# The Defense of the Castle/Chapter 15

XV
A Sudden Alarm—Lady Mortimer's Quick Wit—The Besiegers within the Keep—Their Repulse at the Stairway—A Fight in the Hallway—Luke's Escape and Treachery—The Castle's Greatest Peril—Out with the Lights—An Awful Vision—The Castle Saved—A Sortie—Hugh's Marksmanship—The Earl's Camp—The Song of the Earl's Company—The Riding to Raise the Siege—A Fight at the Bridge— The Earl Leads the Attack— The Bridge Taken—The Battlefield Is Reached—The Wave of Horsemen—The Rout of the Besiegers—The Fate of the Count and of Luke the Lurdane—Thanksgiving of the Garrison.

### CHAPTER XV

Amabel's story, to which all were listening with a delight that was the greater because they believed they were assured not only of her safety, but of the safety of the castle as well, was suddenly interrupted by the cry:
"Treachery, treachery! To arms!—to arms!—the besiegers are within the keep!"
And so it proved, for almost with the words, the tread of armed men was heard upon the stone flooring, a curtain was flung aside, and the Count de Ferrers and his men-at-arms were seen entering the hall. Instantly Edgar, Hugh, and the young knight who had come with Amabel had sprung to their feet to confront the invaders. Then Lady Mortimer's quick wit proved the salvation of the castle. Rising, she seized a large tankard of ale that stood upon the table and dashed it upon the fire, extinguishing its flames so that there was but a feeble glow of embers. Then she swept from the table the candles that stood there and almost instantly the room was in darkness, so that the ​Count and his men could not see the occupants of the room. Fortunately, in their eagerness to hear Amabel's story, the three men had retained their mail and had brought their weapons into the hall with them. Knowing where these were, all three had seized them at the first alarm, and now, drawn up behind the oak table which Hugh overturned, they remained at bay awaiting the attack. The Count, fearing an attack in the rear, hesitated to enter the hall, since from the noise above he knew that the alarm had reached the garrison on the upper floors. After a moment he decided to post a strong guard before the hall, to separate those within from the rest of the garrison, and then to lead the larger part of his force up the stairway, hoping thus to carry the keep by the rapidity of his attack. So crying to his men to guard the hall and permit no one to leave it, the Count ordered his men to follow him, and dashed up the stone steps, closely followed by his shouting soldiers, who believed that the keep was all but won.
But the Friar was above, and in an instant had guessed that the Count would attempt the storming of the stair. He had therefore run briskly down to the head of the lower stair, and finding two sentries were on duty there, with their aid succeeded in pushing one of his wheeled carts ​over the brink. Down it went with a noise like thunder, and narrowly missing the Count, plunged into the mass of men that were at his heels. The cart loaded with stones must have weighed more than five hundred pounds, and it was irresistible. Men went down before it like pins in a game of bowls, and while the survivors were collecting their senses, a second cart came after the first, completing their rout and ruin.
The besiegers had seized the torches from sconces in the hall, and the light of these showed Hugh that the men posted at the door of the hall shared in the panic of the rest. Speaking in a low voice, he said: "Come!—let us make a sally!" He dashed forward, sword in hand, followed by Edgar and the young knight. Falling upon the sentinels, they drove them from the doorway, and then attacked the disorderly mass of men who had retreated from the stair.
Meanwhile, Lady Mortimer and Lady Amabel had fled by means of a winding stairway that, concealed by the hangings, led to the upper floors. When they met the men posted above, they urged them to attack the Count's disordered party by charging down upon them. As soon as a fair number could be collected, they rushed down the stair upon the men who were already shaken by the side attack, and after a few minutes drove ​them into the passage-way by which they had entered—a narrow corridor leading to the western door of the keep. Here the pursuit ceased, for the Count and his men fought fiercely, and could not be driven further. Beside the Count, Edgar could see Luke the Lurdane, armed with an ax taken from a fallen soldier, and he suspected that Luke had admitted the Count to the castle.
