Highland Ballad Part 28

The old man could not endure it long. Suffocating, struggling to breathe and break free, his heart gave one last, violent pump, then seized and ceased forever. The life slowly left his body, and his eyes sank deeper in their sockets. Earl Emerson Arthur, was dead.

But a moment later a sound became audible below: the soft rasp of leather on stone. The orderly was returning.

Purceville reached hurriedly into the dead man's mouth and began to pull out the soiled cloth, but too late. The orderly turned the final arc, his head rising above the floor of the landing. . .and he saw.

The scene before him, the events of the entire evening, required no further explanation.

"You--- You've killed him!"

And though weary to his very bones, the man whirled and flew down the steps once more. For now his own life was in danger, and the fear of death worked like lightning on his limbs, still young enough to respond. It could not occur to him that he was still trapped inside the tower (as he had realized halfway down), or that all its doors remained locked to him. He only knew that these men would try to kill him, and that he still wanted to live.

"What are you waiting for?" bellowed Purceville at his Lieutenant. "Go after him!" But Ballard stood very still, his eyes narrowing.

"And what about them b.i.t.c.hes?" he said, motioning with his head toward the door of Mary's cell, pierced by the barred window. "They heard the whole of it, too."

"Fool!" cried Purceville, with deliberate menace. "They'll not live out the night. Now go!

Ballard lowered his head, then walked sullenly past his two superiors: the one living, the other dead. He began to descend in pursuit, but his pace was far from running.

After a time he slowed to a walk. . .then finally stopped altogether.

He knew the man could not escape him. The thick and impenetrable door sealed him in, and two of his own men guarded the long, unapproachable corridor. No outsider would hear his cries, or come to his aid.

But this was not what made him pause. Things were becoming too complicated, as the old man took more and more chances to protect himself. And what if he failed? Who had been his 'loyal right hand'

these many years, doing the dirty work, and taking all the risks?

"Toby Ballard," he muttered. "That's who. And likely to have my neck stretched for the trouble." That very day he had killed a King's messenger---the man Arthur had despatched---for which he might well taste the gallows.

And there was yet one more bitter savor added to the stew: he had developed a weakness for the girl. What he felt for his 'little prisoner' could hardly be called love, and he knew that in time she would have to be done away with. But to be killed by him , tonight, before his desire had been met and served..... He sat down on a middle landing, neither high nor low, trying to work it all through in his mind.

For the Lord Purceville had misjudged him. What this man felt for him was not loyalty, but merely a primal respect for his strength, such as any pack animal might feel. And now that strength had begun to fail.

Me, I sticks with the meanest dog, and when he's killed I go my own way . But who was the meanest dog now, and which side would prevail?

Arthur was dead, but the power of the Crown.....

These were the things he tried to weigh, knowing that very soon he must decide. And then he must act.

Thirty-Four

The two men lay peering over the edge of a low, crumbling wall, looking down a sharp slope at the garrison below. Row after row of long, low buildings met their eyes. Behind the barracks, to the watchers' left, were the stables for the horses; in front of them, the night watch stood talking or drinking coffee before a blazing fire.

Two sentinels paced back and forth between cornering guardhouses, with the pickets of the mounted patrols just beyond.

It was now full night. The rising moon was exactly halved, with long bars of smoky cloud pa.s.sing at intervals across it. The resulting twilight was neither pale nor pitch, but a sporadic intermingling of both. Whether moonlight or deepest shadow fell across the creatures of earth, seemed entirely a matter of chance.

Neither help nor hindrance, Michael thought. But he expected no more.

Thus far their journey had gone without incident, though the real difficulty and danger lay ahead. Yet the largest part of what he fought in that moment was not fear, but a fatigue that bordered on despair. It was a sore trial to have ridden so far, and lived in darkness so long, only to arrive weary and unsure at the time of greatest need, when courage and decisive action were most critical.

As he looked down at the garrison, and on to the Castle in the distance, he felt again his own frailty and insignificance. Rustic proverbs about weakness overcoming strength, and water (in time) eroding the hardest stone, brought little comfort. For Mary and his mother were imprisoned by the hands of men. Proverbs and faith would not free them, only active human resistance. His heart beat heavily against the cold ground. He knew what he must do.

