Here before you stands Sir Gaston de Brocas, offering you place in his service if ye will but swear to him that allegiance he has the right to claim. The offer is made in clemency and mercy, because he would not that any should perish in futile resistance. Men, ye know that he comes to this place with the King's mandate that Saut be given up to him. If it be not peaceably surrendered, what think ye will happen next?

"I will tell you. Ye have heard of the Prince of Wales, son of the Roy Outremer; doubtless even to these walls has come the news of that triumphal march of his, where cities have surrendered or ransomed themselves to him, and nothing has been able to stay the might of his conquering arm. That n.o.ble Prince and valiant soldier is now not far away. We have come from his presence, and are here with his knowledge and sanction. If we win you over, and gain peaceable possession of these walls, good; no harm will befall any living creature within them. But if ye prove obdurate; if ye will not listen to the voice of reason; if ye still hold with rebellious defiance to the lord ye have served, and who has shown himself so little worthy of your service, then will the Prince and his warriors come with all their wrath and might to inflict chastis.e.m.e.nt upon you, and take vengeance upon you, as enemies of the King.

"Say, men, how can ye hope to resist the might of the Prince's arm? Say, which will ye do -- be the free servants of Gaston de Brocas, or die like rats in a hole for the sake of yon wicked madman, whose slaves ye have long been? Which shall it be -- a De Brocas or a Navailles?"

Something in this last appeal stirred the hearts of the men. It seemed as though a veil were torn from their eyes. They seemed to see all in a moment the hopelessness of their position as va.s.sals of Navailles, and the folly of attempting resistance to one so infinitely more worthy to be called their lord. It was no stranger coming amongst them -- it was one of the ancient lords of the soil; and the sight of the youthful knight, sitting there on his fine horse, with his fair lady beside him, was enough to stir the pulses and awaken the enthusiasm of an ardent race, even though the n.o.bler instincts had been long sleeping in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of these men. They hated and distrusted their old lord with a hatred he had well merited; and degraded as they had become in his service, they had not yet sunk so low but that they could feel with the keenness of instinct, rather than by any reasoning powers they possessed, that this young knight was a man to be trusted and be loved -- that if they became his va.s.sals they would receive vastly different treatment from any they had received from the Sieur de Navailles.

There was one long minute's pause, whilst looks and whispered words were exchanged, and then a shout arose:

"De Brocas! De Brocas! We will live and die the servants of De Brocas!"

whilst at the same moment the drawbridge slowly descended, and Gaston, at the head of his gallant little band, with Raymond and Constanza at his side, rode proudly over the sounding planks, and found himself, for the first time in his life, in the courtyard of the Castle of Saut.

"De Brocas! De Brocas!" shouted the men, all doubt and hesitation done away with in a moment at sight of the gallant show thus made, enthusiasm kindling in every breast as the sweet lady rained smiles and gracious words upon the rough men, who had always had a soft spot in their heart for her; whilst Raymond's earnest eyes and Gaston's courtly and chivalrous bearing were not without effect upon the ruder natures of these lonely residents of Saut. It seemed to them as though they had been invaded by some denizens from another world, and murmurs of wonder and reverent admiration mingled with the cheering with which Gaston de Brocas was received as Lord of Saut.

But there was still one more person to be faced. The men had accepted the sovereignty of a new lord, and were already rejoicing in the escape from the dreaded tyranny they had not had the resolution to shake off unprompted; but there was still the Sieur de Navailles to be dealt with, and impotent as he might be in the desertion of his old followers, it was necessary to see and speak with him, and decide what must be done with the man who was believed by those about him to be little better than a raging maniac.

"Where is your master?" asked Gaston of the old seneschal, who stood at his bridle rein, his eyes wandering from his face to that of Raymond and Constanza and back again; "I marvel that this tumult has not brought him forth."

"The walls are thick," replied the old man, "and he lives for days together in a world of his own, no sound or sight from without penetrating his understanding. Then again he will awaken from his dream, and show us that he has heard and seen far more than we have thought.

