to heel. In his helmet waved a plume of feathers
dyed red and white and a broadsword hung in its glittering
scabbard by his side. In his train were at least
five hundred followers, some of them of almost as high
degree as he; others with long lances rode directly
behind him, while further back a troop of archers completed
the array.</p>
<p>It was a sight to admire. From where we had halted
on the side of the road, my captor pointed at them with
his finger.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is what you have come to see.&rdquo;</p>
<p>His grimness puzzled me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Has a war broken out?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; was the answer, &ldquo;&mdash;and it will never be
called a war. These men are on their way to crush
the Black Prince of England.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I drew a long breath.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;the Black Prince!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;Why, you can&rsquo;t
do that. There is not a leader alive who can cope with
him in the field.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A slow smile came over his face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Within a week, there will be fifteen thousand men
on their way down this valley,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;The Black
Prince is far off towards the west. He is as ignorant
of this preparation as a child.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But he&rsquo;ll learn of it?&rdquo; I said.</p>
<p>My captor shook his head.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_179">179</div>
<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll be struck with the suddenness of a thunderbolt.
We&rsquo;re going to cut him off at Poitiers&mdash;when
he starts back to his headquarters at Bordeaux.&rdquo; He
snapped his fingers in contempt. &ldquo;He has seven thousand
men who are half starved, weak from long marches
and disease. What can they do against these?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He pointed with pride at the men marching past.</p>
<p>&ldquo;When the Black Prince is a prisoner of the King
of France,&rdquo; he went on, scowling in my face with a
wicked grin, &ldquo;we shall move against Normandy&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The Norman Barons can defeat any army the
French can send against them!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;They have
proved that more than once.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He clenched his fingers over my arm till the pain
of it shot up through my shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No, they won&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he said, gritting his teeth. &ldquo;They
won&rsquo;t have time to unite.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I see it all now,&rdquo; I cried again. &ldquo;That is why De
Marsac is so anxious. He thinks he has a claim on
our estates already. He can&rsquo;t wait&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>A hard expression covered his countenance.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Before the snow flies I shall be toasting my shins
before the fire-place in your house,&rdquo; my captor boasted.
&ldquo;De Marsac has promised that I shall be the bailiff
when he is master there.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A long breath like a sob broke from my throat. It
was plain to me now for the first time why I was sent
on this errand down the valley of the Loire.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_180">180</div>
<p>&ldquo;Have you ever heard of a youth called &lsquo;Charles of
Gramont&rsquo;?&rdquo; I demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; came the answer, &ldquo;he&rsquo;s the son of the
old Count. He was a prisoner of ours for a while&mdash;but
escaped&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;escaped?&rdquo; The word jumped from my mouth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; was the reply. &ldquo;Gone. Like smoke in the
air.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;He has joined the Black Prince!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;I
am glad of that. He will let him know of the danger
he is in.&rdquo;</p>
<p>My captor threw back his head and uttered a low
grunt that was meant for a laugh.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A fly couldn&rsquo;t get out of this valley&mdash;or into it&mdash;unless
we knew it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That lad has either starved
to death or is hiding somewhere in the woods.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A thrill of joy ran up and down every nerve in my
body. For a while I stood staring at the soldiers passing
before us, but with eyes that did not see. A world
of new thoughts was seething in my brain. Then a
fresh notion came to me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Just to think how I have wasted my time,&rdquo; I said
slyly to my captor. &ldquo;I was sent here to find him. I
might as well have remained at home.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He turned on me with a knowing look.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_181">181</div>
<p>&ldquo;You weren&rsquo;t sent here for any purpose of the kind,&rdquo;
he answered with as much cunning as he could show.
&ldquo;You came to learn of this army that is passing down
the valley of the Loire. You were to find out the numbers
of it, where it was heading, how soon it would be
ready to strike. In one word you were sent here as
a spy!&rdquo;</p>
<p>If I had had the strength, I would have felled him
with a blow. Yet for all that I now realized that every
syllable he uttered was the naked truth. If I had been
told in the beginning that I was to act as a sneak, (as
he said &ldquo;a spy&rdquo;) I would have refused boldly and
I was sent in blindness to follow a false trail. I was
duped into a position that was contrary to my ideas
of manliness and honor.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_182">182</div>
<p>I had information that the Black Prince would give
half a kingdom to know. The cruelties of De Marsac
and the men whom he had set on my heels were as
humiliating as ever I had suffered. His trickery and
deceit were of the kind that no man of self-respect would
practice. It was his aim to drive my brother and me
from the home which our family had enjoyed for generations.
All these things galled me and drove me to
a kind of desperation. The thought came slowly to
me to be sure, but while I stood gazing on the soldiers
whose mission was to destroy the only friend that Normandy
had at this time&mdash;the Black Prince&mdash;I resolved
that I would go no further with my captor than force
compelled me. I would watch every opportunity. I
would play the fox to the last degree. When the time
came I would try once more to escape. If I could get
through that circle of men who guarded the Valley
of the Loire I would risk my very life to inform the
Black Prince of the plans that were ripening against
him, for I knew that if I did, I would be saving my
home in Normandy.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_183">183</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c2.png" alt="" width="539" height="279" />
</div>
<h2 id="c18">CHAPTER XVIII
<br /><span class="small">ESCAPE!</span></h2>
<p>My chance came three days later. During this time
we had traveled a long way. When the sun was up
we plodded along footsore and weary. At night we
lay down wherever we were able to find a soft place
in the grass or under the protection of a tree. The
inns were crowded, not only with soldiers but with all
the riff-raff of humanity. Wandering jugglers and
mountebanks, sleight-of-hand artists, men with bears
on ropes, quack doctors of medicine who sold simples
made of the roots of marvelous trees,&mdash;all these and
more lined the highway. Their booths were set up
alongside the inns. They barked and called to the
passers-by. They were the followers of an army who
sapped the soldiers of their hard earned pay.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_184">184</div>
<p>As for myself I was almost sick of life. My companion
was in the sourest of moods. He growled at
his ill luck and laid the blame for it at my door. He
took every occasion to make me miserable, now by
threats, again by actual brutality. He gave me only
the coarsest fare which he could purchase in the inns.
And to make me the more miserable he chose the daintiest
morsels for himself and taunted me while he shoved
them down his throat.</p>
<p>By the third day we were come almost to the boundaries
of the Kingdom of France. To the west of us
lay a stretch of country which was as wild as a desert.
It was only sparsely inhabited. The inhabitants owed
no allegiance to any ruler alive. They were neither on
the side of the Black Prince nor the King, for the
country was half way between the two. In one word,
it was the stamping ground for war and whoever had
the upper hand was for the time its lord.</p>
<p>It was about noon when we left the highway, for
here it took a sharp turn towards the south, and continued
our journey over a narrow path through the
woods. There was a winding path that was beaten
bare&mdash;used by many feet. My captor seemed well
acquainted with the lay of the land for he went ahead
with all the confidence in the world and indeed with
more buoyancy than he had shown on the entire journey.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_185">185</div>
<p>At length we came to the banks of the stream, at a
place with a long shelving landing made of smooth
stones, paved clear down to the water&rsquo;s edge. A rusted
length of chain and a long boat-hook lay in the grass.
To my observation it was a landing for a ferry.</p>
<p>My companion bade me halt.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s the boat?&rdquo; he asked, gazing around. &ldquo;They
told me that the boat would be here to take us across.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He picked up the chain and threw it down again.
He walked to and fro several times as though he was
turning a question over in his mind. Then he came
to a stop before me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Can you swim?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered.</p>
<p>He sat down on a rock and began to remove his
shoes. To throw him off his guard I did the same.
When we had stripped ourselves he bade me tie my
clothes into a firm bundle and fasten them around my
neck. We went into the water a little at a time. The
current was fairly swift, for it gathered here to broaden
out into a wide sweep far beyond. I cast my eyes carefully
down the river and saw that in the middle of this
broadening lay an island, not very big to be sure, but
covered with tall trees that grew so thick that the
branches were woven into one another.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is now or never,&rdquo; I thought.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_186">186</div>
<p>In the next moment we were beyond our depths. I
saw at once that my captor was as much at home in the
water as he was on land. He swam with long, easy
strokes and with no sense of fatigue. He kept his head
continually turned toward me as a cat watches a mouse.
I for my part paid no heed to him, for I was busy
with thoughts of my own.</p>
<p>Slowly, a bit at a time, I began to loose the knot
that bound my clothes about my neck. When it was
entirely free the bundle floated off. The weight of my
shoes soon sank it beneath the surface. With a cry I
dived after it. I drew myself as far under the water as
I could. I put all the strength I had into every stroke.
I held my breath so that no bubbles would arise and
inform my captor where I was. It was down-stream
with the current in a straight line.</p>
<p>I rose to the surface to fill my lungs and looked back.
He was swimming after me, lashing the water with his
great hands like some monster. His face was heavy
with anger and his teeth shone white like the fangs of
a wolf when he breathed.</p>
<p>Once again I dived as far as I could go. This time
I did not swim straight ahead but swerved off towards
the left. If I could throw him off long enough for him
to get beyond me in the current, I would have the better
of him and be surer of my escape.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_187">187</div>
<p>But he was as wary as a fox. When I came up for
the second time he was in the middle of the river but
moving more slowly. His eyes roamed continually
searching for some trace of me. When he saw that
I had edged off to one side, he raised his fist out of the
water and shook it viciously in my direction and shouted
a threat which I did not clearly hear.</p>
<p>I was down again under the surface. To puzzle
him the more, I made for it with all speed towards the
island. If I once set my foot upon it I could lose him
among the trees. I could swim to the mainland that
lay either on the right or the left. It would be a chase
in which I would have an even chance. If I had a
speck of luck, it would mean my deliverance.</p>
<p>The thought strengthened me. This time I held my
breath so long that I felt I would burst. When I arose
I cast a swift glance around. To my surprise he was
nowhere to be seen. He had gone under the water.
He was swimming somewhere, perhaps quite near to
grapple with me in case he could lay hands on me.
Perhaps he had decided that I was bound for the island
and that, if he could get there before me, he could
conceal himself behind a tree and pounce on me as I
came to land.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_188">188</div>
<p>I lingered a moment in doubt. To fall into a trap
would be the height of folly. I was now as good as
free. I was near the left bank of the stream. Not far
off was the dry land and grass and tall trees. A new
enemy was better than an old one. I took the risk.
With slow even strokes I made my way to the shore and
climbed in among the high weeds on the sloping bank.</p>
<p>You may be certain that every move I made was
with the greatest caution. I hid myself from view and
peered out through the brush. Before I drew half a
dozen breaths I saw my captor rise to the surface far
down the stream. He looked in every direction. Then
as though he had made up his mind he swam swiftly
with the current straight for the island and drew himself
up on the shore.</p>
<p>It was close on to dusk. The sun was shining over
the tops of the trees to the west. A soft breeze started
which, wet as I was, sent the shivers through my body.
There was one thing sure. I could not go far with
no clothes. Nor could I risk sleeping in the open naked
as I was, for it would be the death of me.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_189">189</div>
<p>I resolved that, come what might, as soon as it got
dark, I would swim for the island. There would be
danger, to be sure. But I was certain that my man
would be there drying his clothes. I would be in the
protection of the trees. There was no light. If I could
come upon him unawares, I might snatch enough to
cover me. Then I could make off with all my speed
and lose him in the woods.</p>
<p>It was worth the try. Indeed it was the only thing
I could do. I sat huddled there on the bank of the
stream until the sun had disappeared and the blackness
of night covered the earth. I slid into the water.
With long, easy strokes I headed for the island. In a
few minutes I was dragging myself up on dry land.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_190">190</div>
<div class="img">
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</div>
<h2 id="c19">CHAPTER XIX
<br /><span class="small">ON THE ISLAND</span></h2>
<p>I was chilled to the bone. The touch of my feet on
the hard earth made my going slow and cautious. Now
and then I stubbed my toe on a sharp stone that made
me wince. But even with that I advanced in among
the trees.</p>
<p>My ears were keyed for the slightest sound and my
eyes glanced round with the wariness of a cat&rsquo;s. I
stopped once in a while to listen for the cracking of a
twig, which was the surest sign that my man was near.
I scarcely breathed. It was one step after the other,
and every time I put my foot down I felt the ground
as carefully as you would with your hand.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_191">191</div>
<p>After a quarter of an hour I had advanced, maybe
two or three hundred paces. My eyes were so accustomed
to the dark that the trunks of the trees were
dimly outlined against the background of the night.
As I peered on ahead it seemed that a faint glow of
a far off light shone like a veil through the woods. I
halted. It must be my captor who by some means that
I could not puzzle out had lighted a fire.</p>
<p>I groped around on the ground until I found a stout
stick that would serve me as a weapon. With this firmly
grasped in my hand I grew all the bolder, so that with
less caution than before I went on towards the place
where I was sure there was the light.</p>
<p>In another quarter of an hour I was leaning against
the trunk of a tree from which position I could plainly
see the blaze. It was in the centre of an open space in
the forest, on bare hard ground covered with stones and
boulders. I wanted to make certain of myself so I
moved in a broad circle around the fire, darting a glance
here, a glance there so as not to be taken by surprise.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_192">192</div>
<p>At length I came back to the point from where I
had started. Not a soul did I notice on my rounds.
I walked in closer and closer with the club balanced
ready in my hand. I could feel the heat. The fire
blazed and shot off sparks high into the branches of
the trees. Then at last I was able to spy the form of
a man sitting on a rock. He had a long stick with
which he was stirring up the embers. He seemed to
be without a care in the world, but what amazed me
most was that he was not naked, as I expected my captor
to be, but fully clothed.</p>
<p>From where I was, of course, I saw him only dimly.
I watched him for a long while toying with the fire
as idly as a child. Then he rose and moved towards
the left, for the smoke was floating in his face. He
must have been blinded for the moment, for he put his
fist in his eyes to rub them.</p>
<p>I was trembling with anxiety. I gave one more
glance about in every direction. Suddenly I noticed
a form&mdash;the naked figure of a man&mdash;crawling on his
hands and knees from out the fringe of woods. He
had a club bigger and heavier than my own, which he
pushed before him on the ground. Like a flash he
straightened himself. The man who was fully clad had
his back to him and was still rubbing his eyes. It was
my captor, who now began to run forward like an
animal eager to fell its prey. He lifted the club high
over his head. His eyes shone with savage eagerness
in the light of the fire and a grin of victory spread
over his countenance.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_193">193</div>
<p>For a second I was paralyzed with fright. Then I
collected myself. I cast all caution aside and ran likewise
out of the woods. Just as the club was poised in
the air ready to fall I called out in a terrified voice the
words, &ldquo;Look out!&rdquo;</p>
<p>My voice was pitched high and resounded in the
silence of the woods like the crack of a crashing
thunderbolt.</p>
<p>The man who was clad jumped as though he had
been stuck with a spear and edged off to one side. The
club came down. It was a little beside its mark, but
even then it struck the man on the side and knocked the
breath out of him so that he fell in pain to the ground.</p>
<p>I had betrayed myself to my captor. He had heard
my voice and turned. I was coming up at full speed
with my staff high in the air. I did not hesitate. With
a swinging motion, before he could right himself, I
caught him as hard a blow as I could deal and sent
him face down sprawling in the dirt.</p>
<p>I had no time to lose. My captor would soon struggle
to his feet. I knew I was no match for him in a hand-to-hand
combat. I would have to have aid. So I went
over to the man whom he had knocked senseless and
caught him by the shoulder. I shook him to bring him
the more quickly to his senses. I turned him over so
that I could see his face. Then I let out a gasp that
shook me from my heels to my head. Never in the whole
course of my life was I more amazed for there before
me on the ground was the lad I had come so far to
seek, the son of the old Count of Gramont, Charles!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_194">194</div>
<p>With my heart thumping like a hammer, I did all
in my power to bring him around. I chafed his hands
and temples. I took him under the arm-pits and lifted
him to his feet. Slowly he opened his eyes. There
was a look of terror in them first. Then he blinked.
It was as though he could hardly trust his senses. He
grasped me by the shoulder. He took in a deep breath.
