Cries as of men and dogs came across the waste.

"They are the demons of the pit, who would lead us into the quagmires."

"They sound like human voices."

"Come what will, if hard frost will but freeze the ground, we will search the place," said the baron. "Come, my men, we can do no more; let us return--it is near nightfall."

This welcome order was obeyed by all the Normans with the greatest alacrity, for they dreaded the approach of night, and the terrors of the forest, which had already proved so fatal to their companions.

No further mishap befell them; weary and footsore they reached the castle, but the heaviest heart amongst them was that of Hugo.

CHAPTER XI. ALIVE--OR DEAD?

The reader will remember that we left Etienne of Aescendune c.u.m Malville and his band in a most critical moment--lost in a wilderness full of enemies of unknown number and uncertain position; but with a gleam of comfort in the shape of a light which had arisen out of the gloom before them.

"It is one of the rascals carrying a torch. Let loose the dogs; if they but seize him, we can extort the whole truth; then we shall know what to do."

Ralph immediately slipped the older and fiercer hound, and tried to set him on the destined prey; but to his astonishment the beast bounded forward but a few yards, then returned with its tail between its legs and whined piteously.

"Are we all bewitched?" exclaimed Etienne.

"Witches and warlocks are said to abound in these woods, and many other works of Satan also."

"The light goes steadily onwards: it is a man carrying a torch; let us follow him up."

They followed rapidly, the torch going smoothly on before them, when all at once the whole party fell into a miry slough up to their waists.

The deceitful light danced about in a joyous manner, as if it were mocking them, and then went out and left them all in utter darkness, struggling vainly in the mud and slime.

"Where are we?" said Pierre, piteously.

"In the Dismal Swamp," said Ralph.

"Amongst toads and snakes," cried another.

At this moment half-a-dozen lights appeared in various directions.

"Good heavens, the place is alive with marsh fires."

"They are what the English call Jack-o'-lanterns."

"They are ignes fatui," said Pierre.

"They are the souls of unbaptized babies," said Ralph. "Let us try to return to the firm ground we have left."

More easily said than done. Our unfortunate Normans struggled vainly in the darkness and in the mire, uttering piteous exclamations--cold and frozen, and mocked ever and anon by some blazing light. Many a vow did they make to our Lady of Sorrows, and to St. Erroutt, St. Gervaise, St. Denys, and every other Norman saint, till somebody suggested that the English saints might know more about the mora.s.s, and they condescended to appeal to St. Chad (mighty in those parts), beseeching his help in their distress.

Suddenly a piercing cry told that one was being swallowed up in some quicksand; but they could give no aid, and only shudder in helplessness.

At that moment Etienne caught hold of the loose leash by which one of the dogs was secured.

"Let us follow the dogs," he said; "they always scent out firm ground."

There was now, happily for them, more light; it had long since ceased to snow, and the stars came out brightly.

"See," said Pierre, "the moon is rising; we shall have it quite light soon."

"Would it had risen earlier," croaked Ralph.

The dogs, their noses to the ground, went on bravely, winding in and out between quagmire and rotting herbage. Had the light been brighter, our Normans would have perceived the impressions of numerous footmarks of men on the path they were taking--the dogs were at last on the scent they had sought all day, whether for weal or for woe.

At length the path suddenly ascended a bank, and the light through the tree tops showed that they were approaching a clearing.

They ascended cautiously, and from the summit of the short ascent looked out upon an elevated tableland in the midst of the mora.s.s.

Before them, encircled by a little brook, which shortly afterwards swelled the waters of the mora.s.s, stood a large rustic dwelling, overgrown with ivy; and not far distant rose many houses or huts--in fact, to their no small amazement, they beheld a village, and one, too, that no individual amongst them had ever seen or heard of before.

"'Tis the very nest of vipers we have sought all day," said Etienne.

"And have found to our undoing," lamented Ralph.

"See, there is light behind that shutter, I will creep up and look in," said Etienne; "rest you all here."

There was no gla.s.s in common use in those days, and, save when horn was employed, people--the poor at least--had to choose, even in the daytime, between darkness and warmth; for when they let in the light, they let in the weather.

Looking through the c.h.i.n.ks in the shutters, Etienne gazed inside.

It was the farmhouse occupied by a former lord, Elfwyn of Aescendune, during the Danish invasions, as recorded in a former Chronicle, and was larger and more commodious than usual in those days. There were several smaller houses, or rather huts, around; but if they had inmates, they were all silent--perhaps asleep, for the hour was late.

Beside a fire, kindled beneath a large open chimney, such as were then in use in the bettermost houses--for the poor were content with a hole in the roof--sat a youth of some sixteen years of age, busily attending to a large pot over the fire, from which, from time to time, savoury fumes ascended, the odour of which gladdened even the olfactory organs of our young Norman aristocrat.

Etienne knew him: it was Eadwin, the son of Wilfred's old nurse, for whom he had an ancient grudge, which he at once resolved to gratify.

He summoned Ralph and the rest who had escaped the mora.s.s--they were only ten in number, the others had succ.u.mbed to the horrors of that fearful night.

Yet even so, the impulses of pride and cruelty were not subdued in the heart of Etienne, son of Hugo.

"The English robbers have left their haunt for a time; doubtless they were the fellows who pa.s.sed us in the forest, and there is but one boy left in charge, of whom I know something; we will seize him and learn the truth."

"Suppose they come back while we tarry here?"

"We will set a watch to warn us in good time."

Etienne stepped lightly to the door; it was actually unbarred, so secure did the English feel in this. .h.i.therto inaccessible retreat, and his hand was on the shoulder of his intended victim before he had taken the alarm. He turned round and started violently as he recognised his ancient enemies, then made a vain attempt to gain the door, which was immediately and easily frustrated.

"Nay, thou young oaf, thou canst not escape. Dost thou not know thy own lords? Thou art a runaway thrall, and thy life is forfeited; but if thou wilt but use thy tongue, thou mayest perchance save it and escape lightly. Tell me--Who are the people who live here? Who is their leader? How many there be? Where they are now?"