Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

by John G. Edgar

Marching noiselessly along the passage, they at length reached the stair that led to the door into the private chamber, and this both Collingham and Wolf exerted all their ingenuity to open, but in vain. The spring could only be acted on from within; and, after repeatedly making fruitless attempts, the knight gave up in despair.

“My hopes were vain,” said he, at length, “and we only waste time. Bring forward the hammers to break the door, and let every man draw his blade and be ready to follow me.”

One of the peasants, a Dane, who, as far as strength and stature were concerned, might have compared to advantage with Siward, the old Earl of Northumbria, advanced with a sledge-hammer, and with one blow smashed the door to pieces.

“Forward!” said Collingham; and the peasant, passing into the secret chamber, followed by the knight, with another blow smashed the door that led from the chamber into the great hall. Still the garrison gave no indications of having taken alarm; and Collingham, guided by Wolf, went straight to the apartment where Sir Anthony Waledger was engaged in combat with imaginary foes, took the governor prisoner, and shut him up till the work was complete.

But by this time the alarm had been given, and caught the ears of a man whose presence at Chas-Chateil Collingham did not even suspect. It was Ralph Hornmouth, who had arrived that very morning, and who, owing to recent fatigue, luckily for the assailants, slept sounder than was his wont. Springing from his bed, Hornmouth hastily armed himself, rushed from his dormitory, roused and called the garrison, and, with his sword drawn, and the soldiers at his back, made for the great hall, to which Collingham had just returned, and, with shouts of “St. Moden! St. Moden! Down with the robber herd!” rushed upon the intruders. But Collingham faced Hornmouth with a courage that equalled his ferocity, and the outlaws answered the cry of “St. Moden!” with loud shouts of “Ho, ho, for the Black Raven! Out! out!”

And now the great hall was filled with combatants, and a bloody conflict took place, both parties fighting furiously. Collingham and Hornmouth singled each other out, and between the gigantic knight and the huge squire was fought a desperate hand-to-hand fight, no man interfering with them. For a time neither had the advantage, and the rafters rang with the echoes of their blows. At length Collingham’s sword broke, and his fate seemed sealed, but he drew back, grasped his terrible club, and renewed the combat, which grew fiercer and fiercer. What might have been the issue it is difficult to guess; but Hornmouth’s foot slipped just as a terrible blow alighted on his crest, and he lay senseless on the floor. In vain the garrison attempted to rescue him. The outlaws, if not the better men, had a mighty advantage over soldiers taken by surprise, roused out of their first sleep, and hastily armed; and ere long they yielded to their fate, ceased to struggle, and sullenly laid down their arms.

And now Collingham lost no time in completing the business which had brought him there. Guided by Wolf, he proceeded to the chamber in which Oliver Icingla was a prisoner, and knocked.

“Who knocks?” cried a stern voice.

It was Oliver’s, and very bold in tone; though what the young Englishman intended to do if there had been danger it is difficult to guess, inasmuch as he had not even a weapon.

“It is I, William de Collingham,” was the reply; and forthwith the door opened and revealed Oliver standing in the dim moonlight as guard over the women who had appealed to him for protection. It is needless to relate what followed. Suffice it to say that in half an hour the castle was left to its mortified and wounded garrison; the outlaws had dispersed through the woods; and Collingham and Oliver Icingla, with Wolf perched behind Oliver on the white “haquenée,” were riding leisurely in the direction of London.