A smile of recognition played about his face and I knew
that he understood.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Quick!&rdquo; I whispered, and pointed to my captor
who was now raising himself on one arm.</p>
<p>In a second he threw off his stupor. He ran back to
the fire and seized a length of a limb of a tree which
he could use as a weapon against his savage foe.</p>
<p>It was none too soon. The fellow had the strength
and vitality of an ox. He scrambled to his feet even
while Charles was picking up the stick. With his big
body swinging from side to side he came running with
his arms outstretched like a bear. Charles brought his
weapon down. It was a heavy blow, but the fellow
caught it on his arm and it glanced off as lightly as if
it were against the trunk of a tree. Then with a murmur
of hate he rushed in.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_195">195</div>
<p>You may suppose that I was not standing there in
idleness. As soon as I saw what was happening, I
wrapped my fist about my club. I knew that the first
blow would be my last. I put every speck of strength
in it and made the aim as accurate as my haste would
allow. To my joy I met the fellow along the crown
of the head. The jar of it shot along the bone of my
arm that I thought it was broken. But my victim reeled.
His knees sagged and shook. His mouth opened and
his eyes turned upward, showing all their white. Like
a weight that was suddenly let drop he fell in a heap
on the ground.</p>
<p>He was as good as dead. I gave a sign to Charles
to give me a hand. Between the two of us we dragged
and carried him to the side of the island. There we
laid him down until he showed by the blinking of his
eyes that he was regaining his senses. When his strength
had come back so that he was able to stir, we took him
under the arms and the crooks of his legs and heaved
him into the river as far as we could swing him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll waken as soon as he touches the water,&rdquo; said
Charles.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What then?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Will he come back?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No. He&rsquo;ll go for help. He knows me. He was
one of the men who brought me down the valley of the
Loire. He&rsquo;ll come again tomorrow with others.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_196">196</div>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to get away from here.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tomorrow,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;We can rest here till
dawn.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m chilled through,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;That fellow has left
his clothes lying here somewhere. I&rsquo;ll dry them and
put them on. After that we can sit by the fire.&rdquo;
Charles took me by the shoulder. &ldquo;Ah, Henri!&rdquo; he
said in a shaking voice. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll battle it through together,
you and I. And we&rsquo;ll win yet!&rdquo;</p>
<p>We sat by the fire, with each of us telling of his
adventures, till far into the night. Then in turns we
lay down on a couch of twigs and leaves that Charles
had built for himself in the hollow of an overhanging
rock. In the morning I had new life. We went down
to a cove on the side of the island where Charles had
a boat fastened and hidden among the roots of overhanging
trees. It was the one, he explained, that my
captor had searched for to carry us across the river.</p>
<p>We landed on the other bank and stepped ashore.
We went up the steep bank as far as the brow of a
hill. The whole country,&mdash;wooded and wild,&mdash;stretched
before us. Whether we would come upon friend or
enemy we had yet to learn. We turned and looked back
at the river winding in long slow curves at our feet.
We saw the island in all its outline as green and peaceful
as you could wish.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_197">197</div>
<p>My eye was caught by an object moving on the
opposite shore. When my gaze grew accustomed to
the distance I counted six men. Some of them were
armed with bows and arrows. The rest were cutting
down young trees and dragging them to the river. Now
and then I saw the flash of a sword-blade in the light
of the sun.</p>
<p>There was no doubt of it. Our enemies were on foot.
They were building a raft to carry armed men over
to the island. They would search it from end to end.
When they learned that we were gone, they would make
for our side of the stream. They would leave no stone
unturned to find us. They would examine every blade
of grass for traces of us. They would be on our heels
like hounds. We were in a country that was unknown
to us, while they were as familiar with it as I was with
my own.</p>
<p>The Black Prince with his army lay twenty or at most
thirty leagues to the west. I had information that
would save them. One thought drove us headlong on
and on&mdash;if our enemies should come upon us, there
would be no parleying or hesitation. They would shoot
us down like dogs.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_198">198</div>
<div class="img">
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</div>
<h2 id="c20">CHAPTER XX
<br /><span class="small">NO MAN&rsquo;S LAND</span></h2>
<p>That day we went on as fast as our legs could carry
us. We gauged our position by the sun. During the
morning we kept it in our rear while in the afternoon
we made sure of ourselves by the shine of it (when there
was an opening in the woods) in our faces.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_199">199</div>
<p>There were no roads that you could speak of&mdash;only
rutted trails of mud hardly wide enough for two ox-carts
to pass without touching the hubs of each other&rsquo;s
wheels. Once in a while we saw the hut of a peasant
or a charcoal burner. These we carefully avoided, for
we hoped to leave no sign behind us for our enemies to
follow, nor did we wish to fall stupidly into a trap.
Fortunately it was the season of the year when the nuts
were beginning to ripen and we contented ourselves
with what we could get of these.</p>
<p>We slept curled up beside each other at the root of
a tree. The next morning we were on our way again,
but I may say with less speed, for our feet were sore
from the unevenness of the ground and our bodies were
stretched and tired from the uncomfortable position
in which we had spent the night.</p>
<p>About noon we halted for a rest. There was a little
brook running over irregular stones down the hill-side
where we washed ourselves and drank of the fresh
water. I was sitting on a boulder with my back to a
tree as limp and wearied as an old cloth. My stomach
was rumbling and growling from hunger. I was wishing
with all my heart that there would soon be an end
to my difficulties. To amuse myself I picked up a
stone and threw it aimlessly at a tree. It struck the
bark with a resounding crack. I threw another. It
missed and went on far beyond. But where it lighted
on the ground, I noticed that it stirred up a cloud of
dust like fine ashes and with it a few scattered sparks&mdash;the
smouldering remnants of a fire.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_200">200</div>
<p>I jumped from my rock. I went over to the place
to examine it. Sure enough there was a dying fire on
a bare spot among the trees and all about it were the
marks where men had trodden the grass with their heavy
boots. Besides I saw two pieces of the rind of cheese
that had been cut off and thrown away.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They must have traveled in the night,&rdquo; I said to
Charles. &ldquo;They&rsquo;ve passed us and gone on ahead.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll be more of them behind us,&rdquo; he answered.
&ldquo;We must&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>The words stuck in his throat. He looked far off
over my shoulder at something in the distance. Like
a flash he dropped to his hands and knees. I was about
to turn when an arrow whizzed through the air and
sped over his shoulder and fastened itself in the trunk
of the nearest tree. I thought that caution was the
best plan to follow so I ducked likewise. It was a lucky
pass, for I had no sooner bent my head when another
arrow whistled past me and shot out into the distance
beyond me.</p>
<p>We exchanged no words. There was little need for
them. With our heads as close to the ground as was
possible, we made for it into a deeper section of the
woods. In a few seconds a third arrow hummed towards
us, but struck the smooth surface of a rock well to
one side.</p>
<p>We were out of shot at last, but the terror we were
in gave speed to our heels. After about a quarter of an
hour we drew up, puffing and panting like tired horses.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_201">201</div>
<p>&ldquo;To the south,&rdquo; said Charles between breaths. &ldquo;We
must hold to the south.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I knew what he meant. We had betrayed ourselves
by keeping in a straight line towards the west, for it
was the direction where lay the Black Prince.</p>
<p>We went on again, but now more slowly than before.
At almost each step, one or the other of us turned to
see if we were followed. At the same time our eyes
penetrated every bush and behind every tree in search
of a lurking foe. After an hour we could go no further.
The pace had been too hot for us, so we settled
ourselves on a stone to rest and collect our frightened
senses.</p>
<p>Hunger like a gnawing pain bore into the pit of
my stomach. Since we had left the island on the morning
before, we had eaten no food except the few nuts
that we came upon. A kind of sickening weakness overtook
me. My legs were trembling as though they were
made of straw and the soles of my feet ached as though
I were standing over a burning fire.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If they catch us now,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s all over with me.
I can go no further.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Charles clapped me on the shoulder and laughed, but
it was a laugh that was meant only to encourage me and
had no heart to it.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_202">202</div>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll snap our fingers in their faces yet, Henri,&rdquo;
he said. &ldquo;Look what we&rsquo;ve passed through already.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I only shook my head and stared hopelessly towards
the ground.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We have no weapons,&rdquo; I replied. &ldquo;Even the dagger
that I was to carry to the Abbot of Chalonnes is with
my clothes at the bottom of the river.&rdquo;</p>
<p>There was no more said. We were both worn out.
We went forward through the trees. There was no
path. Indeed, the ground seemed to have been trodden
now for the first time since the beginning of the world.
The moss was everywhere on the earth. The little unexpected
stones, as sharp as the tips of arrows, cut into
our feet. Above all the darkness and sombreness of the
forest was about us like a blanket as gloomy as the
night.</p>
<p>We came upon an irregular rising in the ground.
There was a solid piece of rock as big as an ordinary
house, but with no shape to it. All about, it was cut
into crevices. The earth itself broke into risings and
depressions. Parts of it were like an uneven wall of
stone with great blocks of the rock in a rounded line.
It seemed as though nature had begun to build a fortress
here, but for some reason or other had left off.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_203">203</div>
<p>We climbed in among the boulders and found ourselves
on smooth ground covered with coarse grass and
weeds, with great trees over and about us. Through
the middle flowed a stream that had its starting place
in a spring that bubbled up like a fountain from the
earth.</p>
<p>For a moment we stood gaping in amazement.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If we only had a few bows and arrows here,&rdquo; said
Charles, &ldquo;we could hold off an army.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;At any rate,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;we can hide here and
rest. They will think we have gone on through the
woods.&rdquo;</p>
<p>We turned and faced the great rock which, I said,
was as big as a house. The front of it was like an
overhanging shed. Underneath was what seemed an
opening to the mouth of a cavern&mdash;dark and smelling
of dampness.</p>
<p>Step by step we ventured forward. The ground
under our feet grew sticky like wet clay. The light
slowly faded. A mustiness like the odor of the cellar
of an old inn crept into our nostrils. The opening
widened and as we advanced the light was so far gone
that we had to feel along the rough wall with our hands.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_204">204</div>
<p>Suddenly the wall turned and shut us off. I groped
on further and further in the hope that the opening
was only narrowing and not entirely closed. I was running
my fingers from one stone to the other when I
felt something flat. There was no dampness to it and
it had the evenness of smooth wood. I was about to
examine it further when my hand touched a latch.</p>
<p>Like a flash I realized I had come upon a door.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Charles!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;We are only at the beginning.
There&rsquo;s another cave beyond!&rdquo;</p>
<p>My curiosity scattered all caution to the winds. I
gave the latch a click and shoved on the door. To my
surprise it went back on its hinges as though they were
swimming in oil. And I beheld a sight that took my
breath away and made me gasp in amazement.</p>
<p>A light shone in my eyes. It was not bright, but the
unexpectedness of it made it seem like a flash. As soon
as my eyes grew accustomed to it, I saw that it was
only a small fire burning in a grate in the far end of the
cave. There was no smoke. By some means or other
a draught drew it upwards through the irregular crevices
in the ceiling. I put one foot in the room and
gazed around. It was as large as the common room
in an inn, but scrupulously clean and neat. The floor,
which was as smooth as you could wish, was covered
with new straw that cracked with dryness as my foot
touched it. On the walls were pegs driven in between
the stones and from them were hung at least a dozen
bows while the quivers filled with arrows stood beneath.</p>
<p>Charles grasped me by the arm.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_205">205</div>
<p>&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s get away,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve come upon
a thieves&rsquo; den.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;If we could lay our hands, each of us, on a bow
and a quiver of arrows,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;we wouldn&rsquo;t have to
run so fast from our enemies.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; he agreed. With that he gave
me a shove forward.</p>
<p>I went quietly across the floor with Charles at my
heels. It was one step at a time with our eyes always
turning towards the door. The warmth of the place
lured me. If I had had my own way, I would have
thrown myself down upon the floor before the fire and
have given rest to my weary legs. As it was, Charles
was reaching out for a bow and I had my hand already
on another when a voice shot through my ears like the
blast of a trumpet.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; it said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m glad you&rsquo;re here. I&rsquo;ve
been expecting you!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_206">206</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c4.png" alt="" width="529" height="264" />
</div>
<h2 id="c21">CHAPTER XXI
<br /><span class="small">THE DEFENSE OF THE CAVE</span></h2>
<p>We turned. Before us stood a man so small that
he might be taken for a dwarf. His head was so large
that it was remarkable, and the way it rolled from side
to side caused me a certain uneasiness. His eyes were
the size of two peas, but they twinkled with a kind of
knowing wisdom that continually forced you to look
away and in the next moment to return and gaze at
him again. A smile covered his mouth, but it was a
smile that never changed. You could not tell whether
it came from amusement or whether mockery lay behind
it. We had hardly caught our breath when he shifted
over to us. It was then that I noticed for the first time
that his legs were bent in an arch like a bow. They
seemed very thin, scarcely able to support the weight of
his thick body.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_207">207</div>
<p>He took off his cap and drew his head in between his
shoulders like a turtle.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have been on the look-out for you the last three
days,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Where have you been?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I said not a word but glanced at Charles.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; he gasped, &ldquo;&mdash;friend or enemy?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am the Dwarf of Angers,&rdquo; was the reply. He
hesitated. The smile broadened into a wicked grin.
&ldquo;If I were your enemy,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;you would have
been dead long before this.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You say you have been expecting us&mdash;&mdash;,&rdquo; I began,
but he broke in and interrupted me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are a friend of the Abbot of Chalonnes,&rdquo; he
said in the most matter of fact way. &ldquo;He heard that
you were threatened with danger. I came to see you
through.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I drew back in surprise. My first impulse was to tell
him that I had never seen the Abbot of Chalonnes in
my life. On second thought, I decided to let him believe
as he would.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_208">208</div>
<p>&ldquo;We are surrounded by at least a score of men,&rdquo; I
said with some caution. &ldquo;They are French&mdash;followers
of a man by the name of De Marsac. The three of us
can hardly make a stand against them. They are too
many.&rdquo;</p>
<p>A little cackle of laughter broke from him. He went
to the corner of the room where a basket stood. He
took from it an apple that was as large as your fist.
He stretched out his hand and laid the apple between
the middle finger and the forefinger. He extended
his arm to full length and slowly drew his fingers together.
