Then came a cheering thought. Had these men belonged to the besieging host, they would have had no need for such caution; they must be friends, trying to reach the town without being detected!
Filled with joy at such unhoped-for help in their sorest need, he lost no time in announcing his discovery; and several officers hastened to the spot, just as a single form detached itself from the shadowy train, and rode close up to the gate.
“Open, I pray,” he whispered; “we bring you aid and food.”
“And perchance death too,” said a veteran officer, warily. “How know we that ye are not betraying us? The English knaves have disguised them thus ere now. Till we know more of you, ye enter not here.”
“Dally not, in Heaven’s name! life and death are on every moment!” said the other vehemently, though still in a subdued tone. “I speak truth, I vow it by St. Anne of Auray! Call quickly your commandant, Sir Godefroi de Kerimel, if ye will not believe me.”
But there was no need, for the commandant was already on the spot.
“Who art thou who wouldst speak with me?” he cried, looking keenly over the ramparts at the dim form below.
“Yvon de Laconnet,” said the stranger; “thou hast heard of me, belike. Our captain bade me tell thee, as a token that we be true men, that we have with us ‘Ar fol goët.’”
Most men would have seen no meaning in these Breton words, which imply merely “The fool of the forest;” but to De Kerimel and his men the strange phrase was like an electric shock.
“Open the gate!” he cried, “and praised be God, who hath sent such aid in our need!”