Oliver drew his sword, placed his back to the wall, and stood on his defence, while the chapmen hurried out, to avoid the risk of being mixed up in the fray or wounded by accident, and Oliver’s adversaries advanced on him in a body. A brief struggle ensued, and the English squire’s sword struck fire from more than one steel cap. But the odds against him were too unequal to be contended with, and the conflict lasted but a few moments. When it was over, Oliver, wounded, but still breathing defiance, lay prostrate on the floor, while two of the men bound his hands with cords; and within half an hour he was placed on his own horse, and, in bitter mood, found himself riding with a soldier on either hand, who had orders to despatch him on the spot in case he made any desperate effort to escape.
For hours Oliver did not deign to mutter a word; but at length, as the moon emerged from behind a cloud, and shone brightly, he perceived that they were within a park, such as generally in that day lay around the castle of a Norman baron.
“Whither are you conducting me?” asked he, eagerly.
“To Chas-Chateil,” was Hornmouth’s brief reply.
“I guessed as much,” replied Oliver. “And for what purpose?”
“You will learn when you arrive and enter,” was the reply.
As Hornmouth spoke, the dogs in the forester’s lodge barked at the tramp of horses, and the deer, which lay asleep on knolls in groups of some half-dozen, started and glided swiftly through the glades; and, as the horsemen moved on, a feudal castle, reared on the crest of an eminence and defended by rampart and moat, appeared in sight, the pale moonbeams resting on the walls.
“And this is Chas-Chateil?” said Oliver, as lights glanced from casement and loophole.
“Assuredly,” was Hornmouth’s answer. “Didst thou take it for Windsor?”
“No, by my faith,” replied Oliver; “only I was thinking it somewhat strange that I should come in such an unseemly plight to the place where I was cradled with such feudal pride.”