But on went the friar--his torch lighting the way--down and ever down until they trod a narrow way 'twixt reeking walls, where breathed an air so close and foul the very torch languished. At length the friar stopped before a mighty door, thick-banded with iron bars and with ma.s.sy bolts, and while Beltane held the torch, he fitted key to lock and thereafter the great door swung on screaming hinge and showed a dungeon beyond--a place foul and noisome, where divers pale-faced wretches lay or crouched, blinking in the torch's glare.

"What?" cried one, coming to his feet, a squat broad-shouldered man-- "be this the dawn so soon? Well, we be ready, better to hang i' the clean air than rot in a dungeon, say I. So we be ready, eh, my brothers?"

But now, some groaned and wept and others laughed, while yet others got them to their knees, bowed of head and silent. Then went in the friar to them and laid his hands upon the squat man's shoulder and spake him gently.

"And is it Osric," said he. "Day is not yet, my son, nor with the day shalt thou die nor any here, an ye be silent all and follow where we lead, soft-footed, so will we bring you to G.o.d's good world again.

Rise, then, each one, speak nothing, but follow!"

So then did these men, s.n.a.t.c.hed of a sudden from the horror of death to the hope of new life, follow on stumbling feet, out from the noisome gloom of the dungeon, out from the clammy air breathing of death, up the narrow winding stair; and with each step came strength and manhood.

Thus as they strode forth of the frowning keep, each man bore sword or gisarm. So, with breath in cheek, but hearts high-beating, they came one and all, to where the slimy stair led down into the gloom. Yet here Friar Martin paused, sighing, to look behind, whence rose the distant hum of those thronging townsfolk who yet crowded wall and street and market square to watch the gallows burn.

"Now sweet Christ shield ye, good people of Belsaye!" he sighed.

"What mean ye, my brother?" questioned Beltane.

"Alas! my son," groaned the friar, "I needs must think upon the coming day and of the vengeance of Sir Gui for this our work!"

"His vengeance, friar?"

"There will be torture and death busy hereabouts tomorrow, my son, for, the prisoners being gone, so will Sir Gui vent his anger on the townsfolk--'tis ever his custom--"

"Ha!" quoth my Beltane, knitting his brows, "I had not thought on this!"--and with the word, he turned him back, drawing on his hood of mail.

"Come, lord," whispered Black Roger in his ear, "let us be going while yet we may."

"Aye, come, my son," spake the friar, low-voiced. "Tarry not, Belsaye is in the hand of G.o.d! Nay, what would you?"

"I must go back," said Beltane, loosening sword in scabbard, "for needs must I this night have word with Gui of Allerdale."

"Nay," whispered the friar, with pleading hand on Beltane's arm, "'tis thing impossible--"

"Yet must I try, good brother--"

"Ah, dear my son, 'twill be thy death--"

"Why look you, gentle friar, I am in Belsaye, and Belsaye 'is in the hand of G.o.d!' So fear not for me, but go you all and wait for me beyond the river. And, if I come not within the hour, then press on with speed for Thrasfordham within Bourne, and say to Sir Benedict that, while _he_ liveth to draw sword, so is there hope for Pentavalon. But now-- quick!--where lodgeth Sir Gui?"

"Within the keep--there is a stair doth mount within the thickness of the wall--nay, I will be thy guide if go indeed thou must--"

"Not so, good friar, be it thy duty to lead these prisoners to freedom and to safety within Bourne."

"Then will I come," whispered Roger hoa.r.s.e and eager, as the friar turned slow-footed to follow the others adown the slippery stair, "beseech thee, lord, thy man am I, twice sworn to thee till death, so suffer me beside thee."

"Nay," said Beltane, "Pentavalon's need of thee is greater e'en than mine, therefore will I adventure this thing alone. Go you with the friar, my Roger, and so farewell to each."

"G.o.d keep thee, n.o.ble son!" whispered the friar, his hand upraised in blessing: but Roger stood, chin on breast and spake no word.

Then Beltane turned him and sped away, soft-treading in the shadow of the great keep.

The waning moon cast shadows black and long, and in these shadows Beltane crept and so, betimes, came within the outer guard-room and to the room beyond; and here beheld a low-arched doorway whence steps led upward,--a narrow stair, gloomy and winding, whose velvet blackness was stabbed here and there by moonlight, flooding through some deep-set arrow-slit. Up he went, and up, pausing once with breath in check, fancying he heard the stealthy sound of one who climbed behind him in the black void below; thus stayed he a moment, with eyes that strove to pierce the gloom, and with naked dagger clenched to smite, yet heard nought, save the faint whisper of his own mail, and the soft tap of his long scabbard against the wall; wherefore he presently sped on again, climbing swiftly up the narrow stair. Thus, in a while, he beheld a door above: a small door, yet stout and strong, a door that stood ajar, whence came a beam of yellow light.

So, with sure and steady hand, Beltane set wide the door, that creaked faintly in the stillness, and beheld a small, square chamber where was a narrow window, and, in this window, a mail-clad man lolled, his unhelmed head thrust far without, to watch the glow that leapt against the northern sky.

