CHAPTER XIX
When the little, grim, gray man had set the object covered with a clothupon the table in the center of the room and left the apartment, he didnot return to camp as Norman of Torn had ordered.
Instead, he halted immediately without the little door, which he left atrifle ajar, and there he waited, listening to all that passed betweenBertrade de Montfort and Norman of Torn.
As he heard the proud daughter of Simon de Montfort declare her love forthe Devil of Torn, a cruel smile curled his lip.
"It will be better than I had hoped," he muttered, "and easier. 'S blood!How much easier now that Leicester, too, may have his whole proud heartin the hanging of Norman of Torn. Ah, what a sublime revenge! I havewaited long, thou cur of a King, to return the blow thou struckthat day, but the return shall be an hundred-fold increased by longaccumulated interest."
Quickly, the wiry figure hastened through the passageways and corridors,until he came to the great hall where sat De Montfort and the King, withPhilip of France and many others, gentlemen and nobles.
Before the guard at the door could halt him, he had broken into the roomand, addressing the King, cried:
"Wouldst take the Devil of Torn, My Lord King? He be now alone where afew men may seize him."
"What now! What now!" ejaculated Henry. "What madman be this?"
"I be no madman, Your Majesty. Never did brain work more clearly or tomore certain ends," replied the man.
"It may doubtless be some ruse of the cut-throat himself," cried DeMontfort.
"Where be the knave?" asked Henry.
"He stands now within this palace and in his arms be Bertrade, daughterof My Lord Earl of Leicester. Even now she did but tell him that sheloved him."
"Hold," cried De Montfort. "Hold fast thy foul tongue. What meanest thouby uttering such lies, and to my very face?"
"They be no lies, Simon de Montfort. An I tell thee that Roger de Condeand Norman of Torn be one and the same, thou wilt know that I speak nolie."
De Montfort paled.
"Where be the craven wretch?" he demanded.
"Come," said the little, old man. And turning, he led from the hall,closely followed by De Montfort, the King, Prince Philip and the others.
"Thou hadst better bring twenty fighting men--thou'lt need them all totake Norman of Torn," he advised De Montfort. And so as they passed theguard room, the party was increased by twenty men-at-arms.
Scarcely had Bertrade de Montfort left him ere Norman of Torn heard thetramping of many feet. They seemed approaching up the dim corridor thatled to the little door of the apartment where he stood.
Quickly, he moved to the opposite door and, standing with his hand uponthe latch, waited. Yes, they were coming that way, many of them andquickly and, as he heard them pause without, he drew aside the arras andpushed open the door behind him; backing into the other apartment justas Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, burst into the room from theopposite side.
At the same instant, a scream rang out behind Norman of Torn, and,turning, he faced a brightly lighted room in which sat Eleanor, Queenof England and another Eleanor, wife of Simon de Montfort, with theirladies.
There was no hiding now, and no escape; for run he would not, even hadthere been where to run. Slowly, he backed away from the door toward acorner where, with his back against a wall and a table at his right,he might die as he had lived, fighting; for Norman of Torn knew that hecould hope for no quarter from the men who had him cornered there like agreat bear in a trap.
With an army at their call, it were an easy thing to take a lone man,even though that man were the Devil of Torn.
The King and De Montfort had now crossed the smaller apartment and werewithin the room where the outlaw stood at bay.
At the far side, the group of royal and noble women stood huddledtogether, while behind De Montfort and the King pushed twenty gentlemenand as many men-at-arms.
"What dost thou here, Norman of Torn?" cried De Montfort, angrily."Where be my daughter, Bertrade?"
"I be here, My Lord Earl, to attend to mine own affairs," replied Normanof Torn, "which be the affair of no other man. As to your daughter: Iknow nothing of her whereabouts. What should she have to do with theDevil of Torn, My Lord?"
De Montfort turned toward the little gray man.
"He lies," shouted he. "Her kisses be yet wet upon his lips."
Norman of Torn looked at the speaker and, beneath the visor that was nowpartly raised, he saw the features of the man whom, for twenty years, hehad called father.
He had never expected love from this hard old man, but treachery andharm from him? No, he could not believe it. One of them must have gonemad. But why Flory's armor and where was the faithful Flory?
