CHAPTER XVIII
Both horses and men were fairly exhausted from the gruelling strain ofmany days of marching and fighting, so Norman of Torn went into campthat night; nor did he again take up his march until the second morning,three days after the battle of Lewes.
He bent his direction toward the north and Leicester's castle, where hehad reason to believe he would find a certain young woman, and though itgalled his sore heart to think upon the humiliation that lay waiting hiscoming, he could not do less than that which he felt his honor demanded.
Beside him on the march rode the fierce red giant, Shandy, and the wiry,gray little man of Torn, whom the outlaw called father.
In no way, save the gray hair and the parchment-surfaced skin, hadthe old fellow changed in all these years. Without bodily vices, andclinging ever to the open air and the exercise of the foil, he was stillyoung in muscle and endurance.
For five years, he had not crossed foils with Norman of Torn, but heconstantly practiced with the best swordsmen of the wild horde, so thatit had become a subject often discussed among the men as to which of thetwo, father or son, was the greater swordsman.
Always taciturn, the old fellow rode in his usual silence. Long sincehad Norman of Torn usurped by the force of his strong character andmasterful ways, the position of authority in the castle of Torn. The oldman simply rode and fought with the others when it pleased him; and hehad come on this trip because he felt that there was that impending forwhich he had waited over twenty years.
Cold and hard, he looked with no love upon the man he still called "myson." If he held any sentiment toward Norman of Torn, it was one ofpride which began and ended in the almost fiendish skill of his pupil'smighty sword arm.
The little army had been marching for some hours when the advance guardhalted a party bound south upon a crossroad. There were some twenty orthirty men, mostly servants, and a half dozen richly garbed knights.
As Norman of Torn drew rein beside them, he saw that the leader of theparty was a very handsome man of about his own age, and evidently aperson of distinction; a profitable prize, thought the outlaw.
"Who are you," said the gentleman, in French, "that stops a prince ofFrance upon the highroad as though he were an escaped criminal? Are youof the King's forces, or De Montfort's?"
"Be this Prince Philip of France?" asked Norman of Torn.
"Yes, but who be you?"
"And be you riding to meet my Lady Bertrade de Montfort?" continued theoutlaw, ignoring the Prince's question.
"Yes, an it be any of your affair," replied Philip curtly.
"It be," said the Devil of Torn, "for I be a friend of My Lady Bertrade,and as the way be beset with dangers from disorganized bands of rovingsoldiery, it is unsafe for Monsieur le Prince to venture on with sosmall an escort. Therefore will the friend of Lady Bertrade de Montfortride with Monsieur le Prince to his destination that Monsieur may arrivethere safely."
"It is kind of you, Sir Knight, a kindness that I will not forget. But,again, who is it that shows this solicitude for Philip of France?"
"Norman of Torn, they call me," replied the outlaw.
"Indeed!" cried Philip. "The great and bloody outlaw?" Upon his handsomeface there was no look of fear or repugnance.
Norman of Torn laughed.
"Monsieur le Prince thinks, mayhap, that he will make a bad name forhimself," he said, "if he rides in such company?"
"My Lady Bertrade and her mother think you be less devil than saint,"said the Prince. "They have told me of how you saved the daughter of DeMontfort, and, ever since, I have been of a great desire to meet you,and to thank you. It had been my intention to ride to Torn for thatpurpose so soon as we reached Leicester, but the Earl changed all ourplans by his victory and only yesterday, on his orders, the PrincessEleanor, his wife, with the Lady Bertrade, rode to Battel, where Simonde Montfort and the King are to be today. The Queen also is therewith her retinue, so it be expected that, to show the good feeling andrenewed friendship existing between De Montfort and his King, there willbe gay scenes in the old fortress. But," he added, after a pause, "darethe Outlaw of Torn ride within reach of the King who has placed a priceupon his head?"
