In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince by Everett-Green (amazing books to read .TXT) 📕

meet and grapple with his foes, he felt from the first moment that he had no chance whatever against such numbers, and that the only thing to do was to sell his life as dearly as he could.

There was no time to ask or even to wonder at the meaning of this mysterious attack. All he could do was to strive to shield his head from the blows that rained upon him, and breathe a prayer for succour in the midst of his urgent need.

And then he heard a voice speaking in accents of authority: where had he heard that voice before?

"Hold, men! have I not warned you to do him no hurt? Kill him not, but take him alive."

That was the last thing Raymond remembered. His next sensation was of falling and strangulation. Then a blackness swam before his eyes, and sense and memory alike fled.

CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE HANDS OF HIS FOE.

How long that blackness and darkness lasted Raymond never really knew. It seemed to him that he awoke from it at occasional long intervals, always to find himself dreaming of rapid motion, as though he were being transported through the air with considerable speed. But there was no means of telling in what direction he moved, nor in what company. His senses were clouded and dull. He did not know what was real and what part of a dream. He had no recollection of any of the events immediately preceding this sudden and extraordinary journey, and after a brief period of bewilderment would sink back into the black abyss of unconsciousness from which he had been roused for a few moments.

At last, after what seemed to him an enormous interval -- for he knew not whether hours, days, or even years had gone by whilst he had remained in this state of unconscious apathy, he slowly opened his eyes, to find that the black darkness had given place to a faint murky light, and that he was no longer being carried rapidly onwards, but was lying still upon a heap of straw in some dim place, the outlines of which only became gradually visible to him.

Raymond was very weak, and weakness exercises a calming and numbing effect upon the senses. He felt no alarm at finding himself in this strange place, but after gazing about him without either recollection or comprehension, he turned round upon his bed of straw, which was by no means the worst resting place he had known in his wanderings, and quickly fell into a sound sleep.

When he awoke some hours later, the place was lighter than it had been, for a ray of sunlight had penetrated through the loophole high above his head, and illuminated with tolerable brightness the whole of the dim retreat in which he found himself. Raymond raised himself upon his elbow and looked wonderingly around him.

"What in the name of all the Holy Saints has befallen me?" he questioned, speaking half aloud in the deep stillness, glad to break the oppressive silence, if it were only by the sound of his own voice. "I feel as though a leaden weight were pressing down my limbs, and my head is throbbing as though a hammer were beating inside it. I can scarce frame my thoughts as I will. What was I doing last, before this strange thing befell me?"

He put his hand to his head and strove to think; but for a time memory eluded him, and his bewilderment grew painfully upon him. Then he espied a pitcher of water and some coarse food set not far away, and he rose with some little difficulty and dragged his stiffened limbs across the stone floor till he reached the spot where this provision stood.

"Sure, this be something of the prisoner's fare," he said, as he raised the pitcher to his lips; "yet I will refresh myself as best I may. Perchance I shall then regain my scattered senses and better understand what has befallen me."

He ate and drank slowly, and it was as he hoped. The nourishment he sorely needed helped to dispel the clouds of weakness and faintness which had hindered the working of his mind before, and a ray of light penetrated the mists about him.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, "I have it now! We were in battle together -- Gaston and I rode side by side. I recollect it all now. We were separated in the press, and I was carried off by the followers of the Black Visor. Strange! He was in our ranks. He is a friend, and not a foe. How came it, then, that his men-at-arms made such an error as to set upon me? Was it an error? Did I not hear him, or his huge companion, give some order for my capture to his men before their blades struck me down? It is passing strange. I comprehend it not. But Gaston will be here anon to make all right. There must be some strange error. Sure I must have been mistaken for some other man."

Raymond was not exactly uneasy, though a little bewildered and disturbed in mind by the strangeness of the adventure. It seemed certain to him that there must have been some mistake. That he was at present a prisoner could not be doubted, from the nature of the place in which he was shut up, and the silence and gloom about him; but unless he had been abandoned by his first captors, and had fallen into the hands of the French, he believed that his captivity would speedily come to an end when the mistake concerning his identity was explained. If indeed he were in the power of some French lord, there might be a little longer delay, as a ransom would no doubt have to be found for him ere he could be released. But then Gaston was at liberty, and Gaston had now powerful friends and no mean share in some of the prizes which had been taken by sea and land. He would quickly accomplish his brother's deliverance when once he heard of his captivity; and there would be no difficulty in sending him a message, as his captor's great desire would doubtless be to obtain as large a ransom as he was able to extort.

