"Forward, Peter," he whispered; "Black Eustace and his men are asleep, I verily believe."
"Black Eustace never sleeps," echoed a rough voice from the blackness of the turret, and a dark form sprang suddenly upon Edgar and nearly brought him to the ground. Other figures followed, and in a twinkling Edgar and Peter were struggling in the grip of half a dozen men.
"Slay them not--at present," commanded the deep voice of the man who had first spoken. "Bring torches and bind them well. Then shall we see who hath dared to set foot upon the walls of the castle of Eustace de Brin--Black Eustace, one of the knaves called me, did he? We shall see. Mayhap he will be right."
It was but a spring from the walls to safety, and Edgar struggled fiercely to fling off his many assailants. A desperate effort freed his right arm, and a heavy blow rid him of one of them for a time. But he was no nearer even temporary freedom, for one of the men had clutched him firmly round the waist from behind with one hand while with the other he seized him by the hair and dragged his head forcibly back. Slowly but surely, notwithstanding his most frantic efforts, Edgar found his head dragged relentlessly back until his neck seemed on the point of snapping beneath the cruel strain. To struggle on was hopeless, and, weak from his exertions and with his senses nearly gone, Edgar allowed his arms to be drawn behind his back and there secured without further resistance.
Torches were brought. One was thrust close to Edgar's face--so close that his hair was singed and his cheek scorched--and a man peered searchingly at him.
"A TORCH WAS THRUST CLOSE TO EDGAR'S FACE"
"I know not the varlet," he growled, and Edgar recognized the voice of the man who had first spoken and who had admitted himself to be Eustace de Brin. "He seemeth not to belong to these dogs of peasants who would dearly love to bite the hand of their master an they got the chance. Here, camarade, perchance this is one of the hounds thou hast feared might be on thy track."
A man who had held aloof from the struggle came forward at the call, and Edgar, whose head had now been released from its intolerable strain, had no difficulty in recognizing, in spite of his bandages, the fierce eyes and harsh visage of Sir Gervaise de Maupas. The recognition was mutual, for with a shout of astonishment and savage joy, the knight cried:
"It is! It is! This is none other than that braggart esquire of whom I told thee, Eustace."