“Margot chérie …” she murmured drowsily, and suddenly remembered where she was. She struggled up, eyes wide, and looked round shuddering. “It—it is—tomorrow,” she said. “I—I pray God—it will soon be over.”
Margaret rose, stretching her aching limbs.
“I will not lose hope!” she said vehemently. “If I had but my dagger! Ah, to plunge it into his black heart!” Her hands clenched.
“Oh!” Jeanne covered her face with her hands. “Thou—thou couldst not!”
“Could I not? That could I, and blithely too! Hark!”
Jeanne started up, hands clasped at her breast, for down the stone stairs without heavy footsteps were coming.
“Bear a brave front!” Margaret implored, and pulled her down on to the bench. “Let them not see thy fear!”
The key grated in the lock, and the door swung back. A soldier came in, bearing bread and wine.
“See how kind is my lord!” he said, and set down his burden. “In a little ye shall come before him, pretty pigeon.” He patted Jeanne’s cheek, which flamed under his hand. “Thou and thy sweet lover. Fare thee well!” He went out, and her rigidity left Jeanne. She started to tremble, gripping her fingers together.
Margaret picked up the wine, coaxing her to drink, and crumbled a little of the bread.
“It chokes me!” Jeanne cried. “I—cannot!”
Margaret left her then, and went to the narrow window, tiptoeing that she might peep out. The country stretched away beneath her, dotted here and there with houses. Sighing she came back into the room, and sat down beside Jeanne, to wait.
Hours crept by, but at length footsteps sounded again on the stairs, and again the door was thrown open. Two men entered, and beckoned to them.
“My lord waits,” one said, and laughed. “Do ye shrink, little dove? Nay, but he hath ta’en a fancy to thee. Fret not.”
“I—cannot!” Jeanne whispered, and shrank back.
But Margaret took her hand and led her forward. Up the stairs they were led, along a corridor, up more stairs, through large rooms until they came to one which was carpeted with skins of wild animals, and at one end of which was a dais with a carved chair thereon. In that chair Raoul sat, a gorgeous figure clad in scarlet and gold, his bowed legs crossed, and one hand stroking his hairless face. Some four or five of his courtiers were in the room, and at the door through which the girls had come an armed guard stood.
Raoul smiled gently upon his prisoners and motioned them to stand before him. A great noise sounded without, and Ranaud was brought in, roaring out curses. His guards kept a firm hold on him, but he spat at Raoul yet again.
“Silence him,” Raoul sighed, and one of his men struck Gaston across the mouth so that the blood sprang up.
“If ye are noisy, ye will be gagged,” Raoul said, and turned again to the pair before him. For a long time he gazed at them.
“The white dove trembles,” he remarked presently, and turned his eyes to Margaret, surveying her long and closely. He leaned forward in his chair, and under his scrutiny Margaret felt the red colour flood her cheeks. Desperately she sought to stop this betraying blush, and stared back into the little eyes defiantly.
“Ah!” Raoul breathed, and rose. He came down from the dais and stood before her. He looked her over closely, and passed his hands over her taut body. His smile broadened. “Well, ye make a pretty boy, my dear,” he said, and removed her cap. Down tumbled the thick braids, over her shoulders, reaching almost to her knees. “But ye make a prettier woman,” Raoul said. “Now, I wonder … ?” Again, he caressed his chin. “I had thought thy companion lovely,” he remarked. “But thou art stronger meat.”
Margaret closed her eyes for a moment, holding fast to her courage. Beside her she could hear Jeanne’s quick, sobbing breaths.
“No peasant wench thou,” Raoul went on. “So what do ye in my land? Methinks I have somewhere seen thy face before. Thy name?”
Margaret shut her teeth.
“No name? Some great lady art thou? Escaping belike … From whom … ? From the English, perchance. Now I made my submission a long time ago, and it may be that the English would give much to have thee back again.” He looked at her sharply, chuckling. “And yet thou art very beautiful. I think I have a mind to thee myself. What is thy name?”
Margaret’s hands were clenched hard at her sides. From behind her came Ranaud’s voice.
“Tell him not! Tell him not!”
Raoul wheeled about with something like a hiss.
“I shall not tell,” Margaret said quietly. “Save at a price.”
“I bargain not,” Raoul smiled. “Thou wilt tell.”
“Trust him not! Make no terms!” Ranaud cried.
“He desires no terms,” Raoul said, and came closer to Margaret, placing his hands beneath her chin. “Think well, sweet chuck. I have means to make thee tell at my disposal. Fire, rope, and the sword.”
“I fear not death.”
“Death!” Again he chuckled. “Nay, I am more subtle, pretty. A rope about thy wrists, fire between thy thumbs … Be wise, sweeting. How wilt thou like to see thy companions die before thine eyes? Slowly, ah, but slowly!”
At last Margaret shrank.
“If I tell you, will ye swear to let my friends go safely hence?”
“We will see,” Raoul smiled. “Thy lewd fellow there once sought to slay me. Well. Now it is my turn. For the wench—” he shrugged. “Thou hast killed my want of her. Let her go.”
“Ah, no!” Jeanne cast herself upon Margaret. “Not that, not that! Margot, Margot!”
Margaret put her gently from her.
“What matter? I am the Lady Margaret of Belrémy, Lord Raoul.”
He betrayed no surprise, but nodded.
“Belrémy, eh? Now I have an old, old score to settle ’gainst thy land. Methinks I have found a way. Would it hurt the proud burghers of thy land to see thee my chattel, I wonder? Or I might
