XXI. HOW THE SECOND MESSENGER WENT TO COSFORD
Under cover of night the wounded men were lifted from the ditch
and carried back, whilst pickets of archers were advanced to the
very gate so that none should rebuild it. Nigel, sick at heart
over his own failure, the death of his prisoner and his fears for
Aylward, crept back into the camp, but his cup was not yet full,
for Knolles was waiting for him with a tongue which cut like a
whip-lash. Who was he, a raw squire, that he should lead an
attack without orders? See what his crazy knight errantry had
brought about. Twenty men had been destroyed by it and nothing
gained. Their blood was on his head. Chandos should hear of his
conduct. He should be sent back to England when the castle had
fallen.
Such were the bitter words of Knolles, the more bitter because
Nigel felt in his heart that he had indeed done wrong, and that
Chandos would have said the same though, perchance, in kinder
words. He listened in silent respect, as his duty was, and then
having saluted his leader he withdrew apart, threw himself down
amongst the bushes, and wept the hottest tears of his life,
sobbing bitterly with his face between his hands. He had striven
hard, and yet everything had gone wrong with him. He was bruised,
burned and aching from head to foot. Yet so high is the spirit
above the body that all was nothing compared to the sorrow and
shame which racked his soul.
But a little thing changed the current of his thoughts and brought
some peace to his mind. He had slipped off his mail gauntlets,
and as he did so his fingers lighted upon the tiny bangle which
Mary had fastened there when they stood together upon St.
Catharine's Hill on the Guildford Road. He remembered the motto
curiously worked in filigree of gold. It ran: "Fais ce que dois,
adviegne que pourra - c'est commande au chevalier."
The words rang in his weary brain. He had done what seemed right,
come what might. It had gone awry, it is true; but all things
human may do that. If he had carried the castle, he felt that
Knolles would have forgiven and forgotten all else. If he had not
carried it, it was no fault of his. No man could have done more.
If Mary could see she would surely have approved. Dropping into
sleep, he saw her dark face, shining with pride and with pity,
stooping over him as he lay. She stretched out her hand in his
dream and touched him on the shoulder. He sprang up and rubbed
his eyes, for fact had woven itself into dream in the strange way
that it does, and some one was indeed leaning over him in the
gloom, and shaking him from his slumbers. But the gentle voice
and soft touch of the Lady Mary had changed suddenly to the harsh
accents and rough grip of Black Simon, the fierce Norfolk
man-at-arms.
"Surely you are the Squire Loring," he said, peering close to his
face in the darkness.
"I am he. What then?"
"I have searched through the camp for you, but when I saw the
great horse tethered near these bushes, I thought you would be
found hard by. I would have a word with you."
"Speak on."
"This man Aylward the bowman was my friend, and it is the nature
that God has given me to love my friends even as I hate my foes.
He is also thy servant, and it has seemed to me that you love him
also."
"I have good cause so to do."
"Then you and I, Squire Loring, have more reason to strive on his
behalf than any of these others, who think more of taking the
castle than of saving those who are captives within. Do you not
see that such a man as this robber lord would, when all else had
failed him, most surely cut the throats of his prisoners at the
last instant before the castle fell, knowing well that come what
might he would have short shrift himself ? Is that not certain?"
"By Saint Paul! I had not thought of it."
"I was with you, hammering at the inner gate," said Simon, "and
yet once when I thought that it was giving way I said in my heart:
`Good-by, Samkin! I shall never see you more.' This Baron has
gall in his soul, even as I have myself, and do you think that I
would give up my prisoners alive, if I were constrained so to do?
No, no; had we won our way this day it would have been the
death-stroke for them all."
"It may be that you are right, Simon," said Nigel, "and the
thought of it should assuage our grief. But if we cannot save
them by taking the castle, then surely they are lost indeed."
"It may be so, or it may not," Simon answered slowly. "It is in
my mind that if the castle were taken very suddenly, and in such a
fashion that they could not foresee it, then perchance we might
get the prisoners before they could do them scathe."
