Bound hand and foot, the unfortunate squire was carried or dragged through a thick growth of underwood, till at length his captors gained a large clearing. By the aid of a momentary flash he saw the outlines of a low building. In response to a violent knocking he heard the sound of bolts being withdrawn, and, borne on the shoulders of four strong men, he was carried into the house, and dropped unceremoniously upon the rush-strewn floor.
Some one took a torch from its socket and bent over the prostrate squire. Raymond recognised the features—it was the traitorous guide! But gone was the heavy lustreless expression of his eyes and the stolid set of his swarthy jaws; instead a look of malevolent intelligence overspread his face, and by the subservience with which he was treated by his comrades it was evident that he was a man of authority.
"Ah! Dolt, fool, beast of an Englishman! How nicely hast thou borne the Count of Tancarville back to the camp of the cursed invader of Normandy! Dead or alive, eh? Little didst thou know how near thy purpose was fulfilled when thy base routier made to pass a knife across my throat. I—even I—am the Count of Tancarville!"
He paused to observe the effect of this startling announcement, but Raymond preserved a dignified silence.
"And that simpleton the Constable, thy master," he resumed. "To think that the Count of Tancarville would be dallying at a hunting lodge when base English defile the coasts of Normandy! Ah! That was a near one," he added as another blinding flash of lightning lit up the room.
"Knowest thou, thou miserable fool," he continued as soon as the crash of the thunder permitted, "that did that fiery fork but touch this place thou and I would be scattered, so that all the armies of Philip and Edward would fail to find a fragment? Eh, I interest thee? 'Tis well; I'll tell thee more, seeing that the knowledge will profit thee but little. Henri! Cut asunder the bonds that bind this Englishman's legs, and do thou and Etienne stand close lest he do himself an injury!"
Handing the torch to a serving-man, the Count led the way, closely followed by Raymond and his two guards. In an adjoining apartment, so open to the winds that the torch was almost extinguished, lay seven sinister-looking objects, which the squire readily recognised as bombards.
These early cannon were composed of straight lengths of flat iron, held together by shrunk-on iron hoops, and lashed down to a heavy baulk of timber, so that in training these clumsy contrivances, carriage and gun were practically one piece.
"These are the beasts I hunt in this forest," quoth the Count. "King Philip hath need of them, and, by our Lady of Nîmes, 'twill be a sight to see the vaunted English bowmen being bowled over by these bombards. And food these beasts must have! Forward, garçons, and show this dolt mine animals' food. But, Bertrand, stand aside with that torch. I am in no mind to go heavenwards yet awhile."
The next room was little better than a cell, lightened by the feeble light of an oil lamp that glimmered through a horn lanthorn. In a far corner could be discerned the bent figure of a monk, his cowl thrown back on his shoulders and his arms bared to the elbow. Ignoring the interruption, he continued his labours, working a pestle with untiring energy.