"Quite, Sir Knight," she replied, "and you ?""Not a scratch, but where is our good friend the Baron ?""He lay here upon the floor but a moment since, and carried a thin long dagger in his hand.Have a care, Sir Knight, he may even now be upon you."The knight did not answer, but she heard him moving boldly about the room.
Soon he had found another lamp and made a light.As its feeble rays slowly penetrated the black gloom, the girl saw the bodies of the three men-at-arms, the overturned table and lamp, and the visored knight; but Peter of Colfax was gone.
The knight perceived his absence at the same time, but he only laughed a low, grim laugh.
"He will not go far, My Lady Bertrade," he said.
"How know you my name ?" she asked."Who may you be ? I do not recognize your armor, and your breastplate bears no arms."He did not answer at once and her heart rose in her breast as it filled with the hope that her brave rescuer might be the same Roger de Conde who had saved her from the hirelings of Peter of Colfax but a few short weeks since.Surely it was the same straight and mighty figure, and there was the marvelous swordplay as well.It must be he, and yet Roger de Conde had spoken no English while this man spoke it well, though, it was true, with a slight French accent.
"My Lady Bertrade, I be Norman of Torn," said the visored knight with quiet dignity.
The girl's heart sank, and a feeling of cold fear crept through her.For years that name had been the symbol of fierce cruelty, and mad hatred against her kind.Little children were frightened into obedience by the vaguest hint that the Devil of Torn would get them, and grown men had come to whisper the name with grim, set lips.
"Norman of Torn !" she whispered."May God have mercy on my soul !"Beneath the visored helm, a wave of pain and sorrow surged across the countenance of the outlaw, and a little shudder, as of a chill of hopelessness, shook his giant frame.
"You need not fear, My Lady," he said sadly."You shall be in your father's castle of Leicester ere the sun marks noon.And you will be safer under the protection of the hated Devil of Torn than with your own mighty father, or your royal uncle.""It is said that you never lie, Norman of Torn," spoke the girl, "and Ibelieve you, but tell me why you thus befriend a De Montfort.""It is not for love of your father or your brothers, nor yet hatred of Peter of Colfax, nor neither for any reward whatsoever.It pleases me to do as I do, that is all.Come."He led her in silence to the courtyard and across the lowered drawbridge, to where they soon discovered a group of horsemen, and in answer to a low challenge from Shandy, Norman of Torn replied that it was he.
"Take a dozen men, Shandy, and search yon hellhole.Bring out to me, alive, Peter of Colfax, and My Lady's cloak and a palfrey -- and Shandy, when all is done as I say, you may apply the torch ! But no looting, Shandy."Shandy looked in surprise upon his leader, for the torch had never been a weapon of Norman of Torn, while loot, if not always the prime object of his many raids, was at least a very important consideration.
The outlaw noticed the surprised hesitation of his faithful subaltern and signing him to listen, said:
"Red Shandy, Norman of Torn has fought and sacked and pillaged for the love of it, and for a principle which was at best but a vague generality.
Tonight we ride to redress a wrong done to My Lady Bertrade de Montfort, and that, Shandy, is a different matter.The torch, Shandy, from tower to scullery, but in the service of My Lady, no looting.""Yes, My Lord," answered Shandy, and departed with his little detachment.
In a half hour he returned with a dozen prisoners, but no Peter of Colfax.
"He has flown, My Lord," the big fellow reported, and indeed it was true.
Peter of Colfax had passed through the vaults beneath his castle and, by a long subterranean passage, had reached the quarters of some priests without the lines of Norman of Torn.By this time, he was several miles on his way to the coast and France; for he had recognized the swordsmanship of the outlaw, and did not care to remain in England and face the wrath of both Norman of Torn and Simon de Montfort.
"He will return," was the outlaw's only comment, when he had been fully convinced that the Baron had escaped.
They watched until the castle had burst into flames in a dozen places, the prisoners huddled together in terror and apprehension, fully expecting a summary and horrible death.
When Norman of Torn had assured himself that no human power could now save the doomed pile, he ordered that the march be taken up, and the warriors filed down the roadway behind their leader and Bertrade de Montfort, leaving their erstwhile prisoners sorely puzzled but unharmed and free.
As they looked back, they saw the heavens red with the great flames that sprang high above the lofty towers.Immense volumes of dense smoke rolled southward across the sky line.Occasionally it would clear away from the burning castle for an instant to show the black walls pierced by their hundreds of embrasures, each lit up by the red of the raging fire within.
It was a gorgeous, impressive spectacle, but one so common in those fierce, wild days, that none thought it worthy of more than a passing backward glance.