"They had done better had they tried to seize upon Gaston himself," said Raymond, with a half smile. "He would have been a prize better worth the taking. But possibly he would have proved too redoubtable a foe. Methinks my arm has somewhat lost its strength or cunning, else should I scarce have fallen so easy a prey. I ought to have striven harder to have kept by Gaston's side; but I know not now how we came to be separated. And Roger, too, who has ever been at my side in all times of strife and danger, how came he to be sundered from me likewise? It must have been done by the fellows who bore me off -- the followers of the Black Visor. Strange, very strange! I know not what to think of it. But when next my jailer comes he will doubtless tell me where I am and what is desired of me."

The chances of war were so uncertain, and the captive of one day so often became the victor of the next, that Raymond, who for all his fragile look possessed a large fund of cool courage, did not feel greatly disturbed by the ill-chance that had befallen him. Many French knights were most chivalrous and courteous to their prisoners; some even permitted them to go out on parole to collect their own ransoms, trusting to their word of honour to return if they were unable to obtain the stipulated sum. The English cause had many friends amongst the French nobility, and friendships as well as enmities had resulted from the English occupation of such large tracts of France.

So Raymond resolved to make the best of his incarceration whilst it lasted, trusting that some happy accident would soon set him at large again. With such a brother as Gaston on the outside of his prison wall, it would be foolish to give way to despondency.

He looked curiously about at the cave-like place in which he found himself. It appeared to be a natural chamber formed in the living rock. It received a certain share of air and light from a long narrow loophole high up overhead, and the place was tolerably fresh and dry, though its proportions were by no means large. Still it was lofty, and it was wide enough to admit of a certain but limited amount of exercise to its occupant.

Raymond found that he could make five paces along one side of it and four along the other. Except the heap of straw, upon which he had been laid, there was no plenishing of any kind to the cell. However, as it was probably only a temporary resting place, this mattered the less. Raymond had been worse lodged during some of his wanderings before now, and for the two years that he had lived amongst the Cistercian Brothers, he had scarcely been more luxuriously treated. His cell there had been narrower than this place, his fare no less coarse than that he had just partaken of, and his pallet bed scarce so comfortable as this truss of straw.

"Father Paul often lay for weeks upon the bare stone floor," mused Raymond, as he sat down again upon his bed. "Sure I need not grumble that I have such a couch as this."

He was very stiff and bruised, as he found on attempting to move about, but he had no actual wounds, and no bones were broken. His light strong armour had protected him, or else his foes had been striving to vanquish without seriously hurting him. He could feel that his head had been a good deal battered about, for any consecutive thought tired him; but it was something to have come off without worse injury, and sleep would restore him quickly to his wonted strength.

He lay down upon the straw presently, and again he slept soundly and peacefully. He woke up many hours later greatly refreshed, aroused by some sound from the outside of his prison. The light had completely faded from the loophole. The place was in pitchy darkness. There is something a little terrible in black oppressive darkness -- the darkness which may almost be felt; and Raymond was not sorry, since he had awakened, to hear the sound of grating bolts, and then the slow creaking of a heavy door upon its hinges.

A faint glimmer of light stole into the cell, and Raymund marked the entrance of a tall dark figure habited like a monk, the cowl drawn so far over the face as entirely to conceal the features. However, the ecclesiastical habit was something of a comfort to Raymond, who had spent so much of his time amongst monks, and he rose to his feet with a respectful salutation in French.

The monk stepped within the cell, and drew the door behind him, turning the heavy key in the lock. The small lantern he carried with him gave only a very feeble light; but it was better than nothing, and enabled Raymond to see the outline of the tall form, which looked almost gigantic in the full religious habit.

"Welcome, Holy Father," said Raymond, still speaking in French. "Right glad am I to look upon face of man again. I prithee tell me where I am, and into whose hands I have fallen; for methinks there is some mistake in the matter, and that they take me for one whom I am not."

"They take thee for one Raymond de Brocas, who lays claim, in thine own or thy brother's person, to Basildene in England and Orthez and Saut in Gascony," answered the monk, who spoke slowly in English and in a strangely-muffled voice. "If thou be not he, say so, and prove it without loss of time; for evil is purposed to Raymond de Brocas, and it were a pity it should fall upon the wrong head."

A sudden shiver ran through Raymond's frame. Was there not something familiar in the muffled sound of that English voice? was there not something in the words and tone that sounded like a cruel sneer? Was it his fancy that beneath the long habit of the monk he caught the glimpse of some shining weapon? Was this some terrible dream come to his disordered brain? Was he the victim of an illusion? or did this tall, shadowy figure stand indeed before him?

For a moment Raymond's head seemed to swim, and then his nerves steadied themselves, and he wondered if he might not be disquieting himself in vain. Possibly, after all, this might be a holy man -- one who would stand his friend in the future.

"Thou art English?" he asked quickly; "and if English, surely a friend to thy countrymen?"

"I am English truly,"