The Outlaw of Torn

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  CHAPTER XV

  When word of the death of Joan de Tany reached Torn, no man couldtell from outward appearance the depth of the suffering which the sadintelligence wrought on the master of Torn.

  All that they who followed him knew was that certain unusual orders wereissued, and that that same night, the ten companies rode south towardEssex without other halt than for necessary food and water for man andbeast.

  When the body of Joan de Tany rode forth from her father's castle tothe church at Colchester, and again as it was brought back to its finalresting place in the castle's crypt, a thousand strange and silentknights, black draped, upon horses trapped in black, rode slowly behindthe bier.

  Silently they had come in the night preceding the funeral, and assilently, they slipped away northward into the falling shadows of thefollowing night.

  No word had passed between those of the castle and the great troop ofsable-clad warriors, but all within knew that the mighty Outlaw of Tornhad come to pay homage to the memory of the daughter of De Tany, and allbut the grieving mother wondered at the strangeness of the act.

  As the horde of Torn approached their Derby stronghold, their youngleader turned the command over to Red Shandy and dismounted at the doorof Father Claude's cottage.

  "I am tired, Father," said the outlaw as he threw himself upon hisaccustomed bench. "Naught but sorrow and death follow in my footsteps. Iand all my acts be accurst, and upon those I love, the blight falleth."

  "Alter thy ways, my son; follow my advice ere it be too late. Seek outa new and better life in another country and carve thy future into thesemblance of glory and honor."

  "Would that I might, my friend," answered Norman of Torn. "But hastthou thought on the consequences which surely would follow should I thusremove both heart and head from the thing that I have built?

  "What suppose thou would result were Norman of Torn to turn his greatband of cut-throats, leaderless, upon England? Hast thought on't,Father?

  "Wouldst thou draw a single breath in security if thou knew Edwild theSerf were ranging unchecked through Derby? Edwild, whose father was tornlimb from limb upon the rack because he would not confess to killing abuck in the new forest, a buck which fell before the arrow of anotherman; Edwild, whose mother was burned for witchcraft by Holy Church.

  "And Horsan the Dane, Father. How thinkest thou the safety of the roadswould be for either rich or poor an I turned Horsan the Dane loose uponye?

  "And Pensilo, the Spanish Don! A great captain, but a man absolutelywithout bowels of compassion. When first he joined us and saw our markupon the foreheads of our dead, wishing to out-Herod Herod, he markedthe living which fell into his hands with a red hot iron, brandinga great P upon each cheek and burning out the right eye completely.Wouldst like to feel, Father, that Don Piedro Castro y Pensilo rangedfree through forest and hill of England?

  "And Red Shandy, and the two Florys, and Peter the Hermit, and One EyeKanty, and Gropello, and Campanee, and Cobarth, and Mandecote, and thethousand others, each with a special hatred for some particular class orindividual, and all filled with the lust of blood and rapine and loot.

  "No, Father, I may not go yet, for the England I have been taught tohate, I have learned to love, and I have it not in my heart to turnloose upon her fair breast the beasts of hell who know no law or orderor decency other than that which I enforce."

  As Norman of Torn ceased speaking, the priest sat silent for manyminutes.

  "Thou hast indeed a grave responsibility, my son," he said at last."Thou canst not well go unless thou takest thy horde with thee out ofEngland, but even that may be possible; who knows other than God?"

  "For my part," laughed the outlaw, "I be willing to leave it in Hishands; which seems to be the way with Christians. When one would shirka responsibility, or explain an error, lo, one shoulders it upon theLord."

  "I fear, my son," said the priest, "that what seed of reverence I haveattempted to plant within thy breast hath borne poor fruit."

  "That dependeth upon the viewpoint, Father; as I take not the Lord intopartnership in my successes it seemeth to me to be but of a mean andpoor spirit to saddle my sorrows and perplexities upon Him. I may bewrong, for I am ill-versed in religious matters, but my conception ofGod and scapegoat be not that they are synonymous."

  "Religion, my son, be a bootless subject for argument between friends,"replied the priest, "and further, there be that nearer my heart just nowwhich I would ask thee. I may offend, but thou know I do not mean to.The question I would ask, is, dost wholly trust the old man whom thoucall father?"

  "I know of no treachery," replied the outlaw, "which he hath everconceived against me. Why?"

  "I ask because I have written to Simon de Montfort asking him to meetme and two others here upon an important matter. I have learned that heexpects to be at his Leicester castle, for a few days, within the week.He is to notify me when he will come and I shall then send for theeand the old man of Torn; but it were as well, my son, that thou donot mention this matter to thy father, nor let him know when thou comehither to the meeting that De Montfort is to be present."