Nigel bent forward eagerly, his hand on the soldier's arm.
"You have some plan in your mind, Simon. Tell me what it is."
"I had wished to tell Sir Robert, but he is preparing the assault
for to-morrow and will not be turned from his purpose. I have
indeed a plan, but whether it be good or not I cannot say until I
have tried it. But first I will tell you what put it into my
thoughts. Know then that this morning when I was in yonder ditch
I marked one of their men upon the wall. He was a big man with a
white face, red hair and a touch of Saint Anthony's fire upon the
cheek."
"But what has this to do with Aylward?"
"I will show you. This evening after the assault I chanced to
walk with some of my fellows, round yonder small fort upon the
knoll to see if we could spy a weak spot in it. Some of them came
to the wall to curse us, and among them whom should I see but a
big man with a white face, red hair and a touch of Anthony's fire
upon his cheek? What make you of that, Squire Nigel?"
"That this man had crossed from the castle to the fort."
"In good sooth, it must indeed be so. There are not two such
ken-speckled men in the world. But if he crossed from the castle
to the fort, it was not above the ground, for our own people were
between."
"By Saint Paul! I see your meaning!" cried Nigel. "It is in your
mind that there is a passage under the earth from one to the
other."
"I am well sure of it."
"Then if we should take the small fort we may pass down this
tunnel, and so carry the great castle also."
"Such a thing might happen," said Simon, "and yet it is dangerous
also, for surely those in the castle would hear our assault upon
the fort and so be warned to bar the passage against us, and to
slay the prisoners before we could come."
"What then is your rede?"
"Could we find where the tunnel lay, Squire Nigel, I know not what
is to prevent us from digging down upon it and breaking into it so
that both fort and castle are at our mercy before either knows
that we are there."
Nigel clapped his hands with joy. "'Fore God!" he cried. "It is
a most noble plan! But alas! Simon, I see not how we can tell
the course of this passage or where we should dig."
"I have peasants yonder with spades," said Simon. "There are two
of my friends, Harding of Barnstable and West-country John who are
waiting for us with their gear. If you will come to lead us,
Squire Nigel, we are ready to venture our bodies in the attempt."
What would Knolles say in case they failed? The thought flashed
through Nigel's mind, but another came swiftly behind it. He
would not venture further unless he found hopes of success. And
if he did venture further he would put his life upon it. Giving
that, he made amends for all errors. And if on the other hand
success crowned their efforts, then Knolles would forgive his
failure at the gateway. A minute later, every doubt banished from
his mind, he was making his way through the darkness under the
guidance of Black Simon.
Outside the camp the two other men-at-arms were waiting for them,
and the four advanced together. Presently a little group of
figures loomed up in the darkness. It was a cloudy night, and a
thin rain was falling which obscured both the castle and the fort;
but a stone had been placed by Simon in the daytime which assured
that they were between the two.
"Is blind Andreas there?" asked Simon.
"Yes, kind sir, I am here," said a voice.
"This man," said Simon, "was once rich and of good repute, but he
was beggared by this robber lord, who afterwards put out his eyes
so that he has lived for many years in darkness at the charity of
others."
"How can he help us in our enterprise if he be indeed blind?"
asked Nigel.
"It is for that very reason, fair lord, that he can be of greater
service than any other man," Simon answered; "for it often happens
that when a man has lost a sense the good God will strengthen
those that remain. Hence it is that Andreas has such ears that he
can hear the sap in the trees or the cheep of the mouse in its
burrow. He has come to help us to find the tunnel."
"And I have found it," said the blind man proudly. "Here I have
placed my staff upon the line of it. Twice as I lay there with my
ear to the ground I have heard footsteps pass beneath me."
"I trust you make no mistake, old man," said Nigel.
For answer the blind man raised his staff and smote twice upon the
ground, once to the right and once to the left. The one gave a
dull thud, the other a hollow boom.