There came a crushing sound. Then with as
much force as if it were struck by a hammer the apple
flew apart. One half of it shot over against the wall
and the other dropped a little distance from his feet.</p>
<p>My mouth opened in amazement. Such a feat of
strength I never believed possible.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There has never lived a man with hands and arms
like these,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Nature gave me a misshapen
body. But she made up for it in another way.&rdquo; He
jumped back and turned to the wall. With a leap as
quick as lightning he came towards us, turning one
somersault after the other. Not once did his hands
touch the floor nor, when he came to a halt, did he draw
a single breath that gave a sign of fatigue.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I can draw a bow that would drive an archer to
despair,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;I never weary. I can go
on and on till they drop. I am all hands and arms.&rdquo;
He stopped and looked up at us. The same smile covered
his face, only now he opened his lips far enough
to show us a line of ugly twisted teeth.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_209">209</div>
<p>&ldquo;Can you shoot?&rdquo; he then demanded with a sudden
burst.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A little,&rdquo; we stammered, &ldquo;&mdash;but not like you, I am
sure.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He cackled again.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A little is enough,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Come!&rdquo; He spun
on his heel and went over to where we had first seen
the bows suspended on the wall. &ldquo;Take this,&rdquo; he said
to Charles. &ldquo;&mdash;and you take this. There&rsquo;ll be a merry
time in the woods before the setting of the sun.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he handed each of us a bow and a quiver of
finely made arrows. As though he were the leader of
an army, he marched proudly to the door. He swung
it open and with a bow stood like a soldier at attention
till we filed out.</p>
<p>We were once more among the rocks and stones&mdash;and
the trees of the forest. It was light, but the rays
of the sun shone only here and there in long threads
where the breeze for a time drove the branches apart.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_210">210</div>
<p>We went on stealthily. We kept our bodies low so
that if a chance shot were fired at us, it might pass over
our heads. I got as far as the row of boulders that, I
have said, was like an irregular stone wall. I was on
the verge of straightening myself to look further into
the woods when an arrow sang past me and struck with
a click against the cave.</p>
<p>In the next moment a shriek echoed through the
woods. Far off in the shadows of the trees I saw, faintly,
of course, a man throw his arms into the air and pitch
forward on his face. Before I could recover from my
astonishment another ran to lift him to his feet. He
had hardly stooped when a shaft easily a yard long
pierced his side and he, too, fell forward over his
companion.</p>
<p>For a second I was set wondering. I looked around
to see if the Dwarf was at our backs. He was nowhere
to be seen. Then I was certain that he had gone out
among the trees. It was he who had shot the men who
were lying there on the ground. I heard a branch over
my head crack and saw it bend. A form twisted itself
around and dropped quickly to the earth. Before I
could wink, the Dwarf was standing between us with
the grin stretching from ear to ear. His face was glowing
with excitement.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Did you see them fall?&rdquo; he cried, and took me by
the coat. &ldquo;Could an archer have reached them at that
distance?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I never thought that an arrow could carry so far,&rdquo;
said Charles.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_211">211</div>
<p>The Dwarf bent over and clapped himself on the
knee.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;and neither it did!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;The arrows
I shot didn&rsquo;t travel a hundred feet. I was up there
in the trees&mdash;almost over their heads. I shot down upon
them. These arms did that&mdash;these strong arms of
mine!&rdquo;</p>
<p>I understood.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You mean that you climbed from one tree to the
other?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;You worked your way from branch
to&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;</p>
<p>For an answer he reached up and took hold of the
branch from which he had just dropped. He lowered
his body as far as he could. Then with a spring as
light as a monkey&rsquo;s he shot into the air. He twisted
his small legs, curling them with the suppleness of a
snake. His body swung forward. He took another
hold. He swung forward again. There was no strain
nor gasping for breath. With a litheness that I had
never judged possible he squirmed and swung himself,
till in a short time he had completely disappeared
among the trees.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_212">212</div>
<p>I looked at Charles and shook my head. We stood
there forgetful of our enemies in utter amazement at
the Dwarf&rsquo;s agility. Then without a warning an arrow
came darting through the air and dug its point deep
into the ground at our feet.</p>
<p>We jumped back and dodged behind a rock. We
held our bows in readiness for an attack, with our eyes
dancing anxiously in every direction.</p>
<p>Then came a sharp, cackling laugh from over our
heads. The branches swayed and the Dwarf dropped
nimbly to the earth. He swung the bow which he held
in his hand with a kind of childish pride and said, &ldquo;I
could have killed you both! The one arrow would have
done it, for you were standing in a straight line!&rdquo;
He puffed himself out and strutted back and forth.
&ldquo;Nature has given me a crooked body,&rdquo; he went on,
&ldquo;but I&rsquo;m worth a dozen perfect men.&rdquo;</p>
<p>It began to dawn on me that the Dwarf was a bit
of a fool. He was deformed, of course, but his imagination
had played on him so that he pictured himself
as the ugliest man on earth. I saw, too, that he was
sensitive to a degree. It was this that caused him to
boast about the strength of his arms and hands. His
continual dwelling on his marksmanship with the bow
was a balance to his shortcomings.</p>
<p>My thoughts were interrupted by a cry from Charles.
He grasped me by the shoulder and drew me down
behind the wall of stone.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_213">213</div>
<p>&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;There are a dozen of them
moving through the woods!&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sure enough. I raised my head a little above the
wall. I saw the forms of several men passing from
tree to tree. They darted as though they feared to trust
themselves in the open.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I have roused them!&rdquo; cried the Dwarf. &ldquo;I have
stung them to the quick. They are forming for an
attack. They will come forward with a rush.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He was right. No sooner had he spoken when a
dozen arrows sped towards us. Their white feathers
were like streaks in the air. We hid behind the wall
as near to the earth as we could crouch. Two or three
hard clicks against the rock in front of us showed that
they had gotten the range. The flight of half a dozen
others over our heads was warning enough that they
were determined to drive us from our fortress at the cost
of their lives.</p>
<p>Charles and I raised our bows and peeped out through
a crevice in the rock. Our heads were scarcely above
the top line of the wall when three arrows in quick succession
whizzed past. One of them came so near that
the point of it clipped a tiny piece from the stone and
sent it flying into my face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; cried the Dwarf. &ldquo;Hold ready!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_214">214</div>
<p>I heard a shout. A score of our enemies rushed out
from behind the trees. They raised their bows. The
arrows came as thick as hail. Another shout and the
men strung their bows and shot again. It was now or
never. The three of us raised ourselves each on one
knee. I cannot speak for the others. As for myself I
singled out a fellow who was darting forward from one
tree to seek the cover of the next. My arrow caught
him in the shoulder between the arm and the neck. His
bow dropped from his grasp. As well as I could see,
an expression of intense pain crossed his features. He
clapped his hand to the wound and reeled back to the
tree from which he had just come.</p>
<p>Charles must have hit his man, and even with more
accuracy than I hit mine. I saw a fellow spin around
like a top and fall staggering to the earth a little to
the left. In the turning of my head I caught the flash
of hatred on the Dwarf&rsquo;s face. The bow he carried was
of unusual size and the string of great strength. The
missile went so fast I could not even see its passage
in the air. But the twang had hardly reached my ear
when the arrow pierced the neck of an enemy as he
was running past a tree. It stopped him in full career.
It pierced him through and through, and fastened him
to the trunk as firmly as if he were tied with a taut
rope.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_215">215</div>
<p>In the next breath we were down again. A flight of
arrows clattered against the stone face of our fortress
or passed close over our heads. The enemy must have
been filled with bitterness that so many of them had
fallen while they had not been able to touch one of us.
They paused for a space to form again. This time they
came on, not scattered as before, but rather in groups.
The first of them shot their arrows and dropped to
the ground. Those behind sent their missiles at us just
at the moment when they expected we would raise our
heads above the wall.</p>
<p>They were coming in. There was no doubt of that.
And so close on the heels of each other did their arrows
fly that we were unable to look out long enough to take
a good aim, for on the second try I shot wide of the
mark and in ducking back an arrow almost ended my
life, for it grazed the top of my head and cut into my
scalp far enough to draw a few drops of blood.</p>
<p>I began to fear for our safety. I knew the kind of
enemy we had before us. If they could lay hands upon
us they would tear us limb from limb. If we were to
get out of our difficulty, it would be only by the death
of them all. But how it was to come about was more
than I could guess, for their numbers far surpassed
ours. Even if we were to make off, there were more
and more of them about us in the woods.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_216">216</div>
<p>I took the risk once more and raised my head above
the wall. At the same time I took a shot at a fellow
who was half hidden by a tree. It was as good as a
miss, for the arrow only grazed his arm and tore a piece
of the cloth of the sleeve of his coat. But he let out
a roar that echoed to my ears. As though I had destroyed
something of the greatest value, he threw all
caution to the side. He strung his bow and shot an
arrow at me with such force that it struck the rock and
shivered into a thousand pieces. Then with the same
running motion he came on. He zig-zagged from one
tree to the other. He fumbled with his bow, but in his
madness could not steady himself long enough to string
it. When he was within fifty feet of our wall, he cast
it to the ground in anger. He fumbled for a moment
at his belt. He drew out a dagger and raised it on
high as though he would sweep us all to death with the
very fury of his attack.</p>
<p>Both Charles and I (the Dwarf was far to one side)
saw him advancing. At the same time we raised ourselves
to shoot him down before he reached the wall.
But we had no sooner showed the tops of our heads
when a rain of arrows forced us to drop back again.
In the next second the fellow was bellowing like a wild
bull. With one leap he had a footing on the wall. Another,
he had sprung over it and bounded into our
midst.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_217">217</div>
<p>It was a situation that we had not foreseen. In a
certain sense he was as safe as he would have been if
he had remained among the trees. We knew that if we
rose to grapple with him we were as good as dead, for
the men without were on their guard. They were protecting
him with their eyes alert and their bows strung
to kill the first of us who would be so forgetful as to
raise his head or shoulders in a line with their arrows.</p>
<p>The fellow flew at me like a fury. He caught me
by the arm and spun me around. I slid away from
him and rolled over two or three times on the ground.
Charles lowered his body and made a flying leap. He
struck him in the middle of the back and sent him
sprawling on his face.</p>
<p>I got to my hands and knees, poising myself on the
balls of my feet ready to move in case he came at me
again. He rose. His countenance was black with
anger. The hand that held the dagger quivered with
the wrath that was boiling in him. He stood straight
up and glared at me as though his very looks would
kill.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_218">218</div>
<p>The Dwarf was edging over towards us, shuffling
with his body low to the earth. His face was covered
with the same smile that I had noticed when I first saw
him. The fellow had one foot ahead of the other ready
to move. The Dwarf made one leap&mdash;a long, low horizontal
leap. He fastened the fingers of his powerful
hands in the calves of my attacker&rsquo;s legs. He
sunk his nails into the flesh with a grip like the claws
of a wild animal that is desperate. I heard him snarl
and gnash his teeth. The fellow tried to kick him away.
He might as well have struggled against the grip of an
iron trap. The Dwarf gathered his strength into his
shoulders. He took in a deep breath. With a twist he
jerked his victim&rsquo;s legs to the one side. The fellow came
down with the swiftness with which you would snap a
whip. His head struck a stone and that so loudly that
I heard the crack of it. He gave a groan. His arms
fell limp to his sides and he rolled over with his eyes
glazed on his back.</p>
<p>I breathed a sigh of relief. That I had been near
death I fully realized. But I had no time to reflect,
for an arrow came darting over our heads and sang its
way beyond us into the forest. I sprang to the wall,
for I surely thought that the enemy suspected that their
companion was captured or injured and would make
an attempt to save him.</p>
<p>But here the Dwarf surprised us again. With the
litheness of a cat he picked the fallen man in his arms.
He stood straight up holding him face towards the foe.
He advanced step by step until he came to the edge of
our defenses. Then he raised the man like a bundle in
his arms. By this the lower part of his body was exposed.
I trembled for a moment for I was certain that
it was a vulnerable spot for an arrow.</p>
<div class="img" id="pic4">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-img026.jpg" alt="His Countenance Was Black With Anger" width="500" height="756" />
<p class="ccaption">His Countenance Was Black With Anger</p>
</div>
<div class="pb" id="Page_219">219</div>
<p>My guess was right. An arrow came speeding at
him. Its aim was as true as ever an aim was. The
Dwarf&rsquo;s eye was keen. In a twinkling he lowered the
man so that his legs dragged on the ground. The arrow
found its mark. It struck the fellow clean in the chest.
So great was the force of it that the Dwarf staggered
back a step to keep his footing. Then he let out a
screech&mdash;a horrible sound that came from his throat and
echoed in and out among the trees. With a heave as
powerful as three strong men he raised the body of the
dead man over his head and cast it far out over the
wall. It turned and rolled. The arrow twisted under
its side and it came to a stop at the foot of a tree.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Come and get him!&rdquo; the Dwarf cried. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re a
fine lot who kill your own men!&rdquo;</p>
<p>We were answered. As many arrows as a bird
had feathers came shooting towards us. On the heels
of them the men in the woods ran from their shelter,
stringing fresh arrows as they came. The Dwarf began
to bounce about like a toad. His hands moved twice
as fast as ours. Before I had my bow to my shoulder
he had brought a man down. The more excited he grew,
the deeper his voice resounded in his throat and the
more unearthly his screeches became. There was a
savage instinct in him that led me to think he was
hardly human.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_220">220</div>
<p>The first of our assailants got as far as the wall. The
Dwarf struck him over the heart and sent him tumbling
back. A second followed. Charles made short work
of him. Then there came three of them together. They
had a daring recklessness in their eyes that told us they
had made their calculations and would risk all to rout
us from our wall. In their bravado they called to their
companions in the rear to have no fear, that this assault
would be the last, that they were going to make an end
of us.</p>
<p>The Dwarf called to us to hold steady. He sent the
foremost of them kicking to the ground. I took the
second, while Charles, whose aim was true, dropped the
third not a dozen feet from where we crouched. But
that was not the end. The others had been roused to a
feeling of desperation by our stubbornness. They kept
on running. They shot their arrows one after the other
so that it was a risk for any of us to show his head above
the line of rocks.</p>
<p>The Dwarf gave another screech. Without a word
to us he swung himself into the branches of the nearest
tree and disappeared from sight. We were left alone,
Charles and I, to make what we could of the attack.
The first two were easy enough. The third limped
away, wounded in the leg. The fourth (it was I who
tried the shot) was only grazed along the wrist.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_221">221</div>
<p>Then we were in for it. Three of our enemies got as
far as the wall. The two foremost jumped over and
made for us. The third fell as limp as a rag where he
had been shot by the Dwarf in the back. I thought
we were done for. To avoid a struggle hand to hand I
ran with my body lowered to the far corner of our defenses.
Charles moved more slowly in the opposite
direction. Our separation had this advantage, the men
could not pounce upon us two at a time and so singly
overcome us.</p>
<p>My fellow had cast his bow away. With his fingers
outstretched like the talons of a bird he ran at me and
grasped me by the arm. I tore myself loose and sprang
still farther away. I saw an advantage and with bent
body made a running dive at his legs with about the
same motion with which you would dive into deep
water. My shoulders struck him on the shins. I fell
to the earth, of course, but he fell with me. And in the
fall he struck his elbow a sharp crack on the edge of
a stone that made him wince with pain.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_222">222</div>
<p>My mind was running in a hurry. I had no time
to think of anything but a safe way out of my predicament.
But yet, withal, it occurred to me that there
were no more men vaulting over our defenses. I was
sure that the Dwarf was guarding us with his arrows
in the trees.</p>
<p>I grew strong with a kind of hope. My fellow was
gathering himself for a fresh lunge. We were both on
our feet. I waited until he came forward. His lips
drew back in a snarl. Then of a sudden he caught me
by the sleeve of my coat and dragged me towards him.
I swung around on the one side as far as I could. Then
I gathered my hand into a fist. With a swing that, I
am sure, he did not expect I wheeled about and caught
him a stunning blow on the jaw.</p>
<p>He was hurt and not a little dazed. With a jerk
I tore his grasp from my coat. Then his face filled
with fury. The blood shot into his eyes and he gave
me a look that had murder in it.</p>
<p>He saw that I was not to be caught, for I was quicker
and more lithe than he. As though he was groping for a
missile he looked searchingly around on the ground. He
picked up a stone that was as large as my head and
smiled at me as though to tell me that I was facing
my doom.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_223">223</div>
<p>I stepped back, so that by chance I might dodge
the stone if he happened to have a good aim. He raised
his arm. He placed one foot before the other and measured
me with his eye. But the stone, to my amazement,
never was thrown. The man stiffened up with
a jerk. His face twisted in intense pain. With a look
on his face that I shall not soon forget, he tottered forward
and fell at my feet. In another second he was
dead with one of the Dwarf&rsquo;s arrows sticking in his
back, swaying and moving like a warning sign.</p>
<p>I was shaking. My nerves were jumping like the
cords of a whip. I gave a glance at Charles and saw
him struggling with his man on the ground. The two
were wrestling, with the one grasping the other&rsquo;s wrist.
As they rolled over a dagger shot into the air and fell
at Charles&rsquo; side. He reached out and took it by the
hasp. Then he bounded quickly to his feet. His face
was hot and covered with dirt where he had been rolling
in the earth. He made a jump towards his enemy
with the dagger raised above his head.</p>
<p>But fright won the victory. The fellow no sooner
saw that Charles had the upper hand when he leaped
far to the one side. He never stopped but kept on
ahead. With a spring he bounded over our wall, and as
fast as ever a man ran he made for the shelter of the
trees.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_224">224</div>
<p>That much was over, thanks to the Dwarf. The two
of us lowered our bodies again lest an arrow take us
unawares. I risked a peep out through one of the
crevices. I had every thought that another band of
assailants would be on us to take vengeance for the
damage we had done their companions. To my surprise
the woods were as still for a time as a peaceful
countryside. Then, after a little, far off, I heard the
screech of the Dwarf coming to us like an echo through
the trees. When it died away a silence fell over us
once more. I was beginning to count the victory
ours, for I was sure that the Dwarf with his arrows,
his terrible arms and hands had done their work.
