"CHAPTER I\n\nHere is a story that has lain dormant for seven hundred years. At first\nit was suppressed by one of the Plantagenet kings of England. Later it\nwas forgotten. I happened to dig it up by accident. The accident being\nthe relationship of my wife's cousin to a certain Father Superior in a\nvery ancient monastery in Europe.\n\nHe let me pry about among a quantity of mildewed and musty manuscripts\nand I came across this. It is very interesting--partially since it is a\nbit of hitherto unrecorded history, but principally from the fact that\nit records the story of a most remarkable revenge and the adventurous\nlife of its innocent victim--Richard, the lost prince of England.\n\nIn the retelling of it, I have left out most of the history. What\ninterested me was the unique character about whom the tale revolves--the\nvisored horseman who--but let us wait until we get to him.\n\nIt all happened in the thirteenth century, and while it was happening,\nit shook England from north to south and from east to west; and reached\nacross the channel and shook France. It started, directly, in the London\npalace of Henry III, and was the result of a quarrel between the King\nand his powerful brother-in-law, Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.\n\nNever mind the quarrel, that's history, and you can read all about it at\nyour leisure. But on this June day in the year of our Lord 1243, Henry\nso forgot himself as to very unjustly accuse De Montfort of treason in\nthe presence of a number of the King's gentlemen.\n\nDe Montfort paled. He was a tall, handsome man, and when he drew himself\nto his full height and turned those gray eyes on the victim of his\nwrath, as he did that day, he was very imposing. A power in England,\nsecond only to the King himself, and with the heart of a lion in him, he\nanswered the King as no other man in all England would have dared answer\nhim.\n\n\"My Lord King,\" he cried, \"that you be my Lord King alone prevents Simon\nde Montfort from demanding satisfaction for such a gross insult. That\nyou take advantage of your kingship to say what you would never dare say\nwere you not king, brands me not a traitor, though it does brand you a\ncoward.\"\n\nTense silence fell upon the little company of lords and courtiers as\nthese awful words fell from the lips of a subject, addressed to his\nking. They were horrified, for De Montfort's bold challenge was to them\nbut little short of sacrilege.\n\nHenry, flushing in mortification and anger, rose to advance upon De\nMontfort, but suddenly recollecting the power which he represented, he\nthought better of whatever action he contemplated and, with a haughty\nsneer, turned to his courtiers.\n\n\"Come, my gentlemen,\" he said, \"methought that we were to have a turn\nwith the foils this morning. Already it waxeth late. Come, De Fulm! Come,\nLeybourn!\" and the King left the apartment followed by his gentlemen,\nall of whom had drawn away from the Earl of Leicester when it became\napparent that the royal displeasure was strong against him. As the\narras fell behind the departing King, De Montfort shrugged his broad\nshoulders, and turning, left the apartment by another door.\n\nWhen the King, with his gentlemen, entered the armory he was still\nsmarting from the humiliation of De Montfort's reproaches, and as he\nlaid aside his surcoat and plumed hat to take the foils with De Fulm,\nhis eyes alighted on the master of fence, Sir Jules de Vac, who was\nadvancing with the King's foil and helmet. Henry felt in no mood for\nfencing with De Fulm, who, like the other sycophants that surrounded\nhim, always allowed the King easily to best him in every encounter.\n\nDe Vac he knew to be too jealous of his fame as a swordsman to permit\nhimself to be overcome by aught but superior skill, and this day Henry\nfelt that he could best the devil himself.\n\nThe armory was a great room on the main floor of the palace, off the\nguard room. It was built in a small wing of the building so that it\nhad light from three sides. In charge of it was the lean, grizzled,\nleather-skinned Sir Jules de Vac, and it was he whom Henry commanded to\nface him in mimic combat with the foils, for the King wished to go with\nhammer and tongs at someone to vent his suppressed rage.\n\nSo he let De Vac assume to his mind's eye the person of the hated De\nMontfort, and it followed that De Vac was nearly surprised into an early\nand mortifying defeat by the King's sudden and clever attack.\n\nHenry III had always been accounted a good swordsman, but that day\nhe quite outdid himself and, in his imagination, was about to run\nthe pseudo De Montfort through the heart, to the wild acclaim of his\naudience. For this fell purpose he had backed the astounded De Vac twice\naround the hall when, with a clever feint, and backward step, the master\nof fence drew the King into the position he wanted him, and with the\nsuddenness of lightning, a little twist of his foil sent Henry's weapon\nclanging across the floor of the armory.\n\nFor an instant, the King stood as tense and white as though the hand of\ndeath had reached out and touched his heart with its icy fingers.\nThe episode meant more to him than being bested in play by the best\nswordsman in England--for that surely was no disgrace--to Henry it\nseemed prophetic of the outcome of a future struggle when he should\nstand face to face with the real De Montfort; and then, seeing in De\nVac only the creature of his imagination with which he had vested the\nlikeness of his powerful brother-in-law, Henry did what he should like\nto have done to the real Leicester. Drawing off his gauntlet he advanced\nclose to De Vac.\n\n\"Dog!\" he hissed, and struck the master of fence a stinging blow across\nthe face, and spat upon him. Then he turned on his heel and strode from\nthe armory.\n\nDe Vac had grown old in the service of the kings of England, but he\nhated all things English and all Englishmen. The dead King John, though\nhated by all others, he had loved, but with the dead King's bones De\nVac's loyalty to the house he served had been buried in the Cathedral of\nWorcester.\n\nDuring the years he had served as master of fence at the English Court,\nthe sons of royalty had learned to thrust and parry and cut as only\nDe Vac could teach the art, and he had been as conscientious in the\ndischarge of his duties as he had been in his unswerving hatred and\ncontempt for his pupils.\n\nAnd now the English King had put upon him such an insult as might only\nbe wiped out by blood.\n\nAs the blow fell, the wiry Frenchman clicked his heels together, and\nthrowing down his foil, he stood erect and rigid as a marble statue\nbefore his master. White and livid was his tense drawn face, but he\nspoke no word.\n\nHe might have struck the King, but then there would have been left to\nhim no alternative save death by his own hand; for a king may not fight\nwith a lesser mortal, and he who strikes a king may not live--the king's\nhonor must be satisfied.\n\nHad a French king struck him, De Vac would have struck back, and gloried\nin the fate which permitted him to die for the honor of France; but an\nEnglish King--pooh! a dog; and who would die for a dog? No, De Vac would\nfind other means of satisfying his wounded pride. He would revel in\nrevenge against this man for whom he felt no loyalty. If possible, he\nwould harm the whole of England if he could, but he would bide his time.\nHe could afford to wait for his opportunity if, by waiting, he could\nencompass a more terrible revenge.\n\nDe Vac had been born in Paris, the son of a French officer reputed the\nbest swordsman in France. The son had followed closely in the footsteps\nof his father until, on the latter's death, he could easily claim the\ntitle of his sire. How he had left France and entered the service of\nJohn of England is not of this story. All the bearing that the life of\nJules de Vac has upon the history of England hinges upon but two of his\nmany attributes--his wonderful swordsmanship and his fearful hatred for\nhis adopted country.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nSouth of the armory of Westminster Palace lay the gardens, and here, on\nthe third day following the King's affront to De Vac, might have been a\nseen a black-haired woman gowned in a violet cyclas, richly embroidered\nwith gold about the yoke and at the bottom of the loose-pointed sleeves,\nwhich reached almost to the similar bordering on the lower hem of the\ngarment. A richly wrought leathern girdle, studded with precious stones,\nand held in place by a huge carved buckle of gold, clasped the garment\nabout her waist so that the upper portion fell outward over the girdle\nafter the manner of a blouse. In the girdle was a long dagger of\nbeautiful workmanship. Dainty sandals encased her feet, while a wimple\nof violet silk bordered in gold fringe, lay becomingly over her head and\nshoulders.\n\nBy her side walked a handsome boy of about three, clad, like his\ncompanion, in gay colors. His tiny surcoat of scarlet velvet was rich\nwith embroidery, while beneath was a close-fitting tunic of white\nsilk. His doublet was of scarlet, while his long hose of white were\ncross-gartered with scarlet from his tiny sandals to his knees. On the\nback of his brown curls sat a flat-brimmed, round-crowned hat in which a\nsingle plume of white waved and nodded bravely at each move of the proud\nlittle head.\n\nThe child's features were well molded, and his frank, bright eyes gave\nan expression of boyish generosity to a face which otherwise would have\nbeen too arrogant and haughty for such a mere baby. As he talked with\nhis companion, little flashes of peremptory authority and dignity, which\nsat strangely upon one so tiny, caused the young woman at times to\nturn her head from him that he might not see the smiles which she could\nscarce repress.\n\nPresently the boy took a ball from his tunic, and, pointing at a little\nbush near them, said, \"Stand you there, Lady Maud, by yonder bush. I\nwould play at toss.\"\n\nThe young woman did as she was bid, and when she had taken her place\nand turned to face him the boy threw the ball to her. Thus they played\nbeneath the windows of the armory, the boy running blithely after the\nball when he missed it, and laughing and shouting in happy glee when he\nmade a particularly good catch.\n\nIn one of the windows of the armory overlooking the garden stood a grim,\ngray, old man, leaning upon his folded arms, his brows drawn together in\na malignant scowl, the corners of his mouth set in a stern, cold line.\n\nHe looked upon the garden and the playing child, and upon the lovely\nyoung woman beneath him, but with eyes which did not see, for De Vac was\nworking out a great problem, the greatest of all his life.\n\nFor three days, the old man had brooded over his grievance, seeking for\nsome means to be revenged upon the King for the insult which Henry had\nput upon him. Many schemes had presented themselves to his shrewd\nand cunning mind, but so far all had been rejected as unworthy of the\nterrible satisfaction which his wounded pride demanded.\n\nHis fancies had, for the most part, revolved about the unsettled\npolitical conditions of Henry's reign, for from these he felt he might\nwrest that opportunity which could be turned to his own personal uses\nand to the harm, and possibly the undoing, of the King.\n\nFor years an inmate of the palace, and often a listener in the armory\nwhen the King played at sword with his friends and favorites, De Vac had\nheard much which passed between Henry III and his intimates that could\nwell be turned to the King's harm by a shrewd and resourceful enemy.\n\nWith all England, he knew the utter contempt in which Henry held the\nterms of the Magna Charta which he so often violated along with his\nkingly oath to maintain it. But what all England did not know, De Vac\nhad gleaned from scraps of conversation dropped in the armory: that\nHenry was even now negotiating with the leaders of foreign mercenaries,\nand with Louis IX of France, for a sufficient force of knights and\nmen-at-arms to wage a relentless war upon his own barons that he might\neffectively put a stop to all future interference by them with the royal\nprerogative of the Plantagenets to misrule England.\n\nIf he could but learn the details of this plan, thought De Vac: the\npoint of landing of the foreign troops; their numbers; the first point\nof attack. Ah, would it not be sweet revenge indeed to balk the King in\nthis venture so dear to his heart!\n\nA word to De Clare, or De Montfort would bring the barons and their\nretainers forty thousand strong to overwhelm the King's forces.\n\nAnd he would let the King know to whom, and for what cause, he was\nbeholden for his defeat and discomfiture. Possibly the barons would\ndepose Henry, and place a new king upon England's throne, and then De\nVac would mock the Plantagenet to his face. Sweet, kind, delectable\nvengeance, indeed! And the old man licked his thin lips as though to\ntaste the last sweet vestige of some dainty morsel.\n\nAnd then Chance carried a little leather ball beneath the window where\nthe old man stood; and as the child ran, laughing, to recover it, De\nVac's eyes fell upon him, and his former plan for revenge melted as the\nfog before the noonday sun; and in its stead there opened to him the\nwhole hideous plot of fearsome vengeance as clearly as it were writ upon\nthe leaves of a great book that had been thrown wide before him. And,\nin so far as he could direct, he varied not one jot from the details\nof that vividly conceived masterpiece of hellishness during the twenty\nyears which followed.\n\nThe little boy who so innocently played in the garden of his royal\nfather was Prince Richard, the three-year-old son of Henry III of\nEngland. No published history mentions this little lost prince; only the\nsecret archives of the kings of England tell the story of his strange\nand adventurous life. His name has been blotted from the records of men;\nand the revenge of De Vac has passed from the eyes of the world; though\nin his time it was a real and terrible thing in the hearts of the\nEnglish.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nFor nearly a month, the old man haunted the palace, and watched in the\ngardens for the little Prince until he knew the daily routine of his\ntiny life with his nurses and governesses.\n\nHe saw that when the Lady Maud accompanied him, they were wont to repair\nto the farthermost extremities of the palace grounds where, by a little\npostern gate, she admitted a certain officer of the Guards to whom the\nQueen had forbidden the privilege of the court.\n\nThere, in a secluded bower, the two lovers whispered their hopes and\nplans, unmindful of the royal charge playing neglected among the flowers\nand shrubbery of the garden.\n\nToward the middle of July De Vac had his plans well laid. He had managed\nto coax old Brus, the gardener, into letting him have the key to the\nlittle postern gate on the plea that he wished to indulge in a midnight\nescapade, hinting broadly of a fair lady who was to be the partner of\nhis adventure, and, what was more to the point with Brus, at the same\ntime slipping a couple of golden zecchins into the gardener's palm.\n\nBrus, like the other palace servants, considered De Vac a loyal retainer\nof the house of Plantagenet. Whatever else of mischief De Vac might be\nup to, Brus was quite sure that in so far as the King was concerned, the\nkey to the postern gate was as safe in De Vac's hands as though Henry\nhimself had it.\n\nThe old fellow wondered a little that the morose old master of fence\nshould, at his time in life, indulge in frivolous escapades more\nbefitting the younger sprigs of gentility, but, then, what concern was\nit of his? Did he not have enough to think about to keep the gardens\nso that his royal master and mistress might find pleasure in the shaded\nwalks, the well-kept sward, and the gorgeous beds of foliage plants and\nblooming flowers which he set with such wondrous precision in the formal\ngarden?\n\nFurther, two gold zecchins were not often come by so easily as this;\nand if the dear Lord Jesus saw fit, in his infinite wisdom, to take this\nmeans of rewarding his poor servant, it ill became such a worm as he to\nignore the divine favor. So Brus took the gold zecchins and De Vac the\nkey, and the little prince played happily among the flowers of his royal\nfather's garden, and all were satisfied; which was as it should have\nbeen.\n\nThat night, De Vac took the key to a locksmith on the far side of\nLondon; one who could not possibly know him or recognize the key\nas belonging to the palace. Here he had a duplicate made, waiting\nimpatiently while the old man fashioned it with the crude instruments of\nhis time.\n\nFrom this little shop, De Vac threaded his way through the dirty lanes\nand alleys of ancient London, lighted at far intervals by an occasional\nsmoky lantern, until he came to a squalid tenement but a short distance\nfrom the palace.\n\nA narrow alley ran past the building, ending abruptly at the bank of the\nThames in a moldering wooden dock, beneath which the inky waters of the\nriver rose and fell, lapping the decaying piles and surging far beneath\nthe dock to the remote fastnesses inhabited by the great fierce dock\nrats and their fiercer human antitypes.\n\nSeveral times De Vac paced the length of this black alley in search of\nthe little doorway of the building he sought. At length he came upon it,\nand, after repeated pounding with the pommel of his sword, it was opened\nby a slatternly old hag.\n\n\"What would ye of a decent woman at such an ungodly hour?\" she grumbled.\n\"Ah, 'tis ye, my lord?\" she added, hastily, as the flickering rays of\nthe candle she bore lighted up De Vac's face. \"Welcome, my Lord, thrice\nwelcome. The daughter of the devil welcomes her brother.\"\n\n\"Silence, old hag,\" cried De Vac. \"Is it not enough that you leech me\nof good marks of such a quantity that you may ever after wear mantles\nof villosa and feast on simnel bread and malmsey, that you must needs\nburden me still further with the affliction of thy vile tongue?\n\n\"Hast thou the clothes ready bundled and the key, also, to this gate\nto perdition? And the room: didst set to rights the furnishings I had\ndelivered here, and sweep the century-old accumulation of filth and\ncobwebs from the floor and rafters? Why, the very air reeked of the dead\nRomans who builded London twelve hundred years ago. Methinks, too, from\nthe stink, they must have been Roman swineherd who habited this sty with\ntheir herds, an' I venture that thou, old sow, hast never touched broom\nto the place for fear of disturbing the ancient relics of thy kin.\"\n\n\"Cease thy babbling, Lord Satan,\" cried the woman. \"I would rather hear\nthy money talk than thou, for though it come accursed and tainted from\nthy rogue hand, yet it speaks with the same sweet and commanding voice\nas it were fresh from the coffers of the holy church.\n\n\"The bundle is ready,\" she continued, closing the door after De Vac, who\nhad now entered, \"and here be the key; but first let us have a payment.\nI know not what thy foul work may be, but foul it is I know from the\nsecrecy which you have demanded, an' I dare say there will be some who\nwould pay well to learn the whereabouts of the old woman and the child,\nthy sister and her son you tell me they be, who you are so anxious to\nhide away in old Til's garret. So it be well for you, my Lord, to pay\nold Til well and add a few guilders for the peace of her tongue if you\nwould that your prisoner find peace in old Til's house.\"\n\n\"Fetch me the bundle, hag,\" replied De Vac, \"and you shall have gold\nagainst a final settlement; more even than we bargained for if all goes\nwell and thou holdest thy vile tongue.\"\n\nBut the old woman's threats had already caused De Vac a feeling of\nuneasiness, which would have been reflected to an exaggerated degree in\nthe old woman had she known the determination her words had caused in\nthe mind of the old master of fence.\n\nHis venture was far too serious, and the results of exposure too\nfraught with danger, to permit of his taking any chances with a disloyal\nfellow-conspirator. True, he had not even hinted at the enormity of the\nplot in which he was involving the old woman, but, as she had said, his\nstern commands for secrecy had told enough to arouse her suspicions, and\nwith them her curiosity and cupidity. So it was that old Til might well\nhave quailed in her tattered sandals had she but even vaguely guessed\nthe thoughts which passed in De Vac's mind; but the extra gold pieces\nhe dropped into her withered palm as she delivered the bundle to him,\ntogether with the promise of more, quite effectually won her loyalty and\nher silence for the time being.\n\nSlipping the key into the pocket of his tunic and covering the bundle\nwith his long surcoat, De Vac stepped out into the darkness of the alley\nand hastened toward the dock.\n\nBeneath the planks he found a skiff which he had moored there earlier\nin the evening, and underneath one of the thwarts he hid the bundle.\nThen, casting off, he rowed slowly up the Thames until, below the palace\nwalls, he moored near to the little postern gate which let into the\nlower end of the garden.\n\nHiding the skiff as best he could in some tangled bushes which grew to\nthe water's edge, set there by order of the King to add to the beauty of\nthe aspect from the river side, De Vac crept warily to the postern and,\nunchallenged, entered and sought his apartments in the palace.\n\nThe next day, he returned the original key to Brus, telling the old man\nthat he had not used it after all, since mature reflection had convinced\nhim of the folly of his contemplated adventure, especially in one whose\nyouth was past, and in whose joints the night damp of the Thames might\nfind lodgement for rheumatism.\n\n\"Ha, Sir Jules,\" laughed the old gardener, \"Virtue and Vice be twin\nsisters who come running to do the bidding of the same father, Desire.\nWere there no desire there would be no virtue, and because one man\ndesires what another does not, who shall say whether the child of his\ndesire be vice or virtue? Or on the other hand if my friend desires his\nown wife and if that be virtue, then if I also desire his wife, is not\nthat likewise virtue, since we desire the same thing? But if to obtain\nour desire it be necessary to expose our joints to the Thames' fog, then\nit were virtue to remain at home.\"\n\n\"Right you sound, old mole,\" said De Vac, smiling, \"would that I might\nlearn to reason by your wondrous logic; methinks it might stand me in\ngood stead before I be much older.\"\n\n\"The best sword arm in all Christendom needs no other logic than the\nsword, I should think,\" said Brus, returning to his work.\n\nThat afternoon, De Vac stood in a window of the armory looking out\nupon the beautiful garden which spread before him to the river wall two\nhundred yards away. In the foreground were box-bordered walks, smooth,\nsleek lawns, and formal beds of gorgeous flowering plants, while here\nand there marble statues of wood nymph and satyr gleamed, sparkling in\nthe brilliant sunlight, or, half shaded by an overhanging bush, took\non a semblance of life from the riotous play of light and shadow as the\nleaves above them moved to and fro in the faint breeze. Farther in the\ndistance, the river wall was hidden by more closely massed bushes, and\nthe formal, geometric precision of the nearer view was relieved by a\nbackground of vine-colored bowers, and a profusion of small trees and\nflowering shrubs arranged in studied disorder.\n\nThrough this seeming jungle ran tortuous paths, and the carved stone\nbenches of the open garden gave place to rustic seats, and swings\nsuspended from the branches of fruit trees.\n\nToward this enchanting spot slowly were walking the Lady Maud and her\nlittle charge, Prince Richard; all ignorant of the malicious watcher in\nthe window behind them.\n\nA great peacock strutted proudly across the walk before them, and, as\nRichard ran, childlike, after it, Lady Maud hastened on to the little\npostern gate which she quickly unlocked, admitting her lover, who had\nbeen waiting without. Relocking the gate the two strolled arm in arm to\nthe little bower which was their trysting place.\n\nAs the lovers talked, all self-engrossed, the little Prince played\nhappily about among the trees and flowers, and none saw the stern,\ndetermined face which peered through the foliage at a little distance\nfrom the playing boy.\n\nRichard was devoting his royal energies to chasing an elusive butterfly\nwhich fate led nearer and nearer to the cold, hard watcher in the\nbushes. Closer and closer came the little Prince, and in another\nmoment, he had burst through the flowering shrubs, and stood facing the\nimplacable master of fence.\n\n\"Your Highness,\" said De Vac, bowing to the little fellow, \"let old\nDeVac help you catch the pretty insect.\"\n\nRichard, having often seen De Vac, did not fear him, and so together\nthey started in pursuit of the butterfly which by now had passed out\nof sight. De Vac turned their steps toward the little postern gate,\nbut when he would have passed through with the tiny Prince, the latter\nrebelled.\n\n\"Come, My Lord Prince,\" urged De Vac, \"methinks the butterfly did but\nalight without the wall, we can have it and return within the garden in\nan instant.\"\n\n\"Go thyself and fetch it,\" replied the Prince; \"the King, my father, has\nforbid me stepping without the palace grounds.\"\n\n\"Come,\" commanded De Vac, more sternly, \"no harm can come to you.\"\n\nBut the child hung back and would not go with him so that De Vac was\nforced to grasp him roughly by the arm. There was a cry of rage and\nalarm from the royal child.\n\n\"Unhand me, sirrah,\" screamed the boy. \"How dare you lay hands on a\nprince of England?\"\n\nDe Vac clapped his hand over the child's mouth to still his cries,\nbut it was too late. The Lady Maud and her lover had heard and, in an\ninstant, they were rushing toward the postern gate, the officer drawing\nhis sword as he ran.\n\nWhen they reached the wall, De Vac and the Prince were upon the outside,\nand the Frenchman had closed and was endeavoring to lock the gate.\nBut, handicapped by the struggling boy, he had not time to turn the key\nbefore the officer threw himself against the panels and burst out before\nthe master of fence, closely followed by the Lady Maud.\n\nDe Vac dropped the key and, still grasping the now thoroughly\naffrightened Prince with his left hand, drew his sword and confronted\nthe officer.\n\nThere were no words, there was no need of words; De Vac's intentions\nwere too plain to necessitate any parley, so the two fell upon each\nother with grim fury; the brave officer facing the best swordsman that\nFrance had ever produced in a futile attempt to rescue his young prince.\n\nIn a moment, De Vac had disarmed him, but, contrary to the laws of\nchivalry, he did not lower his point until it had first plunged through\nthe heart of his brave antagonist. Then, with a bound, he leaped between\nLady Maud and the gate, so that she could not retreat into the garden\nand give the alarm.\n\nStill grasping the trembling child in his iron grip, he stood facing the\nlady in waiting, his back against the door.\n\n\"Mon Dieu, Sir Jules,\" she cried, \"hast thou gone mad?\"\n\n\"No, My Lady,\" he answered, \"but I had not thought to do the work which\nnow lies before me. Why didst thou not keep a still tongue in thy head\nand let his patron saint look after the welfare of this princeling? Your\nrashness has brought you to a pretty pass, for it must be either you or\nI, My Lady, and it cannot be I. Say thy prayers and compose thyself for\ndeath.\"\n\nHenry III, King of England, sat in his council chamber surrounded by\nthe great lords and nobles who composed his suit. He awaited Simon de\nMontfort, Earl of Leicester, whom he had summoned that he might heap\nstill further indignities upon him with the intention of degrading and\nhumiliating him that he might leave England forever. The King feared\nthis mighty kinsman who so boldly advised him against the weak follies\nwhich were bringing his kingdom to a condition of revolution.\n\nWhat the outcome of this audience would have been none may say, for\nLeicester had but just entered and saluted his sovereign when there came\nan interruption which drowned the petty wrangles of king and courtier in\na common affliction that touched the hearts of all.\n\nThere was a commotion at one side of the room, the arras parted, and\nEleanor, Queen of England, staggered toward the throne, tears streaming\ndown her pale cheeks.\n\n\"Oh, My Lord! My Lord!\" she cried, \"Richard, our son, has been\nassassinated and thrown into the Thames.\"\n\nIn an instant, all was confusion and turmoil, and it was with the\ngreatest difficulty that the King finally obtained a coherent statement\nfrom his queen.\n\nIt seemed that when the Lady Maud had not returned to the palace with\nPrince Richard at the proper time, the Queen had been notified and an\nimmediate search had been instituted--a search which did not end for\nover twenty years; but the first fruits of it turned the hearts of the\ncourt to stone, for there beside the open postern gate lay the dead\nbodies of Lady Maud and a certain officer of the Guards, but nowhere\nwas there a sign or trace of Prince Richard, second son of Henry III of\nEngland, and at that time the youngest prince of the realm.\n\nIt was two days before the absence of De Vac was noted, and then it was\nthat one of the lords in waiting to the King reminded his majesty of\nthe episode of the fencing bout, and a motive for the abduction of the\nKing's little son became apparent.\n\nAn edict was issued requiring the examination of every child in England,\nfor on the left breast of the little Prince was a birthmark which\nclosely resembled a lily and, when after a year no child was found\nbearing such a mark and no trace of De Vac uncovered, the search was\ncarried into France, nor was it ever wholly relinquished at any time for\nmore than twenty years.\n\nThe first theory, of assassination, was quickly abandoned when it was\nsubjected to the light of reason, for it was evident that an assassin\ncould have dispatched the little Prince at the same time that he killed\nthe Lady Maud and her lover, had such been his desire.\n\nThe most eager factor in the search for Prince Richard was Simon de\nMontfort, Earl of Leicester, whose affection for his royal nephew had\nalways been so marked as to have been commented upon by the members of\nthe King's household.\n\nThus for a time the rupture between De Montfort and his king was\nhealed, and although the great nobleman was divested of his authority in\nGascony, he suffered little further oppression at the hands of his royal\nmaster.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nAs De Vac drew his sword from the heart of the Lady Maud, he winced,\nfor, merciless though he was, he had shrunk from this cruel task. Too\nfar he had gone, however, to back down now, and, had he left the Lady\nMaud alive, the whole of the palace guard and all the city of London\nwould have been on his heels in ten minutes; there would have been no\nescape.\n\nThe little Prince was now so terrified that he could but tremble and\nwhimper in his fright. So fearful was he of the terrible De Vac that a\nthreat of death easily stilled his tongue, and so the grim, old man led\nhim to the boat hidden deep in the dense bushes.\n\nDe Vac did not dare remain in this retreat until dark, as he had first\nintended. Instead, he drew a dingy, ragged dress from the bundle beneath\nthe thwart and in this disguised himself as an old woman, drawing a\ncotton wimple low over his head and forehead to hide his short hair.\nConcealing the child beneath the other articles of clothing, he pushed\noff from the bank, and, rowing close to the shore, hastened down the\nThames toward the old dock where, the previous night, he had concealed\nhis skiff. He reached his destination unnoticed, and, running in beneath\nthe dock, worked the boat far into the dark recess of the cave-like\nretreat.\n\nHere he determined to hide until darkness had fallen, for he knew that\nthe search would be on for the little lost Prince at any moment, and\nthat none might traverse the streets of London without being subject to\nthe closest scrutiny.\n\nTaking advantage of the forced wait, De Vac undressed the Prince and\nclothed him in other garments, which had been wrapped in the bundle\nhidden beneath the thwart; a little red cotton tunic with hose to match,\na black doublet and a tiny leather jerkin and leather cap.\n\nThe discarded clothing of the Prince he wrapped about a huge stone torn\nfrom the disintegrating masonry of the river wall, and consigned the\nbundle to the voiceless river.\n\nThe Prince had by now regained some of his former assurance and,\nfinding that De Vac seemed not to intend harming him, the little fellow\ncommenced questioning his grim companion, his childish wonder at this\nstrange adventure getting the better of his former apprehension.\n\n\"What do we here, Sir Jules?\" he asked. \"Take me back to the King's, my\nfather's palace. I like not this dark hole nor the strange garments you\nhave placed upon me.\"\n\n\"Silence, boy!\" commanded the old man. \"Sir Jules be dead, nor are you\na king's son. Remember these two things well, nor ever again let me hear\nyou speak the name Sir Jules, or call yourself a prince.\"\n\nThe boy went silent, again cowed by the fierce tone of his captor.\nPresently he began to whimper, for he was tired and hungry and\nfrightened--just a poor little baby, helpless and hopeless in the hands\nof this cruel enemy--all his royalty as nothing, all gone with the\nsilken finery which lay in the thick mud at the bottom of the Thames,\nand presently he dropped into a fitful sleep in the bottom of the skiff.\n\nWhen darkness had settled, De Vac pushed the skiff outward to the\nside of the dock and, gathering the sleeping child in his arms, stood\nlistening, preparatory to mounting to the alley which led to old Til's\nplace.\n\nAs he stood thus, a faint sound of clanking armor came to his attentive\nears; louder and louder it grew until there could be no doubt but that a\nnumber of men were approaching.\n\nDe Vac resumed his place in the skiff, and again drew it far beneath\nthe dock. Scarcely had he done so ere a party of armored knights and\nmen-at-arms clanked out upon the planks above him from the mouth of the\ndark alley. Here they stopped as though for consultation and plainly\ncould the listener below hear every word of their conversation.\n\n\"De Montfort,\" said one, \"what thinkest thou of it? Can it be that the\nQueen is right and that Richard lies dead beneath these black waters?\"\n\n\"No, De Clare,\" replied a deep voice, which De Vac recognized as that of\nthe Earl of Leicester. \"The hand that could steal the Prince from out of\nthe very gardens of his sire without the knowledge of Lady Maud or her\ncompanion, which must evidently have been the case, could more easily\nand safely have dispatched him within the gardens had that been the\nobject of this strange attack. I think, My Lord, that presently we shall\nhear from some bold adventurer who holds the little Prince for\nransom. God give that such may be the case, for of all the winsome and\naffectionate little fellows I have ever seen, not even excepting mine\nown dear son, the little Richard was the most to be beloved. Would that\nI might get my hands upon the foul devil who has done this horrid deed.\"\n\nBeneath the planks, not four feet from where Leicester stood, lay the\nobject of his search. The clanking armor, the heavy spurred feet, and\nthe voices above him had awakened the little Prince and, with a startled\ncry, he sat upright in the bottom of the skiff. Instantly De Vac's iron\nband clapped over the tiny mouth, but not before a single faint wail had\nreached the ears of the men above.\n\n\"Hark! What was that, My Lord?\" cried one of the men-at-arms.\n\nIn tense silence they listened for a repetition of the sound and then De\nMontfort cried out:\n\n\"What ho, below there! Who is it beneath the dock? Answer, in the name\nof the King!\"\n\nRichard, recognizing the voice of his favorite uncle, struggled to free\nhimself, but De Vac's ruthless hand crushed out the weak efforts of the\nbabe, and all was quiet as the tomb, while those above stood listening\nfor a repetition of the sound.\n\n\"Dock rats,\" said De Clare, and then as though the devil guided them to\nprotect his own, two huge rats scurried upward from between the loose\nboards, and ran squealing up the dark alley.\n\n\"Right you are,\" said De Montfort, \"but I could have sworn 'twas a\nchild's feeble wail had I not seen the two filthy rodents with mine own\neyes. Come, let us to the next vile alley. We have met with no success\nhere, though that old hag who called herself Til seemed overanxious to\nbargain for the future information she seemed hopeful of being able to\ngive us.\"\n\nAs they moved off, their voices grew fainter in the ears of the\nlisteners beneath the dock and soon were lost in the distance.\n\n\"A close shave,\" thought De Vac, as he again took up the child and\nprepared to gain the dock. No further noises occurring to frighten him,\nhe soon reached the door to Til's house and, inserting the key, crept\nnoiselessly to the garret room which he had rented from his ill-favored\nhostess.\n\nThere were no stairs from the upper floor to the garret above, this\nascent being made by means of a wooden ladder which De Vac pulled up\nafter him, closing and securing the aperture, through which he climbed\nwith his burden, by means of a heavy trapdoor equipped with thick bars.\n\nThe apartment which they now entered extended across the entire east end\nof the building, and had windows upon three sides. These were heavily\ncurtained. The apartment was lighted by a small cresset hanging from a\nrafter near the center of the room.\n\nThe walls were unplastered and the rafters unceiled; the whole bearing a\nmost barnlike and unhospitable appearance.\n\nIn one corner was a huge bed, and across the room a smaller cot; a\ncupboard, a table, and two benches completed the furnishings. These\narticles De Vac had purchased for the room against the time when he\nshould occupy it with his little prisoner.\n\nOn the table were a loaf of black bread, an earthenware jar containing\nhoney, a pitcher of milk and two drinking horns. To these, De Vac\nimmediately gave his attention, commanding the child to partake of what\nhe wished.\n\nHunger for the moment overcame the little Prince's fears, and he set\nto with avidity upon the strange, rough fare, made doubly coarse by\nthe rude utensils and the bare surroundings, so unlike the royal\nmagnificence of his palace apartments.\n\nWhile the child ate, De Vac hastened to the lower floor of the building\nin search of Til, whom he now thoroughly mistrusted and feared. The\nwords of De Montfort, which he had overheard at the dock, convinced him\nthat here was one more obstacle to the fulfillment of his revenge which\nmust be removed as had the Lady Maud; but in this instance there was\nneither youth nor beauty to plead the cause of the intended victim, or\nto cause the grim executioner a pang of remorse.\n\nWhen he found the old hag, she was already dressed to go upon the\nstreet, in fact he intercepted her at the very door of the building.\nStill clad as he was in the mantle and wimple of an old woman, Til\ndid not, at first, recognize him, and when he spoke, she burst into\na nervous, cackling laugh, as one caught in the perpetration of some\nquestionable act, nor did her manner escape the shrewd notice of the\nwily master of fence.\n\n\"Whither, old hag?\" he asked.\n\n\"To visit Mag Tunk at the alley's end, by the river, My Lord,\" she\nreplied, with more respect than she had been wont to accord him.\n\n\"Then, I will accompany you part way, my friend, and, perchance, you can\ngive me a hand with some packages I left behind me in the skiff I have\nmoored there.\"\n\nAnd so the two walked together through the dark alley to the end of the\nrickety, dismantled dock; the one thinking of the vast reward the King\nwould lavish upon her for the information she felt sure she alone could\ngive; the other feeling beneath his mantle for the hilt of a long dagger\nwhich nestled there.\n\nAs they reached the water's edge, De Vac was walking with his right\nshoulder behind his companion's left, in his hand was gripped the keen\nblade and, as the woman halted on the dock, the point that hovered just\nbelow her left shoulder-blade plunged, soundless, into her heart at the\nsame instant that De Vac's left hand swung up and grasped her throat in\na grip of steel.\n\nThere was no sound, barely a struggle of the convulsively stiffening old\nmuscles, and then, with a push from De Vac, the body lunged forward into\nthe Thames, where a dull splash marked the end of the last hope that\nPrince Richard might be rescued from the clutches of his Nemesis.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nFor three years following the disappearance of Prince Richard, a bent\nold woman lived in the heart of London within a stone's throw of the\nKing's palace. In a small back room she lived, high up in the attic of\nan old building, and with her was a little boy who never went abroad\nalone, nor by day. And upon his left breast was a strange mark which\nresembled a lily. When the bent old woman was safely in her attic room,\nwith bolted door behind her, she was wont to straighten up, and discard\nher dingy mantle for more comfortable and becoming doublet and hose.\n\nFor years, she worked assiduously with the little boy's education. There\nwere three subjects in her curriculum; French, swordsmanship and hatred\nof all things English, especially the reigning house of England.\n\nThe old woman had had made a tiny foil and had commenced teaching the\nlittle boy the art of fence when he was but three years old.\n\n\"You will be the greatest swordsman in the world when you are twenty,\nmy son,\" she was wont to say, \"and then you shall go out and kill many\nEnglishmen. Your name shall be hated and cursed the length and breadth\nof England, and when you finally stand with the halter about your neck,\naha, then will I speak. Then shall they know.\"\n\nThe little boy did not understand it all, he only knew that he was\ncomfortable, and had warm clothing, and all he required to eat, and that\nhe would be a great man when he learned to fight with a real sword,\nand had grown large enough to wield one. He also knew that he hated\nEnglishmen, but why, he did not know.\n\nWay back in the uttermost recesses of his little, childish head, he\nseemed to remember a time when his life and surroundings had been very\ndifferent; when, instead of this old woman, there had been many people\naround him, and a sweet faced woman had held him in her arms and kissed\nhim, before he was taken off to bed at night; but he could not be sure,\nmaybe it was only a dream he remembered, for he dreamed many strange and\nwonderful dreams.\n\nWhen the little boy was about six years of age, a strange man came to\ntheir attic home to visit the little old woman. It was in the dusk of\nthe evening but the old woman did not light the cresset, and further,\nshe whispered to the little boy to remain in the shadows of a far corner\nof the bare chamber.\n\nThe stranger was old and bent and had a great beard which hid almost\nhis entire face except for two piercing eyes, a great nose and a bit\nof wrinkled forehead. When he spoke, he accompanied his words with many\nshrugs of his narrow shoulders and with waving of his arms and other\nstrange and amusing gesticulations. The child was fascinated. Here was\nthe first amusement of his little starved life. He listened intently to\nthe conversation, which was in French.\n\n\"I have just the thing for madame,\" the stranger was saying. \"It be a\nnoble and stately hall far from the beaten way. It was built in the old\ndays by Harold the Saxon, but in later times, death and poverty and the\ndisfavor of the King have wrested it from his descendants. A few years\nsince, Henry granted it to that spend-thrift favorite of his, Henri de\nMacy, who pledged it to me for a sum he hath been unable to repay. Today\nit be my property, and as it be far from Paris, you may have it for the\nmere song I have named. It be a wondrous bargain, madame.\"\n\n\"And when I come upon it, I shall find that I have bought a crumbling\npile of ruined masonry, unfit to house a family of foxes,\" replied the\nold woman peevishly.\n\n\"One tower hath fallen, and the roof for half the length of one wing\nhath sagged and tumbled in,\" explained the old Frenchman. \"But the three\nlower stories be intact and quite habitable. It be much grander even\nnow than the castles of many of England's noble barons, and the price,\nmadame--ah, the price be so ridiculously low.\"\n\nStill the old woman hesitated.\n\n\"Come,\" said the Frenchman, \"I have it. Deposit the money with Isaac the\nJew--thou knowest him?