n thus boldly to the seat of English power. He had no
faith in the gratitude of De Montfort, and he knew full well what the
King would urge when he learned that the man who had sent his soldiers
naked back to London, who had forced his messenger to eat the King's
message, and who had turned his victory to defeat at Lewes, was within
reach of the army of De Montfort.

Norman of Torn loved to fight, but he was no fool, and so he did not
relish pitting his thousand upon an open plain against twenty thousand
within a walled fortress.

No, he would see Bertrade de Montfort that night and before dawn his
rough band would be far on the road toward Torn. The risk was great to
enter the castle, filled as it was with his mighty enemies. But if he
died there, it would be in a good cause, thought he and, anyway, he had
set himself to do this duty which he dreaded so, and do it he would were
all the armies of the world camped within Battel.

Directly he heard a low challenge from one of his sentries, who
presently appeared escorting a lackey.

"A messenger from Lady Bertrade de Montfort," said the soldier.

"Bring him hither," commanded the outlaw.

The lackey approached and handed Norman of Torn a dainty parchment
sealed with scented wax wafers.

"Did My Lady say you were to wait for an answer?" asked the outlaw.

"I am to wait, My Lord," replied the awestruck fellow, to whom the
service had been much the same had his mistress ordered him to Hell to
bear a message to the Devil.

Norman of Torn turned to a flickering torch and, breaking the seals,
read the message from the woman he loved. It was short and simple.

To Norman of Torn, from his friend always, Bertrade de Montfort.

Come with Giles. He has my instructions to lead thee secretly to where I
be.

Bertrade de Montfort.

Norman of Torn turned to where one of his captains squatted upon the
ground beside an object covered with a cloth.

"Come, Flory," he said, and then, turning to the waiting Giles, "lead
on."

They fell in single file: first the lackey, Giles, then Norman of Torn
and last the fellow whom he had addressed as Flory bearing the object
covered with a cloth. But it was not Flory who brought up the rear.
Flory lay dead in the shadow of a great oak within the camp; a thin
wound below his left shoulder blade marked the spot where a keen dagger
had found its way to his heart, and in his place walked the little grim,
gray, old man, bearing the object