Single-handed he had driven our enemies from the
neighborhood.</p>
<p>The sun was casting slanting rays out of the west.
A new thought rose in my mind. The night would
be dark, for there was no space for the shining of the
stars through the matted branches of the trees. We
would stand guard, of course, ready to ward off an
attack. But in case our enemies returned it would be
difficult to see them as clearly as we had done during
the afternoon. They could storm our little stronghold.
By sheer numbers they could overwhelm us.
Before we could raise a bow in our defense they could
slaughter us where we cowered behind our stone-wall.</p>
<p>This thought grew stronger in my mind as the darkness
came on. I spoke to Charles, who only nodded
his head.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_225">225</div>
<p>&ldquo;If they come,&rdquo; he said, after turning the matter
over, &ldquo;we must leave. The woods will be safer than it
is here.&rdquo;</p>
<p>To this we agreed. We kept our eyes on the alert,
searching in every direction for a foe. The sun had
dropped behind the horizon and the shadows of night
were stretching themselves like black sheets on every
side of us. The woods were silent and mysterious. Not
a sound came to our ears except the twittering of a bird
or two as he settled in his nest. The shrieking of the
Dwarf had long since stopped.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We must wait till he returns,&rdquo; said Charles. &ldquo;We
cannot go without a word from him. He will&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>We both jumped to our feet. There was a rustling
of the branches over our heads. The Dwarf dropped
lightly to the ground and stood facing us in the gathering
gloom. His mouth was spread open in a wide
grin that showed his big pointed teeth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no fear, now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve scattered them.
Come into my cave. We must eat.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He led the way. The fire had gone out. He relit
it with a piece of tinder and dry wood. When the blaze
had started up he drew from out the folds of his shirt
a dagger and cast it at my feet. It was the dagger
which I had from the scrivener, the one which I was
to take to the Abbot of Chalonnes&mdash;which I thought I
had lost forever in the Loire.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_226">226</div>
<p>&ldquo;I found that in the shirt of one of the men I shot
down,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Take it with you. Guard it
better than you have already done. In another hour
it will be safe for you to leave. You can keep to the
road that leads towards the south. If there is any
trouble, show it to the keeper of the inn that stands at
the cross-roads. He is a friend of mine.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_227">227</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c5.png" alt="" width="553" height="283" />
</div>
<h2 id="c22">CHAPTER XXII
<br /><span class="small">TRAPPED!</span></h2>
<p>It was close on to midnight when we left the Dwarf
and his cave. We headed for the south, at first over
rocks and stones and through the depths of the woods;
then we came upon a white ribbon of a road, which we
followed till the dawn overtook us.</p>
<p>We reached the inn at the cross-roads in less than
an hour&mdash;an old stone house covered with moss and
windows grilled and barred. There was no one about,
so with a bit of a stick which I had found, I knocked
on the panels of the heavy oaken door. We stood and
waited. There came to our ears not a sound, not even
the barking of a dog or the rattle of pots and pans.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_228">228</div>
<p>I knocked again, this time more violently than before.
The echo died away across the empty fields.
Then I heard a window creak over our heads and a
nightcap with a tassle to it appeared.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; said a voice.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is this an inn?&rdquo; I returned. &ldquo;Is this the inn of the
Cross-roads?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The voice squeaked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Cross-roads?&rdquo; it said as though it did not quite understand.
&ldquo;Who are you that come knocking at my
door?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re honest travelers,&rdquo; called Charles. &ldquo;We want
a bite to eat and then we&rsquo;ll be on our way.&rdquo;</p>
<p>At this my rashness showed itself.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re friends of the Abbot of Chalonnes!&rdquo; I added.</p>
<p>I thought thus to bring the matter to a head. If there
was any suspicion in the man, the mention of the Abbot&rsquo;s
name ought to be enough to soften his fears.</p>
<p>For a moment there was no answer. Then his voice
began again, this time in a low coaxing tone.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;the Abbot of Chalonnes,&rdquo; he repeated slowly as
though he was turning the name over in his mind.
&ldquo;These are dangerous times, my son. Have you, by any
chance, a proof that you are a friend of the Abbot of
Chalonnes?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I drew the dagger from my shirt and held it high in
my hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Here!&rdquo; I called. &ldquo;Can you see this?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_229">229</div>
<p>The voice creaked like a rusty hinge. &ldquo;And what is
that?&rdquo; it asked.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a token,&rdquo; I replied with some show of anger, for
the caution of the man prodded me like a knife. &ldquo;We
were sent here. We were told that you would recognize
this. It belongs to the Abbot of Chalonnes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The man coughed to clear his throat. His voice
changed to a hasty wheeze. A cracked smile curled
around his mouth.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I was only toying with you, my lad,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Of
course I recognize it. Of course it belongs to the Abbot
of Chalonnes. Bide a bit. Bide there and I&rsquo;ll
open the door to you and let you in.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he shuffled off from the window wheezing
and muttering to himself.</p>
<p>We were puzzled at this odd reception. I looked at
Charles with doubt written clearly on my face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The Dwarf has made some mistake,&rdquo; he began. But
the rattle of bolts and chains interrupted him and the
head with the nightcap poked itself sooner than we
had expected through the chink in the door.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_230">230</div>
<p>We stepped over the threshold. There was hardly
a ray of the sun&rsquo;s light in the room. Besides, the odor
that struck our nostrils made us draw back. We saw
now, indistinctly of course, the man who had spoken
to us from the window. He was clad in a long loose
nightgown of a dirty flannel and had a bend to his
shoulders like the curve in a pot. His jaw seemed to
have no firmness for it hung loose in his head and
twisted from side to side with the motion of a cow
chewing its cud. His eyes were small and as sharp as a
fox&rsquo;s like two cunning little beads. And when he pulled
off his cap with the tassel to it, to make us a kind of
salutation, a great shock of unkempt greasy hair fell
down over his neck.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am glad to welcome you to my house, sirs,&rdquo; he said
with his voice reaching a high piping note.</p>
<p>I looked to Charles to hear what he would say, for to
tell the truth I was now even more anxious to get away
from this hole than I was before bent on getting in.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you know the Dwarf of Angers?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>The old man started to rub his hands in one another
and stuck out his chin. A slow encouraging grin spread
over his face.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course I do,&rdquo; he said and repeated it. &ldquo;Why of
course I do. Are you a friend of his, too?&rdquo; he ended
with a snap.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He sent us here,&rdquo; continued Charles. &ldquo;We have
enemies. He told us you would give us help.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_231">231</div>
<p>At this the man leaned forward and peered closely
into our faces. Then he began to laugh in the same
cackling tone that I had heard from the window. He
stepped to one side and bowed almost to the floor and
made a motion with a sweep of his hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If you will sit down,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I will bring you
something to eat.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He made off in a shuffling gait dragging his feet
along the bare boards of the floor. In a few minutes
he returned with a wooden bowl of gruel steaming hot
and two large wooden spoons.</p>
<p>By this time we were able to look around and make
an estimate of the place. The room was like a stable
for filth. The one long table that stood in the middle
was cut and scarred with figures where men had dug
into it with their knives. Cobwebs hung in every nook
and corner. An old lamp was fastened to a slab of
wood on the wall, but even if it had been lit, I think
there would have shone little light through it, for it
was as black as the sooty rafters over our heads.</p>
<p>To all this there was an air of confusion everywhere.
A chair with the legs broken off lay in a corner. A
great hole was worn in the bottom panels of the door
that led to the kitchen where a dog had by slow degrees
pawed his way through. Alongside of it, on the
wall, the plaster had a large dent in it where something
had struck and just beside it a red smear that reminded
me of the color of human blood.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_232">232</div>
<p>You may be sure that we ate little. Even if the food
had been savory the sight of the old fox of a landlord
was enough to take our appetites away, for he hung
over us like a sinister shadow with his nightcap in his
hands and his beady eyes watching every morsel as it
passed down our throats.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The Dwarf of Angers,&rdquo; he reminded us, when we
laid our spoons aside, &ldquo;&mdash;he&rsquo;s a grand man, isn&rsquo;t he?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Then came that short cackling laugh that stabbed me
like a knife.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He saved us from death,&rdquo; I remarked.</p>
<p>The old fellow gave a start as though he was suddenly
clapped on the shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He did, did he?&rdquo; he said. And then after a while,
&ldquo;And he sent you to me?&rdquo; He cackled again as though
he had reason to be highly flattered. &ldquo;And by any
chance did he give you a message?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Here I drew the dagger from my shirt and laid it on
the table.</p>
<p>&ldquo;This!&rdquo; said I. And, with the word, looked him
square in the eye in hopeful anticipation.</p>
<p>He pounced upon the weapon like a greedy child.
He took it between his skinny fingers and turned it over
and over. A crafty smile sharpened his features so that
his face resembled a rat&rsquo;s. With his thumb he examined
the silver of the haft. He snapped the blade till it
sang.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_233">233</div>
<p>&ldquo;That dagger,&rdquo; I said as though he needed some urging
to entirely understand, &ldquo;belongs to the Abbot of
Chalonnes.&rdquo;</p>
<p>But his eyes were fastened like glue upon it, so that
all the answer I got was a sort of mumbling.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ay, ay,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;&mdash;the Abbot of Chalonnes.&rdquo; Then
he looked up suddenly. His jaws stopped shaking and
his smile faded. &ldquo;Where do you come from?&rdquo; he demanded
with a jerk.</p>
<p>I was getting weary of his dallying. I was sure that
he knew more than he pretended. There was something
at the back of his head that prompted him to doubt us,
so with no more ado I burst forth, &ldquo;Look here,&rdquo; I began.
&ldquo;We are on our way to find the Black Prince. We
have traveled a long distance and have been beset by
enemies. We have been nearly killed half a dozen
times. We&rsquo;re in a strange country and need a word of
advice. Maybe we ought to have a guide. Can&rsquo;t you
see that your friends are our friends?&rdquo; I pointed to the
dagger in his hands. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t that proof enough for
you?&rdquo;</p>
<p>At the mention of the dagger his hands clasped together
with a quick convulsive motion and his jaws took
to wagging again.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_234">234</div>
<p>&ldquo;Ay, ay,&rdquo; he muttered, &ldquo;it&rsquo;s worth a hundred crowns,
if it&rsquo;s worth a groat.... It was fine of the Dwarf of
Angers to send it to me.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I jumped from my seat. As though he were suddenly
attacked, the old man straightened up. A flash
came to his eye and a sternness came upon him that
was unexpected. I think if I had taken another step
he would have showed fight.</p>
<p>&ldquo;But the dagger is not for you,&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s only
a sign that we are no frauds, no imposters.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I reached out to take the weapon from his hand. He
swung around with the quickness of an eel and backed
away from me. I made another try. This time he shot
a look at me and raised the dagger as though he would
strike.</p>
<p>My blood was up. All in all I felt that he was not
what the Dwarf had represented him to be, so with the
single thought of getting my dagger back at any cost,
I made a lunge to grasp him by the arm. Then by
sheer strength I could wrest it from his grasp.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Back!&rdquo; His voice was shrill but strong with the
cackle entirely gone. &ldquo;Back! I&rsquo;ll kill you if you make
a move!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_235">235</div>
<p>He drew his arm far over his head. There was wickedness
in his eyes that told me he meant all that he said.
For a second I stood there irresolute. Then out of the
corner of my eye I saw Charles flit past me. His arm
shot out. It caught the old fellow by the wrist. With
one jerk his fingers opened. The dagger dropped clattering
to the floor. One bound, I had it in my hand and
in the next second it was tucked away in my shirt.</p>
<p>Then came a surprise. As though the affair was a
joke the old man leaned over and clapped himself time
and time again on the knee. His voice rose and fell in
a kind of whistling laugh. He coughed and sputtered
from sheer mirth and to cap it all reached out his hand
for me to shake.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A fine lad!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;The both of you are
fine lads. I know now there&rsquo;s no deceit in either of
you.&rdquo; He laughed again. The cackling grew stronger
than ever. &ldquo;What is it you say you want? A guide
to take you on your way? Ay, ay. A guide. But no
harm meant, mind you. No harm&mdash;&rdquo; He shuffled, bent
over, towards the door, where he stood for a minute
looking back at us. Then with a quick nervous snap
he jerked out, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll aid you all I can. Will you stay
here till I come back?&rdquo;</p>
<p>With a kind of a stumbling skip he was outside and
had closed the door behind him.</p>
<p>We sat and waited till the shuffling of his feet died
away on the road. Then we arose and walked about the
room, more from restlessness, I am sure, than from
curiosity.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_236">236</div>
<p>If it had not been for the advice of the Dwarf, I
should have said that we were fallen into the thieves&rsquo;
den. The place was in no sense an inn for there was
no sign of provision for the comfort or entertainment
of a guest. Besides it was too far removed from the
course of travel to be of any profit.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t like the looks of it,&rdquo; remarked Charles.
&ldquo;There have been knives flying here&mdash;and throats cut.
That smear on the wall is hardly dry.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;We ought to get out,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;We were safer in
the Dwarf&rsquo;s cave.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let us wait till the old rat returns,&rdquo; he answered.
&ldquo;There will be time then.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The heaviness of the place made me feel that I was
standing in the face of danger. Everything I touched
seemed to warn me that we were falling deeper and
deeper into a trap. The broken chair, the hole in the
plaster, the blood upon the wall, the very darkness of
the room, but above all the slow-witted craftiness of the
old man, sent the creeps along my spine and made me
anxious.</p>
<p>A half hour passed. We had paced the length of the
room a dozen times. We had sat down and risen again
more than once. Charles went to the door.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take a look up the road,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;If he&rsquo;s not in
sight, we&rsquo;ll go.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_237">237</div>
<p>I turned to follow him. He snapped the latch. He
rattled it. He shook it with all his might. He faced
me with his face gone white.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re locked in!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;The old rat has
made us prisoners.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I ran back to the door that led to the kitchen.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re caught!&rdquo; I called. &ldquo;The windows are too
small for us to crawl out. The old fellow has gone to
summon our enemies.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;The truth of it,&rdquo; said Charles, &ldquo;is that we have come
to the wrong place. The inn of the Cross-Roads must
be further down the highway.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s to be done?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He motioned me to the long oaken bench that lay at
the table.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll hammer down the door,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Do you
take that end. I&rsquo;ll take this&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>It was as much as we could do to lift it. We held
it lengthwise towards the door. Then with a run we
crashed the end into the lower panels. The echo was
like thunder in the room. The door trembled on its
hinges and the lock creaked.</p>
<p>Again we drew back. Again we came forward. The
door bent in the middle and a long crack let the light
in from the outside.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Once more,&rdquo; cried Charles, &ldquo;and we&rsquo;ll be free.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_238">238</div>
<p>We took a short rest and caught our breath. The
third time the end of the bench crashed against the
cross-piece in the middle. There was a noise of splintering
wood. I thought the house was tumbling about
our ears. The door was torn from its hinges and with
a clap fell towards the outside flat on the road.</p>
<p>I blinked against the bright light of the sun. Then
I recoiled, for not ten feet away there came running
the landlord, panting for dear life, with his mouth open
and his beady eyes glittering with the fire of anger.
At his side were two men, rough fellows, who looked
as though they might slit your throat for a copper groat.
To my dismay one of them was the man from whom
I had escaped while we were swimming in the river.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There they are!&rdquo; cried the landlord pointing at us
with his skinny finger. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re tearing my house
down. Stop them!&rdquo; His jaw wriggled from side to
side and his hands shook with excitement. His voice
which began in a high shrill cackle turned to a shaking
laugh. &ldquo;That one there&rdquo; (he meant me) &ldquo;wants to
know how he can go to the Black Prince. Ha! Ha!