--and he shall hold it together with the deed\nfor forty days, which will give thee ample time to travel to Derby and\ninspect thy purchase. If thou be not entirely satisfied, Isaac the Jew\nshall return thy money to thee and the deed to me, but if at the end\nof forty days thou hast not made demand for thy money, then shall Isaac\nsend the deed to thee and the money to me. Be not this an easy and fair\nway out of the difficulty?\"\n\nThe little old woman thought for a moment and at last conceded that\nit seemed quite a fair way to arrange the matter. And thus it was\naccomplished.\n\nSeveral days later, the little old woman called the child to her.\n\n\"We start tonight upon a long journey to our new home. Thy face shall\nbe wrapped in many rags, for thou hast a most grievous toothache. Dost\nunderstand?\"\n\n\"But I have no toothache. My teeth do not pain me at all. I--\"\nexpostulated the child.\n\n\"Tut, tut,\" interrupted the little old woman. \"Thou hast a toothache,\nand so thy face must be wrapped in many rags. And listen, should any ask\nthee upon the way why thy face be so wrapped, thou art to say that thou\nhast a toothache. And thou do not do as I say, the King's men will take\nus and we shall be hanged, for the King hateth us. If thou hatest the\nEnglish King and lovest thy life do as I command.\"\n\n\"I hate the King,\" replied the little boy. \"For this reason I shall do\nas thou sayest.\"\n\nSo it was that they set out that night upon their long journey north\ntoward the hills of Derby. For many days they travelled, riding upon\ntwo small donkeys. Strange sights filled the days for the little boy\nwho remembered nothing outside the bare attic of his London home and the\ndirty London alleys that he had traversed only by night.\n\nThey wound across beautiful parklike meadows and through dark,\nforbidding forests, and now and again they passed tiny hamlets of\nthatched huts. Occasionally they saw armored knights upon the highway,\nalone or in small parties, but the child's companion always managed to\nhasten into cover at the road side until the grim riders had passed.\n\nOnce, as they lay in hiding in a dense wood beside a little open glade\nacross which the road wound, the boy saw two knights enter the glade\nfrom either side. For a moment, they drew rein and eyed each other in\nsilence, and then one, a great black mailed knight upon a black charger,\ncried out something to the other which the boy could not catch. The\nother knight made no response other than to rest his lance upon his\nthigh and with lowered point, ride toward his ebon adversary. For a\ndozen paces their great steeds trotted slowly toward one another, but\npresently the knights urged them into full gallop, and when the two iron\nmen on their iron trapped chargers came together in the center of the\nglade, it was with all the terrific impact of full charge.\n\nThe lance of the black knight smote full upon the linden shield of his\nfoeman, the staggering weight of the mighty black charger hurtled upon\nthe gray, who went down with his rider into the dust of the highway. The\nmomentum of the black carried him fifty paces beyond the fallen horseman\nbefore his rider could rein him in, then the black knight turned to view\nthe havoc he had wrought. The gray horse was just staggering dizzily to\nhis feet, but his mailed rider lay quiet and still where he had fallen.\n\nWith raised visor, the black knight rode back to the side of his\nvanquished foe. There was a cruel smile upon his lips as he leaned\ntoward the prostrate form. He spoke tauntingly, but there was no\nresponse, then he prodded the fallen man with the point of his spear.\nEven this elicited no movement. With a shrug of his iron clad shoulders,\nthe black knight wheeled and rode on down the road until he had\ndisappeared from sight within the gloomy shadows of the encircling\nforest.\n\nThe little boy was spell-bound. Naught like this had he ever seen or\ndreamed.\n\n\"Some day thou shalt go and do likewise, my son,\" said the little old\nwoman.\n\n\"Shall I be clothed in armor and ride upon a great black steed?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"Yes, and thou shalt ride the highways of England with thy stout lance\nand mighty sword, and behind thee thou shalt leave a trail of blood and\ndeath, for every man shalt be thy enemy. But come, we must be on our\nway.\"\n\nThey rode on, leaving the dead knight where he had fallen, but always in\nhis memory the child carried the thing that he had seen, longing for the\nday when he should be great and strong like the formidable black knight.\n\nOn another day, as they were biding in a deserted hovel to escape the\nnotice of a caravan of merchants journeying up-country with their wares,\nthey saw a band of ruffians rush out from the concealing shelter of some\nbushes at the far side of the highway and fall upon the surprised and\ndefenseless tradesmen.\n\nRagged, bearded, uncouth villains they were, armed mostly with bludgeons\nand daggers, with here and there a cross-bow. Without mercy they\nattacked the old and the young, beating them down in cold blood even\nwhen they offered no resistance. Those of the caravan who could,\nescaped, the balance the highwaymen left dead or dying in the road, as\nthey hurried away with their loot.\n\nAt first the child was horror-struck, but when he turned to the little\nold woman for sympathy he found a grim smile upon her thin lips. She\nnoted his expression of dismay.\n\n\"It is naught, my son. But English curs setting upon English swine. Some\nday thou shalt set upon both--they be only fit for killing.\"\n\nThe boy made no reply, but he thought a great deal about that which\nhe had seen. Knights were cruel to knights--the poor were cruel to the\nrich--and every day of the journey had forced upon his childish mind\nthat everyone must be very cruel and hard upon the poor. He had seen\nthem in all their sorrow and misery and poverty--stretching a long,\nscattering line all the way from London town. Their bent backs, their\npoor thin bodies and their hopeless, sorrowful faces attesting the weary\nwretchedness of their existence.\n\n\"Be no one happy in all the world?\" he once broke out to the old woman.\n\n\"Only he who wields the mightiest sword,\" responded the old woman. \"You\nhave seen, my son, that all Englishmen are beasts. They set upon and\nkill one another for little provocation or for no provocation at all.\nWhen thou shalt be older, thou shalt go forth and kill them all for\nunless thou kill them, they will kill thee.\"\n\nAt length, after tiresome days upon the road, they came to a little\nhamlet in the hills. Here the donkeys were disposed of and a great horse\npurchased, upon which the two rode far up into a rough and uninviting\ncountry away from the beaten track, until late one evening they\napproached a ruined castle.\n\nThe frowning walls towered high against the moonlit sky beyond, and\nwhere a portion of the roof had fallen in, the cold moon, shining\nthrough the narrow unglazed windows, gave to the mighty pile the\nlikeness of a huge, many-eyed ogre crouching upon the flank of a\ndeserted world, for nowhere was there other sign of habitation.\n\nBefore this somber pile, the two dismounted. The little boy was filled\nwith awe and his childish imagination ran riot as they approached the\ncrumbling barbican on foot, leading the horse after them. From the dark\nshadows of the ballium, they passed into the moonlit inner court. At the\nfar end the old woman found the ancient stables, and here, with decaying\nplanks, she penned the horse for the night, pouring a measure of oats\nupon the floor for him from a bag which had hung across his rump.\n\nThen she led the way into the dense shadows of the castle, lighting\ntheir advance with a flickering pine knot. The old planking of the\nfloors, long unused, groaned and rattled beneath their approach. There\nwas a sudden scamper of clawed feet before them, and a red fox dashed by\nin a frenzy of alarm toward the freedom of the outer night.\n\nPresently they came to the great hall. The old woman pushed open the\ngreat doors upon their creaking hinges and lit up dimly the mighty,\ncavernous interior with the puny rays of their feeble torch. As they\nstepped cautiously within, an impalpable dust arose in little spurts\nfrom the long-rotted rushes that crumbled beneath their feet. A huge\nbat circled wildly with loud fluttering wings in evident remonstrance at\nthis rude intrusion. Strange creatures of the night scurried or wriggled\nacross wall and floor.\n\nBut the child was unafraid. Fear had not been a part of the old woman's\ncurriculum. The boy did not know the meaning of the word, nor was\nhe ever in his after-life to experience the sensation. With childish\neagerness, he followed his companion as she inspected the interior of\nthe chamber. It was still an imposing room. The boy clapped his hands\nin delight at the beauties of the carved and panelled walls and the oak\nbeamed ceiling, stained almost black from the smoke of torches and oil\ncressets that had lighted it in bygone days, aided, no doubt, by the\nwood fires which had burned in its two immense fireplaces to cheer the\nmerry throng of noble revellers that had so often sat about the great\ntable into the morning hours.\n\nHere they took up their abode. But the bent, old woman was no longer an\nold woman--she had become a straight, wiry, active old man.\n\nThe little boy's education went on--French, swordsmanship and hatred\nof the English--the same thing year after year with the addition of\nhorsemanship after he was ten years old. At this time the old man\ncommenced teaching him to speak English, but with a studied and very\nmarked French accent. During all his life now, he could not remember of\nhaving spoken to any living being other than his guardian, whom he had\nbeen taught to address as father. Nor did the boy have any name--he was\njust \"my son.\"\n\nHis life in the Derby hills was so filled with the hard, exacting\nduties of his education that he had little time to think of the strange\nloneliness of his existence; nor is it probable that he missed that\ncompanionship of others of his own age of which, never having had\nexperience in it, he could scarce be expected to regret or yearn for.\n\nAt fifteen, the youth was a magnificent swordsman and horseman, and with\nan utter contempt for pain or danger--a contempt which was the result of\nthe heroic methods adopted by the little old man in the training of him.\nOften the two practiced with razor-sharp swords, and without armor or\nother protection of any description.\n\n\"Thus only,\" the old man was wont to say, \"mayst thou become the\nabsolute master of thy blade. Of such a nicety must be thy handling of\nthe weapon that thou mayst touch an antagonist at will and so lightly,\nshouldst thou desire, that thy point, wholly under the control of a\nmaster hand, mayst be stopped before it inflicts so much as a scratch.\"\n\nBut in practice, there were many accidents, and then one or both of them\nwould nurse a punctured skin for a few days. So, while blood was often\nlet on both sides, the training produced a fearless swordsman who was\nso truly the master of his point that he could stop a thrust within a\nfraction of an inch of the spot he sought.\n\nAt fifteen, he was a very strong and straight and handsome lad. Bronzed\nand hardy from his outdoor life; of few words, for there was none that\nhe might talk with save the taciturn old man; hating the English, for\nthat he was taught as thoroughly as swordsmanship; speaking French\nfluently and English poorly--and waiting impatiently for the day when\nthe old man should send him out into the world with clanking armor and\nlance and shield to do battle with the knights of England.\n\nIt was about this time that there occurred the first important break in\nthe monotony of his existence. Far down the rocky trail that led from\nthe valley below through the Derby hills to the ruined castle, three\narmored knights urged their tired horses late one afternoon of a chill\nautumn day. Off the main road and far from any habitation, they had\nespied the castle's towers through a rift in the hills, and now they\nspurred toward it in search of food and shelter.\n\nAs the road led them winding higher into the hills, they suddenly\nemerged upon the downs below the castle where a sight met their eyes\nwhich caused them to draw rein and watch in admiration. There, before\nthem upon the downs, a boy battled with a lunging, rearing horse--a\nperfect demon of a black horse. Striking and biting in a frenzy of\nrage, it sought ever to escape or injure the lithe figure which clung\nleech-like to its shoulder.\n\nThe boy was on the ground. His left hand grasped the heavy mane;\nhis right arm lay across the beast's withers and his right hand drew\nsteadily in upon a halter rope with which he had taken a half hitch\nabout the horse's muzzle. Now the black reared and wheeled, striking\nand biting, full upon the youth, but the active figure swung with\nhim--always just behind the giant shoulder--and ever and ever he drew\nthe great arched neck farther and farther to the right.\n\nAs the animal plunged hither and thither in great leaps, he dragged the\nboy with him, but all his mighty efforts were unavailing to loosen the\ngrip upon mane and withers. Suddenly, he reared straight into the air\ncarrying the youth with him, then with a vicious lunge he threw himself\nbackward upon the ground.\n\n\"It's death!\" exclaimed one of the knights, \"he will kill the youth yet,\nBeauchamp.\"\n\n\"No!\" cried he addressed. \"Look! He is up again and the boy still clings\nas tightly to him as his own black hide.\"\n\n\"'Tis true,\" exclaimed another, \"but he hath lost what he had gained\nupon the halter--he must needs fight it all out again from the\nbeginning.\"\n\nAnd so the battle went on again as before, the boy again drawing the\niron neck slowly to the right--the beast fighting and squealing as\nthough possessed of a thousand devils. A dozen times, as the head bent\nfarther and farther toward him, the boy loosed his hold upon the mane\nand reached quickly down to grasp the near fore pastern. A dozen times\nthe horse shook off the new hold, but at length the boy was successful,\nand the knee was bent and the hoof drawn up to the elbow.\n\nNow the black fought at a disadvantage, for he was on but three feet\nand his neck was drawn about in an awkward and unnatural position. His\nefforts became weaker and weaker. The boy talked incessantly to him in\na quiet voice, and there was a shadow of a smile upon his lips. Now\nhe bore heavily upon the black withers, pulling the horse toward him.\nSlowly the beast sank upon his bent knee--pulling backward until his off\nfore leg was stretched straight before him. Then, with a final surge,\nthe youth pulled him over upon his side, and, as he fell, slipped prone\nbeside him. One sinewy hand shot to the rope just beneath the black\nchin--the other grasped a slim, pointed ear.\n\nFor a few minutes the horse fought and kicked to gain his liberty, but\nwith his head held to the earth, he was as powerless in the hands of the\nboy as a baby would have been. Then he sank panting and exhausted into\nmute surrender.\n\n\"Well done!\" cried one of the knights. \"Simon de Montfort himself never\nmastered a horse in better order, my boy. Who be thou?\"\n\nIn an instant, the lad was upon his feet his eyes searching for the\nspeaker. The horse, released, sprang up also, and the two stood--the\nhandsome boy and the beautiful black--gazing with startled eyes, like\ntwo wild things, at the strange intruder who confronted them.\n\n\"Come, Sir Mortimer!\" cried the boy, and turning he led the prancing but\nsubdued animal toward the castle and through the ruined barbican into\nthe court beyond.\n\n\"What ho, there, lad!\" shouted Paul of Merely. \"We wouldst not harm\nthee--come, we but ask the way to the castle of De Stutevill.\"\n\nThe three knights listened but there was no answer.\n\n\"Come, Sir Knights,\" spoke Paul of Merely, \"we will ride within and\nlearn what manner of churls inhabit this ancient rookery.\"\n\nAs they entered the great courtyard, magnificent even in its ruined\ngrandeur, they were met by a little, grim old man who asked them in no\ngentle tones what they would of them there.\n\n\"We have lost our way in these devilish Derby hills of thine, old man,\"\nreplied Paul of Merely. \"We seek the castle of Sir John de Stutevill.\"\n\n\"Ride down straight to the river road, keeping the first trail to the\nright, and when thou hast come there, turn again to thy right and ride\nnorth beside the river--thou canst not miss the way--it be plain as the\nnose before thy face,\" and with that the old man turned to enter the\ncastle.\n\n\"Hold, old fellow!\" cried the spokesman. \"It be nigh onto sunset now,\nand we care not to sleep out again this night as we did the last. We\nwill tarry with you then till morn that we may take up our journey\nrefreshed, upon rested steeds.\"\n\nThe old man grumbled, and it was with poor grace that he took them in to\nfeed and house them over night. But there was nothing else for it, since\nthey would have taken his hospitality by force had he refused to give it\nvoluntarily.\n\nFrom their guests, the two learned something of the conditions outside\ntheir Derby hills. The old man showed less interest than he felt, but to\nthe boy, notwithstanding that the names he heard meant nothing to him,\nit was like unto a fairy tale to hear of the wondrous doings of earl and\nbaron, bishop and king.\n\n\"If the King does not mend his ways,\" said one of the knights, \"we will\ndrive his whole accursed pack of foreign blood-suckers into the sea.\"\n\n\"De Montfort has told him as much a dozen times, and now that all of\nus, both Norman and Saxon barons, have already met together and formed\na pact for our mutual protection, the King must surely realize that the\ntime for temporizing be past, and that unless he would have a civil war\nupon his hands, he must keep the promises he so glibly makes, instead of\nbreaking them the moment De Montfort's back be turned.\"\n\n\"He fears his brother-in-law,\" interrupted another of the knights, \"even\nmore than the devil fears holy water. I was in attendance on his majesty\nsome weeks since when he was going down the Thames upon the royal barge.\nWe were overtaken by as severe a thunder storm as I have ever seen, of\nwhich the King was in such abject fear that he commanded that we land at\nthe Bishop of Durham's palace opposite which we then were. De Montfort,\nwho was residing there, came to meet Henry, with all due respect,\nobserving, 'What do you fear, now, Sire, the tempest has passed?' And\nwhat thinkest thou old 'waxen heart' replied? Why, still trembling, he\nsaid, 'I do indeed fear thunder and lightning much, but, by the hand of\nGod, I tremble before you more than for all the thunder in Heaven!'\"\n\n\"I surmise,\" interjected the grim, old man, \"that De Montfort has in\nsome manner gained an ascendancy over the King. Think you he looks so\nhigh as the throne itself?\"\n\n\"Not so,\" cried the oldest of the knights. \"Simon de Montfort works for\nEngland's weal alone--and methinks, nay knowest, that he would be first\nto spring to arms to save the throne for Henry. He but fights the King's\nrank and covetous advisers, and though he must needs seem to defy the\nKing himself, it be but to save his tottering power from utter collapse.\nBut, gad, how the King hates him. For a time it seemed that there might\nbe a permanent reconciliation when, for years after the disappearance\nof the little Prince Richard, De Montfort devoted much of his time and\nprivate fortune to prosecuting a search through all the world for the\nlittle fellow, of whom he was inordinately fond. This self-sacrificing\ninterest on his part won over the King and Queen for many years, but of\nlate his unremitting hostility to their continued extravagant waste of\nthe national resources has again hardened them toward him.\"\n\nThe old man, growing uneasy at the turn the conversation threatened,\nsent the youth from the room on some pretext, and himself left to\nprepare supper.\n\nAs they were sitting at the evening meal, one of the nobles eyed the boy\nintently, for he was indeed good to look upon; his bright handsome face,\nclear, intelligent gray eyes, and square strong jaw framed in a mass\nof brown waving hair banged at the forehead and falling about his ears,\nwhere it was again cut square at the sides and back, after the fashion\nof the times.\n\nHis upper body was clothed in a rough under tunic of wool, stained red,\nover which he wore a short leathern jerkin, while his doublet was also\nof leather, a soft and finely tanned piece of undressed doeskin. His\nlong hose, fitting his shapely legs as closely as another layer of skin,\nwere of the same red wool as his tunic, while his strong leather sandals\nwere cross-gartered halfway to his knees with narrow bands of leather.\n\nA leathern girdle about his waist supported a sword and a dagger and a\nround skull cap of the same material, to which was fastened a falcon's\nwing, completed his picturesque and becoming costume.\n\n\"Your son?\" he asked, turning to the old man.\n\n\"Yes,\" was the growling response.\n\n\"He favors you but little, old fellow, except in his cursed French\naccent.\n\n\"'S blood, Beauchamp,\" he continued, turning to one of his companions,\n\"an' were he set down in court, I wager our gracious Queen would he hard\nput to it to tell him from the young Prince Edward. Dids't ever see so\nstrange a likeness?\"\n\n\"Now that you speak of it, My Lord, I see it plainly. It is indeed a\nmarvel,\" answered Beauchamp.\n\nHad they glanced at the old man during this colloquy, they would have\nseen a blanched face, drawn with inward fear and rage.\n\nPresently the oldest member of the party of three knights spoke in a\ngrave quiet tone.\n\n\"And how old might you be, my son?\" he asked the boy.\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"And your name?\"\n\n\"I do not know what you mean. I have no name. My father calls me son and\nno other ever before addressed me.\"\n\nAt this juncture, the old man arose and left the room, saving he would\nfetch more food from the kitchen, but he turned immediately he had\npassed the doorway and listened from without.\n\n\"The lad appears about fifteen,\" said Paul of Merely, lowering his\nvoice, \"and so would be the little lost Prince Richard, if he lives.\nThis one does not know his name, or his age, yet he looks enough like\nPrince Edward to be his twin.\"\n\n\"Come, my son,\" he continued aloud, \"open your jerkin and let us have a\nlook at your left breast, we shall read a true answer there.\"\n\n\"Are you Englishmen?\" asked the boy without making a move to comply with\ntheir demand.\n\n\"That we be, my son,\" said Beauchamp.\n\n\"Then it were better that I die than do your bidding, for all Englishmen\nare pigs and I loathe them as becomes a gentleman of France. I do not\nuncover my body to the eyes of swine.\"\n\nThe knights, at first taken back by this unexpected outbreak, finally\nburst into uproarious laughter.\n\n\"Indeed,\" cried Paul of Merely, \"spoken as one of the King's foreign\nfavorites might speak, and they ever told the good God's truth. But come\nlad, we would not harm you--do as I bid.\"\n\n\"No man lives who can harm me while a blade hangs at my side,\" answered\nthe boy, \"and as for doing as you bid, I take orders from no man other\nthan my father.\"\n\nBeauchamp and Greystoke laughed aloud at the discomfiture of Paul of\nMerely, but the latter's face hardened in anger, and without further\nwords he strode forward with outstretched hand to tear open the boy's\nleathern jerkin, but met with the gleaming point of a sword and a quick\nsharp, \"En garde!\" from the boy.\n\nThere was naught for Paul of Merely to do but draw his own weapon, in\nself-defense, for the sharp point of the boy's sword was flashing in and\nout against his unprotected body, inflicting painful little jabs,\nand the boy's tongue was murmuring low-toned taunts and insults as it\ninvited him to draw and defend himself or be stuck \"like the English pig\nyou are.\"\n\nPaul of Merely was a brave man and he liked not the idea of drawing\nagainst this stripling, but he argued that he could quickly disarm him\nwithout harming the lad, and he certainly did not care to be further\nhumiliated before his comrades.\n\nBut when he had drawn and engaged his youthful antagonist, he discovered\nthat, far from disarming him, he would have the devil's own job of it to\nkeep from being killed.\n\nNever in all his long years of fighting had he faced such an agile and\ndexterous enemy, and as they backed this way and that about the room,\ngreat beads of sweat stood upon the brow of Paul of Merely, for he\nrealized that he was fighting for his life against a superior swordsman.\n\nThe loud laughter of Beauchamp and Greystoke soon subsided to grim\nsmiles, and presently they looked on with startled faces in which fear\nand apprehension were dominant.\n\nThe boy was fighting as a cat might play with a mouse. No sign of\nexertion was apparent, and his haughty confident smile told louder than\nwords that he had in no sense let himself out to his full capacity.\n\nAround and around the room they circled, the boy always advancing, Paul\nof Merely always retreating. The din of their clashing swords and the\nheavy breathing of the older man were the only sounds, except as they\nbrushed against a bench or a table.\n\nPaul of Merely was a brave man, but he shuddered at the thought of dying\nuselessly at the hands of a mere boy. He would not call upon his friends\nfor aid, but presently, to his relief, Beauchamp sprang between them\nwith drawn sword, crying \"Enough, gentlemen, enough! You have no\nquarrel. Sheathe your swords.\"\n\nBut the boy's only response was, \"En garde, cochon,\" and Beauchamp found\nhimself taking the center of the stage in the place of his friend. Nor\ndid the boy neglect Paul of Merely, but engaged them both in swordplay\nthat caused the eyes of Greystoke to bulge from their sockets.\n\nSo swiftly moved his flying blade that half the time it was a sheet of\ngleaming light, and now he was driving home his thrusts and the smile\nhad frozen upon his lips--grim and stern.\n\nPaul of Merely and Beauchamp were wounded in a dozen places when\nGreystoke rushed to their aid, and then it was that a little, wiry, gray\nman leaped agilely from the kitchen doorway, and with drawn sword took\nhis place beside the boy. It was now two against three and the three may\nhave guessed, though they never knew, that they were pitted against the\ntwo greatest swordsmen in the world.\n\n\"To the death,\" cried the little gray man, \"a mort, mon fils.\" Scarcely\nhad the words left his lips ere, as though it had but waited permission,\nthe boy's sword flashed into the heart of Paul of Merely, and a Saxon\ngentleman was gathered to his fathers.\n\nThe old man engaged Greystoke now, and the boy turned his undivided\nattention to Beauchamp. Both these men were considered excellent\nswordsmen, but when Beauchamp heard again the little gray man's \"a mort,\nmon fils,\" he shuddered, and the little hairs at the nape of his neck\nrose up, and his spine froze, for he knew that he had heard the sentence\nof death passed upon him; for no mortal had yet lived who could vanquish\nsuch a swordsman as he who now faced him.\n\nAs Beauchamp pitched forward across a bench, dead, the little old man\nled Greystoke to where the boy awaited him.\n\n\"They are thy enemies, my son, and to thee belongs the pleasure of\nrevenge; a mort, mon fils.\"\n\nGreystoke was determined to sell his life dearly, and he rushed the lad\nas a great bull might rush a teasing dog, but the boy gave back not\nan inch and, when Greystoke stopped, there was a foot of cold steel\nprotruding from his back.\n\nTogether they buried the knights at the bottom of the dry moat at the\nback of the ruined castle. First they had stripped them and, when they\ntook account of the spoils of the combat, they found themselves richer\nby three horses with full trappings, many pieces of gold and silver\nmoney, ornaments and jewels, as well as the lances, swords and chain\nmail armor of their erstwhile guests.\n\nBut the greatest gain, the old man thought to himself, was that the\nknowledge of the remarkable resemblance between his ward and Prince\nEdward of England had come to him in time to prevent the undoing of his\nlife's work.\n\nThe boy, while young, was tall and broad shouldered, and so the old\nman had little difficulty in fitting one of the suits of armor to\nhim, obliterating the devices so that none might guess to whom it had\nbelonged. This he did, and from then on the boy never rode abroad except\nin armor, and when he met others upon the high road, his visor was\nalways lowered that none might see his face.\n\nThe day following the episode of the three knights the old man called\nthe boy to him, saying,\n\n\"It is time, my son, that thou learned an answer to such questions as\nwere put to thee yestereve by the pigs of Henry. Thou art fifteen years\nof age, and thy name be Norman, and so, as this be the ancient castle of\nTorn, thou mayst answer those whom thou desire to know it that thou art\nNorman of Torn; that thou be a French gentleman whose father purchased\nTorn and brought thee hither from France on the death of thy mother,\nwhen thou wert six years old.\n\n\"But remember, Norman of Torn, that the best answer for an Englishman is\nthe sword; naught else may penetrate his thick wit.\"\n\nAnd so was born that Norman of Torn, whose name in a few short years\nwas to strike terror to the hearts of Englishmen, and whose power in the\nvicinity of Torn was greater than that of the King or the barons.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nFrom now on, the old man devoted himself to the training of the boy in\nthe handling of his lance and battle-axe, but each day also, a period\nwas allotted to the sword, until, by the time the youth had turned\nsixteen, even the old man himself was as but a novice by comparison with\nthe marvelous skill of his pupil.\n\nDuring these days, the boy rode Sir Mortimer abroad in many directions\nuntil he knew every bypath within a radius of fifty miles of Torn.\nSometimes the old man accompanied him, but more often he rode alone.\n\nOn one occasion, he chanced upon a hut at the outskirts of a small\nhamlet not far from Torn and, with the curiosity of boyhood, determined\nto enter and have speech with the inmates, for by this time the natural\ndesire for companionship was commencing to assert itself. In all his\nlife, he remembered only the company of the old man, who never spoke\nexcept when necessity required.\n\nThe hut was occupied by an old priest, and as the boy in armor pushed\nin, without the usual formality of knocking, the old man looked up with\nan expression of annoyance and disapproval.\n\n\"What now,\" he said, \"have the King's men respect neither for piety nor\nage that they burst in upon the seclusion of a holy man without so much\nas a 'by your leave'?\"\n\n\"I am no king's man,\" replied the boy quietly, \"I am Norman of Torn, who\nhas neither a king nor a god, and who says 'by your leave' to no man.\nBut I have come in peace because I wish to talk to another than my\nfather. Therefore you may talk to me, priest,\" he concluded with haughty\nperemptoriness.\n\n\"By the nose of John, but it must be a king has deigned to honor me with\nhis commands,\" laughed the priest. \"Raise your visor, My Lord, I\nwould fain look upon the countenance from which issue the commands of\nroyalty.\"\n\nThe priest was a large man with beaming, kindly eyes, and a round jovial\nface. There was no bite in the tones of his good-natured retort, and so,\nsmiling, the boy raised his visor.\n\n\"By the ear of Gabriel,\" cried the good father, \"a child in armor!\"\n\n\"A child in years, mayhap,\" replied the boy, \"but a good child to own as\na friend, if one has enemies who wear swords.\"\n\n\"Then we shall be friends, Norman of Torn, for albeit I have few\nenemies, no man has too many friends, and I like your face and your\nmanner, though there be much to wish for in your manners. Sit down and\neat with me, and I will talk to your heart's content, for be there one\nother thing I more love than eating, it is talking.\"\n\nWith the priest's aid, the boy laid aside his armor, for it was heavy\nand uncomfortable, and together the two sat down to the meal that was\nalready partially on the board.\n\nThus began a friendship which lasted during the lifetime of the good\npriest. Whenever he could do so, Norman of Torn visited his friend,\nFather Claude. It was he who taught the boy to read and write in French,\nEnglish and Latin at a time when but few of the nobles could sign their\nown names.\n\nFrench was spoken almost exclusively at court and among the higher\nclasses of society, and all public documents were inscribed either in\nFrench or Latin, although about this time the first proclamation written\nin the English tongue was issued by an English king to his subjects.\n\nFather Claude taught the boy to respect the rights of others, to espouse\nthe cause of the poor and weak, to revere God and to believe that the\nprincipal reason for man's existence was to protect woman. All of virtue\nand chivalry and true manhood which his old guardian had neglected to\ninculcate in the boy's mind, the good priest planted there, but he could\nnot eradicate his deep-seated hatred for the English or his belief that\nthe real test of manhood lay in a desire to fight to the death with a\nsword.\n\nAn occurrence which befell during one of the boy's earlier visits to his\nnew friend rather decided the latter that no arguments he could bring to\nbear could ever overcome the bald fact that to this very belief of the\nboy's, and his ability to back it up with acts, the good father owed a\ngreat deal, possibly his life.\n\nAs they were seated in the priest's hut one afternoon, a rough knock\nfell upon the door which was immediately pushed open to admit as\ndisreputable a band of ruffians as ever polluted the sight of man. Six\nof them there were, clothed in dirty leather, and wearing swords and\ndaggers at their sides.\n\nThe leader was a mighty fellow with a great shock of coarse black hair\nand a red, bloated face almost concealed by a huge matted black beard.\nBehind him pushed another giant with red hair and a bristling mustache;\nwhile the third was marked by a terrible scar across his left cheek and\nforehead and from a blow which had evidently put out his left eye, for\nthat socket was empty, and the sunken eyelid but partly covered the\ninflamed red of the hollow where his eye had been.\n\n\"A ha, my hearties,\" roared the leader, turning to his motley crew,\n\"fine pickings here indeed. A swine of God fattened upon the sweat of\nsuch poor, honest devils as we, and a young shoat who, by his looks,\nmust have pieces of gold in his belt.\n\n\"Say your prayers, my pigeons,\" he continued, with a vile oath, \"for The\nBlack Wolf leaves no evidence behind him to tie his neck with a halter\nlater, and dead men talk the least.\"\n\n\"If it be The Black Wolf,\" whispered Father Claude to the boy, \"no worse\nfate could befall us for he preys ever upon the clergy, and when drunk,\nas he now is, he murders his victims. I will throw myself before them\nwhile you hasten through the rear doorway to your horse, and make good\nyour escape.\" He spoke in French, and held his hands in the attitude of\nprayer, so that he quite entirely misled the ruffians, who had no idea\nthat he was communicating with the boy.\n\nNorman of Torn could scarce repress a smile at this clever ruse of the\nold priest, and, assuming a similar attitude, he replied in French:\n\n\"The good Father Claude does not know Norman of Torn if he thinks he\nruns out the back door like an old woman because a sword looks in at the\nfront door.\"\n\nThen rising he addressed the ruffians.\n\n\"I do not know what manner of grievance you hold against my good friend\nhere, nor neither do I care. It is sufficient that he is the friend of\nNorman of Torn, and that Norman of Torn be here in person to acknowledge\nthe debt of friendship. Have at you, sir knights of the great filth and\nthe mighty stink!\" and with drawn sword he vaulted over the table and\nfell upon the surprised leader.\n\nIn the little room, but two could engage him at once, but so fiercely\ndid his blade swing and so surely did he thrust that, in a bare moment,\nThe Black Wolf lay dead upon the floor and the red giant, Shandy, was\nbadly, though not fatally wounded. The four remaining ruffians backed\nquickly from the hut, and a more cautious fighter would have let them\ngo their way in peace, for in the open, four against one are odds no man\nmay pit himself against with impunity. But Norman of Torn saw red when\nhe fought and the red lured him ever on into the thickest of the fray.\nOnly once before had he fought to the death, but that once had taught\nhim the love of it, and ever after until his death, it marked his manner\nof fighting; so that men who loathed and hated and feared him were as\none with those who loved him in acknowledging that never before had God\njoined in the human frame absolute supremacy with the sword and such\nutter fearlessness.\n\nSo it was, now, that instead of being satisfied with his victory, he\nrushed out after the four knaves. Once in the open, they turned upon\nhim, but he sprang into their midst with his seething blade, and it was\nas though they faced four men rather than one, so quickly did he parry\na thrust here and return a cut there. In a moment one was disarmed,\nanother down, and the remaining two fleeing for their lives toward the\nhigh road with Norman of Torn close at their heels.\n\nYoung, agile and perfect in health, he outclassed them in running as\nwell as in swordsmanship, and ere they had made fifty paces, both had\nthrown away their swords and were on their knees pleading for their\nlives.\n\n\"Come back to the good priest's hut, and we shall see what he may say,\"\nreplied Norman of Torn.\n\nOn the way back, they found the man who had been disarmed bending over\nhis wounded comrade. They were brothers, named Flory, and one would not\ndesert the other. It was evident that the wounded man was in no danger,\nso Norman of Torn ordered the others to assist him into the hut, where\nthey found Red Shandy sitting propped against the wall while the good\nfather poured the contents of a flagon down his eager throat.\n\nThe villain's eyes fairly popped from his head when he saw his four\ncomrades coming, unarmed and prisoners, back to the little room.\n\n\"The Black Wolf dead, Red Shandy and John Flory wounded, James Flory,\nOne Eye Kanty and Peter the Hermit prisoners!\" he ejaculated.\n\n\"Man or devil! By the Pope's hind leg, who and what be ye?\" he said,\nturning to Norman of Torn.\n\n\"I be your master and ye be my men,\" said Norman of Torn. \"Me ye shall\nserve in fairer work than ye have selected for yourselves, but with\nfighting a-plenty and good reward.\"\n\nThe sight of this gang of ruffians banded together to prey upon the\nclergy had given rise to an idea in the boy's mind, which had been\nrevolving in a nebulous way within the innermost recesses of his\nsubconsciousness since his vanquishing of the three knights had brought\nhim, so easily, such riches in the form of horses, arms, armor and gold.\nAs was always his wont in his after life, to think was to act.\n\n\"With The Black Wolf dead, and may the devil pull out his eyes with red\nhot tongs, we might look farther and fare worse, mates, in search of a\nchief,\" spoke Red Shandy, eyeing his fellows, \"for verily any man, be he\nbut a stripling, who can vanquish six such as we, be fit to command us.\"\n\n\"But what be the duties?\" said he whom they called Peter the Hermit.\n\n\"To follow Norman of Torn where he may lead, to protect the poor and the\nweak, to lay down your lives in defence of woman, and to prey upon rich\nEnglishmen and harass the King of England.\"\n\nThe last two clauses of these articles of faith appealed to the ruffians\nso strongly that they would have subscribed to anything, even daily\nmass, and a bath, had that been necessary to admit them to the service\nof Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Aye, aye!\" they cried. \"We be your men, indeed.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" said Norman of Torn, \"there is more. You are to obey my every\ncommand on pain of instant death, and one-half of all your gains are to\nbe mine. On my side, I will clothe and feed you, furnish you with mounts\nand armor and weapons and a roof to sleep under, and fight for and with\nyou with a sword arm which you know to be no mean protector. Are you\nsatisfied?\"\n\n\"That we are,\" and \"Long live Norman of Torn,\" and \"Here's to the chief\nof the Torns\" signified the ready assent of the burly cut-throats.\n\n\"Then swear it as ye kiss the hilt of my sword and this token,\" pursued\nNorman of Torn catching up a crucifix from the priest's table.\n\nWith these formalities was born the Clan Torn, which grew in a few years\nto number a thousand men, and which defied a king's army and helped to\nmake Simon de Montfort virtual ruler of England.\n\nAlmost immediately commenced that series of outlaw acts upon neighboring\nbarons, and chance members of the gentry who happened to be caught in\nthe open by the outlaws, that filled the coffers of Norman of Torn with\nmany pieces of gold and silver, and placed a price upon his head ere he\nhad scarce turned eighteen.\n\nThat he had no fear of or desire to avoid responsibility for his acts,\nhe grimly evidenced by marking with a dagger's point upon the foreheads\nof those who fell before his own sword the initials NT.\n\nAs his following and wealth increased, he rebuilt and enlarged the grim\nCastle of Torn, and again dammed the little stream which had furnished\nthe moat with water in bygone days.\n\nThrough all the length and breadth of the country that witnessed\nhis activities, his very name was worshipped by poor and lowly and\noppressed. The money he took from the King's tax gatherers, he returned\nto the miserable peasants of the district, and once when Henry III sent\na little expedition against him, he surrounded and captured the entire\nforce, and, stripping them, gave their clothing to the poor, and\nescorted them, naked, back to the very gates of London.\n\nBy the time he was twenty, Norman the Devil, as the King himself had\ndubbed him, was known by reputation throughout all England, though no\nman had seen his face and lived other than his friends and followers.\nHe had become a power to reckon with in the fast culminating quarrel\nbetween King Henry and his foreign favorites on one side, and the Saxon\nand Norman barons on the other.\n\nNeither side knew which way his power might be turned, for Norman of\nTorn had preyed almost equally upon royalist and insurgent. Personally,\nhe had decided to join neither party, but to take advantage of the\nturmoil of the times to prey without partiality upon both.\n\nAs Norman of Torn approached his grim castle home with his five filthy,\nragged cut-throats on the day of his first meeting with them, the old\nman of Torn stood watching the little party from one of the small towers\nof the barbican.\n\nHalting beneath this outer gate, the youth winded the horn which hung at\nhis side in mimicry of the custom of the times.\n\n\"What ho, without there!\" challenged the old man entering grimly into\nthe spirit of the play.\n\n\"'Tis Sir Norman of Torn,\" spoke up Red Shandy, \"with his great host\nof noble knights and men-at-arms and squires and lackeys and sumpter\nbeasts. Open in the name of the good right arm of Sir Norman of Torn.\"\n\n\"What means this, my son?\" said the old man as Norman of Torn dismounted\nwithin the ballium.\n\nThe youth narrated the events of the morning, concluding with, \"These,\nthen, be my men, father; and together we shall fare forth upon the\nhighways and into the byways of England, to collect from the rich\nEnglish pigs that living which you have ever taught me was owing us.\"\n\n\"'Tis well, my son, and even as I myself would have it; together we\nshall ride out, and where we ride, a trail of blood shall mark our way.\n\n\"From now, henceforth, the name and fame of Norman of Torn shall grow in\nthe land, until even the King shall tremble when he hears it, and shall\nhate and loathe ye as I have even taught ye to hate and loathe him.\n\n\"All England shall curse ye and the blood of Saxon and Norman shall\nnever dry upon your blade.\"\n\nAs the old man walked away toward the great gate of the castle after\nthis outbreak, Shandy, turning to Norman of Torn, with a wide grin,\nsaid:\n\n\"By the Pope's hind leg, but thy amiable father loveth the English.\nThere should be great riding after such as he.\"\n\n\"Ye ride after ME, varlet,\" cried Norman of Torn, \"an' lest ye should\nforget again so soon who be thy master, take that, as a reminder,\" and\nhe struck the red giant full upon the mouth with his clenched fist--so\nthat the fellow tumbled heavily to the earth.\n\nHe was on his feet in an instant, spitting blood, and in a towering\nrage. As he rushed, bull-like, toward Norman of Torn, the latter made\nno move to draw; he but stood with folded arms, eyeing Shandy with cold,\nlevel gaze; his head held high, haughty face marked by an arrogant sneer\nof contempt.