Then Beltane sheathed his dagger and, in three long strides was close behind, and, stooping above the man, sought and found his hairy throat, and swung him, mighty-armed, that his head struck the wall; then Beltane, sighing, laid him upon the floor and turned toward a certain arras-hung arch: but, or ever his hand came upon this curtain, from beyond a voice hailed--a voice soft and musical.

"Hugo--O Hugo, sp.a.w.n of h.e.l.l, hither to me!"

Then Beltane, lifting the curtain, opened the door and, striding into the chamber beyond, closed and barred the door behind him, and so stood, tall and menacing, looking on one who sat at a table busied with pen and ink-horn. A slender man this, and richly habited: a sleepy-eyed man, pale of cheek, with long, down-curving nose, and mouth thin-lipped and masterful, who, presently lifting his head, stared up in amaze, sleepy-eyed no longer: for now, beholding Beltane the mighty, sheathed in mail from head to foot, the pen dropped from his fingers and his long pale hands slowly clenched themselves.

So, for a s.p.a.ce, they fronted each other, speaking not, while eye met eye unswerving--the menacing blue and the challenging black, and, through the open cas.e.m.e.nt near by came a ruddy glow that flickered on arras-hung wall and rugged roof-beam. Now raising his hand, Beltane pointed toward this glowing window.

"Sir Gui," quoth he, "Lord Seneschal of Belsaye town, thou hast good eyes--look now, and tell me what ye see."

"I see," said Sir Gui, stirring not, "I see a presumptuous knave--a dog who shall be flung headlong from the turret. Ha! Hugo!" he called, his black eyes yet unswerving, "O Hugo, son of the fiend, hither to me!"

"Trouble not, my lord," quoth Beltane gently, "behold, the door is barred: moreover, Hugo lieth without--pray G.o.d I have not killed him.

But, as for thee--look yonder, use thine eyes and speak me what thou dost see."

But Sir Gui sat on, his thin lips upcurling to a smile, his black eyes unswerving: wherefore came Beltane and seized him in fierce hands and plucked him to his feet and so brought him to the window.

"Ha!" he cried, "look now and tell me what ye see. Speak! speak--for, G.o.d help me! now am I minded to kill thee here and now, unarmed though ye be, and cast thy carrion to the dogs--speak!"

Now, beholding the mail-clad face above him, the blue eyes aflame, the pale lips tight-drawn, Sir Gui, Seneschal of Belsaye, spake soft-voiced on this wise:

"I see my lord Duke's gallows go up in flame--wherefore men shall die!"

"Aye," sighed Beltane, "said I not thine eyes were good, Lord Seneschal? Now, use thine ears--hearken! 'Twas I and five others, men from beyond the marches, fired this night Black Ivo's gibbet, moreover, to-night also have we broke the dungeon that lieth beneath this thy keep, and set thy prisoners free--I and these five, all men from the north, mark me this well! This have we done for a sign and portent--ha!

look!" and Beltane pointed of a sudden to where the great gallows, outlined against the night in seething flame, swayed to and fro, crumbled, and crashed to earth 'mid whirling sparks and flame, while, from the town below rose a murmur that swelled and swelled to a shout, and so was gone.

"Behold, lord Seneschal, Black Ivo's gallows to-night hath ceased to be: here is a sign, let those heed it that will. But for thee--this!

To-night have I burned this gallows, to-night have I freed thy prisoners. Upon me therefore, and only me, be the penalty; for--mark me this, Seneschal!--spill but one drop of blood of these innocents of Belsaye, and, as G.o.d seeth me, so will I hunt thee down, and take thee and tear out thine eyes, and cut off thine hands, and drive thee forth to starve! And this do I swear by the honour of my father, Beltane the Strong, Duke of Pentavalon!"

But now, even as Sir Gui shrank back before the death in Beltane's look, amazed beyond all thought by his words, came a sudden shout, and thereafter a clash and ring of steel upon the stair without. And now, above the sudden din, hoa.r.s.e and loud a battle-cry arose, at the sound of which Sir Gui's jaws hung agape, and he stood as one that doubts his ears; for 'twas a cry he had heard aforetime, long ago.

"Arise! Arise! I will arise!"

Then Beltane cast up the bar, and, plucking wide the door, beheld the broad, mail-clad back of one who held the narrow stair where flashed pike and gisarm.

"Roger!" he called, "Black Roger!"

"Aye, lord, 'tis I," cried Roger, parrying a pike-thrust, "make sure of thy work, master, I can hold these in check yet a while."

"My work is done, Roger. To me--to me, I say!"

So Roger, leaping back from the stair-head, turned about and ran to Beltane, stumbling and spattering blood as he came, whereupon Beltane clapped-to the door and barred it in the face of the pursuit. A while leaned Roger, panting, against the wall, then, beholding Sir Gui:

"How!" he cried, "lives the pale fox yet? Methought thy work was done, master!" So saying, he swung aloft his b.l.o.o.d.y sword, but, even as the Seneschal waited the blow, smiling of lip, Beltane caught Black Roger's wrist.

"Stay!" cried he, above the thunder of blows that shook the door, "would'st slay a man unarmed?"