The Outlaw of Torn by Edgar Rice Burroughs (read with me .txt) 📕

“He will return,” was the outlaw’s only comment, when he had been fully convinced that the Baron had escaped.

They watched until the castle had burst into flames in a dozen places, the prisoners huddled together in terror and apprehension, fully expecting a summary and horrible death.

When Norman of Torn had assured himself that no human power could now save the doomed pile, he ordered that the march be taken up, and the warriors filed down the roadway behind their leader and Bertrade de Montfort, leaving their erstwhile prisoners sorely puzzled but unharmed and free.

As they looked back, they saw the heavens red with the great flames that sprang high above the lofty towers. Immense volumes of dense smoke rolled southward across the sky line. Occasionally it would clear away from the burning castle for an instant to show the black walls pierced by their hundreds of embrasures, each lit up by the red of the raging fire within. It was a gorgeous, impressive spectacle, but one so common in those fierce, wild days, that none thought it worthy of more than a passing backward glance.

Varied emotions filled the breasts of the several riders who wended their slow way down the mud-slippery road. Norman of Torn was both elated and sad. Elated that he had been in time to save this girl who awakened such strange emotions in his breast; sad that he was a loathesome thing in her eyes. But that it was pure happiness just to be near her, sufficed him for the time; of the morrow, what use to think ! The little, grim, gray, old man of Torn nursed the spleen he did not dare vent openly, and cursed the chance that had sent Henry de Montfort to Torn to search for his sister; while the followers of the outlaw swore quietly over the vagary which had brought them on this long ride without either fighting or loot.

Bertrade de Montfort was but filled with wonder that she should owe her life and honor to this fierce, wild cutthroat who had sworn especial hatred against her family, because of its relationship to the house of Plantagenet. She could not fathom it, and yet, he seemed fair spoken for so rough a man; she wondered what manner of countenance might lie beneath that barred visor.

Once the outlaw took his cloak from its fastenings at his saddle’s cantel and threw it about the shoulders of the girl, for the night air was chilly, and again he dismounted and led her palfrey around a bad place in the road, lest the beast might slip and fall.

She thanked him in her courtly manner for these services, but beyond that, no word passed between them, and they came, in silence, about midday within sight of the castle of Simon de Montfort.

The watch upon the tower was thrown into confusion by the approach of so large a party of armed men, so that, by the time they were in hailing distance, the walls of the great structure were crowded with fighting men.

Shandy rode ahead with a flag of truce, and when he was beneath the castle walls Simon de Montfort called forth:

“Who be ye and what your mission ? Peace or war ?”

“It is Norman of Torn, come in peace, and in the service of a De Montfort,” replied Shandy. “He would enter with one companion, my Lord Earl.”

“Dares Norman of Torn enter the castle of Simon de Montfort — thinks he that I keep a robbers’ roost !” cried the fierce old warrior.

“Norman of Torn dares ride where he will in all England,” boasted the red giant. “Will you see him in peace, My Lord ?”

“Let him enter,” said De Montfort, “but no knavery, now, we are a thousand men here, well armed and ready fighters.”

Shandy returned to his master with the reply, and together, Norman of Torn and Bertrade de Montfort clattered across the drawbridge beneath the portcullis of the castle of the Earl of Leicester, brother-in-law of Henry III of England.

The girl was still wrapped in the great cloak of her protector, for it had been raining, so that she rode beneath the eyes of her father’s men without being recognized. In the courtyard, they were met by Simon de Montfort, and his sons Henry and Simon.

The girl threw herself impetuously from her mount, and, flinging aside the outlaw’s cloak, rushed toward her astounded parent.

“What means this,” cried De Montfort, “has the rascal offered you harm or indignity ?”

“You craven liar,” cried Henry de Montfort, “but yesterday you swore upon your honor that you did not hold my sister, and I, like a fool, believed.” And with his words, the young man flung himself upon Norman of Torn with drawn sword.

Quicker than the eye could see, the sword of the visored knight flew from its scabbard, and, with a single lightning-like move, sent the blade of young De Montfort hurtling cross the courtyard; and then, before either could take another step, Bertrade de Montfort had sprung between them and placing a hand upon the breastplate of the outlaw, stretched forth the other with palm out-turned toward her kinsmen as though to protect Norman of Torn from further assault.

“Be he outlaw or devil,” she cried, “he is a brave and courteous knight, and he deserves from the hands of the De Montforts the best hospitality they can give, and not cold steel and insults.” Then she explained briefly to her astonished father and brothers what had befallen during the past few days.

Henry de Montfort, with the fine chivalry that marked him, was the first to step forward with outstretched hand to thank Norman of Torn, and to ask his pardon for his rude words and hostile act.

The outlaw but held up his open palm, as he said,

“Let the De Montforts think well ere they take the hand of Norman of Torn. I give not my hand except in friendship, and not for a passing moment; but for life. I appreciate your present feelings of gratitude, but let them not blind you to the fact that I am still Norman the Devil, and that you have seen my mark upon the brows of your dead. I would gladly have your friendship, but I wish it for the man, Norman of Torn, with all his faults, as well as what virtues you may think him to possess.”

“You are right, sir,” said the Earl, “you have our gratitude and our thanks for the service you have rendered the house of Montfort, and ever during our lives you may command our favors. I admire your bravery and your candor, but while you continue the Outlaw of Torn, you may not break bread at the table of De Montfort as a friend would have the right to do.”

“Your speech is that of a wise and careful man,” said Norman of Torn quietly. “I go, but remember that from this day, I have no quarrel with the House of Simon de Montfort, and that should you need my arms, they are at your service, a thousand strong. Goodbye.” But as he turned to go, Bertrade de Montfort confronted him with outstretched hand.

“You must take my hand in friendship,” she said, “for, to my dying day, I must ever bless the name of Norman of Torn because of the horror from which he has rescued me.”

He took the little fingers in his mailed hand, and bending upon one knee raised them to his lips.

“To no other — woman, man, king, God, or devil — has Norman of Torn bent the knee. If ever you need him, My Lady Bertrade, remember that his services are yours for the asking.”

And turning, he mounted and rode in silence from the courtyard of the castle of Leicester. Without a backward glance, and with his five hundred men at his back, Norman of Torn disappeared beyond a turning in the roadway.

“A strange man,” said Simon de Montfort, “both good and bad, but from today, I shall ever believe more good than bad. Would that he were other than he be, for his arm would wield a heavy sword against the enemies of England, an he could be persuaded to our cause.”

“Who knows,” said Henry de Montfort, “but that an offer of friendship might have won him to a better life. It seemed that in his speech was a note of wistfulness. I wish, father, that we had taken his hand.”