"Quick, Peter!" he cried in sentences short and sharp, like the jab of a sword. "To the donjon--we must take refuge there! Rouse thyself, or we are sped!"
Shaking off his dizziness as best he could, Peter tottered towards the open door of the keep a yard or two away. It was guarded by two men-at-arms, but Edgar had already attacked them with the energy born of despair and of the ruin of all his plans. Swinging his axe with a strength that crushed down all his opposition, he clove his way through the doorway, seized the great iron-plated door, and, as Peter sprang through, flung it violently to behind him.
"A hand here, Peter, if thou canst!" he cried rapidly, indicating a number of great blocks of stone piled against the wall to halfway up the stairs. Dropping his axe and seizing one with both hands, he swung it against the door. Another and another followed, until in a few seconds the strength of the door was doubled and trebled by the weight of a solid mass of great stones piled behind.
Peter was now almost himself again, and seeing that entry by the main gateway was effectually barred for a time, cried excitedly:
"But what of the door from the courtyard to the dungeons, Master Edgar? Will they not enter there? If 'tis only to sell our lives dearly that thou hast fought thy way in here, let us climb upwards and defend ourselves upon the summit of the keep."
"'Tis not that alone, Peter, that made me dash in hither instead of meeting De Maupas and settling our account once and for all. 'Tis more because I saw a glimmer of hope, remote but clear. As for the other door, 'twill be fast locked, and what jailer would carry his keys to the battle? Nay, we have a few minutes' respite--let us use it well. Upward, Peter, upward! 'Tis the lady Beatrice we must next seek and succour if we can."
So saying, Edgar took the lead and sprang quickly up the stairs. He knew where to look, for while in the very midst of the mêlée raging about the outer gates he had caught a glimpse of a hand, small and white, stretched out in mute appeal from a little window high up in the walls of the mighty donjon.
CHAPTER XX
The Last Hope
"Hark!" cried Beatrice, springing from the couch on which she had passed her second night at Ruthènes. "Hark, Jeannette, the call to arms is once more sounding! Dawn is breaking, and some deadly conflict is, I feel sure, about to begin outside."