"Can you not hear that?" he asked. "Will you ask me now if I make
a mistake?"
"Indeed, we are much beholden to you!" cried Nigel. "Let the
peasants dig then, and as silently as they may. Do you keep your
ear upon the ground, Andreas, so that if anyone pass beneath us we
shall be warned."
So, amid the driving rain, the little group toiled in the
darkness. The blind man lay silent, flat upon his face, and twice
they heard his warning hiss and stopped their work, whilst some
one passed beneath. In an hour they had dug down to a stone arch
which was clearly the outer side of the tunnel roof. Here was a
sad obstacle, for it might take long to loosen a stone, and if
their work was not done by the break of day then their enterprise
was indeed hopeless. They loosened the mortar with a dagger, and
at last dislodged one small stone which enabled them to get at the
others. Presently a dark hole blacker than the night around them
yawned at their feet, and their swords could touch no bottom to
it. They had opened the tunnel.
"I would fain enter it first," said Nigel. "I pray you to lower
me down." They held him to the full length of their arms and then
letting him drop they heard him land safely beneath them. An
instant later the blind man started up with a low cry of alarm.
"I hear steps coming," said he. "They are far off, but they draw
nearer."
Simon thrust his head and neck down the hole. "Squire Nigel," he
whispered, "can you hear me?"
"I can hear you, Simon."
"Andreas says that some one comes."
"Then cover over the hole," came the answer. "Quick, I pray you,
cover it over!"
A mantle was stretched across it, so that no glimmer of light
should warn the new-comer. The fear was that he might have heard,
the sound of Nigel's descent. But soon it was clear that he had
not done so, for Andreas announced that he was still advancing.
Presently Nigel could hear the distant thud of his feet. If he
bore a lantern all was lost. But no gleam of light appeared in
the black tunnel, and still the footsteps drew nearer.
Nigel breathed a prayer of thanks to all his guardian saints as he
crouched close to the slimy wall and waited breathless, his dagger
in his hand. Nearer yet and nearer came the steps. He could hear
the stranger's coarse breathing in the darkness. Then as he
brushed past Nigel bounded upon him with a tiger spring. There
was one gasp of astonishment, and not a sound more, for the
Squire's grip was on the man's throat and his body was pinned
motionless against the wall.
"Simon! Simon!" cried Nigel loudly.
The mantle was moved from the hole.
"Have you a cord? Or your belts linked together may serve."
One of the peasants had a rope, and Nigel soon felt it dangling
against his hand. He listened and there was no sound in the
passage. For an instant he released his captive's throat. A
torrent of prayers and entreaties came forth. The man was shaking
like a leaf in the wind. Nigel pressed the point of his dagger
against his face and dared him to open his lips. Then he slipped
the rope beneath his arms and tied it.
"Pull him up!" he whispered, and for an instant the gray glimmer
above him was obscured.
"We have him, fair sir," said Simon.
"Then drop me the rope and hold it fast."
A moment later Nigel stood among the group of men who had gathered
round their captive. It was too dark to see him, and they dare
not strike flint and steel.
Simon passed his hand roughly over him and felt a fat clean-shaven
face, and a cloth gabardine which hung to the ankles. "Who are
you?" he whispered. " peak the truth and speak it low, if you
would ever speak again."
The man's teeth chattered in his head with cold and fright. "I
speak no English," he murmured.
"French, then," said Nigel.
"I am a holy priest of God. You court the ban of holy Church when
you lay hands upon me. I pray you let me go upon my way, for
there are those whom I would shrive and housel. If they should
die in sin, their damnation is upon you."
"How are you called then?"
"I am Dom Peter de Cervolles."
"De Cervolles, the arch-priest, he who heated the brazier when
they burned out my eyes," cried old Andreas. "Of all the devils
in hell there is none fouler than this one. Friends, friends, if
I have done aught for you this night, I ask but one reward, that
ye let me have my will of this man."