\n\nThe great ruffian paused, then stopped, slowly a sheepish smile\noverspread his countenance and, going upon one knee, he took the hand of\nNorman of Torn and kissed it, as some great and loyal noble knight might\nhave kissed his king's hand in proof of his love and fealty. There was\na certain rude, though chivalrous grandeur in the act; and it marked\nnot only the beginning of a lifelong devotion and loyalty on the part of\nShandy toward his young master, but was prophetic of the attitude which\nNorman of Torn was to inspire in all the men who served him during the\nlong years that saw thousands pass the barbicans of Torn to crave a\nposition beneath his grim banner.\n\nAs Shandy rose, one by one, John Flory, James, his brother, One Eye\nKanty, and Peter the Hermit knelt before their young lord and kissed\nhis hand. From the Great Court beyond, a little, grim, gray, old man had\nwatched this scene, a slight smile upon his old, malicious face.\n\n\"'Tis to transcend even my dearest dreams,\" he muttered. \"'S death,\nbut he be more a king than Henry himself. God speed the day of his\ncoronation, when, before the very eyes of the Plantagenet hound, a black\ncap shall be placed upon his head for a crown; beneath his feet the\nplatform of a wooden gibbet for a throne.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nIt was a beautiful spring day in May, 1262, that Norman of Torn rode\nalone down the narrow trail that led to the pretty cottage with which he\nhad replaced the hut of his old friend, Father Claude.\n\nAs was his custom, he rode with lowered visor, and nowhere upon his\nperson or upon the trappings of his horse were sign or insignia of rank\nor house. More powerful and richer than many nobles of the court, he was\nwithout rank or other title than that of outlaw and he seemed to assume\nwhat in reality he held in little esteem.\n\nHe wore armor because his old guardian had urged him to do so, and not\nbecause he craved the protection it afforded. And, for the same cause,\nhe rode always with lowered visor, though he could never prevail upon\nthe old man to explain the reason which necessitated this precaution.\n\n\"It is enough that I tell you, my son,\" the old fellow was wont to say,\n\"that for your own good as well as mine, you must not show your face to\nyour enemies until I so direct. The time will come and soon now, I hope,\nwhen you shall uncover your countenance to all England.\"\n\nThe young man gave the matter but little thought, usually passing it off\nas the foolish whim of an old dotard; but he humored it nevertheless.\n\nBehind him, as he rode down the steep declivity that day, loomed a very\ndifferent Torn from that which he had approached sixteen years before,\nwhen, as a little boy he had ridden through the darkening shadows of\nthe night, perched upon a great horse behind the little old woman, whose\nmetamorphosis to the little grim, gray, old man of Torn their advent to\nthe castle had marked.\n\nToday the great, frowning pile loomed larger and more imposing than ever\nin the most resplendent days of its past grandeur. The original keep was\nthere with its huge, buttressed Saxon towers whose mighty fifteen foot\nwalls were pierced with stairways and vaulted chambers, lighted by\nembrasures which, mere slits in the outer periphery of the walls, spread\nto larger dimensions within, some even attaining the area of small\ntriangular chambers.\n\nThe moat, widened and deepened, completely encircled three sides of the\ncastle, running between the inner and outer walls, which were set at\nintervals with small projecting towers so pierced that a flanking fire\nfrom long bows, cross bows and javelins might be directed against a\nscaling party.\n\nThe fourth side of the walled enclosure overhung a high precipice, which\nnatural protection rendered towers unnecessary upon this side.\n\nThe main gateway of the castle looked toward the west and from it ran\nthe tortuous and rocky trail, down through the mountains toward the\nvalley below. The aspect from the great gate was one of quiet and rugged\nbeauty. A short stretch of barren downs in the foreground only sparsely\nstudded with an occasional gnarled oak gave an unobstructed view of\nbroad and lovely meadowland through which wound a sparkling tributary of\nthe Trent.\n\nTwo more gateways let into the great fortress, one piercing the north\nwall and one the east. All three gates were strongly fortified with\ntowered and buttressed barbicans which must be taken before the main\ngates could be reached. Each barbican was portcullised, while the inner\ngates were similarly safeguarded in addition to the drawbridges which,\nspanning the moat when lowered, could be drawn up at the approach of an\nenemy, effectually stopping his advance.\n\nThe new towers and buildings added to the ancient keep under the\ndirection of Norman of Torn and the grim, old man whom he called father,\nwere of the Norman type of architecture, the windows were larger, the\ncarving more elaborate, the rooms lighter and more spacious.\n\nWithin the great enclosure thrived a fair sized town, for, with his ten\nhundred fighting-men, the Outlaw of Torn required many squires, lackeys,\ncooks, scullions, armorers, smithies, farriers, hostlers and the like to\ncare for the wants of his little army.\n\nFifteen hundred war horses, beside five hundred sumpter beasts, were\nquartered in the great stables, while the east court was alive with\ncows, oxen, goats, sheep, pigs, rabbits and chickens.\n\nGreat wooden carts drawn by slow, plodding oxen were daily visitors to\nthe grim pile, fetching provender for man and beast from the neighboring\nfarm lands of the poor Saxon peasants, to whom Norman of Torn paid good\ngold for their crops.\n\nThese poor serfs, who were worse than slaves to the proud barons who\nowned the land they tilled, were forbidden by royal edict to sell or\ngive a pennysworth of provisions to the Outlaw of Torn, upon pain of\ndeath, but nevertheless his great carts made their trips regularly and\nalways returned full laden, and though the husbandmen told sad tales\nto their overlords of the awful raids of the Devil of Torn in which he\nseized upon their stuff by force, their tongues were in their cheeks as\nthey spoke and the Devil's gold in their pockets.\n\nAnd so, while the barons learned to hate him the more, the peasants'\nlove for him increased. Them he never injured; their fences, their\nstock, their crops, their wives and daughters were safe from molestation\neven though the neighboring castle of their lord might be sacked from\nthe wine cellar to the ramparts of the loftiest tower. Nor did anyone\ndare ride rough shod over the territory which Norman of Torn patrolled.\nA dozen bands of cut-throats he had driven from the Derby hills, and\nthough the barons would much rather have had all the rest than he, the\npeasants worshipped him as a deliverer from the lowborn murderers who\nhad been wont to despoil the weak and lowly and on whose account the\nwomen of the huts and cottages had never been safe.\n\nFew of them had seen his face and fewer still had spoken with him, but\nthey loved his name and his prowess and in secret they prayed for him\nto their ancient god, Wodin, and the lesser gods of the forest and the\nmeadow and the chase, for though they were confessed Christians, still\nin the hearts of many beat a faint echo of the old superstitions of\ntheir ancestors; and while they prayed also to the Lord Jesus and to\nMary, yet they felt it could do no harm to be on the safe side with the\nothers, in case they did happen to exist.\n\nA poor, degraded, downtrodden, ignorant, superstitious people, they\nwere; accustomed for generations to the heel of first one invader and\nthen another and in the interims, when there were any, the heels of\ntheir feudal lords and their rapacious monarchs.\n\nNo wonder then that such as these worshipped the Outlaw of Torn, for\nsince their fierce Saxon ancestors had come, themselves as conquerors,\nto England, no other hand had ever been raised to shield them from\noppression.\n\nOn this policy of his toward the serfs and freedmen, Norman of Torn and\nthe grim, old man whom he called father had never agreed. The latter was\nfor carrying his war of hate against all Englishmen, but the young man\nwould neither listen to it, nor allow any who rode out from Torn to\nmolest the lowly. A ragged tunic was a surer defence against this wild\nhorde than a stout lance or an emblazoned shield.\n\nSo, as Norman of Torn rode down from his mighty castle to visit Father\nClaude, the sunlight playing on his clanking armor and glancing from\nthe copper boss of his shield, the sight of a little group of woodmen\nkneeling uncovered by the roadside as he passed was not so remarkable\nafter all.\n\nEntering the priest's study, Norman of Torn removed his armor and lay\nback moodily upon a bench with his back against a wall and his strong,\nlithe legs stretched out before him.\n\n\"What ails you, my son?\" asked the priest, \"that you look so\ndisconsolate on this beautiful day?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Father,\" replied Norman of Torn, \"unless it be that I\nam asking myself the question, 'What it is all for?' Why did my father\ntrain me ever to prey upon my fellows? I like to fight, but there is\nplenty of fighting which is legitimate, and what good may all my stolen\nwealth avail me if I may not enter the haunts of men to spend it? Should\nI stick my head into London town, it would doubtless stay there, held by\na hempen necklace.\n\n\"What quarrel have I with the King or the gentry? They have quarrel\nenough with me it is true, but, nathless, I do not know why I should\nhave hated them so before I was old enough to know how rotten they\nreally are. So it seems to me that I am but the instrument of an old\nman's spite, not even knowing the grievance to the avenging of which my\nlife has been dedicated by another.\n\n\"And at times, Father Claude, as I grow older, I doubt much that the\nnameless old man of Torn is my father, so little do I favor him, and\nnever in all my life have I heard a word of fatherly endearment or felt\na caress, even as a little child. What think you, Father Claude?\"\n\n\"I have thought much of it, my son,\" answered the priest. \"It has ever\nbeen a sore puzzle to me, and I have my suspicions, which I have held\nfor years, but which even the thought of so frightens me that I shudder\nto speculate upon the consequences of voicing them aloud. Norman of\nTorn, if you are not the son of the old man you call father, may God\nforfend that England ever guesses your true parentage. More than this, I\ndare not say except that, as you value your peace of mind and your life,\nkeep your visor down and keep out of the clutches of your enemies.\"\n\n\"Then you know why I should keep my visor down?\"\n\n\"I can only guess, Norman of Torn, because I have seen another whom you\nresemble.\"\n\nThe conversation was interrupted by a commotion from without; the sound\nof horses' hoofs, the cries of men and the clash of arms. In an instant,\nboth men were at the tiny unglazed window. Before them, on the highroad,\nfive knights in armor were now engaged in furious battle with a party of\nten or a dozen other steel-clad warriors, while crouching breathless on\nher palfry, a young woman sat a little apart from the contestants.\n\nPresently, one of the knights detached himself from the melee and rode\nto her side with some word of command, at the same time grasping\nroughly at her bridle rein. The girl raised her riding whip and struck\nrepeatedly but futilely against the iron headgear of her assailant while\nhe swung his horse up the road, and, dragging her palfrey after him,\ngalloped rapidly out of sight.\n\nNorman of Torn sprang to the door, and, reckless of his unarmored\ncondition, leaped to Sir Mortimer's back and spurred swiftly in the\ndirection taken by the girl and her abductor.\n\nThe great black was fleet, and, unencumbered by the usual heavy armor\nof his rider, soon brought the fugitives to view. Scarce a mile had been\ncovered ere the knight, turning to look for pursuers, saw the face of\nNorman of Torn not ten paces behind him.\n\nWith a look of mingled surprise, chagrin and incredulity the knight\nreined in his horse, exclaiming as he did so, \"Mon Dieu, Edward!\"\n\n\"Draw and defend yourself,\" cried Norman of Torn.\n\n\"But, Your Highness,\" stammered the knight.\n\n\"Draw, or I stick you as I have stuck an hundred other English pigs,\"\ncried Norman of Torn.\n\nThe charging steed was almost upon him and the knight looked to see the\nrider draw rein, but, like a black bolt, the mighty Sir Mortimer struck\nthe other horse full upon the shoulder, and man and steed rolled in the\ndust of the roadway.\n\nThe knight arose, unhurt, and Norman of Torn dismounted to give fair\nbattle upon even terms. Though handicapped by the weight of his armor,\nthe knight also had the advantage of its protection, so that the\ntwo fought furiously for several minutes without either gaining an\nadvantage.\n\nThe girl sat motionless and wide-eyed at the side of the road watching\nevery move of the two contestants. She made no effort to escape, but\nseemed riveted to the spot by the very fierceness of the battle she\nwas beholding, as well, possibly, as by the fascination of the handsome\ngiant who had espoused her cause. As she looked upon her champion, she\nsaw a lithe, muscular, brown-haired youth whose clear eyes and perfect\nfigure, unconcealed by either bassinet or hauberk, reflected the clean,\nathletic life of the trained fighting man.\n\nUpon his face hovered a faint, cold smile of haughty pride as the sword\narm, displaying its mighty strength and skill in every move, played with\nthe sweating, puffing, steel-clad enemy who hacked and hewed so futilely\nbefore him. For all the din of clashing blades and rattling armor,\nneither of the contestants had inflicted much damage, for the knight\ncould neither force nor insinuate his point beyond the perfect guard of\nhis unarmored foe, who, for his part, found difficulty in penetrating\nthe other's armor.\n\nFinally, by dint of his mighty strength, Norman of Torn drove his blade\nthrough the meshes of his adversary's mail, and the fellow, with a cry\nof anguish, sank limply to the ground.\n\n\"Quick, Sir Knight!\" cried the girl. \"Mount and flee; yonder come his\nfellows.\"\n\nAnd surely, as Norman of Torn turned in the direction from which he\nhad just come, there, racing toward him at full tilt, rode three\nsteel-armored men on their mighty horses.\n\n\"Ride, madam,\" cried Norman of Torn, \"for fly I shall not, nor may I,\nalone, unarmored, and on foot hope more than to momentarily delay these\nthree fellows, but in that time you should easily make your escape.\nTheir heavy-burdened animals could never o'ertake your fleet palfrey.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he took note for the first time of the young woman. That\nshe was a lady of quality was evidenced not alone by the richness of\nher riding apparel and the trappings of her palfrey, but as well in her\nnoble and haughty demeanor and the proud expression of her beautiful\nface.\n\nAlthough at this time nearly twenty years had passed over the head of\nNorman of Torn, he was without knowledge or experience in the ways of\nwomen, nor had he ever spoken with a female of quality or position. No\nwoman graced the castle of Torn nor had the boy, within his memory, ever\nknown a mother.\n\nHis attitude therefore was much the same toward women as it was toward\nmen, except that he had sworn always to protect them. Possibly, in a\nway, he looked up to womankind, if it could be said that Norman of Torn\nlooked up to anything: God, man or devil--it being more his way to look\ndown upon all creatures whom he took the trouble to notice at all.\n\nAs his glance rested upon this woman, whom fate had destined to\nalter the entire course of his life, Norman of Torn saw that she was\nbeautiful, and that she was of that class against whom he had preyed for\nyears with his band of outlaw cut-throats. Then he turned once more to\nface her enemies with the strange inconsistency which had ever marked\nhis methods.\n\nTomorrow he might be assaulting the ramparts of her father's castle, but\ntoday he was joyously offering to sacrifice his life for her--had she\nbeen the daughter of a charcoal burner he would have done no less. It\nwas enough that she was a woman and in need of protection.\n\nThe three knights were now fairly upon him, and with fine disregard for\nfair play, charged with couched spears the unarmored man on foot. But as\nthe leading knight came close enough to behold his face, he cried out in\nsurprise and consternation:\n\n\"Mon Dieu, le Prince!\" He wheeled his charging horse to one side. His\nfellows, hearing his cry, followed his example, and the three of them\ndashed on down the high road in as evident anxiety to escape as they had\nbeen keen to attack.\n\n\"One would think they had met the devil,\" muttered Norman of Torn,\nlooking after them in unfeigned astonishment.\n\n\"What means it, lady?\" he asked turning to the damsel, who had made no\nmove to escape.\n\n\"It means that your face is well known in your father's realm, my Lord\nPrince,\" she replied. \"And the King's men have no desire to antagonize\nyou, even though they may understand as little as I why you should\nespouse the cause of a daughter of Simon de Montfort.\"\n\n\"Am I then taken for Prince Edward of England?\" he asked.\n\n\"An' who else should you be taken for, my Lord?\"\n\n\"I am not the Prince,\" said Norman of Torn. \"It is said that Edward is\nin France.\"\n\n\"Right you are, sir,\" exclaimed the girl. \"I had not thought on that;\nbut you be enough of his likeness that you might well deceive the Queen\nherself. And you be of a bravery fit for a king's son. Who are you\nthen, Sir Knight, who has bared your steel and faced death for Bertrade,\ndaughter of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester?\"\n\n\"Be you De Montfort's daughter, niece of King Henry?\" queried Norman of\nTorn, his eyes narrowing to mere slits and face hardening.\n\n\"That I be,\" replied the girl, \"an' from your face I take it you have\nlittle love for a De Montfort,\" she added, smiling.\n\n\"An' whither may you be bound, Lady Bertrade de Montfort? Be you niece\nor daughter of the devil, yet still you be a woman, and I do not war\nagainst women. Wheresoever you would go will I accompany you to safety.\"\n\n\"I was but now bound, under escort of five of my father's knights, to\nvisit Mary, daughter of John de Stutevill of Derby.\"\n\n\"I know the castle well,\" answered Norman of Torn, and the shadow of\na grim smile played about his lips, for scarce sixty days had elapsed\nsince he had reduced the stronghold, and levied tribute on the great\nbaron. \"Come, you have not far to travel now, and if we make haste you\nshall sup with your friend before dark.\"\n\nSo saying, he mounted his horse and was turning to retrace their steps\ndown the road when he noticed the body of the dead knight lying where it\nhad fallen.\n\n\"Ride on,\" he called to Bertrade de Montfort, \"I will join you in an\ninstant.\"\n\nAgain dismounting, he returned to the side of his late adversary, and\nlifting the dead knight's visor, drew upon the forehead with the point\nof his dagger the letters NT.\n\nThe girl turned to see what detained him, but his back was toward her\nand he knelt beside his fallen foeman, and she did not see his act.\nBrave daughter of a brave sire though she was, had she seen what he\ndid, her heart would have quailed within her and she would have fled in\nterror from the clutches of this scourge of England, whose mark she\nhad seen on the dead foreheads of a dozen of her father's knights and\nkinsmen.\n\nTheir way to Stutevill lay past the cottage of Father Claude, and here\nNorman of Torn stopped to don his armor. Now he rode once more with\nlowered visor, and in silence, a little to the rear of Bertrade de\nMontfort that he might watch her face, which, of a sudden, had excited\nhis interest.\n\nNever before, within the scope of his memory, had he been so close to a\nyoung and beautiful woman for so long a period of time, although he had\noften seen women in the castles that had fallen before his vicious and\nterrible attacks. While stories were abroad of his vile treatment of\nwomen captives, there was no truth in them. They were merely spread by\nhis enemies to incite the people against him. Never had Norman of Torn\nlaid violent hand upon a woman, and his cut-throat band were under oath\nto respect and protect the sex, on penalty of death.\n\nAs he watched the semi-profile of the lovely face before him, something\nstirred in his heart which had been struggling for expression for years.\nIt was not love, nor was it allied to love, but a deep longing for\ncompanionship of such as she, and such as she represented. Norman of\nTorn could not have translated this feeling into words for he did not\nknow, but it was the far faint cry of blood for blood and with it,\nmayhap, was mixed not alone the longing of the lion among jackals for\nother lions, but for his lioness.\n\nThey rode for many miles in silence when suddenly she turned, saying:\n\n\"You take your time, Sir Knight, in answering my query. Who be ye?\"\n\n\"I am Nor--\" and then he stopped. Always before he had answered that\nquestion with haughty pride. Why should he hesitate, he thought. Was it\nbecause he feared the loathing that name would inspire in the breast of\nthis daughter of the aristocracy he despised? Did Norman of Torn fear\nto face the look of seem and repugnance that was sure to be mirrored in\nthat lovely face?\n\n\"I am from Normandy,\" he went on quietly. \"A gentleman of France.\"\n\n\"But your name?\" she said peremptorily. \"Are you ashamed of your name?\"\n\n\"You may call me Roger,\" he answered. \"Roger de Conde.\"\n\n\"Raise your visor, Roger de Conde,\" she commanded. \"I do not take\npleasure in riding with a suit of armor; I would see that there is a man\nwithin.\"\n\nNorman of Torn smiled as he did her bidding, and when he smiled thus, as\nhe rarely did, he was good to look upon.\n\n\"It is the first command I have obeyed since I turned sixteen, Bertrade\nde Montfort,\" he said.\n\nThe girl was about nineteen, full of the vigor and gaiety of youth and\nhealth; and so the two rode on their journey talking and laughing as\nthey might have been friends of long standing.\n\nShe told him of the reason for the attack upon her earlier in the day,\nattributing it to an attempt on the part of a certain baron, Peter of\nColfax, to abduct her, his suit for her hand having been peremptorily\nand roughly denied by her father.\n\nSimon de Montfort was no man to mince words, and it is doubtless that\nthe old reprobate who sued for his daughter's hand heard some unsavory\ntruths from the man who had twice scandalized England's nobility by his\nrude and discourteous, though true and candid, speeches to the King.\n\n\"This Peter of Colfax shall be looked to,\" growled Norman of Torn. \"And,\nas you have refused his heart and hand, his head shall be yours for the\nasking. You have but to command, Bertrade de Montfort.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" she laughed, thinking it but the idle boasting so much\nindulged in in those days. \"You may bring me his head upon a golden\ndish, Roger de Conde.\"\n\n\"And what reward does the knight earn who brings to the feet of his\nprincess the head of her enemy?\" he asked lightly.\n\n\"What boon would the knight ask?\"\n\n\"That whatsoever a bad report you hear of your knight, of whatsoever\ncalumnies may be heaped upon him, you shall yet ever be his friend, and\nbelieve in his honor and his loyalty.\"\n\nThe girl laughed gaily as she answered, though something seemed to tell\nher that this was more than play.\n\n\"It shall be as you say, Sir Knight,\" she replied. \"And the boon once\ngranted shall be always kept.\"\n\nQuick to reach decisions and as quick to act, Norman of Torn decided\nthat he liked this girl and that he wished her friendship more than any\nother thing he knew of. And wishing it, he determined to win it by any\nmeans that accorded with his standard of honor; an honor which in many\nrespects was higher than that of the nobles of his time.\n\nThey reached the castle of De Stutevill late in the afternoon, and\nthere, Norman of Torn was graciously welcomed and urged to accept the\nBaron's hospitality overnight.\n\nThe grim humor of the situation was too much for the outlaw, and, when\nadded to his new desire to be in the company of Bertrade de Montfort, he\nmade no effort to resist, but hastened to accept the warm welcome.\n\nAt the long table upon which the evening meal was spread sat the entire\nhousehold of the Baron, and here and there among the men were evidences\nof painful wounds but barely healed, while the host himself still wore\nhis sword arm in a sling.\n\n\"We have been through grievous times,\" said Sir John, noticing that his\nguest was glancing at the various evidences of conflict. \"That fiend,\nNorman the Devil, with his filthy pack of cut-throats, besieged us for\nten days, and then took the castle by storm and sacked it. Life is no\nlonger safe in England with the King spending his time and money with\nforeign favorites and buying alien soldiery to fight against his own\nbarons, instead of insuring the peace and protection which is the right\nof every Englishman at home.\n\n\"But,\" he continued, \"this outlaw devil will come to the end of a short\nhalter when once our civil strife is settled, for the barons themselves\nhave decided upon an expedition against him, if the King will not subdue\nhim.\"\n\n\"An' he may send the barons naked home as he did the King's soldiers,\"\nlaughed Bertrade de Montfort. \"I should like to see this fellow; what\nmay he look like--from the appearance of yourself, Sir John, and many of\nyour men-at-arms, there should be no few here but have met him.\"\n\n\"Not once did he raise his visor while he was among us,\" replied the\nBaron, \"but there are those who claim they had a brief glimpse of him\nand that he is of horrid countenance, wearing a great yellow beard and\nhaving one eye gone, and a mighty red scar from his forehead to his\nchin.\"\n\n\"A fearful apparition,\" murmured Norman of Torn. \"No wonder he keeps his\nhelm closed.\"\n\n\"But such a swordsman,\" spoke up a son of De Stutevill. \"Never in all\nthe world was there such swordplay as I saw that day in the courtyard.\"\n\n\"I, too, have seen some wonderful swordplay,\" said Bertrade de Montfort,\n\"and that today. O he!\" she cried, laughing gleefully, \"verily do I\nbelieve I have captured the wild Norman of Torn, for this very knight,\nwho styles himself Roger de Conde, fights as I ne'er saw man fight\nbefore, and he rode with his visor down until I chide him for it.\"\n\nNorman of Torn led in the laugh which followed, and of all the company\nhe most enjoyed the joke.\n\n\"An' speaking of the Devil,\" said the Baron, \"how think you he will side\nshould the King eventually force war upon the barons? With his thousand\nhell-hounds, the fate of England might well be in the palm of his bloody\nhand.\"\n\n\"He loves neither King nor baron,\" spoke Mary de Stutevill, \"and I\nrather lean to the thought that he will serve neither, but rather\nplunder the castles of both rebel and royalist whilst their masters be\nabsent at war.\"\n\n\"It be more to his liking to come while the master be home to welcome\nhim,\" said De Stutevill, ruthfully. \"But yet I am always in fear for the\nsafety of my wife and daughters when I be away from Derby for any time.\nMay the good God soon deliver England from this Devil of Torn.\"\n\n\"I think you may have no need of fear on that score,\" spoke Mary, \"for\nNorman of Torn offered no violence to any woman within the wall of\nStutevill, and when one of his men laid a heavy hand upon me, it was the\ngreat outlaw himself who struck the fellow such a blow with his mailed\nhand as to crack the ruffian's helm, saying at the time, 'Know you,\nfellow, Norman of Torn does not war upon women?'\"\n\nPresently the conversation turned to other subjects and Norman of Torn\nheard no more of himself during that evening.\n\nHis stay at the castle of Stutevill was drawn out to three days, and\nthen, on the third day, as he sat with Bertrade de Montfort in an\nembrasure of the south tower of the old castle, he spoke once more of\nthe necessity for leaving and once more she urged him to remain.\n\n\"To be with you, Bertrade of Montfort,\" he said boldly, \"I would forego\nany other pleasure, and endure any privation, or face any danger, but\nthere are others who look to me for guidance and my duty calls me away\nfrom you. You shall see me again, and at the castle of your father,\nSimon de Montfort, in Leicester. Provided,\" he added, \"that you will\nwelcome me there.\"\n\n\"I shall always welcome you, wherever I may be, Roger de Conde,\" replied\nthe girl.\n\n\"Remember that promise,\" he said smiling. \"Some day you may be glad to\nrepudiate it.\"\n\n\"Never,\" she insisted, and a light that shone in her eyes as she said it\nwould have meant much to a man better versed in the ways of women than\nwas Norman of Torn.\n\n\"I hope not,\" he said gravely. \"I cannot tell you, being but poorly\ntrained in courtly ways, what I should like to tell you, that you\nmight know how much your friendship means to me. Goodbye, Bertrade de\nMontfort,\" and he bent to one knee, as he raised her fingers to his\nlips.\n\nAs he passed over the drawbridge and down toward the highroad a few\nminutes later on his way back to Torn, he turned for one last look at\nthe castle and there, in an embrasure in the south tower, stood a\nyoung woman who raised her hand to wave, and then, as though by sudden\nimpulse, threw a kiss after the departing knight, only to disappear from\nthe embrasure with the act.\n\nAs Norman of Torn rode back to his grim castle in the hills of Derby, he\nhad much food for thought upon the way. Never till now had he realized\nwhat might lie in another manner of life, and he felt a twinge of\nbitterness toward the hard, old man whom he called father, and whose\nteachings from the boy's earliest childhood had guided him in the ways\nthat had cut him off completely from the society of other men, except\nthe wild horde of outlaws, ruffians and adventurers that rode beneath\nthe grisly banner of the young chief of Torn.\n\nOnly in an ill-defined, nebulous way did he feel that it was the girl\nwho had come into his life that caused him for the first time to feel\nshame for his past deeds. He did not know the meaning of love, and so he\ncould not know that he loved Bertrade de Montfort.\n\nAnd another thought which now filled his mind was the fact of his\nstrange likeness to the Crown Prince of England. This, together with the\nwords of Father Claude, puzzled him sorely. What might it mean? Was it a\nheinous offence to own an accidental likeness to a king's son?\n\nBut now that he felt he had solved the reason that he rode always with\nclosed helm, he was for the first time anxious himself to hide his face\nfrom the sight of men. Not from fear, for he knew not fear, but from\nsome inward impulse which he did not attempt to fathom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nAs Norman of Torn rode out from the castle of De Stutevill, Father\nClaude dismounted from his sleek donkey within the ballium of Torn. The\naustere stronghold, notwithstanding its repellent exterior and unsavory\nreputation, always extended a warm welcome to the kindly, genial priest;\nnot alone because of the deep friendship which the master of Torn felt\nfor the good father, but through the personal charm, and lovableness of\nthe holy man's nature, which shone alike on saint and sinner.\n\nIt was doubtless due to his unremitting labors with the youthful Norman,\nduring the period that the boy's character was most amenable to strong\nimpressions, that the policy of the mighty outlaw was in many respects\npure and lofty. It was this same influence, though, which won for Father\nClaude his only enemy in Torn; the little, grim, gray, old man whose\nsole aim in life seemed to have been to smother every finer instinct of\nchivalry and manhood in the boy, to whose training he had devoted the\npast nineteen years of his life.\n\nAs Father Claude climbed down from his donkey--fat people do not\n\"dismount\"--a half dozen young squires ran forward to assist him, and to\nlead the animal to the stables.\n\nThe good priest called each of his willing helpers by name, asking a\nquestion here, passing a merry joke there with the ease and familiarity\nthat bespoke mutual affection and old acquaintance.\n\nAs he passed in through the great gate, the men-at-arms threw him\nlaughing, though respectful, welcomes and within the great court,\nbeautified with smooth lawn, beds of gorgeous plants, fountains, statues\nand small shrubs and bushes, he came upon the giant, Red Shandy, now the\nprincipal lieutenant of Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Good morrow, Saint Claude!\" cried the burly ruffian. \"Hast come to save\nour souls, or damn us? What manner of sacrilege have we committed now,\nor have we merited the blessings of Holy Church? Dost come to scold, or\npraise?\"\n\n\"Neither, thou unregenerate villain,\" cried the priest, laughing.\n\"Though methinks ye merit chiding for the grievous poor courtesy with\nwhich thou didst treat the great Bishop of Norwich the past week.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut, Father,\" replied Red Shandy. \"We did but aid him to adhere\nmore closely to the injunctions and precepts of Him whose servant and\ndisciple he claims to be. Were it not better for an Archbishop of His\nChurch to walk in humility and poverty among His people, than to be ever\nsurrounded with the temptations of fine clothing, jewels and much gold,\nto say nothing of two sumpter beasts heavy laden with runlets of wine?\"\n\n\"I warrant his temptations were less by at least as many runlets of\nwine as may be borne by two sumpter beasts when thou, red robber, had\nfinished with him,\" exclaimed Father Claude.\n\n\"Yes, Father,\" laughed the great fellow, \"for the sake of Holy Church, I\ndid indeed confiscate that temptation completely, and if you must needs\nhave proof in order to absolve me from my sins, come with me now and you\nshall sample the excellent discrimination which the Bishop of Norwich\ndisplays in the selection of his temptations.\"\n\n\"They tell me you left the great man quite destitute of finery, Red\nShandy,\" continued Father Claude, as he locked his arm in that of the\noutlaw and proceeded toward the castle.\n\n\"One garment was all that Norman of Torn would permit him, and as the\nsun was hot overhead, he selected for the Bishop a bassinet for that\nsingle article of apparel, to protect his tonsured pate from the rays of\nold sol. Then, fearing that it might be stolen from him by some vandals\nof the road, he had One Eye Kanty rivet it at each side of the gorget so\nthat it could not be removed by other than a smithy, and thus, strapped\nface to tail upon a donkey, he sent the great Bishop of Norwich rattling\ndown the dusty road with his head, at least, protected from the idle\ngaze of whomsoever he might chance to meet. Forty stripes he gave to\neach of the Bishop's retinue for being abroad in bad company; but come,\nhere we are where you shall have the wine as proof of my tale.\"\n\nAs the two sat sipping the Bishop's good Canary, the little old man of\nTorn entered. He spoke to Father Claude in a surly tone, asking him if\nhe knew aught of the whereabouts of Norman of Torn.\n\n\"We have seen nothing of him since, some three days gone, he rode out in\nthe direction of your cottage,\" he concluded.\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said the priest, \"I saw him that day. He had an adventure\nwith several knights from the castle of Peter of Colfax, from whom he\nrescued a damsel whom I suspect from the trappings of her palfrey to be\nof the house of Montfort. Together they rode north, but thy son did\nnot say whither or for what purpose. His only remark, as he donned his\narmor, while the girl waited without, was that I should now behold the\nfalcon guarding the dove. Hast he not returned?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the old man, \"and doubtless his adventure is of a nature\nin line with thy puerile and effeminate teachings. Had he followed my\ntraining, without thy accurst priestly interference, he had made an\niron-barred nest in Torn for many of the doves of thy damned English\nnobility. An' thou leave him not alone, he will soon be seeking service\nin the household of the King.\"\n\n\"Where, perchance, he might be more at home than here,\" said the priest\nquietly.\n\n\"Why say you that?\" snapped the little old man, eyeing Father Claude\nnarrowly.\n\n\"Oh,\" laughed the priest, \"because he whose power and mien be even more\nkingly than the King's would rightly grace the royal palace,\" but he had\nnot failed to note the perturbation his remark had caused, nor did his\noff-hand reply entirely deceive the old man.\n\nAt this juncture, a squire entered to say that Shandy's presence was\nrequired at the gates, and that worthy, with a sorrowing and regretful\nglance at the unemptied flagon, left the room.\n\nFor a few moments, the two men sat in meditative silence, which was\npresently broken by the old man of Torn.\n\n\"Priest,\" he said, \"thy ways with my son are, as you know, not to my\nliking. It were needless that he should have wasted so much precious\ntime from swordplay to learn the useless art of letters. Of what benefit\nmay a knowledge of Latin be to one whose doom looms large before him. It\nmay be years and again it may be but months, but as sure as there be a\ndevil in hell, Norman of Torn will swing from a king's gibbet. And thou\nknowst it, and he too, as well as I. The things which thou hast taught\nhim be above his station, and the hopes and ambitions they inspire will\nbut make his end the bitterer for him. Of late I have noted that he\nrides upon the highway with less enthusiasm than was his wont, but he\nhas gone too far ever to go back now; nor is there where to go back to.\nWhat has he ever been other than outcast and outlaw? What hopes could\nyou have engendered in his breast greater than to be hated and feared\namong his blood enemies?\"\n\n\"I knowst not thy reasons, old man,\" replied the priest, \"for devoting\nthy life to the ruining of his, and what I guess at be such as I dare\nnot voice; but let us understand each other once and for all. For all\nthou dost and hast done to blight and curse the nobleness of his nature,\nI have done and shall continue to do all in my power to controvert. As\nthou hast been his bad angel, so shall I try to be his good angel, and\nwhen all is said and done and Norman of Torn swings from the King's\ngibbet, as I only too well fear he must, there will be more to mourn his\nloss than there be to curse him.\n\n\"His friends are from the ranks of the lowly, but so too were the\nfriends and followers of our Dear Lord Jesus; so that shall be more\ngreatly to his honor than had he preyed upon the already unfortunate.\n\n\"Women have never been his prey; that also will be spoken of to his\nhonor when he is gone, and that he has been cruel to men will be\nforgotten in the greater glory of his mercy to the weak.\n\n\"Whatever be thy object: whether revenge or the natural bent of a cruel\nand degraded mind, I know not; but if any be curst because of the Outlaw\nof Torn, it will be thou--I had almost said, unnatural father; but I do\nnot believe a single drop of thy debased blood flows in the veins of him\nthou callest son.\"\n\nThe grim old man of Torn had sat motionless throughout this indictment,\nhis face, somewhat pale, was drawn into lines of malevolent hatred and\nrage, but he permitted Father Claude to finish without interruption.\n\n\"Thou hast made thyself and thy opinions quite clear,\" he said bitterly,\n\"but I be glad to know just how thou standeth. In the past there has\nbeen peace between us, though no love; now let us both understand\nthat it be war and hate. My life work is cut out for me. Others, like\nthyself, have stood in my path, yet today I am here, but where are they?\nDost understand me, priest?\" And the old man leaned far across the table\nso that his eyes, burning with an insane fire of venom, blazed but a few\ninches from those of the priest.\n\nFather Claude returned the look with calm level gaze.\n\n\"I understand,\" he said, and, rising, left the castle.\n\nShortly after he had reached his cottage, a loud knock sounded at the\ndoor, which immediately swung open without waiting the formality of\npermission. Father Claude looked up to see the tall figure of Norman of\nTorn, and his face lighted with a pleased smile of welcome.\n\n\"Greetings, my son,\" said the priest.\n\n\"And to thee, Father,\" replied the outlaw, \"And what may be the news of\nTorn. I have been absent for several days. Is all well at the castle?\"\n\n\"All be well at the castle,\" replied Father Claude, \"if by that you mean\nhave none been captured or hanged for their murders. Ah, my boy, why\nwilt thou not give up this wicked life of thine? It has never been my\nway to scold or chide thee, yet always hath my heart ached for each\ncrime laid at the door of Norman of Torn.\"\n\n\"Come, come, Father,\" replied the outlaw, \"what dost I that I have not\ngood example for from the barons, and the King, and Holy Church. Murder,\ntheft, rapine! Passeth a day over England which sees not one or all\nperpetrated in the name of some of these?\n\n\"Be it wicked for Norman of Torn to prey upon the wolf, yet righteous\nfor the wolf to tear the sheep? Methinks not. Only do I collect from\nthose who have more than they need, from my natural enemies; while they\nprey upon those who have naught.\n\n\"Yet,\" and his manner suddenly changed, \"I do not love it, Father. That\nthou know. I would that there might be some way out of it, but there is\nnone.\n\n\"If I told you why I wished it, you would be surprised indeed, nor can I\nmyself understand; but, of a verity, my greatest wish to be out of\nthis life is due to the fact that I crave the association of those very\nenemies I have been taught to hate. But it is too late, Father, there\ncan be but one end and that the lower end of a hempen rope.\"\n\n\"No, my son, there is another way, an honorable way,\" replied the good\nFather. \"In some foreign clime there be opportunities abundant for such\nas thee. France offers a magnificent future to such a soldier as Norman\nof Torn. In the court of Louis, you would take your place among the\nhighest of the land. You be rich and brave and handsome. Nay do not\nraise your hand. You be all these and more, for you have learning far\nbeyond the majority of nobles, and you have a good heart and a true\nchivalry of character. With such wondrous gifts, naught could bar your\nway to the highest pinnacles of power and glory, while here you have no\nfuture beyond the halter. Canst thou hesitate, Norman of Torn?\"\n\nThe young man stood silent for a moment, then he drew his hand across\nhis eyes as though to brush away a vision.\n\n\"There be a reason, Father, why I must remain in England for a time at\nleast, though the picture you put is indeed wondrous alluring.\"\n\nAnd the reason was Bertrade de Montfort.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nThe visit of Bertrade de Montfort with her friend Mary de Stutevill\nwas drawing to a close. Three weeks had passed since Roger de Conde had\nridden out from the portals of Stutevill and many times the handsome\nyoung knight's name had been on the lips of his fair hostess and her\nfairer friend.\n\nToday the two girls roamed slowly through the gardens of the great\ncourt, their arms about each other's waists, pouring the last\nconfidences into each other's ears, for tomorrow Bertrade had elected to\nreturn to Leicester.\n\n\"Methinks thou be very rash indeed, my Bertrade,\" said Mary. \"Wert my\nfather here he would, I am sure, not permit thee to leave with only the\nsmall escort which we be able to give.\"\n\n\"Fear not, Mary,\" replied Bertrade. \"Five of thy father's knights be\nample protection for so short a journey. By evening it will have been\naccomplished; and, as the only one I fear in these parts received such\na sound set back from Roger de Conde recently, I do not think he will\nventure again to molest me.\"\n\n\"But what about the Devil of Torn, Bertrade?\" urged Mary. \"Only\nyestereve, you wot, one of Lord de Grey's men-at-arms came limping to\nus with the news of the awful carnage the foul fiend had wrought on his\nmaster's household. He be abroad, Bertrade, and I canst think of naught\nmore horrible than to fall into his hands.\"\n\n\"Why, Mary, thou didst but recently say thy very self that Norman\nof Torn was most courteous to thee when he sacked this, thy father's\ncastle. How be it thou so soon has changed thy mind?\"\n\n\"Yes, Bertrade, he was indeed respectful then, but who knows what\nhorrid freak his mind may take, and they do say that he be cruel beyond\ncompare. Again, forget not that thou be Leicester's daughter and Henry's\nniece; against both of whom the Outlaw of Torn openly swears his hatred\nand his vengeance. Oh, Bertrade, wait but for a day or so, I be sure\nmy father must return ere then, and fifty knights shall accompany thee\ninstead of five.