the
last of the wild men down the steep steps which led from the end
of it.
"do not follow them," cried du guesclin. "we are lost if we
scatter. for myself i care not a denier, though it is a poor
thing to meet one's end at the hands of such scum; but i have my
dear lady here, who must by no means be risked. we have
breathing-space now, and i would ask you, sir nigel, what it is
that you would counsel?"
"by st. paul!" answered sir nigel, "i can by no means understand
what hath befallen us, save that i have been woken up by your
battle-cry, and, rushing forth, found myself in the midst of this
small bickering. harrow and alas for the lady and the seneschal!
what dogs are they who have done this bloody deed?"
"they are the jacks, the men of the brushwood. they have the
castle, though i know not how it hath come to pass, look from
this window into the bailey."
"by heaven!" cried sir nigel, "it is as bright as day with the
torches. the gates stand open, and there are three thousand of
them within the walls. see how they rush and scream and wave!
what is it that they thrust out through the postern door? my
god! it is a man-at-arms, and they pluck him limb from limb like
hounds on a wolf. now another, and yet another. they hold the
whole castle, for i see their faces at the windows. see, there
are some with great bundles on their backs."
"it is dried wood from the forest. they pile them against the
walls and set them in a blaze. who is this who tries to check
them? by st. ives! it is the good priest who spake for them in
the hall. he kneels, he prays, he implores! what! villains,
would ye raise hands against those who have befriended you? ah,
the butcher has struck him! he is down! they stamp him under
their feet! they tear off his gown and wave it in the air! see
now, how the flames lick up the walls! are there none left to
rally round us? with a hundred men we might hold our own."
"oh, for my company!" cried sir nigel. "but where is ford,
alleyne?"
"he is foully murdered, my fair lord."
"the saints receive him! may he rest in peace! but here come
some at last who may give us counsel, for amid these passages it
is ill to stir without a guide."
as he spoke, a french squire and the bohemian knight came rushing
down the steps, the latter bleeding from a slash across his
forehead.
"all is lost!" he cried. "the castle is taken and on fire, the
seneschal is slain, and there is nought left for us."
"on the contrary," quoth sir nigel, "there is much left to us,
for there is a very honorable contention before us, and a fair
lady for whom to give our lives. there are many ways in which a
man might die, but none better than this."
"you can tell us, godfrey," said du guesclin to the french
squire: "how came these men into the castle, and what succors can
we count upon? by st. ives! if we come not quickly to some
counsel we shall be burned like young rooks in a nest."
the squire, a dark, slender stripling, spoke firmly and quickly,
as one who was trained to swift action. "there is a passage
under the earth into the castle," said he, "and through it some
of the jacks made their way, casting open the gates for the
others. they have had help from within the walls, and the men-at-
arms were heavy with wine: they must have been slain in their
beds, for these devils crept from room to room with soft step and
ready knife. sir amory the hospitaller was struck down with an
axe as he rushed before us from his sleeping-chamber. save only
ourselves, i do not think that there are any left alive."
"what, then, would you counsel?"
"that we make for the keep. it is unused, save in time of war,
and the key hangs from my poor lord and master's belt."
"there are two keys there."
"it is the larger. once there, we might hold the narrow stair;
and at least, as the walls are of a greater thickness, it would
be longer ere they could burn them. could we but carry the lady
across the bailey, all might be well with us."
"nay; the lady hath seen something of the work of war," said
tiphaine coming forth, as white, as grave, and as unmoved as
ever. "i would not be a hamper to you, my dear spouse and
gallant friend. rest assured of this, that if all else fail i
have always a safeguard here"--drawing a small silver-hilted
poniard from her bosom--"which sets me beyond the fear of these
vile and blood-stained wretches."
"tiphaine," cried du guesclin, "i have always loved you; and now,
by our lady of rennes! i love you more than ever. did i not know
that your hand will be as ready as your words i would myself turn
my last blow upon you, ere you should fall into their hands.
lead on, godfrey! a new golden pyx will shine in the minster of
dinan if we come safely through with it."
the attention of the
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