Ha!&rdquo;</p>
<p>In the next breath they were upon us.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_239">239</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c6.png" alt="" width="552" height="289" />
</div>
<h2 id="c23">CHAPTER XXIII
<br /><span class="small">THE FIGHT IN THE INN</span></h2>
<p>I shall not forget that morning as long as I have
life in my body. At the first sight of the three men I
drew my dagger. Charles had nothing but his bare
hands. But the fellows were scarcely across the threshold
and were reaching out for us, when he caught the
foremost of them a stinging blow on the point of the
jaw. In the first moment we had an advantage, for
their eyes were not yet grown accustomed to the dimness
of the room. The man reeled, then gathered himself
together. He had a knife in his hand. As he
raised it Charles seized him by the wrist and the two
stumbled and staggered over the pieces of the broken
door like two men wrestling for an opportunity to drive
home a telling blow.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_240">240</div>
<p>My hands were then full, for I had the bigger and
stronger man to face&mdash;Pierre who had been my captor
during the days when we wandered along the highway
with the army of the King. A flash of sullen hate came
into his eyes as soon as he saw me. To make it all the
worse the sight of his clothes upon me (which he recognized
at once) stirred him as deeply as if I had
flaunted him with open mockery.</p>
<p>He forgot the dagger which he had drawn from his
shirt. With one hand he reached out to grasp me by
the throat. I jumped to one side. He came lunging
forward, swaying with his big shoulders like a log upon
a stormy sea.</p>
<p>I knew him from my former experience. He was
powerful. There was a savage twist to his mind that
was hard to equal. But even at that I was more than
a match for him in agility and speed. My one thought,
then, was to keep out of his reach and to battle him
till he was out of wind. I could last longer than he. If
nothing else came between, I could wear him down and
finally get the upper hand.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_241">241</div>
<p>The faster he came at me, just so much the faster did
I dodge. While Charles and his man were struggling
at the door we had made our way almost to the middle
of the room. I had a double care. I had to keep one
eye on him. I had to watch my step in falling back lest
I stumble over an object on the floor.</p>
<p>At length I had my back to the table, and was sliding
slowly along the edge. Pierre made a grab once more
at my coat. I sprang away. He missed. So hard
did he come at me that he bumped his legs against the
edge and in trying to steady himself knocked his elbows
on the hard wood.</p>
<p>I saw him wince, and laughed. It was a laugh that
cut him to the bone. He uttered a few words under his
breath and gritted his teeth. He worked his hands,
closing and opening them, as though he already felt
my throat in his grip. He lowered at me with his brows
drawn down and started at me, slowly measuring me
with his eyes.</p>
<p>I backed off little by little, keeping step with him. I
rounded the end of the table. I danced and sprang
lightly now to one side now to the other. He never
wavered nor took his eyes off me. He laid his hands
flat on the table and worked his way after me around
the edge. His steps were like a cat&rsquo;s, stealthy and slow,
but I knew he was getting ready for a leap.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_242">242</div>
<p>Then it came. He had worked himself into a crouch.
Like a snake uncoiling he straightened out. His body
shot into the air. At the moment a shrill cackling back
of me broke upon my ears and by instinct I half turned
in the thought that the old landlord was threatening me
from the rear.</p>
<p>I saw over my shoulder that he had the broken chair
in his hand, ready to bring it down upon my head.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t kill him!&rdquo; It was the deep growl of Pierre.
&ldquo;He is to be taken alive!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The chair fell from the old man&rsquo;s grasp to the floor.
At the same time I jumped to the rear with the intention
of avoiding Pierre&rsquo;s outstretched claws. The chair
was in my path. With a swoop I picked it up and
with a swing I sent it crashing into my assailant&rsquo;s face.</p>
<p>In the next instant the air was filled with a roar like
the bellowing of a hundred bulls. Pierre clapped his
hand over his wounded nose and forehead. Through
his fingers I saw that I had drawn the blood. He was
blinded for the moment. Then he shook with mounting
rage. He shot one glance at me. I am sure that all
the trouble which I had caused him during the past few
days flashed through his brain at once.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_243">243</div>
<p>He shifted his knife from the one hand to the other.
He poised it for a second in the palm. Then with a dexterity
that surprised me he sent it flying point outward
towards my chest. It came like a small arrow and
with the speed of a drop of rain. It was fortunate that
I was bobbing from side to side for I should never have
had the quickness to dodge out of harm&rsquo;s way. As it
was, it passed over my shoulder but the point of it
nicked a little wound in my flesh that sent a tiny stream
of warmth trickling down my arm.</p>
<p>We were now on more even terms. I had my dagger
still, but he was without a weapon save the great
strength of his huge body. But at that I think he would
have risked his life against a dozen men for his fury
had gathered like a brewing storm. He crooked his
elbow over his face and came at me on the run. He
groped with his outstretched hand hoping to gather me
in, like a man feeling his way in the dark.</p>
<p>I yielded before him. I backed off once more around
the table and had come so far that he was on one side
and I on the other. He planted his big hands flat on the
surface. The sweat was running off the end of his nose
mingling with the blood and his breath came in pants
from the strain of his exertions.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Catch me if you can,&rdquo; I called, laughing. At the
same time I danced back on the balls of my feet to draw
him on.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_244">244</div>
<p>I didn&rsquo;t have to wait. He breathed one long breath.
Without a sign of warning, he laid his weight on his
hands. He leaped into the air. His huge body came
at me like a mountain. He crossed the table without
once touching it. I made to jump aside. I was too late
for I never counted on such agility. He landed on his
feet and grasped me, as I was turning away, by the
arms. He drew them back and pinned them to my side.
With a twist he threw me to the ground. He raised his
heavy fist in the air. I looked up with an expression
on my face of terror and despair. I was certain my
end was come, when I heard a shout at the door. A
flash of white like the wing of a bird passed between
him and me. The fist never came down, for an arrow
was sticking in the flesh of his upper arm shaking and
swaying like a reed in the wind.</p>
<p>I scrambled to my feet. With much blinking I looked
about. I saw the skirts of the nightgown of the old
landlord pass through the kitchen door. On his heels
followed Pierre with a glance back into the room. He
was white from fear and pain. He was holding the
arm that was wounded, in the other. But there was a
look in his face that reminded me of an animal that is
angry enough to devour alive its prey. I was sure that
if he could have gotten his hands on me then, he would
have torn me limb from limb.</p>
<p>I turned towards the door. On the threshold stood
two archers clad in hunting costumes of light green.
The one who had shot Pierre was drawing a fresh arrow
from his quiver while the other was searching every nook
and cranny for signs of a hidden foe.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_245">245</div>
<p>&ldquo;There were two of you who came here together?&rdquo;
he demanded.</p>
<p>I was more surprised than they for I noticed now
that Charles and the man with whom he was fighting
were gone. But before I could answer he came running
from the trees that grew about the place and halted at
the door. His face was drawn as tight as a drum and
covered with dirt and sweat. In his hand he held the
knife which I had first seen in the grasp of his foe.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He drew me out into the woods,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;He
was the toughest man I ever met.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Then I bethought me of Pierre and the old landlord.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They will escape!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;They will go and bring
others of their kind. They&rsquo;ll&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>The archer waved his hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Let them go,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Let them bring twenty.
There are a dozen of my followers already on the way
here&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Are you of the party of the Black Prince?&rdquo; I interrupted.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We are,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;He sent us out to scour the
countryside. We have fallen in with a few stragglers
of the King and beaten them. The country is as tame
as you could wish.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_246">246</div>
<p>I uttered a gasp. I was on the verge of telling him
all the preparation I saw while I passed down the valley
of the Loire. But on second thought I was reminded
that it were wisest not to take strangers too soon into
your confidence.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Where is the Black Prince now?&rdquo; I asked with some
caution.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s to the northwest,&rdquo; was the reply. &ldquo;He has
sacked and burned the castles and strongholds that lie
over towards the sea. He&rsquo;s going to march to the south
in a few days&mdash;to Bordeaux to pass the winter.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; I exclaimed. I was about to prod him more
when a streak shot between us. It was an arrow from
someone hiding in the woods.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_247">247</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c3.png" alt="" width="552" height="289" />
</div>
<h2 id="c24">CHAPTER XXIV
<br /><span class="small">BESIEGED</span></h2>
<p>We had no time for thought.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Back!&rdquo; cried the archer. And we dropped behind
the open door as quickly as we could.</p>
<p>Another arrow sped past and fastened itself in the
far wall. Then a second came and a third.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That makes four all together,&rdquo; said the first archer.
&ldquo;There are four men outside against the four of us
here. If we can hold out for an hour, help will be on
the way.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;We must barricade the door,&rdquo; said the second. &ldquo;As
it is, they have every advantage.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He pointed to the table.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_248">248</div>
<p>We lifted it up and stood it on its end. Then, with
care lest we expose ourselves to another shot, we moved
it slowly until it stood before the entrance. It was
hardly wide enough for there was a space of half a foot
on either side.</p>
<p>The first archer who seemed to be the leader touched
the second on the arm.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you hold the door, Raoul,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;while I look
closer at our defenses.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he stepped back and began to examine
the room. He sent a sharp glance at the windows and
tossed his head when he saw the smallness of them.
When he came to the door that led into the kitchen, a
worried expression crossed his brow.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Can you fight?&rdquo; he demanded turning to me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I can try,&rdquo; said I.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Do you and your friend take your stand here,&rdquo; he
commanded. &ldquo;If an attack comes, be on your guard
and repel it.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He left us and went back to the door. Charles
picked up the chair with the broken legs while I, with
my dagger in my hand, stood ready.</p>
<p>A sharp click echoed through the room. It was an
arrow crashing against the table. Then three more followed
in quick succession. By that I knew that our
enemies were still in the front of us and for the moment
we had nothing to fear from our end of the inn.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_249">249</div>
<p>Then came a lull. The leader of the archers passed
his hat across the opening between the table and the
jamb of the door. Before he had time to breathe an
arrow sung in the air. It passed into the room and
caught with a snap in the plaster not far from my legs.</p>
<p>&ldquo;They know how to shoot,&rdquo; exclaimed the archer.</p>
<p>He walked back where the light was dim and raised
his bow. He peered out for a moment, taking careful
aim. The twang hummed in my ears and the arrow
sped through the opening at the door.</p>
<p>A cry as of a man hurt came back to us, loud and penetrating.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s one of them!&rdquo; I shouted in glee.</p>
<p>The archer gave me a look.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be deceived, lad,&rdquo; he said with a frown. &ldquo;I
missed. My arrow is sticking there in a tree. It was
only a trick of theirs.&rdquo;</p>
<p>I was sure the leader was mistaken for in the next instant
there came only three clicks against the surface of
the table. But I held my own counsel and looked on
while the archers, one at each opening, raised their
bows and watched for a mark among the men in the
woods across the road.</p>
<p>They shot at the same time. The arrows had scarcely
left the bows when another yell louder than the first
came over to us.</p>
<p>The leader lowered his bow in disgust.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_250">250</div>
<p>&ldquo;He got back too quickly,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Our only hope
is to wait.&rdquo;</p>
<p>There was another lull. For a long time we stood
with our hearts thumping hard against our ribs. I listened
for footsteps outside the kitchen door, but the
whole place, even the road and the tree opposite were
as silent as an empty church.</p>
<p>Then came a single arrow. It was not shot in a line
but in a slow arching curve. It passed through the
opening and landed sticking in the wood in the floor.
Around the haft was tied a piece of white cloth.</p>
<p>I jumped towards it and raised it in my hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;A signal!&rdquo; I cried.</p>
<p>The leader flashed his eyes on me.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a trick,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Back! And watch your
door!&rdquo;</p>
<p>But it soon proved that I was right. Within a few
minutes another piece of white cloth larger than the
first fluttered among the trees. Regardless of the leader&rsquo;s
warning I walked to the middle of the floor. The
old landlord came into view tottering and filled with
fear. His jaw was twisting like a leaf spinning in the
wind. He put one foot forward and then half turned
as though he would draw back. When he got half
across the road, he broke into a shifting run.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_251">251</div>
<p>&ldquo;A truce!&rdquo; he cried holding the white cloth before
him.</p>
<p>&ldquo;What would you have?&rdquo; asked the leader from behind
the table.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve killed two of them already,&rdquo; said the landlord.
&ldquo;They want to let you know that there&rsquo;ll be a
score of their comrades here within the hour.&rdquo; He hesitated.
The old crafty smile broke over his face. &ldquo;If
you give in, they&rsquo;ll do you no hurt but send you back
to Normandy where you belong.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; demanded the leader.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve come to save my house,&rdquo; was the next move.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; went on the old man, &ldquo;if you don&rsquo;t give
in, they&rsquo;ll burn it down about your ears.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Oh, ho!&rdquo; replied the leader with a short laugh. &ldquo;So
that&rsquo;s the tune now, is it? Well. Let them.&rdquo; Here he
held out his bow before the old man&rsquo;s eyes. &ldquo;Do you
see this?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;This bow has drawn the
heart&rsquo;s blood of half a hundred of their countrymen.
It&rsquo;s still athirst for more. Go back and ask them if they
are willing to be the next.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The landlord stood twisting the white rag between his
skinny hands. He looked up sharply and saw me peering
eagerly over the leader&rsquo;s shoulder.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_252">252</div>
<p>&ldquo;That lad has eaten of my food,&rdquo; he said with the
old wheezing whistle in his voice. &ldquo;I have treated him
like a father. And he has brought all this trouble on
me,&mdash;I&rsquo;ll remember this when the time comes to settle
our accounts.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With a frown as black as pitch he turned and went
wobbling and shaking across the road.</p>
<p>He had about disappeared among the trees when the
leader called out, &ldquo;Ready now for the brush!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The words had scarcely left his lips when two arrows
sped through the openings on either side of the table.
On the heels of them a crash resounded against the
kitchen-door. I ran back to where Charles had been
pacing up and down the floor. The panels shook as
though they were of straw. Another crash, and the
door fell from its hinges with all the wood scattered
into a thousand pieces.</p>
<p>Then there burst in on us two men. Charles swung
the broken chair with all his force against the head of
the first. I slipped in under his arm and thrust my
dagger into the second&rsquo;s ribs. I might just as well have
tried to cut down a log of oak for the point stopped
against something hard and by that there went through
me the realization that he had on under his jerkin a coat
of mail.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_253">253</div>
<p>I jumped back to safety before he could lay hold of
me. The fellow whom Charles had hit with the chair
was down on one knee. The chair came up again and
descended with great force. If it had struck, the man
would have breathed his last. But with an effort he
curled his body into a knot and covered his head in his
arms. The chair glanced off his elbow and crashed
against the floor. The back, which Charles had used
as a hold, broke in two and the seat went flying and
spinning across the room.</p>
<p>The fellow got to his feet. He was in pain but for
all that was filled with wicked wrath. He reached out
one hand and caught Charles by the coat. His dagger
was over his head ready to descend when the leader of
the archers turned and sent an arrow through his neck.
He reeled and spun like a top. Then like a weight sank
to the floor.</p>
<p>You will remember that all this happened almost in
the twinkling of an eye. The man who was my opponent
saw the danger that he faced. He had made for
me to be sure with his knife ready to drive it into my
body. I had taken two or three steps back towards the
middle of the room. But when his companion fell, he
gave one swift glance at the archer and turned his back.
As fast as he could make it, he darted to the kitchen
door. I heard his footsteps, as he ran along the wooden
floor. He disappeared beyond, out among the trees to
hide himself from death.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_254">254</div>
<p>I breathed a sigh. The arrow of the archer had been
our deliverer. I turned to the front of the inn and saw
the men guarding the entrance stringing their bows and
shooting time after time into the woods. The table was
split in a dozen places showing the light in the cracks.
By this I judged that while we had been busy with our
foes, the enemy without had rained missile after missile
at us with the intention of drawing us away while the
two invaded the room.</p>
<p>Then came another lull. No doubt by this time the
fellow who had escaped had gotten once more among his
friends. That there was a council of war going on
among them was as sure as fate. We waited a long
time. There came no more arrows to crash with a click
against the table nor to fly into the room.</p>
<p>A sound far off came to our ears. It was the clatter
of horses&rsquo; hoofs on the hard road. For a time we listened.
Then they died off as though the riders had
stopped or had entered the woods. Hope rose in our
breasts that it was friends who were coming to our aid.
