'Well spoken, old Simon Silverlocks,' said Gaston, entering. 'I doubt where you would find another such within the wide realm of France.'
'He is brave enough, that no man doubts,' answered Simon, 'but somewhat of the strictest, especially considering his years. Sir Reginald was nothing to him.'
'Was it not time to be strict when there was such a nest of treachery within the Castle?' said Gaston. 'We knew that murderous miscreant of a Basque, and had we not kept well on our guard against him, you, Master Simon, would long since have been hanging as high from Montfort's tower as I trust soon to see him.'
'But how knew you him, Master d'Aubricour? that is the question,' said old Simon with a very solemn face of awe.
'How? why by means of somewhat sharper eyes than you seem to possess. I have no time to bandy words-all I come to ask is, will you do the duty of honest men or not? If not, away with you, and I and the Knight will abide here till it pleases Messire Oliver, the butcher, to practice his trade on us. I remember, if some of the Lances of Lynwood do not, a certain camp at Valladolid, when some of us might have been ill off had he not stood by our beds of sickness; nor will I easily desert that pennon which was so gallantly made a banner.'
These were remembrances to stir the hearts of the ancient Lances of Lynwood, and there was a cry among them of, 'We will never turn our backs on it! Lynwood for ever!'
'Right, mine old comrades. Our walls are strong; our hearts are stronger; three days, and aid must come from Bordeaux. The traitors are captives, and we know to whom to trust; for ye, of English birth, and ye, my countrymen, who made in so boldly to the rescue, ye will not fail at this pinch, and see a brave and noble Knight yielded to a pack of cowardly murderers.'
'Never! never! We will stand by him to the last drop of our blood,' they replied; for the sight of the brave wounded Knight, as well as the example of Gaston's earnestness and devotion, had had a powerful effect, and they unanimously joined the Squire in a solemn pledge to defend both Castle and Knight to the last extremity.
'Then up with the good old banner!' said Gaston, 'and let us give Messire Oliver such a reception as he will be little prepared for.' He then gave some hasty directions, appointed old Silverlocks, a skilled and tried warrior, to take the place of Seneschal for the time, and to superintend the arrangements; and sending two men to guard the entrance of Montfort's tower, where Sanchez and his accomplices had shut themselves up, he returned to the Castellane's chamber.
Never was there an apartment more desolate. Chateau Norbelle was built more to be defended than to be inhabited, and the rooms were rather so much inclosed space than places intended for comfort. The walls were of unhewn stone, and, as well as the roof, thickly tapestried with cobwebs,-the narrow loophole which admitted light was unglazed,-and there was nothing in the whole chamber that could be called furniture, save the two rude pallets which served the Knight and Squire for beds, and a chest which had been forced open and rifled by the mutineers. They had carried off Eustace's beloved books, to burn them in the court as instruments of sorcery, and a few garments it had likewise contained lay scattered about the room. Gaston hastened to the side of his beloved Knight, almost dreading, from his silence and stillness, to find him expiring. But he was only faint and exhausted, and when Gaston raised him, and began to examine his wounds, he looked up, saying, 'Thanks, thanks, kind Gaston! but waste not your time here. The Castle! the Castle!'
'What care I for the Castle compared to your life!' said Gaston.
'For my honour and your own,' said Eustace, fixing his eyes on his Squire's face. 'Gaston, I fear you,' he added, stretching out his hand and grasping that of d'Aubricour; 'if you survive, you will forget the duty you owe the King, for the purpose of avenging me upon Clarenham. If ever you have loved me, Gaston, give me your solemn promise that this shall not be.'
'It was the purpose for which I should have lived,' said Gaston.
'You resign it?' said Eustace, still retaining his hold of his hand. 'You touch not one of my wounds till you have given me your oath.'
'I swear it, then,' said Gaston, 'since you will ever have your own way, and I do it the rather that Messire Oliver de Clisson will probably save me the pain of keeping the pledge.'
