Two Penniless Princesses by Charlotte M. Yonge (historical books to read TXT) 📕

‘Sir, I have something to show you.’

It was the early twilight of a summer’s morning when Ringan crept up to the shelter of pine branches under which George Douglas was sleeping, after hotly opposing Gebhardt, who had nearly persuaded his master that retreat was inevitable, unless he meant to be deserted by more than half his men.

George sat up. ‘Anent the ladies?’ he said.

Ringan bowed his head, with an air of mystery and George doubted no longer, but let him lead the way, keeping among the brushwood to the foot of the quarry whence the castle had been built. It had once been absolutely precipitous, no doubt, but the stone was of a soft quality, on which weather told: ivy and creepers had grown on it, and Ringan pointed to what to dwellers on plains might have seemed impracticable, but to those who had bird’s-nested on the crags of Tantallon had quite a different appearance. True, there was castle wall and turret above, but on this, the weather side, there had likewise been a slight crumbling, which had been neglected, perhaps from over security, perhaps on account of the extreme difficulty of repairing, where there was the merest ledge for foothold above the precipitous quarry; indeed, the condition of the place might never even have been perceived by the inhabitants, as there were no traces of the place below having been frequented.

‘Tis a mere staircase as far as the foot of the walls compared with the Guillemot’s crag,’ observed Ringan.

‘And a man with a heart and a foot could be up the wall in the corner where the ivy grows,’ added George. ‘It is well, Ringan, thou hast done good service. Here is the way.’

‘With four or five of our own tall carles, we may win the castle, and laugh at the German pock-puddings,’ added Ringan. ‘Let them gang their gate, and we’ll free our leddies.’

George was tempted, but he shook his head. ‘That were scarce knightly towards the Duke,’ he said. ‘He has been gude friend to me, and I may not thus steal a march on him. Moreover, we ken na the strength of the loons within.’

‘I misdoot there being mair than ten of them,’ said Ringan. ‘I have seen the same faces too often for there to be many. And what there be we shall take napping.’

That was true; nevertheless George Douglas felt bound in honour not to undertake the enterprise without the cognisance of his ally, though he much doubted the Germans being alert or courageous enough to take advantage of such a perilous clamber.

Sigismund had a tent under the pine-trees, and a guard before the entrance, who stood, halbert in hand, like a growling statue, when the young Scot would have entered, understanding not one word of his objurgations in mixed Scotch and French, but only barring the way, till Sigismund’s own ‘Wer da?’ sounded from within.

‘Moi—George of Angus!’ shouted that individual in his awkward French. ‘Let me in, Sir Duke; I have tidings!’

Sigismund was on foot in a moment. ‘And from King Eene?’ he asked.

‘Far better, strong heart and steady foot can achieve the adventure and save the ladies unaided! Come with me, beau sire! Silently.’

George had fully expected to see the German quail at the frightful precipice and sheer wall before him, but the Hapsburg was primarily a Tirolean mountaineer, and he measured the rock with a glistening triumphant eye.