"Father!" he ejaculated, "leadest thou the hated English King againstthine own son?"
"Thou be no son of mine, Norman of Torn," retorted the old man. "Thydays of usefulness to me be past. Tonight thou serve me best swingingfrom a wooden gibbet. Take him, My Lord Earl; they say there be a goodstrong gibbet in the courtyard below."
"Wilt surrender, Norman of Torn?" cried De Montfort.
"Yes," was the reply, "when this floor be ankle deep in English bloodand my heart has ceased to beat, then will I surrender."
"Come, come," cried the King. "Let your men take the dog, De Montfort!"
"Have at him, then," ordered the Earl, turning toward the waitingmen-at-arms, none of whom seemed overly anxious to advance upon thedoomed outlaw.
But an officer of the guard set them the example, and so they pushedforward in a body toward Norman of Torn; twenty blades bared againstone.
There was no play now for the Outlaw of Torn. It was grim battle andhis only hope that he might take a fearful toll of his enemies before hehimself went down.
And so he fought as he never fought before, to kill as many and asquickly as he might. And to those who watched, it was as though theyoung officer of the Guard had not come within reach of that terribleblade ere he lay dead upon the floor, and then the point of deathpassed into the lungs of one of the men-at-arms, scarcely pausing ere itpierced the heart of a third.
The soldiers fell back momentarily, awed by the frightful havoc of thatmighty arm. Before De Montfort could urge them on to renew the attack, agirlish figure, clothed in a long riding cloak, burst through the littleknot of men as they stood facing their lone antagonist.
With a low cry of mingled rage and indignation, Bertrade de Montfortthrew herself before the Devil of Torn, and facing the astonishedcompany of king, prince, nobles and soldiers, drew herself to her fullheight, and with all the pride of race and blood that was her right ofheritage from a French king on her father's side and an English king onher mother's, she flashed her defiance and contempt in the single word:
"Cowards!"
"What means this, girl?" demanded De Montfort, "Art gone stark mad? Knowthou that this fellow be the Outlaw of Torn?"
"If I had not before known it, My Lord," she replied haughtily, "itwould be plain to me now as I see forty cowards hesitating to attack alone man. What other man in all England could stand thus against forty?A lion at bay with forty jackals yelping at his feet."
"Enough, girl," cried the King, "what be this knave to thee?"
"He loves me, Your Majesty," she replied proudly, "and I, him."
"Thou lov'st this low-born cut-throat, Bertrade," cried Henry. "Thou,a De Montfort, the daughter of my sister; who have seen this murderer'saccursed mark upon the foreheads of thy kin; thou have seen him flaunthis defiance in the King's, thy uncle's, face, and bend his whole lifeto preying upon thy people; thou lov'st this monster?"
"I love him, My Lord King."
"Thou lov'st him, Bertrade?" asked Philip of France in a low tone,pressing nearer to the girl.
"Yes, Philip," she said, a little note of sadness and finality in hervoice; but her eyes met his squarely and bravely.
Instantly, the sword of the young Prince leaped from its scabbard, andfacing De Montfort and the
others, he backed to the side of Norman ofTorn.
"That she loves him be enough for me to know, my gentlemen," he said."Who takes the man Bertrade de Montfort loves must take Philip of Franceas well."
Norman of Torn laid his left hand upon the other's shoulder.
"No, thou must not do this thing, my friend," he said. "It be my fightand I will fight it alone. Go, I beg of thee, and take her with thee,out of harm's way."
As they argued, Simon de Montfort and the King had spoken together, and,at a word from the former, the soldiers rushed suddenly to the attackagain. It was a cowardly strategem, for they knew that the two couldnot fight with the girl between them and their adversaries. And thus,by weight of numbers, they took Bertrade de Montfort and the Prince awayfrom Norman of Torn without a blow being struck, and then the little,grim, gray, old man stepped forward.
"There be but one sword in all England, nay in all the world that can,alone, take Norman of Torn," he said, addressing the King, "and thatsword be mine. Keep thy cattle back, out of my way." And, withoutwaiting for a reply, the grim, gray man sprang in to engage him whom fortwenty years he had called son.