"The price has been there since I was eighteen," answered Norman ofTorn, "and yet my head be where it has always been. Can you blame meif I look with levity upon the King's price? It be not heavy enough toweigh me down; nor never has it held me from going where I listed in allEngland. I am freer than the King, My Lord, for the King be a prisonertoday."
Together they rode toward Battel, and as they talked, Norman of Torngrew to like this brave and handsome gentleman. In his heart was norancor because of the coming marriage of the man to the woman he loved.
If Bertrade de Montfort loved this handsome French prince, then Normanof Torn was his friend; for his love was a great love, above jealousy.It not only held her happiness above his own, but the happiness andwelfare of the man she loved, as well.
It was dusk when they reached Battel and as Norman of Torn bid theprince adieu, for the horde was to make camp just without the city, hesaid:
"May I ask My Lord to carry a message to Lady Bertrade? It is inreference to a promise I made her two years since and which I now, forthe first time, be able to fulfill."
"Certainly, my friend," replied Philip. The outlaw, dismounting, calledupon one of his squires for parchment, and, by the light of a torch,wrote a message to Bertrade de Montfort.
Half an hour later, a servant in the castle of Battel handed the missiveto the daughter of Leicester as she sat alone in her apartment. Openingit, she read:
To Lady Bertrade de Montfort, from her friend, Norman of Torn.
Two years have passed since you took the hand of the Outlaw of Torn infriendship, and now he comes to sue for another favor.
It is that he may have speech with you, alone, in the castle of Battelthis night.
Though the name Norman of Torn be fraught with terror to others, I knowthat you do not fear him, for you must know the loyalty and friendshipwhich he bears you.
My camp lies without the city's gates, and your messenger will have safeconduct whatever reply he bears to,
Norman of Torn.
Fear? Fear Norman of Torn? The girl smiled as she thought of that momentof terrible terror two years ago when she learned, in the castle ofPeter of Colfax, that she was alone with, and in the power of, the Devilof Torn. And then she recalled his little acts of thoughtful chivalry,nay, almost tenderness, on the long night ride to Leicester.
What a strange contradiction of a man! She wondered if he would comewith lowered visor, for she was still curious to see the face that laybehind the cold, steel mask. She would ask him this night to let her seehis face, or would that be cruel? For, did they not say that it wasfrom the very ugliness of it that he kept his helm closed to hide therepulsive sight from the eyes of men!
As her thoughts wandered back to her brief meeting with him two yearsbefore, she wrote and dispatched her reply to Norman of Torn.
In the great hall that night as the King's party sat at supper, Philipof France, addressing Henry, said:
"And who thinkest thou, My Lord King, rode by my side to Battel today,that I might not be set upon by knaves upon the highway?"
"Some of our good friends from Kent?" asked the King.
"Nay, it was a man upon whose head Your Majesty has placed a price,Norman of Torn; and if all of your English highwaymen be as courteousand pleasant gentlemen as he, I shall ride always alone and unarmedthrough your realm that I may add to my list of pleasant acquaintances."
"The Devil of Torn?" asked Henry, incredulously. "Some one be hoaxingyou."
"Nay, Your Majesty, I think not," replied Philip, "for he was indeed agrim and mighty man, and at his back rode as ferocious and awe-inspiringa pack as ever I beheld outside a prison; fully a thousand strong theyrode. They be camped not far without the city now."
"My Lord," said Henry, turning to Simon de Montfort, "be it not timethat Englan
d were rid of this devil's spawn and his hellish brood?Though I presume," he added, a sarcastic sneer upon his lip, "that itmay prove embarrassing for My Lord Earl of Leicester to turn upon hiscompanion in arms."
"I owe him nothing," returned the Earl haughtily, "by his own word."
"You owe him victory at Lewes," snapped the King. "It were indeed asad commentary upon the sincerity of our loyalty-professing liegeswho turned their arms against our royal person, 'to save him from thetreachery of his false advisers,' that they called upon a cutthroatoutlaw with a price upon his head to aid them in their 'righteouscause'."
