  It was at the break of day when we came to the inn which we had mistaken for the Inn of The Cross-Roads. It was well after ten in the morning when we were led captives to the horses of the men who had taken us. They tied us with long ropes—the one end around our waists, the other to the pommels of the saddles. We were to go on foot between the riders the whole distance of two or three days’ journey like the prisoners of chain gangs on their way to the galleys. Fear and dread were strong within me. The September sun was shining down upon our heads. The road was rutted—full of holes and covered with sharp stones. I knew that we would get little enough to eat. As for water, they would let our tongues rot at the root before they would satisfy our thirst. The country was wild and rugged. Hardly a house—or what you might call a house—was to be seen over vast stretches of it. Where the land was tillable there rooted in the weeds a few starved cattle, who gazed at us stupidly as we passed. Once in a while we came to a hut—a small place built of native rock with a low thatched roof hidden amidst a clump of scrawny trees and high straggling bushes. When a face appeared at the door, there was always a look of suspicion upon it as though we were surely enemies and to that the owner usually had a weapon of some kind in his hand, ready to defend himself in case he was attacked, or to drive us away if we invaded his land. Shortly after noon we came to a halt to rest the horses and snatch a bite to eat. The men who had taken us seated us on a rock and drew a circle about us while one of their archers stood with his bow in his hand ready to shoot if any of us tried to escape. Then we were up again and on our way. We plodded on and on over the hard surface of the road. Weariness began to show in our faces. In a little while I caught a small stone in my boot. It slipped down and rested under my heel. It bored and bored till I began to feel the pain of it. I stooped to loose the thong with the intention of easing myself. But the moment I halted the rope that tied me to the saddle grew taut. I was snatched along with a jerk and with a tightening about my waist that was so sudden that it caused me even more grief than the stone. I limped along with my heel glowing like the heat of a fire. To make it worse the captain looked at me with a smile and laughed. “If the rope were around your neck,” he said, “it would be more fitting.” The others must have thought it was a fine jest for they, too, broke into mirth and clapped their hands on their thighs. Towards the middle of the afternoon I could hardly drag one foot after the other. I was in despair with my head down. Suddenly it came up with a snap for the horses reared back on their hind legs. They neighed and lifted their noses in the air as though they were frightened. I had to jump from one side to the other to keep from being trodden underfoot. The shouts of the riders drew my attention to an object to the left of us on a huge rock not twenty paces from where we had halted. It was a man. He was standing on his hands with his head down. His feet were in the air. And what made him so ridiculous—it was this that had frightened the horses—he was kicking with his legs with all the energy in his body. So great was his exertion that we expected to see him drop at any moment. But the longer he kept it up, the greater his strength seemed to grow. At length after several minutes he came to a sudden stop, tossed his body in the air with a lithe movement of his wrists and landed on the surface of the rock flat on his feet. My nerves jumped and the men with us uttered a low exclamation of surprise. We all recognized him at once, for each of us, quite in the same breath, called out his name, “The Dwarf of Angers!” The Dwarf was grinning from ear to ear. His long teeth were as sharp as the points of two rows of daggers. He placed one hand in the bosom of his shirt and threw his head back proudly. With the other he waved at the captain and his men. “I warn you, sirs,” he said in his shrill voice, “that you are on your way to your deaths!” He waited a minute to let the words sink home. Then he pointed with sudden fierceness to the sun and called out, “If you go on, there will not be one of you who will see the light of another day!” The captain started. His face paled. I heard him growl under his breath. Then in an instant he collected himself and barked out a command to his men. They raised their bows. A dozen arrows sped on their way. Some hit the rock. Some glanced over it. None struck for the Dwarf was quicker than they thought. With a leap he dropped down behind the rock and disappeared. When the last arrow was shot he popped his head into view and let out a long savage laugh full of mockery and contempt. Then he was gone again. The captain was by this time boiling with rage. He commanded three of his men to dismount. They searched the rock and the ground around it. They went up the side of the hill. With their bows strung ready to shoot at the first object that moved they peered cautiously behind every rock that was large enough to conceal a man. They came back again with blank faces and worried looks. The Dwarf seemed to have