The Outlaw of Torn

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  CHAPTER XIII

  When Norman of Torn regained his senses, he found himself in a smalltower room in a strange castle. His head ached horribly, and he feltsick and sore; but he managed to crawl from the cot on which he lay, andby steadying his swaying body with hands pressed against the wall, hewas able to reach the door. To his disappointment, he found this lockedfrom without and, in his weakened condition, he made no attempt to forceit.

  He was fully dressed and in armor, as he had been when struck down, buthis helmet was gone, as were also his sword and dagger.

  The day was drawing to a close and, as dusk fell and the room darkened,he became more and more impatient. Repeated pounding upon the doorbrought no response and finally he gave up in despair. Going tothe window, he saw that his room was some thirty feet above thestone-flagged courtyard, and also that it looked at an angle upon otherwindows in the old castle where lights were beginning to show. He sawmen-at-arms moving about, and once he thought he caught a glimpse of awoman's figure, but he was not sure.

  He wondered what had become of Joan de Tany and Mary de Stutevill. Hehoped that they had escaped, and yet--no, Joan certainly had not, fornow he distinctly remembered that his eyes had met hers for an instantjust before the blow fell upon him, and he thought of the faith andconfidence that he had read in that quick glance. Such a look wouldnerve a jackal to attack a drove of lions, thought the outlaw. What abeautiful creature she was; and she had stayed there with him during thefight. He remembered now. Mary de Stutevill had not been with her as hehad caught that glimpse of her, no, she had been all alone. Ah! That wasfriendship indeed!

  What else was it that tried to force its way above the threshold of hisbruised and wavering memory? Words? Words of love? And lips pressed tohis? No, it must be but a figment of his wounded brain.

  What was that which clicked against his breastplate? He felt, and founda metal bauble linked to a mesh of his steel armor by a strand of silkenhair. He carried the little thing to the window, and in the waning lightmade it out to be a golden hair ornament set with precious stones, buthe could not tell if the little strand of silken hair were black orbrown. Carefully he detached the little thing, and, winding the filmytress about it, placed it within the breast of his tunic. He was vaguelytroubled by it, yet why he could scarcely have told, himself.

  Again turning to the window, he watched the lighted rooms within hisvision, and presently his view was rewarded by the sight of a knightcoming within the scope of the narrow casement of a nearby chamber.

  From his apparel, he was a man of position, and he was evidently inheated discussion with some one whom Norman of Torn could not see. Theman, a great, tall black-haired and mustached nobleman, was poundingupon a table to emphasize his words, and presently he sprang upas though rushing toward the one to whom he had been speaking. Hedisappeared from the watcher's view for a moment and then, at the farside of the apartment, Norman of Torn saw him again just as he roughlygrasped the figure of a woman who evidently was attempting to escapehim. As she turned to face her tormentor, all the devil in the Devil ofTorn surged in his aching head, for the face he saw was that of Joan deTany.

  With a muttered oath, the imprisoned man turned to hurl himself againstthe bolted door, but ere he had taken a single step, the sound of heavyfeet without brought him to a stop, and the jingle of keys as one wasfitted to the lock of the door sent him gliding stealthily to the wallbeside the doorway, where the inswinging door would conceal him.

  As the door was pushed back, a flickering torch lighted up, but dimly,the interior, so that until he had reached the center of the room, thevisitor did not see that the cot was empty.

  He was a man-at-arms, and at his side hung a sword. That was enough forthe Devil of Torn--it was a sword he craved most; and, ere the fellowcould assure his slow wits that the cot was empty, steel fingers closedupon his throat, and he went down beneath the giant form of the outlaw.

  Without other sound than the scuffing of their bodies on the floor, andthe clanking of their armor, they fought, the one to reach the dagger athis side, the other to close forever the windpipe of his adversary.

  Presently, the man-at-arms found what he sought, and, after tuggingwith ever diminishing strength, he felt the blade slip from its sheath.Slowly and feebly he raised it high above the back of the man on top ofhim; with a last supreme effort he drove the point downward, but ere itreached its goal, there was a sharp snapping sound as of a broken bone,the dagger fell harmlessly from his dead hand, and his head rolledbackward upon his broken neck.

