"Right dear and well beloved,
"The White Rose musters again in the west, and I have hope of your release. Ope the west postern ere sunrise. Till then God keep ye.
"Written in great haste this eve of St. Withold by the hand of him who would remain ever yours,
"Roger Courtenay."
Catharine's wild excitement on the perusal of this missive can be more readily imagined than described.
"He is alive! He comes to my rescue!" she exclaimed. "Perchance it was even Roger himself disguised as the pedlar. He was ever one to venture a bold deed. Alack! that I should have been so near, and not have known him!"
She did not dare to confide her secret even to her faithful maid, Anne, but retiring as usual at nightfall she lay awake, waiting in burning anxiety for the earliest peep of dawn. When the first faint glimmer of light stole into her room she rose and crept softly down the stairs. She was obliged to make her way through the great hall, where the men-at-arms lay sleeping on the rushes. A dog sprang up and growled, but she managed to quiet it with a caress, and passed on without disturbing the sleepers. The little west postern door was heavily barred, and it took all the strength of her white hands to pull back the bolts. Cautiously she peered out into the half-darkness. At the same moment a tall figure stepped from the shadow and clasped her in his arms.
"Sweet, you must fly! This is no place for ye now," whispered Roger. "Diccon waits with a trusty steed to conduct ye to Covebury. Take sanctuary at the convent of the Franciscans till I come to claim ye. I have stern work to do here."
Wrapping her hastily in a cloak, and helping her to mount, Roger waited till he judged the fugitives to be at a safe distance; then, giving the word of command to his followers, he commenced his attack on the Manor. Sir Mervyn and his retainers, surprised in their sleep, nevertheless offered a determined resistance. A fierce combat was waged in the great hall and in the courtyard, till, pressed from one point of vantage to another, the defenders made a desperate sally, and rushing helter-skelter down the village sought refuge inside the ancient church. It was of no avail; the villagers, hastily armed with swords and pikes, had joined in the fray. Determined to avenge themselves upon Sir Mervyn for his many acts of tyranny and injustice, they set upon him without mercy, and without respect even for the sacredness of the edifice. Chased from the choir to the Lady Chapel, and from the Lady Chapel to the tower, he fled up the narrow steps to the belfry, where he turned at bay, and held the staircase with the courage of despair. Driven from this last standpoint, he climbed yet higher to the rafters where hung the bell, and slew six men in succession before he fell, at length, shouting curses upon his foes.
Roger Courtenay had scant time to enjoy his triumph. The Yorkist army was mustering for a great struggle; so, having left a small garrison in charge of the Manor, he rode away immediately with the rest of his followers to join the adherents of the White Rose. The result of the battle of Tewkesbury is a matter of history. The unfortunate remnant of Lancaster took to flight, and York gained a final and triumphant victory. Roger, whose bravery was conspicuous throughout the day, worthily won his spurs, and was knighted on the field by Richard of Gloucester. His forfeited estate was restored to him, and King Edward himself forwarded his union with Catharine Mowbray, so that before the summer was over the ancient parish church of Haversleigh, which but lately had rung to the clash of arms, now echoed instead to the merry peal of wedding bells.