VI
TROY TOWN
Constans awoke just as the footsteps died away; he listened, but againthe stillness was profound. He felt his way to the secret door; thewainscot screen stood ajar. It was plain that some one had come to theRat's-Hole only to discover that the key of the outside door wasmissing. Constans realized that he, too, had missed something--hischance to get to the bottom of the mystery. Shame on such a sentinel!
Without any definite plan of action, Constans made his way to the lowerhall. The moonbeams were pouring a flood of light through the eastwindows and he could see plainly. The peddler's couch was empty, savefor his gabardine of gray and the false hair that had served him for abeard. There were two figures dimly visible in the obscurity of thevaulted entrance to the water gate. They were working at the clumsyfastenings of the doors. As Constans ran up he recognized his sisterIssa and the man who called himself Quinton Edge.
Without a word Constans seized the girl by the arm and swung her behindhim. He struck at the Doomsman with his hunting-knife, but the lattercaught his wrist with the grip of a wolf-trap. Yet even at that momentof stress Quinton Edge's voice preserved its soft, mincing inflections;the man wore his irritating affectations of speech as jauntily as he didthe ostrich plumes in his cap.
"A brave ruffling of feathers--but gently, gently boy, you arefrightening the lady. She goes with me of her full consent. Is it notso, sweetheart?"
"You lie!" said the boy, thickly.
The man laughed. "I tell you," he went on, "that the girl is mine by herown choice, and you have only to stand aside quietly to save the houseand your own skin. But softly now; you are tearing the lace of mysleeve. A plague on your clumsy fingers!"
With a wrench Constans twisted himself free and turned to face hissister. "Issa!" he implored.
But she, with eyes like rain-washed stars, only looked beyond him towhere Quinton Edge stood, softly smiling and holding out his womanishwhite hands. She would have rejoined him, but once again Constans forcedher back. The dangling rope of the alarm-bell grazed his hand; heclutched at it, and a clang re-echoed through the court-yard, rousingthe recreant warders from their slumbers. In that same instant QuintonEdge blew his whistle.
The Doomsmen must have already crossed the moat and been close up to thewater gate, for the response to their leader's call was immediate.Quinton Edge had just time to remove the last of the bars securing thebarrier when the night-watch streamed out tumultuously from theirquarters under the arch, and he was obliged to retreat into thecourt-yard. But already the outlaws had forced apart the wooden leavesof the water gate; now they filled the vaulted passageway, and by sheerimpact of superior weight began to drive back the bewildered anddisorganized defenders. Friend and foe together, the mass surged intothe quadrangle, a blind, indefinite cluster of struggling men, like to aswarm of hiving bees.
The storm had blown over, but the moon was every now and then obscuredby masses of scurrying cloud-wrack, and in these periods ofsemi-darkness Doomsman and Stockader were hardly to be told apart. Soclosely packed was the scrimmage that the use of any missile weapon wasimpossible. The dagger and the night-stick (the latter a stout truncheonweighted with lead) were doing the work, and effectively, too. And inthat press a man might be struck and die upon his feet, the corpse beingstayed from falling through its juxtaposition to the bodies of theliving.
The men of the keep, now that they had recovered from their firstdiscomfiture, rallied manfully. So stubborn and bitter raged thestruggle that there was not a sound to be heard outside the noise ofscuffling feet and the thud of blows. A man when hard beset for his lifehas no breath to spare for either oath of despair or shout of triumph.But not for long were the scales to swing so evenly; presently the ranksof the Stockaders yielded again to the pressure and broke into separategroups. Then were to be heard the groans of the wounded and dying; thenfor the first time the yell of the Doomsmen broke forth, ear-piercing inits exultancy.
Constans had managed to reach the shelter of the Great House, halfdragging, half carrying the fainting form of his sister. Already SirGavan, with Tennant and the house-servants, were under arms and makingwhat preparations they could for the final stand. A hopeless task itseemed, for the outlaws were now in full possession of the rest of thekeep. The retainers occupying the general quarters in the south barrackshad fallen easy victims. Surprised, out-numbered, and poorly armed, theyhad been quickly cut down as they reached the court-yard, and activeresistance to the invaders was at an end.