  Snatching the sword from the body of his dead antagonist, Norman of Tornrushed from the tower room.

  As John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, laid his vandal hands upon Joande Tany, she turned upon him like a tigress. Blow after blow she rainedupon his head and face until, in mortification and rage, he struck herfull upon the mouth with his clenched fist; but even this did not subdueher and, with ever weakening strength, she continued to strike him. Andthen the great royalist Earl, the chosen friend of the King, took thefair white throat between his great fingers, and the lust of bloodsupplanted the lust of love, for he would have killed her in his rage.

  It was upon this scene that the Outlaw of Torn burst with naked sword.They were at the far end of the apartment, and his cry of anger at thesight caused the Earl to drop his prey, and turn with drawn sword tomeet him.

  There were no words, for there was no need of words here. The two menwere upon each other, and fighting to the death, before the girl hadregained her feet. It would have been short shrift for John de Fulm hadnot some of his men heard the fracas, and rushed to his aid.

  Four of them there were, and they tumbled pell-mell into the room,fairly falling upon Norman of Torn in their anxiety to get their swordsinto him; but once they met that master hand, they went more slowly, andin a moment, two of them went no more at all, and the others, with theEarl, were but circling warily in search of a chance opening--an openingwhich never came.

  Norman of Torn stood with his back against a table in an angle of theroom, and behind him stood Joan de Tany.

  "Move toward the left," she whispered. "I know this old pile. Whenyou reach the table that bears the lamp, there will be a small doorwaydirectly behind you. Strike the lamp out with your sword, as you feel myhand in your left, and then I will lead you through that doorway, whichyou must turn and quickly bolt after us. Do you understand?"

  He nodded.

  Slowly he worked his way toward the table, the men-at-arms in themeantime keeping up an infernal howling for help. The Earl wascareful to keep out of reach of the point of De Conde's sword, and themen-at-arms were nothing loath to emulate their master's example.

  Just as he reached his goal, a dozen more men burst into the room, andemboldened by this reinforcement, one of the men engaging De Conde cametoo close. As he jerked his blade from the fellow's throat, Norman ofTorn felt a firm, warm hand slipped into his from behind, and his swordswung with a resounding blow against the lamp.

  As darkness enveloped the chamber, Joan de Tany led him throughthe little door, which he immediately closed and bolted as she hadinstructed.

  "This way," she whispered, again slipping her hand into his and, insilence, she led him through several dim chambers, and finally stoppedbefore a blank wall in a great oak-panelled room.

  Here the girl felt with swift fingers the edge of the molding. Moreand more rapidly she moved as the sound of hurrying footsteps resoundedthrough the castle.

  "What is wrong?" asked Norman of Torn, noticing her increasingperturbation.

  "Mon Dieu!" she cried. "Can I be wrong! Surely this is the room. Oh, myfriend, that I should have brought you to all this by my willfulness andvanity; and now when I might save you, my wits leave me and I forget theway."

  "Do not worry about me," laughed the Devil of Torn. "Methought that itwas I who was trying to save you, and may heaven forgive me else,for surely, that be my only excuse for running away from a handful ofswords. I could not take chances when tho
u wert at stake, Joan," headded more gravely.

  The sound of pursuit was now quite close, in fact the reflection fromflickering torches could be seen in nearby chambers.

  At last the girl, with a little cry of "stupid," seized De Conde andrushed him to the far side of the room.

  "Here it is," she whispered joyously, "here it has been all the time."Running her fingers along the molding until she found a little hiddenspring, she pushed it, and one of the great panels swung slowly in,revealing the yawning mouth of a black opening behind.

  Quickly the girl entered, pulling De Conde after her, and as the panelswung quietly into place, the Earl of Buckingham with a dozen menentered the apartment.

  "The devil take them," cried De Fulm. "Where can they have gone? Surelywe were right behind them."

  "It is passing strange, My Lord," replied one of the men. "Let us trythe floor above, and the towers; for of a surety they have not come thisway." And the party retraced its steps, leaving the apartment empty.

