"Boldly down the stairs, which should be at the end of the passage. They lead to the main door into the courtyard. If any see us 'twill be Duprez and his man conveying the sick prisoner to another chamber. If any seek to know more we must silence them, and then on."
"Dare we ascend the walls with Sir John in such sore plight, Master Edgar?"
"Nay, 'tis to the drawbridge we must go. We cannot lower a sick man from the walls into the castle moat. We must surprise the sentinel at the gates, and lower away before the alarm is sounded. If only Sir John will keep as quiet as he is now, we may count upon taking the guard unawares. He will doubtless be facing outwards to the foe, and not inwards to the silent courtyard."
Leaving their torch behind them, the two young men crept slowly and silently along the passage with their burden. Halfway along they turned a corner and came full upon a door which stood half-open close by. Light streamed forth, and inside they could hear the regular thud of ironclad heels as a man paced slowly up and down.
Somehow the sound seemed to excite the sick knight they were bearing beyond endurance. Springing suddenly half out of their arms, he cried with tremendous energy:
"To-morrow--in the lists--shalt thou answer for thy crimes, Gervaise de Maupas. At the point of lance or sword--will I prove thy baseness. Laissez aller! On! on! Good steed--stout lance--do thy devoir. Hah! De Maupas, thou art down--yield thee----"
"What have we here?" came in a voice of thunder from the room, and the door was flung wide open by a hand rough and strong. In the doorway, standing out clearly against the light, appeared the short, thick figure of Eustace de Brin, clad from head to foot in dull black armour.
"Back, Peter, back!" whispered Edgar in a voice of desperation. "Carry Sir John, and return the way we came. I must defend the rear against this wolf of Ruthènes. Be rapid, on thy life and ours!"
Relinquishing his share of the burden to his companion, Edgar drew his sword and prepared to defend himself against the attack he knew must come from Sir Eustace. For a moment, however, the latter could see nothing save shadowy figures hovering in the gloom. Sir John had again fallen silent, as though exhausted by his furious outburst.
"Is that thee, Duprez? Art come at last, ye tardy rascal? And what was yon shouting? It sounded like the voice of the mad knight, Chartris. Speak, man! hast lost thy voice?"