"Well, my Lord," he said, and from his tones had departed all their former truculence.
"I have to ask your permission to leave the castle to-night. The time is ripe for my departure, and I think during the commotion that will inevitably ensue in the enemy's camp after the receipt of your startling message, I may the more surely make my way through the lines. I shall, with as little delay as need be, bring up my own men, and I imagine we will have small difficulty in raising the siege, or at least in getting through to you some necessary provender, if you can but hold out for a few days longer."
"How many men answer to your command?"
"Enough to make their Lordships regret that my followers are thrown in the scale against them."
For a moment an elated gleam of hope lit up the dark eye of the Count, but it soon died away as unbelief in the other's ability to do what he had promised reasserted itself.
"You have been here for two years: your men are now most likely scattered, or may indeed be in the Archbishop's own camp. When the hand of the master is withdrawn, his mercenaries look to themselves!"
"True, my Lord; but I have been in constant communication with my trusty lieutenant, and he now informs me that everything is ready."
"How can you have been in communication with him?"
"The good monk, my Lord, was my secret messenger."