been swallowed up for no sign of him was to be found. We started again, this time more slowly than before. The captain with his brow knotted kept his gaze straight down. It struck me that the Dwarf was like a phantom in the country, or like the visitation of a spirit. He had created a fear in the hearts of the people by the uncanny way in which he came and went and by the outlandish tricks he performed. But there was more than that too, for he struck with a certain fearlessness and accuracy that swept men off their feet. Besides he had a reputation for fulfilling every one of his predictions. It was this last that troubled the captain and buried him in gloom. In another half hour the country to the sides of the road became more and more barren. What trees there were grew far apart and were hardly more than ragged stumps. Rocks abounded everywhere—boulders of all sizes, some as big as houses, others smaller, of every shape and form. We had just turned a bend in the road. With no word of warning the man riding next to the captain threw his hands in the air. He uttered a short sobbing cry. His mouth fell agape and, although he struggled, he swung over to one side and toppled like a log from his horse. To the terror of the rest there in his chest stuck an arrow longer than your arm pointing upwards to the sky. We turned instinctively to the road and the archers unslung their bows. No Dwarf appeared, but from in among the rocks there came to us a shrill penetrating laugh that echoed far and near and sent the shivers up and down my captors’ spines. “That’s the first!” It was a cry like a prolonged wail. “Which of you will be the next?” The men dismounted as they did before. They searched every speck of ground from the edge of the road far back to the ridge of the hill. They returned once again disappointed with doubt and anxiety impressed on their faces. From then on we proceeded with utmost caution. The eyes of the men roved continually over the sides of the road. The archers sat with their bows slung across their saddles. Now and then, even when there was no sign of danger, a few of them dismounted and scoured among the rocks and rugged ground to either side of us. For a quarter of an hour we went along peacefully enough. Then a white streak cut the air. The arrow did not come straight, but curved upwards in a long smooth arch. It struck point downward in the middle of the road where it trembled a little and then remained perfectly still. Every man in that company reined in his horse. The archers raised their bows. They searched with their eyes every nook in the rocks where a man could have hidden. Not a sound came to us. Not a motion did we see. As far as appearances went the missile might have dropped from the sky. One of the men rode on ahead and slid from his horse. He stooped to pick up the arrow. As his hand was about to touch the shaft, another arrow darted through the air like a flash of light. It cut the first in two, splitting it as cleanly as you would with a sharp knife. The man jumped back with his face the color of chalk and got once more upon his horse. Our enemies were by this time thoroughly alarmed. There was no dismounting to hunt among the rocks. Fear was in every face and their nerves were keyed up as though they had been lashed with whips. A bird flying across the road or a dry leaf blown by the breeze would have started every one of them in his saddle. Next we came to a clump of short stubby trees. Before he would risk passing it, the captain grouped his men together. He sent five of them to examine every tree, every bush and rock as far back from the road as they could venture. They returned. There was not a twig or branch which had escaped their eyes. A human soul was nowhere to be seen. We started. The horses had scarcely taken ten steps when a long screeching laugh echoed to us through the trees. The captain and the rest of them drew in their reins. In the next second an arrow caught him in the chest and struck with terrific force against his coat of mail. It clicked and dropped to the ground but the power behind it jolted him so hard that it was within an ace of driving him from his saddle. But that shot was enough. If their nerves were on edge before, they were broken now. The captain sank his spurs into his horse’s flanks. With a shout to save themselves he called to his men to follow. He dashed on ahead. A tug on the rope that bound my waist almost cut me in two. I was jerked forward, hobbling on my bruised foot, with a snap. I uttered a groan and tried to break into a run, with the sweat streaming down my face and my breath coming in painful gasps. Then we suddenly stopped. My eyes were looking ahead. I saw an arrow dart in the direction of the captain. It cut one of the reins as cleanly as though it were of straw. The horse stumbled and the captain lost his hold. With the end of the rein in his hand he grasped into the air, spun around to the side and toppled heavily to the ground. The archers were down beside him in a second. They raised him to his feet. For the moment they were forgetful of the Dwarf and of the danger they were in. In the midst of it all there came a weird mocking laugh—long and shrill. We turned. I