Читать книгу The Last of the Vikings - John Bowling - Страница 23

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"Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow?"—Shakespeare.

In the meantime, the darkness had gathered quickly and deepened into night. This was greatly intensified along the forest path by the lofty and overhanging branches of the trees. The road also had its twists and turns innumerable, here to avoid a massive tree, and there to avoid a huge boulder; and it was little better than a cattle path at any time, and totally impassable, even to the rude Saxon carts, except at broad daylight. In these circumstances Pierre and party moved with extreme difficulty, having frequently to stop to make sure of the road, their oaths and execrations in the meantime resounding through the wood. But Badger, who was as familiar with the forest as the deer which roamed in it, sped swiftly and noiselessly after them, catching up with them quickly. "Ah, ah!" said he, as he caught sight of the black and moving mass in front of him; "one good Saxon is equal to the half-dozen of you here, my hearties! Some of you will have a cold bed in the damp grass to-night for your pains, or else my shafts will go mightily astray!" Then, sticking his thorn cudgel in his belt, he took his bow from his back and adjusted an arrow, and then he crept stealthily near to them. Raising his bow, he drew the arrow to its head; then he withdrew it. "My fingers," said he, "are in a hurry to make a cur of a Norman the less in the world. But where is the use in bagging one of their carrion carcasses and losing the game? To kill a Norman is a luxury; but I must rescue Ethel. Let me see whether my purpose cannot be served best by joining my wits to my weapons. There are three couples—two abreast; and Ethel is in charge of the centre one to the right. I can send a shaft in the nape of the last one's neck. That is one certain. Then there will be a stampede probably: I may get another one. Shall I get the villain who has charge of Ethel? Can't make sure; and if I do, Ethel will come to the ground with him, and perhaps be badly bruised. Well, some risk will have to be taken, for I am but one." So saying, he stole nearer to them. Suddenly, ahead of the party, there was a wide opening in the tops of the trees directly in the line of vision, the outlines of the figures in front showing boldly against the starlit sky. "Now is my time," said Badger, planting his foot firmly, and drawing back the string until it touched his shoulder—when suddenly a hurried footfall in the path behind him arrested his attention, and he darted into the thicket, keeping his arrow in position. When the runner drew near, Badger sprang forward and faced the new-comer, with his shaft still in position. "Who's this?" said he. "Speak, or I'll let fly my shaft!"

"Steady, Badger," said the stranger. "Don't shoot a friend."

"Well timed, Bretwul, I have just been wishing for a Saxon or two! What has brought you?"

"The very purpose that brought you here. I heard of that Norman's attempt to carry off my young mistress, and I knew the wolf, having scented prey like that, would never drop the trail until he ran it down. I watched the abbey night by night, in the hope of frustrating his purpose; but the villain has got clear off with her."

"Not quite so fast, comrade. If you had been a minute or two later, my shafts would have overtaken one or more of them. But it is better as it is, for two of us will make a better fight of it than one. But enough of this; they are not two hundred yards ahead of us. There are six horsemen, and the second horseman at the right side has charge of Ethel. Now, how are we to effect a rescue?"

So the pair debated the matter as they followed on the heels of the party.

"Well, Bretwul," said Badger, "as I was telling you, I was just going to try a rough-and-ready method when your footsteps arrested me. I knew it to be a risky venture, but I little expected any help in the business. Now I am inclined to think a more favourable opportunity will turn up by-and-by."

"Well, I am inclined to think so myself, Badger. There is the risk that the game would carry the shaft, unless it were hit very squarely; and the odds are the other way in the darkness. Any failure would make it bad for the young mistress, it is certain."

"That we must prevent, if possible. But now, what are the chances? These Normans have no strong place near in which they can shut her. I can promise you they'll not dare to carry her to the camp; there is a lady there who rescued her before, and was desperate savage with the brute who offered her violence then. But they will find a place elsewhere; probably leave her for the night in charge of half their number."

"There's reason in it, Badger. Anyway, it is better to wait awhile, and see if some better chance is forthcoming."