But in a short time it died, for we were to learn that
it was the enemy now with a dozen men to where they
had one before.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_255">255</div>
<p>The clatter of hoofs started again irregularly as
though the horses were cavorting in a circle. Then they
came swiftly down the road. At each second they grew
more and more distinct. At length they came into view&mdash;a
whole troop of them. The chief wore a coat of shining
mail and had a plume in his hat. His gauntlets
flashed in the sun.</p>
<p>Without any ado they reined in their horses before
the inn. The men dismounted as one, like drilled soldiers.
They formed behind their captain and walked
towards us. With his fist he knocked heavily against
the surface of the upright table.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; demanded the archer.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Servants of his Majesty, the King!&rdquo; came the abrupt
reply.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;and what do you want?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have a lad there who is a spy,&rdquo; was the answer.
&ldquo;He is to be delivered into our hands.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The archer waited a moment before he made reply.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And if we refuse?&rdquo; he said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We are not here to parley with you,&rdquo; declared the
captain. &ldquo;If you do not deliver him forthwith, you
are taking your life in your hands.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The archer was as cool as the captain.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I cannot give him up,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You will have to
take him at your risk.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_256">256</div>
<p>There was no more said. The captain stepped aside
as though he would leave. He uttered a word to his
men. They rushed forward. Before we could put ourselves
on guard, or before one of the archers could
string his bow, the table was sent flying across the room.
They came in. They covered us three or four to each
one of us. To have shown resistance would have been
the height of folly.</p>
<p>In less time than it takes to tell we were bound hand
and foot and huddled along the wall at the far end of
the room. When all was finished the captain stood
before us twirling his mustache.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You almost got through,&rdquo; he said to me. &ldquo;Well,
my lad. In another day you&rsquo;ll be at the end of your
wanderings for a long, long time. For when you&rsquo;ll get
out of the fortress of my lord De Marsac, you&rsquo;ll be an
old man.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he bade his men take us and tie us to the
horses.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_257">257</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c4.png" alt="" width="529" height="264" />
</div>
<h2 id="c25">CHAPTER XXV
<br /><span class="small">FRIENDS AND ENEMIES</span></h2>
<p>It was at the break of day when we came to the inn
which we had mistaken for the Inn of The Cross-Roads.
It was well after ten in the morning when we were led
captives to the horses of the men who had taken us.</p>
<p>They tied us with long ropes&mdash;the one end around
our waists, the other to the pommels of the saddles.
We were to go on foot between the riders the whole
distance of two or three days&rsquo; journey like the prisoners
of chain gangs on their way to the galleys.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_258">258</div>
<p>Fear and dread were strong within me. The September
sun was shining down upon our heads. The
road was rutted&mdash;full of holes and covered with sharp
stones. I knew that we would get little enough to eat.
As for water, they would let our tongues rot at the root
before they would satisfy our thirst.</p>
<p>The country was wild and rugged. Hardly a house&mdash;or
what you might call a house&mdash;was to be seen over
vast stretches of it. Where the land was tillable there
rooted in the weeds a few starved cattle, who gazed at
us stupidly as we passed. Once in a while we came to
a hut&mdash;a small place built of native rock with a low
thatched roof hidden amidst a clump of scrawny trees
and high straggling bushes. When a face appeared at
the door, there was always a look of suspicion upon it
as though we were surely enemies and to that the owner
usually had a weapon of some kind in his hand, ready
to defend himself in case he was attacked, or to drive
us away if we invaded his land.</p>
<p>Shortly after noon we came to a halt to rest the horses
and snatch a bite to eat. The men who had taken us
seated us on a rock and drew a circle about us while
one of their archers stood with his bow in his hand ready
to shoot if any of us tried to escape.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_259">259</div>
<p>Then we were up again and on our way. We plodded
on and on over the hard surface of the road. Weariness
began to show in our faces. In a little while I
caught a small stone in my boot. It slipped down and
rested under my heel. It bored and bored till I began
to feel the pain of it. I stooped to loose the thong with
the intention of easing myself. But the moment I halted
the rope that tied me to the saddle grew taut. I was
snatched along with a jerk and with a tightening about
my waist that was so sudden that it caused me even more
grief than the stone.</p>
<p>I limped along with my heel glowing like the heat of
a fire. To make it worse the captain looked at me with
a smile and laughed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;If the rope were around your neck,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;it
would be more fitting.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The others must have thought it was a fine jest for
they, too, broke into mirth and clapped their hands on
their thighs.</p>
<p>Towards the middle of the afternoon I could hardly
drag one foot after the other. I was in despair with my
head down. Suddenly it came up with a snap for the
horses reared back on their hind legs. They neighed
and lifted their noses in the air as though they were
frightened. I had to jump from one side to the other
to keep from being trodden underfoot. The shouts of
the riders drew my attention to an object to the left of
us on a huge rock not twenty paces from where we had
halted.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_260">260</div>
<p>It was a man. He was standing on his hands with
his head down. His feet were in the air. And what
made him so ridiculous&mdash;it was this that had frightened
the horses&mdash;he was kicking with his legs with all
the energy in his body. So great was his exertion that
we expected to see him drop at any moment. But the
longer he kept it up, the greater his strength seemed
to grow. At length after several minutes he came to a
sudden stop, tossed his body in the air with a lithe movement
of his wrists and landed on the surface of the rock
flat on his feet.</p>
<p>My nerves jumped and the men with us uttered a low
exclamation of surprise. We all recognized him at once,
for each of us, quite in the same breath, called out his
name, &ldquo;The Dwarf of Angers!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Dwarf was grinning from ear to ear. His long
teeth were as sharp as the points of two rows of daggers.
He placed one hand in the bosom of his shirt
and threw his head back proudly. With the other he
waved at the captain and his men.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I warn you, sirs,&rdquo; he said in his shrill voice, &ldquo;that
you are on your way to your deaths!&rdquo; He waited a
minute to let the words sink home. Then he pointed
with sudden fierceness to the sun and called out, &ldquo;If you
go on, there will not be one of you who will see the light
of another day!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_261">261</div>
<p>The captain started. His face paled. I heard him
growl under his breath. Then in an instant he collected
himself and barked out a command to his men. They
raised their bows. A dozen arrows sped on their way.
Some hit the rock. Some glanced over it. None struck
for the Dwarf was quicker than they thought. With
a leap he dropped down behind the rock and disappeared.</p>
<p>When the last arrow was shot he popped his head into
view and let out a long savage laugh full of mockery
and contempt. Then he was gone again.</p>
<p>The captain was by this time boiling with rage. He
commanded three of his men to dismount. They
searched the rock and the ground around it. They
went up the side of the hill. With their bows strung
ready to shoot at the first object that moved they peered
cautiously behind every rock that was large enough to
conceal a man. They came back again with blank faces
and worried looks. The Dwarf seemed to have been
swallowed up for no sign of him was to be found.</p>
<p>We started again, this time more slowly than before.
The captain with his brow knotted kept his gaze straight
down. It struck me that the Dwarf was like a phantom
in the country, or like the visitation of a spirit. He had
created a fear in the hearts of the people by the uncanny
way in which he came and went and by the outlandish
tricks he performed. But there was more than that too,
for he struck with a certain fearlessness and accuracy
that swept men off their feet. Besides he had a reputation
for fulfilling every one of his predictions. It was
this last that troubled the captain and buried him in
gloom.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_262">262</div>
<p>In another half hour the country to the sides of the
road became more and more barren. What trees there
were grew far apart and were hardly more than ragged
stumps. Rocks abounded everywhere&mdash;boulders of all
sizes, some as big as houses, others smaller, of every
shape and form.</p>
<p>We had just turned a bend in the road. With no
word of warning the man riding next to the captain
threw his hands in the air. He uttered a short sobbing
cry. His mouth fell agape and, although he struggled,
he swung over to one side and toppled like a log from
his horse. To the terror of the rest there in his chest
stuck an arrow longer than your arm pointing upwards
to the sky.</p>
<p>We turned instinctively to the road and the archers
unslung their bows. No Dwarf appeared, but from in
among the rocks there came to us a shrill penetrating
laugh that echoed far and near and sent the shivers up
and down my captors&rsquo; spines.</p>
<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the first!&rdquo; It was a cry like a prolonged wail.
&ldquo;Which of you will be the next?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_263">263</div>
<p>The men dismounted as they did before. They
searched every speck of ground from the edge of the
road far back to the ridge of the hill. They returned
once again disappointed with doubt and anxiety impressed
on their faces.</p>
<p>From then on we proceeded with utmost caution.
The eyes of the men roved continually over the sides of
the road. The archers sat with their bows slung across
their saddles. Now and then, even when there was no
sign of danger, a few of them dismounted and scoured
among the rocks and rugged ground to either side
of us.</p>
<p>For a quarter of an hour we went along peacefully
enough. Then a white streak cut the air. The arrow
did not come straight, but curved upwards in a long
smooth arch. It struck point downward in the middle
of the road where it trembled a little and then remained
perfectly still.</p>
<p>Every man in that company reined in his horse. The
archers raised their bows. They searched with their eyes
every nook in the rocks where a man could have hidden.
Not a sound came to us. Not a motion did we see.
As far as appearances went the missile might have
dropped from the sky.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_264">264</div>
<p>One of the men rode on ahead and slid from his horse.
He stooped to pick up the arrow. As his hand was
about to touch the shaft, another arrow darted through
the air like a flash of light. It cut the first in two, splitting
it as cleanly as you would with a sharp knife. The
man jumped back with his face the color of chalk and
got once more upon his horse.</p>
<p>Our enemies were by this time thoroughly alarmed.
There was no dismounting to hunt among the rocks.
Fear was in every face and their nerves were keyed up
as though they had been lashed with whips. A bird flying
across the road or a dry leaf blown by the breeze
would have started every one of them in his saddle.</p>
<p>Next we came to a clump of short stubby trees. Before
he would risk passing it, the captain grouped his
men together. He sent five of them to examine every
tree, every bush and rock as far back from the road as
they could venture. They returned. There was not a
twig or branch which had escaped their eyes. A human
soul was nowhere to be seen.</p>
<p>We started. The horses had scarcely taken ten steps
when a long screeching laugh echoed to us through the
trees. The captain and the rest of them drew in their
reins. In the next second an arrow caught him in the
chest and struck with terrific force against his coat of
mail. It clicked and dropped to the ground but the
power behind it jolted him so hard that it was within
an ace of driving him from his saddle.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_265">265</div>
<p>But that shot was enough. If their nerves were on
edge before, they were broken now. The captain sank
his spurs into his horse&rsquo;s flanks. With a shout to save
themselves he called to his men to follow. He dashed on
ahead. A tug on the rope that bound my waist almost
cut me in two. I was jerked forward, hobbling on my
bruised foot, with a snap. I uttered a groan and tried
to break into a run, with the sweat streaming down my
face and my breath coming in painful gasps.</p>
<p>Then we suddenly stopped. My eyes were looking
ahead. I saw an arrow dart in the direction of the captain.
It cut one of the reins as cleanly as though it were
of straw. The horse stumbled and the captain lost his
hold. With the end of the rein in his hand he grasped
into the air, spun around to the side and toppled heavily
to the ground.</p>
<p>The archers were down beside him in a second. They
raised him to his feet. For the moment they were forgetful
of the Dwarf and of the danger they were in.
In the midst of it all there came a weird mocking laugh&mdash;long
and shrill. We turned. I saw the men recoil
as though they were facing death itself.</p>
<p>The Dwarf was standing on a boulder half hidden
by the stubby trees. He held his bow in his hands with
an arrow in it ready to let it fly. Before any of us
could have winked he could have killed the first he
chose.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_266">266</div>
<p>&ldquo;Steady!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Not a stir among you! I give
you warning. Let the two lads and the two archers
go free or at the next turning of the road there will
not one of you be left alive!&rdquo;</p>
<p>For a second there was only silence. The faces of
the men were of the whiteness of death. Not one of
them moved.</p>
<p>Then the captain gasped. He drew in a deep breath
and in a voice that was shaking called back, &ldquo;The next
one of us to fall, they will fall, too! I shall drive my
dagger into their hearts!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Dwarf only smiled. In tones like the heaviness
of thunder he said, &ldquo;I have warned you!&rdquo; And he disappeared
among the trees.</p>
<p>For what seemed a long while we went on ahead. A
weight hung in the heart of every man of the small
company. A sparrow could have frightened them. I
was as weary of it all as I could be. Now and again I
glanced at Charles who was tied to the horse on the
opposite side of me. He did not speak, but by the look
and nod he gave me, he stirred hope and courage in
my breast and led me to believe that the worst of our
journey had passed.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_267">267</div>
<p>In a quarter of an hour we saw before us a sharp
bend in the road. The words of the Dwarf still rang
in our ears. The captain drew his sword and bade each
of his archers to make ready his bow. The horses were
lined up three abreast and in straight array. If we were
about to enter on a field of battle the men could have
been scarcely more carefully arranged.</p>
<p>The captain hardened his jaws. With a glint of determination
in his eyes he urged his horse forward. We
slowly entered the turn in the road. We made the bend.
At any moment I expected to see an arrow come singing
through the air and a man drop. In spite of myself
my heart began to flutter like a bird&rsquo;s. The soreness
in my foot died out and the fact that I was a prisoner
on my way to my doom faded from my mind like a passing
cloud, for in one word the tenseness of the situation
stirred every fibre and I was excited.</p>
<p>But the fall of the horses&rsquo; hoofs was all that broke
the silence. With a grimness that surprised me the
captain held doggedly on his way. He looked neither
to the right or left but held his head high. In the face
of what we all expected it was his courage that gave
strength to his men and pulled them through.</p>
<p>We passed the bend in the road with no sign of the
Dwarf or his deadly missiles. As far as we could see
there was nothing ahead of us but a straight line. I
looked along it in the hope that I would see some object
or other that would give us hope.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_268">268</div>
<p>My eye rested on a speck. It was small and far away
and black. It came nearer little by little. The captain
and the men noticed it too and kept their gaze upon
it steadily. The rays of the sun glinted upon it for a
second and then I was able to see that it was a man on
horseback, fully equipped with armor that shone and
glittered in its newness. The closer he came the more of
the details we could distinguish. He had on his head a
casque with the closed visor concealing his face, and
gauntlets on his hands that were of the same blackness
as his armour. He was quite small and rode with an ease
that assured us of long years spent in the saddle. As
for weapons he carried no spear or lance like most
knights on their way to tournament or field of battle,
but only a sword that hung from his belt in a scrolled
scabbard and a mace of tough wood with the knots
pointed with steel, that dangled loosely at his side.</p>
<p>He kept to the middle of the road. Not once did he
urge his horse nor swerve to the right or the left. When
he was finally abreast of us, he let the reins fall on the
horse&rsquo;s neck.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_269">269</div>
<p>Then I was stirred by the strangest feeling that ever
possessed me. I lost all interest in the man and his
armor and in my captors. When the horse neighed I
gave a sudden start. I examined him from his fetlock
to his mane and from his head to his tail. At first a certain
sense of familiarity shot through me. Then by
degrees every suspicion of mine moulded itself into
solid fact. Like a blast my brain told me that I had
seen that horse before. It was the roan which I had
brought with me from home&mdash;which I had ridden as far
as the scrivener&rsquo;s house in the woods&mdash;which was stolen
from me by the two men whom De Marsac had set upon
me. That horse, in one word, was mine!</p>
<p>The man in armor raised his hand. We had all come
to a halt and for a second there was empty silence.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You cannot pass,&rdquo; he said in a voice that was strong
and steady. &ldquo;The prisoners which you have there must
be given up.&rdquo;</p>
<p>His hand dropped.</p>
<p>The captain thought before he spoke.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And who are you?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am the ruler of all this waste land,&rdquo; came the reply
with a smoothness that went through us like a jar,
&ldquo;&mdash;of all these rocks and trees and the people, I am lord
and master.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The captain furrowed his brows.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I never heard of you,&rdquo; he answered.</p>
<p>The man in armor gave a little laugh.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Have you never heard of the Abbot of Chalonnes?&rdquo;
he asked.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_270">270</div>
<div class="img">
<img src="https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:t:thomas-mawhinney-the-messenger-black-prince-c6.png" alt="" width="552" height="289" />
</div>
<h2 id="c26">CHAPTER XXVI
<br /><span class="small">THE ABBOT OF CHALONNES</span></h2>
<p>The captain gave a start. He stared a while at the
man. A slow understanding smile curled at the corners
of his mouth and he said, &ldquo;There is no such person
as the Abbot of Chalonnes. He is only a myth for the
simple country folk to believe in. You are some one
else.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Abbot raised his hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The two archers, whom you have taken captive, are
mine,&rdquo; he said with great calm. &ldquo;I have also an interest
in the two lads. If you are wise, you will give them
up.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The captain stiffened himself.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;and if I don&rsquo;t?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_271">271</div>
<p>For a second there was no answer. The Abbot sat
on his horse as silent as a statue without a stir. Then,
with a gesture that was more convincing than words,
he said, &ldquo;Did you not hear the warning of the Dwarf?&rdquo;</p>
<p>A jar ran through us and even the captain recoiled.