"How do we slip past them?" he asked Purceville.

It was a formidable question. For behind the stables the stone rose sheer, a bony ridge forming one margin of the high peninsula on which the Castle was set: a long and difficult climb at best, to an uncertain end. It also forced them to leave the horse behind, and to abandon all thoughts of mounted escape.

To the fore of the compound as well, there seemed little hope of stealth. The only road in pa.s.sed directly in front of it, full in the glare of the watchfire. Beyond it, to the right, lay only a narrow stretch of rough greenbelt, then again the ground rose, rocky and untenable. Perhaps they might creep along in the far shadows, where the uneven turf met stone. But one false step, one noisy balk on the part of the animal, already restive, and they were as good as caught.

Stephen stared directly at him. "We don't."

Michael felt his blood run cold. "Stephen! You're not thinking of betraying---"

"Of course not. If I wanted to turn you in, and try to reach Earl Arthur, I'd have only to raise my voice and we'd be surrounded at once. I will admit that I'd thought of it. But your way has certain. .

. advantages."

In a brief moment of un.o.bscured moonlight, Michael saw that the Englishman's face had resumed something of its domineering cruelty, and realized that the tables had been turned once more. But there was something else at work there as well, some deep inner conflict, not yet resolved. And he knew, for all the anger and fear that now welled up in him..... He still needed this man's help. He forced his hand to loose its grip on the pistol, and his voice to remain calm.

"What is your plan?" he said, as evenly as he could.

"To walk right past them---myself on horseback, you tied to a length of rope behind. I'll say I've caught another prisoner, and am taking him to my father for interrogation."

Again Michael forced back his emotions. "And what if one of those men knows of the rift between you, or Ballard is there himself?"

"Those 'men'," said Stephen with disdain, "are the King's soldiers.

They know nothing of the inner machinations. The ones who do my father's dirty work---those either cruel enough to like it, or weak enough to be bullied into submission---are stationed with him in the Castle. And if Ballard should be there, I will have him arrested and put in chains. You forget that in the King's army I am still a Captain." Stephen paused. "And if you have a better plan, Highlander, I should very much like to hear it."

Again Michael felt the sense of helpless inevitability that had a.s.sailed him as the women were taken from him. He railed against it, cursed it, hated himself for beginning to yield. Fate's endless trap opened yet again before him. . .to what end ?

But no matter how he searched and fought, he could see no other way.

This time, at least, he would force one concession. He drew out the pistol, and rested its cold muzzle against the Englishman's chest.

"Purceville. Will you swear to me now, on your life, that no matter what happens to me, you will get Mary out and away from here? I mean just and only that. In the eyes of G.o.d, and on peril of your life, do you so swear?"

This time there was no hesitation. "That I do most solemnly swear."

"All right, then." Slowly he lowered the pistol, and handed it to Purceville. "Let's see if you've got any of your father's gift for deception." Their eyes met, though coldly, and both understood.

Together they crept back from the wall, then rose and moved to the deeper shadows of a weather-worn tree, where they had left the horse.

Michael himself cut a length from the coiled rope, untied the knots he had put in it for Mary's rescue, and fastened one end to the saddle.

"All right," he said. "Bind my wrists, before I change my mind. And see that the knots are tight. If anyone examines them, I want it to look real."

Purceville did as he asked, exactly, then remounted. All done in silence, and without once looking into his face.

In silence also did he spur his mount, and lead the bound man, none too gently, down the hill and onto the road that had swallowed the women. And on to the garrison of men.

Thirty-Five

The Lord Purceville leaned back heavily against the cold stone wall, eyes wide with a fear that was altogether new to him. His own breathing as they reached the upper stories had become tight and irregular; and now, though nearly twenty minutes had elapsed, his chest had still not relented its angry rebellion at such use.

For he was no longer young, and his body's weight had begun to overmatch the inherent strength of his limbs and heart. And this same heart, which had served him so long and so well as to be all but forgotten, now labored heavily to compensate. And while he was probably in no danger of a seizure, what he had seen in Arthur, and the long suppressed fear that his physical hardihood would one day desert him, combined to race dark imaginings through his mind.