Meanwhile, Hugh de Moreville was leaving Paris, resolved on placing Chas-Chateil in safer custody. The Norman baron was destined to reach the castle five hours too late for his purpose.
CHAPTER XXXII
THE SUBTERRANEAN PASSAGE
IT was about ten o’clock on the night of the 17th of May, 1216, that a man and a boy—the one mounted on a strong Flemish charger, the other on one of those common riding horses then known as a “haquenée”—made their way up the banks of the Kennet, and halted by the spot from which so recently Pedro the page had emerged from subterranean darkness into the light of day.
There need be no mystery, so far as the reader is concerned, as to who the riders were. One was William de Collingham, the other was Wolf, the son of Styr, and it was clear from the caution with which they moved, that they were bent on some enterprise to the success of which secrecy was essential.
“Sir knight,” said the boy, in a low tone, “this is the spot.”
“Art thou certain?” asked the knight, looking round.
“As certain as that I serve the Icinglas, and that I played the part of a goblin page in Chas-Chateil.”
“Good,” said the knight, pulling up his steed, and taking his bugle-horn from his belt as to sound a blast. However, he did not blow the round notes, but gave a low, peculiar whistle, which brought a man from among the trees. It was one of those obscure nights common in the month of May, and the moon affording but a dim light, the knight could not make out the figure of the person who approached.
“Friend or foe?” cried Collingham.
“The Black Raven,” was the reply; and as the man drew near the knight and Wolf recognised Styr the Saxon.