A number of figures showed black about a fire that had been lit in the center of the roofless hall. John Falconer was there, sullen2, heavy-eyed—a man who found no pleasure in looking at his own thoughts; also Sir Gregory, skull-faced and ominous3, with blue eyes that stared. A hot posset was going around in a big tankard. These gentlemen had but little to say to one another; they were waiting; the case had been heard, and judgment4 given.
The man who had gone a-spying up the tower came and stood before Sir Gregory.
“The priest is not this side of the door, lording.”
John Falconer’s sullen eyes seemed to catch the light of the fire.
“You lie!”
“See for yourself, Master Falconer. What’s more, he is asleep across the door, for I could hear a sound of breathing.”
A grim laugh went around the fire. Ironical5 looks were thrown at Falconer, who was frowning and biting his beard.
Sir Gregory spoke6.
“Such insolence7 must be chastened; we must be rid of this bastard8. Hallo, there! Axes for the breaking of a door.”
A little man with a sallow face and bright black eyes stood forward.
“The room has a window, sir.”
“Well?”
“Breaking the door is a clumsy device, and this Valliant is desperate strong. Why not use the window, gentlemen, and crawl in upon him while he is asleep?”
“Most excellent! But will God give us a ladder twenty feet long?”
“There is no need for a ladder. Strain a stout9 rope over the battlement so that it runs in front of the window, and men can slide down the rope.”
“Well thought of.”
John Falconer appeared to rouse himself from a sort of stupor10.
“Wait, gentlemen. Let no violence be done this man. He has served us, and will suffer for it.”
“What would you, John Falconer?”
“Let him be taken, mastered, stripped of his harness and his arms, and turned out into the woods. His blood should not be upon our hands.”
“Plausible11, very plausible!”
“I stand for that—or nothing.”
Sir Gregory chuckled12.
“By my soul, such a punishment is better than blows. There is a certain subtlety13 about it. I put my seal to the document. Some one fetch the rope.”
The work was done noiselessly by men who crept about on bare feet, and without as much as a whisper. John Falconer and a dozen of his own fellows were ready on the stairs. Four men were to slide down the rope, enter by the window, and while three of them fell upon Martin Valliant, the fourth was to unbar the door.
Nature willed it that Mellis and her man should sleep heavily that night, solaced14 by the innocent sweetness of being so near each other, so full of a happy faith in their great love. They slept like children, Mellis on her bed, Martin lying across the door, his arms folded, his naked sword beside him.
He woke to a cry from Mellis.
“Martin—Martin! Guard yourself!”
The last man to enter by the window had slipped on the sill, and blundered against the man in front of him; and Mellis, opening her eyes, had seen him outlined dimly against the window.
Her warning came too late. The fellows had thrown themselves on Martin before he could rise, and had dragged him from the door. One of them pulled out the bar, and threw the door open.
He shouted to those on the stairs, and Falconer’s voice took up the cry.
“Torches—torches! Forward! Up with you, and follow me.”
Mellis had slipped out of bed and was trying to find the sword that Martin had brought her out of the vault15. She could hear men struggling in the room, but the light was too dim for her to see what was passing. A horror of helplessness seized her; she shrank back against the wall, with her hands pressed to her ears.
“Help, there—help!”
Martin had broken free and was on his feet. One man lay writhing16 with a bone in his throat broken; another had been thrown against the wall and stunned17. Martin had another fellow lying bent18 across his knees and was choking him, while the fourth man clung to his feet.
Then Falconer and his torches came up the stairs; the doorway19 filled with smoke and glare and steel.
A sudden palsy seemed to strike all the players in that tragedy. Valliant let go of the man whom he was throttling20, while the fellow who had been clinging to Martin’s ankles squirmed away toward the door. Martin stood motionless, like a wrestler21 touched by
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