The Messenger of the Black Prince 29
I was shaking. My nerves were jumping like the cords of a whip. I gave a
glance at Charles and saw him struggling with his man on the ground. The
two were wrestling, with the one grasping the other’s wrist. As they
rolled over a dagger shot into the air and fell at Charles’ side. He
reached out and took it by the hasp. Then he bounded quickly to his
feet. His face was hot and covered with dirt where he had been rolling
in the earth. He made a jump towards his enemy with the dagger raised
above his head.
But fright won the victory. The fellow no sooner saw that Charles had
the upper hand when he leaped far to the one side. He never stopped but
kept on ahead. With a spring he bounded over our wall, and as fast as
ever a man ran he made for the shelter of the trees.
That much was over, thanks to the Dwarf. The two of us lowered our
bodies again lest an arrow take us unawares. I risked a peep out through
one of the crevices. I had every thought that another band of assailants
would be on us to take vengeance for the damage we had done their
companions. To my surprise the woods were as still for a time as a
peaceful countryside. Then, after a little, far off, I heard the screech
of the Dwarf coming to us like an echo through the trees. When it died
away a silence fell over us once more. I was beginning to count the
victory ours, for I was sure that the Dwarf with his arrows, his
terrible arms and hands had done their work. Single-handed he had driven
our enemies from the neighborhood.
The sun was casting slanting rays out of the west. A new thought rose in
my mind. The night would be dark, for there was no space for the shining
of the stars through the matted branches of the trees. We would stand
guard, of course, ready to ward off an attack. But in case our enemies
returned it would be difficult to see them as clearly as we had done
during the afternoon. They could storm our little stronghold. By sheer
numbers they could overwhelm us. Before we could raise a bow in our
defense they could slaughter us where we cowered behind our stone-wall.
This thought grew stronger in my mind as the darkness came on. I spoke
to Charles, who only nodded his head.
“If they come,” he said, after turning the matter over, “we must leave.
The woods will be safer than it is here.”
To this we agreed. We kept our eyes on the alert, searching in every
direction for a foe. The sun had dropped behind the horizon and the
shadows of night were stretching themselves like black sheets on every
side of us. The woods were silent and mysterious. Not a sound came to
our ears except the twittering of a bird or two as he settled in his
nest. The shrieking of the Dwarf had long since stopped.
“We must wait till he returns,” said Charles. “We cannot go without a
word from him. He will——”
We both jumped to our feet. There was a rustling of the branches over
our heads. The Dwarf dropped lightly to the ground and stood facing us
in the gathering gloom. His mouth was spread open in a wide grin that
showed his big pointed teeth.
“There’s no fear, now,” he said. “I’ve scattered them. Come into my
cave. We must eat.”
He led the way. The fire had gone out. He relit it with a piece of
tinder and dry wood. When the blaze had started up he drew from out the
folds of his shirt a dagger and cast it at my feet. It was the dagger
which I had from the scrivener, the one which I was to take to the Abbot
of Chalonnes—which I thought I had lost forever in the Loire.
“I found that in the shirt of one of the men I shot down,” he explained.
“Take it with you. Guard it better than you have already done. In
another hour it will be safe for you to leave. You can keep to the road
that leads towards the south. If there is any trouble, show it to the
keeper of the inn that stands at the cross-roads. He is a friend of
mine.”
CHAPTER XXII
TRAPPED!
It was close on to midnight when we left the Dwarf and his cave. We
headed for the south, at first over rocks and stones and through the
depths of the woods; then we came upon a white ribbon of a road, which
we followed till the dawn overtook us.
We reached the inn at the cross-roads in less than an hour—an old stone
house covered with moss and windows grilled and barred. There was no one
about, so with a bit of a stick which I had found, I knocked on the
panels of the heavy oaken door. We stood and waited. There came to our
ears not a sound, not even the barking of a dog or the rattle of pots
and pans.
