Adventure stories; Brigands and robbers -- Fiction; France -- History -- 15th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
It was perhaps due to the fact that those working the capstan were
frightened by the apparition of the beast; but suddenly the rope was run
out and Guillem dropped through space, to be brought up by a jerk as
those above mastered the spokes and arrested the flight of the rope.
As the falling man was stopped in his descent, the strands of the cord
were strained and some snapped. The jerk would have thrown him from his
seat had he not grappled the rope with desperation. He had not, however,
dropped very far, and now to his great satisfaction he felt that the men
above were again turning the levers, and that he was again being
steadily hauled upwards. When aloft he would chastise them sharply for
their scare about a cat, risking thereby his valuable life.
Again the juniper bush brushed his face, it was as an elfin hand which
was thrust forth out of the rock to lay hold of him, or at least to warn
him against further progress. Not a plant had been passed springing out
of the sheer cliff. This juniper grew at the summit of the rock, and at
its junction with the masonry of the castle.
Much time had elapsed, surely more than an hour, since he had passed
through the postern gate. His men, concealed in the vineyards, must be
impatient for the signal to enter the town and plunder it.
Then he heard a harsh, jarring sound like an angry growl, followed by
the strokes of a bell. One--two--three--he reckoned till twelve. It was
midnight.
Again he was ascending past the courses of ashlar, and again he was
brought to a halt at some distance below the window.
Then, from above, through the window a face protruded that looked down
on him. The moon was on the face; it was the colour of the grey rock; it
was blotched like the rock, it was furrowed with age like the rock.
Unlike the rock, two eyes gleamed out of it, with the moon glinting in
them.
"Gros Guillem!" said the man who peered on the freebooter from above.
"Draw me up!" gasped the Captain, "or by----"
"Do you threaten--you--situated as you are?"
"I pray you give the windlass another turn."
"Ah, you pray now, Gros Guillem!"
The Captain looked above his head at the face that overhung him. There
was in it something that sent the blood back to his heart. There was in
it that likeness to a someone, uncertain, recalled but unidentified,
that came out now with terrible distinctness, and insisted on his
straining his powers for recognition.
"Gros Guillem! do you remember me? This is our final meeting--the fourth
and the last!"
At that moment the tocsin pealed forth its summons from the tower. This
tower, planted under a concave opening in the rock, sent out the ring of
the alarm-bell multiplied thirtyfold below; it flung it forth in
volumes, it sent it up and down the Dordogne valley--across it--over the
level land, far, far away, wave on wave of sound through the still
night.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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