"My Lord King," cried De Montfort, flushing with anger, "I called notupon this fellow, nor did I know he was within two hundred miles ofLewes until I saw him ride into the midst of the conflict that day.Neither did I know, until I heard his battle cry, whether he would fallupon baron or royalist."
"If that be the truth, Leicester," said the King, with a note ofskepticism which he made studiously apparent, "hang the dog. He be justwithout the city even now."
"You be King of England, My Lord Henry. If you say that he shall behanged, hanged he shall be," replied De Montfort.
"A dozen courts have already passed sentence upon him, it only remainsto catch him, Leicester," said the King.
"A party shall sally forth at dawn to do the work," replied De Montfort.
"And not," thought Philip of France, "if I know it, shall the braveOutlaw of Torn be hanged tomorrow."
In his camp without the city of Battel, Norman of Torn paced back andforth waiting an answer to his message.
Sentries patrolled the entire circumference of the bivouac, for theoutlaw knew full well that he had put his head within the lion's jawwhen he had ridden thus boldly to the seat of English power. He had nofaith in the gratitude of De Montfort, and he knew full well what theKing would urge when he learned that the man who had sent his soldiersnaked back to London, who had forced his messenger to eat the King'smessage, and who had turned his victory to defeat at Lewes, was withinreach of the army of De Montfort.
Norman of Torn loved to fight, but he was no fool, and so he did notrelish pitting his thousand upon an open plain against twenty thousandwithin a walled fortress.
No, he would see Bertrade de Montfort that night and before dawn hisrough band would be far on the road toward Torn. The risk was great toenter the castle, filled as it was with his mighty enemies. But if hedied there, it would be in a good cause, thought he and, anyway, he hadset himself to do this duty which he dreaded so, and do it he would wereall the armies of the world camped within Battel.
Directly he heard a low challenge from one of his sentries, whopresently appeared escorting a lackey.
"A messenger from Lady Bertrade de Montfort," said the soldier.
"Bring him hither," commanded the outlaw.
The lackey approached and handed Norman of Torn a dainty parchmentsealed with scented wax wafers.
"Did My Lady say you were to wait for an answer?" asked the outlaw.
"I am to wait, My Lord," replied the awestruck fellow, to whom theservice had been much the same had his mistress ordered him to Hell tobear a message to the Devil.
Norman of Torn turned to a flickering torch and, breaking the seals,read the message from the woman he loved. It was short and simple.
To Norman of Torn, from his friend always, Bertrade de Montfort.
Come with Giles. He has my instructions to lead thee secretly to where Ibe.
Bertrade de Montfort.
Norman of Torn turned to where one of his captains squatted upon theground beside an object covered with a cloth.
"Come, Flory," he said, and then, turning to the waiting Giles, "leadon."
They fell in single file: first the lackey, Giles, then Norman of Tornand last the fellow whom he had addressed as Flory bearing the objectcovered with a cloth. But it was not Flory who brought up the rear.Flory lay dead in the shadow of a great oak within the camp; a thinwound below his left shoulder blade marked the spot where a keen daggerhad found its way to his heart, and in his place walked the little grim,gray, old man, bearing the object covered with a cloth. But none mightknow the difference, for the little man wore the armor of Flory, and hisvisor was drawn.
And so they came to a small gate which let into the castle wall wherethe shadow of a great tower made the blackness of a black night doublyblack. Through many dim corridors, the lackey led them, and up windingstairways until presently he stopped before a low door.
"Here," he said, "My Lord," and turning left them.
Norman of Torn touched the panel with the mailed knuckles of his righthand, and a low voice from within whispered, "Enter."
Silently, he strode into the apartment, a small antechamber off alarge hall. At one end was an open hearth upon which logs were burningbrightly, while a single lamp aided in diffusing a soft glow about theaustere chamber. In the center of the room was a table, and at the sidesseveral benches.