Now the attack was turned directly upon the entrance to the Great House,and Sir Gavan, with his handful of followers, waited on the thresholdfor the inevitable issue. Already the ponderous door of iron-banded oakwas groaning and splintering under the hail of blows. And in theforefront, with a laugh upon his lips, hewed Quinton Edge.
The barrier was down at last and the wolves were free to fall upon theirquarry. A score of men, all told, against a hundred; the outcome washardly doubtful. Yet it was not Gavan of the Greenwood Keep who held uphis hand in sign of parley, but the Doomsman, Quinton Edge.
"The maiden Issa," he said, speaking with a smooth insolence that madeConstans set his teeth. "Give her safely to my hand and your goods andyour lives shall go free of further damage. A cheap bargain; but speakquickly, old man, these hounds of mine are not to be held in leash forlong."
The partisans on either side had fallen back, leaving the two leadersface to face. Sir Gavan plucked twice at his throat, where the veinsstood out like cords, constricting the vocal passages so that hestuttered thickly as he spoke.
"This--this gallows-scape!" he stammered. "This burner of peasants'hayricks, this pitiful plunderer of hen-roosts and cattle byres! If itwere a man, now--to nail the insult to his lips----"
"We lose time," interrupted the Doomsman. "I have named my price."
"The price--ah, yes, the price. Tennant, Constans, you heard what hesaid. But where is my child? Let the girl stand forth; she is herfather's daughter, and she shall answer for herself."
"I will abide by it," said Quinton Edge, with cool confidence.
The half-circle opened and Issa stood before them; a mere child shelooked in her simple slip of white and with her fair hair all unbound. Avague terror seized upon Sir Gavan. What was this question that he wasabout to ask of his daughter? Could there be other than the one answer?How quietly she stood there and waited. Yes, and they were all waitingupon him; he must speak.
"Issa!"
It seemed to him that he had shouted aloud; then he realized that he hadnot spoken at all. "Issa!" he said, again, and she turned towards him.
"This man; he is not known to you. How could it be?"
"Yet it is the truth, my father," answered the girl, steadily. "It isjust a month ago that chance set us face to face--one day when I rodealone in the green drive."
"And thereafter?"
"Once he came to the walled garden, adventuring the thousand chances ofdiscovery. Yet how he managed to cross the stockade-line I know not,for I was frightened, and begged him to leave me. And this he did mostcourteously, only swearing that he would again return."
"The third time?"
"That was the day--the day of the first May-bloom--the Ochre brook andthe Doomsmen----" The girl's voice faltered.
"Yet never a word to me or to your mother?"
"It was not my secret," she answered, bravely; and upon that QuintonEdge himself took up the word.
"The blame is mine, since I used the peril in which I stood to set aseal upon her lips. A true and loyal maid is your daughter, and it wasonly after she had twice said me nay that I resolved to take without theasking. So I came that day which we both remember, and waited under thealder bushes, and once again I missed my cast. Yet was the quest notaltogether fruitless, for I carried away this token from my lady'shostile garden."
He drew a faded spray of the May-bloom from his doublet and touched itlightly to his lips.
"What gentleman could refuse to redeem so dear a pledge? You have s
eenhow I took head in hand and sat me down under your own roof-tree, mygood Gavan of the keep. Faith, it was an even chance on which side theplatter would fall, but this time the luck was mine. We should have beenleagues away in the sun's eye by now, only that a peevish boy would havehis way."
"And this--this is also true?" said Sir Gavan, and it seemed that thepreceding silence had been very long.
"It is true." She had answered quietly, almost mechanically, but theheart of the Lady Rayne thrilled to the new note in her child's voice.
"Issa!" she cried, softly, and fell to weeping, not as a mother for herdaughter but as one woman who sorrows for another.