And if any man amongst us has dropped words that have incensed him -- well, there have been men who have disappeared from amongst us and have never been seen more; and tales are whispered of horrid cries and groans that have issued as from the very bowels of the earth each time following their spiriting away."

Constanza shuddered, and a black frown crossed Gaston's face as he gave one quick glance at his brother, who had so nearly shared that mysterious and terrible doom.

"The man is a veritable fiend. He merits scant mercy at our hands. He has black crimes upon his soul. Seneschal, lead on. Take us to him ye once owned as sovereign lord. I trow ye will none of you lament the day ye transferred your allegiance from yon miscreant to Gaston de Brocas!"

Another cheer, heartier than the last, broke from the lips of all the men. They had been joined now by their comrades within the Castle, and in the sense of freedom from the hateful tyranny of their old master all were rejoicing and filled with enthusiasm.

For once they were free from all fear of treachery. Gaston's own picked band of stalwart veterans was guarantee enough that might as well as right was on the side of the De Brocas. The sight of those well-equipped men-at-arms, all loyal and full of affectionate enthusiasm for their youthful lord, showed these rude retainers how greatly to their advantage would be this change of masters; and before Gaston had dismounted and walked across the courtyard towards the portal of the Castle, he felt, with a swelling of the heart that Raymond well understood, that Saut was indeed his own.

"This is the way to the Sieur de Navailles," said the old seneschal, as they pa.s.sed beneath the frowning doorway into a vaulted stone hall. "He spends whole days and nights pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage. He scarce leaves the hall, save when he wanders forth into the forest, and that has not happened since the cold winds have blown hard.

You will find him within those doors, good gentlemen. Shall I make known your presence to him?"

It was plain that the old man had no small fear of his master, and would gladly be spared this office. Gaston looked round to see that some of his own followers were close behind and on the alert, and then taking Constanza's hand in his, and laying his right hand upon the hilt of his sword, he signed to the seneschal to throw open the ma.s.sive oaken doors, and walked fearlessly in with Raymond at his side.

They found themselves in the ancient banqueting hall of the fortress -- a long, lofty, rather narrow room, with a heavily-raftered ceiling, two huge fireplaces, one at either end, and a row of very narrow windows cut in the great thickness of the wall occupying almost the whole of one side of the place; whilst a long table was placed against the opposite wall, with benches beside it, and another smaller table was placed upon a small raised dais at the far end of the apartment. On this dais was also set a heavy oaken chair, close beside the glowing hearth; and at this moment it was plain that the occupant of the chair had been disturbed by the commotion from without, and had suddenly risen to his feet, for he stood grasping the oaken arms, his wild gray hair hanging in matted ma.s.ses about his seamed and wrinkled face, and his hollow eyes, in which a fierce light blazed, turned upon the intruders in a glare of impotent fury.

"Who are ye who thus dare to intrude upon me here? What is all this tumult I hear in mine own halls?

"Seneschal, art thou there? Send hither to me my soldiers; bid them bind these men, and carry them to the dungeons. I will see them there. Ha, ha! I will talk with them there. I will deal with them there. What ho!

Send me the jailer and his a.s.sistants! Let them light the fires and heat hot the irons. Let them prepare our welcome for guests to Saut. Ha, ha!

Ho, ho! These brave gallants shall taste our hospitality. Who brought them in? Where were they found? Methinks they will prove a rich booty.

Would that good Peter Sanghurst were here to help me in the task of entertaining these new guests!"

The man was a raving lunatic; that was plain to the most inexperienced eye from the first moment. He knew not his own niece, he knew not the De Brocas brothers, though Raymond's face must have been familiar to him had he been in his right senses. He was still in fancy the undisputed lord of these wide lands, scouring the country for English travellers or prisoners of meaner mould; acting here in Gascony much the same part as the Sanghursts had more cautiously done in England, and as the Barons of both France and England had long done, though their day of irresponsible and autocratic power was well-nigh at an end.