I knocked again, this time more violently than before. The echo died
away across the empty fields. Then I heard a window creak over our heads
and a nightcap with a tassle to it appeared.
“What do you want?” said a voice.
“Is this an inn?” I returned. “Is this the inn of the Cross-roads?”
The voice squeaked.
“Cross-roads?” it said as though it did not quite understand. “Who are
you that come knocking at my door?”
“We’re honest travelers,” called Charles. “We want a bite to eat and
then we’ll be on our way.”
At this my rashness showed itself.
“We’re friends of the Abbot of Chalonnes!” I added.
I thought thus to bring the matter to a head. If there was any suspicion
in the man, the mention of the Abbot’s name ought to be enough to soften
his fears.
For a moment there was no answer. Then his voice began again, this time
in a low coaxing tone.
“—the Abbot of Chalonnes,” he repeated slowly as though he was turning
the name over in his mind. “These are dangerous times, my son. Have you,
by any chance, a proof that you are a friend of the Abbot of Chalonnes?”
I drew the dagger from my shirt and held it high in my hand.
“Here!” I called. “Can you see this?”
The voice creaked like a rusty hinge. “And what is that?” it asked.
“It’s a token,” I replied with some show of anger, for the caution of
the man prodded me like a knife. “We were sent here. We were told that
you would recognize this. It belongs to the Abbot of Chalonnes.”
The man coughed to clear his throat. His voice changed to a hasty
wheeze. A cracked smile curled around his mouth.
“I was only toying with you, my lad,” he said. “Of course I recognize
it. Of course it belongs to the Abbot of Chalonnes. Bide a bit. Bide
there and I’ll open the door to you and let you in.”
With that he shuffled off from the window wheezing and muttering to
himself.
We were puzzled at this odd reception. I looked at Charles with doubt
written clearly on my face.
“The Dwarf has made some mistake,” he began. But the rattle of bolts and
chains interrupted him and the head with the nightcap poked itself
sooner than we had expected through the chink in the door.
We stepped over the threshold. There was hardly a ray of the sun’s light
in the room. Besides, the odor that struck our nostrils made us draw
back. We saw now, indistinctly of course, the man who had spoken to us
from the window. He was clad in a long loose nightgown of a dirty
flannel and had a bend to his shoulders like the curve in a pot. His jaw
seemed to have no firmness for it hung loose in his head and twisted
from side to side with the motion of a cow chewing its cud. His eyes
were small and as sharp as a fox’s like two cunning little beads. And
when he pulled off his cap with the tassel to it, to make us a kind of
salutation, a great shock of unkempt greasy hair fell down over his
neck.
“I am glad to welcome you to my house, sirs,” he said with his voice
reaching a high piping note.
I looked to Charles to hear what he would say, for to tell the truth I
was now even more anxious to get away from this hole than I was before
bent on getting in.
“Do you know the Dwarf of Angers?” he demanded.
The old man started to rub his hands in one another and stuck out his
chin. A slow encouraging grin spread over his face.
“Of course I do,” he said and repeated it. “Why of course I do. Are you
a friend of his, too?” he ended with a snap.
“He sent us here,” continued Charles. “We have enemies. He told us you
would give us help.”
At this the man leaned forward and peered closely into our faces. Then
he began to laugh in the same cackling tone that I had heard from the
window. He stepped to one side and bowed almost to the floor and made a
motion with a sweep of his hand.
“If you will sit down,” he said, “I will bring you something to eat.”
He made off in a shuffling gait dragging his feet along the bare boards
of the floor. In a few minutes he returned with a wooden bowl of gruel
steaming hot and two large wooden spoons.
By this time we were able to look around and make an estimate of the
place. The room was like a stable for filth. The one long table that
stood in the middle was cut and scarred with figures where men had dug
into it with their knives. Cobwebs hung in every nook and corner. An old
lamp was fastened to a slab of wood on the wall, but even if it had been
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기