The Story of Francis Cludde

by Stanley John Weyman

"Yes; but hurt," she answered, struggling with a sob, with a fluttering of the woman's heart she had repressed so bravely. "Much hurt, I fear! Oh, why, why did we come here?"

She did not mean it as a reproach, but I took it as one, and braced myself more firmly to meet this crisis--to save her at least if it should be any way possible. When she asked again "Can I do anything?" I bade her take my pike and stand where I was for a moment. Since no enemy had yet made his appearance above, the strength of our position seemed to hold out some hope, and it was the more essential that I should understand it and know exactly what our chances were.

I sprang up the stairs into the room and looked round, my eyes seeming to take in everything at once. It was a big bare room, with signs of habitation only in one corner. On the side toward the town was a long, low window, through which--a score of the diamond panes were broken already--the flare of the besiegers' torches fell luridly on the walls and vaulted roof. By the dull embers of a wood fire, over which hung a huge black pot, Master Bertie was lying on the boards, breathing loudly and painfully, his head pillowed on the Duchess's kerchief. Beside him sat Mistress Anne, her face hidden, the child wailing in her lap. A glance round assured me that there was no other staircase, and that on the side toward the country, the wall was pierced with no window bigger than a loophole or an arrow-slit; with no opening which even a boy could enter. For the present, therefore, unless the top of the tower should be escaladed from the adjacent houses--and I could do nothing to provide against that--we had nothing to fear except from the staircase and the window I have mentioned. Every moment, however, a missile or a shot crashed through the latter, adding the shiver of falling glass to the general din. No wonder the child wailed and the girl sank over it in abject terror. Those savage yells might well make a woman blench. They carried more fear and dread to my heart than did the real danger of our position, desperate as it was.

And yet it was so desperate that, for a moment, I leant against the wall dazed and hopeless, listening to the infernal tumult without and within. Had Bertie been by my side to share the responsibility and join in the risk, I could have borne it better. I might have felt then some of the joy of battle, and the stern pleasure of the one matched against the many. But I was alone. How was I to save these women and that poor child from the yelling crew outside? How indeed? I did not know the enemy's language; I could not communicate with him, could not explain, could not even cry for quarter for the women.

A stone which glanced from one of the mullions and grazed my shoulder roused me from this fit of cowardice, which, I trust and believe, had lasted for a few seconds only. At the same moment an unusual volley of missiles tore through the window as if discharged at a given signal. We were under cover, and they did us no harm, rolling for the most part noisily about the floor. But when the storm ceased and a calm as sudden followed, I heard a dull, regular sound close to the window--a thud! thud! thud!--and on the instant divined the plan and the danger. My courage came back and with it my wits. I remembered an old tale I had heard, and, dropping my sword where I stood, I flew to the hearth, and unhooked the great pot. It was heavy; half full of something--broth, most likely; but I recked nothing of that, I bore it swiftly to the window, and just as the foremost man on the ladder had driven in the lead work before him with his ax, flung the whole of the contents--they were not scalding, but they were very hot--in his face. The fellow shrieked loudly, and, blinded and taken by surprise, lost his hold and fell against his supporter, and both tumbled down again more quickly than they had come up.

Sternly triumphant, I poised the great pot itself in my hands, thinking to fling it down upon the sea of savage upturned faces, of which I had a brief view, as the torches flared now on one, now on another. But prudence prevailed. If no more blood were shed it might still be possible to get some terms. I laid the pot down by the side of the window as a weapon to be used only in the last resort.

Meanwhile the Duchess, posted in the dark, had heard the noise of the window being driven in, and cried out pitifully to know what it was. "Stand firm!" I shouted loudly. "Stand firm. We are safe as yet."

Even the uproar without seemed to abate a little as the first fury of the mob died down. Probably their leaders were concerting fresh action. I went and knelt beside Master Bertie and made a rough examination of his wound. He had received a nasty blow on the back of the head, from which the blood was still oozing, and he was insensible. His face looked very long and thin and deathlike. But, so far as I could ascertain, the bones were uninjured, and he was now breathing more quietly. "I think he will recover," I said, easing his clothes.

Anne was crouching on the other side of him. As she did not answer I looked up at her. Her lips were moving, but the only word I caught was "Clarence!" I did not wonder she was distraught; I had work enough to keep my own wits. But I wanted her help, and I repeated loudly, "Anne! Anne!" trying to rouse her.

She looked past me shuddering. "Heaven forgive you!" she muttered. "You have brought me to this! And now I must die! I must die here. In the net they have set for others is their own foot taken!"