Before the fire stood Bertrade de Montfort, and she was alone.
"Place your burden upon this table, Flory," said Norman of Torn. Andwhen it had been done: "You may go. Return to camp."
He did not address Bertrade de Montfort until the door had closed behindthe little grim, gray man who wore the armor of the dead Flory andthen Norman of Torn advanced to the table and stood with his left handungauntleted, resting upon the table's edge.
"My Lady Bertrade," he said at last, "I have come to fulfill a promise."
He spoke in French, and she started slightly at his voice. Before,Norman of Torn had always spoken in English. Where had she heard thatvoice! There were tones in it that haunted her.
"What promise did Norman of Torn e'er make to Bertrade de Montfort?" sheasked. "I do not understand you, my friend."
"Look," he said. And as she approached the table he withdrew the clothwhich covered the object that the man had placed there.
The girl started back with a little cry of terror, for there upon agolden platter was a man's head; horrid with the grin of death baringyellow fangs.
"Dost recognize the thing?" asked the outlaw. And then she did; butstill she could not comprehend. At last, slowly, there came back to herthe idle, jesting promise of Roger de Conde to fetch the head of herenemy to the feet of his princess, upon a golden dish.
But what had the Outlaw of Torn to do with that! It was all a sorepuzzle to her, and then she saw the bared left hand of the grim, visoredfigure of the Devil of Torn, where it rested upon the table beside thegrisly head of Peter of Colfax; and upon the third finger was the greatring she had tossed to Roger de Conde on that day, two years before.
What strange freak was her brain playing her! It could not be, no it wasimpossible; then her glance fell again upon the head grinning there uponthe platter of gold, and upon the forehead of it she saw, in letters ofdried blood, that awful symbol of sudden death--NT!
Slowly her eyes returned to the ring upon the outlaw's hand, and thenup to his visored helm. A step she took toward him, one hand upon herbreast, the other stretched pointing toward his face, and she swayedslightly as might one who has just arisen from a great illness.
"Your visor," she whispered, "raise your visor." And then, as though toherself: "It cannot be; it cannot be."
Norman of Torn, though it tore the heart from him, did as she bid, andthere before her she saw the brave strong face of Roger de Conde.
"Mon Dieu!" she cried, "Tell me it is but a cruel joke."
"It be the cruel truth, My Lady Bertrade," said Norman of Torn sadly.And, then, as she turned away from him, burying her face in her raisedarms, he came to her side, and, laying his hand upon her shoulder, saidsadly:
"And now you see, My Lady, why I did not follow you to France. My heartwent there with you, but I knew that naught but sorrow and humiliationcould come to one whom the Devil of Torn loved, if that love wasreturned; and so I waited until you might forget the words you hadspoken to Roger de Conde before I came to fulfill the promise that youshould know him in
his true colors.
"It is because I love you, Bertrade, that I have come this night. Godknows that it be no pleasant thing to see the loathing in your veryattitude, and to read the hate and revulsion that surges through yourheart, or to guess the hard, cold thoughts which fill your mind againstme because I allowed you to speak the words you once spoke, and to theDevil of Torn.
"I make no excuse for my weakness. I ask no forgiveness for what I knowyou never can forgive. That, when you think of me, it will always bewith loathing and contempt is the best that I can hope.
"I only know that I love you, Bertrade; I only know that I love you, andwith a love that surpasseth even my own understanding.
"Here is the ring that you gave in token of friendship. Take it. Thehand that wore it has done no wrong by the light that has been given itas guide.
"The blood that has pulsed through the finger that it circled came froma heart that beat for Bertrade de Montfort; a heart that shall continueto beat for her alone until a merciful providence sees fit to gather ina wasted and useless life.
"Farewell, Bertrade." Kneeling he raised the hem of her garment to hislips.