  "As you say, Father," replied Norman of Torn. "I do not make head nortail of thy wondrous intrigues, but that thou wish it done thus or so issufficient. I must be off to Torn now, so I bid thee farewell."

  Until the following Spring, Norman of Torn continued to occupy himselfwith occasional pillages against the royalists of the surroundingcounties, and his patrols so covered the public highways that it becamea matter of grievous import to the King's party, for no one was safe inthe district who even so much as sympathized with the King's cause, andmany were the dead foreheads that bore the grim mark of the Devil ofTorn.

  Though he had never formally espoused the cause of the barons, it nowseemed a matter of little doubt but that, in any crisis, his grislybanner would be found on their side.

  The long winter evenings within the castle of Torn were often spent inrough, wild carousals in the great hall where a thousand men might sitat table singing, fighting and drinking until the gray dawn stole inthrough the east windows, or Peter the Hermit, the fierce majordomo,tired of the din and racket, came stalking into the chamber with drawnsword and laid upon the revellers with the flat of it to enforce theauthority of his commands to disperse.

  Norman of Torn and the old man seldom joined in these wild orgies, butwhen minstrel, or troubadour, or storyteller wandered to his grim lair,the Outlaw of Torn would sit enjoying the break in the winter's dullmonotony to as late an hour as another; nor could any man of his greatfierce horde outdrink their chief when he cared to indulge in thepleasures of the wine cup. The only effect that liquor seemed to haveupon him was to increase his desire to fight, so that he was wont topick needless quarrels and to resort to his sword for the slightest,or for no provocation at all. So, for this reason, he drank but seldomsince he always regretted the things he did under the promptings of thatother self which only could assert its ego when reason was threatenedwith submersion.

  Often on these evenings, the company was entertained by stories from thewild, roving lives of its own members. Tales of adventure, love, warand death in every known corner of the world; and the ten captains told,each, his story of how he came to be of Torn; and thus, with fightingenough by day to keep them good humored, the winter passed, and springcame with the ever wondrous miracle of awakening life, with softzephyrs, warm rain, and sunny skies.

  Through all the winter, Father Claude had been expecting to hear fromSimon de Montfort, but not until now did he receive a message whichtold the good priest that his letter had missed the great baron andhad followed him around until he had but just received it. The messageclosed with these words:

  "Any clew, however vague, which might lead nearer to a true knowledgeof the fate of Prince Richard, we shall most gladly receive and give ourbest attention. Therefore, if thou wilst find it convenient, we shallvisit thee, good father, on the fifth day from today."

  Spizo, the Spaniard, had seen De
Montfort's man leave the note withFather Claude and he had seen the priest hide it under a great bowl onhis table, so that when the good father left his cottage, it was thematter of but a moment's work for Spizo to transfer the message from itshiding place to the breast of his tunic. The fellow could not read, buthe to whom he took the missive could, laboriously, decipher the Latin inwhich it was penned.

  The old man of Torn fairly trembled with suppressed rage as the fullpurport of this letter flashed upon him. It had been years since he hadheard aught of the search for the little lost prince of England, and nowthat the period of his silence was drawing to a close, now that more andmore often opportunities were opening up to him to wreak the last shredof his terrible vengeance, the very thought of being thwarted at thefinal moment staggered his comprehension.

  "On the fifth day," he repeated. "That is the day on which we were toride south again. Well, we shall ride, and Simon de Montfort shall nottalk with thee, thou fool priest."

  That same spring evening in the year 1264, a messenger drew rein beforethe walls of Torn and, to the challenge of the watch, cried:

  "A royal messenger from His Illustrious Majesty, Henry, by the grace ofGod, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Aquitaine, to Norman ofTorn, Open, in the name of the King!"

  Norman of Torn directed that the King's messenger be admitted, and theknight was quickly ushered into the great hall of the castle.

  The outlaw presently entered in full armor, with visor lowered.

  The bearing of the King's officer was haughty and arrogant, as became aman of birth when dealing with a low born knave.

  "His Majesty has deigned to address you, sirrah," he said, withdrawinga parchment from his breast. "And, as you doubtless cannot read, I willread the King's commands to you."

  "I can read," replied Norman of Torn, "whatever the King can write.Unless it be," he added, "that the King writes no better than he rules."

  The messenger scowled angrily, crying:

  "It ill becomes such a low fellow to speak thus disrespectfully of ourgracious King. If he were less generous, he would have sent you a halterrather than this message which I bear."

  "A bridle for thy tongue, my friend," replied Norman of Torn, "were inbetter taste than a halter for my neck. But come, let us see what theKing writes to his friend, the Outlaw of Torn."

