Sir Richard calculated that he was laying the road behind him at the rate of five leagues an hour. He was relieved and happy to know that of a certainty he would soon arrive at his journey's end, and that, too, in despite of the many obstacles that had been so stubbornly thrust in his way. "Then," thought he, with a thrill of pleasure, "upon fulfilling my King's behest I shall be free to retrace my way to the Red Tavern to deliver the fair maiden from her imprisonment."
Thus much, at least, he meant surely to do. After that was accomplished, he felt constrained to relinquish the marking of the sequel into the hands of the kind—or unkind—Fates.
Meanwhile the race was going steadily and swiftly forward. Though exacting the utmost of speed from his horse, Sir Richard was unable appreciably to change their positions. With a dogged persistence de Claverlok contrived to maintain the rapid pace and relative distance, which, when galloping over the level, was well within sight of the pursued.
At length, through a narrow cleft between the hills, Sir Richard caught a welcome glimpse of high, square-built and crenelated towers. It was the goal for which he was so mightily striving.
He had passed through the cleft and was well up the slope leading to the portcullis when of a sudden he felt the saddle girth giving way beneath him. Appreciating that it would be sheer madness to risk a fall and certain defeat of his purpose of delivering the warrant, with victory so near, he instantly drew rein, flung himself from off the back of his panting stallion and began the work of securing the ill adjusted strap.
While thus feverishly engaged he shouted at the top of his voice for the guard upon the tower to lower the drawbridge across the wide moat. Covered with scarlet-flecked foam, de Claverlok's horse came thundering upon him up the hill.
With the grizzled knight scarce above two lance-haft's lengths behind him, and wildly calling upon him to wait, that death lay in the King's warrant, Sir Richard vaulted into his saddle and made for the castle gate.
When he had laid something near half of the remaining distance behind him he heard the clear blast of a bugle go singing across the down. Without in the least diminishing his speed, he turned in time to see a band of armored horsemen flashing out of the pine forest to the eastward. Riding in the van he was certain that he recognized the livid-scarred face of the traveler in the monk's robe.
If the bridge were now but lowered it would be impossible for them to cut Sir Richard off. Would it fall for him? Now he had reached to within easy flight of an arrow from the massively buttressed gray walls; and as yet he could discern no sign of movement among the thick ropes, wheels, and pulleys sustaining it. There appeared no hint of life along the face of the great pile. At the very moment when he was about to wheel to the westward, in the faint hope of eluding his pursuers through a continued flight, there sounded a creaking of wheels, and the heavy structure began slowly to move earthward.
De Claverlok's lance, hilt-foremost, went hurtling past the young knight's shoulder. Distinctly he heard the dull splash of it as it struck the black waters of the moat, far below.