saw the men recoil as though they were facing death itself. The Dwarf was standing on a boulder half hidden by the stubby trees. He held his bow in his hands with an arrow in it ready to let it fly. Before any of us could have winked he could have killed the first he chose. “Steady!” he cried. “Not a stir among you! I give you warning. Let the two lads and the two archers go free or at the next turning of the road there will not one of you be left alive!” For a second there was only silence. The faces of the men were of the whiteness of death. Not one of them moved. Then the captain gasped. He drew in a deep breath and in a voice that was shaking called back, “The next one of us to fall, they will fall, too! I shall drive my dagger into their hearts!” The Dwarf only smiled. In tones like the heaviness of thunder he said, “I have warned you!” And he disappeared among the trees. For what seemed a long while we went on ahead. A weight hung in the heart of every man of the small company. A sparrow could have frightened them. I was as weary of it all as I could be. Now and again I glanced at Charles who was tied to the horse on the opposite side of me. He did not speak, but by the look and nod he gave me, he stirred hope and courage in my breast and led me to believe that the worst of our journey had passed. In a quarter of an hour we saw before us a sharp bend in the road. The words of the Dwarf still rang in our ears. The captain drew his sword and bade each of his archers to make ready his bow. The horses were lined up three abreast and in straight array. If we were about to enter on a field of battle the men could have been scarcely more carefully arranged. The captain hardened his jaws. With a glint of determination in his eyes he urged his horse forward. We slowly entered the turn in the road. We made the bend. At any moment I expected to see an arrow come singing through the air and a man drop. In spite of myself my heart began to flutter like a bird’s. The soreness in my foot died out and the fact that I was a prisoner on my way to my doom faded from my mind like a passing cloud, for in one word the tenseness of the situation stirred every fibre and I was excited. But the fall of the horses’ hoofs was all that broke the silence. With a grimness that surprised me the captain held doggedly on his way. He looked neither to the right or left but held his head high. In the face of what we all expected it was his courage that gave strength to his men and pulled them through. We passed the bend in the road with no sign of the Dwarf or his deadly missiles. As far as we could see there was nothing ahead of us but a straight line. I looked along it in the hope that I would see some object or other that would give us hope. My eye rested on a speck. It was small and far away and black. It came nearer little by little. The captain and the men noticed it too and kept their gaze upon it steadily. The rays of the sun glinted upon it for a second and then I was able to see that it was a man on horseback, fully equipped with armor that shone and glittered in its newness. The closer he came the more of the details we could distinguish. He had on his head a casque with the closed visor concealing his face, and gauntlets on his hands that were of the same blackness as his armour. He was quite small and rode with an ease that assured us of long years spent in the saddle. As for weapons he carried no spear or lance like most knights on their way to tournament or field of battle, but only a sword that hung from his belt in a scrolled scabbard and a mace of tough wood with the knots pointed with steel, that dangled loosely at his side. He kept to the middle of the road. Not once did he urge his horse nor swerve to the right or the left. When he was finally abreast of us, he let the reins fall on the horse’s neck. Then I was stirred by the strangest feeling that ever possessed me. I lost all interest in the man and his armor and in my captors. When the horse neighed I gave a sudden start. I examined him from his fetlock to his mane and from his head to his tail. At first a certain sense of familiarity shot through me. Then by degrees every suspicion of mine moulded itself into solid fact. Like a blast my brain told me that I had seen that horse before. It was the roan which I had brought with me from home—which I had ridden as far as the scrivener’s house in the woods—which was stolen from me by the two men whom De Marsac had set upon me. That horse, in one word, was mine! The man in armor raised his hand. We had all come to a halt and for a second there was empty silence. “You cannot pass,” he said in a voice that was strong and steady. “The prisoners which you have there must be given up.” His hand dropped. The captain thought before he spoke. “And who are you?” he demanded. “I am the ruler of all this waste land,” came the reply with a smoothness that went through us like a jar, “—of all these rocks and trees and the people, I am lord and master.” The captain furrowed his brows. “I never heard of you,” he answered. The man in armor gave a little laugh. “Have you never heard of the Abbot of Chalonnes?” he asked. |
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