He glared upon the brothers and their attendants with savage fury, still calling out to his men to carry them to the dungeons, still believing them to be a band of travellers taken prisoners by his own orders, raving and raging in his impotent fury till the gust of pa.s.sion had worn itself out, and in a sullen amaze he sank into his seat, still gazing out from under his s.h.a.ggy brows at the intruders, but the pa.s.sion and fury for a moment at an end.

"He will understand better what you say to him now, Sir Knight,"

whispered the old seneschal, who alone of the men belonging to the Castle dared to enter the hall where their maniac master was. "His mind comes back to him sometimes after he has raved himself quiet. We dread his sullen moods almost more than his wild ones.

"Have a care how you approach him. He is as cunning as a fox, and as crafty as he is cruel. He always has some weapon beneath his robe. Have a care, I say, how you approach him."

Gaston nodded, but he was too fearless by nature to pay much heed to the warning; he felt himself more than a match for that bowed-down old man.

Giving Constanza into Raymond's charge, he stepped boldly up to the dais, and doffing his headpiece, addressed himself to his adversary in firm though courteous accents.

"My Lord of Navailles," he said, "I am come to claim mine own. If thou knowest me not, I will tell thee who I am -- Gaston de Brocas, the Lord of Saut in mine own right, and by the mandate of the King which I hold in mine hand. Long hast thou held lands to which thou hadst no right, but the day has come when I claim mine own again, and am prepared to do battle for it to the death. But here is no battle needed. Thine own men have called me lord; they have obeyed the mandate of the King, and have opened their gates to me. I stand here the Lord of Saut. Thy power and thy reign are over for ever. Grossly hast thou abused that power when it was thine. Now, like all tyrants, thou art finding that thy servants fall away in the hour of peril, and that thou, who hast been a cruel master, canst command no service from them in the time of need. I, and I alone, am Lord of Saut. Hast thou aught to say ere thou yieldest dominion to me?"

Did he understand? Those standing round and breathlessly watching the curious scene could scarce be sure; but there was a look of comprehension and of intense baffled rage and malice in those cavernous eyes that sent a shiver through Constanza's light frame.

"Have a care, Gaston; have a care!" she cried, with sudden shrillness, as she saw a quick movement of those knotted sinewy hands beneath the coa.r.s.e robe the old man wore; and in another moment both she and Raymond had sprung forward, for there was a flash of keen steel, and the madman had flung himself upon Gaston with inconceivable rapidity of motion.

For a moment there was a hideous scuffle. Blood was flowing, they knew not whose. Gaston acted solely on the defensive. He would not raise his hand against one who was old and lunatic, and near in blood to her whom he held dear; but he wrestled valiantly in the iron grip of arms stronger than his own, and he felt that some struggle was going on above him, though for the moment his own breath seemed suspended, and his very life pressed out of him.

Then came a sudden sense of release. His enemy had relaxed his bear-like clasp. Gaston sprang to his feet to see his enemy falling backwards in a helpless collapse, the hilt of a dagger clasped between his knotted hands -- the sharp blade buried in his own heart.

"He has killed himself!" cried Constanza, with eyes dilated with horror, as she sprang to Gaston's side. It had all been so quick that it was hard to tell what had befallen in those few seconds of life-and-death struggle. Gaston was bleeding from a slight flesh wound in the arm, but that was the only hurt he had received; whilst his foe --

"He strove to plunge the dagger in thy breast, Gaston," said Raymond, who was supporting the head of the dying man; "and failing that, he thought to smother thee in his bear-like clasp, that has crushed the life out of enemies before now, as we have ofttimes heard. When he felt other foes around him unloosing that clasp, and knew himself balked of his purpose, he clutched the weapon thou hadst dashed from his hand and buried it in his own body. As he has lived, so has he died -- defiant to the very end. But the madness-cloud may have hung long upon his spirit.

Perchance some of the worst of his crimes may not be laid to his charge."