Edgar's belief was right.
Luke after he had been captured was placed for security in one of the vaults below the keep, a sentinel being placed at the door, and, from the sentinel's story afterward, Edgar learned that Luke had feigned to commit suicide by strangling himself with a strip torn from his clothing. Naturally enough the sentinel had thrown open the door, and gone to the prisoner, whereupon Luke, springing suddenly to his feet, had tripped up the guard, stunned him with the butt of his own spear, and then bound and gagged him. Luke then had made his way slyly up into the keep, and creeping upon the guard at the gate had run him through before the poor fellow came to his senses.
Then cautiously opening the door, Luke had sped away over the rampart, and had brought the Count to the open door with all the soldiers who happened to be within the tower with the Count, Though these were but a small part of the be​siegers, they were enough to slightly outnumber the surviving garrison.
Thus, just as the commanders of the castle were rejoicing that safety was secured, they had suddenly found themselves in the greatest peril that had threatened them during the whole siege.
While the Count and Luke and their men stood thus at bay, hoping to retain the advantage they had secured, until a stronger force of besiegers could come to their assistance, and while the garrison faced them, ready to make another attempt to drive them out of the keep, both parties keeping close behind their shields to avoid the occasional arrows that came from the bowmen of one side or the other, suddenly there was heard from the upper landing the voice of Friar Bacon in a sepulchral tone, saying: "Put out the lights, put out the lights, that I may invoke the powers of darkness!"
Edgar understood at once, and repeated the order. At once the spearmen with their long-handled weapons struck down the few torches that remained, and then there was darkness. Again the Friar's solemn voice was heard, chanting some strange verses in the Latin tongue. There was silence in the hall, for the garrison had received from Edgar some hint of the Friar's device, and the besiegers had heard much of the powerful ​sorcerer from whose arts they had already suffered. Suddenly, a click was heard, a beam of light appeared extending across the hallway, and lighting up the dust that had been raised by the trampling feet of the men-at-arms, and an uneasy murmur was heard amid the besiegers' ranks.
Then all eyes were turned toward the opposite wall—the wall directly over against the stairway—and there in a circular spot of light like a great full moon was seen—oh, sight of horror!—a fearful form!—the form and figure of the awful fiend that the Friar had painted upon a piece of glass—but now enlarged and almost life-size. It moved, it wavered, and then with a howl of fear the Count's men turned and began to struggle with one another to escape from the doorway out into the night. Even the soldiers of the garrison were sore affrighted, but on hearing Edgar raise the war-cry of the Mortimers, they recovered themselves and threw themselves upon the struggling crowd of besiegers.
In a few minutes the hall was clear of invaders, the door was closed and barred, and the danger was over. But it had been a narrow escape indeed.
When the garrison were able once more to look about them in the relighted hall, the first sight that attracted their attention was Friar Bacon who had come down into the midst of them holding the
Friar Bacon puts to flight the Count's men.
​little apparatus that had so easily driven the Count's men in headlong fright. He was laughing heartily, but stopped all at once with an exclamation of pain, for he had burned his fingers on the hot metal top of his magic-lantern. Suddenly an outcry from Edgar was heard, and they saw him stooping over the form of the young knight Henry of Huntingdon who lay, apparently lifeless, on the stone floor. It was believed for a moment that he had been struck by a bolt or arrow during the fight, but no sign of a wound could be found. While they were examining him, he suddenly recovered, and muttered feebly: "Oh—the foul fiend himself!"
The Friar then saw that the young knight had been overcome at the sight of the picture on the wall, and full of kindness, bent over to revive him. As soon as the young knight had come to his senses, the Friar told him that what he had seen was no more than a trick of jugglery, and in a few moments the young man was himself again.