  Behind the panel, the girl stood shrinking close to De Conde, her handstill in his.

  "Where now?" he asked. "Or do we stay hidden here like frightened chicksuntil the war is over and the Baron returns to let us out of this mustyhole?"

  "Wait," she answered, "until I quiet my nerves a little. I am allunstrung." He felt her body tremble as it pressed against his.

  With the spirit of protection strong within him, what wonder that hisarm fell about her shoulder as though to say, fear not, for I be braveand powerful; naught can harm you while I am here.

  Presently she reached her hands up to his face, made brave to do it bythe sheltering darkness.

  "Roger," she whispered, her tongue halting over the familiar name."I thought that they had killed you, and all for me, for my foolishstubbornness. Canst forgive me?"

  "Forgive?" he asked, smiling to himself. "Forgive being given anopportunity to fight? There be nothing to forgive, Joan, unless it bethat I should ask forgiveness for protecting thee so poorly."

  "Do not say that," she commanded. "Never was such bravery or suchswordsmanship in all the world before; never such a man."

  He did not answer. His mind was a chaos of conflicting thoughts. Thefeel of her hands as they had lingered momentarily, and with a vaguecaress upon his cheek, and the pressure of her body as she leanedagainst him sent the hot blood coursing through his veins. He waspuzzled, for he had not dreamed that friendship was so sweet. That shedid not shrink from his encircling arms should have told him much, butNorman of Torn was slow to realize that a woman might look upon him withlove. Nor had he a thought of any other sentiment toward her than thatof friend and protector.

  And then there came to him as in a vision another fair and beautifulface--Bertrade de Montfort's--and Norman of Torn was still more puzzled;for at heart he was clean, and love of loyalty was strong within him.Love of women was a new thing to him, and, robbed as he had been all hisstarved life of the affection and kindly fellowship, of either men orwomen, it is little to be wondered at that he was easily impressionableand responsive to the feeling his strong personality had awakened in twoof England's fairest daughters.

  But with the vision of that other face, there came to him a faintrealization that mayhap it was a stronger power than either friendshipor fear which caused that lithe, warm body to cling so tightly to him.That the responsibility for the critical stage their young acquaintancehad so quickly reached was not his had never for a moment entered hishead. To him, the fault was all his; and perhaps it was this quality ofchivalry that was the finest of the many noble characteristics of hissterling character. So his next words were typical of the man; and didJoan de Tany love him, or did she not, she learned that night to respectand trust him as she respected and trusted few men of her acquaintance.

  "My Lady," said Norman of Torn, "we have been through much, and we areas little children in a dark attic, and so if I have presumed upon ouracquaintance," and he lowered his arm from about her shoulder, "I askyou to forgive it for I scarce know what to do, from weakness and fromthe pain of the blow upon my head."

  Joan de Tany drew slowly away from him, and without reply, took his handand led him forward through a dark, cold corridor.

  "We must go carefully now," she said at last, "for there be stairsnear."

  He held her hand pressed very tightly in his, tighter perhaps thanconditions required, but she let it lie there as she led him forward,very slowly down a flight of rough stone steps.

  Norman of Torn wondered if she were angry with him and then, being newat love, he blundered.

  "Joan de Tany," he said.

  "Yes, Roger de Conde; what would you?"

  "You be silent, and I fear that you be angry with me. Tell me that youforgive what I have done, an it offended you. I have so few friends," headded sadly, "that I cannot afford to lose such as you."

  "You will never lose the friendship of Joan de Tany," she answered. "Youhave won her respect and--and--" But she could not say it and so shetrailed off lamely--"and undying gratitude."

  But Norman of Torn knew the word that she would have spoken had he daredto let her. He did not, for there was always the vision of Bertrade deMontfort before him; and now another vision arose that would effectuallyhave sealed his lips had not the other--he saw the Outlaw of Torndangling by his neck from a wooden gibbet.

  Before, he had only feared that Joan de Tany loved him, now he knew it,and while he marvelled that so wondrous a creature could feel love forhim, again he blamed himself, and felt sorrow for them both; for he didnot return her love nor could he imagine a love strong enough to survivethe knowledge that it was possessed by the Devil of Torn.

