head of a body of spearmen, rode a tall and
burly man, clad in brazen armor, so that he shone like a golden image
in the slanting rays of the sun. His helmet had been loosened from his
gorget and was held before him on his horse's neck. A great tangled
beard flowed over his breastplate, and his hair hung down as far behind.
A squire at his elbow bore high the banner of the bleeding head. Behind
the spearmen were a line of heavily laden mules, and on either side
of them a drove of poor country folk, who were being herded into the
castle. Lastly came a second strong troop of mounted spearmen, who
conducted a score or more of prisoners who marched together in a solid
body.

Nigel stared at them and then, springing on his horse, he urged it along
the shelter of the ridge so as to reach unseen a spot which was close
to the castle gate. He had scarce taken up his new position when the
cavalcade reached the drawbridge, and amid yells of welcome from those
upon the wall, filed in a thin line across it. Nigel stared hard once
more at the prisoners in the rear, and so absorbed was he by the sight
that he had passed the rocks and was standing sheer upon the summit.

"By Saint Paul!" he cried, "it must indeed be so. I see their russet
jackets. They are English archers!"

As he spoke, the hindmost one, a strongly built, broad-shouldered man,
looked round and saw the gleaming figure above him upon the hill, with
open helmet, and the five roses glowing upon his breast. With a sweep of
his hands he had thrust his guardians aside and for a moment was clear
of the throng.

"Squire Loring! Squire Loring!" he cried. "It is I, Aylward the archer!
It is I, Samkin Aylward!" The next minute a dozen hands had seized him,
his cries were muffled with a gag, and he was hurled, the last of the
band, through the black and threatening archway of the gate. Then with a
clang the two iron wings came together, the portcullis swung upward, and
captives and captors, robbers and booty, were all swallowed up within
the grim and silent fortress.

XX. HOW THE ENGLISH ATTEMPTED THE CASTLE OF LA BROHINIERE

For some minutes Nigel remained motionless upon the crest of the hill,
his heart, like lead within him, and his eyes fixed upon the huge
gray walls which contained his unhappy henchman. He was roused by a
sympathetic hand upon his shoulder and the voice of his young prisoner
in his ear.

"Peste!" said he. "They have some of your birds in their