But Nigel pushed the old man back. "There is no time for this,"
he said. "Now hark you, priest - if priest indeed you be - your
gown and tonsure will not save you if you play us false, for we
are here of a set purpose and we will go forward with it, come
what may. Answer me and answer me truly or it will be an ill
night for you. In what part of the Castle does this tunnel
enter?"
"In the lower cellar."
"What is at the end?"
"An oaken door."
"Is it barred?"
"Yes, it is barred."
"How would you have entered?"
"I would have given the password."
"Who then would have opened?"
"There is a guard within."
"And beyond him?"
"Beyond him are the prison cells and the jailers."
"Who else would be afoot?"
"No one save a guard at the gate and another on the battlement."
"What then is the password?"
The man was silent.
"The password, fellow!"
The cold points of two daggers pricked his throat; but still he
would not speak.
"Where is the blind man?" asked Nigel. "Here, Andreas, you can
have him and do what you will with him."
"Nay, nay," the priest whimpered. "Keep him off me. Save me from
blind Andreas! I will tell you everything."
"The password then, this instant?"
"It is `Benedicite!'"
"We have the password, Simon," cried Nigel. "Come then, let us on
to the farther end. These peasants will guard the priest, and
they will remain here lest we wish to send a message."
"Nay, fair sir, it is in my mind that we can do better," said
Simon. "Let us take the priest with us, so that he who is within
may know his voice."
"It is well thought of," said Nigel, "and first let us pray
together, for indeed this night may well be our last."
He and the three men-at-arms knelt in the rain and sent up their
simple orisons, Simon still clutching tight to his prisoner's
wrist.
The priest fumbled in his breast and drew something forth. "It is
the heart of the blessed confessor Saint Enogat," said he. "It
may be that it will ease and assoil your souls if you would wish
to handle it."
The four Englishmen passed the flat silver case from hand to hand,
each pressing his lips devoutly upon it. Then they rose to their
feet. Nigel was the first to lower himself down the hole; then
Simon; then the priest, who was instantly seized by the other two.
The men-at-arms followed them. They had scarcely moved away from
the hole when Nigel stopped.
"Surely some one else came after us," said he.
They listened, but no whisper or rustle came from behind them.
For a minute they paused and then resumed their journey through
the dark. It seemed a long, long way, though in truth it was but
a few hundred yards before they came to a door with a glimmer of
yellow light around it, which barred their passage. Nigel struck
upon it with his hand.
There was the rasping of a bolt and then a loud voice "Is that
you, priest?"
"Yes, it is I," said the prisoner in a quavering voice. "Open,
Arnold!"
The voice was enough. There was no question of passwords. The
door swung inward, and in an instant the janitor was cut down by
Nigel and Simon. So sudden and so fierce was the attack that save
for the thud of his body no sound was heard. A flood of light
burst outward into the passage, and the Englishmen stood with
blinking eyes in its glare.
In front of them lay a stone-flagged corridor, across which lay
the dead body of the janitor. It had doors on either side of it,
and another grated door at the farther end. A strange hubbub, a
kind of low droning and whining filled the air. The four men were
standing listening, full of wonder as to what this might mean,
when a sharp cry came from behind them. The priest lay in a
shapeless heap upon the ground, and the blood was rushing from his
gaping throat. Down the passage, a black shadow in the yellow
light, there fled a crouching man, who clattered with a stick as
he went.
"It is Andreas," cried West-country Will. "He has slain him."
"Then it was he that I heard behind us," said Nigel. "Doubtless
he was at our very heels in the darkness. I fear that the
priest's cry has been heard."
"Nay," said Simon, "there are so many cries that one more may well
pass. Let us take this lamp from the wall and see what sort of
devil's den we have around us."