  Presently they reached the bottom of the stairway, and Joan de Tanyled him, gropingly, across what seemed, from their echoing footsteps, alarge chamber. The air was chill and dank, smelling of mold, and noray of light penetrated this subterranean vault, and no sound broke thestillness.

  "This be the castle's crypt," whispered Joan; "and they do say thatstrange happenings occur here in the still watches of the night, andthat when the castle sleeps, the castle's dead rise from their coffinsand shake their dry bones.

  "Sh! What was that?" as a rustling noise broke upon their ears closeupon their right; and then there came a distinct moan, and Joan de Tanyfled to the refuge of Norman of Torn's arms.

  "There is nothing to fear, Joan," reassured Norman of Torn. "Dead menwield not swords, nor do they move, or moan. The wind, I think, and ratsare our only companions here."

  "I am afraid," she whispered. "If you can make a light, I am sureyou will find an old lamp here in the crypt, and then will it be lessfearsome. As a child I visited this castle often, and in search ofadventure, we passed through these corridors an hundred times, butalways by day and with lights."

  Norman of Torn did as she bid, and finding the lamp, lighted it. Thechamber was quite empty save for the coffins in their niches, and someeffigies in marble set at intervals about the walls.

  "Not such a fearsome place after all," he said, laughing lightly.

  "No place would seem fearsome now," she answered simply, "were there alight to show me that the brave face of Roger de Conde were by my side."

  "Hush, child," replied the outlaw. "You know not what you say. When youknow me better, you will be sorry for your words, for Roger de Conde isnot what you think him. So say no more of praise until we be out of thishole, and you safe in your father's halls."

  The fright of the noises in the dark chamber had but served to againbring the girl's face close to his so that he felt her hot, sweet breathupon his cheek, and thus another link was forged to bind him to her.

  With the aid of the lamp, they made more rapid progress, and in a fewmoments, reached a low door at the end of the arched passageway.

  "This is the doorway which opens upon the ravine below the castle. Wehave passed beneath the walls and the moat. What may we do now, Roger,without horses?"

  "Let us get out of this place, and as far away as possible u
nder thecover of darkness, and I doubt not I may find a way to bring you to yourfather's castle," replied Norman of Torn.

  Putting out the light, lest it should attract the notice of the watchupon the castle walls, Norman of Torn pushed open the little door andstepped forth into the fresh night air.

  The ravine was so overgrown with tangled vines and wildwood that, hadthere ever been a pathway, it was now completely obliterated; and itwas with difficulty that the man forced his way through the entanglingcreepers and tendrils. The girl stumbled after him and twice fell beforethey had taken a score of steps.

  "I fear I am not strong enough," she said finally. "The way is much moredifficult than I had thought."

  So Norman of Torn lifted her in his strong arms, and stumbled onthrough the darkness and the shrubbery down the center of the ravine. Itrequired the better part of an hour to traverse the little distance tothe roadway; and all the time her head nestled upon his shoulder and herhair brushed his cheek. Once when she lifted her head to speak to him,he bent toward her, and in the darkness, by chance, his lips brushedhers. He felt her little form tremble in his arms, and a faint sighbreathed from her lips.

  They were upon the highroad now, but he did not put her down. A mistwas before his eyes, and he could have crushed her to him and smotheredthose warm lips with his own. Slowly, his face inclined toward hers,closer and closer his iron muscles pressed her to him, and then, clearcut and distinct before his eyes, he saw the corpse of the Outlaw ofTorn swinging by the neck from the arm of a wooden gibbet, and beside itknelt a woman gowned in rich cloth of gold and many jewels. Her facewas averted and her arms were outstretched toward the dangling form thatswung and twisted from the grim, gaunt arm. Her figure was racked withchoking sobs of horror-stricken grief. Presently she staggered to herfeet and turned away, burying her face in her hands; but he saw herfeatures for an instant then--the woman who openly and alone mourned thedead Outlaw of Torn was Bertrade de Montfort.

