XXIV
THE EVE OF THE THIRD DAY
A touch upon Constans's shoulder and a voice in his ear aroused him. Hesprang to his feet; the sunshine was streaming through the glazelesscasements, and Constans, being yet heavy with sleep, blinked against itas a man drunken with wine. Oxenford confronted him. "The attack?"questioned Constans, and for the life of him could not help yawningprodigiously.
Red Oxenford laughed. "In that case I should have pulled your ear offinstead of wasting time shouting into it. By the thunders of God, man,but you sleep soundly."
Constans was fully awake now. He glanced at the sun, which was high inthe sky, and then at Oxenford's gaunt face.
"I have left you to do the watching alone," he said, apologetically.
"What matter?" was the indifferent answer. "For me slumber would nothave meant forgetfulness, and the watching made the waiting so much theeasier."
Constans stood by the window looking across the Citadel Square anddirectly up the Palace Road. "I see no sign of Piers Major," he said atlength.
"Down in the square," replied Oxenford, laconically.
In truth there was a most unusual activity pervading the stronghold ofthe Doomsmen. Already the long rows of guard-huts were tenanted by athrong of women and children, and the number was being constantlyreinforced by fresh arrivals. Guards were pacing the walls, and a squadof the younger men were engaged in setting up the artillery machines forhurling stones so as to command the open space in front of the northgate. New ropes were being fitted to the torsion levers, and an ox-cartloaded with ammunition, in the shape of rounded boulders, creakednoisily through the gateway.
"The warning must have come down from the High Bridge at an early hour,"said Constans, thoughtfully. "How long has all this been going on?"
"Only within the last hour," returned Oxenford. "I waited for the oldgray wolf himself to seek his lair before arousing you. He has but justcrawled into it--out of arrow-shot," he added, regretfully.
Constans could see half a dozen of the green-jerkined guards loungingabout the entrance to the White Tower, evidence that Dom Gillian wasresting within. There was nothing to be seen of Quinton Edge, but surelyhe would not be far away from the storm-centre. Probably he wasdirecting the defence at the northern boundary or even at the HighBridge.
Slowly the day dragged on for the watchers in the "Flat-iron." It wasimpossible to form any conjecture as to how the preliminary conflict wasproceeding; it was not even certain that it had begun. Piers Major hadundoubtedly forced the passage of the bridge, but apparently he had beencontent with holding his advantage. He might not begin to move untillate in the day, and he would proceed slowly and cautiously.
From time to time a messenger galloped down the Palace Road. At once hewould be surrounded by an eager throng and escorted to the guard-room ofthe White Tower, where Ulick had set up his headquarters. For it wasUlick who had been left in command of the citadel garrison and intrustedwith the preparations for the impending siege. Twice Constans had caughthim fairly with his binoculars, and he could not be mistaken in thefeatures and carriage of his friend. His friend--one might say the onlyfriend that he had ever had--and Constans felt his heart heavy withinhim, knowing that they must henceforth walk on diverging paths.
Constans found it difficult to keep his men under discipline. It wasall-important that their presence should be unsuspected by the enemy,but it would have been betrayed a score of times had not his vigilanceintervened. Red Oxenford, in particular, grew more and moreunmanageable; he had neither eaten nor slept now for three days, and thestrain was telling on him. Finally he announced that he would wait nolonger. The north gate was open, and what should prevent his walkingstraight up to the White Tower and sticking his boar-spear into the graywolf's hide? "And I will--by the seven thunders of God!" His voice roseinto a shriek.
It took half a dozen men to gag and bind him; he lay on a truss ofstraw, his eyes fixed malevolently on Constans, whose orders hadprevented him from carrying out a plan so eminently practicable.
The shadows were growing long when Piers Minor pointed out a cloud ofdust far up the Palace Road. Later on they could distinguish the figuresof men and horses. Stragglers and wounded began to dribble away from thefighting-line; they came running down the Palace Road, one by one, thenin bunches of two and three and four. Piers Major, with his greatlysuperior force, was evidently driving the defenders back.
Half an hour later the conjecture became accomplished fact. TheDoomsmen, retreating with admirable steadiness, fell back upon theshelter of the citadel walls. Quinton Edge, with a score of mountedcross-bowmen, brought up the rear, and he himself was the last man topass through the north gate.
Three hundred yards away the Stockaders came suddenly into view, but itwas close to sunset, the time for the evening meal, and, as though bymutual consent, both sides laid aside their arms for the homelierutensils of the cuisine. Down in the Citadel Square a hundred littlefires started up, and as many pots and kettles began to bubblecheerfully. The invaders contented themselves with building hugebonfires, intended for warmth rather than for cooking, since their lightmarching order precluded the carrying of anything more than coldrations. From far up the avenue came the boom of an ox-horn, militant,almost brazen in its sonority. A drum, beaten noisily, rattled back animpudent defiance from the citadel.