On the opposite side of the street, which, for military reasons, was wider than those away from the walls, was a house of superior quality to its neighbours. It was a two-storeyed, half-timbered building, standing in a large extent of ground. Attracted by its more imposing appearance, three of the marauders stopped and began to batter on the outer gate with their short, heavy axes.
"'Tis the house of Sir Reginald Scarsdale," quoth one of the archers, a Southampton man. "'Tis out of the frying-pan into the fire, I trow, with him."
"What dost thou mean?" asked Raymond.
"Why, this: twice his castle in the county of Yorks hath been burned by the Scots; so, to keep his womenfolk out of harm's way, he sends them down here, while he keeps watch and ward at Berwick."
"His womenfolk?"
"Ay! His wife, the Lady Hilda, and his daughter, the Lady Audrey. Pray Heaven they be not in the house!"
"But they are!" exclaimed another. "I heard from one of their servants but a few hours back that the old lady was seized with an ague. And the younger, a sweet little lass, left to the mercies of those wretches! Alas! And we can do nothing!"
Raymond's only reply was to compress his lips tightly and clutch the hilt of his short sword. Carefully he peered over the edge of the parapet, and looked down on the scene below.
Already the gate was giving way before the lusty blows of the axes. Then, throwing his ponderous body against the shattered woodwork, a burly Genoese burst the remaining fragments with a resounding crash, and, with wild shouts of triumph, the three plunderers rushed across the grounds and attacked the door of the house, while the screams of terrified women rent the air.
Without a moment's hesitation Raymond seized a coil of rope which was used for hauling up materials to the top of the tower, and hastily knotted one end round his body. He looked down. The street was now clear of any wandering soldiers. Taking his bow and quiver, as well as his sword, the youth persuaded his comrades to lower him with all despatch.