Men now went to work to carry out the bodies of the slain, and to remove all traces of the fighting. Sentries were doubled at all the posts, and then all in the castle retired to their apartments thankful that the last sudden attack had been repulsed. Edgar, in the room with the Friar, told ​him the story of Amabel's journey, and also of the force that was encamped across the river ready to come to their relief, and it was agreed that in the morning Hugh should go with one or two trusty followers, and with Edgar to consult with the Earl of Huntingdon upon the raising of the siege. "So long as you are in command," Edgar concluded, "I shall have no fear of the Count. You seem to keep in your magic cupboard a trick for every need."
The Friar smiled sadly, as he answered, "Those same tricks have already cost me dear in my life, and I shall have yet more reason to regret them before I die. To know more than the rest of the world is in some eyes an unforgivable sin. Well!—so much the greater reason to rejoice when I can put my jugglery to some use that my conscience approves. I ask of the world only to let me increase its store of knowledge, and so far I have earned as a reward only poverty, prisoning, distrust, and enmity. And yet men great in the eyes of the world have been glad to share in the knowledge won by the work of the barefooted Franciscan Friar. Edgar, I have spent a fortune for knowledge and for the good of mankind, and my only satisfaction is in thinking that in some future time men will recall with gratitude the name and works of Roger Bacon."
​There was no disturbance during the night, and every few hours there was heard in the darkness the cheery hail of the sentinels, "All's well!" and, waking, Edgar Mortimer shuddered to think that only by the merest chance had the last attack been met and defeated. He resolved that he would not again be caught unawares, and then slept soundly until the rosy light of morning upon the eastern landscape flushed the hills and the river.
Edgar arose at the dawn, and rousing Hugh, prepared for the expedition to the camp of the earl. Young Henry of Huntingdon was to be their guide, and they thought it wise to take with them a few soldiers. Luke the Lurdane might well have learned of the return of Lady Amabel, and it was practically certain that the Count had recognized her when he entered the hall on the night before, and they might now set a guard either along the bank of the river, or upon the other bank.
The earl's camp was about a mile northward of the river, and it would not do to risk being captured by any patrol the Count should establish. Half a dozen well-armed horsemen, however, would be able to overcome or beat off any except a very large party. They still had a few horses, which were stabled below the keep, and these were led by their riders along the passage underground. ​It was no higher than was necessary to admit of the horses making their way through it with lowered heads; but the well-trained chargers followed them into the open air.
Cramped as both men and horses had been with their long confinement to the tower and courtyard, there was a sense of exhilaration that came with breathing the free air once more, and so they rode bravely up from the river bank, scrambling over the loose stones and bushes, and then dashed eastward along the river, taking the same route taken by Amabel when she departed from the castle. They did not care now whether they were seen or not, for they had secured a fair start of any party that might be sent after them, and so rode without caution at a lively pace. They were seen, and the Count dispatched a small body of horsemen to pursue them. But since there were not more than ten or twelve men in this body, by Hugh's advice the party from the castle did not hasten their pace, but acted as if they would be glad of a skirmish.
The pursuers came on at a swinging gallop until they were well within bow-shot, whereupon Hugh, taking his long bow from its case, fell a little behind the rest, with the remark: "At last I shall have a fair shot in the open! I cannot bear to shoot from loopholes!" He strung his bow, fitted ​an arrow to the string, aiming from his horse's back, and let fly.
One of the following horsemen threw up his arms and fell from the saddle; in an instant a second arrow followed, and one of the horses was hit, stumbled and fell, throwing his rider.
The rest checked their horses, and drew together as if to consult, and after a few moments they halted, giving up the pursuit. Hugh rejoined the party ahead, and they rode on without remark, save from Henry of Huntingdon who complimented Hugh upon his skill, drawing from the old soldier the slighting remark: "I am not in good practice. This indoor shooting cramps one sorely."
There was no further adventure, and they were soon in sight of the Earl's camp, whereupon the Earl's son rode forward to answer the sentry's challenge, and prepare his father for their coming.
They were warmly greeted by the Earl, a tall soldierly man, well advanced in age, and to Hugh's delight he found that the Earl remembered meeting him in a former campaign with Baron Mortimer.
They were complimented by the Earl upon the long endurance of the siege, and were assured by him that their troubles were over.
