第22章
"We have been through grievous times," said Sir John, noticing that his guest was glancing at the various evidences of conflict."That fiend, Norman the Devil, with his filthy pack of cut-throats, besieged us for ten days, and then took the castle by storm and sacked it.Life is no longer safe in England with the King spending his time and money with foreign favorites and buying alien soldiery to fight against his own barons, instead of insuring the peace and protection which is the right of every Englishman at home.
"But," he continued, "this outlaw devil will come to the end of a short halter when once our civil strife is settled, for the barons themselves have decided upon an expedition against him, if the King will not subdue him.""An' he may send the barons naked home as he did the King's soldiers,"laughed Bertrade de Montfort."I should like to see this fellow; what may he look like -- from the appearance of yourself, Sir John, and many of your men-at-arms, there should be no few here but have met him.""Not once did he raise his visor while he was among us," replied the Baron, "but there are those who claim they had a brief glimpse of him and that he is of horrid countenance, wearing a great yellow beard and having one eye gone, and a mighty red scar from his forehead to his chin.""A fearful apparition," murmured Norman of Torn."No wonder he keeps his helm closed.""But such a swordsman," spoke up a son of De Stutevill."Never in all the world was there such swordplay as I saw that day in the courtyard.""I, too, have seen some wonderful swordplay," said Bertrade de Montfort, "and that today.O he !" she cried, laughing gleefully, "verily do Ibelieve I have captured the wild Norman of Torn, for this very knight, who styles himself Roger de Conde, fights as I ne'er saw man fight before, and he rode with his visor down until I chide him for it."Norman of Torn led in the laugh which followed, and of all the company he most enjoyed the joke.
"An' speaking of the Devil," said the Baron, "how think you he will side should the King eventually force war upon the barons ? With his thousand hell-hounds, the fate of England might well he in the palm of his bloody hand.""He loves neither King nor baron," spoke Mary de Stutevill, "and I rather lean to the thought that he will serve neither, but rather plunder the castles of both rebel and royalist whilst their masters be absent at war.""It be more to his liking to come while the master be home to welcome him,"said De Stutevill, ruthfully."But yet I am always in fear for the safety of my wife and daughters when I be away from Derby for any time.May the good God soon deliver England from this Devil of Torn.""I think you may have no need of fear on that score," spoke Mary, "for Norman of Torn offered no violence to any woman within the wall of Stutevill, and when one of his men laid a heavy hand upon me, it was the great outlaw himself who struck the fellow such a blow with his mailed hand as to crack the ruffian's helm, saying at the time, 'Know you, fellow, Norman of Torn does not war upon women ?'"Presently the conversation turned to other subjects and Norman of Torn heard no more of himself during that evening.
His stay at the castle of Stutevill was drawn out to three days, and then, on the third day, as he sat with Bertrade de Montfort in an embrasure of the south tower of the old castle, he spoke once more of the necessity for leaving and once more she urged him to remain.
"To be with you, Bertrade of Montfort," he said boldly, "I would forego any other pleasure, and endure any privation, or face any danger, but there are others who look to me for guidance and my duty calls me away from you.You shall see me again, and at the castle of your father, Simon de Montfort, in Leicester.Provided," he added, "that you will welcome me there.""I shall always welcome you, wherever I may be, Roger de Conde," replied the girl.
"Remember that promise," he said smiling."Some day you may be glad to repudiate it.""Never," she insisted, and a light that shone in her eyes as she said it would have meant much to a man better versed in the ways of women than was Norman of Torn.
"I hope not," he said gravely."I cannot tell you, being but poorly trained in courtly ways, what I should like to tell you, that you might know how much your friendship means to me.Goodbye, Bertrade de Montfort,"and he bent to one knee, as he raised her fingers to his lips.
As he passed over the drawbridge and down toward the highroad a few minutes later on his way back to Torn, he turned for one last look at the castle and there, in an embrasure in the south tower, stood a young woman who raised her hand to wave, and then, as though by sudden impulse, threw a kiss after the departing knight, only to disappear from the embrasure with the act.
As Norman of Torn rode back to his grim castle in the hills of Derby, he had much food for thought upon the way.Never till now had he realized what might lie in another manner of life, and he felt a twinge of bitterness toward the hard, old man whom he called father, and whoseteachings from the boy's earliest childhood had guided him in the ways that had out him off completely from the society of other men, except the wild horde of outlaws, ruffians and adventurers that rode beneath the grisly banner of the young chief of Torn.
Only in an ill-defined, nebulous way did he feel that it was the girl who had come into his life that caused him for the first time to feel shame for his past deeds.He did not know the meaning of love, and so he could not know that he loved Bertrade de Montfort.
And another thought which now filled his mind was the fact of his strange likeness to the Crown Prince of England.This, together with the words of Father Claude, puzzled him sorely.What might it mean ? Was it a heinous offence to own an accidental likeness to a king's son ?
But now that he felt he had solved the reason that he rode always with closed helm, he was for the first time anxious himself to hide his face from the sight of men.Not from fear, for he knew not fear, but from some inward impulse which he did not attempt to fathom.