Norman of Torn came out of his corner to meet his new-found enemy, andthere, in the apartment of the Queen of England in the castle of Battel,was fought such a duel as no man there had ever seen before, nor is itcredible that its like was ever fought before or since.
The world's two greatest swordsmen: teacher and pupil--the one with thestrength of a young bull, the other with the cunning of an old gray fox,and both with a lifetime of training behind them, and the lust of bloodand hate before them--thrust and parried and cut until those that gazedawestricken upon the marvellous swordplay scarcely breathed in thetensity of their wonder.
Back and forth about the room they moved, while those who had come tokill pressed back to make room for the contestants. Now was the youngman forcing his older foeman more and more upon the defensive. Slowly,but as sure as death, he was winning ever nearer and nearer to victory.The old man saw it too. He had devoted years of his life to trainingthat mighty sword arm that it might deal out death to others, andnow--ah! The grim justice of the retribution he, at last, was to fallbefore its diabolical cunning.
He could not win in fair fight against Norman of Torn; that the wilyFrenchman saw; but now that death was so close upon him that he felt itscold breath condensing on his brow, he had no stomach to die, and so hecast about for any means whereby he might escape the result of his rashventure.
Presently he saw his opportunity. Norman of Torn stood beside the bodyof one of his earlier antagonists. Slowly the old man worked arounduntil the body lay directly behind the outlaw, and then with a finalrally and one great last burst of supreme swordsmanship, he rushedNorman of Torn back for a bare step--it was enough. The outlaw's footstruck the prostrate corpse; he staggered, and for one brief instant hissword arm rose, ever so little, as he strove to retain his equilibrium;but that little was enough. It was what the gray old snake had expected,and he was ready. Like lightning, his sword shot through the opening,and, for the first time in his life of continual combat and death,Norman of Torn felt cold steel tear his flesh. But ere he fell, hissword responded to the last fierce command of that iron will, and as hisbody sank limply to the floor, rolling with outstretched arms, upon itsback, the little, grim, gray man went down also, clutching franticallyat a gleaming blade buried in his chest.
For an instant, the watchers stood as though petrified, and thenBertrade de Montfort, tearing herself from the restraining hand of herfather, rushed to the side of the lifeless body of the man she loved.Kneeling there beside him she called his name aloud, as she unlacedhis helm. Tearing the steel headgear from him, she caressed his face,kissing the white forehead and the still lips.
"Oh God! Oh God!" she murmured. "Why hast thou taken him? Outlaw thoughhe was, in his little finger was more of honor, of chivalry, of truemanhood than courses through the veins of all the nobles of England.
"I do not wonder that he preyed upon you," she cried, turning upon theknights behind her. "His life was clean, thine be rotten; he was loyalto his friends and to the downtrodden, ye be traitors at heart, all; andever be ye trampling upon those who be down that they may sink deeperinto the mud. Mon Dieu! How I hate you," she finished. And as she spokethe words, Bertrade de Montfort looked straight into the eyes of herfather.
The old Earl turned his head, for at heart he was a brave, broad, kindlyman, and he regretted what he had done in the haste and heat of anger.
"Come, child," said the King, "thou art distraught; thou sayest whatthou mean not. The world is better that this man be dead. He was anenemy of organized society, he preyed ever upon his fellows. Life inEngland will be safer after this day. Do not weep over the clay of anameless adventurer who knew not his own father."
Someone had lifted the little, grim, gray, old man to a sitting posture.He was not dead. Occasionally he coughed, and when he did, his frame wasracked with suffering, and blood flowed from his mouth and nostrils.
At last they saw that he was trying to speak. Weakly he motioned towardthe King. Henry came toward him.
"Thou hast won thy sovereign's gratitude, my man," said the King,kindly. "What be thy name?"
The old fellow tried to speak, but the effort brought on anotherparoxysm of coughing. At last he managed to whisper.
"Look--at--me. Dost thou--not--remember me?The--foils--the--blow--twenty-long-years. Thou--spat--upon--me."
Henry knelt and peered into the dying face.
"De Vac!" he exclaimed.
The old man nodded. Then he pointed to where lay Norman of Torn.
"Outlaw--highwayman--scourge--of--England. Look--upon--his--face.Open--his tunic--left--breast."