\"\n\n\"What be fifty knights against Norman of Torn, Mary? Thy reasoning is on\na parity with thy fears, both have flown wide of the mark.\n\n\"If I am to meet with this wild ruffian, it were better that five\nknights were sacrificed than fifty, for either number would be but a\nmouthful to that horrid horde of unhung murderers. No, Mary, I shall\nstart tomorrow and your good knights shall return the following day with\nthe best of word from me.\"\n\n\"If thou wilst, thou wilst,\" cried Mary petulantly. \"Indeed it were\nplain that thou be a De Montfort; that race whose historic bravery be\nsecond only to their historic stubbornness.\"\n\nBertrade de Montfort laughed, and kissed her friend upon the cheek.\n\n\"Mayhap I shall find the brave Roger de Conde again upon the highroad\nto protect me. Then indeed shall I send back your five knights, for of\na truth, his blade is more powerful than that of any ten men I ere saw\nfight before.\"\n\n\"Methinks,\" said Mary, still peeved at her friend's determination to\nleave on the morrow, \"that should you meet the doughty Sir Roger all\nunarmed, that still would you send back my father's knights.\"\n\nBertrade flushed, and then bit her lip as she felt the warm blood mount\nto her cheek.\n\n\"Thou be a fool, Mary,\" she said.\n\nMary broke into a joyful, teasing laugh; hugely enjoying the\ndiscomfiture of the admission the tell-tale flush proclaimed.\n\n\"Ah, I did but guess how thy heart and thy mind tended, Bertrade; but\nnow I seest that I divined all too truly. He be indeed good to look\nupon, but what knowest thou of him?\"\n\n\"Hush, Mary!\" commanded Bertrade. \"Thou know not what thou sayest. I\nwould not wipe my feet upon him, I care naught whatever for him, and\nthen--it has been three weeks since he rode out from Stutevill and no\nword hath he sent.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho,\" cried the little plague, \"so there lies the wind? My Lady\nwould not wipe her feet upon him, but she be sore vexed that he has sent\nher no word. Mon Dieu, but thou hast strange notions, Bertrade.\"\n\n\"I will not talk with you, Mary,\" cried Bertrade, stamping her sandaled\nfoot, and with a toss of her pretty head she turned abruptly toward the\ncastle.\n\nIn a small chamber in the castle of Colfax two men sat at opposite sides\nof a little table. The one, Peter of Colfax, was short and very stout.\nHis red, bloated face, bleary eyes and bulbous nose bespoke the manner\nof his life; while his thick lips, the lower hanging large and flabby\nover his receding chin, indicated the base passions to which his life\nand been given. His companion was a little, grim, gray man but his suit\nof armor and closed helm gave no hint to his host of whom his guest\nmight be. It was the little armored man who was speaking.\n\n\"Is it not enough that I offer to aid you, Sir Peter,\" he said, \"that\nyou must have my reasons? Let it go that my hate of Leicester be the\npassion which moves me. Thou failed in thy attempt to capture the\nmaiden; give me ten knights and I will bring her to you.\"\n\n\"How knowest thou she rides out tomorrow for her father's castle?\" asked\nPeter of Colfax.\n\n\"That again be no concern of thine, my friend, but I do know it, and, if\nthou wouldst have her, be quick, for we should ride out tonight that we\nmay take our positions by the highway in ample time tomorrow.\"\n\nStill Peter of Colfax hesitated, he feared this might be a ruse of\nLeicester's to catch him in some trap. He did not know his guest--the\nfellow might want the girl for himself and be taking this method of\nobtaining the necessary assistance to capture her.\n\n\"Come,\" said the little, armored man irritably. \"I cannot bide here\nforever. Make up thy mind; it be nothing to me other than my revenge,\nand if thou wilst not do it, I shall hire the necessary ruffians and\nthen not even thou shalt see Bertrade de Montfort more.\"\n\nThis last threat decided the Baron.\n\n\"It is agreed,\" he said. \"The men shall ride out with you in half an\nhour. Wait below in the courtyard.\"\n\nWhen the little man had left the apartment, Peter of Colfax summoned his\nsquire whom he had send to him at once one of his faithful henchmen.\n\n\"Guy,\" said Peter of Colfax, as the man entered, \"ye made a rare fizzle\nof a piece of business some weeks ago. Ye wot of which I speak?\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord.\"\n\n\"It chances that on the morrow ye may have opportunity to retrieve\nthy blunder. Ride out with ten men where the stranger who waits in the\ncourtyard below shall lead ye, and come not back without that which ye\nlost to a handful of men before. You understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord!\"\n\n\"And, Guy, I half mistrust this fellow who hath offered to assist us.\nAt the first sign of treachery, fall upon him with all thy men and slay\nhim. Tell the others that these be my orders.\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord. When do we ride?\"\n\n\"At once. You may go.\"\n\nThe morning that Bertrade de Montfort had chosen to return to her\nfather's castle dawned gray and threatening. In vain did Mary de\nStutevill plead with her friend to give up the idea of setting out\nupon such a dismal day and without sufficient escort, but Bertrade de\nMontfort was firm.\n\n\"Already have I overstayed my time three days, and it is not lightly\nthat even I, his daughter, fail in obedience to Simon de Montfort. I\nshall have enough to account for as it be. Do not urge me to add even\none more day to my excuses. And again, perchance, my mother and my\nfather may be sore distressed by my continued absence. No, Mary, I must\nride today.\" And so she did, with the five knights that could be spared\nfrom the castle's defence.\n\nScarcely half an hour had elapsed before a cold drizzle set in, so that\nthey were indeed a sorry company that splashed along the muddy road,\nwrapped in mantle and surcoat. As they proceeded, the rain and wind\nincreased in volume, until it was being driven into their faces in such\nblinding gusts that they must needs keep their eyes closed and trust to\nthe instincts of their mounts.\n\nLess than half the journey had been accomplished. They were winding\nacross a little hollow toward a low ridge covered with dense forest,\ninto the somber shadows of which the road wound. There was a glint of\narmor among the drenched foliage, but the rain-buffeted eyes of the\nriders saw it not. On they came, their patient horses plodding slowly\nthrough the sticky road and hurtling storm.\n\nNow they were half way up the ridge's side. There was a movement in the\ndark shadows of the grim wood, and then, without cry or warning, a band\nof steel-clad horsemen broke forth with couched spears. Charging at full\nrun down upon them, they overthrew three of the girl's escort before a\nblow could be struck in her defense. Her two remaining guardians wheeled\nto meet the return attack, and nobly did they acquit themselves, for it\ntook the entire eleven who were pitted against them to overcome and slay\nthe two.\n\nIn the melee, none had noticed the girl, but presently one of her\nassailants, a little, grim, gray man, discovered that she had put spurs\nto her palfrey and escaped. Calling to his companions he set out at a\nrapid pace in pursuit.\n\nReckless of the slippery road and the blinding rain, Bertrade de\nMontfort urged her mount into a wild run, for she had recognized the\narms of Peter of Colfax on the shields of several of the attacking\nparty.\n\nNobly, the beautiful Arab bent to her call for speed. The great beasts\nof her pursuers, bred in Normandy and Flanders, might have been tethered\nin their stalls for all the chance they had of overtaking the flying\nwhite steed that fairly split the gray rain as lightning flies through\nthe clouds.\n\nBut for the fiendish cunning of the little grim, gray man's foresight,\nBertrade de Montfort would have made good her escape that day. As it\nwas, however, her fleet mount had carried her but two hundred yards ere,\nin the midst of the dark wood, she ran full upon a rope stretched across\nthe roadway between two trees.\n\nAs the horse fell, with a terrible lunge, tripped by the stout rope,\nBertrade de Montfort was thrown far before him, where she lay, a little,\nlimp bedraggled figure, in the mud of the road.\n\nThere they found her. The little, grim, gray man did not even dismount,\nso indifferent was he to her fate; dead or in the hands of Peter of\nColfax, it was all the same to him. In either event, his purpose would\nbe accomplished, and Bertrade de Montfort would no longer lure Norman of\nTorn from the path he had laid out for him.\n\nThat such an eventuality threatened, he knew from one Spizo the\nSpaniard, the single traitor in the service of Norman of Torn, whose\nmean aid the little grim, gray man had purchased since many months to\nspy upon the comings and goings of the great outlaw.\n\nThe men of Peter of Colfax gathered up the lifeless form of Bertrade de\nMontfort and placed it across the saddle before one of their number.\n\n\"Come,\" said the man called Guy, \"if there be life left in her, we must\nhasten to Sir Peter before it be extinct.\"\n\n\"I leave ye here,\" said the little old man. \"My part of the business is\ndone.\"\n\nAnd so he sat watching them until they had disappeared in the forest\ntoward the castle of Colfax.\n\nThen he rode back to the scene of the encounter where lay the five\nknights of Sir John de Stutevill. Three were already dead, the other\ntwo, sorely but not mortally wounded, lay groaning by the roadside.\n\nThe little grim, gray man dismounted as he came abreast of them and,\nwith his long sword, silently finished the two wounded men. Then,\ndrawing his dagger, he made a mark upon the dead foreheads of each of\nthe five, and mounting, rode rapidly toward Torn.\n\n\"And if one fact be not enough,\" he muttered, \"that mark upon the dead\nwill quite effectually stop further intercourse between the houses of\nTorn and Leicester.\"\n\nHenry de Montfort, son of Simon, rode fast and furious at the head of a\ndozen of his father's knights on the road to Stutevill.\n\nBertrade de Montfort was so long overdue that the Earl and Princess\nEleanor, his wife, filled with grave apprehensions, had posted their\noldest son off to the castle of John de Stutevill to fetch her home.\n\nWith the wind and rain at their backs, the little party rode rapidly\nalong the muddy road, until late in the afternoon they came upon a white\npalfrey standing huddled beneath a great oak, his arched back toward the\ndriving storm.\n\n\"By God,\" cried De Montfort, \"tis my sister's own Abdul. There be\nsomething wrong here indeed.\" But a rapid search of the vicinity, and\nloud calls brought no further evidence of the girl's whereabouts, so\nthey pressed on toward Stutevill.\n\nSome two miles beyond the spot where the white palfrey had been found,\nthey came upon the dead bodies of the five knights who had accompanied\nBertrade from Stutevill.\n\nDismounting, Henry de Montfort examined the bodies of the fallen men.\nThe arms upon shield and helm confirmed his first fear that these had\nbeen Bertrade's escort from Stutevill.\n\nAs he bent over them to see if he recognized any of the knights, there\nstared up into his face from the foreheads of the dead men the dreaded\nsign, NT, scratched there with a dagger's point.\n\n\"The curse of God be on him!\" cried De Montfort. \"It be the work of the\nDevil of Torn, my gentlemen,\" he said to his followers. \"Come, we need\nno further guide to our destination.\" And, remounting, the little party\nspurred back toward Torn.\n\nWhen Bertrade de Montfort regained her senses, she was in bed in a\nstrange room, and above her bent an old woman; a repulsive, toothless\nold woman, whose smile was but a fangless snarl.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" she croaked. \"The bride waketh. I told My Lord that it would\ntake more than a tumble in the mud to kill a De Montfort. Come, come,\nnow, arise and clothe thyself, for the handsome bridegroom canst scarce\nrestrain his eager desire to fold thee in his arms. Below in the\ngreat hall he paces to and fro, the red blood mantling his beauteous\ncountenance.\"\n\n\"Who be ye?\" cried Bertrade de Montfort, her mind still dazed from\nthe effects of her fall. \"Where am I?\" and then, \"O, Mon Dieu!\" as she\nremembered the events of the afternoon; and the arms of Colfax upon the\nshields of the attacking party. In an instant she realized the horror of\nher predicament; its utter hopelessness.\n\nBeast though he was, Peter of Colfax stood high in the favor of the\nKing; and the fact that she was his niece would scarce aid her cause\nwith Henry, for it was more than counter-balanced by the fact that she\nwas the daughter of Simon de Montfort, whom he feared and hated.\n\nIn the corridor without, she heard the heavy tramp of approaching feet,\nand presently a man's voice at the door.\n\n\"Within there, Coll! Hast the damsel awakened from her swoon?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir Peter,\" replied the old woman, \"I was but just urging her to\narise and clothe herself, saying that you awaited her below.\"\n\n\"Haste then, My Lady Bertrade,\" called the man, \"no harm will be done\nthee if thou showest the good sense I give thee credit for. I will await\nthee in the great hall, or, if thou prefer, wilt come to thee here.\"\n\nThe girl paled, more in loathing and contempt than in fear, but the\ntones of her answer were calm and level.\n\n\"I will see thee below, Sir Peter, anon,\" and rising, she hastened to\ndress, while the receding footsteps of the Baron diminished down the\nstairway which led from the tower room in which she was imprisoned.\n\nThe old woman attempted to draw her into conversation, but the girl\nwould not talk. Her whole mind was devoted to weighing each possible\nmeans of escape.\n\nA half hour later, she entered the great hall of the castle of Peter\nof Colfax. The room was empty. Little change had been wrought in the\napartment since the days of Ethelwolf. As the girl's glance ranged the\nhall in search of her jailer it rested upon the narrow, unglazed windows\nbeyond which lay freedom. Would she ever again breathe God's pure air\noutside these stifling walls? These grimy hateful walls! Black as the\ninky rafters and wainscot except for occasional splotches a few shades\nless begrimed, where repairs had been made. As her eyes fell upon the\ntrophies of war and chase which hung there her lips curled in scorn, for\nshe knew that they were acquisitions by inheritance rather than by the\npersonal prowess of the present master of Colfax.\n\nA single cresset lighted the chamber, while the flickering light from\na small wood fire upon one of the two great hearths seemed rather to\naccentuate the dim shadows of the place.\n\nBertrade crossed the room and leaned against a massive oak table,\nblackened by age and hard usage to the color of the beams above, dented\nand nicked by the pounding of huge drinking horns and heavy swords when\nwild and lusty brawlers had been moved to applause by the lay of some\nwandering minstrel, or the sterner call of their mighty chieftains for\nthe oath of fealty.\n\nHer wandering eyes took in the dozen benches and the few rude, heavy\nchairs which completed the rough furnishings of this rough room, and\nshe shuddered. One little foot tapped sullenly upon the disordered floor\nwhich was littered with a miscellany of rushes interspread with such\nbones and scraps of food as the dogs had rejected or overlooked.\n\nBut to none of these surroundings did Bertrade de Montfort give but\npassing heed; she looked for the man she sought that she might quickly\nhave the encounter over and learn what fate the future held in store for\nher.\n\nHer quick glance had shown her that the room was quite empty, and that\nin addition to the main doorway at the lower end of the apartment, where\nshe had entered, there was but one other door leading from the hall.\nThis was at one side, and as it stood ajar she could see that it led\ninto a small room, apparently a bedchamber.\n\nAs she stood facing the main doorway, a panel opened quietly behind her\nand directly back of where the thrones had stood in past times. From the\nblack mouth of the aperture stepped Peter of Colfax. Silently, he closed\nthe panel after him, and with soundless steps, advanced toward the girl.\nAt the edge of the raised dais he halted, rattling his sword to attract\nher attention.\n\nIf his aim had been to unnerve her by the suddenness and mystery of his\nappearance, he failed signally, for she did not even turn her head as\nshe said:\n\n\"What explanation hast thou to make, Sir Peter, for this base treachery\nagainst thy neighbor's daughter and thy sovereign's niece?\"\n\n\"When fond hearts be thwarted by a cruel parent,\" replied the\npot-bellied old beast in a soft and fawning tone, \"love must still find\nits way; and so thy gallant swain hath dared the wrath of thy great\nfather and majestic uncle, and lays his heart at thy feet, O beauteous\nBertrade, knowing full well that thine hath been hungering after it\nsince we didst first avow our love to thy hard-hearted sire. See, I\nkneel to thee, my dove!\" And with cracking joints the fat baron plumped\ndown upon his marrow bones.\n\nBertrade turned and as she saw him her haughty countenance relaxed into\na sneering smile.\n\n\"Thou art a fool, Sir Peter,\" she said, \"and, at that, the worst species\nof fool--an ancient fool. It is useless to pursue thy cause, for I will\nhave none of thee. Let me hence, if thou be a gentleman, and no word of\nwhat hath transpired shall ever pass my lips. But let me go, 'tis all\nI ask, and it is useless to detain me for I cannot give what you would\nhave. I do not love you, nor ever can I.\"\n\nHer first words had caused the red of humiliation to mottle his already\nruby visage to a semblance of purple, and now, as he attempted to rise\nwith dignity, he was still further covered with confusion by the fact\nthat his huge stomach made it necessary for him to go upon all fours\nbefore he could rise, so that he got up much after the manner of a cow,\nraising his stern high in air in a most ludicrous fashion. As he gained\nhis feet he saw the girl turn her head from him to hide the laughter on\nher face.\n\n\"Return to thy chamber,\" he thundered. \"I will give thee until tomorrow\nto decide whether thou wilt accept Peter of Colfax as thy husband, or\ntake another position in his household which will bar thee for all time\nfrom the society of thy kind.\"\n\nThe girl turned toward him, the laugh still playing on her lips.\n\n\"I will be wife to no buffoon; to no clumsy old clown; to no debauched,\ndegraded parody of a man. And as for thy other rash threat, thou hast\nnot the guts to put thy wishes into deeds, thou craven coward, for well\nye know that Simon de Montfort would cut out thy foul heart with his own\nhand if he ever suspected thou wert guilty of speaking of such to me,\nhis daughter.\" And Bertrade de Montfort swept from the great hall, and\nmounted to her tower chamber in the ancient Saxon stronghold of Colfax.\n\nThe old woman kept watch over her during the night and until late the\nfollowing afternoon, when Peter of Colfax summoned his prisoner before\nhim once more. So terribly had the old hag played upon the girl's fears\nthat she felt fully certain that the Baron was quite equal to his dire\nthreat, and so she had again been casting about for some means of escape\nor delay.\n\nThe room in which she was imprisoned was in the west tower of the\ncastle, fully a hundred feet above the moat, which the single embrasure\noverlooked. There was, therefore, no avenue of escape in this direction.\nThe solitary door was furnished with huge oaken bars, and itself\ncomposed of mighty planks of the same wood, cross barred with iron.\n\nIf she could but get the old woman out, thought Bertrade, she could\nbarricade herself within and thus delay, at least, her impending fate\nin the hope that succor might come from some source. But her most subtle\nwiles proved ineffectual in ridding her, even for a moment, of her harpy\njailer; and now that the final summons had come, she was beside herself\nfor a lack of means to thwart her captor.\n\nHer dagger had been taken from her, but one hung from the girdle of the\nold woman and this Bertrade determined to have.\n\nFeigning trouble with the buckle of her own girdle, she called upon the\nold woman to aid her, and as the hag bent her head close to the girl's\nbody to see what was wrong with the girdle clasp, Bertrade reached\nquickly to her side and snatched the weapon from its sheath. Quickly\nshe sprang back from the old woman who, with a cry of anger and alarm,\nrushed upon her.\n\n\"Back!\" cried the girl. \"Stand back, old hag, or thou shalt feel the\nlength of thine own blade.\"\n\nThe woman hesitated and then fell to cursing and blaspheming in a most\nhorrible manner, at the same time calling for help.\n\nBertrade backed to the door, commanding the old woman to remain where\nshe was, on pain of death, and quickly dropped the mighty bars into\nplace. Scarcely had the last great bolt been slipped than Peter of\nColfax, with a dozen servants and men-at-arms, were pounding loudly upon\nthe outside.\n\n\"What's wrong within, Coll,\" cried the Baron.\n\n\"The wench has wrested my dagger from me and is murdering me,\" shrieked\nthe old woman.\n\n\"An' that I will truly do, Peter of Colfax,\" spoke Bertrade, \"if you do\nnot immediately send for my friends to conduct me from thy castle, for\nI will not step my foot from this room until I know that mine own people\nstand without.\"\n\nPeter of Colfax pled and threatened, commanded and coaxed, but all in\nvain. So passed the afternoon, and as darkness settled upon the castle\nthe Baron desisted from his attempts, intending to starve his prisoner\nout.\n\nWithin the little room, Bertrade de Montfort sat upon a bench guarding\nher prisoner, from whom she did not dare move her eyes for a single\nsecond. All that long night she sat thus, and when morning dawned, it\nfound her position unchanged, her tired eyes still fixed upon the hag.\n\nEarly in the morning, Peter of Colfax resumed his endeavors to persuade\nher to come out; he even admitted defeat and promised her safe conduct\nto her father's castle, but Bertrade de Montfort was not one to be\nfooled by his lying tongue.\n\n\"Then will I starve you out,\" he cried at length.\n\n\"Gladly will I starve in preference to falling into thy foul hands,\"\nreplied the girl. \"But thy old servant here will starve first, for she\nbe very old and not so strong as I. Therefore, how will it profit you to\nkill two and still be robbed of thy prey?\"\n\nPeter of Colfax entertained no doubt but that his fair prisoner would\ncarry out her threat and so he set his men to work with cold chisels,\naxes and saws upon the huge door.\n\nFor hours, they labored upon that mighty work of defence, and it was\nlate at night ere they made a little opening large enough to admit a\nhand and arm, but the first one intruded within the room to raise the\nbars was drawn quickly back with a howl of pain from its owner. Thus\nthe keen dagger in the girl's hand put an end to all hopes of entering\nwithout completely demolishing the door.\n\nTo this work, the men without then set themselves diligently while Peter\nof Colfax renewed his entreaties, through the small opening they had\nmade. Bertrade replied but once.\n\n\"Seest thou this poniard?\" she asked. \"When that door falls, this point\nenters my heart. There is nothing beyond that door, with thou, poltroon,\nto which death in this little chamber would not be preferable.\"\n\nAs she spoke, she turned toward the man she was addressing, for the\nfirst time during all those weary, hideous hours removing her glance\nfrom the old hag. It was enough. Silently, but with the quickness of a\ntigress the old woman was upon her back, one claw-like paw grasping the\nwrist which held the dagger.\n\n\"Quick, My Lord!\" she shrieked, \"the bolts, quick.\"\n\nInstantly Peter of Colfax ran his arm through the tiny opening in the\ndoor and a second later four of his men rushed to the aid of the old\nwoman.\n\nEasily they wrested the dagger from Bertrade's fingers, and at the\nBaron's bidding, they dragged her to the great hall below.\n\nAs his retainers left the room at his command, Peter of Colfax strode\nback and forth upon the rushes which strewed the floor. Finally he\nstopped before the girl standing rigid in the center of the room.\n\n\"Hast come to thy senses yet, Bertrade de Montfort?\" he asked angrily.\n\"I have offered you your choice; to be the honored wife of Peter of\nColfax, or, by force, his mistress. The good priest waits without, what\nbe your answer now?\"\n\n\"The same as it has been these past two days,\" she replied with haughty\nscorn. \"The same that it shall always be. I will be neither wife nor\nmistress to a coward; a hideous, abhorrent pig of a man. I would die,\nit seems, if I felt the touch of your hand upon me. You do not dare to\ntouch me, you craven. I, the daughter of an earl, the niece of a king,\nwed to the warty toad, Peter of Colfax!\"\n\n\"Hold, chit!\" cried the Baron, livid with rage. \"You have gone too far.\nEnough of this; and you love me not now, I shall learn you to love ere\nthe sun rises.\" And with a vile oath he grasped the girl roughly by the\narm, and dragged her toward the little doorway at the side of the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nFor three weeks after his meeting with Bertrade de Montfort and his\nsojourn at the castle of John de Stutevill, Norman of Torn was busy with\nhis wild horde in reducing and sacking the castle of John de Grey, a\nroyalist baron who had captured and hanged two of the outlaw's fighting\nmen; and never again after his meeting with the daughter of the chief of\nthe barons did Norman of Torn raise a hand against the rebels or their\nfriends.\n\nShortly after his return to Torn, following the successful outcome of\nhis expedition, the watch upon the tower reported the approach of a\ndozen armed knights. Norman sent Red Shandy to the outer walls to learn\nthe mission of the party, for visitors seldom came to this inaccessible\nand unhospitable fortress; and he well knew that no party of a dozen\nknights would venture with hostile intent within the clutches of his\ngreat band of villains.\n\nThe great red giant soon returned to say that it was Henry de Montfort,\noldest son of the Earl of Leicester, who had come under a flag of truce\nand would have speech with the master of Torn.\n\n\"Admit them, Shandy,\" commanded Norman of Torn, \"I will speak with them\nhere.\"\n\nWhen the party, a few moments later, was ushered into his presence it\nfound itself facing a mailed knight with drawn visor.\n\nHenry de Montfort advanced with haughty dignity until he faced the\noutlaw.\n\n\"Be ye Norman of Torn?\" he asked. And, did he try to conceal the hatred\nand loathing which he felt, he was poorly successful.\n\n\"They call me so,\" replied the visored knight. \"And what may bring a De\nMontfort after so many years to visit his old neighbor?\"\n\n\"Well ye know what brings me, Norman of Torn,\" replied the young man.\n\"It is useless to waste words, and we cannot resort to arms, for you\nhave us entirely in your power. Name your price and it shall be paid,\nonly be quick and let me hence with my sister.\"\n\n\"What wild words be these, Henry de Montfort? Your sister! What mean\nyou?\"\n\n\"Yes, my sister Bertrade, whom you stole upon the highroad two days\nsince, after murdering the knights of John de Stutevill who were\nfetching her home from a visit upon the Baron's daughter. We know that\nit was you for the foreheads of the dead men bore your devil's mark.\"\n\n\"Shandy!\" roared Norman of Torn. \"WHAT MEANS THIS? Who has been upon the\nroad, attacking women, in my absence? You were here and in charge during\nmy visit to my Lord de Grey. As you value your hide, Shandy, the truth!\"\n\n\"Since you laid me low in the hut of the good priest, I have served you\nwell, Norman of Torn. You should know my loyalty by this time and that\nnever have I lied to you. No man of yours has done this thing, nor is\nit the first time that vile scoundrels have placed your mark upon their\ndead that they might thus escape suspicion, themselves.\"\n\n\"Henry de Montfort,\" said Norman of Torn, turning to his visitor, \"we of\nTorn bear no savory name, that I know full well, but no man may say that\nwe unsheath our swords against women. Your sister is not here. I give\nyou the word of honor of Norman of Torn. Is it not enough?\"\n\n\"They say you never lie,\" replied De Montfort. \"Would to God I knew who\nhad done this thing, or which way to search for my sister.\"\n\nNorman of Torn made no reply, his thoughts were in wild confusion, and\nit was with difficulty that he hid the fierce anxiety of his heart or\nhis rage against the perpetrators of this dastardly act which tore his\nwhole being.\n\nIn silence De Montfort turned and left, nor had his party scarce passed\nthe drawbridge ere the castle of Torn was filled with hurrying men and\nthe noise and uproar of a sudden call to arms.\n\nSome thirty minutes later, five hundred iron-clad horses carried their\nmailed riders beneath the portcullis of the grim pile, and Norman the\nDevil, riding at their head, spurred rapidly in the direction of the\ncastle of Peter of Colfax.\n\nThe great troop, winding down the rocky trail from Torn's buttressed\ngates, presented a picture of wild barbaric splendor.\n\nThe armor of the men was of every style and metal from the ancient\nbanded mail of the Saxon to the richly ornamented plate armor of Milan.\nGold and silver and precious stones set in plumed crest and breastplate\nand shield, and even in the steel spiked chamfrons of the horses' head\narmor showed the rich loot which had fallen to the portion of Norman of\nTorn's wild raiders.\n\nFluttering pennons streamed from five hundred lance points, and the gray\nbanner of Torn, with the black falcon's wing, flew above each of the\nfive companies. The great linden wood shields of the men were covered\nwith gray leather and, in the upper right hand corner of each, was the\nblack falcon's wing. The surcoats of the riders were also uniform, being\nof dark gray villosa faced with black wolf skin, so that notwithstanding\nthe richness of the armor and the horse trappings, there was a grim,\ngray warlike appearance to these wild companies that comported well with\ntheir reputation.\n\nRecruited from all ranks of society and from every civilized country of\nEurope, the great horde of Torn numbered in its ten companies serf and\nnoble; Britain, Saxon, Norman, Dane, German, Italian and French, Scot,\nPict and Irish.\n\nHere birth caused no distinctions; the escaped serf, with the gall\nmarks of his brass collar still visible about his neck, rode shoulder to\nshoulder with the outlawed scion of a noble house. The only requisites\nfor admission to the troop were willingness and ability to fight, and an\noath to obey the laws made by Norman of Torn.\n\nThe little army was divided into ten companies of one hundred men, each\ncompany captained by a fighter of proven worth and ability.\n\nOur old friends Red Shandy, and John and James Flory led the first three\ncompanies, the remaining seven being under command of other seasoned\nveterans of a thousand fights.\n\nOne Eye Kanty, owing to his early trade, held the always important\npost of chief armorer, while Peter the Hermit, the last of the five\ncut-throats whom Norman of Torn had bested that day, six years before,\nin the hut of Father Claude, had become majordomo of the great castle of\nTorn, which post included also the vital functions of quartermaster and\ncommissary.\n\nThe old man of Torn attended to the training of serf and squire in\nthe art of war, for it was ever necessary to fill the gaps made in the\ncompanies, due to their constant encounters upon the highroad and their\nbattles at the taking of some feudal castle; in which they did not\nalways come off unscathed, though usually victorious.\n\nToday, as they wound west across the valley, Norman of Torn rode at the\nhead of the cavalcade, which strung out behind him in a long column.\nAbove his gray steel armor, a falcon's wing rose from his crest. It was\nthe insignia which always marked him to his men in the midst of battle.\nWhere it waved might always be found the fighting and the honors, and\nabout it they were wont to rally.\n\nBeside Norman of Torn rode the grim, gray, old man, silent and taciturn;\nnursing his deep hatred in the depths of his malign brain.\n\nAt the head of their respective companies rode the five captains: Red\nShandy; John Flory; Edwild the Serf; Emilio, Count de Gropello of Italy;\nand Sieur Ralph de la Campnee, of France.\n\nThe hamlets and huts which they passed in the morning and early\nafternoon brought forth men, women and children to cheer and wave\nGod-speed to them; but as they passed farther from the vicinity of Torn,\nwhere the black falcon wing was known more by the ferocity of its\nname than by the kindly deeds of the great outlaw to the lowly of his\nneighborhood, they saw only closed and barred doors with an occasional\nfrightened face peering from a tiny window.\n\nIt was midnight ere they sighted the black towers of Colfax silhouetted\nagainst the starry sky. Drawing his men into the shadows of the forest\na half mile from the castle, Norman of Torn rode forward with Shandy\nand some fifty men to a point as close as they could come without being\nobserved. Here they dismounted and Norman of Torn crept stealthily\nforward alone.\n\nTaking advantage of every cover, he approached to the very shadows of\nthe great gate without being detected. In the castle, a light shone\ndimly from the windows of the great hall, but no other sign of life was\napparent. To his intense surprise, Norman of Torn found the drawbridge\nlowered and no sign of watchmen at the gate or upon the walls.\n\nAs he had sacked this castle some two years since, he was familiar with\nits internal plan, and so he knew that through the scullery he could\nreach a small antechamber above, which let directly into the great hall.\n\nAnd so it happened that, as Peter of Colfax wheeled toward the door of\nthe little room, he stopped short in terror, for there before him stood\na strange knight in armor, with lowered visor and drawn sword. The girl\nsaw him too, and a look of hope and renewed courage overspread her face.\n\n\"Draw!\" commanded a low voice in English, \"unless you prefer to pray,\nfor you are about to die.\"\n\n\"Who be ye, varlet?\" cried the Baron. \"Ho, John! Ho, Guy! To the rescue,\nquick!\" he shrieked, and drawing his sword, he attempted to back quickly\ntoward the main doorway of the hall; but the man in armor was upon him\nand forcing him to fight ere he had taken three steps.\n\nIt had been short shrift for Peter of Colfax that night had not John and\nGuy and another of his henchmen rushed into the room with drawn swords.\n\n\"Ware! Sir Knight,\" cried the girl, as she saw the three knaves rushing\nto the aid of their master.\n\nTurning to meet their assault, the knight was forced to abandon the\nterror-stricken Baron for an instant, and again he had made for the\ndoorway bent only on escape; but the girl had divined his intentions,\nand running quickly to the entrance, she turned the great lock and threw\nthe key with all her might to the far corner of the hall. In an instant\nshe regretted her act, for she saw that where she might have reduced\nher rescuer's opponents by at least one, she had now forced the cowardly\nBaron to remain, and nothing fights more fiercely than a cornered rat.\n\nThe knight was holding his own splendidly with the three retainers, and\nfor an instant Bertrade de Montfort stood spell-bound by the exhibition\nof swordsmanship she was witnessing.\n\nFighting the three alternately, in pairs and again all at the same\ntime, the silent knight, though weighted by his heavy armor, forced them\nsteadily back; his flashing blade seeming to weave a net of steel about\nthem. Suddenly his sword stopped just for an instant, stopped in the\nheart of one of his opponents, and as the man lunged to the floor,\nit was flashing again close to the breasts of the two remaining\nmen-at-arms.\n\nAnother went down less than ten seconds later, and then the girl's\nattention was called to the face of the horrified Baron; Peter of Colfax\nwas moving--slowly and cautiously, he was creeping, from behind, toward\nthe visored knight, and in his raised hand flashed a sharp dagger.\n\nFor an instant, the girl stood frozen with horror, unable to move a\nfinger or to cry out; but only for an instant, and then, regaining\ncontrol of her muscles, she stooped quickly and, grasping a heavy\nfoot-stool, hurled it full at Peter of Colfax.\n\nIt struck him below the knees and toppled him to the floor just as the\nknight's sword passed through the throat of his final antagonist.\n\nAs the Baron fell, he struck heavily upon a table which supported\nthe only lighted cresset within the chamber. In an instant, all was\ndarkness. There was a rapid shuffling sound as of the scurrying of rats\nand then the quiet of the tomb settled upon the great hall.\n\n\"Are you safe and unhurt, my Lady Bertrade?\" asked a grave English voice\nout of the darkness.\n\n\"Quite, Sir Knight,\" she replied, \"and you?\"\n\n\"Not a scratch, but where is our good friend the Baron?\"\n\n\"He lay here upon the floor but a moment since, and carried a thin long\ndagger in his hand. Have a care, Sir Knight, he may even now be upon\nyou.\"\n\nThe knight did not answer, but she heard him moving boldly about the\nroom. Soon he had found another lamp and made a light. As its feeble\nrays slowly penetrated the black gloom, the girl saw the bodies of\nthe three men-at-arms, the overturned table and lamp, and the visored\nknight; but Peter of Colfax was gone.\n\nThe knight perceived his absence at the same time, but he only laughed a\nlow, grim laugh.\n\n\"He will not go far, My Lady Bertrade,\" he said.\n\n\"How know you my name?\" she asked. \"Who may you be? I do not recognize\nyour armor, and your breastplate bears no arms.\"\n\nHe did not answer at once and her heart rose in her breast as it filled\nwith the hope that her brave rescuer might be the same Roger de Conde\nwho had saved her from the hirelings of Peter of Colfax but a few short\nweeks since. Surely it was the same straight and mighty figure, and\nthere was the marvelous swordplay as well. It must be he, and yet Roger\nde Conde had spoken no English while this man spoke it well, though, it\nwas true, with a slight French accent.\n\n\"My Lady Bertrade, I be Norman of Torn,\" said the visored knight with\nquiet dignity.\n\nThe girl's heart sank, and a feeling of cold fear crept through her. For\nyears that name had been the symbol of fierce cruelty, and mad hatred\nagainst her kind. Little children were frightened into obedience by the\nvaguest hint that the Devil of Torn would get them, and grown men had\ncome to whisper the name with grim, set lips.\n\n\"Norman of Torn!\" she whispered. \"May God have mercy on my soul!\"\n\nBeneath the visored helm, a wave of pain and sorrow surged across\nthe countenance of the outlaw, and a little shudder, as of a chill of\nhopelessness, shook his giant frame.\n\n\"You need not fear, My Lady,\" he said sadly. \"You shall be in your\nfather's castle of Leicester ere the sun marks noon. And you will be\nsafer under the protection of the hated Devil of Torn than with your own\nmighty father, or your royal uncle.\"\n\n\"It is said that you never lie, Norman of Torn,\" spoke the girl, \"and I\nbelieve you, but tell me why you thus befriend a De Montfort.\"\n\n\"It is not for love of your father or your brothers, nor yet hatred of\nPeter of Colfax, nor neither for any reward whatsoever. It pleases me to\ndo as I do, that is all. Come.\"\n\nHe led her in silence to the courtyard and across the lowered\ndrawbridge, to where they soon discovered a group of horsemen, and in\nanswer to a low challenge from Shandy, Norman of Torn replied that it\nwas he.\n\n\"Take a dozen men, Shandy, and search yon hellhole. Bring out to me,\nalive, Peter of Colfax, and My Lady's cloak and a palfrey--and Shandy,\nwhen all is done as I say, you may apply the torch! But no looting,\nShandy.\"\n\nShandy looked in surprise upon his leader, for the torch had never been\na weapon of Norman of Torn, while loot, if not always the prime object\nof his many raids, was at least a very important consideration.\n\nThe outlaw noticed the surprised hesitation of his faithful subaltern\nand signing him to listen, said:\n\n\"Red Shandy, Norman of Torn has fought and sacked and pillaged for\nthe love of it, and for a principle which was at best but a vague\ngenerality. Tonight we ride to redress a wrong done to My Lady Bertrade\nde Montfort, and that, Shandy, is a different matter. The torch, Shandy,\nfrom tower to scullery, but in the service of My Lady, no looting.\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord,\" answered Shandy, and departed with his little\ndetachment.\n\nIn a half hour he returned with a dozen prisoners, but no Peter of\nColfax.\n\n\"He has flown, My Lord,\" the big fellow reported, and indeed it was\ntrue. Peter of Colfax had passed through the vaults beneath his castle\nand, by a long subterranean passage, had reached the quarters of some\npriests without the lines of Norman of Torn. By this time, he was\nseveral miles on his way to the coast and France; for he had recognized\nthe swordsmanship of the outlaw, and did not care to remain in England\nand face the wrath of both Norman of Torn and Simon de Montfort.\n\n\"He will return,\" was the outlaw's only comment, when he had been fully\nconvinced that the Baron had escaped.\n\nThey watched until the castle had burst into flames in a dozen places,\nthe prisoners huddled together in terror and apprehension, fully\nexpecting a summary and horrible death.\n\nWhen Norman of Torn had assured himself that no human power could now\nsave the doomed pile, he ordered that the march be taken up, and the\nwarriors filed down the roadway behind their leader and Bertrade de\nMontfort, leaving their erstwhile prisoners sorely puzzled but unharmed\nand free.\n\nAs they looked back, they saw the heavens red with the great flames\nthat sprang high above the lofty towers. Immense volumes of dense smoke\nrolled southward across the sky line. Occasionally it would clear away\nfrom the burning castle for an instant to show the black walls pierced\nby their hundreds of embrasures, each lit up by the red of the raging\nfire within. It was a gorgeous, impressive spectacle, but one so common\nin those fierce, wild days, that none thought it worthy of more than a\npassing backward glance.\n\nVaried emotions filled the breasts of the several riders who wended\ntheir slow way down the mud-slippery road. Norman of Torn was both\nelated and sad. Elated that he had been in time to save this girl\nwho awakened such strange emotions in his breast; sad that he was a\nloathesome thing in her eyes. But that it was pure happiness just to be\nnear her, sufficed him for the time; of the morrow, what use to think!\nThe little, grim, gray, old man of Torn nursed the spleen he did not\ndare vent openly, and cursed the chance that had sent Henry de Montfort\nto Torn to search for his sister; while the followers of the outlaw\nswore quietly over the vagary which had brought them on this long ride\nwithout either fighting or loot.\n\nBertrade de Montfort was but filled with wonder that she should owe her\nlife and honor to this fierce, wild cut-throat who had sworn especial\nhatred against her family, because of its relationship to the house of\nPlantagenet. She could not fathom it, and yet, he seemed fair spoken\nfor so rough a man; she wondered what manner of countenance might lie\nbeneath that barred visor.\n\nOnce the outlaw took his cloak from its fastenings at his saddle's\ncantel and threw it about the shoulders of the girl, for the night air\nwas chilly, and again he dismounted and led her palfrey around a bad\nplace in the road, lest the beast might slip and fall.\n\nShe thanked him in her courtly manner for these services, but beyond\nthat, no word passed between them, and they came, in silence, about\nmidday within sight of the castle of Simon de Montfort.\n\nThe watch upon the tower was thrown into confusion by the approach of\nso large a party of armed men, so that, by the time they were in hailing\ndistance, the walls of the great structure were crowded with fighting\nmen.\n\nShandy rode ahead with a flag of truce, and when he was beneath the\ncastle walls Simon de Montfort called forth:\n\n\"Who be ye and what your mission? Peace or war?\"\n\n\"It is Norman of Torn, come in peace, and in the service of a De\nMontfort,\" replied Shandy. \"He would enter with one companion, my Lord\nEarl.\"\n\n\"Dares Norman of Torn enter the castle of Simon de Montfort--thinks he\nthat I keep a robbers' roost!\" cried the fierce old warrior.\n\n\"Norman of Torn dares ride where he will in all England,\" boasted the\nred giant. \"Will you see him in peace, My Lord?\"\n\n\"Let him enter,\" said De Montfort, \"but no knavery, now, we are a\nthousand men here, well armed and ready fighters.