What with Marvin’s simples, my wound was fast healing, and I longed for another fray where I could use my bow at close quarters. Scarce a day passed without one of my bolts striking the steel harness of some Carleton knight; but none found their way to armor joints; and the peasants and leather-coated men-at-arms kept well beyond a hurtful range.
One dismal morning, when a month had passed, my heart sank, as did those of all the Mountjoys, as we made out the tall figure in black armor and the long gray beard of the Lord of Carleton, again making his rounds at the head of a group of knights and squires. Plain to see, he had recovered from his wound and was as bent as ever on Mountjoy’s fall. The old Gray Wolf was hungry not only for the house and lands of Mountjoy but also for the vengeance which to him would be sweeter than all the lands of England. Now might we expect new assaults, planned with their two failures in mind, and bringing to bear new plans and schemes and all their beastly hate and greed. Some of our old serving men shivered as they spoke of the devilish deeds of the Gray Wolf, and of the fate in store for them if the next assault should win its way.
That night, at something after ten, the weather being raw and dismal with a cold spring rain and the spirits of all the Mountjoy folk somewhat adroop, one of the archers had been sent to the cellars to draw a pitcher of ale. In a moment he came up the stairs on the run, and burst into the hall with the empty pitcher held in shaking hands and with teeth chattering with fright.
“Oh, my lady!” he said, catching for his breath, “the Evil One hath us now, and all our doings are for naught.”
“What say’st thou, Gavin?” called his mistress, “who tells thee tales of the Evil One?”
“’Tis—’Tis the truth,” answered poor Gavin, “but now, in the cellars, he goes—tap tap tap in the ground at one’s feet. So has he come to take many a poor mortal. We be called for, and all our sins on our heads, with no holy man at hand to say him nay with book and bell.”
“Go to. Thou’rt a coward when in the dark by thy lone,” said my lady, scornfully, “though thou fight’st well and truly with comrades at thy elbow. Marvin, if our watchers are to have their sup of ale on this raw night, thou must even draw it thyself.”
But our brave old archer, hero of a hundred battles, turned pale and answered slowly:
“Nay, my lady, it is not well for mortal men, with mayhap many a word and deed unconfessed and unpenanced, to meddle with the Powers of Darkness. For my sins I know them of old, and I dare not face them. Show me a mortal man, and I’ll stand before him with whatever weapons, but not the spirits that thump on the footstones by night or twist the neck of a sleeping man with a hand not seen.”
My mother turned pale, and I could see the fringe of her sleeve barely aquiver in the candlelight. She opened her mouth to speak in reproof of Marvin; but found no words, and sat gazing toward him with wide and glistening eyes. Truth to tell, it was a fearsome thing, and for myself I had but the smallest wish to face the dungeon passages on that black night. ’Twas not so long since I would not have faced them by my lone on the most quiet and peaceful of nights with no armed enemies within a day’s journey; and a great round lump came up into my throat as I thought of it. Yet, even as we sat eying one another in fear, a thought came to my mind of the duty of a Mountjoy. ’Twas but natural that our serving men should fear the evil sprites let loose by darkness and troublous times; and e’en my mother, a fair and gracious lady, and withal none too strong of body, was not made to face such things. But I was the Heir of Mountjoy; and my father had knelt before a King of France and been made Knight of a holy order for his deeds on the Plains of Jerusalem. I started up and cried: