"Behold the worthy successor to Michael Schwartz! My faith! It does my heart good to show the accursed English the resources of la belle France; yet, 'tis passing strange that the secret of the making of the devil's powder should be divulged to a priest of God. Five score barrels full of the powder are ready for the use of our forces, and I'll warrant—— Ah! What wouldst thou? Down with him, mes garçons!"
For Raymond, suddenly fired with a reckless determination, had thrown himself upon the torch-bearer, and with a shower of sparks the burning brand was dashed upon the floor, missing the bench with its dangerous compound by less than a span!
The Count and the monk, both white with fear, stamped upon the blazing embers, while the guards with no gentle hand had forced their prisoner to the ground.
"A senseless piece of folly," growled the Norman. "And little credit to thyself."
"'Twould have rid the King of England of a dangerous foe," replied Raymond stoutly, opening his lips for the first time since his capture.
"Away with him, till I find a means to make use of him, Etienne!" exclaimed the Count, taking no notice of the squire's remark.
"To the oubliette?"
"Nay; two of these accursed Englishmen in one den would plague us far more than if kept apart. One never knows what the rogues get up to when they plan amongst themselves. Lock him in the old arrow-store."
The old arrow-store was a damp and dismal chamber next to the cell where Raymond had seen the monk at his researches. It was on the ground floor, and lighted only by one lancet-shaped window, far too narrow to admit the passage of a man. The roof was vaulted, the arches springing from a central pillar, while the floor was paved with heavy slabs set in strong cement.
This much the young squire saw while the men were making a cursory examination by the aid of two additional torches; and after removing an old chest they quitted the room, bolting and locking the heavy iron-plated door behind them.