But a little thing changed the current of his thoughts and brought some peace to his mind. He had slipped off his mail gauntlets, and as he did so his fingers lighted upon the tiny bangle which Mary had fastened there when they stood together upon St. Catharine’s Hill on the Guildford Road. He remembered the motto curiously worked in filigree of gold. It ran: “Fais ce que dois, adviegne que pourra—c’est commandé au chevalier.”
The words rang in his weary brain. He had done what seemed right, come what might. It had gone awry, it is true; but all things human may do that. If he had carried the castle, he felt that Knolles would have forgiven and forgotten all else. If he had not carried it, it was no fault of his. No man could have done more. If Mary could see she would surely have approved. Dropping into sleep, he saw her dark face, shining with pride and with pity, stooping over him as he lay. She stretched out her hand in his dream and touched him on the shoulder. He sprang up and rubbed his eyes, for fact had woven itself into dream in the strange way that it does, and someone was indeed leaning over him in the gloom, and shaking him from his slumbers. But the gentle voice and soft touch of the Lady Mary had changed suddenly to the harsh accents and rough grip of Black Simon, the fierce Norfolk man-at-arms.
“Surely you are the Squire Loring,” he said, peering close to his face in the darkness.
“I am he. What then?”
“I have searched through the camp for you, but when I saw the great horse tethered near these bushes, I thought you would be found hard by. I would have a word with you.”
“Speak on.”
“This man Aylward the bowman was my friend, and it is the nature that God has given me to love my friends even as I hate my foes. He is also thy servant, and it has seemed to me that you love him also.”
“I have good cause so to do.”
“Then you and I, Squire Loring, have more reason to strive on his behalf than any of these others, who think more of taking the castle than of saving those who are captives within. Do you not see that such a man as this robber lord would, when all else had failed him, most surely cut the throats of his prisoners at the last instant before the castle fell, knowing well that, come what might, he would have short shrift himself? Is that not certain?”
“By Saint Paul! I had not thought of it.”
“I was with you, hammering at the inner gate,” said Simon, “and yet once when I thought that it was giving way, I said in my heart: ‘Goodbye, Samkin! I shall never see you more.’ This Baron has gall in his soul, even as I have myself, and do you think that I would give up my prisoners alive, if I were constrained so to do? No, no; had we won our way this day, it would have been the death-stroke for them all.”
“It may be that you are right, Simon,” said Nigel, “and the thought of it should assuage our grief. But if we cannot save them by taking the castle, then surely they are lost indeed.”
“It may be so, or it may not,” Simon answered slowly. “It is in my mind that if the castle were taken very suddenly, and in such a fashion that they could not foresee it, then perchance we might get the prisoners before they could do them scathe.”
Nigel bent forward eagerly, his hand on the soldier’s arm.
“You have some plan in your mind, Simon. Tell me what it is.”
“I had wished to tell Sir Robert, but he is preparing the assault for tomorrow and will not be turned from his purpose. I have indeed a plan, but whether it be good or not I cannot say, until I have tried it. But first I will tell you what put it into my thoughts. Know, then, that this morning when I was in yonder ditch I marked one of their men upon the wall. He was a big man with a white face, red hair and a touch of Saint Anthony’s fire upon the cheek.”
“But what has this to do with Aylward?”
“I will show you. This evening, after the assault, I chanced to walk with some of my fellows round yonder small fort upon the knoll to see if we could spy a weak spot in it. Some of them came to the wall to curse us, and among them whom should I see but a big man with a white face, red hair and a touch of Anthony’s fire upon his cheek! What make you of that, Squire Nigel?”
“That this man had crossed from the castle to the fort.”
“In good sooth, it must indeed be so. There are not two such ken-speckled men in the world. But if he crossed from the castle to the fort, it was not above the ground, for our own people were between.”
“By Saint Paul! I see your meaning!” cried Nigel. “It is in your mind that there is a passage under the earth from one to the other.”
“I am well sure of it.”
“Then if we should take the small fort we may pass down this tunnel, and so carry the great castle also.”
“Such a thing might happen,” said Simon, “and yet it is dangerous also, for surely those in the castle would hear our assault upon the fort and so be warned to bar the passage against us, and to slay the prisoners before we could come.”
“What then, is your rede?”
“Could we find where the tunnel lay, Squire Nigel, I know not what is to prevent us from digging down upon it and breaking into it so that