\"\n\nShandy returned to his master with the reply, and together, Norman of\nTorn and Bertrade de Montfort clattered across the drawbridge beneath\nthe portcullis of the castle of the Earl of Leicester, brother-in-law of\nHenry III of England.\n\nThe girl was still wrapped in the great cloak of her protector, for it\nhad been raining, so that she rode beneath the eyes of her father's men\nwithout being recognized. In the courtyard, they were met by Simon de\nMontfort, and his sons Henry and Simon.\n\nThe girl threw herself impetuously from her mount, and, flinging aside\nthe outlaw's cloak, rushed toward her astounded parent.\n\n\"What means this,\" cried De Montfort, \"has the rascal offered you harm\nor indignity?\"\n\n\"You craven liar,\" cried Henry de Montfort, \"but yesterday you swore\nupon your honor that you did not hold my sister, and I, like a fool,\nbelieved.\" And with his words, the young man flung himself upon Norman\nof Torn with drawn sword.\n\nQuicker than the eye could see, the sword of the visored knight flew\nfrom its scabbard, and, with a single lightning-like move, sent the\nblade of young De Montfort hurtling cross the courtyard; and then,\nbefore either could take another step, Bertrade de Montfort had sprung\nbetween them and placing a hand upon the breastplate of the outlaw,\nstretched forth the other with palm out-turned toward her kinsmen as\nthough to protect Norman of Torn from further assault.\n\n\"Be he outlaw or devil,\" she cried, \"he is a brave and courteous knight,\nand he deserves from the hands of the De Montforts the best hospitality\nthey can give, and not cold steel and insults.\" Then she explained\nbriefly to her astonished father and brothers what had befallen during\nthe past few days.\n\nHenry de Montfort, with the fine chivalry that marked him, was the first\nto step forward with outstretched hand to thank Norman of Torn, and to\nask his pardon for his rude words and hostile act.\n\nThe outlaw but held up his open palm, as he said,\n\n\"Let the De Montforts think well ere they take the hand of Norman of\nTorn. I give not my hand except in friendship, and not for a passing\nmoment; but for life. I appreciate your present feelings of gratitude,\nbut let them not blind you to the fact that I am still Norman the Devil,\nand that you have seen my mark upon the brows of your dead. I would\ngladly have your friendship, but I wish it for the man, Norman of\nTorn, with all his faults, as well as what virtues you may think him to\npossess.\"\n\n\"You are right, sir,\" said the Earl, \"you have our gratitude and our\nthanks for the service you have rendered the house of Montfort, and ever\nduring our lives you may command our favors. I admire your bravery and\nyour candor, but while you continue the Outlaw of Torn, you may not\nbreak bread at the table of De Montfort as a friend would have the right\nto do.\"\n\n\"Your speech is that of a wise and careful man,\" said Norman of Torn\nquietly. \"I go, but remember that from this day, I have no quarrel with\nthe House of Simon de Montfort, and that should you need my arms, they\nare at your service, a thousand strong. Goodbye.\" But as he turned to\ngo, Bertrade de Montfort confronted him with outstretched hand.\n\n\"You must take my hand in friendship,\" she said, \"for, to my dying day,\nI must ever bless the name of Norman of Torn because of the horror from\nwhich he has rescued me.\"\n\nHe took the little fingers in his mailed hand, and bending upon one knee\nraised them to his lips.\n\n\"To no other--woman, man, king, God, or devil--has Norman of Torn bent\nthe knee. If ever you need him, My Lady Bertrade, remember that his\nservices are yours for the asking.\"\n\nAnd turning, he mounted and rode in silence from the courtyard of\nthe castle of Leicester. Without a backward glance, and with his five\nhundred men at his back, Norman of Torn disappeared beyond a turning in\nthe roadway.\n\n\"A strange man,\" said Simon de Montfort, \"both good and bad, but from\ntoday, I shall ever believe more good than bad. Would that he were other\nthan he be, for his arm would wield a heavy sword against the enemies of\nEngland, an he could be persuaded to our cause.\"\n\n\"Who knows,\" said Henry de Montfort, \"but that an offer of friendship\nmight have won him to a better life. It seemed that in his speech was a\nnote of wistfulness. I wish, father, that we had taken his hand.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nSeveral days after Norman of Torn's visit to the castle of Leicester,\na young knight appeared before the Earl's gates demanding admittance to\nhave speech with Simon de Montfort. The Earl received him, and as the\nyoung man entered his presence, Simon de Montfort, sprang to his feet in\nastonishment.\n\n\"My Lord Prince,\" he cried. \"What do ye here, and alone?\"\n\nThe young man smiled.\n\n\"I be no prince, My Lord,\" he said, \"though some have said that I favor\nthe King's son. I be Roger de Conde, whom it may have pleased your\ngracious daughter to mention. I have come to pay homage to Bertrade de\nMontfort.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said De Montfort, rising to greet the young knight cordially, \"an\nyou be that Roger de Conde who rescued my daughter from the fellows of\nPeter of Colfax, the arms of the De Montforts are open to you.\n\n\"Bertrade has had your name upon her tongue many times since her return.\nShe will be glad indeed to receive you, as is her father. She has told\nus of your valiant espousal of her cause, and the thanks of her brothers\nand mother await you, Roger de Conde.\n\n\"She also told us of your strange likeness to Prince Edward, but until I\nsaw you, I could not believe two men could be born of different mothers\nand yet be so identical. Come, we will seek out my daughter and her\nmother.\"\n\nDe Montfort led the young man to a small chamber where they were greeted\nby Princess Eleanor, his wife, and by Bertrade de Montfort. The girl was\nfrankly glad to see him once more and laughingly chide him because he\nhad allowed another to usurp his prerogative and rescue her from Peter\nof Colfax.\n\n\"And to think,\" she cried, \"that it should have been Norman of Torn who\nfulfilled your duties for you. But he did not capture Sir Peter's head,\nmy friend; that is still at large to be brought to me upon a golden\ndish.\"\n\n\"I have not forgotten, Lady Bertrade,\" said Roger de Conde. \"Peter of\nColfax will return.\"\n\nThe girl glanced at him quickly.\n\n\"The very words of the Outlaw of Torn,\" she said. \"How many men be ye,\nRoger de Conde? With raised visor, you could pass in the King's court\nfor the King's son; and in manner, and form, and swordsmanship, and your\nvisor lowered, you might easily be hanged for Norman of Torn.\"\n\n\"And which would it please ye most that I be?\" he laughed.\n\n\"Neither,\" she answered, \"I be satisfied with my friend, Roger de\nConde.\"\n\n\"So ye like not the Devil of Torn?\" he asked.\n\n\"He has done me a great service, and I be under monstrous obligations\nto him, but he be, nathless, the Outlaw of Torn and I the daughter of an\nearl and a king's sister.\"\n\n\"A most unbridgeable gulf indeed,\" commented Roger de Conde, drily. \"Not\neven gratitude could lead a king's niece to receive Norman of Torn on a\nfooting of equality.\"\n\n\"He has my friendship, always,\" said the girl, \"but I doubt me if Norman\nof Torn be the man to impose upon it.\"\n\n\"One can never tell,\" said Roger de Conde, \"what manner of fool a man\nmay be. When a man's head be filled with a pretty face, what room be\nthere for reason?\"\n\n\"Soon thou wilt be a courtier, if thou keep long at this turning of\npretty compliments,\" said the girl coldly; \"and I like not courtiers,\nnor their empty, hypocritical chatter.\"\n\nThe man laughed.\n\n\"If I turned a compliment, I did not know it,\" he said. \"What I think, I\nsay. It may not be a courtly speech or it may. I know nothing of courts\nand care less, but be it man or maid to whom I speak, I say what is in\nmy mind or I say nothing. I did not, in so many words, say that you are\nbeautiful, but I think it nevertheless, and ye cannot be angry with\nmy poor eyes if they deceive me into believing that no fairer woman\nbreathes the air of England. Nor can you chide my sinful brain that it\ngladly believes what mine eyes tell it. No, you may not be angry so long\nas I do not tell you all this.\"\n\nBertrade de Montfort did not know how to answer so ridiculous a\nsophistry; and, truth to tell, she was more than pleased to hear from\nthe lips of Roger de Conde what bored her on the tongues of other men.\n\nDe Conde was the guest of the Earl of Leicester for several days, and\nbefore his visit was terminated, the young man had so won his way into\nthe good graces of the family that they were loath to see him leave.\n\nAlthough denied the society of such as these throughout his entire life,\nyet it seemed that he fell as naturally into the ways of their kind as\nthough he had always been among them. His starved soul, groping through\nthe darkness of the empty past, yearned toward the feasting and the\nlight of friendship, and urged him to turn his back upon the old life,\nand remain ever with these people, for Simon de Montfort had offered the\nyoung man a position of trust and honor in his retinue.\n\n\"Why refused you the offer of my father?\" said Bertrade to him as he\nwas come to bid her farewell. \"Simon de Montfort is as great a man in\nEngland as the King himself, and your future were assured did you attach\nyour self to his person. But what am I saying! Did Roger de Conde not\nwish to be elsewhere, he had accepted and, as he did not accept, it is\nproof positive that he does not wish to bide among the De Montforts.\"\n\n\"I would give my soul to the devil,\" said Norman of Torn, \"would it buy\nme the right to remain ever at the feet of Bertrade Montfort.\"\n\nHe raised her hand to his lips in farewell as he started to speak,\nbut something--was it an almost imperceptible pressure of her little\nfingers, a quickening of her breath or a swaying of her body toward\nhim?--caused him to pause and raise his eyes to hers.\n\nFor an instant they stood thus, the eyes of the man sinking deep into\nthe eyes of the maid, and then hers closed and with a little sigh that\nwas half gasp, she swayed toward him, and the Devil of Torn folded the\nKing's niece in his mighty arms and his lips placed the seal of a great\nlove upon those that were upturned to him.\n\nThe touch of those pure lips brought the man to himself.\n\n\"Ah, Bertrade, my Bertrade,\" he cried, \"what is this thing that I have\ndone! Forgive me, and let the greatness and the purity of my love for\nyou plead in extenuation of my act.\"\n\nShe looked up into his face in surprise, and then placing her strong\nwhite hands upon his shoulders, she whispered:\n\n\"See, Roger, I am not angry. It is not wrong that we love; tell me it is\nnot, Roger.\"\n\n\"You must not say that you love me, Bertrade. I am a coward, a craven\npoltroon; but, God, how I love you.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the girl, \"I do love--\"\n\n\"Stop,\" he cried, \"not yet, not yet. Do not say it till I come again.\nYou know nothing of me, you do not know even who I be; but when next I\ncome, I promise that ye shall know as much of me as I myself know, and\nthen, Bertrade, my Bertrade, if you can then say, 'I love you' no power\non earth, or in heaven above, or hell below shall keep you from being\nmine!\"\n\n\"I will wait, Roger, for I believe in you and trust you. I do not\nunderstand, but I know that you must have some good reason, though\nit all seems very strange to me. If I, a De Montfort, am willing to\nacknowledge my love for any man, there can be no reason why I should\nnot do so, unless,\" and she started at the sudden thought, wide-eyed and\npaling, \"unless there be another woman, a--a--wife?\"\n\n\"There is no other woman, Bertrade,\" said Norman of Torn. \"I have\nno wife; nor within the limits of my memory have my lips ever before\ntouched the lips of another, for I do not remember my mother.\"\n\nShe sighed a happy little sigh of relief, and laughing lightly, said:\n\n\"It is some old woman's bugaboo that you are haling out of a dark corner\nof your imagination to frighten yourself with. I do not fear, since I\nknow that you must be all good. There be no line of vice or deception\nupon your face and you are very brave. So brave and noble a man, Roger,\nhas a heart of pure gold.\"\n\n\"Don't,\" he said, bitterly. \"I cannot endure it. Wait until I come again\nand then, oh my flower of all England, if you have it in your heart\nto speak as you are speaking now, the sun of my happiness will be at\nzenith. Then, but not before, shall I speak to the Earl, thy father.\nFarewell, Bertrade, in a few days I return.\"\n\n\"If you would speak to the Earl on such a subject, you insolent young\npuppy, you may save your breath,\" thundered an angry voice, and Simon de\nMontfort strode, scowling, into the room.\n\nThe girl paled, but not from fear of her father, for the fighting blood\nof the De Montforts was as strong in her as in her sire. She faced\nhim with as brave and resolute a face as did the young man, who turned\nslowly, fixing De Montfort with level gaze.\n\n\"I heard enough of your words as I was passing through the corridor,\"\ncontinued the latter, \"to readily guess what had gone before. So it\nis for this that you have wormed your sneaking way into my home? And\nthought you that Simon de Montfort would throw his daughter at the head\nof the first passing rogue? Who be ye, but a nameless rascal? For aught\nwe know, some low born lackey. Get ye hence, and be only thankful that I\ndo not aid you with the toe of my boot where it would do the most good.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" cried the girl. \"Stop, father, hast forgot that but for Roger\nde Conde ye might have seen your daughter a corpse ere now, or, worse,\nherself befouled and dishonored?\"\n\n\"I do not forget,\" replied the Earl, \"and it is because I remember that\nmy sword remains in its scabbard. The fellow has been amply repaid by\nthe friendship of De Montfort, but now this act of perfidy has wiped\nclean the score. An' you would go in peace, sirrah, go quickly, ere I\nlose my temper.\"\n\n\"There has been some misunderstanding on your part, My Lord,\" spoke\nNorman of Torn, quietly and without apparent anger or excitement. \"Your\ndaughter has not told me that she loves me, nor did I contemplate asking\nyou for her hand. When next I come, first shall I see her and if she\nwill have me, My Lord, I shall come to you to tell you that I shall wed\nher. Norm--Roger de Conde asks permission of no man to do what he would\ndo.\"\n\nSimon de Montfort was fairly bursting with rage but he managed to\ncontrol himself to say,\n\n\"My daughter weds whom I select, and even now I have practically closed\nnegotiations for her betrothal to Prince Philip, nephew of King Louis\nof France. And as for you, sir, I would as lief see her the wife of the\nOutlaw of Torn. He, at least, has wealth and power, and a name that be\nknown outside his own armor. But enough of this; get you gone, nor let\nme see your face again within the walls of Leicester's castle.\"\n\n\"You are right, My Lord, it were foolish and idle for us to be\nquarreling with words,\" said the outlaw. \"Farewell, My Lady. I shall\nreturn as I promised, and your word shall be law.\" And with a profound\nbow to De Montfort, Norman of Torn left the apartment, and in a few\nminutes was riding through the courtyard of the castle toward the main\nportals.\n\nAs he passed beneath a window in the castle wall, a voice called to\nhim from above, and drawing in his horse, he looked up into the eyes of\nBertrade de Montfort.\n\n\"Take this, Roger de Conde,\" she whispered, dropping a tiny parcel to\nhim, \"and wear it ever, for my sake. We may never meet again, for the\nEarl my father, is a mighty man, not easily turned from his decisions;\ntherefore I shall say to you, Roger de Conde, what you forbid my saying.\nI love you, and be ye prince or scullion, you may have me, if you can\nfind the means to take me.\"\n\n\"Wait, my lady, until I return, then shall you decide, and if ye be\nof the same mind as today, never fear but that I shall take ye. Again,\nfarewell.\" And with a brave smile that hid a sad heart, Norman of Torn\npassed out of the castle yard.\n\nWhen he undid the parcel which Bertrade had tossed to him, he found that\nit contained a beautifully wrought ring set with a single opal.\n\nThe Outlaw of Torn raised the little circlet to his lips, and then\nslipped it upon the third finger of his left hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nNorman of Torn did not return to the castle of Leicester \"in a few\ndays,\" nor for many months. For news came to him that Bertrade de\nMontfort had been posted off to France in charge of her mother.\n\nFrom now on, the forces of Torn were employed in repeated attacks\non royalist barons, encroaching ever and ever southward until even\nBerkshire and Surrey and Sussex felt the weight of the iron hand of the\noutlaw.\n\nNearly a year had elapsed since that day when he had held the fair form\nof Bertrade de Montfort in his arms, and in all that time he had heard\nno word from her.\n\nHe would have followed her to France but for the fact that, after he had\nparted from her and the intoxication of her immediate presence had left\nhis brain clear to think rationally, he had realized the futility of\nhis hopes, and he had seen that the pressing of his suit could mean only\nsuffering and mortification for the woman he loved.\n\nHis better judgment told him that she, on her part, when freed from\nthe subtle spell woven by the nearness and the newness of a first love,\nwould doubtless be glad to forget the words she had spoken in the\nheat of a divine passion. He would wait, then, until fate threw them\ntogether, and should that ever chance, while she was still free, he\nwould let her know that Roger de Conde and the Outlaw of Torn were one\nand the same.\n\nIf she wants me then, he thought, but she will not. No it is impossible.\nIt is better that she marry her French prince than to live, dishonored,\nthe wife of a common highwayman; for though she might love me at first,\nthe bitterness and loneliness of her life would turn her love to hate.\n\nAs the outlaw was sitting one day in the little cottage of Father\nClaude, the priest reverted to the subject of many past conversations;\nthe unsettled state of civil conditions in the realm, and the stand\nwhich Norman of Torn would take when open hostilities between King and\nbaron were declared.\n\n\"It would seem that Henry,\" said the priest, \"by his continued breaches\nof both the spirit and letter of the Oxford Statutes, is but urging the\nbarons to resort to arms; and the fact that he virtually forced Prince\nEdward to take up arms against Humphrey de Bohun last fall, and to carry\nthe ravages of war throughout the Welsh border provinces, convinces me\nthat he be, by this time, well equipped to resist De Montfort and his\nassociates.\"\n\n\"If that be the case,\" said Norman of Torn, \"we shall have war and\nfighting in real earnest ere many months.\"\n\n\"And under which standard does My Lord Norman expect to fight?\" asked\nFather Claude.\n\n\"Under the black falcon's wing,\" laughed he of Torn.\n\n\"Thou be indeed a close-mouthed man, my son,\" said the priest, smiling.\n\"Such an attribute helpeth make a great statesman. With thy soldierly\nqualities in addition, my dear boy, there be a great future for thee in\nthe paths of honest men. Dost remember our past talk?\"\n\n\"Yes, father, well; and often have I thought on't. I have one more duty\nto perform here in England and then, it may be, that I shall act on thy\nsuggestion, but only on one condition.\"\n\n\"What be that, my son?\"\n\n\"That wheresoere I go, thou must go also. Thou be my best friend; in\ntruth, my father; none other have I ever known, for the little old\nman of Torn, even though I be the product of his loins, which I much\nmistrust, be no father to me.\"\n\nThe priest sat looking intently at the young man for many minutes before\nhe spoke.\n\nWithout the cottage, a swarthy figure skulked beneath one of the\nwindows, listening to such fragments of the conversation within as came\nto his attentive ears. It was Spizo, the Spaniard. He crouched entirely\nconcealed by a great lilac bush, which many times before had hid his\ntraitorous form.\n\nAt length the priest spoke.\n\n\"Norman of Torn,\" he said, \"so long as thou remain in England, pitting\nthy great host against the Plantagenet King and the nobles and barons of\nhis realm, thou be but serving as the cats-paw of another. Thyself hast\nsaid an hundred times that thou knowst not the reason for thy hatred\nagainst them. Thou be too strong a man to so throw thy life uselessly\naway to satisfy the choler of another.\n\n\"There be that of which I dare not speak to thee yet and only may I\nguess and dream of what I think, nor do I know whether I must hope\nthat it be false or true, but now, if ever, the time hath come for the\nquestion to be settled. Thou hast not told me in so many words, but I be\nan old man and versed in reading true between the lines, and so I know\nthat thou lovest Bertrade de Montfort. Nay, do not deny it. And now,\nwhat I would say be this. In all England there lives no more honorable\nman than Simon de Montfort, nor none who could more truly decide upon\nthy future and thy past. Thou may not understand of what I hint, but\nthou know that thou may trust me, Norman of Torn.\"\n\n\"Yea, even with my life and honor, my father,\" replied the outlaw.\n\n\"Then promise me, that with the old man of Torn alone, thou wilt come\nhither when I bidst thee and meet Simon de Montfort, and abide by his\ndecision should my surmises concerning thee be correct. He will be the\nbest judge of any in England, save two who must now remain nameless.\"\n\n\"I will come, Father, but it must be soon for on the fourth day we ride\nsouth.\"\n\n\"It shall be by the third day, or not at all,\" replied Father Claude,\nand Norman of Torn, rising to leave, wondered at the moving leaves of\nthe lilac bush without the window, for there was no breeze.\n\nSpizo, the Spaniard, reached Torn several minutes before the outlaw\nchief and had already poured his tale into the ears of the little, grim,\ngray, old man.\n\nAs the priest's words were detailed to him the old man of Torn paled in\nanger.\n\n\"The fool priest will upset the whole work to which I have devoted\nnear twenty years,\" he muttered, \"if I find not the means to quiet his\nhalf-wit tongue. Between priest and petticoat, it be all but ruined now.\nWell then, so much the sooner must I act, and I know not but that now be\nas good a time as any. If we come near enough to the King's men on this\ntrip south, the gibbet shall have its own, and a Plantagenet dog shall\ntaste the fruits of his own tyranny,\" then glancing up and realizing\nthat Spizo, the Spaniard, had been a listener, the old man, scowling,\ncried:\n\n\"What said I, sirrah? What didst hear?\"\n\n\"Naught, My Lord; thou didst but mutter incoherently,\" replied the\nSpaniard.\n\nThe old man eyed him closely.\n\n\"An did I more, Spizo, thou heardst naught but muttering, remember.\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord.\"\n\nAn hour later, the old man of Torn dismounted before the cottage of\nFather Claude and entered.\n\n\"I am honored,\" said the priest, rising.\n\n\"Priest,\" cried the old man, coming immediately to the point, \"Norman\nof Torn tells me that thou wish him and me and Leicester to meet here. I\nknow not what thy purpose may be, but for the boy's sake, carry not out\nthy design as yet. I may not tell thee my reasons, but it be best that\nthis meeting take place after we return from the south.\"\n\nThe old man had never spoken so fairly to Father Claude before, and so\nthe latter was quite deceived and promised to let the matter rest until\nlater.\n\nA few days after, in the summer of 1263, Norman of Torn rode at the head\nof his army of outlaws through the county of Essex, down toward London\ntown. One thousand fighting men there were, with squires and other\nservants, and five hundred sumpter beasts to transport their tents and\nother impedimenta, and bring back the loot.\n\nBut a small force of ailing men-at-arms, and servants had been left to\nguard the castle of Torn under the able direction of Peter the Hermit.\n\nAt the column's head rode Norman of Torn and the little grim, gray,\nold man; and behind them, nine companies of knights, followed by the\ncatapult detachment; then came the sumpter beasts. Horsan the Dane, with\nhis company, formed the rear guard. Three hundred yards in advance of\nthe column rode ten men to guard against surprise and ambuscades.\n\nThe pennons, and the banners and the bugles; and the loud rattling of\nsword, and lance and armor and iron-shod hoof carried to the eye and ear\nample assurance that this great cavalcade of iron men was bent upon no\npeaceful mission.\n\nAll his captains rode today with Norman of Torn. Beside those whom\nwe have met, there was Don Piedro Castro y Pensilo of Spain; Baron\nof Cobarth of Germany, and Sir John Mandecote of England. Like their\nleader, each of these fierce warriors carried a great price upon his\nhead, and the story of the life of any one would fill a large volume\nwith romance, war, intrigue, treachery, bravery and death.\n\nToward noon one day, in the midst of a beautiful valley of Essex, they\ncame upon a party of ten knights escorting two young women. The meeting\nwas at a turn in the road, so that the two parties were upon each other\nbefore the ten knights had an opportunity to escape with their fair\nwards.\n\n\"What the devil be this,\" cried one of the knights, as the main body of\nthe outlaw horde came into view, \"the King's army or one of his foreign\nlegions?\"\n\n\"It be Norman of Torn and his fighting men,\" replied the outlaw.\n\nThe faces of the knights blanched, for they were ten against a thousand,\nand there were two women with them.\n\n\"Who be ye?\" said the outlaw.\n\n\"I am Richard de Tany of Essex,\" said the oldest knight, he who\nhad first spoken, \"and these be my daughter and her friend, Mary de\nStutevill. We are upon our way from London to my castle. What would you\nof us? Name your price, if it can be paid with honor, it shall be paid;\nonly let us go our way in peace. We cannot hope to resist the Devil of\nTorn, for we be but ten lances. If ye must have blood, at least let the\nwomen go unharmed.\"\n\n\"My Lady Mary is an old friend,\" said the outlaw. \"I called at her\nfather's home but little more than a year since. We are neighbors, and\nthe lady can tell you that women are safer at the hands of Norman of\nTorn than they might be in the King's palace.\"\n\n\"Right he is,\" spoke up Lady Mary, \"Norman of Torn accorded my mother,\nmy sister, and myself the utmost respect; though I cannot say as much\nfor his treatment of my father,\" she added, half smiling.\n\n\"I have no quarrel with you, Richard de Tany,\" said Norman of Torn.\n\"Ride on.\"\n\nThe next day, a young man hailed the watch upon the walls of the castle\nof Richard de Tany, telling him to bear word to Joan de Tany that Roger\nde Conde, a friend of her guest Lady Mary de Stutevill, was without.\n\nIn a few moments, the great drawbridge sank slowly into place and Norman\nof Torn trotted into the courtyard.\n\nHe was escorted to an apartment where Mary de Stutevill and Joan de Tany\nwere waiting to receive him. Mary de Stutevill greeted him as an old\nfriend, and the daughter of de Tany was no less cordial in welcoming her\nfriend's friend to the hospitality of her father's castle.\n\n\"Are all your old friends and neighbors come after you to Essex,\" cried\nJoan de Tany, laughingly, addressing Mary. \"Today it is Roger de\nConde, yesterday it was the Outlaw of Torn. Methinks Derby will soon be\ndepopulated unless you return quickly to your home.\"\n\n\"I rather think it be for news of another that we owe this visit from\nRoger de Conde,\" said Mary, smiling. \"For I have heard tales, and I\nsee a great ring upon the gentleman's hand--a ring which I have seen\nbefore.\"\n\nNorman of Torn made no attempt to deny the reason for his visit, but\nasked bluntly if she heard aught of Bertrade de Montfort.\n\n\"Thrice within the year have I received missives from her,\" replied\nMary. \"In the first two she spoke only of Roger de Conde, wondering why\nhe did not come to France after her; but in the last she mentions not\nhis name, but speaks of her approaching marriage with Prince Philip.\"\n\nBoth girls were watching the countenance of Roger de Conde narrowly,\nbut no sign of the sorrow which filled his heart showed itself upon his\nface.\n\n\"I guess it be better so,\" he said quietly. \"The daughter of a De\nMontfort could scarcely be happy with a nameless adventurer,\" he added,\na little bitterly.\n\n\"You wrong her, my friend,\" said Mary de Stutevill. \"She loved you and,\nunless I know not the friend of my childhood as well as I know myself,\nshe loves you yet; but Bertrade de Montfort is a proud woman and what\ncan you expect when she hears no word from you for a year? Thought\nyou that she would seek you out and implore you to rescue her from the\nalliance her father has made for her?\"\n\n\"You do not understand,\" he answered, \"and I may not tell you; but I ask\nthat you believe me when I say that it was for her own peace of mind,\nfor her own happiness, that I did not follow her to France. But, let us\ntalk of other things. The sorrow is mine and I would not force it upon\nothers. I cared only to know that she is well, and, I hope, happy. It\nwill never be given to me to make her or any other woman so. I would\nthat I had never come into her life, but I did not know what I was\ndoing; and the spell of her beauty and goodness was strong upon me, so\nthat I was weak and could not resist what I had never known before in\nall my life--love.\"\n\n\"You could not well be blamed,\" said Joan de Tany, generously. \"Bertrade\nde Montfort is all and even more than you have said; it be a benediction\nsimply to have known her.\"\n\nAs she spoke, Norman of Torn looked upon her critically for the first\ntime, and he saw that Joan de Tany was beautiful, and that when she\nspoke, her face lighted with a hundred little changing expressions of\nintelligence and character that cast a spell of fascination about her.\nYes, Joan de Tany was good to look upon, and Norman of Torn carried\na wounded heart in his breast that longed for surcease from its\nsufferings--for a healing balm upon its hurts and bruises.\n\nAnd so it came to pass that, for many days, the Outlaw of Torn was a\ndaily visitor at the castle of Richard de Tany, and the acquaintance\nbetween the man and the two girls ripened into a deep friendship, and\nwith one of them, it threatened even more.\n\nNorman of Torn, in his ignorance of the ways of women, saw only\nfriendship in the little acts of Joan de Tany. His life had been a hard\nand lonely one. The only ray of brilliant and warming sunshine that had\nentered it had been his love for Bertrade de Montfort and hers for him.\n\nHis every thought was loyal to the woman whom he knew was not for him,\nbut he longed for the companionship of his own kind and so welcomed the\nfriendship of such as Joan de Tany and her fair guest. He did not dream\nthat either looked upon him with any warmer sentiment than the sweet\nfriendliness which was as new to him as love--how could he mark the line\nbetween or foresee the terrible price of his ignorance!\n\nMary de Stutevill saw and she thought the man but fickle and shallow\nin matters of the heart--many there were, she knew, who were thus. She\nmight have warned him had she known the truth, but instead, she let\nthings drift except for a single word of warning to Joan de Tany.\n\n\"Be careful of thy heart, Joan,\" she said, \"lest it be getting away from\nthee into the keeping of one who seems to love no less quickly than he\nforgets.\"\n\nThe daughter of De Tany flushed.\n\n\"I am quite capable of safeguarding my own heart, Mary de Stutevill,\"\nshe replied warmly. \"If thou covet this man thyself, why, but say so. Do\nnot think though that, because thy heart glows in his presence, mine is\nequally susceptible.\"\n\nIt was Mary's turn now to show offense, and a sharp retort was on her\ntongue when suddenly she realized the folly of such a useless quarrel.\nInstead she put her arms about Joan and kissed her.\n\n\"I do not love him,\" she said, \"and I be glad that you do not, for\nI know that Bertrade does, and that but a short year since, he swore\nundying love for her. Let us forget that we have spoken on the subject.\"\n\nIt was at this time that the King's soldiers were harassing the lands of\nthe rebel barons, and taking a heavy toll in revenge for their stinging\ndefeat at Rochester earlier in the year, so that it was scarcely safe\nfor small parties to venture upon the roadways lest they fall into the\nhands of the mercenaries of Henry III.\n\nNot even were the wives and daughters of the barons exempt from the\nattacks of the royalists; and it was no uncommon occurrence to find them\nsuffering imprisonment, and something worse, at the hands of the King's\nsupporters.\n\nAnd in the midst of these alarms, it entered the willful head of Joan de\nTany that she wished to ride to London town and visit the shops of the\nmerchants.\n\nWhile London itself was solidly for the barons and against the King's\nparty, the road between the castle of Richard de Tany and the city of\nLondon was beset with many dangers.\n\n\"Why,\" cried the girl's mother in exasperation, \"between robbers and\nroyalists and the Outlaw of Torn, you would not be safe if you had an\narmy to escort you.\"\n\n\"But then, as I have no army,\" retorted the laughing girl, \"if you\nreason by your own logic, I shall be indeed quite safe.\"\n\nAnd when Roger de Conde attempted to dissuade her, she taunted him with\nbeing afraid of meeting with the Devil of Torn, and told him that he\nmight remain at home and lock himself safely in her mother's pantry.\n\nAnd so, as Joan de Tany was a spoiled child, they set out upon the road\nto London; the two girls with a dozen servants and knights; and Roger de\nConde was of the party.\n\nAt the same time a grim, gray, old man dispatched a messenger from the\noutlaw's camp; a swarthy fellow, disguised as a priest, whose orders\nwere to proceed to London, and when he saw the party of Joan de Tany,\nwith Roger de Conde, enter the city, he was to deliver the letter he\nbore to the captain of the gate.\n\nThe letter contained this brief message:\n\n\"The tall knight in gray with closed helm is Norman of Torn,\" and was\nunsigned.\n\nAll went well and Joan was laughing merrily at the fears of those who\nhad attempted to dissuade her when, at a cross road, they discovered two\nparties of armed men approaching from opposite directions. The leader\nof the nearer party spurred forward to intercept the little band, and,\nreining in before them, cried brusquely,\n\n\"Who be ye?\"\n\n\"A party on a peaceful mission to the shops of London,\" replied Norman\nof Torn.\n\n\"I asked not your mission,\" cried the fellow. \"I asked, who be ye?\nAnswer, and be quick about it.\"\n\n\"I be Roger de Conde, gentleman of France, and these be my sisters and\nservants,\" lied the outlaw, \"and were it not that the ladies be with me,\nyour answer would be couched in steel, as you deserve for your boorish\ninsolence.\"\n\n\"There be plenty of room and time for that even now, you dog of a French\ncoward,\" cried the officer, couching his lance as he spoke.\n\nJoan de Tany was sitting her horse where she could see the face of Roger\nde Conde, and it filled her heart with pride and courage as she saw and\nunderstood the little smile of satisfaction that touched his lips as he\nheard the man's challenge and lowered the point of his own spear.\n\nWheeling their horses toward one another, the two combatants, who were\nsome ninety feet apart, charged at full tilt. As they came together the\nimpact was so great that both horses were nearly overturned and the two\npowerful war lances were splintered into a hundred fragments as each\nstruck the exact center of his opponent's shield. Then, wheeling their\nhorses and throwing away the butts of their now useless lances, De Conde\nand the officer advanced with drawn swords.\n\nThe fellow made a most vicious return assault upon De Conde, attempting\nto ride him down in one mad rush, but his thrust passed harmlessly from\nthe tip of the outlaw's sword, and as the officer wheeled back to renew\nthe battle, they settled down to fierce combat, their horses wheeling\nand turning shoulder to shoulder.\n\nThe two girls sat rigid in their saddles watching the encounter, the\neyes of Joan de Tany alight with the fire of battle as she followed\nevery move of the wondrous swordplay of Roger de Conde.\n\nHe had not even taken the precaution to lower his visor, and the grim\nand haughty smile that played upon his lips spoke louder than many words\nthe utter contempt in which he held the sword of his adversary. And as\nJoan de Tany watched, she saw the smile suddenly freeze to a cold, hard\nline, and the eyes of the man narrow to mere slits, and her woman's\nintuition read the death warrant of the King's officer ere the sword of\nthe outlaw buried itself in his heart.\n\nThe other members of the two bodies of royalist soldiers had sat\nspellbound as they watched the battle, but now, as their leader's corpse\nrolled from the saddle, they spurred furiously in upon De Conde and his\nlittle party.\n\nThe Baron's men put up a noble fight, but the odds were heavy and even\nwith the mighty arm of Norman of Torn upon their side the outcome was\napparent from the first.\n\nFive swords were flashing about the outlaw, but his blade was equal to\nthe thrust and one after another of his assailants crumpled up in their\nsaddles as his leaping point found their vitals.\n\nNearly all of the Baron's men were down, when one, an old servitor,\nspurred to the side of Joan de Tany and Mary de Stutevill.\n\n\"Come, my ladies,\" he cried, \"quick and you may escape. They be so busy\nwith the battle that they will never notice.\"\n\n\"Take the Lady Mary, John,\" cried Joan, \"I brought Roger de Conde to\nthis pass against the advice of all and I remain with him to the end.\"\n\n\"But, My Lady--\" cried John.\n\n\"But nothing, sirrah!\" she interrupted sharply. \"Do as you are bid.\nFollow my Lady Mary, and see that she comes to my father's castle in\nsafety,\" and raising her riding whip, she struck Mary's palfrey across\nthe rump so that the animal nearly unseated his fair rider as he leaped\nfrantically to one side and started madly up the road down which they\nhad come.\n\n\"After her, John,\" commanded Joan peremptorily, \"and see that you turn\nnot back until she be safe within the castle walls; then you may bring\naid.\"\n\nThe old fellow had been wont to obey the imperious little Lady Joan from\nher earliest childhood, and the habit was so strong upon him that he\nwheeled his horse and galloped after the flying palfrey of the Lady Mary\nde Stutevill.\n\nAs Joan de Tany turned again to the encounter before her, she saw fully\ntwenty men surrounding Roger de Conde, and while he was taking heavy\ntoll of those before him, he could not cope with the men who attacked\nhim from behind; and even as she looked, she saw a battle axe fall full\nupon his helm, and his sword drop from his nerveless fingers as his\nlifeless body rolled from the back of Sir Mortimer to the battle-tramped\nclay of the highroad.\n\nShe slid quickly from her palfrey and ran fearlessly toward his\nprostrate form, reckless of the tangled mass of snorting, trampling,\nsteel-clad horses, and surging fighting-men that surrounded him. And\nwell it was for Norman of Torn that this brave girl was there that day,\nfor even as she reached his side, the sword point of one of the soldiers\nwas at his throat for the coup de grace.\n\nWith a cry, Joan de Tany threw herself across the outlaw's body,\nshielding him as best she could from the threatening sword.\n\nCursing loudly, the soldier grasped her roughly by the arm to drag her\nfrom his prey, but at this juncture, a richly armored knight galloped up\nand drew rein beside the party.\n\nThe newcomer was a man of about forty-five or fifty; tall, handsome,\nblack-mustached and with the haughty arrogance of pride most often\nseen upon the faces of those who have been raised by unmerited favor to\npositions of power and affluence.\n\nHe was John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, a foreigner by birth and for\nyears one of the King's favorites; the bitterest enemy of De Montfort\nand the barons.\n\n\"What now?\" he cried. \"What goes on here?\"\n\nThe soldiers fell back, and one of them replied:\n\n\"A party of the King's enemies attacked us, My Lord Earl, but we routed\nthem, taking these two prisoners.\"\n\n\"Who be ye?\" he said, turning toward Joan who was kneeling beside De\nConde, and as she raised her head, \"My God! The daughter of De Tany! a\nnoble prize indeed my men. And who be the knight?\"\n\n\"Look for yourself, My Lord Earl,\" replied the girl removing the helm,\nwhich she had been unlacing from the fallen man.\n\n\"Edward?\" he ejaculated. \"But no, it cannot be, I did but yesterday\nleave Edward in Dover.\"\n\n\"I know not who he be,\" said Joan de Tany, \"except that he be the most\nmarvelous fighter and the bravest man it has ever been given me to see.\nHe called himself Roger de Conde, but I know nothing of him other than\nthat he looks like a prince, and fights like a devil. I think he has no\nquarrel with either side, My Lord, and so, as you certainly do not make\nwar on women, you will let us go our way in peace as we were when your\nsoldiers wantonly set upon us.\"\n\n\"A De Tany, madam, were a great and valuable capture in these troublous\ntimes,\" replied the Earl, \"and that alone were enough to necessitate my\nkeeping you; but a beautiful De Tany is yet a different matter and so I\nwill grant you at least one favor. I will not take you to the King, but\na prisoner you shall be in mine own castle for I am alone, and need the\ncheering company of a fair and loving lady.\"\n\nThe girl's head went high as she looked the Earl full in the eye.\n\n\"Think you, John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, that you be talking to\nsome comely scullery maid? Do you forget that my house is honored\nin England, even though it does not share the King's favors with his\nforeign favorites, and you owe respect to a daughter of a De Tany?\"\n\n\"All be fair in war, my beauty,\" replied the Earl. \"Egad,\" he continued,\n\"methinks all would be fair in hell were they like unto you. It has been\nsome years since I have seen you and I did not know the old fox Richard\nde Tany kept such a package as this hid in his grimy old castle.\"\n\n\"Then you refuse to release us?\" said Joan de Tany.\n\n\"Let us not put it thus harshly,\" countered the Earl. \"Rather let us say\nthat it be so late in the day, and the way so beset with dangers that\nthe Earl of Buckingham could not bring himself to expose the beautiful\ndaughter of his old friend to the perils of the road, and so--\"\n\n\"Let us have an end to such foolishness,\" cried the girl. \"I might have\nexpected naught better from a turncoat foreign knave such as thee,\nwho once joined in the councils of De Montfort, and then betrayed his\nfriends to curry favor with the King.\"\n\nThe Earl paled with rage, and pressed forward as though to strike the\ngirl, but thinking better of it, he turned to one of the soldiers,\nsaying:\n\n\"Bring the prisoner with you. If the man lives bring him also. I would\nlearn more of this fellow who masquerades in the countenance of a crown\nprince.\"\n\nAnd turning, he spurred on towards the neighboring castle of a rebel\nbaron which had been captured by the royalists, and was now used as\nheadquarters by De Fulm.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nWhen Norman of Torn regained his senses, he found himself in a small\ntower room in a strange castle. His head ached horribly, and he felt\nsick and sore; but he managed to crawl from the cot on which he lay, and\nby steadying his swaying body with hands pressed against the wall, he\nwas able to reach the door. To his disappointment, he found this locked\nfrom without and, in his weakened condition, he made no attempt to force\nit.\n\nHe was fully dressed and in armor, as he had been when struck down, but\nhis helmet was gone, as were also his sword and dagger.\n\nThe day was drawing to a close and, as dusk fell and the room darkened,\nhe became more and more impatient. Repeated pounding upon the door\nbrought no response and finally he gave up in despair. Going to\nthe window, he saw that his room was some thirty feet above the\nstone-flagged courtyard, and also that it looked at an angle upon other\nwindows in the old castle where lights were beginning to show. He saw\nmen-at-arms moving about, and once he thought he caught a glimpse of a\nwoman's figure, but he was not sure.