Cedric, the Forester

by Bernard Gay Marshall

This time the sentry heard the stroke—or so it seemed—for he came hurrying back to the tower battlements, and peered downward past the open window for minutes together. But all had become as still as death, and there was naught that he could see; so at length he turned away and resumed his pacing.

As Cedric again drew in the quarrel, he whispered to me:

“I have it now. The line drew down my bolt by a yard or more. I must allow for that by a higher aim. The third cast never fails; and for that we yet have time ere yonder sentry is sure there’s mischief afoot.”

He took a fresh bolt and tied the cord with care about it. Then for the third time he aimed at the tower above us. ’Twas the lucky third indeed, for, close following the whir of the quarrel, came a muffled thud as it struck the oaken door within the cell. This seemed not to reach the ears of the sentry on the other side of the battlements, for though we listened with bated breath, there was no sound of his returning footsteps. The next instant we could see the unspent portion of the line was tightening with a pull from the tower. Then straightway the coil of rope left its place at our feet, swam through the moat and climbed the tower’s side.

Cedric and I clasped hands in joy, for now we could see our project succeeding. In no more time than he needed to descend from the window, swim the moat and reach the horses in the hazel copse, Wilfrid would be safely away from Kimberley.

Once more the sentry made his rounds, and once more passed regardless of what was going forward six yards below him. Wilfrid appeared at the window, and, lowering himself hand over hand, came swiftly down the rope to the cliff below. There misfortune awaited us. As he dangled from the rope with his feet seeking a hold on the sloping cliff, he loosened a bit of rock, the size of a man’s head, that lay near the tower base; and this accursed stone slid and rolled noisily down the crag and struck the waters of the moat with a hideous splashing.

At once the sentry, whose ears mayhap had been sharpened by the other noise for which he had found no reason, came running again to the tower. Peering into the darkness below, he spied the prisoner just as he leaped down the rock and plunged into the moat.

The sentinel was a ready man and determined,—such an one as might well have served a better master. Setting up a lusty shout of alarm, he turned at once to a pile of the stones that were kept on the battlements for the repelling of besiegers, and began hurling these into the moat.

The water’s surface was in shadow and we could not see the head of the swimmer, nor could we tell whether any of the soldier’s wild-flung missiles had found their mark. A minute passed wherein my blood seemed to freeze and my limbs to lock themselves fast like those of one who perishes from a mad dog’s bite. The stones still followed one another in vicious plunges into the black waters: and the soldier continued to halloo for the guardsmen at the gate to lower the bridge and search the farther bank.

Then Cedric broke away from me and plunged into the moat. Forgetting all else, I followed him to the water’s edge, stood peering vainly into the blackness, and might have dived in also had he not speedily returned. He was swimming lustily with one hand, and with the other bearing up his comrade. I seized them both as they came within reach, and hauled them ashore. Cedric joined with me and we drew Wilfrid up the bank and half way to the group of saplings. There Cedric stopped with a groan of misery, and fell on his knees by the limp body of his friend. The wind had brushed the clouds from the sky; and by the starlight I saw that Wilfrid’s head had been crushed by one of the stones from the battlements.