They opened the door upon the right, and so horrible a smell
issued from it that they were driven back from it. The lamp which
Simon held forward showed a monkeylike creature mowing and
grimacing in the corner, man or woman none could tell, but driven
crazy by loneliness and horror. In the other cell was a
graybearded man fettered to the wall, looking blankly before him,
a body without a soul, yet with life still in him, for his dull
eyes turned slowly in their direction. But it was from behind the
central door at the end of the passage that the chorus of sad
cries came which filled the air.
"Simon," said Nigel, "before we go farther we will take this outer
door from its hinges. With it we will block this passage so that
at the worst we may hold our ground here until help comes. Do you
back to the camp as fast as your feet can bear you. The peasants
will draw you upward through the hole. Give my greetings to Sir
Robert and tell him that the castle is taken without fail if he
comes this way with fifty men. Say that we have made a lodgment
within the walls. And tell him also, Simon, that I would counsel
him to make a stir before the gateway so that the guard may be
held there whilst we make good our footing behind them. Go, good
Simon, and lose not a moment!"
But the man-at-arms shook his head. "It is I who have brought you
here, fair sir, and here I bide through fair and foul. But you
speak wisely and well, for Sir Robert should indeed be told what
is going forward now that we have gone so far. Harding, do you go
with all speed and bear the gentle Nigel's message."
Reluctantly the man-at-arms sped upon his errand. They could hear
the racing of his feet and the low jingle of his harness until
they died away in the tunnel. Then the three companions
approached the door at the end. It was their intention to wait
where they were until help should come, but suddenly amid the
babel of cries within there broke forth an English voice, shouting
in torment.
"My God!" it cried, "I pray you, comrades, for a cup of water, as
you hope for Christ's mercy!"
A shout of laughter and the thud of a heavy blow followed the
appeal.
All the hot blood rushed to Nigel's head at the sound, buzzing in
his ears and throbbing in his temples. There are times when the
fiery heart of a man must overbear the cold brain of a soldier.
With one bound he was at the door, with another he was through it,
the men-at-arms at his heels. So strange was the scene before
them that for an instant all three stood motionless with horror
and surprise.
It was a great vaulted chamber, brightly lit by many torches. At
the farther end roared a great fire. In front of it three naked
men were chained to posts in such a way that flinch as they might
they could never get beyond the range of its scorching heat. Yet
they were so far from it that no actual burn would be inflicted if
they could but keep turning and shifting so as continually to
present some fresh portion of their flesh to the flames. Hence
they danced and whirled in front of the fire, tossing ceaselessly
this way and that within the compass of their chains, wearied to
death, their protruding tongues cracked and blackened with thirst,
but unable for one instant to rest from their writhings and
contortions.
Even stranger was the sight at each side of the room, whence came
that chorus of groans which had first struck upon the ears of
Nigel and his companions. A line of great hogsheads were placed
alongside the walls, and within each sat a man, his head
protruding from the top. As they moved within there was a
constant splashing and washing of water. The white wan faces all
turned together as the door flew open, and a cry of amazement and
of hope took the place of those long-drawn moans of despair.
At the same instant two fellows clad in black, who had been seated
with a flagon of wine between them at a table near the fire,
sprang wildly to their feet, staring with blank amazement at this
sudden inrush. That instant of delay deprived them of their last
chance of safety. Midway down the room was a flight of stone
steps which led to the main door.
Swift as a wildcat Nigel bounded toward it and gained the steps a
stride or two before the jailers. They turned and made for the
other which led to the passage, but Simon and his comrades were
nearer to it than they. Two sweeping blows, two dagger thrusts
into writhing figures, and the ruffians who worked the will of the
Butcher lay dead upon the floor of their slaughter-house.
Oh, the buzz of joy and of prayer from all those white lips! Oh,
the light of returning hope in all those sunken weary eyes! One
wild shout would have gone up had not Nigel's outstretched hands
and warning voice hushed them to silence.
He opened the door behind him. A curving newel staircase wound
upward into the darkness. He listened, but no sound came down.