\n\nHe wondered what had become of Joan de Tany and Mary de Stutevill. He\nhoped that they had escaped, and yet--no, Joan certainly had not, for\nnow he distinctly remembered that his eyes had met hers for an instant\njust before the blow fell upon him, and he thought of the faith and\nconfidence that he had read in that quick glance. Such a look would\nnerve a jackal to attack a drove of lions, thought the outlaw. What a\nbeautiful creature she was; and she had stayed there with him during the\nfight. He remembered now. Mary de Stutevill had not been with her as he\nhad caught that glimpse of her, no, she had been all alone. Ah! That was\nfriendship indeed!\n\nWhat else was it that tried to force its way above the threshold of his\nbruised and wavering memory? Words? Words of love? And lips pressed to\nhis? No, it must be but a figment of his wounded brain.\n\nWhat was that which clicked against his breastplate? He felt, and found\na metal bauble linked to a mesh of his steel armor by a strand of silken\nhair. He carried the little thing to the window, and in the waning light\nmade it out to be a golden hair ornament set with precious stones, but\nhe could not tell if the little strand of silken hair were black or\nbrown. Carefully he detached the little thing, and, winding the filmy\ntress about it, placed it within the breast of his tunic. He was vaguely\ntroubled by it, yet why he could scarcely have told, himself.\n\nAgain turning to the window, he watched the lighted rooms within his\nvision, and presently his view was rewarded by the sight of a knight\ncoming within the scope of the narrow casement of a nearby chamber.\n\nFrom his apparel, he was a man of position, and he was evidently in\nheated discussion with some one whom Norman of Torn could not see. The\nman, a great, tall black-haired and mustached nobleman, was pounding\nupon a table to emphasize his words, and presently he sprang up\nas though rushing toward the one to whom he had been speaking. He\ndisappeared from the watcher's view for a moment and then, at the far\nside of the apartment, Norman of Torn saw him again just as he roughly\ngrasped the figure of a woman who evidently was attempting to escape\nhim. As she turned to face her tormentor, all the devil in the Devil of\nTorn surged in his aching head, for the face he saw was that of Joan de\nTany.\n\nWith a muttered oath, the imprisoned man turned to hurl himself against\nthe bolted door, but ere he had taken a single step, the sound of heavy\nfeet without brought him to a stop, and the jingle of keys as one was\nfitted to the lock of the door sent him gliding stealthily to the wall\nbeside the doorway, where the inswinging door would conceal him.\n\nAs the door was pushed back, a flickering torch lighted up, but dimly,\nthe interior, so that until he had reached the center of the room, the\nvisitor did not see that the cot was empty.\n\nHe was a man-at-arms, and at his side hung a sword. That was enough for\nthe Devil of Torn--it was a sword he craved most; and, ere the fellow\ncould assure his slow wits that the cot was empty, steel fingers closed\nupon his throat, and he went down beneath the giant form of the outlaw.\n\nWithout other sound than the scuffing of their bodies on the floor, and\nthe clanking of their armor, they fought, the one to reach the dagger at\nhis side, the other to close forever the windpipe of his adversary.\n\nPresently, the man-at-arms found what he sought, and, after tugging\nwith ever diminishing strength, he felt the blade slip from its sheath.\nSlowly and feebly he raised it high above the back of the man on top of\nhim; with a last supreme effort he drove the point downward, but ere it\nreached its goal, there was a sharp snapping sound as of a broken bone,\nthe dagger fell harmlessly from his dead hand, and his head rolled\nbackward upon his broken neck.\n\nSnatching the sword from the body of his dead antagonist, Norman of Torn\nrushed from the tower room.\n\nAs John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, laid his vandal hands upon Joan\nde Tany, she turned upon him like a tigress. Blow after blow she rained\nupon his head and face until, in mortification and rage, he struck her\nfull upon the mouth with his clenched fist; but even this did not subdue\nher and, with ever weakening strength, she continued to strike him. And\nthen the great royalist Earl, the chosen friend of the King, took the\nfair white throat between his great fingers, and the lust of blood\nsupplanted the lust of love, for he would have killed her in his rage.\n\nIt was upon this scene that the Outlaw of Torn burst with naked sword.\nThey were at the far end of the apartment, and his cry of anger at the\nsight caused the Earl to drop his prey, and turn with drawn sword to\nmeet him.\n\nThere were no words, for there was no need of words here. The two men\nwere upon each other, and fighting to the death, before the girl had\nregained her feet. It would have been short shrift for John de Fulm had\nnot some of his men heard the fracas, and rushed to his aid.\n\nFour of them there were, and they tumbled pell-mell into the room,\nfairly falling upon Norman of Torn in their anxiety to get their swords\ninto him; but once they met that master hand, they went more slowly, and\nin a moment, two of them went no more at all, and the others, with the\nEarl, were but circling warily in search of a chance opening--an opening\nwhich never came.\n\nNorman of Torn stood with his back against a table in an angle of the\nroom, and behind him stood Joan de Tany.\n\n\"Move toward the left,\" she whispered. \"I know this old pile. When\nyou reach the table that bears the lamp, there will be a small doorway\ndirectly behind you. Strike the lamp out with your sword, as you feel my\nhand in your left, and then I will lead you through that doorway, which\nyou must turn and quickly bolt after us. Do you understand?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\nSlowly he worked his way toward the table, the men-at-arms in the\nmeantime keeping up an infernal howling for help. The Earl was\ncareful to keep out of reach of the point of De Conde's sword, and the\nmen-at-arms were nothing loath to emulate their master's example.\n\nJust as he reached his goal, a dozen more men burst into the room, and\nemboldened by this reinforcement, one of the men engaging De Conde came\ntoo close. As he jerked his blade from the fellow's throat, Norman of\nTorn felt a firm, warm hand slipped into his from behind, and his sword\nswung with a resounding blow against the lamp.\n\nAs darkness enveloped the chamber, Joan de Tany led him through\nthe little door, which he immediately closed and bolted as she had\ninstructed.\n\n\"This way,\" she whispered, again slipping her hand into his and, in\nsilence, she led him through several dim chambers, and finally stopped\nbefore a blank wall in a great oak-panelled room.\n\nHere the girl felt with swift fingers the edge of the molding. More\nand more rapidly she moved as the sound of hurrying footsteps resounded\nthrough the castle.\n\n\"What is wrong?\" asked Norman of Torn, noticing her increasing\nperturbation.\n\n\"Mon Dieu!\" she cried. \"Can I be wrong! Surely this is the room. Oh, my\nfriend, that I should have brought you to all this by my willfulness and\nvanity; and now when I might save you, my wits leave me and I forget the\nway.\"\n\n\"Do not worry about me,\" laughed the Devil of Torn. \"Methought that it\nwas I who was trying to save you, and may heaven forgive me else,\nfor surely, that be my only excuse for running away from a handful of\nswords. I could not take chances when thou wert at stake, Joan,\" he\nadded more gravely.\n\nThe sound of pursuit was now quite close, in fact the reflection from\nflickering torches could be seen in nearby chambers.\n\nAt last the girl, with a little cry of \"stupid,\" seized De Conde and\nrushed him to the far side of the room.\n\n\"Here it is,\" she whispered joyously, \"here it has been all the time.\"\nRunning her fingers along the molding until she found a little hidden\nspring, she pushed it, and one of the great panels swung slowly in,\nrevealing the yawning mouth of a black opening behind.\n\nQuickly the girl entered, pulling De Conde after her, and as the panel\nswung quietly into place, the Earl of Buckingham with a dozen men\nentered the apartment.\n\n\"The devil take them,\" cried De Fulm. \"Where can they have gone? Surely\nwe were right behind them.\"\n\n\"It is passing strange, My Lord,\" replied one of the men. \"Let us try\nthe floor above, and the towers; for of a surety they have not come this\nway.\" And the party retraced its steps, leaving the apartment empty.\n\nBehind the panel, the girl stood shrinking close to De Conde, her hand\nstill in his.\n\n\"Where now?\" he asked. \"Or do we stay hidden here like frightened chicks\nuntil the war is over and the Baron returns to let us out of this musty\nhole?\"\n\n\"Wait,\" she answered, \"until I quiet my nerves a little. I am all\nunstrung.\" He felt her body tremble as it pressed against his.\n\nWith the spirit of protection strong within him, what wonder that his\narm fell about her shoulder as though to say, fear not, for I be brave\nand powerful; naught can harm you while I am here.\n\nPresently she reached her hands up to his face, made brave to do it by\nthe sheltering darkness.\n\n\"Roger,\" she whispered, her tongue halting over the familiar name.\n\"I thought that they had killed you, and all for me, for my foolish\nstubbornness. Canst forgive me?\"\n\n\"Forgive?\" he asked, smiling to himself. \"Forgive being given an\nopportunity to fight? There be nothing to forgive, Joan, unless it be\nthat I should ask forgiveness for protecting thee so poorly.\"\n\n\"Do not say that,\" she commanded. \"Never was such bravery or such\nswordsmanship in all the world before; never such a man.\"\n\nHe did not answer. His mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts. The\nfeel of her hands as they had lingered momentarily, and with a vague\ncaress upon his cheek, and the pressure of her body as she leaned\nagainst him sent the hot blood coursing through his veins. He was\npuzzled, for he had not dreamed that friendship was so sweet. That she\ndid not shrink from his encircling arms should have told him much, but\nNorman of Torn was slow to realize that a woman might look upon him with\nlove. Nor had he a thought of any other sentiment toward her than that\nof friend and protector.\n\nAnd then there came to him as in a vision another fair and beautiful\nface--Bertrade de Montfort's--and Norman of Torn was still more puzzled;\nfor at heart he was clean, and love of loyalty was strong within him.\nLove of women was a new thing to him, and, robbed as he had been all his\nstarved life of the affection and kindly fellowship, of either men or\nwomen, it is little to be wondered at that he was easily impressionable\nand responsive to the feeling his strong personality had awakened in two\nof England's fairest daughters.\n\nBut with the vision of that other face, there came to him a faint\nrealization that mayhap it was a stronger power than either friendship\nor fear which caused that lithe, warm body to cling so tightly to him.\nThat the responsibility for the critical stage their young acquaintance\nhad so quickly reached was not his had never for a moment entered his\nhead. To him, the fault was all his; and perhaps it was this quality of\nchivalry that was the finest of the many noble characteristics of his\nsterling character. So his next words were typical of the man; and did\nJoan de Tany love him, or did she not, she learned that night to respect\nand trust him as she respected and trusted few men of her acquaintance.\n\n\"My Lady,\" said Norman of Torn, \"we have been through much, and we are\nas little children in a dark attic, and so if I have presumed upon our\nacquaintance,\" and he lowered his arm from about her shoulder, \"I ask\nyou to forgive it for I scarce know what to do, from weakness and from\nthe pain of the blow upon my head.\"\n\nJoan de Tany drew slowly away from him, and without reply, took his hand\nand led him forward through a dark, cold corridor.\n\n\"We must go carefully now,\" she said at last, \"for there be stairs\nnear.\"\n\nHe held her hand pressed very tightly in his, tighter perhaps than\nconditions required, but she let it lie there as she led him forward,\nvery slowly down a flight of rough stone steps.\n\nNorman of Torn wondered if she were angry with him and then, being new\nat love, he blundered.\n\n\"Joan de Tany,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, Roger de Conde; what would you?\"\n\n\"You be silent, and I fear that you be angry with me. Tell me that you\nforgive what I have done, an it offended you. I have so few friends,\" he\nadded sadly, \"that I cannot afford to lose such as you.\"\n\n\"You will never lose the friendship of Joan de Tany,\" she answered. \"You\nhave won her respect and--and--\" But she could not say it and so she\ntrailed off lamely--\"and undying gratitude.\"\n\nBut Norman of Torn knew the word that she would have spoken had he dared\nto let her. He did not, for there was always the vision of Bertrade de\nMontfort before him; and now another vision arose that would effectually\nhave sealed his lips had not the other--he saw the Outlaw of Torn\ndangling by his neck from a wooden gibbet.\n\nBefore, he had only feared that Joan de Tany loved him, now he knew it,\nand while he marvelled that so wondrous a creature could feel love for\nhim, again he blamed himself, and felt sorrow for them both; for he did\nnot return her love nor could he imagine a love strong enough to survive\nthe knowledge that it was possessed by the Devil of Torn.\n\nPresently they reached the bottom of the stairway, and Joan de Tany\nled him, gropingly, across what seemed, from their echoing footsteps, a\nlarge chamber. The air was chill and dank, smelling of mold, and no\nray of light penetrated this subterranean vault, and no sound broke the\nstillness.\n\n\"This be the castle's crypt,\" whispered Joan; \"and they do say that\nstrange happenings occur here in the still watches of the night, and\nthat when the castle sleeps, the castle's dead rise from their coffins\nand shake their dry bones.\n\n\"Sh! What was that?\" as a rustling noise broke upon their ears close\nupon their right; and then there came a distinct moan, and Joan de Tany\nfled to the refuge of Norman of Torn's arms.\n\n\"There is nothing to fear, Joan,\" reassured Norman of Torn. \"Dead men\nwield not swords, nor do they move, or moan. The wind, I think, and rats\nare our only companions here.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" she whispered. \"If you can make a light, I am sure\nyou will find an old lamp here in the crypt, and then will it be less\nfearsome. As a child I visited this castle often, and in search of\nadventure, we passed through these corridors an hundred times, but\nalways by day and with lights.\"\n\nNorman of Torn did as she bid, and finding the lamp, lighted it. The\nchamber was quite empty save for the coffins in their niches, and some\neffigies in marble set at intervals about the walls.\n\n\"Not such a fearsome place after all,\" he said, laughing lightly.\n\n\"No place would seem fearsome now,\" she answered simply, \"were there a\nlight to show me that the brave face of Roger de Conde were by my side.\"\n\n\"Hush, child,\" replied the outlaw. \"You know not what you say. When you\nknow me better, you will be sorry for your words, for Roger de Conde is\nnot what you think him. So say no more of praise until we be out of this\nhole, and you safe in your father's halls.\"\n\nThe fright of the noises in the dark chamber had but served to again\nbring the girl's face close to his so that he felt her hot, sweet breath\nupon his cheek, and thus another link was forged to bind him to her.\n\nWith the aid of the lamp, they made more rapid progress, and in a few\nmoments, reached a low door at the end of the arched passageway.\n\n\"This is the doorway which opens upon the ravine below the castle. We\nhave passed beneath the walls and the moat. What may we do now, Roger,\nwithout horses?\"\n\n\"Let us get out of this place, and as far away as possible under the\ncover of darkness, and I doubt not I may find a way to bring you to your\nfather's castle,\" replied Norman of Torn.\n\nPutting out the light, lest it should attract the notice of the watch\nupon the castle walls, Norman of Torn pushed open the little door and\nstepped forth into the fresh night air.\n\nThe ravine was so overgrown with tangled vines and wildwood that, had\nthere ever been a pathway, it was now completely obliterated; and it\nwas with difficulty that the man forced his way through the entangling\ncreepers and tendrils. The girl stumbled after him and twice fell before\nthey had taken a score of steps.\n\n\"I fear I am not strong enough,\" she said finally. \"The way is much more\ndifficult than I had thought.\"\n\nSo Norman of Torn lifted her in his strong arms, and stumbled on\nthrough the darkness and the shrubbery down the center of the ravine. It\nrequired the better part of an hour to traverse the little distance to\nthe roadway; and all the time her head nestled upon his shoulder and her\nhair brushed his cheek. Once when she lifted her head to speak to him,\nhe bent toward her, and in the darkness, by chance, his lips brushed\nhers. He felt her little form tremble in his arms, and a faint sigh\nbreathed from her lips.\n\nThey were upon the highroad now, but he did not put her down. A mist\nwas before his eyes, and he could have crushed her to him and smothered\nthose warm lips with his own. Slowly, his face inclined toward hers,\ncloser and closer his iron muscles pressed her to him, and then, clear\ncut and distinct before his eyes, he saw the corpse of the Outlaw of\nTorn swinging by the neck from the arm of a wooden gibbet, and beside it\nknelt a woman gowned in rich cloth of gold and many jewels. Her face\nwas averted and her arms were outstretched toward the dangling form that\nswung and twisted from the grim, gaunt arm. Her figure was racked with\nchoking sobs of horror-stricken grief. Presently she staggered to her\nfeet and turned away, burying her face in her hands; but he saw her\nfeatures for an instant then--the woman who openly and alone mourned the\ndead Outlaw of Torn was Bertrade de Montfort.\n\nSlowly his arms relaxed, and gently and reverently he lowered Joan\nde Tany to the ground. In that instant Norman of Torn had learned the\ndifference between friendship and love, and love and passion.\n\nThe moon was shining brightly upon them, and the girl turned, wide-eyed\nand wondering, toward him. She had felt the wild call of love and she\ncould not understand his seeming coldness now, for she had seen no\nvision beyond a life of happiness within those strong arms.\n\n\"Joan,\" he said, \"I would but now have wronged thee. Forgive me. Forget\nwhat has passed between us until I can come to you in my rightful\ncolors, when the spell of the moonlight and adventure be no longer upon\nus, and then,\"--he paused--\"and then I shall tell you who I be and you\nshall say if you still care to call me friend--no more than that shall I\nask.\"\n\nHe had not the heart to tell her that he loved only Bertrade de\nMontfort, but it had been a thousand times better had he done so.\n\nShe was about to reply when a dozen armed men sprang from the\nsurrounding shadows, calling upon them to surrender. The moonlight\nfalling upon the leader revealed a great giant of a fellow with an\nenormous, bristling mustache--it was Shandy.\n\nNorman of Torn lowered his raised sword.\n\n\"It is I, Shandy,\" he said. \"Keep a still tongue in thy head until I\nspeak with thee apart. Wait here, My Lady Joan; these be friends.\"\n\nDrawing Shandy to one side, he learned that the faithful fellow had\nbecome alarmed at his chief's continued absence, and had set out with\na small party to search for him. They had come upon the riderless Sir\nMortimer grazing by the roadside, and a short distance beyond, had\ndiscovered evidences of the conflict at the cross-roads. There they had\nfound Norman of Torn's helmet, confirming their worst fears. A peasant\nin a nearby hut had told them of the encounter, and had set them upon\nthe road taken by the Earl and his prisoners.\n\n\"And here we be, My Lord,\" concluded the great fellow.\n\n\"How many are you?\" asked the outlaw.\n\n\"Fifty, all told, with those who lie farther back in the bushes.\"\n\n\"Give us horses, and let two of the men ride behind us,\" said the chief.\n\"And, Shandy, let not the lady know that she rides this night with the\nOutlaw of Torn.\"\n\n\"Yes, My Lord.\"\n\nThey were soon mounted, and clattering down the road, back toward the\ncastle of Richard de Tany.\n\nJoan de Tany looked in silent wonder upon this grim force that sprang\nout of the shadows of the night to do the bidding of Roger de Conde, a\ngentleman of France.\n\nThere was something familiar in the great bulk of Red Shandy; where had\nshe seen that mighty frame before? And now she looked closely at the\nfigure of Roger de Conde. Yes, somewhere else had she seen these two men\ntogether; but where and when?\n\nAnd then the strangeness of another incident came to her mind. Roger de\nConde spoke no English, and yet she had plainly heard English words upon\nthis man's lips as he addressed the red giant.\n\nNorman of Torn had recovered his helmet from one of his men who had\npicked it up at the crossroads, and now he rode in silence with lowered\nvisor, as was his custom.\n\nThere was something sinister now in his appearance, and as the moonlight\ntouched the hard, cruel faces of the grim and silent men who rode behind\nhim, a little shudder crept over the frame of Joan de Tany.\n\nShortly before daylight they reached the castle of Richard de Tany, and\na great shout went up from the watch as Norman of Torn cried:\n\n\"Open! Open for My Lady Joan.\"\n\nTogether they rode into the courtyard, where all was bustle and\nexcitement. A dozen voices asked a dozen questions only to cry out still\nothers without waiting for replies.\n\nRichard de Tany with his family and Mary de Stutevill were still fully\nclothed, having not lain down during the whole night. They fairly fell\nupon Joan and Roger de Conde in their joyous welcome and relief.\n\n\"Come, come,\" said the Baron, \"let us go within. You must be fair\nfamished for good food and drink.\"\n\n\"I will ride, My Lord,\" replied Norman of Torn. \"I have a little matter\nof business with my friend, the Earl of Buckingham. Business which I\nfear will not wait.\"\n\nJoan de Tany looked on in silence. Nor did she urge him to remain, as he\nraised her hand to his lips in farewell. So Norman of Torn rode out of\nthe courtyard; and as his men fell in behind him under the first rays of\nthe drawing day, the daughter of De Tany watched them through the gate,\nand a great light broke upon her, for what she saw was the same as she\nhad seen a few days since when she had turned in her saddle to watch\nthe retreating forms of the cut-throats of Torn as they rode on after\nhalting her father's party.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nSome hours later, fifty men followed Norman of Torn on foot through the\nravine below the castle where John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, had his\nheadquarters; while nearly a thousand more lurked in the woods before\nthe grim pile.\n\nUnder cover of the tangled shrubbery, they crawled unseen to the little\ndoor through which Joan de Tany had led him the night before. Following\nthe corridors and vaults beneath the castle, they came to the stone\nstairway, and mounted to the passage which led to the false panel that\nhad given the two fugitives egress.\n\nSlipping the spring lock, Norman of Torn entered the apartment\nfollowed closely by his henchmen. On they went, through apartment after\napartment, but no sign of the Earl or his servitors rewarded their\nsearch, and it was soon apparent that the castle was deserted.\n\nAs they came forth into the courtyard, they descried an old man basking\nin the sun, upon a bench. The sight of them nearly caused the old fellow\nto die of fright, for to see fifty armed men issue from the untenanted\nhalls was well reckoned to blanch even a braver cheek.\n\nWhen Norman of Torn questioned him, he learned that De Fulm had ridden\nout early in the day bound for Dover, where Prince Edward then was. The\noutlaw knew it would be futile to pursue him, but yet, so fierce was his\nanger against this man, that he ordered his band to mount, and spurring\nto their head, he marched through Middlesex, and crossing the Thames\nabove London, entered Surrey late the same afternoon.\n\nAs they were going into camp that night in Kent, midway between London\nand Rochester, word came to Norman of Torn that the Earl of Buckingham,\nhaving sent his escort on to Dover, had stopped to visit the wife of a\nroyalist baron, whose husband was with Prince Edward's forces.\n\nThe fellow who gave this information was a servant in my lady's\nhousehold who held a grudge against his mistress for some wrong she had\ndone him. When, therefore, he found that these grim men were searching\nfor De Fulm, he saw a way to be revenged upon his mistress.\n\n\"How many swords be there at the castle?\" asked Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Scarce a dozen, barring the Earl of Buckingham,\" replied the knave;\n\"and, furthermore, there be a way to enter, which I may show you, My\nLord, so that you may, unseen, reach the apartment where My Lady and the\nEarl be supping.\"\n\n\"Bring ten men, beside yourself, Shandy,\" commanded Norman of Torn. \"We\nshall pay a little visit upon our amorous friend, My Lord, the Earl of\nBuckingham.\"\n\nHalf an hour's ride brought them within sight of the castle.\nDismounting, and leaving their horses with one of the men, Norman of\nTorn advanced on foot with Shandy and the eight others, close in the\nwake of the traitorous servant.\n\nThe fellow led them to the rear of the castle, where, among the brush,\nhe had hidden a rude ladder, which, when tilted, spanned the moat and\nrested its farther end upon a window ledge some ten feet above the\nground.\n\n\"Keep the fellow here till last, Shandy,\" said the outlaw, \"till all\nbe in, an' if there be any signs of treachery, stick him through the\ngizzard--death thus be slower and more painful.\"\n\nSo saying, Norman of Torn crept boldly across the improvised bridge, and\ndisappeared within the window beyond. One by one the band of cut-throats\npassed through the little window, until all stood within the castle\nbeside their chief; Shandy coming last with the servant.\n\n\"Lead me quietly, knave, to the room where My Lord sups,\" said Norman\nof Torn. \"You, Shandy, place your men where they can prevent my being\ninterrupted.\"\n\nFollowing a moment or two after Shandy came another figure stealthily\nacross the ladder and, as Norman of Torn and his followers left the\nlittle room, this figure pushed quietly through the window and followed\nthe great outlaw down the unlighted corridor.\n\nA moment later, My Lady of Leybourn looked up from her plate upon the\ngrim figure of an armored knight standing in the doorway of the great\ndining hall.\n\n\"My Lord Earl!\" she cried. \"Look! Behind you.\"\n\nAnd as the Earl of Buckingham glanced behind him, he overturned the\nbench upon which he sat in his effort to gain his feet; for My Lord Earl\nof Buckingham had a guilty conscience.\n\nThe grim figure raised a restraining hand, as the Earl drew his sword.\n\n\"A moment, My Lord,\" said a low voice in perfect French.\n\n\"Who are you?\" cried the lady.\n\n\"I be an old friend of My Lord, here; but let me tell you a little\nstory.\n\n\"In a grim old castle in Essex, only last night, a great lord of England\nheld by force the beautiful daughter of a noble house and, when she\nspurned his advances, he struck her with his clenched fist upon her fair\nface, and with his brute hands choked her. And in that castle also was\na despised and hunted outlaw, with a price upon his head, for whose neck\nthe hempen noose has been yawning these many years. And it was this vile\nperson who came in time to save the young woman from the noble flower of\nknighthood that would have ruined her young life.\n\n\"The outlaw wished to kill the knight, but many men-at-arms came to the\nnoble's rescue, and so the outlaw was forced to fly with the girl lest\nhe be overcome by numbers, and the girl thus fall again into the hands\nof her tormentor.\n\n\"But this crude outlaw was not satisfied with merely rescuing the girl,\nhe must needs mete out justice to her noble abductor and collect in full\nthe toll of blood which alone can atone for the insult and violence done\nher.\n\n\"My Lady, the young girl was Joan de Tany; the noble was My Lord the\nEarl of Buckingham; and the outlaw stands before you to fulfill the duty\nhe has sworn to do. En garde, My Lord!\"\n\nThe encounter was short, for Norman of Torn had come to kill, and he had\nbeen looking through a haze of blood for hours--in fact every time he\nhad thought of those brutal fingers upon the fair throat of Joan de Tany\nand of the cruel blow that had fallen upon her face.\n\nHe showed no mercy, but backed the Earl relentlessly into a corner\nof the room, and when he had him there where he could escape in no\ndirection, he drove his blade so deep through his putrid heart that the\npoint buried itself an inch in the oak panel beyond.\n\nClaudia Leybourn sat frozen with horror at the sight she was witnessing,\nand, as Norman of Torn wrenched his blade from the dead body before him\nand wiped it on the rushes of the floor, she gazed in awful fascination\nwhile he drew his dagger and made a mark upon the forehead of the dead\nnobleman.\n\n\"Outlaw or Devil,\" said a stern voice behind them, \"Roger Leybourn owes\nyou his friendship for saving the honor of his home.\"\n\nBoth turned to discover a mail-clad figure standing in the doorway where\nNorman of Torn had first appeared.\n\n\"Roger!\" shrieked Claudia Leybourn, and swooned.\n\n\"Who be you?\" continued the master of Leybourn addressing the outlaw.\n\nFor answer Norman of Torn pointed to the forehead of the dead Earl of\nBuckingham, and there Roger Leybourn saw, in letters of blood, NT.\n\nThe Baron advanced with outstretched hand.\n\n\"I owe you much. You have saved my poor, silly wife from this beast,\nand Joan de Tany is my cousin, so I am doubly beholden to you, Norman of\nTorn.\"\n\nThe outlaw pretended that he did not see the hand.\n\n\"You owe me nothing, Sir Roger, that may not be paid by a good supper. I\nhave eaten but once in forty-eight hours.\"\n\nThe outlaw now called to Shandy and his men, telling them to remain on\nwatch, but to interfere with no one within the castle.\n\nHe then sat at the table with Roger Leybourn and his lady, who had\nrecovered from her swoon, and behind them on the rushes of the floor lay\nthe body of De Fulm in a little pool of blood.\n\nLeybourn told them that he had heard that De Fulm was at his home, and\nhad hastened back; having been in hiding about the castle for half an\nhour before the arrival of Norman of Torn, awaiting an opportunity to\nenter unobserved by the servants. It was he who had followed across the\nladder after Shandy.\n\nThe outlaw spent the night at the castle of Roger Leybourn; for the\nfirst time within his memory a welcomed guest under his true name at the\nhouse of a gentleman.\n\nThe following morning, he bade his host goodbye, and returning to his\ncamp started on his homeward march toward Torn.\n\nNear midday, as they were approaching the Thames near the environs of\nLondon, they saw a great concourse of people hooting and jeering at a\nsmall party of gentlemen and gentlewomen.\n\nSome of the crowd were armed, and from very force of numbers were waxing\nbrave to lay violent hands upon the party. Mud and rocks and rotten\nvegetables were being hurled at the little cavalcade, many of them\nbarely missing the women of the party.\n\nNorman of Torn waited to ask no questions, but spurring into the thick\nof it laid right and left of him with the flat of his sword, and his\nmen, catching the contagion of it, swarmed after him until the whole\npack of attacking ruffians were driven into the Thames.\n\nAnd then, without a backward glance at the party he had rescued, he\ncontinued on his march toward the north.\n\nThe little party sat upon their horses looking in wonder after the\nretreating figures of their deliverers. Then one of the ladies turned\nto a knight at her side with a word of command and an imperious gesture\ntoward the fast disappearing company. He, thus addressed, put spurs to\nhis horse, and rode at a rapid gallop after the outlaw's troop. In a few\nmoments he had overtaken them and reined up beside Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Hold, Sir Knight,\" cried the gentleman, \"the Queen would thank you in\nperson for your brave defence of her.\"\n\nEver keen to see the humor of a situation, Norman of Torn wheeled his\nhorse and rode back with the Queen's messenger.\n\nAs he faced Her Majesty, the Outlaw of Torn bent low over his pommel.\n\n\"You be a strange knight that thinks so lightly on saving a queen's life\nthat you ride on without turning your head, as though you had but driven\na pack of curs from annoying a stray cat,\" said the Queen.\n\n\"I drew in the service of a woman, Your Majesty, not in the service of a\nqueen.\"\n\n\"What now! Wouldst even belittle the act which we all witnessed? The\nKing, my husband, shall reward thee, Sir Knight, if you but tell me your\nname.\"\n\n\"If I told my name, methinks the King would be more apt to hang me,\"\nlaughed the outlaw. \"I be Norman of Torn.\"\n\nThe entire party looked with startled astonishment upon him, for none of\nthem had ever seen this bold raider whom all the nobility and gentry of\nEngland feared and hated.\n\n\"For lesser acts than that which thou hast just performed, the King\nhas pardoned men before,\" replied Her Majesty. \"But raise your visor,\nI would look upon the face of so notorious a criminal who can yet be a\ngentleman and a loyal protector of his queen.\"\n\n\"They who have looked upon my face, other than my friends,\" replied\nNorman of Torn quietly, \"have never lived to tell what they saw beneath\nthis visor, and as for you, Madame, I have learned within the year to\nfear it might mean unhappiness to you to see the visor of the Devil of\nTorn lifted from his face.\" Without another word he wheeled and galloped\nback to his little army.\n\n\"The puppy, the insolent puppy,\" cried Eleanor of England, in a rage.\n\nAnd so the Outlaw of Torn and his mother met and parted after a period\nof twenty years.\n\nTwo days later, Norman of Torn directed Red Shandy to lead the forces of\nTorn from their Essex camp back to Derby. The numerous raiding parties\nwhich had been constantly upon the road during the days they had spent\nin this rich district had loaded the extra sumpter beasts with rich\nand valuable booty and the men, for the time satiated with fighting and\nloot, turned their faces toward Torn with evident satisfaction.\n\nThe outlaw was speaking to his captains in council; at his side the old\nman of Torn.\n\n\"Ride by easy stages, Shandy, and I will overtake you by tomorrow\nmorning. I but ride for a moment to the castle of De Tany on an errand,\nand, as I shall stop there but a few moments, I shall surely join you\ntomorrow.\"\n\n\"Do not forget, My Lord,\" said Edwild the Serf, a great yellow-haired\nSaxon giant, \"that there be a party of the King's troops camped close by\nthe road which branches to Tany.\"\n\n\"I shall give them plenty of room,\" replied Norman of Torn. \"My neck\nitcheth not to be stretched,\" and he laughed and mounted.\n\nFive minutes after he had cantered down the road from camp, Spizo the\nSpaniard, sneaking his horse unseen into the surrounding forest, mounted\nand spurred rapidly after him. The camp, in the throes of packing\nrefractory, half broken sumpter animals, and saddling their own wild\nmounts, did not notice his departure. Only the little grim, gray, old\nman knew that he had gone, or why, or whither.\n\nThat afternoon, as Roger de Conde was admitted to the castle of Richard\nde Tany and escorted to a little room where he awaited the coming of\nthe Lady Joan, a swarthy messenger handed a letter to the captain of the\nKing's soldiers camped a few miles south of Tany.\n\nThe officer tore open the seal as the messenger turned and spurred back\nin the direction from which he had come.\n\nAnd this was what he read:\n\nNorman of Torn is now at the castle of Tany, without escort.\n\nInstantly the call \"to arms\" and \"mount\" sounded through the camp and,\nin five minutes, a hundred mercenaries galloped rapidly toward the\ncastle of Richard de Tany, in the visions of their captain a great\nreward and honor and preferment for the capture of the mighty outlaw who\nwas now almost within his clutches.\n\nThree roads meet at Tany; one from the south along which the King's\nsoldiers were now riding; one from the west which had guided Norman\nof Torn from his camp to the castle; and a third which ran northwest\nthrough Cambridge and Huntingdon toward Derby.\n\nAll unconscious of the rapidly approaching foes, Norman of Torn waited\ncomposedly in the anteroom for Joan de Tany.\n\nPresently she entered, clothed in the clinging house garment of the\nperiod; a beautiful vision, made more beautiful by the suppressed\nexcitement which caused the blood to surge beneath the velvet of her\ncheek, and her breasts to rise and fall above her fast beating heart.\n\nShe let him take her fingers in his and raise them to his lips, and then\nthey stood looking into each other's eyes in silence for a long moment.\n\n\"I do not know how to tell you what I have come to tell,\" he said sadly.\n\"I have not meant to deceive you to your harm, but the temptation to be\nwith you and those whom you typify must be my excuse. I--\" He paused.\nIt was easy to tell her that he was the Outlaw of Torn, but if she loved\nhim, as he feared, how was he to tell her that he loved only Bertrade de\nMontfort?\n\n\"You need tell me nothing,\" interrupted Joan de Tany. \"I have guessed\nwhat you would tell me, Norman of Torn. 'The spell of moonlight and\nadventure is no longer upon us'--those are your own words, and still I\nam glad to call you friend.\"\n\nThe little emphasis she put upon the last word bespoke the finality of\nher decision that the Outlaw of Torn could be no more than friend to\nher.\n\n\"It is best,\" he replied, relieved that, as he thought, she felt no\nlove for him now that she knew him for what he really was. \"Nothing good\ncould come to such as you, Joan, if the Devil of Torn could claim more\nof you than friendship; and so I think that for your peace of mind and\nfor my own, we will let it be as though you had never known me. I thank\nyou that you have not been angry with me. Remember me only to think that\nin the hills of Derby, a sword is at your service, without reward and\nwithout price. Should you ever need it, Joan, tell me that you will send\nfor me--wilt promise me that, Joan?\"\n\n\"I promise, Norman of Torn.\"\n\n\"Farewell,\" he said, and as he again kissed her hand he bent his knee\nto the ground in reverence. Then he rose to go, pressing a little packet\ninto her palm. Their eyes met, and the man saw, in that brief instant,\ndeep in the azure depths of the girl's that which tumbled the structure\nof his new-found complacency about his ears.\n\nAs he rode out into the bright sunlight upon the road which led\nnorthwest toward Derby, Norman of Torn bowed his head in sorrow, for he\nrealized two things. One was that the girl he had left still loved him,\nand that some day, mayhap tomorrow, she would suffer because she had\nsent him away; and the other was that he did not love her, that his\nheart was locked in the fair breast of Bertrade de Montfort.\n\nHe felt himself a beast that he had allowed his loneliness and the\naching sorrow of his starved, empty heart to lead him into this girl's\nlife. That he had been new to women and newer still to love did not\npermit him to excuse himself, and a hundred times he cursed his folly\nand stupidity, and what he thought was fickleness.\n\nBut the unhappy affair had taught him one thing for certain: to know\nwithout question what love was, and that the memory of Bertrade de\nMontfort's lips would always be more to him than all the allurements\npossessed by the balance of the women of the world, no matter how\ncharming, or how beautiful.\n\nAnother thing, a painful thing he had learned from it, too, that the\nattitude of Joan de Tany, daughter of an old and noble house, was but\nthe attitude which the Outlaw of Torn must expect from any good woman\nof her class; what he must expect from Bertrade de Montfort when she\nlearned that Roger de Conde was Norman of Torn.\n\nThe outlaw had scarce passed out of sight upon the road to Derby ere the\ngirl, who still stood in an embrasure of the south tower, gazing with\nstrangely drawn, sad face up the road which had swallowed him, saw a\nbody of soldiers galloping rapidly toward Tany from the south.\n\nThe King's banner waved above their heads, and intuitively, Joan de Tany\nknew for whom they sought at her father's castle. Quickly she hastened\nto the outer barbican that it might be she who answered their hail\nrather than one of the men-at-arms on watch there.\n\nShe had scarcely reached the ramparts of the outer gate ere the King's\nmen drew rein before the castle.\n\nIn reply to their hail, Joan de Tany asked their mission.\n\n\"We seek the outlaw, Norman of Torn, who hides now within this castle,\"\nreplied the officer.\n\n\"There be no outlaw here,\" replied the girl, \"but, if you wish, you may\nenter with half a dozen men and search the castle.\"\n\nThis the officer did and, when he had assured himself that Norman of\nTorn was not within, an hour had passed, and Joan de Tany felt certain\nthat the Outlaw of Torn was too far ahead to be caught by the King's\nmen; so she said:\n\n\"There was one here just before you came who called himself though by\nanother name than Norman of Torn. Possibly it is he ye seek.\"\n\n\"Which way rode he?\" cried the officer.\n\n\"Straight toward the west by the middle road,\" lied Joan de Tany. And,\nas the officer hurried from the castle and, with his men at his back,\ngalloped furiously away toward the west, the girl sank down upon a\nbench, pressing her little hands to her throbbing temples.\n\nThen she opened the packet which Norman of Torn had handed her, and\nwithin found two others. In one of these was a beautiful jeweled locket,\nand on the outside were the initials JT, and on the inside the initials\nNT; in the other was a golden hair ornament set with precious stones,\nand about it was wound a strand of her own silken tresses.\n\nShe looked long at the little trinkets and then, pressing them against\nher lips, she threw herself face down upon an oaken bench, her lithe\nyoung form racked with sobs.\n\nShe was indeed but a little girl chained by the inexorable bonds of\ncaste to a false ideal. Birth and station spelled honor to her, and\nhonor, to the daughter of an English noble, was a mightier force even\nthan love.\n\nThat Norman of Torn was an outlaw she might have forgiven, but that he\nwas, according to report, a low fellow of no birth placed an impassable\nbarrier between them.\n\nFor hours the girl lay sobbing upon the bench, whilst within her raged\nthe mighty battle of the heart against the head.\n\nThus her mother found her, and kneeling beside her, and with her arms\nabout the girl's neck, tried to soothe her and to learn the cause of\nher sorrow. Finally it came, poured from the flood gates of a sorrowing\nheart; that wave of bitter misery and hopelessness which not even a\nmother's love could check.\n\n\"Joan, my dear daughter,\" cried Lady de Tany, \"I sorrow with thee that\nthy love has been cast upon so bleak and impossible a shore. But it be\nbetter that thou hast learnt the truth ere it were too late; for, take\nmy word upon it, Joan, the bitter humiliation such an alliance must\nneeds have brought upon thee and thy father's house would soon have\ncooled thy love; nor could his have survived the sneers and affronts\neven the menials would have put upon him.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother, but I love him so,\" moaned the girl. \"I did not know how\nmuch until he had gone, and the King's officer had come to search for\nhim, and then the thought that all the power of a great throne and the\nmightiest houses of an entire kingdom were turned in hatred against him\nraised the hot blood of anger within me and the knowledge of my love\nsurged through all my being. Mother, thou canst not know the honor, and\nthe bravery, and the chivalry of the man as I do. Not since Arthur of\nSilures kept his round table hath ridden forth upon English soil so true\na knight as Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Couldst thou but have seen him fight, my mother, and witnessed the\nhonor of his treatment of thy daughter, and heard the tone of dignified\nrespect in which he spoke of women thou wouldst have loved him, too,\nand felt that outlaw though he be, he is still more a gentleman than\nnine-tenths the nobles of England.\"\n\n\"But his birth, my daughter!\" argued the Lady de Tany. \"Some even say\nthat the gall marks of his brass collar still showeth upon his neck, and\nothers that he knoweth not himself the name of his own father, nor had\nhe any mother.