He stopped from very weakness, and then in another moment, with a finaleffort: "De--Vac's--revenge. God--damn--the--English," and slippedforward upon the rushes, dead.
The King had heard, and De Montfort and the Queen. They stood lookinginto each other's eyes with a strange fixity, for what seemed aneternity, before any dared to move; and then, as though they feared whatthey should see, they bent over the form of the Outlaw of Torn for thefirst time.
The Queen gave a little cry as she saw the still, quiet face turned upto hers.
"Edward!" she whispered.
"Not Edward, Madame," said De Montfort, "but--"
The King knelt beside the still form, across the breast of which lay theunconscious body of Bertrade de Montfort. Gently, he lifted her to thewaiting arms of Philip of France, and then the King, with his own hands,tore off the shirt of mail, and with trembling fingers ripped wide thetunic where it covered the left breast of the Devil of Torn.
"Oh God!" he cried, and buried his head in his arms.
The Queen had seen also, and with a little moan she sank beside the bodyof her second born, crying out:
"Oh Richard, my boy, my boy!" And as she bent still lower to kiss thelily mark upon the left breast of the son she had not seen to know forover twenty years, she paused, and with frantic haste she pressed herear to his breast.
"He lives!" she almost shrieked. "Quick, Henry, our son lives!"
Bertrade de Montfort had regained consciousness almost before Philip ofFrance had raised her from the floor, and she stood now, leaning onhis arm, watching with wide, questioning eyes the strange scene beingenacted at her feet.
Slowly, the lids of Norman of Torn lifted with returning consciousness.Before him, on her knees in the blood spattered rushes of the floor,knelt Eleanor, Queen of England, alternately chafing and kissing hishands.
A sore wound indeed to have brought on such a wild delirium, thought theOutlaw of Torn.
He felt his body, in a half sitting, half reclining position, restingagainst one who knelt behind him, and as he lifted his head to see whomit might be supporting him, he looked into the eyes of the King, uponwhose breast his head rested.
Strange vagaries of a disordered brain! Yes it must have been a veryterrible wound that the little
old man of Torn had given him; but whycould he not dream that Bertrade de Montfort held him? And then his eyeswandered about among the throng of ladies, nobles and soldiers standinguncovered and with bowed heads about him. Presently he found her.
"Bertrade!" he whispered.
The girl came and knelt beside him, opposite the Queen.
"Bertrade, tell me thou art real; that thou at least be no dream."
"I be very real, dear heart," she answered, "and these others be real,also. When thou art stronger, thou shalt understand the strange thingthat has happened. These who wert thine enemies, Norman of Torn, be thybest friends now--that thou should know, so that thou may rest in peaceuntil thou be better."
He groped for her hand, and, finding it, closed his eyes with a faintsigh.
They bore him to a cot in an apartment next the Queen's, and all thatnight the mother and the promised wife of the Outlaw of Torn sat bathinghis fevered forehead. The King's chirurgeon was there also, while theKing and De Montfort paced the corridor without.
And it is ever thus; whether in hovel or palace; in the days of Moses,or in the days that be ours; the lamb that has been lost and is foundagain be always the best beloved.
Toward morning, Norman of Torn fell into a quiet and natural sleep;the fever and delirium had succumbed before his perfect health andiron constitution. The chirurgeon turned to the Queen and Bertrade deMontfort.
"You had best retire, ladies," he said, "and rest. The Prince willlive."
Late that afternoon he awoke, and no amount of persuasion or commands onthe part of the King's chirurgeon could restrain him from arising.
"I beseech thee to lie quiet, My Lord Prince," urged the chirurgeon.
"Why call thou me prince?" asked Norman of Torn.
"There be one without whose right it be to explain that to thee,"replied the chirurgeon, "and when thou be clothed, if rise thou wilt,thou mayst see her, My Lord."
The chirurgeon aided him to dress and, opening the door, he spoke to asentry who stood just without. The sentry transmitted the message to ayoung squire who was waiting there, and presently the door was thrownopen again from without, and a voice announced:
"Her Majesty, the Queen!"
