“Good news, brother! our captain Suleimaun is victorious, and he and his men will be here ere long, with the heads of the Christian dogs on their spears.”
Hugo’s heart leaped, for though the speaker was dressed as a Moor, and spoke fluent Arabic, the voice was that of his brother! The hour of escape had come!
Even with the overwhelming joy of that moment, however, mingled a thrill of terror at the thought of what must happen, were the famous White Knight, the Moors’ most dreaded foe, detected within their walls. But he had no time to think of it, for just then his door swung noiselessly back, and in the doorway stood a shadowy form, as if shaped from the gathering darkness.
“Come!” said a ghostly whisper; and Yakoob, taking him by the arm, led him cautiously forth.
“The doors below are locked and guarded, but I will bring thee out by a better way, and with this thou may’st climb up out of the ditch.”
He thrust into Hugo’s hand a long pole with an iron hook, used for taking down the lamps in the great hall. Hugo clutched it (with a passing thought that it might serve as a weapon), and followed his guide round the angle of the wall.
This inner wall was but twelve feet high, and the ditch below, though deep, was narrow, and almost dry in places. Neither seemed formidable to the active Englishman, who was about to let himself drop, when Yakoob laid a restraining hand on his arm, and uttered a skilful imitation of the cry of a night-bird.
The cry was at once echoed below, and from behind a huge heap of dry forage glided two dim forms, whom Hugo (though he could barely see them) easily guessed to be Alured and his assistant.
Yakoob let down a silken cord, to which Alured made fast a heavy purse.
The rascal drew up his ill-got gains with greedy haste, and then produced a strong rope, which he knotted round a jutting pinnacle.