For an instant, the watchers stood as though petrified, and then Bertrade de Montfort, tearing herself from the restraining hand of her father, rushed to the side of the lifeless body of the man she loved.Kneeling there beside him she called his name aloud, as she unlaced his helm.
Tearing the steel headgear from him, she caressed his face, kissing the white forehead and the still lips.
"Oh God ! Oh God !" she murmured."Why hast thou taken him ? Outlaw though he was, in his little finger was more of honor, of chivalry, of true manhood than courses through the veins of all the nobles of England.
"I do not wonder that he preyed upon you," she cried, turning upon the knights behind her."His life was clean, thine be rotten; he was loyal to his friends and to the downtrodden, ye be traitors at heart, all; and ever be ye trampling upon those who be down that they may sink deeper into the mud.Mon Dieu ! How I hate you," she finished.And as she spoke the words, Bertrade de Montfort looked straight into the eyes of her father.
The old Earl turned his head, for at heart he was a brave, broad, kindly man, and he regretted what he had done in the haste and heat of anger.
"Come, child," said the King, "thou art distraught; thou sayest what thou mean not.The world is better that this man be dead.He was an enemy of organized society, he preyed ever upon his fellows.Life in England will be safer after this day.Do not weep over the clay of a nameless adventurer who knew not his own father."Someone had lifted the little, grim, gray, old man to a sitting posture.
He was not dead.Occasionally he coughed, and when he did, his frame was racked with suffering, and blood flowed from his mouth and nostrils.
At last they saw that he was trying to speak.Weakly he motioned toward the King.Henry came toward him.
"Thou hast won thy sovereign's gratitude, my man," said the King, kindly.
"What be thy name ?"
The old fellow tried to speak, but the effort brought on another paroxy** of coughing.At last he managed to whisper.
"Look -- at -- me.Dost thou -- not -- remember me ? The --- foils --the -- blow -- twenty-long-years.Thou -- spat -- upon --- me."Henry knelt and peered into the dying face.
"De Vac !" he exclaimed.
The old man nodded.Then he pointed to where lay Norman of Torn.
"Outlaw -- highwayman -- scourge -- of -- England.Look --- upon -- his --face.Open -- his tunic -- left -- breast."He stopped from very weakness, and then in another moment, with a final effort: "De -- Vac's -- revenge.God -- damn -- the --- English," and slipped forward upon the rushes, dead.
The King had heard, and De Montfort and the Queen.They stood looking into each other's eyes with a strange fixity, for what seemed an eternity, before any dared to move; and then, as though they feared what they should see, they bent over the form of the Outlaw of Torn for the first time.
The Queen gave a little cry as she saw the still, quiet face turned up to hers.
"Edward !" she whispered.
"Not Edward, Madame," said De Montfort, "but -- "The King knelt beside the still form, across the breast of which lay the unconscious body of Bertrade de Montfort.Gently, he lifted her to the waiting arms of Philip of France, and then the King, with his own hands, tore off the shirt of mail, and with trembling fingers ripped wide the tunic where it covered the left breast of the Devil of Torn.
"Oh God !" he cried, and buried his head in his arms.
The Queen had seen also, and with a little moan she sank beside the body of her second born, crying out:
"Oh Richard, my boy, my boy !" And as she bent still lower to kiss the lily mark upon the left breast of the son she had not seen to know for over twenty years, she paused, and with frantic haste she pressed her ear to his breast.
"He lives !" she almost shrieked."Quick, Henry, our son lives !"Bertrade de Montfort had regained consciousness almost before Philip of France had raised her from the floor, and she stood now, leaning on his arm, watching with wide, questioning eyes the strange scene being enacted at her feet.
Slowly, the lids of Norman of Torn lifted with returning consciousness.
Before him, on her knees in the blood spattered rushes of the floor, knelt Eleanor, Queen of England, alternately chafing and kissing his hands.
A sore wound indeed to have brought on such a wild delirium, thought the Outlaw of Torn.
He felt his body, in a half sitting, half reclining position, resting against one who knelt behind him, and as he lifted his head to see whom it might be supporting him, he looked into the eyes of the King, upon whose breast his head rested.
Strange vagaries of a disordered brain ! Yes it must have been a very terrible wound that the little old man of Torn had given him; but why could he not dream that Bertrade de Montfort held him ? And then his eyes wandered about among the throng of ladies, nobles and soldiers standing uncovered and with bowed heads about him.Presently he found her.
"Bertrade !" he whispered.
The girl came and knelt beside him, opposite the Queen.