There was a key in the outer lock of the iron door. He whipped it
out and turned it on the inner side. The ground that they had
gained was safe. Now they could turn to the relief of these poor
fellows beside them. A few strong blows struck off the irons and
freed the three dancers before the fire. With a husky croak of
joy, they rushed across to their comrades' water-barrels, plunged
their heads in like horses, and drank and drank and drank. Then
in turn the poor shivering wretches were taken out of the barrels,
their skins bleached and wrinkled with long soaking. Their bonds
were torn from them; but, cramped and fixed, their limbs refused
to act, and they tumbled and twisted upon the floor in their
efforts to reach Nigel and to kiss his hand.
In a corner lay Aylward, dripping from his barrel and exhausted
with cold and hunger. Nigel ran to his side and raised his head.
The jug of wine from which the two jailers had drunk still stood
upon their table. The Squire placed it to the archer's lips and
he took a hearty pull at it.
"How is it with you now, Aylward?"
"Better, Squire, better, but may I never touch water again as long
as I live! Alas! poor Dicon has gone, and Stephen also - the
life chilled out of them. The cold is in the very marrow of my
bones. I pray you, let me lean upon your arm as far as the fire,
that I may warm the frozen blood and set it running in my veins
once more."
A strange sight it was to see these twenty naked men crouching in
a half-circle round the fire with their trembling hands extended
to the blaze. Soon their tongues at least were thawed, and they
poured out the story of their troubles with many a prayer and
ejaculation to the saints for their safe delivery. No food had
crossed their lips since they had been taken. The Butcher had
commanded them to join his garrison and to shoot upon their
comrades from the wall. When they refused he had set aside three
of them for execution.
The others had been dragged to the cellar, whither the leering
tyrant had followed them. Only one question he had asked them,
whether they were of a hot-blooded nature or of a cold. Blows
were showered upon them until they answered. Three had said cold,
and had been condemned to the torment of the fire. The rest who
had said hot were delivered up to the torture of the water-cask.
Every few hours this man or fiend had come down to exult over
their sufferings and to ask them whether they were ready yet to
enter his service. Three had consented and were gone. But the
others had all of them stood firm, two of them even to their
death.
Such was the tale to which Nigel and his comrades listened whilst
they waited impatiently for the coming of Knolles and his men.
Many an anxious look did they cast down the black tunnel, but no
glimmer of light and no clash of steel came from its depths.
Suddenly, however, a loud and measured sound broke upon their
ears. It was a dull metallic clang, ponderous and slow, growing
louder and ever louder - the tread of an armored man. The poor
wretches round the fire, all unnerved by hunger and suffering,
huddled together with wan, scared faces, their eyes fixed in
terror on the door.
"It is he!" they whispered. "It is the Butcher himself!"
Nigel had darted to the door and listened intently. There were no
footfalls save those of one man. Once sure of that, he softly
turned the key in the lock. At the same instant there came a
bull's bellow from without.
"Ives! Bertrand!" cried the voice. "Can you not hear me coming,
you drunken varlets? You shall cool your own heads in the
water-casks, you lazy rascals! What, not even now! Open, you
dogs. Open, I say!"
He had thrust down the latch, and with a kick he flung the door
wide and rushed inward. For an instant he stood motionless, a
statue of dull yellow metal, his eyes fixed upon the empty casks
and the huddle of naked men. Then with the roar of a trapped
lion, he turned, but the door had slammed behind him, and Black
Simon, with grim figure and sardonic face, stood between.
The Butcher looked round him helplessly, for he was unarmed save
for his dagger. Then his eyes fell upon Nigel's roses.
"You are a gentleman of coat-armor," he cried. "I surrender
myself to you."
"I will not take your surrender, you black villain," said Nigel.
"Draw and defend yourself. Simon, give him your sword."
"Nay, this is madness," said the blunt man-at-arms. "Why should I
give the wasp a sting?"
