Clash of Arms: A Romance

by John Bloundelle-Burton

But now, having discovered that this had happened, he resolved that it should not do so again. It was contrary to all his military ideas to be thus surprised without knowing it; repugnant also to him to be thus visited by some enemy, or some creature of his particular enemy. It should not be repeated, he vowed.

To prevent any such further unknown visitation, he raised himself into a sitting posture and stretched out his hand for the stone pitcher which stood by his side, when, grasping it round the neck, he drew it towards him. He meant to sleep when next slumber came to him with his hand around it, and to place the platter beneath his arms. Thereby, unless they were left untouched and fresh supplies put in their place, it would be impossible for his food and drink to be replenished without his knowing it, as well as being awakened. And, should it be the woman who thus replenished them, it might happen that he could wile her into conversation, might, indeed, by working upon her feelings, induce her to say something that should give him a clue as to what fate was before him.

Thinking this, he drew the vessel towards him, when, to his amazement, he found that it struck against and moved something lying on the floor; something that, when he had previously raised the jug to his lips directly from the floor, he had not observed. Something long and thin that slid on the boards with a scraping sound.

To his further intense astonishment as he grasped the object, he found it was a sword in its scabbard. A moment later he knew it was his own sword.

There was no doubt about it. He could recognize his own long curled quillon amongst a thousand, knew the particular shape of the steel hook by which he fastened his leather-slashed "carriage," or porte épée, to his belt; knew also the feel and grip of the handle. It was his own sword, the one that, below, had dropped from his numbed hand as the bludgeon, or other weapon, had struck him down at the same time that the flash from the pistol had blinded him.

"What does it mean?" he whispered to himself, as, lovingly, he ran his finger along the keen, sharp blade. "What? That I am to have a chance for life even though against tremendous odds; even though outnumbered. Ha! well, no matter! Better that, with this true friend to my hand, than poison or a swift fall down that hellish shaft to regions unknown. Far better that, with you in my grasp," and he thrust the blade back into its scabbard. Yet, cheered as he was by discovering this good servant by his side once more, a moment's reflection told him how, even now, it was of little use to him. Rivetted to the floor was one end of the accursed chain that held him fast--with that about his ankle what could he do even though armed?

"Kill one or two, 'tis true," he mused, "even as they come at me. Kill them, run them through, as once I saw a Turk at Choczim kill four men, while he lay on the ground with both his legs torn off beneath the knee by one of Sobieski's cannonballs. Well! even so, 'tis best. Best to die fighting, causing as many as I can to travel the same dark road I go upon. Far best." And, hugging his sword to him, he lay back and pondered on who could have done him so fair a service as this.

"The woman, without doubt," he thought. "The poor mad, distracted thing. It may be that she deems I shall be the instrument of vengeance on the son of the man who threw her off, and so provided me the wherewithal."

Still thinking over all this, and musing, as he had mused more than once in the long lonely hours spent in the darkness, on what could have caused Laurent to either cut, or permit to be cut, the rope which would have saved him and Marion Wyatt--would have opened the door to their freedom--wondering, also, if he had been suddenly attacked from behind--perhaps slain--Andrew dropped off once more into a gentle slumber. Though now, with the sword to one hand, and with the other round the pitcher's neck, while the bread platter lay beneath his arm.

Dropped off into a slumber from which he was awakened by hearing a step upon the ladder, and by the room becoming suddenly lit up by the rays of an approaching lanthorn. The lanthorn carried by the woman whom he deemed distraught.