Edgar the Ready: A Tale of the Third Edward's Reign

by W. P. Shervill

Peter obeyed. "I can make no more of it than before," he remarked after a pause. "The sounds seem like nothing that I----But hark! I can hear the sound of footsteps coming and going. We shall have Duprez here anon."

But the two prisoners were left undisturbed. The noise of footsteps died away, and with it the strange sounds that had so puzzled and alarmed Edgar--nay, alarmed him still, for he could not help connecting the sounds with Sir John, and feared that his ruthless enemies might be torturing or tormenting him into acquiescence in their plans. The more he thought of it the more he felt that such might be the case, and the more impatient he became to escape and hasten to his master's aid.

"Come, Peter," he cried at last, "we shall do little more by taking thought. At the next visit of Duprez we must try conclusions. Aid me to practise mounting rapidly to the bracket, so that when we next hear footsteps I may be prepared for action without loss of time."

For half an hour Edgar practised until he could clamber up and get ready with great rapidity. Night had by that time fallen, and as it seemed unlikely that Duprez would visit them again that day, they gathered the rugs together and disposed themselves to sleep.

Scarcely had they dozed off, however, when they were awakened by the sound of footsteps close at hand and by the glint of a light beneath the door. The moment of their opportunity had come! Duprez was doubtless at the door.

With feverish impatience, Edgar hastened to the door and began to clamber up to his station. His movements were cramped and impeded by his shackles and the absolute necessity that no clanking of chains should warn their jailers that the prisoners were up and doing. Ere he had fully gained his coign of vantage the key was grating in the lock, and Peter had barely time to scuttle back to the farthest corner of the cell and to crouch down among the rugs, feigning sleep, before the door began to swing back upon its hinges.

"Come, ye proud varlets, ye are honoured tonight. Sir Eustace desires speech with you. Ha, ha! Much comfort to you 'twill be, I'll warrant."

As he spoke Duprez strode into the cell, followed by another man who carried a torch, which he raised above his head to catch a glimpse of the prisoners.

With a sudden spring, Edgar flung himself down upon the torchbearer, landing full upon him and crushing him to the ground with stunning force. The torch spun from his hand into a corner, and lay there spluttering in the damp, shedding a feeble, fitful light upon the scene. With a loud shout of alarm, Duprez grasped his sword by the hilt and strove to pluck it from its sheath. Before he could do so, however, Edgar had sprung upon him from the rear, whilst Peter seized him round the legs from the front. Down he went headlong, struggling furiously and shouting for aid, until Edgar grasped him by the throat and choked the sound with a grip of iron. Meanwhile the man who had borne the torch lay without a movement. His forehead had struck the flagstones with a force that had rendered him unconscious.

"Tear me some strips from yon rugs," cried Edgar in a minute or two, when Duprez, half-choked and fully mastered, had begun to relax his struggles. "Take this dagger--quick!"