​He thought there was no need for any especial strategy, as his men were a veteran body, and would, he believed, make short work of the Count's band of mercenaries. He proposed therefore that, if they were able to return at once, he would sound the signal for the march, and would set out for the castle, taking no other precaution than to dispatch a scouting-party in advance in order that they might have due warning of any attempt to intercept them.
Edgar was delighted with the decision, since the narrow escape of the night before had left him distrustful of everything so long as the Count's forces lay around the keep; and he assured the Earl that their horses, having been so long idle, were no more than breathed by the short ride of the morning.
"Very well," exclaimed the Earl, rising, and making a sign to his page to buckle on his sword. "Henry, my son, give the orders to march, and we will see whether we can drive these marauders from about the castle of our good friend Francis Mortimer!"
While the men were saddling their horses for the march, Edgar gave the Earl briefly the events of the siege, and also an account of the nature of the forces he would have to meet. He warned the Earl that even yet the forces commanded by the ​Count de Ferrers were fully as strong as those the Earl was leading against him.
But the Earl answered Edgar's look with a smile of confidence, saying: "Such men as the Count leads are not the equals of honest soldiers. They fight for plunder, not for glory and honor. Whenever they suspect they will lose the day, they think only of their own skins, and run like rats from a terrier. This Count, robber though he may be, is yet a man of mettle, and he will resist to the end. But his forces—pah! I would go gayly against then had I but half their number of good men and true."
Henry of Huntingdon now returned to the tent, reporting that all was ready, whereupon the Earl conducted his guests from the tent. They found their horses awaiting them, each held by a soldier; and when all were in the saddle, the earl sprang upon his own charger. Then raising his naked sword, he cried:
"Now forward to the relief of the fair ladies of Mortimer Castle!"
The whole cavalcade sprang into action, with a beating of hoofs upon the turf, a jangling of the trappings, and coats of mail, and a neighing of the steeds. Then suddenly one of the men-at-arms struck up a marching song, and one by one voices joined him until all were in full chorus:
THE BOAR OF SABLE HUE.
"With laughter and song we go riding along,
Our chargers are galloping free;
In gleaming steel from head to heel,
And our plumes all afloat in their glee.
Our lances are long,
Our good blades strong.
Our keen shafts cleave the blue——
In all the land
Who dares withstand
The Boar of Sable Hue?
"When our bugle blows each foeman knows
He must gird him well for the fight——
Like the levin-stroke when it rends the oak
Is the shock of our squadron's might!
Close side by side,
Like the wind we ride.
Each soldier a comrade true——
In all the land
Who dares withstand
The Boar of Sable Hue?"
The day was crisp, cold, and bright, and the gayety of the Earl's soldiers was contagious. On they rode as if to a junketing, rather than to a battlefield, and Edgar and young Henry of Huntingdon rode ahead full of the joy of youth, and with hearts beating high. They did not ride very rapidly, but at a steady pace that ate up the distance, and were approaching the bridge when they saw one of the scouts coming toward them. Riding up to the Earl, the scout saluted and reported ​that the bridge was held by a party of some thirty or forty men-at-arms.
"So!" said the earl. "This is an ambush laid for you gentlemen who left the castle so early. They mean that you shall not return. What say you, Lord Edgar, shall we not try conclusions with these fellows ourselves? With my son and yourself, stout Hugh of Cambray, and the men of the garrison you brought with you, we ought to clear the way. There is no need to bring our main body into action. Come, forward!" and the Earl set spurs to his charger, followed only by those whom he had invited.
When they were in sight of the bridge they saw a small body, led by Luke the Lurdane, drawn up on the other side to dispute their passage. The Earl, with lance in rest, flew across the bridge at full speed, scarcely giving the others time to overtake him, and dashed into the enemy. He drove the foremost from his horse, and then dropping his lance, raised a heavy battle-ax that hung at his saddle-bow, and dealt blows right and left as he cleared a lane through the dismayed soldiers, who were taken by surprise.