  Taking the parchment from the messenger, Norman of Torn read:

  Henry, by Grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke ofAquitaine; to Norman of Torn:

  Since it has been called to our notice that you be harassing andplundering the persons and property of our faithful lieges!!!!!

  We therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in us by Almighty God,do command that you cease these nefarious practices!!!!!

  And further, through the gracious intercession of Her Majesty, QueenEleanor, we do offer you full pardon for all your past crimes!!!!!

  Provided, you repair at once to the town of Lewes, with all the fightingmen, your followers, prepared to protect the security of our person, andwage war upon those enemies of England, Simon de Montfort, Gilbert deClare and their accomplices, who even now are collected to threaten andmenace our person and kingdom!!!!!

  Or, otherwise, shall you suffer death, by hanging, for your longunpunished crimes. Witnessed myself, at Lewes, on May the third, in theforty-eighth year of our reign.

  HENRY, REX.

  "The closing paragraph be unfortunately worded," said Norman of Torn,"for because of it shall the King's messenger eat the King's message,and thus take back in his belly the answer of Norman of Torn." Andcrumpling the parchment in his hand, he advanced toward the royalemissary.

  The knight whipped out his sword, but the Devil of Torn was evenquicker, so that it seemed that the King's messenger had deliberatelyhurled his weapon across the room, so quickly did the outlaw disarm him.

  And then Norman of Torn took the man by the neck with one powerful handand, despite his struggles, and the beating of his mailed fists, benthim back upon the table, and there, forcing his teeth apart with thepoint of his sword, Norman of Torn rammed the King's message down theknight's throat; wax, parchment and all.

  It was a crestfallen gentleman who rode forth from the castle of Torn ahalf hour later and spurred rapidly--in his head a more civil tongue.

  When, two days later, he appeared before the King at Winchelsea andreported the outcome of his mission, Henry raged and stormed, swearingby all the saints in the calendar that Norman of Torn should hang forhis effrontery before the snow flew again.

  News of the fighting between the barons and the King's forces atRochester, Battel and elsewhere reached the ears of Norman of Torn a fewdays after the coming of the King's message, but at the same time cameother news which hastened his departure toward the south. This latterword was that Bertrade de Montfort and her mother, accompanied by PrincePhilip, had landed at Dover, and that upon the same boat had come Peterof Colfax back to England--the latter, doubtless reassured by the strongconviction, which held in the minds of all royalists at that time, ofthe certainty of victory for the royal arms in the impending conflictwith the rebel barons.

  Norman of Torn had determined that he would see Bertrade de Montfortonce again, and clear his conscience by a frank avowal of his identity.He knew what the result must be. His experience with Joan de Tany hadtaught him that. But the fine sense of chivalry which ever dominated allhis acts where the happiness or honor of women were concerned urged himto give himself over as a sacrifice upon the altar of a woman's pride,that it might be she who spurned and rejected; for, as it must appearnow, it had been he whose love had grown cold. It was a bitter thingto contemplate, for not alone would the mighty pride of the man belacerated, but a great love.

  Two days before the start of the march, Spizo, the Spaniard, reportedto the old man of Torn that he had overheard Father Claude ask Norman ofTorn to come with his father to the priest's cottage the morning of themarch to meet Simon de Montfort upon an important matter, but what thenature of the thing was the priest did not reveal to the outlaw.

  This report seemed to please the little, grim, gray old man more thanaught he had heard in several days; for it made it apparent that thepriest had not as yet divulged the tenor of his conjecture to the Outlawof Torn.

  On the evening of the day preceding that set for the march south,a little, wiry figure, grim and gray, entered the cottage of FatherClaude. No man knows what words passed between the good priest and hisvisitor nor the details of what befell within the four walls of thelittle cottage that night; but some half hour only elapsed before thelittle, grim, gray man emerged from the darkened interior and hastenedupward upon the rocky trail into the hills, a cold smile of satisfactionon his lips.

  The castle of Torn was filled with the rush and rattle of preparationearly the following morning, for by eight o'clock the column was tomarch. The courtyard was filled with hurrying squires and lackeys. Warhorses were being groomed and caparisoned; sumpter beasts, snubbed togreat posts, were being laden with the tents, bedding, and belongings ofthe men; while those already packed were wandering loose among the otheranimals and men. There was squealing, biting, kicking, and cursing asanimals fouled one another with their loads, or brushed against sometethered war horse.

  Squires were running hither and thither, or aiding their masters to donarmor, lacing helm to hauberk, tying the points of ailette, coude, androndel; buckling cuisse and jambe to thigh and leg. The open forges ofarmorer and smithy smoked and hissed, and the din of hammer on anvilrose above the thousand lesser noises of the castle courts, the shoutingof commands, the rattle of steel, the ringing of iron hoof on stoneflags, as these artificers hastened, sweating and cursing, through theeleventh hour repairs to armor, lance and sword, or to reset a shoe upona refractory, plunging beast.

