"I follow," said Quentin, drawing his sword; "but the moment in which I detect the least sign of treachery, thy head and body are three yards separate!"
Without more conversation, the Bohemian, seeing that Quentin was now fully armed and ready, ran down the stairs before him, and winded hastily through various side-passages, until they gained the little garden. Scarce a light was to be seen on that side, scarce any bustle was to be heard; but no sooner had Quentin entered the open space, than the noise on the opposite side of the castle became ten times more stunningly audible, and he could hear the various war-cries of "Liege! Liege! Sanglier! Sanglier!" shouted by the assailants, while the feebler cry of "Our Lady for the Prince Bishop!" was raised in a faint and faltering tone, by those of the prelate's soldiers who had hastened, though surprised and at disadvantage, to the defence of the walls.
But the interest of the fight, notwithstanding the martial character of Quentin Durward, was indifferent to him in comparison of the fate of Isabelle of Croye, which, he had reason to fear, would be a dreadful one, unless rescued from the power of the dissolute and cruel freebooter, who was now, as it seemed, bursting the gates of the castle. He reconciled himself to the aid of the Bohemian, as men in a desperate illness refuse not the remedy prescribed by quacks and mountebanks, and followed across the garden, with the intention of being guided by him until he should discover symptoms of treachery, and then piercing him through the heart, or striking his head from his body. Hayraddin seemed himself conscious that his safety turned on a feather-weight, for he forbore, from the moment they entered the open air, all his wonted gibes and quirks, and seemed to have made a vow to act at once with modesty, courage, and activity.
At the opposite door, which led to the ladies' apartments, upon a low signal made by Hayraddin, appeared two women, muffled in the black silk veils which were then, as now, worn by the women in the Netherlands. Quentin offered his arm to one of them, who clung to it with trembling eagerness, and indeed hung upon him so much, that had her weight been greater, she must have much impeded their retreat. The Bohemian, who conducted the other female, took the road straight for the postern which opened upon the moat, through the garden wall, close to which the little skiff was drawn up, by means of which Quentin had formerly observed Hayraddin himself retreating from the castle.
As they crossed, the shouts of storm and successful violence seemed to announce that the castle was in the act of being taken; and so dismal was the sound in Quentin's ears, that he could not help swearing aloud, "But that my blood is irretrievably devoted to the fulfilment of my present duty, I would back to the wall, take faithful part with the hospitable Bishop, and silence some of those knaves whose throats are full of mutiny and robbery!"
The lady, whose arm was still folded in his, pressed it lightly as he spoke, as if to make him understand that there was a nearer claim on his chivalry than the defence of Schonwaldt; while the Bohemian exclaimed, loud enough to be heard, "Now, that I call right Christian frenzy, which would turn back to fight, when love and fortune both demand that we should fly. – On, on – with all the haste you can make – Horses wait us in yonder thicket of willows."
"There are but two horses," said Quentin, who saw them in the moonlight.
"All that I could procure without exciting suspicion – and enough, besides," replied the Bohemian. "You too must ride for Tongres ere the way becomes unsafe – Marthon will abide with the women of our horde, with whom she is an old acquaintance. Know, she is a daughter of our tribe, and only dwelt among you to serve our purpose as occasion should fall."
"Marthon!" exclaimed the Countess, looking at the veiled female with a shriek of surprise; "is not this my kinswoman?"
"Only Marthon," said Hayraddin – "Excuse me that little piece of deceit. I dared not carry off both the Ladies of Croye from the Wild Boar of Ardennes."
"Wretch!" said Quentin, emphatically – "but it is not – shall not be too late – I will back to rescue the Lady Hameline."
"Hameline," whispered the lady, in a disturbed voice, "hangs on thy arm, to thank thee for her rescue."
"Ha! what! – How is this?" said Quentin, extricating himself from her hold, and with less gentleness than he would at any other time have used towards a female of any rank – "Is the Lady Isabelle then left behind! – Farewell – farewell."
As he turned to hasten back to the castle, Hayraddin laid hold of him – "Nay, hear you – hear you – you run upon your death! What the foul fiend did you wear the colours of the old one for? – I will never trust blue and white silk again. But she has almost as large a dower – has jewels and gold – hath pretensions, too, upon the earldom."
While he spoke thus, panting on in broken sentences, the Bohemian struggled to detain Quentin, who at length laid his hand on his dagger, in order to extricate himself.
"Nay, if that be the case," said Hayraddin, unloosing his hold, "go – and the devil, if there be one, go along with you!" – And, soon as freed from his hold, the Scot shot back to the castle with the speed of the wind.
Hayraddin then turned round to the Countess Hameline, who had sunk down on the ground, between shame, fear, and disappointment.
"Here has been a mistake," he said; "up, lady, and come with me – I will provide you, ere morning comes, a gallanter husband than this smock-faced boy; and if one will not serve, you shall have twenty."
The Lady Hameline was as violent in her passions, as she was vain and weak in her understanding. Like many other persons, she went tolerably well through the ordinary duties of life; but in a crisis like the present, she was entirely incapable of doing aught, save pouring forth unavailing lamentations, and accusing Hayraddin of being a thief, a base slave, an impostor, a murderer.
"Call me Zingaro," returned he, composedly, "and you have said all at once."
"Monster! you said the stars had decreed our union, and caused me to write – O wretch that I was!" exclaimed the unhappy lady.
"And so they had decreed your union," said Hayraddin, "had both parties been willing – but think you the blessed constellations can make any one wed against his will? – I was led into error with your accursed Christian gallantries, and fopperies of ribbons and favours – and the youth prefers veal to beef, I think – that's all. – Up and follow me; and take notice, I endure neither weeping nor swooning."
"I will not stir a foot," said the Countess, obstinately.
"By the bright welkin, but you shall, though!" exclaimed Hayraddin. "I swear to you, by all that ever fools believed in, that you have to do with one, who would care little to strip you naked, bind you to a tree, and leave you to your fortune!"
"Nay," said Marthon, interfering, "by your favour, she shall not be misused. I wear a knife as well as you, and can use it – She is a kind woman, though a fool. – And you, madam, rise up and follow us – Here has been a mistake; but it is something to have saved life and limb. There are many in yonder castle would give all the wealth in the world to stand where we do now."
As Marthon spoke, a clamour, in which the shouts of victory were mingled with screams of terror and despair, was wafted to them from the Castle of Schonwaldt.
"Hear that, lady!" said Hayraddin, "and be thankful you are not adding your treble pipe to yonder concert. Believe me, I will care for you honestly, and the stars shall keep their words, and find you a good husband."