So the pair continued to dog the steps of their adversaries, until, emerging from the wood, they struck across an open glade, or clearing, in the forest, formerly cultivated by a Saxon yeoman. Soon they reached the fringe of the forest again, where, embowered within its shelter, was the house of this Saxon; but it was deserted and plundered of everything. Here they dismounted, Pierre lifting Ethel down and carrying her into the house. The cloak was removed, and, lighting a torch, its flickering blaze made visible a two-roomed dwelling, rude and damp in its tenantless condition. The inner room was doorless, and the outer door was thrown back and dilapidated. The floors were of earth trodden hard. There was a rude attempt at a fireplace in the first room; it was built entirely of rough, unhewn stone, whilst its huge, gaping chimney was such, that a man would have had no difficulty in ascending it. Into the inner room Pierre led, or dragged, Ethel; then he fetched a rough stone from the fireplace for her to sit upon.

"Now, fair one," said he, "this is rather a cold place to call home, but we'll soon make it a bit more comfortable. I can see no further advantage in lying in this matter—and I keep a conscience, and don't make a practice of lying for nothing—so I may as well tell you at once that my master admires that pretty face of yours. It is a weakness he has. The more fool he; for it spoils his chances of higher game. Well, that's a riddle you need not puzzle out. But my master is a knight renowned for valour, and for some other things not recommended by the worthy Order of Cistercians, or indeed any strict Orders of the pious gentry. That, of course, is neither here nor there. But my master, when he hears of your distress, is bound, I believe, by his oath, to succour you; and he is well able to do so. It is the highest wisdom on your part to be friends with him. But heigho! no more of that! A fig for doing another man's wooing; 'tis worse than carving for another's eating!"

Happily, much of this jargon was perfectly unintelligible to Ethel.

"Here, men," said he, turning to his comrades in the other room. "One of you must mount guard inside the house, and another outside. We will to camp, and return soon with both eatables and drinkables; so make the best of a bad bargain for a little while. Come, men, let us cut the tail off this business as quickly as we can." So saying, they mounted their horses, and, leading the disengaged ones, their forms were speedily lost in the darkness.

"My fingers itch most dreadfully to try the effect of a shaft upon the carcass of the big lubberly villain who leads the party," said Badger, raising his bow with the arrow directed towards the hazy forms disappearing in the night.

"Stay, Badger!" said Bretwul, laying his hand on him. "The game's in the net; don't rend it."

"Aye, aye. The fool acts on the thought as it is made, but the wise man when it is weighed. But as surely as the gallows nods when the rogue goes by, so his time will come!"

"Well, Badger, what is to be the next move? We must get to business whilst our chance lasts."

"Right, Bretwul. Well, we shall have to work round from the rear of the house, and we shall thus get close on them if we move stealthily. I doubt not but we can brain the one outside before he knows where he is; then, two to one is more than the other will be prepared for."

So saying, the pair stole to the rear of the house, and crept round by the gable, until Badger peered round the corner at the fellow on duty outside. Fortunately, he had his back to them, and was talking through the open door to his comrade within.

"Are you ready, Bretwul?" said Badger, in a whisper to his companion, who followed closely at his heels.

Bretwul made no reply, but brandished his Saxon broadsword aloft in token of his readiness. Then, with the agility of a panther, Badger sprang round the corner of the hovel, and, delivering a powerful blow with his cudgel upon the back of the Norman's head, he felled him in insensibility to the ground, whilst another spring quick as lightning landed him within grappling distance of the other Norman. He also, it is needless to say, was quite unprepared for any attack, and had barely time to spring to his feet and raise his arm to ward off Badger's first stroke, which sent him staggering against the wall; and Bretwul being in close attendance at that instant, with a sweep of his sword effectually cut short all further resistance. Then, returning to the door where the other soldier was lying prostrate, he quickly finished the work of revenge.

Meanwhile, Ethel from within witnessed the scuffling going on, but without comprehending in the least the import of it; she improved the opportunity for flight which the struggle afforded her, by bounding through the open door, and fled like a Will-o'-the-wisp across the open glade in a frantic effort to gain the shelter of the forest, whilst her rescuers followed full chase in her wake. Very quickly, however, Badger's nimble feet caught up to her; when, to her infinite relief, she discovered that they were faithful friends, who had risked much to free her from the custody of the brutal Norman troopers.