"Issa!" she said, again, but neither then nor thereafter did the girlvouchsafe her mother look or word, all her soul seeming to hang upon thewill of the man who had brought this woe upon her house. There was noneed for word to pass; reading the command in her lover's eyes, sheslipped from her mother's detaining clasp and placed her hand in his.Now, Issa was exceeding fair to look upon, and Quinton Edge's bloodstirred hotly within him. And so for once he lost his head and did afoolish thing (only that no woman would agree that it was foolish), forthere, in the presence of all, he quickly drew her face to his andkissed her on the lips. Then turning to his men, he made as though tosend them from the house.
But it was not to be. A keen-pointed, heavy throwing-knife hung at SirGavan's side. Without a word he snatched it from the sheath, poised andflung it with all his force at his enemy's heart, a master throw andexecuted like a flash of light. Issa felt rather than saw the coming ofthe missile, and with an instinctive movement contrived to interpose herown delicate body. The steel bit deep into the white flesh, and with alittle, shuddering cry the girl sank to the floor; out leaped QuintonEdge's sword. Constans, supporting his mother, felt her hand grow coldin his. He laid her gently down upon a convenient settle and thanked Godthat she, too, was safe.
It seemed to Constans that he was wandering in a bristling thicket ofsteel points; thunderous crashes re-echoed in his ears; the red lightfrom the burning building eddied about his feet, a sea of blood andflame. His father and Tennant were down, never to rise again; a fewpaces in front of him Guyder Touchett headed a little knot of thedefenders, swearing furiously as he hewed and hacked. A half-dozenagainst ten times their number; the issue could not be doubtful. Even ashe gazed, two of the six sunk to their knees and then fell facedownward, a dreadful sign that even a child might understand.
Now, Guyder Touchett stood alone, and about him a snarling pack of DomGillian's wolves, waiting cautiously upon one another, for the Stockaderhad a long sword-arm. Thereupon a man broke out of the press, signingthe prudent ones to fall back. It was Quinton Edge, and, as ever, he waslaughing, only that now his laughter sounded like to a bell that hascracked in the ringing. The swords clashed together; then the Doomsmandropped his point.
"You are too good a man for crows' meat," he said, shortly. "Stand clearand save your ears; my business is with the white-faced boy behind you."
But Guyder Touchett, ruddy, full-bodied, and loving his life as well asany man, only girded at him, saying:
"Is there, then, a deeper hell than this? I follow where my master hasgone, and you, my lord, shall show me the way."
"The more fool you," quoth Quinton Edge, and drove at him.
"OUT LEAPED QUINTON EDGE'S SWORD"]
Again the blades engaged, and a great fear suddenly tightened at theboy's heart. His champion had been exhausted by his previous efforts,and now his strength was going fast. Constans saw Touchett stagger andQuinton Edge preparing for a final stroke; he turned and ran for theupper end of the hall--the Rat's-Hole.
The key was still in his bosom, and in a few seconds he had passed thepostern, closing and locking it behind him. Five minutes' hard runningand he was free of the stockade and at the summit of a hill thatcommanded the scene which he had just left. The conflagration wasprogressing with astonishing rapidity; already the Great House itselfwas in flames, and dark figures could be seen issuing from the watergate. There! the red cock was crowing from the top of the bell-tower,and now the whole court-yard was a furnace of fire. A spark carried bythe wind fell on his naked shoulder, where it bit like a fiery serpent.Yet he scarcely felt the smart; he stood motionless, looking upon thewreck of his little world, the only one that he had ever known.
"So in the end he made me a coward as well," said the boy, speakingsoftly to himself. "Is it that a slave must be a slave--always?"
He drew a long breath. "No, not always. But in the mean time I am to goon living and bearing everywhere his mark--Quinton Edge's mark. Well, Iwill begin by learning how to wait."
He stood irresolute for a moment longer, gazing at the scene of thenight's tragedy as though to impress it indelibly upon his memory. Thenturning his back to the east, where the faint saffron of early dawn wasnow showing, he started off on a long, swinging trot that speedilycarried him down the slope and into the deeper shadow of the woodbeyond.