  Slowly his arms relaxed, and gently and reverently he lowered Joande Tany to the ground. In that instant Norman of Torn had learned thedifference between friendship and love, and love and passion.

  The moon was shining brightly upon them, and the girl turned, wide-eyedand wondering, toward him. She had felt the wild call of love and shecould not understand his seeming coldness now, for she had seen novision beyond a life of happiness within those strong arms.

  "Joan," he said, "I would but now have wronged thee. Forgive me. Forgetwhat has passed between us until I can come to you in my rightfulcolors, when the spell of the moonlight and adventure be no longer uponus, and then,"--he paused--"and then I shall tell you who I be and youshall say if you still care to call me friend--no more than that shall Iask."

  He had not the heart to tell her that he loved only Bertrade deMontfort, but it had been a thousand times better had he done so.

  She was about to reply when a dozen armed men sprang from thesurrounding shadows, calling upon them to surrender. The moonlightfalling upon the leader revealed a great giant of a fellow with anenormous, bristling mustache--it was Shandy.

  Norman of Torn lowered his raised sword.

  "It is I, Shandy," he said. "Keep a still tongue in thy head until Ispeak with thee apart. Wait here, My Lady Joan; these be friends."

  Drawing Shandy to one side, he learned that the faithful fellow hadbecome alarmed at his chief's continued absence, and had set out witha small party to search for him. They had come upon the riderless SirMortimer grazing by the roadside, and a short distance beyond, haddiscovered evidences of the conflict at the cross-roads. There they hadfound Norman of Torn's helmet, confirming their worst fears. A peasantin a nearby hut had told them of the encounter, and had set them uponthe road taken by the Earl and his prisoners.

  "And here we be, My Lord," concluded the great fellow.

  "How many are you?" asked the outlaw.

  "Fifty, all told, with those who lie farther back in the bushes."

  "Give us horses, and let two of the men ride behind us," said the chief."And, Shandy, let not the lady know that she rides this night with theOutlaw of Torn."

  "Yes, My Lord."

  They were soon mounted, and clattering down the road, back toward thecastle of Richard de Tany.

  Joan de Tany looked in silent wonder upon this grim force that sprangout of the shadows of the night to do the bidding of Roger de Conde, agentleman of France.

  There was something familiar in the great bulk of Red Shandy; where hadshe seen that mighty frame before? And now she looked closely at thefigure of Roger de Conde. Yes, somewhere else had she seen these two mentogether; but where and when?

  And then the strangeness of another incident came to her mind. Roger deConde spoke no English, and yet she had plainly heard English words uponthis man's lips as he addressed the red giant.

  Norman of Torn had recovered his helmet from one of his men who hadpicked it up at the crossroads, and now he rode in silence with loweredvisor, as was his custom.

  There was something sinister now in his appearance, and as the moonlighttouched the hard, cruel faces of the grim and silent men who rode behindhim, a little shudder crept over the frame of Joan de Tany.

  Shortly before daylight they reached the castle of Richard de Tany, anda great shout went up from the watch as Norman of Torn cried:

  "Open! Open for My Lady Joan."

  Together they rode into the courtyard, where all was bustle andexcitement. A dozen voices asked a dozen questions only to cry out stillothers without waiting for replies.

  Richard de Tany with his family and Mary de Stutevill were still fullyclothed, having not lain down during the whole night. They fairly fellupon Joan and Roger de Conde in their joyous welcome and relief.

  "Come, come," said the Baron, "let us go within. You must be fairfamished for good food and drink."

  "I will ride, My Lord," replied Norman of Torn. "I have a little matterof business with my friend, the Earl of Buckingham. Business which Ifear will not wait."

  Joan de Tany looked on in silence. Nor did she urge him to remain, as heraised her hand to his lips in farewell. So Norman of Torn rode out ofthe courtyard; and as his men fell in behind him under the first rays ofthe drawing day, the daughter of De Tany watched them through the gate,and a great light broke upon her, for what she saw was the same as shehad seen a few days since when she had turned in her saddle to watchthe retreating forms of the cut-throats of Torn as they rode on afterhalting her father's party.