Myles stared at the tower for a while in silence. “It is a strange-seeming place from without,” said he, at last, “and mayhap it may be even more strange inside. Hast ever been within, Francis?”
“Nay,” said Gascoyne; “said I not it hath been fast locked since Earl Robert's day?”
“By'r Lady,” said Myles, “an I had lived here in this place so long as thou, I wot I would have been within it ere this.”
“Beshrew me,” said Gascoyne, “but I have never thought of such a matter.” He turned and looked at the tall crown rising into the warm sunlight with a new interest, for the thought of entering it smacked pleasantly of adventure. “How wouldst thou set about getting within?” said he, presently.
“Why, look,” said Myles; “seest thou not yon hole in the ivy branches? Methinks there is a window at that place. An I mistake not, it is in reach of the stable eaves. A body might come up by the fagot pile to the roof of the hen-house, and then by the long stable to the north stable, and so to that hole.”
Gascoyne looked thoughtfully at the Brutus Tower, and then suddenly inquired, “Wouldst go there?”
“Aye,” said Myles, briefly.
“So be it. Lead thou the way in the venture, I will follow after thee,” said Gascoyne.
As Myles had said, the climbing from roof to roof was a matter easy enough to an active pair of lads like themselves; but when, by-and-by, they reached the wall of the tower itself, they found the hidden window much higher from the roof than they had judged from below—perhaps ten or twelve feet—and it was, besides, beyond the eaves and out of their reach.
Myles looked up and looked down. Above was the bushy thickness of the ivy, the branches as thick as a woman's wrist, knotted and intertwined; below was the stone pavement of a narrow inner court between two of the stable buildings.