The Abbot had come to us straight down the road. The
Dwarf, as far as we knew, was a mile or more behind
us. How the two ever could have had an understanding
was more than we could guess.</p>
<p>But the captain was not easily rebuffed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;There are ten of us here, Sir Abbot,&rdquo; he said pointing
to his men. &ldquo;You are but one. It is true you are
clad in armor, but even at that you are taking a chance.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Abbot took the reins again in his hands.</p>
<p>&ldquo;For the last time, I ask you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;will you give
up your prisoners?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The captain fairly roared.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No!&rdquo; he cried.</p>
<p>The Abbot clapped his spurs into the horse&rsquo;s flanks.
The archers raised their bows. As he came on an arrow
or two struck against his armor and dropped like dead
leaves to the road. He made straight for the captain.
Within the space of a single breath the horses were side
by side. The captain drew a dagger and leaned far forward,
but the Abbot curled his fist and bent his arm. He
caught his enemy alongside the jaw with a sweeping
blow. The captain&rsquo;s head went back with a snap. The
light left his eyes and he dropped from his horse as
though he had been felled with a mighty club.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_272">272</div>
<p>That was the first stroke. The Abbot was now in
the midst of us. The archers, seeing that their prisoners
were only an encumbrance to their movements, loosed
the ropes that bound us from their saddles. You may
be sure that Charles and I, and the two captive archers
made for the side of the road as fast as we were able so
that we might not only be out of danger but might view
a fight that promised enough of excitement.</p>
<p>The Abbot spun the horse about. One of the men
who was nearest him realized that neither arrow nor
dagger could wound a man who was so finely protected,
raised himself in his stirrups. He then threw himself
with all his weight at his opponent. It was his intention
to thus overcome him and drag him to the earth. If
they once could pounce upon him they could pummel
him to death, or, what was just as good, could bind him
and lead him off, their prisoner.</p>
<p>But this fellow had counted without a knowledge of
the skill and adroitness of his foe. No sooner had he
thrown himself forward when the Abbot bent his elbow
into a kind of a crook. The sharp point of his armor
was opposite the archer&rsquo;s throat. With a jerk the Abbot
drove it forward. It caught the man hard like the
thrust of a pike or lance. He uttered a low moaning
cry and toppled, like the captain, in a heap to the road.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_273">273</div>
<p>From where we were standing we saw the Abbot
wheel about. Once more he dug his spurs into the horse
and rode back a dozen paces. Here he turned and faced
the others who were left.</p>
<p>&ldquo;He,&rdquo; he cried pointing to the man who had just
fallen, &ldquo;is the second. Who of you will be the third?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The men looked questioningly at each other. One
of them growled and said something about their fallen
captain. I heard the words &ldquo;disgrace&rdquo; and &ldquo;punishment
if we return.&rdquo; They glanced at us and frowned and
then, although I knew it was against their wills, they
drew up once more in a kind of line and faced the
Abbot.</p>
<p>Each of the archers drew taut his bow. The Abbot
urged the horse forward with a touch of the spur. Eight
arrows flew as straight as they could go. The eight
of them crashed against the steel of the armor. A few
were turned aside and sped on a little further but the
most of them struck with a ring and dropped to the
ground.</p>
<p>Like a flash the archers fastened each another arrow
in his bow. Then of a sudden one of them sang out,
&ldquo;Kill the horse! We can get him when he is dismounted
on the road!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_274">274</div>
<p>The Abbot was coming on. At the sound of the
man&rsquo;s voice he pulled in hard and rose in the saddle.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Touch him if you dare!&rdquo; he cried and his voice rang
out like a trumpet. &ldquo;For every drop of his blood that&rsquo;s
spilled, I&rsquo;ll roast one of you alive!&rdquo;</p>
<p>With that he went back to the starting place at a slow
canter and then with all the deliberation in the world
wheeled the horse once more about to face his foes.</p>
<p>I saw now that he was anxious to end the fray. He
dug the spurs in deeper than before. The arrows of the
archers rattled against his casque and armor and fell
without injury at the horse&rsquo;s feet. He came on, but
this time he took the mace from the saddle at his side.
He struck the first man he met a blow in the arm. It
cracked with a noise like the snapping of a dry branch,
so by that I knew he had broken the bone. Like a flash
the Abbot swung in his saddle. He struck the second
man in the chest with his mailed fist. Then he rode
through the others and came out in their rear.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_275">275</div>
<p>It was like mowing in a field of grain. The Abbot
was the scythe and his enemies were standing stalks. At
this second thrust the six of them, who had struck at
him with what they had at their command, saw the futility
of their attempts. They drew aside and lined
themselves along the edge of the road. One of them
began to unsling his quiver of arrows as a sign of submission
when he glanced in an off-hand way down the
road. Then he brightened up. He rose in his stirrups
and uttered a loud cry to the others to follow him, sank
his spurs into his horse and was off at a hard gallop.</p>
<p>The Abbot by this time had wheeled about to face
them once again. But they rode past him with the speed
of the wind. I shaded my eyes and peered in the direction
they were going. To my surprise I saw riding to
meet them three other men, each of them on horseback
with armor that covered them from head to heel. And
what troubled me most was that the foremost carried
a long lance in rest that sparkled and shone in the afternoon
sun.</p>
<p>A kind of fear ran through me for I realized that the
odds were against us. It had been easy enough for the
Abbot to tumble over men who were as open to attack
as the archers. It would be a different thing to confront
men who were armed equally as well as he, one of whom
besides had a lance that could knock him from his seat
before he could come at him with his shorter weapons
like the sword and the mace.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_276">276</div>
<p>I waited with my breath in my throat. As soon as the
Abbot saw over his shoulder these new enemies riding
towards him, he touched the horse in the side and cantered
slowly down the road. The three in armor spurred
on faster. When the Abbot was within a stone&rsquo;s throw
of them he cut over to the edge of the highway. Then
he hastened his speed. His enemy swerved to meet him
and as the first of them came on lowered his lance to
strike him full in the chest.</p>
<p>It was this sudden turning that saved the day. As
the knight with the lance drove into the Abbot he was
forced to take his aim a little off the straight line. The
point of the weapon struck the Abbot a hard blow on
the mail under his arm. His horse veered, half staggering
but continued on his course. The knight found
himself in a sort of a knot, for the shaft of his lance
was twisted by the swerving of the Abbot&rsquo;s horse and
was almost torn from his grasp. The butt of it drove
back and took him on the shoulder with such force that
it was within a hair of knocking him from the saddle.</p>
<p>Then the skill of the Abbot showed itself. As soon
as his horse had steadied itself, he drove his spurs into
its side. As fast as he could ride he made for the two
knights who were coming up in the rear. He laid his
hand upon his mace and held it in readiness by his side.
The two knights, who had just witnessed the smoothness
with which he had warded off the attack of the
rider with the lance, now braced themselves to deliver
him a blow that would end the fight once for all. They
saw him coming down the middle of the road. They
separated with a space between them wide enough to
allow him to pass through. It was plain to be seen that
they intended to let him into the trap so that they could
attack him with one on each side.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_277">277</div>
<p>The Abbot sped on. Little by little he verged to the
edge of the road. The two knights verged with him
but kept the opening between them as wide as before.
They came on and on. They drove their spurs into
their horses. But the Abbot never altered his pace until
he was within a few feet of them. Then he drew his left
rein, sharply and with great quickness. The horse
under him was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. He
crossed to the side of the two assailants. When he was
abreast of them he swung his mace a crashing blow on
the head and shoulders of the nearest rider that shook
him to his heel. From where we were standing we saw
the man try to shift his weapon from the one hand to
the other. We heard the clang of the mace upon the
ringing steel. The knight fell forward. In his helplessness
he tried to hold on by grasping the horse&rsquo;s mane.
But his strength was gone. His fingers clutched into
the empty air and he sprawled like a sack of meal to the
earth.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_278">278</div>
<p>The Abbot, after he passed these two, drew up with
a jerk. He wheeled around before the last of the three
men could think fast enough to make a move, and before
the first knight (the one with the lance) was in
position to return to the fray. It was now one against
one. With all odds for the final victory in favor of the
Abbot, he grasped his mace in his hand and was about
to put spurs to his horse to make an attack.</p>
<p>I heard a cry from one of the archers who were now
coming up at a slower pace in the rear. He rose in
his saddle and pointed down the road towards the bend.
Just turning into full view we saw first the glint of the
sun upon bright steel. There were four men riding
towards us now&mdash;four, who, if they proved to be our
foes, would settle the combat without the shadow of a
doubt.</p>
<p>The Abbot lowered his mace. As though it were
hardly worth his effort to strike down the last of the
three who was now turning towards him to defend himself
alone, he pressed his knees against the horse, and
with a courage which I considered nothing more than
folly rode on to meet his new foes.</p>
<p>You will understand, of course, that what I have been
telling you happened in a very short time and with a
swiftness that kept our eyes dancing from spot to spot.
It was a whirlwind for speed and suddenness. Most
of the time I was filled with marvel. Never once did I
consider, now that I was free, that I ought to find a
means of escape nor did Charles or the two captive archers,
I am sure, have any other thought except their
interest in the fight.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_279">279</div>
<p>The Abbot took his course down the road. The men
who had attacked him at the very beginning (the archers
of the King) drew up on the side to let him pass.
Not one of them raised his bow. With all the ease in
the world they could have shot down the horse from
under him, but instead they let out a shout that rang
with approval. It was their sense of fairness, I suppose,
that caused them to do this, and their respect for
the boldness of the man. His deliberation, his surpassing
skill, his ease, but above all now his utter confidence
against such odds stirred their hearts with admiration
and regard.</p>
<p>The battle was to be fought further down the road.
Like a crowd of spectators at a tournament we saw
we had no advantage where we were standing, so swept
by the fervor and excitement of it all, the two captive
archers, Charles and I ran along the bank at the side
of the highway. We were within earshot when the
four knights and the Abbot met. Indeed the latter was
maneuvering his horse to dash into the fray when the
foremost of his adversaries raised his hand as a signal
that he was anxious for a parley.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You are not a servant of the King?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am his enemy!&rdquo; came the sturdy answer.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_280">280</div>
<p>&ldquo;There are four of us here,&rdquo; were the next words.
&ldquo;Are you anxious to die?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I shall die when my time comes, not before,&rdquo; replied
the Abbot. &ldquo;If there were a dozen, it would make
little difference.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The knight made a gesture with his hand.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We will give you every advantage,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We
will fight you one by one. Before we begin, will you let
me see your face?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Abbot hesitated and then laughed.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Agreed!&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Provided you let me see
yours.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Both men made a move with their hands, when the
eyes of us all were drawn to the figure of a lone rider
who had just come into sight around the bend in the
road. He was on a horse as black as the raven&rsquo;s wing.
He must have been driving hard for its flanks were covered
with white sweat and the froth was dripping from
its mouth. The man himself was not much bigger than
the Abbot. Although he was clad in a suit of black
chained mail and had a casque on with the visor closed,
I was able to see that his body was of unusual sturdiness
with great breadth of shoulders and thickness of limb.</p>
<p>When he came up he drew rein, and with a smoothness
that I had not expected, asked, &ldquo;A fight, my
gentles?&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_281">281</div>
<p>The Abbot answered.</p>
<p>&ldquo;&mdash;about to begin,&rdquo; he said.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Ho, ho!&rdquo; was the reply. &ldquo;But, I hope, not the four
of you against one?&rdquo;</p>
<p>I am sure the knight flushed under his helmet at the
slyness of the taunt.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Not at the same time,&rdquo; he answered, and shifted uneasily
on his saddle. &ldquo;But no matter. He ought to
die, for he is enemy of the King.&rdquo;</p>
<p>The other laughed, and slowly moved over to the side
of the Abbot.</p>
<p>&ldquo;And so am I,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Do you think I ought
to die too?&rdquo;</p>
<p>The knight gathered the reins in his hands.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
<p>The Abbot interrupted.</p>
<p>&ldquo;When you were coming up, my lord,&rdquo; he said turning
to the rider, &ldquo;we were about to uncover. I have
a suspicion that I know this man. He tells me that before
I die he would like to know me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
<p>But the knight made a gesture full of wrath.</p>
<p>&ldquo;We are wasting time!&rdquo; he cried and put his hand to
his visor. &ldquo;When you drop from your saddle&mdash;dead,
you will know that it was the Sieur de Marsac who killed
you!&rdquo;</p>
<p>The Abbot laughed, a slow taunting laugh.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_282">282</div>
<p>&ldquo;You know me as the Abbot of Chalonnes, my lord de
Marsac. My shadow has hovered over these hills and
valleys. I have balked your schemes and plans a hundred
times,&rdquo; he said impressively. &ldquo;But I have worn
other garbs than these,&mdash;and other faces. I have been a
fool, a beggar, a highwayman&mdash;a dozen persons in one.
I have watched you try trick after trick. I have snapped
my fingers under your nose. All the time you thought
yourself so clever, you have been but a bungler and a
dunce.&rdquo; He raised his visor inch by inch till his whole
face was revealed. &ldquo;Did you ever dream that you
would be confronted, in armor such as this and on a
footing equal to yours, your old friend, the Scrivener,
the Highwayman of Tours?&rdquo;</p>
<p>De Marsac&rsquo;s mouth fell open. He looked, as though
he were in a dream, from the Scrivener to the knight on
the black horse.</p>
<p>&ldquo;You!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I have seen you, too, some time
and some place before!&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;You have, de Marsac,&rdquo; came the reply in a voice that
shook like a peal of thunder. &ldquo;We have met ere this.
But today it will be for the last time. I shall not raise
my visor, for I think you know now it would be useless.
I am Edward, the son of England&rsquo;s King, the Black
Prince!&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_283">283</div>
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</div>
<h2 id="c27">CHAPTER XXVII
<br /><span class="small">THE BLACK PRINCE AGAIN</span></h2>
<p>The last sentence came like the crack of doom. The
four men started in their saddles. Even the horses
raised their heads and snorted. Without a word De
Marsac and the Abbot&mdash;or the Scrivener as I knew him&mdash;closed
their visors and with a grimness faced their
foes. The Black Prince drove his spurs into his horse&rsquo;s
side and plunged forward. He closed his huge fist and
swung his arm with all his might against the knight who
was nearest. There was no time to draw a weapon. So
sudden and with such determination was the attack that
the man caught the blow on his helmet full in the face.