At once his followers threw themselves into the opening the Earl had made, and striking fiercely, scattered the opposing force. Meanwhile the Earl had checked his horse and now came back ​like a thunderbolt, crying, "Down with the rascals! A Mortimer—a Mortimer!"
The attack was so bold and so unexpected that the Count's soldiers could not recover from their first confusion, and in a few minutes they fled, leaving half a dozen on the field. The Earl's forces now came up, and onward they went, the Earl leading them as before.
"If the Count dares to hold his ground," said he, "we shall find his battle-line all ready for us. And I am glad. I do not like waiting for battle or for banquet. When all is ready, then I long to hear the trumpet sound. Henry," turning to his son, "bid the men deploy into battle-line as soon as we come in sight of the enemy."
The young knight rode back along the column, giving the Earl's orders to the officers, and then returned. The road was masked by the woods just before coming to the plateau upon which stood the castle. And when they neared the opening of the woods, Edgar dashed forward. Riding just beyond the head of the road he saw the Mortimer standard still floating from the top of the keep, and then, glancing toward the left, he could see that the Count had drawn up all his force just at the edge of the woods. He returned and reported to the earl, whose face lighted up.
"Good news!" he said, "I feared they would ​have fled—which were wise for them, but disappointing for us." Then once more waving his sword above his head, he turned and halted the column.
"The foe awaits us. We shall charge upon them as soon as the line is deployed. Ride slowly, and then put spurs to horse when within striking distance. I cannot promise you a strong resistance, as I fear they will vanish into the woods at the first shock. But we must put an end to this force arrayed against the castle, wherefore strike while you can. These are freebooters and knaves, not honest soldiers. Now, gentlemen, forward!"
Out from the wood road came the long column, and again, on reaching the plain they started the chorus they had sung upon the road:
"For Country and King—let the war-cry ring,
And the eyes of our ladies bright,
For the loyal lord who wields his sword
In defense of truth and right!
We work no woe
Save on mortal foe— But long the day shall he rue,
In all the land who dares withstand
The Boar of Sable Hue."
Steadily, not very fast, they rode out, and then spread right and left into a battle-line. The movement was executed with so much precision that Luke the Lurdane, sitting his horse at the Count's ​side, turned pale and murmured, "This is the end!" He saw that they had to deal with veteran soldiers under perfect control, and he dreaded the result. There were not many moments for fear or for preparation. The Earl's horsemen came on, gradually increasing their speed, until they were within forty or fifty yards. Then just as the Count—a brave scoundrel—was about to give the order to charge, the Earl raised his own battle-cry, and the horsemen came down like a breaking wave.
There was never an instant's doubt of the result. The Count's line broke to pieces like slate under a hammer, and all hope of resistance was gone. The Count and Luke stood their ground, but the Earl had picked out the leader, and his lance carried the Count to the ground. Luke turned to flee, but when he reached the edge of the wood Edgar overtook him, and struck him down. It was a rout. The Earl's men, learning that the leaders of the besiegers had been slain, drew rein, and let the smaller villains go.
It was hardly a quarter of an hour since the arrival of the Earl's forces on the field, and the siege was a thing of the past—the Count and Luke the Lurdane were dead, and their forces were in scattered flight through the woods.
The garrison in the castle had seen the battle, and now, breaking up the fastenings of the doors, ​they came running across the field to welcome their deliverers. Once more the Earl marshaled his men in battle-array, and then, singing their song, they came up the plateau to meet the grateful people of the castle.
This time when the opposing bodies met, it was the Earl's men who broke up in disorder before the welcoming throng, the laughter, the tears of joy, the embraces of the women and children, calling down blessings upon their deliverers.
Last of all came the good Friar, and when he had received the warm greetings of the newcomers, he turned, and raising his hand, imposed silence upon them all.
The noblemen and the soldiers, the women and little children sank upon their knees, and the Friar in their name, offered thanks for their deliverance from the wickedness of their enemies, and the perils of the siege, and for the successful
Defense of the Castle.
THE END