  Finally the captains came, armored cap-a-pie, and with them somesemblance of order and quiet out of chaos and bedlam. First the sumpterbeasts, all loaded now, were driven, with a strong escort, to the downsbelo
w the castle and there held to await the column. Then, one by one,the companies were formed and marched out beneath fluttering pennon andwaving banner to the martial strains of bugle and trumpet.

  Last of all came the catapults, those great engines of destruction whichhurled two hundred pound boulders with mighty force against the walls ofbeleaguered castles.

  And after all had passed through the great gates, Norman of Torn and thelittle old man walked side by side from the castle building and mountedtheir chargers held by two squires in the center of the courtyard.

  Below, on the downs, the column was forming in marching order, and asthe two rode out to join it, the little old man turned to Norman ofTorn, saying,

  "I had almost forgot a message I have for you, my son. Father Claudesent word last evening that he had been called suddenly south, andthat some appointment you had with him must therefore be deferreduntil later. He said that you would understand." The old man eyed hiscompanion narrowly through the eye slit in his helm.

  "'Tis passing strange," said Norman of Torn but that was his onlycomment. And so they joined the column which moved slowly down towardthe valley and as they passed the cottage of Father Claude, Norman ofTorn saw that the door was closed and that there was no sign of lifeabout the place. A wave of melancholy passed over him, for the desertedaspect of the little flower-hedged cote seemed dismally prophetic of anear future without the beaming, jovial face of his friend and adviser.

  Scarcely had the horde of Torn passed out of sight down the east edge ofthe valley ere a party of richly dressed knights, coming from the southby another road along the west bank of the river, crossed over and drewrein before the cottage of Father Claude.

  As their hails were unanswered, one of the party dismounted to enter thebuilding.

  "Have a care, My Lord," cried his companion. "This be over-close to theCastle Torn and there may easily be more treachery than truth in themessage which called thee thither."

  "Fear not," replied Simon de Montfort, "the Devil of Torn hath noquarrel with me." Striding up the little path, he knocked loudly on thedoor. Receiving no reply, he pushed it open and stepped into the dimlight of the interior. There he found his host, the good father Claude,stretched upon his back on the floor, the breast of his priestly robesdark with dried and clotted blood.

  Turning again to the door, De Montfort summoned a couple of hiscompanions.

  "The secret of the little lost prince of England be a dangerous burdenfor a man to carry," he said. "But this convinces me more than any wordsthe priest might have uttered that the abductor be still in England, andpossibly Prince Richard also."

  A search of the cottage revealed the fact that it had been ransackedthoroughly by the assassin. The contents of drawer and box litteredevery room, though that the object was not rich plunder was evidenced bymany pieces of jewelry and money which remained untouched.

  "The true object lies here," said De Montfort, pointing to the openhearth upon which lay the charred remains of many papers and documents."All written evidence has been destroyed, but hold what lieth herebeneath the table?" and, stooping, the Earl of Leicester picked upa sheet of parchment on which a letter had been commenced. It wasaddressed to him, and he read it aloud:

  Lest some unforeseen chance should prevent the accomplishment of ourmeeting, My Lord Earl, I send thee this by one who knoweth not eitherits contents or the suspicions which I will narrate herein.

  He who bareth this letter, I truly believe to be the lost PrinceRichard. Question him closely, My Lord, and I know that thou wilt be aspositive as I.

  Of his past, thou know nearly as much as I, though thou may not know thewondrous chivalry and true nobility of character of him men call!!!!!

  Here the letter stopped, evidently cut short by the dagger of theassassin.

  "Mon Dieu! The damnable luck!" cried De Montfort, "but a second moreand the name we have sought for twenty years would have been writ.Didst ever see such hellish chance as plays into the hand of the fiendincarnate since that long gone day when his sword pierced the heart ofLady Maud by the postern gate beside the Thames? The Devil himself mustwatch o'er him.

  "There be naught more we can do here," he continued. "I should have beenon my way to Fletching hours since. Come, my gentlemen, we will ridesouth by way of Leicester and have the good Fathers there look to thedecent burial of this holy man."

  The party mounted and rode rapidly away. Noon found them at Leicester,and three days later, they rode into the baronial camp at Fletching.

  At almost the same hour, the monks of the Abbey of Leicester performedthe last rites of Holy Church for the peace of the soul of Father Claudeand consigned his clay to the churchyard.

  And thus another innocent victim of an insatiable hate and vengeancewhich had been born in the King's armory twenty years before passed fromthe eyes of men.