\"\n\nAh, but this was the mighty argument! Naught could the girl say to\njustify so heinous a crime as low birth. What a man did in those rough\ncruel days might be forgotten and forgiven but the sins of his mother\nor his grandfather in not being of noble blood, no matter howsoever\nwickedly attained, he might never overcome or live down.\n\nTorn by conflicting emotions, the poor girl dragged herself to her own\napartment and there upon a restless, sleepless couch, beset by wild,\nimpossible hopes, and vain, torturing regrets, she fought out the long,\nbitter night; until toward morning she solved the problem of her misery\nin the only way that seemed possible to her poor, tired, bleeding,\nlittle heart. When the rising sun shone through the narrow window, it\nfound Joan de Tany at peace with all about her; the carved golden hilt\nof the toy that had hung at her girdle protruded from her breast, and a\nthin line of crimson ran across the snowy skin to a little pool upon the\nsheet beneath her.\n\nAnd so the cruel hand of a mighty revenge had reached out to crush\nanother innocent victim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nWhen word of the death of Joan de Tany reached Torn, no man could\ntell from outward appearance the depth of the suffering which the sad\nintelligence wrought on the master of Torn.\n\nAll that they who followed him knew was that certain unusual orders were\nissued, and that that same night, the ten companies rode south toward\nEssex without other halt than for necessary food and water for man and\nbeast.\n\nWhen the body of Joan de Tany rode forth from her father's castle to\nthe church at Colchester, and again as it was brought back to its final\nresting place in the castle's crypt, a thousand strange and silent\nknights, black draped, upon horses trapped in black, rode slowly behind\nthe bier.\n\nSilently they had come in the night preceding the funeral, and as\nsilently, they slipped away northward into the falling shadows of the\nfollowing night.\n\nNo word had passed between those of the castle and the great troop of\nsable-clad warriors, but all within knew that the mighty Outlaw of Torn\nhad come to pay homage to the memory of the daughter of De Tany, and all\nbut the grieving mother wondered at the strangeness of the act.\n\nAs the horde of Torn approached their Derby stronghold, their young\nleader turned the command over to Red Shandy and dismounted at the door\nof Father Claude's cottage.\n\n\"I am tired, Father,\" said the outlaw as he threw himself upon his\naccustomed bench. \"Naught but sorrow and death follow in my footsteps. I\nand all my acts be accurst, and upon those I love, the blight falleth.\"\n\n\"Alter thy ways, my son; follow my advice ere it be too late. Seek out\na new and better life in another country and carve thy future into the\nsemblance of glory and honor.\"\n\n\"Would that I might, my friend,\" answered Norman of Torn. \"But hast\nthou thought on the consequences which surely would follow should I thus\nremove both heart and head from the thing that I have built?\n\n\"What suppose thou would result were Norman of Torn to turn his great\nband of cut-throats, leaderless, upon England? Hast thought on't,\nFather?\n\n\"Wouldst thou draw a single breath in security if thou knew Edwild the\nSerf were ranging unchecked through Derby? Edwild, whose father was torn\nlimb from limb upon the rack because he would not confess to killing a\nbuck in the new forest, a buck which fell before the arrow of another\nman; Edwild, whose mother was burned for witchcraft by Holy Church.\n\n\"And Horsan the Dane, Father. How thinkest thou the safety of the roads\nwould be for either rich or poor an I turned Horsan the Dane loose upon\nye?\n\n\"And Pensilo, the Spanish Don! A great captain, but a man absolutely\nwithout bowels of compassion. When first he joined us and saw our mark\nupon the foreheads of our dead, wishing to out-Herod Herod, he marked\nthe living which fell into his hands with a red hot iron, branding\na great P upon each cheek and burning out the right eye completely.\nWouldst like to feel, Father, that Don Piedro Castro y Pensilo ranged\nfree through forest and hill of England?\n\n\"And Red Shandy, and the two Florys, and Peter the Hermit, and One Eye\nKanty, and Gropello, and Campanee, and Cobarth, and Mandecote, and the\nthousand others, each with a special hatred for some particular class or\nindividual, and all filled with the lust of blood and rapine and loot.\n\n\"No, Father, I may not go yet, for the England I have been taught to\nhate, I have learned to love, and I have it not in my heart to turn\nloose upon her fair breast the beasts of hell who know no law or order\nor decency other than that which I enforce.\"\n\nAs Norman of Torn ceased speaking, the priest sat silent for many\nminutes.\n\n\"Thou hast indeed a grave responsibility, my son,\" he said at last.\n\"Thou canst not well go unless thou takest thy horde with thee out of\nEngland, but even that may be possible; who knows other than God?\"\n\n\"For my part,\" laughed the outlaw, \"I be willing to leave it in His\nhands; which seems to be the way with Christians. When one would shirk\na responsibility, or explain an error, lo, one shoulders it upon the\nLord.\"\n\n\"I fear, my son,\" said the priest, \"that what seed of reverence I have\nattempted to plant within thy breast hath borne poor fruit.\"\n\n\"That dependeth upon the viewpoint, Father; as I take not the Lord into\npartnership in my successes it seemeth to me to be but of a mean and\npoor spirit to saddle my sorrows and perplexities upon Him. I may be\nwrong, for I am ill-versed in religious matters, but my conception of\nGod and scapegoat be not that they are synonymous.\"\n\n\"Religion, my son, be a bootless subject for argument between friends,\"\nreplied the priest, \"and further, there be that nearer my heart just now\nwhich I would ask thee. I may offend, but thou know I do not mean to.\nThe question I would ask, is, dost wholly trust the old man whom thou\ncall father?\"\n\n\"I know of no treachery,\" replied the outlaw, \"which he hath ever\nconceived against me. Why?\"\n\n\"I ask because I have written to Simon de Montfort asking him to meet\nme and two others here upon an important matter. I have learned that he\nexpects to be at his Leicester castle, for a few days, within the week.\nHe is to notify me when he will come and I shall then send for thee\nand the old man of Torn; but it were as well, my son, that thou do\nnot mention this matter to thy father, nor let him know when thou come\nhither to the meeting that De Montfort is to be present.\"\n\n\"As you say, Father,\" replied Norman of Torn. \"I do not make head nor\ntail of thy wondrous intrigues, but that thou wish it done thus or so is\nsufficient. I must be off to Torn now, so I bid thee farewell.\"\n\nUntil the following Spring, Norman of Torn continued to occupy himself\nwith occasional pillages against the royalists of the surrounding\ncounties, and his patrols so covered the public highways that it became\na matter of grievous import to the King's party, for no one was safe in\nthe district who even so much as sympathized with the King's cause, and\nmany were the dead foreheads that bore the grim mark of the Devil of\nTorn.\n\nThough he had never formally espoused the cause of the barons, it now\nseemed a matter of little doubt but that, in any crisis, his grisly\nbanner would be found on their side.\n\nThe long winter evenings within the castle of Torn were often spent in\nrough, wild carousals in the great hall where a thousand men might sit\nat table singing, fighting and drinking until the gray dawn stole in\nthrough the east windows, or Peter the Hermit, the fierce majordomo,\ntired of the din and racket, came stalking into the chamber with drawn\nsword and laid upon the revellers with the flat of it to enforce the\nauthority of his commands to disperse.\n\nNorman of Torn and the old man seldom joined in these wild orgies, but\nwhen minstrel, or troubadour, or storyteller wandered to his grim lair,\nthe Outlaw of Torn would sit enjoying the break in the winter's dull\nmonotony to as late an hour as another; nor could any man of his great\nfierce horde outdrink their chief when he cared to indulge in the\npleasures of the wine cup. The only effect that liquor seemed to have\nupon him was to increase his desire to fight, so that he was wont to\npick needless quarrels and to resort to his sword for the slightest,\nor for no provocation at all. So, for this reason, he drank but seldom\nsince he always regretted the things he did under the promptings of that\nother self which only could assert its ego when reason was threatened\nwith submersion.\n\nOften on these evenings, the company was entertained by stories from the\nwild, roving lives of its own members. Tales of adventure, love, war\nand death in every known corner of the world; and the ten captains told,\neach, his story of how he came to be of Torn; and thus, with fighting\nenough by day to keep them good humored, the winter passed, and spring\ncame with the ever wondrous miracle of awakening life, with soft\nzephyrs, warm rain, and sunny skies.\n\nThrough all the winter, Father Claude had been expecting to hear from\nSimon de Montfort, but not until now did he receive a message which\ntold the good priest that his letter had missed the great baron and\nhad followed him around until he had but just received it. The message\nclosed with these words:\n\n\"Any clew, however vague, which might lead nearer to a true knowledge\nof the fate of Prince Richard, we shall most gladly receive and give our\nbest attention. Therefore, if thou wilst find it convenient, we shall\nvisit thee, good father, on the fifth day from today.\"\n\nSpizo, the Spaniard, had seen De Montfort's man leave the note with\nFather Claude and he had seen the priest hide it under a great bowl on\nhis table, so that when the good father left his cottage, it was the\nmatter of but a moment's work for Spizo to transfer the message from its\nhiding place to the breast of his tunic. The fellow could not read, but\nhe to whom he took the missive could, laboriously, decipher the Latin in\nwhich it was penned.\n\nThe old man of Torn fairly trembled with suppressed rage as the full\npurport of this letter flashed upon him. It had been years since he had\nheard aught of the search for the little lost prince of England, and now\nthat the period of his silence was drawing to a close, now that more and\nmore often opportunities were opening up to him to wreak the last shred\nof his terrible vengeance, the very thought of being thwarted at the\nfinal moment staggered his comprehension.\n\n\"On the fifth day,\" he repeated. \"That is the day on which we were to\nride south again. Well, we shall ride, and Simon de Montfort shall not\ntalk with thee, thou fool priest.\"\n\nThat same spring evening in the year 1264, a messenger drew rein before\nthe walls of Torn and, to the challenge of the watch, cried:\n\n\"A royal messenger from His Illustrious Majesty, Henry, by the grace of\nGod, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Aquitaine, to Norman of\nTorn, Open, in the name of the King!\"\n\nNorman of Torn directed that the King's messenger be admitted, and the\nknight was quickly ushered into the great hall of the castle.\n\nThe outlaw presently entered in full armor, with visor lowered.\n\nThe bearing of the King's officer was haughty and arrogant, as became a\nman of birth when dealing with a low born knave.\n\n\"His Majesty has deigned to address you, sirrah,\" he said, withdrawing\na parchment from his breast. \"And, as you doubtless cannot read, I will\nread the King's commands to you.\"\n\n\"I can read,\" replied Norman of Torn, \"whatever the King can write.\nUnless it be,\" he added, \"that the King writes no better than he rules.\"\n\nThe messenger scowled angrily, crying:\n\n\"It ill becomes such a low fellow to speak thus disrespectfully of our\ngracious King. If he were less generous, he would have sent you a halter\nrather than this message which I bear.\"\n\n\"A bridle for thy tongue, my friend,\" replied Norman of Torn, \"were in\nbetter taste than a halter for my neck. But come, let us see what the\nKing writes to his friend, the Outlaw of Torn.\"\n\nTaking the parchment from the messenger, Norman of Torn read:\n\nHenry, by Grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of\nAquitaine; to Norman of Torn:\n\nSince it has been called to our notice that you be harassing and\nplundering the persons and property of our faithful lieges!!!!!\n\nWe therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in us by Almighty God,\ndo command that you cease these nefarious practices!!!!!\n\nAnd further, through the gracious intercession of Her Majesty, Queen\nEleanor, we do offer you full pardon for all your past crimes!!!!!\n\nProvided, you repair at once to the town of Lewes, with all the fighting\nmen, your followers, prepared to protect the security of our person, and\nwage war upon those enemies of England, Simon de Montfort, Gilbert de\nClare and their accomplices, who even now are collected to threaten and\nmenace our person and kingdom!!!!!\n\nOr, otherwise, shall you suffer death, by hanging, for your long\nunpunished crimes. Witnessed myself, at Lewes, on May the third, in the\nforty-eighth year of our reign.\n\nHENRY, REX.\n\n\"The closing paragraph be unfortunately worded,\" said Norman of Torn,\n\"for because of it shall the King's messenger eat the King's message,\nand thus take back in his belly the answer of Norman of Torn.\" And\ncrumpling the parchment in his hand, he advanced toward the royal\nemissary.\n\nThe knight whipped out his sword, but the Devil of Torn was even\nquicker, so that it seemed that the King's messenger had deliberately\nhurled his weapon across the room, so quickly did the outlaw disarm him.\n\nAnd then Norman of Torn took the man by the neck with one powerful hand\nand, despite his struggles, and the beating of his mailed fists, bent\nhim back upon the table, and there, forcing his teeth apart with the\npoint of his sword, Norman of Torn rammed the King's message down the\nknight's throat; wax, parchment and all.\n\nIt was a crestfallen gentleman who rode forth from the castle of Torn a\nhalf hour later and spurred rapidly--in his head a more civil tongue.\n\nWhen, two days later, he appeared before the King at Winchelsea and\nreported the outcome of his mission, Henry raged and stormed, swearing\nby all the saints in the calendar that Norman of Torn should hang for\nhis effrontery before the snow flew again.\n\nNews of the fighting between the barons and the King's forces at\nRochester, Battel and elsewhere reached the ears of Norman of Torn a few\ndays after the coming of the King's message, but at the same time came\nother news which hastened his departure toward the south. This latter\nword was that Bertrade de Montfort and her mother, accompanied by Prince\nPhilip, had landed at Dover, and that upon the same boat had come Peter\nof Colfax back to England--the latter, doubtless reassured by the strong\nconviction, which held in the minds of all royalists at that time, of\nthe certainty of victory for the royal arms in the impending conflict\nwith the rebel barons.\n\nNorman of Torn had determined that he would see Bertrade de Montfort\nonce again, and clear his conscience by a frank avowal of his identity.\nHe knew what the result must be. His experience with Joan de Tany had\ntaught him that. But the fine sense of chivalry which ever dominated all\nhis acts where the happiness or honor of women were concerned urged him\nto give himself over as a sacrifice upon the altar of a woman's pride,\nthat it might be she who spurned and rejected; for, as it must appear\nnow, it had been he whose love had grown cold. It was a bitter thing\nto contemplate, for not alone would the mighty pride of the man be\nlacerated, but a great love.\n\nTwo days before the start of the march, Spizo, the Spaniard, reported\nto the old man of Torn that he had overheard Father Claude ask Norman of\nTorn to come with his father to the priest's cottage the morning of the\nmarch to meet Simon de Montfort upon an important matter, but what the\nnature of the thing was the priest did not reveal to the outlaw.\n\nThis report seemed to please the little, grim, gray old man more than\naught he had heard in several days; for it made it apparent that the\npriest had not as yet divulged the tenor of his conjecture to the Outlaw\nof Torn.\n\nOn the evening of the day preceding that set for the march south,\na little, wiry figure, grim and gray, entered the cottage of Father\nClaude. No man knows what words passed between the good priest and his\nvisitor nor the details of what befell within the four walls of the\nlittle cottage that night; but some half hour only elapsed before the\nlittle, grim, gray man emerged from the darkened interior and hastened\nupward upon the rocky trail into the hills, a cold smile of satisfaction\non his lips.\n\nThe castle of Torn was filled with the rush and rattle of preparation\nearly the following morning, for by eight o'clock the column was to\nmarch. The courtyard was filled with hurrying squires and lackeys. War\nhorses were being groomed and caparisoned; sumpter beasts, snubbed to\ngreat posts, were being laden with the tents, bedding, and belongings of\nthe men; while those already packed were wandering loose among the other\nanimals and men. There was squealing, biting, kicking, and cursing as\nanimals fouled one another with their loads, or brushed against some\ntethered war horse.\n\nSquires were running hither and thither, or aiding their masters to don\narmor, lacing helm to hauberk, tying the points of ailette, coude, and\nrondel; buckling cuisse and jambe to thigh and leg. The open forges of\narmorer and smithy smoked and hissed, and the din of hammer on anvil\nrose above the thousand lesser noises of the castle courts, the shouting\nof commands, the rattle of steel, the ringing of iron hoof on stone\nflags, as these artificers hastened, sweating and cursing, through the\neleventh hour repairs to armor, lance and sword, or to reset a shoe upon\na refractory, plunging beast.\n\nFinally the captains came, armored cap-a-pie, and with them some\nsemblance of order and quiet out of chaos and bedlam. First the sumpter\nbeasts, all loaded now, were driven, with a strong escort, to the downs\nbelow the castle and there held to await the column. Then, one by one,\nthe companies were formed and marched out beneath fluttering pennon and\nwaving banner to the martial strains of bugle and trumpet.\n\nLast of all came the catapults, those great engines of destruction which\nhurled two hundred pound boulders with mighty force against the walls of\nbeleaguered castles.\n\nAnd after all had passed through the great gates, Norman of Torn and the\nlittle old man walked side by side from the castle building and mounted\ntheir chargers held by two squires in the center of the courtyard.\n\nBelow, on the downs, the column was forming in marching order, and as\nthe two rode out to join it, the little old man turned to Norman of\nTorn, saying,\n\n\"I had almost forgot a message I have for you, my son. Father Claude\nsent word last evening that he had been called suddenly south, and\nthat some appointment you had with him must therefore be deferred\nuntil later. He said that you would understand.\" The old man eyed his\ncompanion narrowly through the eye slit in his helm.\n\n\"'Tis passing strange,\" said Norman of Torn but that was his only\ncomment. And so they joined the column which moved slowly down toward\nthe valley and as they passed the cottage of Father Claude, Norman of\nTorn saw that the door was closed and that there was no sign of life\nabout the place. A wave of melancholy passed over him, for the deserted\naspect of the little flower-hedged cote seemed dismally prophetic of a\nnear future without the beaming, jovial face of his friend and adviser.\n\nScarcely had the horde of Torn passed out of sight down the east edge of\nthe valley ere a party of richly dressed knights, coming from the south\nby another road along the west bank of the river, crossed over and drew\nrein before the cottage of Father Claude.\n\nAs their hails were unanswered, one of the party dismounted to enter the\nbuilding.\n\n\"Have a care, My Lord,\" cried his companion. \"This be over-close to the\nCastle Torn and there may easily be more treachery than truth in the\nmessage which called thee thither.\"\n\n\"Fear not,\" replied Simon de Montfort, \"the Devil of Torn hath no\nquarrel with me.\" Striding up the little path, he knocked loudly on the\ndoor. Receiving no reply, he pushed it open and stepped into the dim\nlight of the interior. There he found his host, the good father Claude,\nstretched upon his back on the floor, the breast of his priestly robes\ndark with dried and clotted blood.\n\nTurning again to the door, De Montfort summoned a couple of his\ncompanions.\n\n\"The secret of the little lost prince of England be a dangerous burden\nfor a man to carry,\" he said. \"But this convinces me more than any words\nthe priest might have uttered that the abductor be still in England, and\npossibly Prince Richard also.\"\n\nA search of the cottage revealed the fact that it had been ransacked\nthoroughly by the assassin. The contents of drawer and box littered\nevery room, though that the object was not rich plunder was evidenced by\nmany pieces of jewelry and money which remained untouched.\n\n\"The true object lies here,\" said De Montfort, pointing to the open\nhearth upon which lay the charred remains of many papers and documents.\n\"All written evidence has been destroyed, but hold what lieth here\nbeneath the table?\" and, stooping, the Earl of Leicester picked up\na sheet of parchment on which a letter had been commenced. It was\naddressed to him, and he read it aloud:\n\nLest some unforeseen chance should prevent the accomplishment of our\nmeeting, My Lord Earl, I send thee this by one who knoweth not either\nits contents or the suspicions which I will narrate herein.\n\nHe who bareth this letter, I truly believe to be the lost Prince\nRichard. Question him closely, My Lord, and I know that thou wilt be as\npositive as I.\n\nOf his past, thou know nearly as much as I, though thou may not know the\nwondrous chivalry and true nobility of character of him men call!!!!!\n\nHere the letter stopped, evidently cut short by the dagger of the\nassassin.\n\n\"Mon Dieu! The damnable luck!\" cried De Montfort, \"but a second more\nand the name we have sought for twenty years would have been writ.\nDidst ever see such hellish chance as plays into the hand of the fiend\nincarnate since that long gone day when his sword pierced the heart of\nLady Maud by the postern gate beside the Thames? The Devil himself must\nwatch o'er him.\n\n\"There be naught more we can do here,\" he continued. \"I should have been\non my way to Fletching hours since. Come, my gentlemen, we will ride\nsouth by way of Leicester and have the good Fathers there look to the\ndecent burial of this holy man.\"\n\nThe party mounted and rode rapidly away. Noon found them at Leicester,\nand three days later, they rode into the baronial camp at Fletching.\n\nAt almost the same hour, the monks of the Abbey of Leicester performed\nthe last rites of Holy Church for the peace of the soul of Father Claude\nand consigned his clay to the churchyard.\n\nAnd thus another innocent victim of an insatiable hate and vengeance\nwhich had been born in the King's armory twenty years before passed from\nthe eyes of men.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nWhile Norman of Torn and his thousand fighting men marched slowly south\non the road toward Dover, the army of Simon de Montfort was preparing\nfor its advance upon Lewes, where King Henry, with his son Prince\nEdward, and his brother, Prince Richard, King of the Romans, together\nwith the latter's son, were entrenched with their forces, sixty thousand\nstrong.\n\nBefore sunrise on a May morning in the year 1264, the barons' army set\nout from its camp at Fletching, nine miles from Lewes and, marching\nthrough dense forests, reached a point two miles from the city,\nunobserved.\n\nFrom here, they ascended the great ridge of the hills up the valley\nCombe, the projecting shoulder of the Downs covering their march from\nthe town. The King's party, however, had no suspicion that an attack was\nimminent and, in direct contrast to the methods of the baronial troops,\nhad spent the preceding night in drunken revelry, so that they were\nquite taken by surprise.\n\nIt is true that Henry had stationed an outpost upon the summit of the\nhill in advance of Lewes, but so lax was discipline in his army that\nthe soldiers, growing tired of the duty, had abandoned the post toward\nmorning, and returned to town, leaving but a single man on watch. He,\nleft alone, had promptly fallen asleep, and thus De Montfort's men found\nand captured him within sight of the bell-tower of the Priory of Lewes,\nwhere the King and his royal allies lay peacefully asleep, after their\nnight of wine and dancing and song.\n\nHad it not been for an incident which now befell, the baronial army\nwould doubtless have reached the city without being detected, but it\nhappened that, the evening before, Henry had ordered a foraging party to\nride forth at daybreak, as provisions for both men and beasts were low.\n\nThis party had scarcely left the city behind them ere they fell into the\nhands of the baronial troops. Though some few were killed or captured,\nthose who escaped were sufficient to arouse the sleeping army of the\nroyalists to the close proximity and gravity of their danger.\n\nBy this time, the four divisions of De Montfort's army were in full view\nof the town. On the left were the Londoners under Nicholas de Segrave;\nin the center rode De Clare, with John Fitz-John and William de\nMonchensy, at the head of a large division which occupied that branch of\nthe hill which descended a gentle, unbroken slope to the town. The right\nwing was commanded by Henry de Montfort, the oldest son of Simon de\nMontfort, and with him was the third son, Guy, as well as John de\nBurgh and Humphrey de Bohun. The reserves were under Simon de Montfort\nhimself.\n\nThus was the flower of English chivalry pitted against the King and his\nparty, which included many nobles whose kinsmen were with De Montfort;\nso that brother faced brother, and father fought against son, on that\nbloody Wednesday, before the old town of Lewes.\n\nPrince Edward was the first of the royal party to take the field and, as\nhe issued from the castle with his gallant company, banners and\npennons streaming in the breeze and burnished armor and flashing blade\nscintillating in the morning sunlight, he made a gorgeous and impressive\nspectacle as he hurled himself upon the Londoners, whom he had selected\nfor attack because of the affront they had put upon his mother that day\nat London on the preceding July.\n\nSo vicious was his onslaught that the poorly armed and unprotected\nburghers, unused to the stern game of war, fell like sheep before the\niron men on their iron shod horses. The long lances, the heavy maces,\nthe six-bladed battle axes, and the well-tempered swords of the knights\nplayed havoc among them, so that the rout was complete; but, not content\nwith victory, Prince Edward must glut his vengeance, and so he pursued\nthe citizens for miles, butchering great numbers of them, while many\nmore were drowned in attempting to escape across the Ouse.\n\nThe left wing of the royalist army, under the King of the Romans and his\ngallant son, was not so fortunate, for they met a determined resistance\nat the hands of Henry de Montfort.\n\nThe central divisions of the two armies seemed well matched also, and\nthus the battle continued throughout the day, the greatest advantage\nappearing to lie with the King's troops. Had Edward not gone so far\nafield in pursuit of the Londoners, the victory might easily have been\non the side of the royalists early in the day, but by thus eliminating\nhis division after defeating a part of De Montfort's army, it was as\nthough neither of these two forces had been engaged.\n\nThe wily Simon de Montfort had attempted a little ruse which centered\nthe fighting for a time upon the crest of one of the hills. He had\ncaused his car to be placed there, with the tents and luggage of many of\nhis leaders, under a small guard, so that the banners there displayed,\ntogether with the car, led the King of the Romans to believe that the\nEarl himself lay there, for Simon de Montfort had but a month or so\nbefore suffered an injury to his hip when his horse fell with him, and\nthe royalists were not aware that he had recovered sufficiently to again\nmount a horse.\n\nAnd so it was that the forces under the King of the Romans pushed back\nthe men of Henry de Montfort, and ever and ever closer to the car came\nthe royalists until they were able to fall upon it, crying out insults\nagainst the old Earl and commanding him to come forth. And when they had\nkilled the occupants of the car, they found that Simon de Montfort\nwas not among them, but instead he had fastened there three important\ncitizens of London, old men and influential, who had opposed him, and\naided and abetted the King.\n\nSo great was the wrath of Prince Richard, King of the Romans, that\nhe fell upon the baronial troops with renewed vigor, and slowly but\nsteadily beat them back from the town.\n\nThis sight, together with the routing of the enemy's left wing by Prince\nEdward, so cheered and inspired the royalists that the two remaining\ndivisions took up the attack with refreshed spirits so that, what a\nmoment before had hung in the balance, now seemed an assured victory for\nKing Henry.\n\nBoth De Montfort and the King had thrown themselves into the melee\nwith all their reserves. No longer was there semblance of organization.\nDivision was inextricably bemingled with division; friend and foe formed\na jumbled confusion of fighting, cursing chaos, over which whipped the\nangry pennons and banners of England's noblest houses.\n\nThat the mass seemed moving ever away from Lewes indicated that the\nKing's arms were winning toward victory, and so it might have been had\nnot a new element been infused into the battle; for now upon the brow of\nthe hill to the north of them appeared a great horde of armored knights,\nand as they came into position where they could view the battle, the\nleader raised his sword on high, and, as one man, the thousand broke\ninto a mad charge.\n\nBoth De Montfort and the King ceased fighting as they gazed upon this\nbody of fresh, well armored, well mounted reinforcements. Whom might\nthey be? To which side owned they allegiance? And, then, as the\nblack falcon wing on the banners of the advancing horsemen became\ndistinguishable, they saw that it was the Outlaw of Torn.\n\nNow he was close upon them, and had there been any doubt before, the\nwild battle cry which rang from a thousand fierce throats turned the\nhopes of the royalists cold within their breasts.\n\n\"For De Montfort! For De Montfort!\" and \"Down with Henry!\" rang loud and\nclear above the din of battle.\n\nInstantly the tide turned, and it was by only the barest chance that\nthe King himself escaped capture, and regained the temporary safety of\nLewes.\n\nThe King of the Romans took refuge within an old mill, and here it was\nthat Norman of Torn found him barricaded. When the door was broken down,\nthe outlaw entered and dragged the monarch forth with his own hand to\nthe feet of De Montfort, and would have put him to death had not the\nEarl intervened.\n\n\"I have yet to see my mark upon the forehead of a King,\" said Norman of\nTorn, \"and the temptation be great; but, an you ask it, My Lord Earl,\nhis life shall be yours to do with as you see fit.\"\n\n\"You have fought well this day, Norman of Torn,\" replied De Montfort.\n\"Verily do I believe we owe our victory to you alone; so do not mar the\nrecord of a noble deed by wanton acts of atrocity.\"\n\n\"It is but what they had done to me, were I the prisoner instead,\"\nretorted the outlaw.\n\nAnd Simon de Montfort could not answer that, for it was but the simple\ntruth.\n\n\"How comes it, Norman of Torn,\" asked De Montfort as they rode together\ntoward Lewes, \"that you threw the weight of your sword upon the side of\nthe barons? Be it because you hate the King more?\"\n\n\"I do not know that I hate either, My Lord Earl,\" replied the outlaw. \"I\nhave been taught since birth to hate you all, but why I should hate\nwas never told me. Possibly it be but a bad habit that will yield to my\nmaturer years.\n\n\"As for why I fought as I did today,\" he continued, \"it be because the\nheart of Lady Bertrade, your daughter, be upon your side. Had it been\nwith the King, her uncle, Norman of Torn had fought otherwise than\nhe has this day. So you see, My Lord Earl, you owe me no gratitude.\nTomorrow I may be pillaging your friends as of yore.\"\n\nSimon de Montfort turned to look at him, but the blank wall of his\nlowered visor gave no sign of the thoughts that passed beneath.\n\n\"You do much for a mere friendship, Norman of Torn,\" said the Earl\ncoldly, \"and I doubt me not but that my daughter has already forgot you.\nAn English noblewoman, preparing to become a princess of France, does\nnot have much thought to waste upon highwaymen.\" His tone, as well as\nhis words were studiously arrogant and insulting, for it had stung the\npride of this haughty noble to think that a low-born knave boasted the\nfriendship of his daughter.\n\nNorman of Torn made no reply, and could the Earl of Leicester have seen\nhis face, he had been surprised to note that instead of grim hatred and\nresentment, the features of the Outlaw of Torn were drawn in lines of\npain and sorrow; for he read in the attitude of the father what he might\nexpect to receive at the hands of the daughter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nWhen those of the royalists who had not deserted the King and fled\nprecipitately toward the coast had regained the castle and the Priory,\nthe city was turned over to looting and rapine. In this, Norman of Torn\nand his men did not participate, but camped a little apart from the town\nuntil daybreak the following morning, when they started east, toward\nDover.\n\nThey marched until late the following evening, passing some twenty miles\nout of their way to visit a certain royalist stronghold. The troops\nstationed there had fled, having been appraised some few hours earlier,\nby fugitives, of the defeat of Henry's army at Lewes.\n\nNorman of Torn searched the castle for the one he sought, but, finding\nit entirely deserted, continued his eastward march. Some few miles\nfarther on, he overtook a party of deserting royalist soldiery, and from\nthem he easily, by dint of threats, elicited the information he desired:\nthe direction taken by the refugees from the deserted castle, their\nnumber, and as close a description of the party as the soldiers could\ngive.\n\nAgain he was forced to change the direction of his march, this\ntime heading northward into Kent. It was dark before he reached his\ndestination, and saw before him the familiar outlines of the castle\nof Roger de Leybourn. This time, the outlaw threw his fierce horde\ncompletely around the embattled pile before he advanced with a score of\nsturdy ruffians to reconnoiter.\n\nMaking sure that the drawbridge was raised, and that he could not hope\nfor stealthy entrance there, he crept silently to the rear of the great\nbuilding and there, among the bushes, his men searched for the ladder\nthat Norman of Torn had seen the knavish servant of My Lady Claudia\nunearth, that the outlaw might visit the Earl of Buckingham,\nunannounced.\n\nPresently they found it, and it was the work of but a moment to raise\nit to the sill of the low window, so that soon the twenty stood beside\ntheir chief within the walls of Leybourn.\n\nNoiselessly, they moved through the halls and corridors of the castle\nuntil a maid, bearing a great pasty from the kitchen, turned a sudden\ncorner and bumped full into the Outlaw of Torn. With a shriek that might\nhave been heard at Lewes, she dropped the dish upon the stone floor and,\nturning, ran, still shrieking at the top of her lungs, straight for the\ngreat dining hall.\n\nSo close behind her came the little band of outlaws that scarce had the\nguests arisen in consternation from the table at the shrill cries of the\ngirl than Norman of Torn burst through the great door with twenty drawn\nswords at his back.\n\nThe hall was filled with knights and gentlewomen and house servants and\nmen-at-arms. Fifty swords flashed from fifty scabbards as the men of the\nparty saw the hostile appearance of their visitors, but before a blow\ncould be struck, Norman of Torn, grasping his sword in his right hand,\nraised his left aloft in a gesture for silence.\n\n\"Hold!\" he cried, and, turning directly to Roger de Leybourn, \"I have\nno quarrel with thee, My Lord, but again I come for a guest within thy\nhalls. Methinks thou hast as bad taste in whom thou entertains as didst\nthy fair lady.\"\n\n\"Who be ye, that thus rudely breaks in upon the peace of my castle, and\nmakes bold to insult my guests?\" demanded Roger de Leybourn.\n\n\"Who be I! If you wait, you shall see my mark upon the forehead of yon\ngrinning baboon,\" replied the outlaw, pointing a mailed finger at one\nwho had been seated close to De Leybourn.\n\nAll eyes turned in the direction that the rigid finger of the outlaw\nindicated, and there indeed was a fearful apparition of a man. With\nlivid face he stood, leaning for support against the table; his craven\nknees wabbling beneath his fat carcass; while his lips were drawn apart\nagainst his yellow teeth in a horrid grimace of awful fear.\n\n\"If you recognize me not, Sir Roger,\" said Norman of Torn, drily, \"it is\nevident that your honored guest hath a better memory.\"\n\nAt last the fear-struck man found his tongue, and, though his eyes never\nleft the menacing figure of the grim, iron-clad outlaw, he addressed the\nmaster of Leybourn; shrieking in a high, awe-emasculated falsetto:\n\n\"Seize him! Kill him! Set your men upon him! Do you wish to live another\nmoment, draw and defend yourselves for he be the Devil of Torn, and\nthere be a great price upon his head.\n\n\"Oh, save me, save me! for he has come to kill me,\" he ended in a\npitiful wail.\n\nThe Devil of Torn! How that name froze the hearts of the assembled\nguests.\n\nThe Devil of Torn! Slowly the men standing there at the board of Sir\nRoger de Leybourn grasped the full purport of that awful name.\n\nTense silence for a moment held the room in the stillness of a\nsepulchre, and then a woman shrieked, and fell prone across the table.\nShe had seen the mark of the Devil of Torn upon the dead brow of her\nmate.\n\nAnd then Roger de Leybourn spoke:\n\n\"Norman of Torn, but once before have you entered within the walls of\nLeybourn, and then you did, in the service of another, a great service\nfor the house of Leybourn; and you stayed the night, an honored guest.\nBut a moment since, you said that you had no quarrel with me. Then why\nbe you here? Speak! Shall it be as a friend or an enemy that the master\nof Leybourn greets Norman of Torn; shall it be with outstretched hand or\nnaked sword?\"\n\n\"I come for this man, whom you may all see has good reason to fear me.\nAnd when I go, I take part of him with me. I be in a great hurry, so I\nwould prefer to take my great and good friend, Peter of Colfax, without\ninterference; but, if you wish it otherwise; we be a score strong within\nyour walls, and nigh a thousand lie without. What say you, My Lord?\"\n\n\"Your grievance against Peter of Colfax must be a mighty one, that you\nsearch him out thus within a day's ride from the army of the King who\nhas placed a price upon your head, and from another army of men who be\nequally your enemies.\"\n\n\"I would gladly go to hell after Peter of Colfax,\" replied the outlaw.\n\"What my grievance be matters not. Norman of Torn acts first and\nexplains afterward, if he cares to explain at all. Come forth, Peter of\nColfax, and for once in your life, fight like a man, that you may save\nyour friends here from the fate that has found you at last after two\nyears of patient waiting.\"\n\nSlowly, the palsied limbs of the great coward bore him tottering to the\ncenter of the room, where gradually a little clear space had been made;\nthe men of the party forming a circle, in the center of which stood\nPeter of Colfax and Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Give him a great draught of brandy,\" said the outlaw, \"or he will sink\ndown and choke in the froth of his own terror.\"\n\nWhen they had forced a goblet of the fiery liquid upon him, Peter of\nColfax regained his lost nerve enough so that he could raise his sword\narm and defend himself and, as the fumes circulated through him, and the\nprimal instinct of self-preservation asserted itself, he put up a more\nand more creditable fight, until those who watched thought that he might\nindeed have a chance to vanquish the Outlaw of Torn. But they did not\nknow that Norman of Torn was but playing with his victim, that he might\nmake the torture long, drawn out, and wreak as terrible a punishment\nupon Peter of Colfax, before he killed him, as the Baron had visited\nupon Bertrade de Montfort because she would not yield to his base\ndesires.\n\nThe guests were craning their necks to follow every detail of the\nfascinating drama that was being enacted before them.\n\n\"God, what a swordsman!\" muttered one.\n\n\"Never was such swordplay seen since the day the first sword was\ndrawn from the first scabbard!\" replied Roger de Leybourn. \"Is it not\nmarvellous!\"\n\nSlowly but surely was Norman of Torn cutting Peter of Colfax to pieces;\nlittle by little, and with such fiendish care that, except for loss\nof blood, the man was in no way crippled; nor did the outlaw touch\nhis victim's face with his gleaming sword. That he was saving for the\nfulfillment of his design.\n\nAnd Peter of Colfax, cornered and fighting for his life, was no\nmarrowless antagonist, even against the Devil of Torn. Furiously he\nfought; in the extremity of his fear, rushing upon his executioner with\nfrenzied agony. Great beads of cold sweat stood upon his livid brow.\n\nAnd then the gleaming point of Norman of Torn flashed, lightning-like,\nin his victim's face, and above the right eye of Peter of Colfax was a\nthin vertical cut from which the red blood had barely started to ooze\nere another swift move of that master sword hand placed a fellow to\nparallel the first.\n\nFive times did the razor point touch the forehead of Peter of Colfax,\nuntil the watchers saw there, upon the brow of the doomed man, the seal\nof death, in letters of blood--NT.\n\nIt was the end. Peter of Colfax, cut to ribbons yet fighting like the\nmaniac he had become, was as good as dead, for the mark of the Outlaw of\nTorn was upon his brow. Now, shrieking and gibbering through his frothy\nlips, his yellow fangs bared in a mad and horrid grin, he rushed full\nupon Norman of Torn. There was a flash of the great sword as the outlaw\nswung it to the full of his mighty strength through an arc that passed\nabove the shoulders of Peter of Colfax, and the grinning head rolled\nupon the floor, while the loathsome carcass, that had been a baron of\nEngland, sunk in a disheveled heap among the rushes of the great hall of\nthe castle of Leybourn.\n\nA little shudder passed through the wide-eyed guests. Some one broke\ninto hysterical laughter, a woman sobbed, and then Norman of Torn,\nwiping his blade upon the rushes of the floor as he had done upon\nanother occasion in that same hall, spoke quietly to the master of\nLeybourn.\n\n\"I would borrow yon golden platter, My Lord. It shall be returned, or a\nmightier one in its stead.\"\n\nLeybourn nodded his assent, and Norman of Torn turned, with a few words\nof instructions, to one of his men.\n\nThe fellow gathered up the head of Peter of Colfax, and placed it upon\nthe golden platter.\n\n\"I thank you, Sir Roger, for your hospitality,\" said Norman of Torn,\nwith a low bow which included the spellbound guests. \"Adieu.\" Thus\nfollowed by his men, one bearing the head of Peter of Colfax upon the\nplatter of gold, Norman of Torn passed quietly from the hall and from\nthe castle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nBoth horses and men were fairly exhausted from the gruelling strain of\nmany days of marching and fighting, so Norman of Torn went into camp\nthat night; nor did he again take up his march until the second morning,\nthree days after the battle of Lewes.\n\nHe bent his direction toward the north and Leicester's castle, where he\nhad reason to believe he would find a certain young woman, and though it\ngalled his sore heart to think upon the humiliation that lay waiting his\ncoming, he could not do less than that which he felt his honor demanded.\n\nBeside him on the march rode the fierce red giant, Shandy, and the wiry,\ngray little man of Torn, whom the outlaw called father.