'You have taken all measures for defence?'
'Yes. The men-at-arms, such as are left, may be trusted, and have all taken an oath to stand by us, which I do not think they will readily break. The rest either made off with the baggage-mules, or were slain when we broke in to your rescue, or are shut up with Le Borgne Basque in Montfort's tower. I have sent the men to their posts, put them under Silverlock's orders, and told him to come to me for directions.'
Eustace at last resigned himself into the Squire's hands. A broken arm, a ghastly-looking cut on the head, and a deep thrust with a poniard in the breast, seemed the most serious of the injuries he had received; but there were numerous lesser gashes and stabs which had occasioned a great effusion of blood, and he had been considerably bruised by his fall.
Gaston could attempt nothing but applying some ointment, sold by a Jew at Bordeaux as an infallible cure for all wounds and bruises; and, having done all he could for the comfort of his patient, quitted him to attend to the defence of the Castle.
His first visit was to Montfort's tower, one of the four flanking the main body of the Castle.
'Well, Master Thibault Sanchez, or, if you like it better, Le Borgne Basque,' cried he, 'thank you for saving us some trouble. You have found yourself a convenient prison there, and I hope you are at your ease.'
'We shall see how you are at your ease, Master Gaston le Maure,' retorted Sanchez from the depths of the tower, 'when another Borgne shall make his appearance, and string you up as a traitor to King Charles, your liege lord.'
'Le Borgne Basque talking of traitors and such gear!' returned Gaston; 'but he will tell a different tale when the succours come from the Prince.'
'Ha! ha!' laughed Thibault, 'a little bird whispered in mine ear that you may look long for succour from Bordeaux.'
This was, in a great measure, Gaston's own conviction; but he only replied the more vehemently that it could not fail, since neither Knights nor Castles were so lightly parted with, and that he trusted soon to have the satisfaction of seeing the inhabitants of the tower receive the reward of their treachery.
Thus they parted-Thibault, perfectly well satisfied to remain where he was, since he had little doubt that Oliver de Clisson's speedy arrival would set him at liberty, and turn the tables upon Gaston; and Gaston, glad that, since he could not at present have the satisfaction of hanging him, he was in a place where he could do no mischief, and whence he could not escape.
Now the warder on the watch-tower blew a blast, and every eye was turned towards the eastern part of the country, where, in the direction of Carcassonne, was to be seen a thick cloud of dust, from which, in due time, were visible the flashes of armour, and the points of weapons. Gaston, having given his orders, and quickened the activity of each man in his small garrison, hurried down to bear the tidings to Sir Eustace, and to array himself in his own brightest helmet and gayest surcoat.
Ascending again to the battlements, he could see the enemy approaching, could distinguish the banner of Clisson, and count the long array of men-at-arms and crossbow-men as they pursued their way through the bright green landscape, now half hidden by a rising ground, now slowly winding from its summit.
At last they came to the foot of the slope. Gaston had already marked the start and pause, which showed when they first recognized the English standard; and there was another stop, while they ranged themselves in order, and, after a moment's interval, a man-at-arms rode forward towards the postern door, looked earnestly at it, and called 'Sanchez!'
'Shoot him dead!' said Gaston to an English crossbow-man who stood beside him; 'it is the villain Tristan, on poor Ferragus.'
The arblast twanged, and Tristan fell, while poor Ferragus, after starting violently, trotted round to the well- known gate, and stood there neighing. 'Poor fellow!' said Gaston, 'art calling Brigliador? I would I knew he had sped well.'
The French, dismayed by the reception of their guide, held back; but presently a pursuivant came forward from their ranks, and, after his trumpet had been sounded, summoned, in the name of the good Knight, Messire Oliver de Clisson, the garrison of Chateau Norbelle to surrender it into his hands, as thereto commissioned by his grace, Charles, King of France.
The garrison replied by another trumpet, and Gaston, standing forth upon the battlements, over the gateway,