"Give it him, I say. I cannot kill him in cold blood."
"But I can!" yelled Aylward, who had crept up from the fire.
"Come, comrades! By these ten finger-bones! has he not taught us
how cold blood should be warmed?"
Like a pack of wolves they were on him, and he clanged upon the
floor with a dozen frenzied naked figures clutching and clinging
above him. In vain Nigel tried to pull them off. They were mad
with rage, these tortured starving men, their eyes fixed and
glaring, their hair on end, their teeth gnashing with fury, while
they tore at the howling, writhing man. Then with a rattle and
clatter they pulled him across the room by his two ankles and
dragged him into the fire.
Nigel shuddered and turned away his eyes as he saw the brazen
figure roll out and stagger to his knees, only to be hurled once
more into the heart of the blaze. His prisoners screamed with joy
and clapped their hands as they pushed him back with their feet
until the armor was too hot for them to touch. Then at last he
lay still and glowed darkly red, whilst the naked men danced in a
wild half-circle round the fire.
But now at last the supports had come. Lights flashed and armor
gleamed down the tunnel. The cellar filled with armed men, while
from above came the cries and turmoil of the feigned assault upon
the gate. Led by Knolles and Nigel, the storming party rushed
upward and seized the courtyard. The guard of the gate taken in
the rear threw down their weapons and cried for mercy. The gate
was thrown open and the assailants rushed in, with hundreds of
furious peasants at their heels. Some of the robbers died in hot
blood, many in cold; but all died, for Knolles had vowed to give
no quarter. Day was just breaking when the last fugitive had been
hunted out and slain. From all sides came the yells and whoops of
the soldiers with the rending and riving of doors as they burst
into the store-rooms and treasure-chambers. There was a joyous
scramble amongst them, for the plunder of eleven years, gold and
jewels, satins and velvets, rich plate and noble hangings were all
to be had for the taking.
The rescued prisoners, their hunger appeased and their clothes
restored, led the search for booty. Nigel, leaning on his sword
by the gateway, saw Aylward totter past, a huge bundle under each
arm, another slung over his back and a smaller packet hanging from
his mouth. He dropped it for a moment as he passed his young
master.
"By these ten finger-bones! I am right glad that I came to the
war, and no man could ask for a more goodly life," said he. "I
have a present here for every girl in Tilford, and my father need
never fear the frown of the sacrist of Waverley again. But how of
you, Squire Loring? It standeth not aright that we should gather
the harvest whilst you, who sowed it, go forth empty-handed.
Come, gentle sir, take these things that I have gathered, and I
will go back and find more."
But Nigel smiled and shook his head. "You have gained what your
heart desired, and perchance I have done so also," said he.
An instant later Knolles strode up to him with outstretched hand.
"I ask your pardon, Nigel," said he. "I have spoken too hotly in
my wrath."
"Nay, fair sir, I was at fault."
"If we stand here now within this castle, it is to you that I owe
it. The King shall know of it, and Chandos also. Can I do aught
else, Nigel, to prove to you the high esteem in which I hold you?"
The Squire flushed with pleasure. "Do you send a messenger home
to England, fair sir, with news of these doings?"
"Surely, I must do so. But do not tell me, Nigel, that you would
be that messenger. Ask me some other favor, for indeed I cannot
let you go."
"Now God forbid!" cried Nigel. "By Saint Paul! I would not be so
caitiff and so thrall as to leave you, when some small deed might
still be done. But I would fain send a message by your
messenger."
"To whom?"
"It is to the Lady Mary, daughter of old Sir John Buttesthorn who
dwells near Guildford."
"But you will write the message, Nigel. Such greetings as a
cavalier sends to his lady-love should be under seal."
"Nay, he can carry my message by word of mouth."
"Then I shall tell him for he goes this morning. What message,
then, shall he say to the lady?"
"He will give her my very humble greeting, and he will say to her
that for the second time Saint Catharine has been our friend."