His head went back with a snap and he fell to the road
without a sigh or groan.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_284">284</div>
<p>The Abbot was not far behind. He, too, urged his
horse to the fore. But even in the hurry he took time
to lay his hand upon his mace. The knight whom he
had singled out was quick enough to draw his sword
and to take a steady aim at the Abbot&rsquo;s head. As the
mace wheeled in the air the sword fell. It struck the
top of the Abbot&rsquo;s helmet so sharply that I heard the
ring of it where I was standing. The steel was dented
in but the sword shivered into a hundred pieces and left
the useless pommel in its owner&rsquo;s hand. Then the mace
struck. The clang of it was like the sound of a great
muffled bell. The Abbot had lifted himself in his stirrups
to get a better swing. The knotted points crashed
against the neck of his opponent. There was no armor
broken but the force of the blow was strong enough to
drive him forward with his face down flat over the
horse&rsquo;s mane.</p>
<p>That made two knights out of the fight at the first
encounter. It is true that De Marsac and the other had
tried to maneuver so that they could all strike at the
same time. But the speed with which the Black Prince
and the Scrivener had acted was more that they had
counted on. They were left, with their horses prancing
madly about, in the middle of the road while the two
victors galloped on past and slowly reined in their steeds
and turned around ready for the next trial.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_285">285</div>
<p>They came back at an even trot. The Abbot had his
mace grasped in his right hand taking a sure aim as
he came up. The Black Prince sat like an iron statue
on his horse. His mace, which was thrice the ordinary
size, hung idly at his side. The Abbot singled out the
remaining knight as his target. The men met. Their
maces rose and fell in the same breath. Their aim was
each at the other&rsquo;s head. But their arms locked. The
maces crashed together with a loud clap. The Abbot
turned in his saddle and with a slight movement gave
his wrist a twist. The mace fell out of his enemy&rsquo;s hand
and he was left on his horse with no weapon save his
sword.</p>
<p>The Black Prince looked on the fight as though it
were a mere play. He came on a little behind the Abbot,
straight at his foe. De Marsac knew the strength he
was to encounter. He poised his weapon in his hand to
get the balance of it so that he might strike his hardest
blow. He intended to come down upon his enemy&rsquo;s
head, for it was there that he considered him most vulnerable,
and if successful, would put a quick end to him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_286">286</div>
<p>He rose in his saddle. His mace was in the air. The
Black Prince stuck out his arm as though with it he
would ward off the force of the blow. The mace descended.
In the same second the Black Prince urged
his horse a little to the side. The arm that was to receive
the weight of De Marsac&rsquo;s mace suddenly dropped.
The blow was spent in the air and the weight of the
weapon and the force he had behind it toppled De Marsac
from his balance. His feet left the stirrup and he
fell in a cloud of dust to the road.</p>
<p>The Black Prince could have ended the fight here.
He might have jumped to the ground and crushed his
enemy with his mace. The advantage was his, but he
made no move except to lean over his foe and laugh.</p>
<p>&ldquo;De Marsac,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;you ought to wear a cap
and bells and carry a bauble in your hands. You would
make a good king&rsquo;s fool.&rdquo;</p>
<p>If De Marsac was angry before, he was full of venom
now. His horse had galloped off in fright and his mace
lay on the ground.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I am not done yet!&rdquo; he cried and he took his weapon
in his hand. &ldquo;I will fight you till the end.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_287">287</div>
<p>It was only an idle boast. The Black Prince threw
his leg over his horse and dropped lightly to the road.
De Marsac with the fury of a madman whirled his mace
about his head. He caught the Prince a heavy blow on
the shoulder which would have knocked an average man
kicking to the earth. The Prince stiffened himself to
receive the shock, then, when it was spent, he knotted
his mailed fist. He drove it with all his strength into
De Marsac&rsquo;s chest and dented the armor flat against
his body. De Marsac spun and staggered like a man
walking in a dream. Then, with his breath catching
in his throat, he uttered a heavy groan and fell his whole
length sprawling to the road.</p>
<p>I was so intent on the actions of the Black Prince
that I almost forgot the Abbot. He had knocked the
mace from his enemy&rsquo;s hand to be sure. And then,
when I turned to him again, I saw that the two men had
wheeled their horses about and were running at full tilt
at each other for the second time. The knight had his
sword in his hand but the Abbot, like the Black Prince,
was without arms of any kind, for he had hung his mace
at the side of his saddle. When the knight raised his
weapon to strike, the Abbot lowered his head and
shoulders. With a deft movement he caught his foe
by the wrist. As his horse was speeding past, he drew
in the reins and gave the wrist a sudden twist. It was
the same trick that he had done with the mace. The
sword dropped from the knight&rsquo;s hand but this time the
Abbot held on. He half dragged his foe from his saddle
and as he was slipping backward he dealt him a
swinging blow on the side that sent him headlong from
his seat rolling over till he flattened out on his back
with his arms extended in the form of a cross.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_288">288</div>
<p>I thought that the fight was now over and that all
we had to do was to join the victors. I was burning to
deliver my message to the Black Prince and to warn him
of the great danger that threatened him from the army
that was marching down the valley of the Loire. But
I had counted too soon. The archers, who up till now,
had drawn themselves up along the side of the road to
witness the fray, began to feel the doubtfulness of their
own safety. They saw, to their surprise, the Black
Prince and the Abbot bowl over the four knights as
though they were as inexperienced as boys. And when
the leader, De Marsac, was sent tumbling to the ground,
they looked to one another for a signal. Their captain
was, of course, gone, but the boldest of them strung an
arrow to his bow. The others followed suit. Before I
could grasp the situation there were the lot of them,
some aiming at the Black Prince, some at the Abbot,
and one, indeed, had the thought even to cover us.</p>
<p>Charles gave me a shove in the ribs. I knew what he
meant, so while the going was opportune, we edged
back step by step, until we found ourselves in the shelter
of one of the scrub trees. There were rocks around,
as I have already said, so that with no more ceremony we
jumped behind the first, then the second, till we were
far enough away to be entirely safe.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_289">289</div>
<p>Then I got the jar of my life. I heard a laugh, a
wicked mocking laugh. Before the echo of it died away
the Dwarf of Angers popped his head out from behind
the boulder next to us. He must have gone the whole
distance back to his cave, for he carried in his hands
three strong bows and as many quivers full of arrows
slung over his shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Take this,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and go back.&rdquo;</p>
<p>We were none too soon. The archers had already
shot a round at the Black Prince and the Abbot and
were stringing their bows for a second attack. The
armor of the two warriors had, of course, protected them
from hurt. They were both on foot and advancing step
by step with dogged resolution. But there was always
a chance that the point of an arrow pierce their armor
at the vulnerable spot where the headpiece is joined to
the corslet or through the opening for the eyes or mouth.</p>
<p>As soon as he saw what was happening, the Dwarf
let out one of his unearthly yells. He bade each of us
to single out a man. We raised our bows and the next
second the twang of them sung in our ears.</p>
<p>One fellow dropped kicking in the dust. The archer,
whom Charles hit, clapped his hand to his side and sank
down on the grass at the edge of the road. My fellow
was more fortunate, for, although I had taken a steady
aim at the region of his heart, he made a sudden move
as the arrow left the bow. I caught him above the elbow
in the fleshy part of the arm. Although his wound was
not deadly, it must have stung him with pain, for he uttered
a scream. He threw his bow at his feet and with
his arm limp at his side shuffled off to tear his shirt into
strips to stop the flow of blood.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_290">290</div>
<p>The victory was ours. It took only one round of
arrows to bring our foes to our feet. The few of those
left standing did not know which way to turn. The
Dwarf with Charles and me at his heels broke from out
our cover of the rocks. Each of us once more drew an
arrow on his man. But it was only a threat that needed
no carrying out. Our enemies saw that we had the
upper hand and that to make a further show of fight
would only mean their deaths. As though they were
obeying a command, they threw their weapons out into
the road and advanced with their hands extended as a
sign of their submission.</p>
<p>It was all over. I ran faster than I had ever run
before to the Abbot of Chalonnes. By this time he had
raised his visor and was beaming on me with all the old-time
twinkle in his eye.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Where is the dagger that you were to bring to the
Abbot of Chalonnes?&rdquo; he demanded playfully.</p>
<p>&ldquo;It is in the shirt of one of those fellows lying on the
road,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;He took it from me when they captured
us in the inn.&rdquo;</p>
<p>He gave me a resounding clap on the shoulder.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_291">291</div>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s of no consequence,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I let you take it
from me when I met you on the highway near your
home. I knew you were without weapons and I was
sure you would have need of it to protect yourself.&rdquo;
He smiled and looked at me a long time. &ldquo;Ah, lad,&rdquo;
he said finally, &ldquo;you have made a great fight of it. The
best of it all is that you have come through.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;how did you get here?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;I went back and made a long detour through the
north of France. I knew you would have trouble near
the end of your journey.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;But, my horse?&rdquo; I insisted. &ldquo;Where did you find
him?&rdquo;</p>
<p>He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.</p>
<p>&ldquo;The fellow who took him is lying back there somewhere
in the woods.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;And you&rsquo;re not a highwayman, nor a thief, nor a
scrivener after all?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Tut, tut!&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I told you once before that
you should never judge a man by his clothes. I&rsquo;m a
simple servant of the greatest fighter in France&mdash;the
Black Prince there. Come,&rdquo; he said touching me on the
arm. &ldquo;I think you have a word for him.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_292">292</div>
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</div>
<h2 id="c28">CHAPTER XXVIII
<br /><span class="small">VICTORY ... AND HOME</span></h2>
<p>I may say now that I have come to the end of my tale.
I had come through as the Abbot said. But to my way
of thinking it was more by blundering and good luck
than by any craft or circumspection of mine.</p>
<p>I was glad to have my horse back again. The feel of
him under me was like home. I rode along towards the
west&mdash;that is towards the encampment of the army of
the Black Prince&mdash;with more joy in my heart than had
been my share for many a day.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_293">293</div>
<p>It was by merest chance, I learned, that the Prince
was in the neighborhood at all. His army lay a good
two days&rsquo; journey off. He had sent scouts out to scour
the country round about to warn him if the highways
were safe for him to march to the south to his headquarters
for the winter at Bordeaux. He had even
gone out on an expedition himself. He had come upon
a troop of the King&rsquo;s horsemen and in pursuing them
had ridden far out of his way, had outdistanced his followers
and was lost for a night in the woods. He was
on his way back when he came upon us, riding hard, for
he had suspicions that there were more foes in the neighborhood
than he had imagined.</p>
<p>But when I unfolded to him the tale of what I had
gone through&mdash;of the activities in the valley of the
Loire, the preparations for war that were going on on
every hand, the vast number of soldiers (there were sixteen
thousand, twice the number of his entire force) that
were moving with the greatest secrecy towards the west,
when he heard this, I say, he gritted his teeth and cried
out, &ldquo;They want to cut us off on our way south. They
think they can crush the power of England in France.
They are tricksters and knaves, men like De Marsac and
his crew. But we have English brawn back of us, men
who will take their lives in their hands for the joy of
battle and of conflict. We&rsquo;ll beat them yet.&rdquo; He
clenched his fists and repeated it. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll beat them
yet.&rdquo;</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_294">294</div>
<p>And in the end it proved that he was right. I could
spend another hour in your company and relate to you
all that followed. But I feel that my manner of telling
it would be incomplete. Besides the scribes of our times&mdash;men
who knew how to wield the quill with greater
skill than I&mdash;have written a history of it for all who
will to read.</p>
<p>We came to the army of the Prince on the morning
of the third day where it was lying north of the city of
Poitiers. At once the movement started towards the
south. The wisest plan would be to avoid a battle if we
could. But we were scarcely under arms and it was
while we were passing the city to the east that we saw
the pennons of the King and after a while his horsemen
and his knights. The army that I had seen piecemeal
traveling down the valley of the Loire was joined in one.
There was no escape from it now for they were bent on
destruction and slaughter.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_295">295</div>
<p>We faced them. The Prince was a master in the
art of war. He chose his ground with all the care he
could for he had to offset the greater number of his
foes with matchless skill. The battle raged from early
morn to the setting of the sun. The archers shot their
arrows as thick as hail so that the air seemed filled with
flakes of snow with the darting of the white feathers.
Knights, who had won fame and name in every part of
Europe, hewed and hacked with their battle-axes and
their maces. Bright swords flashed like polished silver.
The lancers charged. Men were toppled from their
horses and rose again to fight it out upon the ground.
It was like a sea tossed into storm. And when night
fell the enemy withdrew fewer in number than they
began, humiliated in defeat, with a blow delivered at
them from which they for years to come were not able
to recover.</p>
<p>The flower of their warriors threw their lives away
in their arrogance and pride. The valley of the Loire
was opened up in case we chose to take it. If we had
had an army big enough the whole of France might
have been annexed to the English crown, for when the
prisoners were brought in it was to the amazement of
us all that among them was the greatest enemy we had&mdash;the
King of France himself!</p>
<p>You may be a bit curious to learn what part I took
in the fight. I was but a lad, of course, and hardly of
the strength to cope with knights who were seasoned and
toughened by years of life in camp and on the field of
battle. But even at that I did what might be considered
my share. The Abbot furnished me with what
accoutrement was needful. I rode beside him in the
fray. The mace he gave me was of a weight that I could
wield and the sword I used did its work as well as it
might have done in older hands than mine.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_296">296</div>
<p>At the first go I was overfull of haste. I had singled
out a foe and was hard at it when the swaying of the
fight carried him from me down the field. On another
occasion I found myself between two knights who were
vying with each other to see who could strike me down
the first. I warded off their fury with what skill I had
until one of them was stricken from behind by a hand
that was as sudden as it was sure. The other I struck a
fortunate blow for I stunned him so hard that he rode
off the field to nurse his wound.</p>
<p>Late in the afternoon I was knocked from my horse,
but had wit enough left to scramble again into the saddle.
I was tossed here and there with driving force as
the battle swayed this way or that. My helmet was
dented in from the swing of a mace. My right arm
near the shoulder was numbed from over action and
from a sword beat that had landed on it.</p>
<p>But I came out of it with a whole skin and no bones
broken which was enough to make me thankful. As for
Charles of Gramont, I never laid eyes on him from the
outbreak of the fight. It was long after dark when I
found him inquiring among the troops who had been
near me if they knew if I had fallen. When he saw
me he threw out his hands. I must confess that a kind
of weakness came over me at the sight of my companion.
As though we were children we flew to each other&rsquo;s
arms and cried like babies.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_297">297</div>
<p>Then came the parting. It is true that the Black
Prince asked us to go along with him to Bordeaux to
stay there for the winter with the promise that he would
take us with him in the early spring on a campaign into
Spain. For a while we were divided two ways, but the
longing for home won in the end. Charles was anxious
to get home to put his house in order and (now that he
was left alone) to give care to the estate. As for me, I
knew that my brother, Andr&eacute;, was lying awake far into
the nights, wondering what had become of me and
whether he would ever lay eyes on me again. Besides
the fall was coming on (it was already September) and
I knew the streams were full of fish and that the woods
about my home were thick with game.</p>
<p>You should have been present in our village when we
rode in. The country folk (they had been warned of
our coming beforehand) gathered from the fields. They
wore their best of everything and I can tell you that
their simple dress of velvet jerkins, their breeches of
leather, their hats with feathers in them, never looked
more welcome or more pleasing to my eye. You would
have thought it was some great holiday for the country
players were assembled. Jugglers and sleight-of-hand
artists and to my surprise the man with the birds whom
I had met on my journey out, came to greet us and to
display the best of their wares. And in the midst of
all the merrymaking it was my brother, Andr&eacute;, who was
the proudest man alive. He never left my side and
when my name was mentioned, he boasted of my courage
and my strength of will that led me on a quest
through the heart of our enemies, till I had to turn my
face away in shame.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_298">298</div>
<p>We settled down to the quiet life of the countryside.
The first snows of winter came and the fields about the
house were covered white, when a courier rode into the
yard. He was from Bordeaux on his way to the great
city of Paris to negotiate for peace and a return of the
King. He had been commanded, he said, to deliver a
letter from his master, the Black Prince.</p>
<p>With my brother Andr&eacute; looking over my shoulder, I
broke the seal and read,</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span class="jr">At Bordeaux.</span>
<span class="jr">December</span></p>
<p><i>To Henri la Mar, the Norman,<br />  My lad</i>,</p>
<p>It has long been in my minde to write you a lettre of thanks
for the helpfull deed you performed. Your name shall always be
enscrolled in my memorie and I shall think of you as a brave and
worthie servant of your countrie. If there come a time when you
wish to try your hande as a soldier of England, you will but come
to me.</p>
<p>Your timely warning saved an army from destruction. Not only
that, it saved your land and fireside from the greed of your enemies.</p>
<p><span class="jr"><span class="sc">Edward.</span></span></p>
<p><i>Postscriptum.</i></p>
<p>It may be to your interest to learn that De Marsac recovered
from the blow I gave him when we fought together on the highway.
But he was slain later at Poitiers.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>That was all.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_299">299</div>
<p>&ldquo;Well, Henri,&rdquo; said Andr&eacute;, &ldquo;that letter is worth
while.&rdquo;</p>
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