martin valliant was asleep when a man crawled up the stairs, groped his way to the closed door, lay there a moment listening, and then crawled back by the way he had come.
a number of figures showed black about a fire that had been lit in the center of the roofless hall. john falconer was there, sullen, heavy-eyed—a man who found no pleasure in looking at his own thoughts; also sir gregory, skull-faced and ominous, with blue eyes that stared. a hot posset was going around in a big tankard. these gentlemen had but little to say to one another; they were waiting; the case had been heard, and judgment given.
the man who had gone a-spying up the tower came and stood before sir gregory.
“the priest is not this side of the door, lording.”
john falconer’s sullen eyes seemed to catch the light of the fire.
“you lie!”
“see for yourself, master falconer. what’s more, he is asleep across the door, for i could hear a sound of breathing.”
a grim laugh went around the fire. ironical looks were thrown at falconer, who was frowning and biting his beard.
sir gregory spoke.
“such insolence must be chastened; we must be rid of this bastard. hallo, there! axes for the breaking of a door.”
a little man with a sallow face and bright black eyes stood forward.
“the room has a window, sir.”
“well?”
“breaking the door is a clumsy device, and this valliant is desperate strong. why not use the window, gentlemen, and crawl in upon him while he is asleep?”
“most excellent! but will god give us a ladder twenty feet long?”
“there is no need for a ladder. strain a stout rope over the battlement so that it runs in front of the window, and men can slide down the rope.”
“well thought of.”
john falconer appeared to rouse himself from a sort of stupor.
“wait, gentlemen. let no violence be done this man. he has served us, and will suffer for it.”
“what would you, john falconer?”
“let him be taken, mastered, stripped of his harness and his arms, and turned out into the woods. his blood should not be upon our hands.”
“plausible, very plausible!”
“i stand for that—or nothing.”
sir gregory chuckled.
“by my soul, such a punishment is better than blows. there is a certain subtlety about it. i put my seal to the document. some one fetch the rope.”
the work was done noiselessly by men who crept about on bare feet, and without as much as a whisper. john falconer and a dozen of his own fellows were ready on the stairs. four men were to slide down the rope, enter by the window, and while three of them fell upon martin valliant, the fourth was to unbar the door.
nature willed it that mellis and her man should sleep heavily that night, solaced by the innocent sweetness of being so near each other, so full of a happy faith in their great love. they slept like children, mellis on her bed, martin lying across the door, his arms folded, his naked sword beside him.
he woke to a cry from mellis.
“martin—martin! guard yourself!”
the last man to enter by the window had slipped on the sill, and blundered against the man in front of him; and mellis, opening her eyes, had seen him outlined dimly against the window.
her warning came too late. the fellows had thrown themselves on martin before he could rise, and had dragged him from the door. one of them pulled out the bar, and threw the door open.
he shouted to those on the stairs, and falconer’s voice took up the cry.
“torches—torches! forward! up with you, and follow me.”
mellis had slipped out of bed and was trying to find the sword that martin had brought her out of the vault. she could hear men struggling in the room, but the light was too dim for her to see what was passing. a horror of helplessness seized her; she shrank back against the wall, with her hands pressed to her ears.
“help, there—help!”
martin had broken free and was on his feet. one man lay writhing with a bone in his throat broken; another had been thrown against the wall and stunned. martin had another fellow lying bent across his knees and was choking him, while the fourth man clung to his feet.
then falconer and his torches came up the stairs; the doorway filled with smoke and glare and steel.
a sudden palsy seemed to strike all the players in that tragedy. valliant let go of the man whom he was throttling, while the fellow who had been clinging to martin’s ankles squirmed away toward the door. martin stood motionless, like a wrestler touched by enchantment and turned into a statue; mellis, her hands to her ears, her eyes two great black circles, leaned against the wall; falconer, with torch and sword in the doorway, held back the men who were behind him.
martin’s sword lay close to mellis’s bed. his eyes looked at it, but he did not move.
then falconer spoke.
“martin valliant, no harm is meant you. leave the sword lying there; it will not avail.”
mellis’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. she moved forward into the room, and her eyes were on john falconer’s face.
“traitor!”
his mouth twitched; he looked at martin, and passed her over.
“valliant, we captains have sworn not to keep you as one of us. it is our right to choose; we have our reasons. no harm shall be done you; you shall go out into the forest—as you came from it. take your life, man; this room is no place for you, and no place for brawls and violence.”
martin’s face was gray and haggard. the muscles stood out like cords in his throat, and he drew his breath heavily. he gave one glance at mellis, and moved suddenly toward the door.
“explicit,” he said, crossing his hands upon his chest. “god have mercy on us all, john falconer.”
the men seized him and hurried him down the stairway, nor did he resist. in the courtyard they stripped him of his armor, leaving him nothing but his old cassock, a girdle and a knife. he was taken across the bridge and through the camp to the beech wood. a knight in black harness was waiting there, leaning on his sword. one of the men gave martin a wallet full of food.
the knight—it was sir gregory—went close to martin, and stared into his face.
“let us not see you again,” he said. “go—and take your shame and your sin away from us.”
he pointed with his sword into the gloom of the beeches.
“show your face again, and there shall be no mercy for you, you thing of evil omen. go!”
and martin valliant went from them into the darkness like a broken man carrying a curse.
john falconer had cleared the men from the room, and set his torch in a rusty bracket on the wall, where it threw a wayward, draughty flare upon his face. mellis stood by the window with her back turned to him, rigid, motionless, her hands at her throat.
“there will come a time when you will thank me for this.”
she was struggling for self-mastery, and against the bitter shame that they had thrust upon her, while her heart had gone out into the darkness with martin valliant, and in a way she was desperate, robbed of her love. she might have come through her anguish in silence had john falconer been less of a dull and jealous fool.
“now get you to bed, child; there will be peace in this house.”
“peace!”
she flashed around on him with generous fury.
“peace—for me, when you have treated me as though i were a harlot? oh, you blind fools, you souls full of foul imaginings! that man was a saint, white as god’s own self. and you have robbed me of such a love as a man but seldom gives to a woman. yes, he could have taken that sword and given death to many of your curs, but there was a nobleness, a humility, that did not touch you. he knew what was in your hearts, that you hated him, were jealous, breathed foul lies. he besought me to let him go. and i—i bade him stay. i would that he had taken all that a woman has to give; yes, my very body and soul. there is the truth; i fling it in your face, john falconer, you sour and godly and grudging hound!”
her anger scorched him like a flame. he answered her hoarsely.
“it was for your sake i did it. for you are precious to us.”
“my sake! ye gods! is a woman’s love to be put in pawn by gray fools and wiseacres? i tell you i am his; i shall die his; i would that he had taken all that i had to give. and i am precious to you? never, by my soul! i cast you off! i am your enemy henceforth, and every man here is my mortal foe. may disaster befall you all! may you be cut off, slain, trampled into the earth! get you gone out of this room; my love has slept here, and you do foul it.”
she advanced on him, and he went back before her, covering his face with his arm.
“you will thank me—yet,” he said.
“nay, i shall die before i thank you,” and she closed the door on him as he went out.