A thousand conflicting emotions surged through the heart of this prouddaughter of the new conqueror of England. The anger of an outragedconfidence, gratitude for the chivalry which twice had saved her honor,hatred for the murderer of a hundred friends and kinsmen, respect andhonor for the marvellous courage of the man, loathing and contempt forthe base born, the memory of that exalted moment when those handsomelips had clung to hers, pride in the fearlessness of a champion whodared come alone among twenty thousand enemies for the sake of a promisemade her; but stronger than all the rest, two stood out before hermind's eye like living things--the degradation of his low birth, andthe memory of the great love she had cherished all these long and drearymonths.
And these two fought out their battle in the girl's breast. In those fewbrief moments of bewilderment and indecision, it seemed to Bertrade deMontfort that ten years passed above her head, and when she reached herfinal resolution she was no longer a young girl but a grown woman who,with the weight of a mature deliberation, had chosen the path which shewould travel to the end--to the final goal, however sweet or howeverbitter.
Slowly she turned toward him who knelt with bowed head at her feet, and,taking the hand that held the ring outstretched toward her, raised himto his feet. In silence she replaced the golden band upon his finger,and then she lifted her eyes to his.
"Keep the ring, Norman of Torn," she said. "The friendship of Bertradede Montfort is not lightly given nor lightly taken away," she hesitated,"nor is her love."
"What do you mean?" he whispered. For in her eyes was that wondrouslight he had seen there on that other day in the far castle ofLeicester.
"I mean," she answered, "that, Roger de Conde or Norman of Torn,gentleman or highwayman, it be all the same to Bertrade de Montfort--itbe thee I love; thee!"
Had she reviled him, spat upon him, he would not have been surprised,for he had expected the worst; but that she should love him! Oh God, hadhis overwrought nerves turned his poor head? Was he dreaming this thing,only to awaken to the cold and awful truth!
But these warm arms about his neck, the sweet perfume of the breath thatfanned his cheek; these were no dream!
"Think thee what thou art saying, Bertrade?" he cried. "Dost forget thatI be a low-born knave, knowing not my own mother and questioning eventhe identity of my father? Could a De Montfort face the world with sucha man for husband?"
"I know what I say, perfectly," she answered. "Were thou born out ofwedlock, the son of a hostler and a scullery maid, still would I lovethee, and honor thee, and cleave to thee. Where thou be, Norman of Torn,there shall be happiness for me. Thy friends shall be my friends; thyjoys shall be my joys; thy sorrows, my sorrows; and thy enemies, evenmine own father, shall be my enemies.
"Why it is, my Norman, I know not. Only do I know that I didst oftenquestion my own self if in truth I did really love Roger de Conde, butthee--oh Norman, why is it that there be no shred of doubt now, thatthis heart, this soul, this body be all and always for the Outlaw ofTorn?"
"I do not know," he said simply and gravely. "So wonderful a thing bebeyond my poor brain; but I think my heart knows, for in very joy, itis sending the hot blood racing and surging through my being till I werelike to be consumed for the very heat of my happiness."
"Sh!" she whispered, suddenly, "methinks I hear footsteps. They must notfind thee here, Norman of Torn, for the King has only this night wrunga promise from my father to take thee in the morning and hang thee. Whatshall we do, Norman? Where shall we meet again?"
"We shall not be separated, Bertrade; only so long as it may take theeto gather a few trinkets, and fetch thy riding cloak. Thou ridest northtonight with Norman of Torn, and by the third day, Father Claude shallmake us one."
"I am glad thee wish it," she replied. "I feared that, for some reason,thee might not think it best for me to go with thee now. Wait here, Iwill be gone but a moment. If the footsteps I hear approach this door,"and she indicated the door by which he had entered the little room,"thou canst step through this other doorway into the adjoiningapartment, and conceal thyself there until the danger passes."
Norman of Torn made a wry face, for he had no stomach for hiding himselfaway from danger.
"For my sake," she pleaded. So he promised to do as she bid, and she ranswiftly from the room to fetch her belongings.
The Outlaw of Torn Page 18