Whilst this was transpiring, Pierre and the remainder of his troop stumbled along through the darkness of the forest, all unconscious that their footsteps had been dogged, and their evil purposes frustrated, just when they thought they had been crowned with perfect success.

"This has been neatly done, men," said Pierre. "Now, I wonder what the Baron will do for us in the shape of reward!"

"Well, I guess none of our pouches will burst with gold pieces, Pierre. I expected better pay or more plunder when I took service, I promise you; but his scurvy humours are even worse than his pay. Why don't you take the lead? The whole company is ready for a new master."

"Hold hard a bit. There are others who are getting as tired of his humours as yourself; and if you hear the clash of steel between us you need not be very much surprised, for my temper is none of the smoothest, and he may play the bully some day until nothing will settle it but cold steel."

When they reached the camp, Pierre alone carried the news to his master. No sooner, however, had he put his head within the tent than he gave a grunt of infinite disgust as he set eyes upon the Baron; for he was far gone in his cups.

"Hilloa, Pierre! What now, you scowling villain! What has brought you?" he bawled, with drunken incoherency; but, drunk as he was, he had noticed Pierre's disgust.

"We have executed your order, Baron," Pierre replied.

"Executed my order? Who? What have they done?"

"The commission you gave me about the Saxon lady down at the monastery."

"The wench that all the pother's about?"

"Yes, the same."

"Ah, I remember. Have you got her, Pierre?"

"Yes, as snug as anybody could wish. Not a whisper has got abroad."

"Bravo, Pierre! You are a gentleman. Pierre, do you hear? You are a gentleman, or a thief, I don't care which," giving a drunken chuckle. "Drink, Pierre," said he, handing him a flagon of wine with a trembling hand.

Pierre took the goblet and drained it to the last drop.

Vigneau took it again, and looked into it for a moment with maudlin pensiveness, as though he could scarcely realise that it was really the bottom he gazed at. But the quarrelsome humour in him was never so rampant as when he was in his cups.

"There's a pint of good Rhenish gone, Pierre. Gone, too, into a stomach that must be about rotted out with Saxon ale by this time."

"Well, we'll bring them round with soothing draughts of Rhenish, master."

"Eh, dog? Not with mine, Pierre. With swill if you like, Pierre! Swill will do for a hog like you, Pierre! Eh! Do you hear me? Swill will do for you!" said the Baron, becoming quarrelsome with drunken excitement.

Fortunately, Pierre was sober, or matters would speedily have become serious. Checking the rising choler, he said—

"What is to be done with this Saxon—Ethel, as she is called?"

"What do you know about Ethel, eh? Have you got her, scurvy villain? I say, have you got her? Answer me that."

"I told you we had, not a minute since."

"Eh? Then speak civilly, varlet! Do you know who I am? D—— me, I allow thy tongue too much licence. I'll not have such impudence from a scurvy trooper as I've taken lately. I'll teach you I'm a gentleman. Now mark me, Pierre. Keep a civil distance. I'll not have it," and he began fumbling for the hilt of his sword.

"Pshaw!" said Pierre, assuming both a look and a tone of disgust.

"Eh, churl, what now?" roared Vigneau, in a towering rage, with great effort staggering to his feet, and after prolonged exertion getting out his sword, and lunging furiously at Pierre. But the act was too much for him. Lurching head foremost, the sword's point came ignominiously to the ground with his weight upon it, to prevent his falling flat. The result was, his great weight forced it a foot into the ground, from which his utmost efforts failed to extricate it, Pierre, meanwhile, vanishing from the tent with a horse-laugh. Vigneau dropped into his seat and stared vacantly at the point where Pierre had vanished, then at the sword standing upright in the ground. But his efforts to recall what it was all about were a total failure. Slowly his bleared eyes closed, and soon after he slid from his seat to the ground, to sleep off the effects of the night's debauch.

"The Baron is drunk and quarrelsome as usual to-night," said Pierre to his comrades, as he issued from the tent. "Nothing can be done with him till morning, and if he be not in a pleasanter humour in the morning, and come down handsome for us, you will have to be led by another, I trow. Well, we'll finish the business we have begun. Let us take victuals and a few other things down yonder. It will be a little more like a habitation, and not so like a sty."