As Raymond spoke, the dying man opened his eyes, and fixed them upon the face bending over him. The light of sullen defiance which had shone there but a few short moments ago changed to something strange and new as he met the calm, compa.s.sionate glance of those expressive eyes now fixed upon him. He seemed to give a slight start, and to strive to draw himself away.

"Thou here!" he gasped -- "thou! Hast thou indeed come from the spirit world to mock me in my last moments? I know thee now, Raymond de Brocas!

I have seen thee before -- thou knowest how and where. Methinks the very angels of heaven must have spirited thee away. Why art thou here now?"

"To bid thee ask forgiveness for thy sins with thy dying breath,"

answered Raymond, gently yet firmly; "to bid thee turn thy thoughts for one last moment towards thy Saviour, and though thou hast scorned and rebelled against Him in life, to ask His pardoning mercy in death. He has pardoned a dying miscreant ere now. Wilt thou not take upon thy lips that dying thief's pet.i.tion, and cry 'Lord, remember me;' or this prayer, 'Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner'?"

A gray shadow was creeping over the rugged face, the lips seemed to move, but no words came forth. There was no priest at hand to listen to a dying confession, or to p.r.o.nounce a priestly absolution, and yet Raymond had spoken as if there might yet be mercy for an erring, sin-stained soul, if it would but turn in its last agony to the Crucified One -- the Saviour crucified for the sins of the whole world.

It must be remembered that there was less of priestcraft -- less of what we now call popery -- in those earlier days than there came to be later on; and the springs of truth, though somewhat tainted, were not poisoned, as it were, at the very source, as they afterwards became.

Something of the purity of primitive times lingered in the minds of men, and here and there were always found pure spirits upon whom the errors of man obtained no hold -- spirits that seemed to rise superior to their surroundings, and hold communion direct with heaven itself. Such a nature and such a mind was Raymond's; and his clear, intense faith had been strengthened and quickened by the vicissitudes through which he had pa.s.sed. He did not hesitate to point the dying soul straight to the Saviour Himself, without mediation from the Blessed Virgin or the Holy Saints. Love and revere these he might and did; but in the presence of that mighty power of death, in that hour when flesh and heart do fail, he felt as he had felt when he believed his own soul was to be called away -- when it seemed as though no power could avail to save him from a fearful fate -- that to G.o.d alone must the cry of the suffering soul be raised; that into the Saviour's hands alone could the departing soul be committed. He did not speak to others of these thoughts -- thoughts which in later days came to be branded with the dreaded name of "heresy"

-- but he held them none the less surely in the depths of his own spirit; and now, when all but he would have stood aside with pitiful helplessness, certain that nothing could be done for the dying man in absence of a priest, Raymond strove to lead his thoughts upwards, that though his life had been black and evil, he might still die with his face turned G.o.dwards, with a cry for mercy on his lips.

Nor was this hope in vain; for at the last the old man raised himself with a strength none believed him to possess, and raising his hand he clasped that of Raymond, and said:

"Raymond de Brocas, I strove to compa.s.s thy death, and thou hast come to me in mine hour of need, and spoken words of hope. If thou canst forgive -- thou so cruelly treated, so vilely betrayed -- it may be that the Saviour, whose servant thou art, can forgive yet greater crimes.

"Christ have mercy upon me! Lord have mercy upon me! Christ have mercy upon me! My worldly possessions are fled: let them go; they are in good hands. May Christ pardon my sins, and receive me at last to Himself!"

He looked earnestly at Raymond, who understood him, and whispered the last prayers of the Church in his ear. A look of calm and peace fell upon that wild and rugged face; and drawing one sigh, and slightly turning himself towards his former foe, the old ruler of Saut fell asleep, and died with the two De Brocas brothers standing beside him.

CHAPTER x.x.xII. ON THE FIELD OF POITIERS.

The face of the Prince was dark and grave. He had posted his gallant little army in the strongest position the country afforded; but his men were ill-fed, and though brave as lions and eager for the battle, were but a handful of troops compared with the vast French host opposed to them.