“Sirs,” he was wont to say at such moments, “let who will tremble at a false tyrant’s frown, I defy his malice. Let him do his worst, and, by the head of St. Anthony, if King John makes his appearance before the castle of Chas-Chateil, the said king will be the luckiest of Johns if he can escape from before it alive and at liberty.”
Never had Sir Anthony Waledger boasted more loudly of the impregnability of the fortress he commanded than as he sat at supper in the great hall on the evening of the day to which allusion has been made; and never did the garrison retire to rest with a better prospect of reposing undisturbed till the return of daylight. But it appeared, as Ralph Hornmouth remarked, that “his confidence did not rest on quite so firm a foundation as the Bass rock.” About three hours after sunset, when the moon afforded but a faint light, shouts suddenly resounded through Chas-Chateil, and gradually swelled into such an uproar as if all the fiends had congregated within its walls to fight out the quarrels they had been fostering from the beginning of time.
Oliver Icingla, roused from his repose, started from his couch and rushed to the window; but as there was nothing visible in the direction towards which it looked to explain the uproar, that grew louder and more alarming, he hastily donned his garments, and stood calm, though greatly curious, to await the issue. As he did so, voices were heard; the gaoler opened the door, and as the door opened in rushed, pell-mell, De Moreville’s daughter with her two maidens and the wife of Waledger, all in the utmost trepidation, weeping and wringing their hands, and showing signs of hasty toilets.
“Gentle sir,” said Beatrix, coming towards him, “I implore you by our kindred blood and for the sake of your mother to save us from these cruel men.”
“Assuredly, noble demoiselle,” replied Oliver very calmly, as he took his fair kinswoman’s hand and kissed it most gallantly by the moonlight. “I am under the vows of chivalry, and albeit I wear not the spurs of knighthood, I am bound to save imperilled ladies or to die in their defence. But I marvel who they can be?”
“Oh,” cried the spouse of Waledger, whose consternation increased every moment, “who should they be but your own friends, the ravening wolves whom the false king has brought into the realm--Falco the Cruel, Manlem the Bloody, Soltim the Merciless, Godeschal the Iron-hearted? Woe is me that I should live to be in their power!”