\n\nIn no way, save the gray hair and the parchment-surfaced skin, had\nthe old fellow changed in all these years. Without bodily vices, and\nclinging ever to the open air and the exercise of the foil, he was still\nyoung in muscle and endurance.\n\nFor five years, he had not crossed foils with Norman of Torn, but he\nconstantly practiced with the best swordsmen of the wild horde, so that\nit had become a subject often discussed among the men as to which of the\ntwo, father or son, was the greater swordsman.\n\nAlways taciturn, the old fellow rode in his usual silence. Long since\nhad Norman of Torn usurped by the force of his strong character and\nmasterful ways, the position of authority in the castle of Torn. The old\nman simply rode and fought with the others when it pleased him; and he\nhad come on this trip because he felt that there was that impending for\nwhich he had waited over twenty years.\n\nCold and hard, he looked with no love upon the man he still called \"my\nson.\" If he held any sentiment toward Norman of Torn, it was one of\npride which began and ended in the almost fiendish skill of his pupil's\nmighty sword arm.\n\nThe little army had been marching for some hours when the advance guard\nhalted a party bound south upon a crossroad. There were some twenty or\nthirty men, mostly servants, and a half dozen richly garbed knights.\n\nAs Norman of Torn drew rein beside them, he saw that the leader of the\nparty was a very handsome man of about his own age, and evidently a\nperson of distinction; a profitable prize, thought the outlaw.\n\n\"Who are you,\" said the gentleman, in French, \"that stops a prince of\nFrance upon the highroad as though he were an escaped criminal? Are you\nof the King's forces, or De Montfort's?\"\n\n\"Be this Prince Philip of France?\" asked Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Yes, but who be you?\"\n\n\"And be you riding to meet my Lady Bertrade de Montfort?\" continued the\noutlaw, ignoring the Prince's question.\n\n\"Yes, an it be any of your affair,\" replied Philip curtly.\n\n\"It be,\" said the Devil of Torn, \"for I be a friend of My Lady Bertrade,\nand as the way be beset with dangers from disorganized bands of roving\nsoldiery, it is unsafe for Monsieur le Prince to venture on with so\nsmall an escort. Therefore will the friend of Lady Bertrade de Montfort\nride with Monsieur le Prince to his destination that Monsieur may arrive\nthere safely.\"\n\n\"It is kind of you, Sir Knight, a kindness that I will not forget. But,\nagain, who is it that shows this solicitude for Philip of France?\"\n\n\"Norman of Torn, they call me,\" replied the outlaw.\n\n\"Indeed!\" cried Philip. \"The great and bloody outlaw?\" Upon his handsome\nface there was no look of fear or repugnance.\n\nNorman of Torn laughed.\n\n\"Monsieur le Prince thinks, mayhap, that he will make a bad name for\nhimself,\" he said, \"if he rides in such company?\"\n\n\"My Lady Bertrade and her mother think you be less devil than saint,\"\nsaid the Prince. \"They have told me of how you saved the daughter of De\nMontfort, and, ever since, I have been of a great desire to meet you,\nand to thank you. It had been my intention to ride to Torn for that\npurpose so soon as we reached Leicester, but the Earl changed all our\nplans by his victory and only yesterday, on his orders, the Princess\nEleanor, his wife, with the Lady Bertrade, rode to Battel, where Simon\nde Montfort and the King are to be today. The Queen also is there\nwith her retinue, so it be expected that, to show the good feeling and\nrenewed friendship existing between De Montfort and his King, there will\nbe gay scenes in the old fortress. But,\" he added, after a pause, \"dare\nthe Outlaw of Torn ride within reach of the King who has placed a price\nupon his head?\"\n\n\"The price has been there since I was eighteen,\" answered Norman of\nTorn, \"and yet my head be where it has always been. Can you blame me\nif I look with levity upon the King's price? It be not heavy enough to\nweigh me down; nor never has it held me from going where I listed in all\nEngland. I am freer than the King, My Lord, for the King be a prisoner\ntoday.\"\n\nTogether they rode toward Battel, and as they talked, Norman of Torn\ngrew to like this brave and handsome gentleman. In his heart was no\nrancor because of the coming marriage of the man to the woman he loved.\n\nIf Bertrade de Montfort loved this handsome French prince, then Norman\nof Torn was his friend; for his love was a great love, above jealousy.\nIt not only held her happiness above his own, but the happiness and\nwelfare of the man she loved, as well.\n\nIt was dusk when they reached Battel and as Norman of Torn bid the\nprince adieu, for the horde was to make camp just without the city, he\nsaid:\n\n\"May I ask My Lord to carry a message to Lady Bertrade? It is in\nreference to a promise I made her two years since and which I now, for\nthe first time, be able to fulfill.\"\n\n\"Certainly, my friend,\" replied Philip. The outlaw, dismounting, called\nupon one of his squires for parchment, and, by the light of a torch,\nwrote a message to Bertrade de Montfort.\n\nHalf an hour later, a servant in the castle of Battel handed the missive\nto the daughter of Leicester as she sat alone in her apartment. Opening\nit, she read:\n\nTo Lady Bertrade de Montfort, from her friend, Norman of Torn.\n\nTwo years have passed since you took the hand of the Outlaw of Torn in\nfriendship, and now he comes to sue for another favor.\n\nIt is that he may have speech with you, alone, in the castle of Battel\nthis night.\n\nThough the name Norman of Torn be fraught with terror to others, I know\nthat you do not fear him, for you must know the loyalty and friendship\nwhich he bears you.\n\nMy camp lies without the city's gates, and your messenger will have safe\nconduct whatever reply he bears to,\n\nNorman of Torn.\n\nFear? Fear Norman of Torn? The girl smiled as she thought of that moment\nof terrible terror two years ago when she learned, in the castle of\nPeter of Colfax, that she was alone with, and in the power of, the Devil\nof Torn. And then she recalled his little acts of thoughtful chivalry,\nnay, almost tenderness, on the long night ride to Leicester.\n\nWhat a strange contradiction of a man! She wondered if he would come\nwith lowered visor, for she was still curious to see the face that lay\nbehind the cold, steel mask. She would ask him this night to let her see\nhis face, or would that be cruel? For, did they not say that it was\nfrom the very ugliness of it that he kept his helm closed to hide the\nrepulsive sight from the eyes of men!\n\nAs her thoughts wandered back to her brief meeting with him two years\nbefore, she wrote and dispatched her reply to Norman of Torn.\n\nIn the great hall that night as the King's party sat at supper, Philip\nof France, addressing Henry, said:\n\n\"And who thinkest thou, My Lord King, rode by my side to Battel today,\nthat I might not be set upon by knaves upon the highway?\"\n\n\"Some of our good friends from Kent?\" asked the King.\n\n\"Nay, it was a man upon whose head Your Majesty has placed a price,\nNorman of Torn; and if all of your English highwaymen be as courteous\nand pleasant gentlemen as he, I shall ride always alone and unarmed\nthrough your realm that I may add to my list of pleasant acquaintances.\"\n\n\"The Devil of Torn?\" asked Henry, incredulously. \"Some one be hoaxing\nyou.\"\n\n\"Nay, Your Majesty, I think not,\" replied Philip, \"for he was indeed a\ngrim and mighty man, and at his back rode as ferocious and awe-inspiring\na pack as ever I beheld outside a prison; fully a thousand strong they\nrode. They be camped not far without the city now.\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" said Henry, turning to Simon de Montfort, \"be it not time\nthat England were rid of this devil's spawn and his hellish brood?\nThough I presume,\" he added, a sarcastic sneer upon his lip, \"that it\nmay prove embarrassing for My Lord Earl of Leicester to turn upon his\ncompanion in arms.\"\n\n\"I owe him nothing,\" returned the Earl haughtily, \"by his own word.\"\n\n\"You owe him victory at Lewes,\" snapped the King. \"It were indeed a\nsad commentary upon the sincerity of our loyalty-professing lieges\nwho turned their arms against our royal person, 'to save him from the\ntreachery of his false advisers,' that they called upon a cutthroat\noutlaw with a price upon his head to aid them in their 'righteous\ncause'.\"\n\n\"My Lord King,\" cried De Montfort, flushing with anger, \"I called not\nupon this fellow, nor did I know he was within two hundred miles of\nLewes until I saw him ride into the midst of the conflict that day.\nNeither did I know, until I heard his battle cry, whether he would fall\nupon baron or royalist.\"\n\n\"If that be the truth, Leicester,\" said the King, with a note of\nskepticism which he made studiously apparent, \"hang the dog. He be just\nwithout the city even now.\"\n\n\"You be King of England, My Lord Henry. If you say that he shall be\nhanged, hanged he shall be,\" replied De Montfort.\n\n\"A dozen courts have already passed sentence upon him, it only remains\nto catch him, Leicester,\" said the King.\n\n\"A party shall sally forth at dawn to do the work,\" replied De Montfort.\n\n\"And not,\" thought Philip of France, \"if I know it, shall the brave\nOutlaw of Torn be hanged tomorrow.\"\n\nIn his camp without the city of Battel, Norman of Torn paced back and\nforth waiting an answer to his message.\n\nSentries patrolled the entire circumference of the bivouac, for the\noutlaw knew full well that he had put his head within the lion's jaw\nwhen he had ridden thus boldly to the seat of English power. He had no\nfaith in the gratitude of De Montfort, and he knew full well what the\nKing would urge when he learned that the man who had sent his soldiers\nnaked back to London, who had forced his messenger to eat the King's\nmessage, and who had turned his victory to defeat at Lewes, was within\nreach of the army of De Montfort.\n\nNorman of Torn loved to fight, but he was no fool, and so he did not\nrelish pitting his thousand upon an open plain against twenty thousand\nwithin a walled fortress.\n\nNo, he would see Bertrade de Montfort that night and before dawn his\nrough band would be far on the road toward Torn. The risk was great to\nenter the castle, filled as it was with his mighty enemies. But if he\ndied there, it would be in a good cause, thought he and, anyway, he had\nset himself to do this duty which he dreaded so, and do it he would were\nall the armies of the world camped within Battel.\n\nDirectly he heard a low challenge from one of his sentries, who\npresently appeared escorting a lackey.\n\n\"A messenger from Lady Bertrade de Montfort,\" said the soldier.\n\n\"Bring him hither,\" commanded the outlaw.\n\nThe lackey approached and handed Norman of Torn a dainty parchment\nsealed with scented wax wafers.\n\n\"Did My Lady say you were to wait for an answer?\" asked the outlaw.\n\n\"I am to wait, My Lord,\" replied the awestruck fellow, to whom the\nservice had been much the same had his mistress ordered him to Hell to\nbear a message to the Devil.\n\nNorman of Torn turned to a flickering torch and, breaking the seals,\nread the message from the woman he loved. It was short and simple.\n\nTo Norman of Torn, from his friend always, Bertrade de Montfort.\n\nCome with Giles. He has my instructions to lead thee secretly to where I\nbe.\n\nBertrade de Montfort.\n\nNorman of Torn turned to where one of his captains squatted upon the\nground beside an object covered with a cloth.\n\n\"Come, Flory,\" he said, and then, turning to the waiting Giles, \"lead\non.\"\n\nThey fell in single file: first the lackey, Giles, then Norman of Torn\nand last the fellow whom he had addressed as Flory bearing the object\ncovered with a cloth. But it was not Flory who brought up the rear.\nFlory lay dead in the shadow of a great oak within the camp; a thin\nwound below his left shoulder blade marked the spot where a keen dagger\nhad found its way to his heart, and in his place walked the little grim,\ngray, old man, bearing the object covered with a cloth. But none might\nknow the difference, for the little man wore the armor of Flory, and his\nvisor was drawn.\n\nAnd so they came to a small gate which let into the castle wall where\nthe shadow of a great tower made the blackness of a black night doubly\nblack. Through many dim corridors, the lackey led them, and up winding\nstairways until presently he stopped before a low door.\n\n\"Here,\" he said, \"My Lord,\" and turning left them.\n\nNorman of Torn touched the panel with the mailed knuckles of his right\nhand, and a low voice from within whispered, \"Enter.\"\n\nSilently, he strode into the apartment, a small antechamber off a\nlarge hall. At one end was an open hearth upon which logs were burning\nbrightly, while a single lamp aided in diffusing a soft glow about the\naustere chamber. In the center of the room was a table, and at the sides\nseveral benches.\n\nBefore the fire stood Bertrade de Montfort, and she was alone.\n\n\"Place your burden upon this table, Flory,\" said Norman of Torn. And\nwhen it had been done: \"You may go. Return to camp.\"\n\nHe did not address Bertrade de Montfort until the door had closed behind\nthe little grim, gray man who wore the armor of the dead Flory and\nthen Norman of Torn advanced to the table and stood with his left hand\nungauntleted, resting upon the table's edge.\n\n\"My Lady Bertrade,\" he said at last, \"I have come to fulfill a promise.\"\n\nHe spoke in French, and she started slightly at his voice. Before,\nNorman of Torn had always spoken in English. Where had she heard that\nvoice! There were tones in it that haunted her.\n\n\"What promise did Norman of Torn e'er make to Bertrade de Montfort?\" she\nasked. \"I do not understand you, my friend.\"\n\n\"Look,\" he said. And as she approached the table he withdrew the cloth\nwhich covered the object that the man had placed there.\n\nThe girl started back with a little cry of terror, for there upon a\ngolden platter was a man's head; horrid with the grin of death baring\nyellow fangs.\n\n\"Dost recognize the thing?\" asked the outlaw. And then she did; but\nstill she could not comprehend. At last, slowly, there came back to her\nthe idle, jesting promise of Roger de Conde to fetch the head of her\nenemy to the feet of his princess, upon a golden dish.\n\nBut what had the Outlaw of Torn to do with that! It was all a sore\npuzzle to her, and then she saw the bared left hand of the grim, visored\nfigure of the Devil of Torn, where it rested upon the table beside the\ngrisly head of Peter of Colfax; and upon the third finger was the great\nring she had tossed to Roger de Conde on that day, two years before.\n\nWhat strange freak was her brain playing her! It could not be, no it was\nimpossible; then her glance fell again upon the head grinning there upon\nthe platter of gold, and upon the forehead of it she saw, in letters of\ndried blood, that awful symbol of sudden death--NT!\n\nSlowly her eyes returned to the ring upon the outlaw's hand, and then\nup to his visored helm. A step she took toward him, one hand upon her\nbreast, the other stretched pointing toward his face, and she swayed\nslightly as might one who has just arisen from a great illness.\n\n\"Your visor,\" she whispered, \"raise your visor.\" And then, as though to\nherself: \"It cannot be; it cannot be.\"\n\nNorman of Torn, though it tore the heart from him, did as she bid, and\nthere before her she saw the brave strong face of Roger de Conde.\n\n\"Mon Dieu!\" she cried, \"Tell me it is but a cruel joke.\"\n\n\"It be the cruel truth, My Lady Bertrade,\" said Norman of Torn sadly.\nAnd, then, as she turned away from him, burying her face in her raised\narms, he came to her side, and, laying his hand upon her shoulder, said\nsadly:\n\n\"And now you see, My Lady, why I did not follow you to France. My heart\nwent there with you, but I knew that naught but sorrow and humiliation\ncould come to one whom the Devil of Torn loved, if that love was\nreturned; and so I waited until you might forget the words you had\nspoken to Roger de Conde before I came to fulfill the promise that you\nshould know him in his true colors.\n\n\"It is because I love you, Bertrade, that I have come this night. God\nknows that it be no pleasant thing to see the loathing in your very\nattitude, and to read the hate and revulsion that surges through your\nheart, or to guess the hard, cold thoughts which fill your mind against\nme because I allowed you to speak the words you once spoke, and to the\nDevil of Torn.\n\n\"I make no excuse for my weakness. I ask no forgiveness for what I know\nyou never can forgive. That, when you think of me, it will always be\nwith loathing and contempt is the best that I can hope.\n\n\"I only know that I love you, Bertrade; I only know that I love you, and\nwith a love that surpasseth even my own understanding.\n\n\"Here is the ring that you gave in token of friendship. Take it. The\nhand that wore it has done no wrong by the light that has been given it\nas guide.\n\n\"The blood that has pulsed through the finger that it circled came from\na heart that beat for Bertrade de Montfort; a heart that shall continue\nto beat for her alone until a merciful providence sees fit to gather in\na wasted and useless life.\n\n\"Farewell, Bertrade.\" Kneeling he raised the hem of her garment to his\nlips.\n\nA thousand conflicting emotions surged through the heart of this proud\ndaughter of the new conqueror of England. The anger of an outraged\nconfidence, gratitude for the chivalry which twice had saved her honor,\nhatred for the murderer of a hundred friends and kinsmen, respect and\nhonor for the marvellous courage of the man, loathing and contempt for\nthe base born, the memory of that exalted moment when those handsome\nlips had clung to hers, pride in the fearlessness of a champion who\ndared come alone among twenty thousand enemies for the sake of a promise\nmade her; but stronger than all the rest, two stood out before her\nmind's eye like living things--the degradation of his low birth, and\nthe memory of the great love she had cherished all these long and dreary\nmonths.\n\nAnd these two fought out their battle in the girl's breast. In those few\nbrief moments of bewilderment and indecision, it seemed to Bertrade de\nMontfort that ten years passed above her head, and when she reached her\nfinal resolution she was no longer a young girl but a grown woman who,\nwith the weight of a mature deliberation, had chosen the path which she\nwould travel to the end--to the final goal, however sweet or however\nbitter.\n\nSlowly she turned toward him who knelt with bowed head at her feet, and,\ntaking the hand that held the ring outstretched toward her, raised him\nto his feet. In silence she replaced the golden band upon his finger,\nand then she lifted her eyes to his.\n\n\"Keep the ring, Norman of Torn,\" she said. \"The friendship of Bertrade\nde Montfort is not lightly given nor lightly taken away,\" she hesitated,\n\"nor is her love.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he whispered. For in her eyes was that wondrous\nlight he had seen there on that other day in the far castle of\nLeicester.\n\n\"I mean,\" she answered, \"that, Roger de Conde or Norman of Torn,\ngentleman or highwayman, it be all the same to Bertrade de Montfort--it\nbe thee I love; thee!\"\n\nHad she reviled him, spat upon him, he would not have been surprised,\nfor he had expected the worst; but that she should love him! Oh God, had\nhis overwrought nerves turned his poor head? Was he dreaming this thing,\nonly to awaken to the cold and awful truth!\n\nBut these warm arms about his neck, the sweet perfume of the breath that\nfanned his cheek; these were no dream!\n\n\"Think thee what thou art saying, Bertrade?\" he cried. \"Dost forget that\nI be a low-born knave, knowing not my own mother and questioning even\nthe identity of my father? Could a De Montfort face the world with such\na man for husband?\"\n\n\"I know what I say, perfectly,\" she answered. \"Were thou born out of\nwedlock, the son of a hostler and a scullery maid, still would I love\nthee, and honor thee, and cleave to thee. Where thou be, Norman of Torn,\nthere shall be happiness for me. Thy friends shall be my friends; thy\njoys shall be my joys; thy sorrows, my sorrows; and thy enemies, even\nmine own father, shall be my enemies.\n\n\"Why it is, my Norman, I know not. Only do I know that I didst often\nquestion my own self if in truth I did really love Roger de Conde, but\nthee--oh Norman, why is it that there be no shred of doubt now, that\nthis heart, this soul, this body be all and always for the Outlaw of\nTorn?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" he said simply and gravely. \"So wonderful a thing be\nbeyond my poor brain; but I think my heart knows, for in very joy, it\nis sending the hot blood racing and surging through my being till I were\nlike to be consumed for the very heat of my happiness.\"\n\n\"Sh!\" she whispered, suddenly, \"methinks I hear footsteps. They must not\nfind thee here, Norman of Torn, for the King has only this night wrung\na promise from my father to take thee in the morning and hang thee. What\nshall we do, Norman? Where shall we meet again?\"\n\n\"We shall not be separated, Bertrade; only so long as it may take thee\nto gather a few trinkets, and fetch thy riding cloak. Thou ridest north\ntonight with Norman of Torn, and by the third day, Father Claude shall\nmake us one.\"\n\n\"I am glad thee wish it,\" she replied. \"I feared that, for some reason,\nthee might not think it best for me to go with thee now. Wait here, I\nwill be gone but a moment. If the footsteps I hear approach this door,\"\nand she indicated the door by which he had entered the little room,\n\"thou canst step through this other doorway into the adjoining\napartment, and conceal thyself there until the danger passes.\"\n\nNorman of Torn made a wry face, for he had no stomach for hiding himself\naway from danger.\n\n\"For my sake,\" she pleaded. So he promised to do as she bid, and she ran\nswiftly from the room to fetch her belongings.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nWhen the little, grim, gray man had set the object covered with a cloth\nupon the table in the center of the room and left the apartment, he did\nnot return to camp as Norman of Torn had ordered.\n\nInstead, he halted immediately without the little door, which he left a\ntrifle ajar, and there he waited, listening to all that passed between\nBertrade de Montfort and Norman of Torn.\n\nAs he heard the proud daughter of Simon de Montfort declare her love for\nthe Devil of Torn, a cruel smile curled his lip.\n\n\"It will be better than I had hoped,\" he muttered, \"and easier. 'S blood!\nHow much easier now that Leicester, too, may have his whole proud heart\nin the hanging of Norman of Torn. Ah, what a sublime revenge! I have\nwaited long, thou cur of a King, to return the blow thou struck\nthat day, but the return shall be an hundred-fold increased by long\naccumulated interest.\"\n\nQuickly, the wiry figure hastened through the passageways and corridors,\nuntil he came to the great hall where sat De Montfort and the King, with\nPhilip of France and many others, gentlemen and nobles.\n\nBefore the guard at the door could halt him, he had broken into the room\nand, addressing the King, cried:\n\n\"Wouldst take the Devil of Torn, My Lord King? He be now alone where a\nfew men may seize him.\"\n\n\"What now! What now!\" ejaculated Henry. \"What madman be this?\"\n\n\"I be no madman, Your Majesty. Never did brain work more clearly or to\nmore certain ends,\" replied the man.\n\n\"It may doubtless be some ruse of the cut-throat himself,\" cried De\nMontfort.\n\n\"Where be the knave?\" asked Henry.\n\n\"He stands now within this palace and in his arms be Bertrade, daughter\nof My Lord Earl of Leicester. Even now she did but tell him that she\nloved him.\"\n\n\"Hold,\" cried De Montfort. \"Hold fast thy foul tongue. What meanest thou\nby uttering such lies, and to my very face?\"\n\n\"They be no lies, Simon de Montfort. An I tell thee that Roger de Conde\nand Norman of Torn be one and the same, thou wilt know that I speak no\nlie.\"\n\nDe Montfort paled.\n\n\"Where be the craven wretch?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Come,\" said the little, old man. And turning, he led from the hall,\nclosely followed by De Montfort, the King, Prince Philip and the others.\n\n\"Thou hadst better bring twenty fighting men--thou'lt need them all to\ntake Norman of Torn,\" he advised De Montfort. And so as they passed the\nguard room, the party was increased by twenty men-at-arms.\n\nScarcely had Bertrade de Montfort left him ere Norman of Torn heard the\ntramping of many feet. They seemed approaching up the dim corridor that\nled to the little door of the apartment where he stood.\n\nQuickly, he moved to the opposite door and, standing with his hand upon\nthe latch, waited. Yes, they were coming that way, many of them and\nquickly and, as he heard them pause without, he drew aside the arras and\npushed open the door behind him; backing into the other apartment just\nas Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, burst into the room from the\nopposite side.\n\nAt the same instant, a scream rang out behind Norman of Torn, and,\nturning, he faced a brightly lighted room in which sat Eleanor, Queen\nof England and another Eleanor, wife of Simon de Montfort, with their\nladies.\n\nThere was no hiding now, and no escape; for run he would not, even had\nthere been where to run. Slowly, he backed away from the door toward a\ncorner where, with his back against a wall and a table at his right,\nhe might die as he had lived, fighting; for Norman of Torn knew that he\ncould hope for no quarter from the men who had him cornered there like a\ngreat bear in a trap.\n\nWith an army at their call, it were an easy thing to take a lone man,\neven though that man were the Devil of Torn.\n\nThe King and De Montfort had now crossed the smaller apartment and were\nwithin the room where the outlaw stood at bay.\n\nAt the far side, the group of royal and noble women stood huddled\ntogether, while behind De Montfort and the King pushed twenty gentlemen\nand as many men-at-arms.\n\n\"What dost thou here, Norman of Torn?\" cried De Montfort, angrily.\n\"Where be my daughter, Bertrade?\"\n\n\"I be here, My Lord Earl, to attend to mine own affairs,\" replied Norman\nof Torn, \"which be the affair of no other man. As to your daughter: I\nknow nothing of her whereabouts. What should she have to do with the\nDevil of Torn, My Lord?\"\n\nDe Montfort turned toward the little gray man.\n\n\"He lies,\" shouted he. \"Her kisses be yet wet upon his lips.\"\n\nNorman of Torn looked at the speaker and, beneath the visor that was now\npartly raised, he saw the features of the man whom, for twenty years, he\nhad called father.\n\nHe had never expected love from this hard old man, but treachery and\nharm from him? No, he could not believe it. One of them must have gone\nmad. But why Flory's armor and where was the faithful Flory?\n\n\"Father!\" he ejaculated, \"leadest thou the hated English King against\nthine own son?\"\n\n\"Thou be no son of mine, Norman of Torn,\" retorted the old man. \"Thy\ndays of usefulness to me be past. Tonight thou serve me best swinging\nfrom a wooden gibbet. Take him, My Lord Earl; they say there be a good\nstrong gibbet in the courtyard below.\"\n\n\"Wilt surrender, Norman of Torn?\" cried De Montfort.\n\n\"Yes,\" was the reply, \"when this floor be ankle deep in English blood\nand my heart has ceased to beat, then will I surrender.\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" cried the King. \"Let your men take the dog, De Montfort!\"\n\n\"Have at him, then,\" ordered the Earl, turning toward the waiting\nmen-at-arms, none of whom seemed overly anxious to advance upon the\ndoomed outlaw.\n\nBut an officer of the guard set them the example, and so they pushed\nforward in a body toward Norman of Torn; twenty blades bared against\none.\n\nThere was no play now for the Outlaw of Torn. It was grim battle and\nhis only hope that he might take a fearful toll of his enemies before he\nhimself went down.\n\nAnd so he fought as he never fought before, to kill as many and as\nquickly as he might. And to those who watched, it was as though the\nyoung officer of the Guard had not come within reach of that terrible\nblade ere he lay dead upon the floor, and then the point of death\npassed into the lungs of one of the men-at-arms, scarcely pausing ere it\npierced the heart of a third.\n\nThe soldiers fell back momentarily, awed by the frightful havoc of that\nmighty arm. Before De Montfort could urge them on to renew the attack, a\ngirlish figure, clothed in a long riding cloak, burst through the little\nknot of men as they stood facing their lone antagonist.\n\nWith a low cry of mingled rage and indignation, Bertrade de Montfort\nthrew herself before the Devil of Torn, and facing the astonished\ncompany of king, prince, nobles and soldiers, drew herself to her full\nheight, and with all the pride of race and blood that was her right of\nheritage from a French king on her father's side and an English king on\nher mother's, she flashed her defiance and contempt in the single word:\n\n\"Cowards!\"\n\n\"What means this, girl?\" demanded De Montfort, \"Art gone stark mad? Know\nthou that this fellow be the Outlaw of Torn?\"\n\n\"If I had not before known it, My Lord,\" she replied haughtily, \"it\nwould be plain to me now as I see forty cowards hesitating to attack a\nlone man. What other man in all England could stand thus against forty?\nA lion at bay with forty jackals yelping at his feet.\"\n\n\"Enough, girl,\" cried the King, \"what be this knave to thee?\"\n\n\"He loves me, Your Majesty,\" she replied proudly, \"and I, him.\"\n\n\"Thou lov'st this low-born cut-throat, Bertrade,\" cried Henry. \"Thou,\na De Montfort, the daughter of my sister; who have seen this murderer's\naccursed mark upon the foreheads of thy kin; thou have seen him flaunt\nhis defiance in the King's, thy uncle's, face, and bend his whole life\nto preying upon thy people; thou lov'st this monster?\"\n\n\"I love him, My Lord King.\"\n\n\"Thou lov'st him, Bertrade?\" asked Philip of France in a low tone,\npressing nearer to the girl.\n\n\"Yes, Philip,\" she said, a little note of sadness and finality in her\nvoice; but her eyes met his squarely and bravely.\n\nInstantly, the sword of the young Prince leaped from its scabbard, and\nfacing De Montfort and the others, he backed to the side of Norman of\nTorn.\n\n\"That she loves him be enough for me to know, my gentlemen,\" he said.\n\"Who takes the man Bertrade de Montfort loves must take Philip of France\nas well.\"\n\nNorman of Torn laid his left hand upon the other's shoulder.\n\n\"No, thou must not do this thing, my friend,\" he said. \"It be my fight\nand I will fight it alone. Go, I beg of thee, and take her with thee,\nout of harm's way.\"\n\nAs they argued, Simon de Montfort and the King had spoken together, and,\nat a word from the former, the soldiers rushed suddenly to the attack\nagain. It was a cowardly strategem, for they knew that the two could\nnot fight with the girl between them and their adversaries. And thus,\nby weight of numbers, they took Bertrade de Montfort and the Prince away\nfrom Norman of Torn without a blow being struck, and then the little,\ngrim, gray, old man stepped forward.\n\n\"There be but one sword in all England, nay in all the world that can,\nalone, take Norman of Torn,\" he said, addressing the King, \"and that\nsword be mine. Keep thy cattle back, out of my way.\" And, without\nwaiting for a reply, the grim, gray man sprang in to engage him whom for\ntwenty years he had called son.\n\nNorman of Torn came out of his corner to meet his new-found enemy, and\nthere, in the apartment of the Queen of England in the castle of Battel,\nwas fought such a duel as no man there had ever seen before, nor is it\ncredible that its like was ever fought before or since.\n\nThe world's two greatest swordsmen: teacher and pupil--the one with the\nstrength of a young bull, the other with the cunning of an old gray fox,\nand both with a lifetime of training behind them, and the lust of blood\nand hate before them--thrust and parried and cut until those that gazed\nawestricken upon the marvellous swordplay scarcely breathed in the\ntensity of their wonder.\n\nBack and forth about the room they moved, while those who had come to\nkill pressed back to make room for the contestants. Now was the young\nman forcing his older foeman more and more upon the defensive. Slowly,\nbut as sure as death, he was winning ever nearer and nearer to victory.\nThe old man saw it too. He had devoted years of his life to training\nthat mighty sword arm that it might deal out death to others, and\nnow--ah! The grim justice of the retribution he, at last, was to fall\nbefore its diabolical cunning.\n\nHe could not win in fair fight against Norman of Torn; that the wily\nFrenchman saw; but now that death was so close upon him that he felt its\ncold breath condensing on his brow, he had no stomach to die, and so he\ncast about for any means whereby he might escape the result of his rash\nventure.\n\nPresently he saw his opportunity. Norman of Torn stood beside the body\nof one of his earlier antagonists. Slowly the old man worked around\nuntil the body lay directly behind the outlaw, and then with a final\nrally and one great last burst of supreme swordsmanship, he rushed\nNorman of Torn back for a bare step--it was enough. The outlaw's foot\nstruck the prostrate corpse; he staggered, and for one brief instant his\nsword arm rose, ever so little, as he strove to retain his equilibrium;\nbut that little was enough. It was what the gray old snake had expected,\nand he was ready. Like lightning, his sword shot through the opening,\nand, for the first time in his life of continual combat and death,\nNorman of Torn felt cold steel tear his flesh. But ere he fell, his\nsword responded to the last fierce command of that iron will, and as his\nbody sank limply to the floor, rolling with outstretched arms, upon its\nback, the little, grim, gray man went down also, clutching frantically\nat a gleaming blade buried in his chest.\n\nFor an instant, the watchers stood as though petrified, and then\nBertrade de Montfort, tearing herself from the restraining hand of her\nfather, rushed to the side of the lifeless body of the man she loved.\nKneeling there beside him she called his name aloud, as she unlaced\nhis helm. Tearing the steel headgear from him, she caressed his face,\nkissing the white forehead and the still lips.\n\n\"Oh God! Oh God!\" she murmured. \"Why hast thou taken him? Outlaw though\nhe was, in his little finger was more of honor, of chivalry, of true\nmanhood than courses through the veins of all the nobles of England.\n\n\"I do not wonder that he preyed upon you,\" she cried, turning upon the\nknights behind her. \"His life was clean, thine be rotten; he was loyal\nto his friends and to the downtrodden, ye be traitors at heart, all; and\never be ye trampling upon those who be down that they may sink deeper\ninto the mud. Mon Dieu! How I hate you,\" she finished. And as she spoke\nthe words, Bertrade de Montfort looked straight into the eyes of her\nfather.\n\nThe old Earl turned his head, for at heart he was a brave, broad, kindly\nman, and he regretted what he had done in the haste and heat of anger.\n\n\"Come, child,\" said the King, \"thou art distraught; thou sayest what\nthou mean not. The world is better that this man be dead. He was an\nenemy of organized society, he preyed ever upon his fellows. Life in\nEngland will be safer after this day. Do not weep over the clay of a\nnameless adventurer who knew not his own father.\"\n\nSomeone had lifted the little, grim, gray, old man to a sitting posture.\nHe was not dead. Occasionally he coughed, and when he did, his frame was\nracked with suffering, and blood flowed from his mouth and nostrils.\n\nAt last they saw that he was trying to speak. Weakly he motioned toward\nthe King. Henry came toward him.\n\n\"Thou hast won thy sovereign's gratitude, my man,\" said the King,\nkindly. \"What be thy name?\"\n\nThe old fellow tried to speak, but the effort brought on another\nparoxysm of coughing. At last he managed to whisper.\n\n\"Look--at--me. Dost thou--not--remember me?\nThe--foils--the--blow--twenty-long-years. Thou--spat--upon--me.\"\n\nHenry knelt and peered into the dying face.\n\n\"De Vac!\" he exclaimed.\n\nThe old man nodded. Then he pointed to where lay Norman of Torn.\n\n\"Outlaw--highwayman--scourge--of--England. Look--upon--his--face.\nOpen--his tunic--left--breast.\"\n\nHe stopped from very weakness, and then in another moment, with a final\neffort: \"De--Vac's--revenge. God--damn--the--English,\" and slipped\nforward upon the rushes, dead.\n\nThe King had heard, and De Montfort and the Queen. They stood looking\ninto each other's eyes with a strange fixity, for what seemed an\neternity, before any dared to move; and then, as though they feared what\nthey should see, they bent over the form of the Outlaw of Torn for the\nfirst time.\n\nThe Queen gave a little cry as she saw the still, quiet face turned up\nto hers.\n\n\"Edward!\" she whispered.\n\n\"Not Edward, Madame,\" said De Montfort, \"but--\"\n\nThe King knelt beside the still form, across the breast of which lay the\nunconscious body of Bertrade de Montfort. Gently, he lifted her to the\nwaiting arms of Philip of France, and then the King, with his own hands,\ntore off the shirt of mail, and with trembling fingers ripped wide the\ntunic where it covered the left breast of the Devil of Torn.\n\n\"Oh God!\" he cried, and buried his head in his arms.\n\nThe Queen had seen also, and with a little moan she sank beside the body\nof her second born, crying out:\n\n\"Oh Richard, my boy, my boy!\" And as she bent still lower to kiss the\nlily mark upon the left breast of the son she had not seen to know for\nover twenty years, she paused, and with frantic haste she pressed her\near to his breast.\n\n\"He lives!\" she almost shrieked. \"Quick, Henry, our son lives!\"\n\nBertrade de Montfort had regained consciousness almost before Philip of\nFrance had raised her from the floor, and she stood now, leaning on\nhis arm, watching with wide, questioning eyes the strange scene being\nenacted at her feet.\n\nSlowly, the lids of Norman of Torn lifted with returning consciousness.\nBefore him, on her knees in the blood spattered rushes of the floor,\nknelt Eleanor, Queen of England, alternately chafing and kissing his\nhands.\n\nA sore wound indeed to have brought on such a wild delirium, thought the\nOutlaw of Torn.\n\nHe felt his body, in a half sitting, half reclining position, resting\nagainst one who knelt behind him, and as he lifted his head to see whom\nit might be supporting him, he looked into the eyes of the King, upon\nwhose breast his head rested.\n\nStrange vagaries of a disordered brain! Yes it must have been a very\nterrible wound that the little old man of Torn had given him; but why\ncould he not dream that Bertrade de Montfort held him? And then his eyes\nwandered about among the throng of ladies, nobles and soldiers standing\nuncovered and with bowed heads about him. Presently he found her.\n\n\"Bertrade!\" he whispered.\n\nThe girl came and knelt beside him, opposite the Queen.\n\n\"Bertrade, tell me thou art real; that thou at least be no dream.\"\n\n\"I be very real, dear heart,\" she answered, \"and these others be real,\nalso. When thou art stronger, thou shalt understand the strange thing\nthat has happened. These who wert thine enemies, Norman of Torn, be thy\nbest friends now--that thou should know, so that thou may rest in peace\nuntil thou be better.\"\n\nHe groped for her hand, and, finding it, closed his eyes with a faint\nsigh.\n\nThey bore him to a cot in an apartment next the Queen's, and all that\nnight the mother and the promised wife of the Outlaw of Torn sat bathing\nhis fevered forehead. The King's chirurgeon was there also, while the\nKing and De Montfort paced the corridor without.\n\nAnd it is ever thus; whether in hovel or palace; in the days of Moses,\nor in the days that be ours; the lamb that has been lost and is found\nagain be always the best beloved.\n\nToward morning, Norman of Torn fell into a quiet and natural sleep;\nthe fever and delirium had succumbed before his perfect health and\niron constitution. The chirurgeon turned to the Queen and Bertrade de\nMontfort.\n\n\"You had best retire, ladies,\" he said, \"and rest. The Prince will\nlive.\"\n\nLate that afternoon he awoke, and no amount of persuasion or commands on\nthe part of the King's chirurgeon could restrain him from arising.\n\n\"I beseech thee to lie quiet, My Lord Prince,\" urged the chirurgeon.\n\n\"Why call thou me prince?\" asked Norman of Torn.\n\n\"There be one without whose right it be to explain that to thee,\"\nreplied the chirurgeon, \"and when thou be clothed, if rise thou wilt,\nthou mayst see her, My Lord.\"\n\nThe chirurgeon aided him to dress and, opening the door, he spoke to a\nsentry who stood just without. The sentry transmitted the message to a\nyoung squire who was waiting there, and presently the door was thrown\nopen again from without, and a voice announced:\n\n\"Her Majesty, the Queen!\"\n\nNorman of Torn looked up in unfeigned surprise, and then there came back\nto him the scene in the Queen's apartment the night before. It was all a\nsore perplexity to him; he could not fathom it, nor did he attempt to.\n\nAnd now, as in a dream, he saw the Queen of England coming toward him\nacross the small room, her arms outstretched; her beautiful face radiant\nwith happiness and love.\n\n\"Richard, my son!\" exclaimed Eleanor, coming to him and taking his face\nin her hands and kissing him.\n\n\"Madame!\" exclaimed the surprised man. \"Be all the world gone crazy?\"\n\nAnd then she told him the strange story of the little lost prince of\nEngland.\n\nWhen she had finished, he knelt at her feet, taking her hand in his and\nraising it to his lips.\n\n\"I did not know, Madame,\" he said, \"or never would my sword have been\nbared in other service than thine. If thou canst forgive me, Madame,\nnever can I forgive myself.\"\n\n\"Take it not so hard, my son,\" said Eleanor of England. \"It be no fault\nof thine, and there be nothing to forgive; only happiness and rejoicing\nshould we feel, now that thou be found again.\"\n\n\"Forgiveness!\" said a man's voice behind them. \"Forsooth, it be we\nthat should ask forgiveness; hunting down our own son with swords and\nhalters.\n\n\"Any but a fool might have known that it was no base-born knave who sent\nthe King's army back, naked, to the King, and rammed the King's message\ndown his messenger's throat.\n\n\"By all the saints, Richard, thou be every inch a King's son, an' though\nwe made sour faces at the time, we be all the prouder of thee now.\"\n\nThe Queen and the outlaw had turned at the first words to see the King\nstanding behind them, and now Norman of Torn rose, half smiling, and\ngreeted his father.\n\n\"They be sorry jokes, Sire,\" he said. \"Methinks it had been better had\nRichard remained lost. It will do the honor of the Plantagenets but\nlittle good to acknowledge the Outlaw of Torn as a prince of the blood.\"\n\nBut they would not have it so, and it remained for a later King of\nEngland to wipe the great name from the pages of history--perhaps a\njealous king.\n\nPresently the King and Queen, adding their pleas to those of the\nchirurgeon, prevailed upon him to lie down once more, and when he had\ndone so they left him, that he might sleep again; but no sooner had the\ndoor closed behind them than he arose and left the apartment by another\nexit.\n\nIt was by chance that, in a deep set window, he found her for whom he\nwas searching. She sat looking wistfully into space, an expression half\nsad upon her beautiful face. She did not see him as he approached, and\nhe stood there for several moments watching her dear profile, and the\nrising and falling of her bosom over that true and loyal heart that\nhad beaten so proudly against all the power of a mighty throne for the\ndespised Outlaw of Torn.\n\nHe did not speak, but presently that strange, subtle sixth sense which\nwarns us that we are not alone, though our eyes see not nor our ears\nhear, caused her to turn.\n\nWith a little cry she arose, and then, curtsying low after the manner of\nthe court, said:\n\n\"What would My Lord Richard, Prince of England, of his poor subject?\"\nAnd then, more gravely, \"My Lord, I have been raised at court, and I\nunderstand that a prince does not wed rashly, and so let us forget what\npassed between Bertrade de Montfort and Norman of Torn.\"\n\n\"Prince Richard of England will in no wise disturb royal precedents,\" he\nreplied, \"for he will wed not rashly, but most wisely, since he will wed\nnone but Bertrade de Montfort.\" And he who had been the Outlaw of Torn\ntook the fair young girl in his arms, adding: \"If she still loves me,\nnow that I be a prince?\"\n\nShe put her arms about his neck, and drew his cheek down close to hers.\n\n\"It was not the outlaw that I loved, Richard, nor be it the prince I\nlove now; it be all the same to me, prince or highwayman--it be thee I\nlove, dear heart--just thee.\""