At last only one light remained in the great spire of Bommel, and it twinkled like a planet in the distance.
"Eleven!" exclaimed the count, starting to his feet, and, amid muttered oaths of rage and disappointment, they were rising to disperse, when Carl Langfanger crawled back, with tidings that a horseman was coming rapidly along the highway. Again the charcoal was blown up by Gustaf Vlierbeke, who made a bellows of his lungs; again the spur-shaped iron was inserted deeper, teeth were set, fierce eyes sparkled, and weapons were grasped and drawn.
On came the solitary rider – on and on. His horse's hoofs rang louder with every bound as he drew nearer, and all held their breath when he suddenly reined up abreast of the cross, in a little niche of which an oil lamp was flickering in the gusty wind.
"Der teufel – 'tis he at last!" said the count, as the rider turned his horse to the right and cautiously approached the cross. Then springing from their ambush, with loud yells of exultation and ferocity, the Brabanciones rushed upon him! His horse's bridle and his stirrups were grasped on both sides; and before a cry could escape his lips, the victim was dragged from his saddle, struck to the earth under a shower of blows, and manacled by a strong cord.
"Light a torch, and drag him into the hollow," cried Count Ludwig, whose order was roughly and promptly obeyed.
CHAPTER XXXVI
DUKE REINALD'S CROSS
He wrapp'd his cloak upon his arm, he smote away their swords,
Striking hard and sturdy buffets on the mouths of those proud lords;
Snapping blades and tearing mouths, like a lion at his meal,
Laughing at the stab of dagger, and the flashing of their steel.
Great was the impatience of the earl and of his satellite, James Achanna, to learn the result of the snare they had laid for Sir Patrick Gray. If successful in its cruelty, the first felt assured that a formidable obstruction to his plans would be removed for ever; and the latter flattered himself that he would be a richer man by a thousand silver crowns of the Rhine. Then he had his plans to mature for turning Count Ludwig into as much ready money as the Dyck Graf would pay for him. Our utilitarian felt that he was on the eve of making his fortune!
That the ill-fated Sir Patrick Gray had left his hostelry punctually, Achanna had already ascertained, and duly reported to the earl.
"It is easier," says Goldsmith, "to conceive than to describe the complicated sensations which are felt from the pain of a recent injury and the pleasure of approaching vengeance," but in the present instance, it was the mere delight of cruel and wicked hearts in a lawless revenge (without the sense of real injury) that fired the hearts of the earl and Achanna.
They had not an atom of compunction!
Albany was aware, by the recent interview at the auberge, that his more favoured rival was to be removed; how, he scarcely knew (he had been so tipsy), and how, he little cared; but he pitied – for this exiled and outlawed prince was not quite destitute of generosity – Murielle, as the poor girl, in joyous anticipation of the morrow's meeting with her lover, had assumed her cithern, and all unconscious of the horrors impending, sang one or two sweet old Galloway songs; but they failed to soothe either the savage earl, or his more unscrupulous follower, who, from the recess of a window, surveyed her with gloomy malignity in his cat-like eyes, which, as already described, were situated singularly far apart in his head, from the conical top of which his red hair hung in tufts.
When the hour of ten was tolled from the spire of the cathedral (where time was regulated then by great hour-glasses), the curiosity of Douglas and Achanna could no longer be repressed.
"You have an order from the Dyck Graf to pass the gates," whispered the earl.
"Yes; at any hour."
"Then set forth; seek that fellow whom you name: what is it they call him?"
"Count Ludwig of Endhoven."
"A rare noble, by the Mass! Seek him and bring me sure tidings of what has transpired."
Within twenty minutes after this, Achanna had mounted and left Bommel, after duly presenting to the captain of the watch his pass, signed by Jacques de Lalain. Taking the road to Ameldroyan, he rode slowly – very slowly at first, listening to every sound; but all seemed still by the wayside, and coldly and palely the waning moon shone on the waters of the Waal, and of the sluices and marshes which there intersected the level country. The windmills – unusual features to a Scotsman's eye – stood motionless and silent, like giants with outstretched arms.
Now a sound came upon the wind at times, and he reined up his horse to listen. Anon he rode forward again, for that sound made him shudder. It was the wild weird cry of a wolf in the forest, baying to the moon.
Feeling alternately for his sword and his crucifix (just as a Spaniard of the present day would do), he neared the appointed spot, and his keen eyes detected a lurking figure which withdrew at his approach. This was Carl Langfanger the scout.
A cruel joy filled Achanna's heart with a strange glow, and his large coarse ears quivered like those of a sleuth-bratch in his eagerness to catch a passing sound.
Was it all over – were the thousand crowns his? Had Gray been blinded by the burning iron, manacled, stripped and bound to the goaded horse which was to bear him to the wild forest, and to the wolves' jaws? Did the baying he had heard in the distance announce that the chase was over, and their repast begun – that horse and rider had been torn limb from limb?
He asked these questions of himself as he rode on. Soon he saw the votive lamp that flickered before Duke Reinald's cross. Then he detected a red gleam that wavered under some willow trees. It came from the brazier in which Ludwig had heated the blinding iron. He spurred impatiently forward. There was a shout, and amid cries of, "Der Schottlander, donner and blitzen, der Schottlander!" he was struck from his horse and pinioned in a moment, before he could utter a cry for mercy or for explanation.
The wretch had fallen into his own trap.
His clothes were roughly rent from his body, and if he opened his mouth the point of a sword menaced his throat. Covered with blood and bruises, and screaming like a terrified woman for mercy, he was dragged into the hollow where Count Ludwig was seated before the brazier, with the brandy-jar by his side.
Amid shouts of ferocious laughter and imprecations his head was grasped by several of the ruffians, while Carl Langfanger drew forth the gleaming iron from the brazier. Achanna uttered a last scream of terror and agony on beholding it, and then his voice seemed to leave him. The cold bead-drops burst upon his throbbing temples; his eyes started from their sockets as if to anticipate their doom, and the pulses of his heart seemed to stand still – he could only sigh and gasp.
He felt the hot glow upon his cheek – already it seemed to burn into his brain, and he gave himself over for lost, when there was a sudden shout and a rush of horses' hoofs; he saw the flashing of swords above his head, and heard the rasp of steel on steel as the blades emitted red sparks. There was a sudden shock, and a conflict seemed to close over him as he fell to the earth on his face fainting, and some time elapsed before he became sufficiently conscious to understand that he was free, and rescued by the valour of a single horseman, who was clad in a helmet and chain shirt, and whose sword was dripping with the red evidence of how skilfully he had used it in the recent fray.
But what were the emotions of James Achanna when by a sudden gleam from the expiring contents of the brazier, as the night wind swept through the hollow, he recognized in his preserver, Sir Patrick Gray of Foulis!
Astonishment with craven fear prevailed; but not the slightest emotion of gratitude. He felt rather a glow of rage and bitterness that Gray, by a mistake, or by loitering so long, had been too late for his own destruction!