Norman of Torn looked up in unfeigned surprise, and then there came backto him the scene in the Queen's apartment the night before. It was all asore perplexity to him; he could not fathom it, nor did he attempt to.
And now, as in a dream, he saw the Queen of England coming toward himacross the small room, her arms outstretched; her beautiful face radiantwith happiness and love.
"Richard, my son!" exclaimed Eleanor, coming to him and taking his facein her hands and kissing him.
"Madame!" exclaimed the surprised man. "Be all the world gone crazy?"
And then she told him the strange story of the little lost prince ofEngland.
When she had finished, he knelt at her feet, taking her hand in his andraising it to his lips.
"I did not know, Madame," he said, "or never would my sword have beenbared in other service than thine. If thou canst forgive me, Madame,never can I forgive myself."
"Take it not so hard, my son," said Eleanor of England. "It be no faultof thine, and there be nothing to forgive; only happiness and rejoicingshould we feel, now that thou be found again."
"Forgiveness!" said a man's voice behind them. "Forsooth, it be wethat should ask forgiveness; hunting down our own son with swords andhalters.
"Any but a fool might have known that it was no base-born knave who sentthe King's army back, naked, to the King, and rammed the King's messagedown his messenger's throat.
"By all the saints, Richard, thou be every inch a King's son, an' thoughwe made sour faces at the time, we be all the prouder of thee now."
The Queen and the outlaw had turned at the first words to see the Kingstanding behind them, and now Norman of Torn rose, half smiling, andgreeted his father.
"They be sorry jokes, Sire," he said. "Methinks it had been better hadRichard remained lost. It will do the honor of the Plantagenets butlittle good to acknowledge the Outlaw of Torn as a prince of the blood."
But they would not have it so, and it remained for a later King ofEngland to wipe the great name from the pages of history--perhaps ajealous king.
Presently the King and Queen, adding their pleas to those of thechirurgeon, prevailed upon him to lie down once more, and when he haddone so they left him, that he might sleep again; but no sooner had thedoor closed behind them than he arose and left the apartment by anotherexit.
It was by chance that, in a deep set window, he found her for whom hewas searching. She sat looking wistfully into space, an expression halfsad upon her beautiful face. She did not see him as he approached, andhe stood there for several moments watching her dear profile, and therising and falling of her bosom over that true and loyal heart thathad beaten so proudly against all the power of a mighty throne for thedespised Outlaw of Torn.
He did not speak, but presently that strange, subtle sixth sense whichwarns us that we are not alone, though our eyes see not nor our earshear, caused her to turn.
With a little cry she arose, and then, curtsying low after the manner ofthe court, said:
"What would My Lord Richard, Prince of England, of his poor subject?"And then, more gravely, "My Lord, I have been raised at court, and Iunderstand that a prince does not wed rashly, and so let us forget whatpassed between Bertrade de Montfort and Norman of Torn."
"Prince Richard of England will in no wise disturb royal precedents," hereplied, "for he will wed not rashly, but most wisely, since he will wednone but Bertrade de Montfort." And he who had been the Outlaw of Torntook the fair young girl in his arms, adding: "If she still loves me,now that I be a prince?"
She put her arms about his neck, and drew his cheek down close to hers.
"It was not the outlaw that I loved, Richard, nor be it the prince Ilove now; it be all the same to me, prince or highwayman--it be thee Ilove, dear heart--just thee."
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The following changes have been made:
PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO 17 17 merks marks 554 ertswhile erstwhile 591 so so do so 90 26 beats beasts 934 presntly presently 124 20 rescurer rescuer 171 27 walls." walls. 1843 gnetlemen gentlemen 185 20 fored, formed, 1866 to forces the forces 195 19 those father whose father 2172 precipitably precipitately 2175 litle little 221 30 Monfort Montfort 230 30 Montforth Montfort 245 15 muderer's murderer's
The only changes that have been made to this text by Publisher's ChoiceBooks and its General Manager/Editor have been the removal of allword-breaking hyphenation, and the occasional addition of a comma toseparate certain phrases. These changes were effected merely to increasethe Reader's reading ease and enjoyment of the text.
The following spelling changes were effected within the text for reasonsof clarity:
"chid" to "chide" "sword play" to "swordplay" "subtile" to "subtle"
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