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The Outlaw of Torn

E >> Edgar Rice Burroughs >> The Outlaw of Torn




"It shall be by the third day, or not at all," replied
Father Claude, and Norman of Torn rising to leave
wondered at the moving leaves of the lilac bush with-
out the window, for there was no breeze.

Spizo the Spaniard reached Torn several minutes
before the outlaw chief and had already poured his
tale into the ears of the little, grim, gray, old man.

As the priest's words were detailed to him the old
man of Torn paled in anger.

"The fool priest will upset the whole work to which
I have devoted near twenty years," he muttered, "if
I find not the means to quiet his half-wit tongue. Be-
tween priest and petticoat it be all but ruined now.
Well then, so much the sooner must I act, and I know
not but that now be as good a time as any. If we come
near enough to the King's men on this trip south, the
gibbet shall have its own and a Plantagenet dog shall
taste the fruits of his own tyranny," then glancing up
and realizing that Spizo the Spaniard had been a listen-
er, the old man, scowling, cried:

"What said I, sirrah? What didst hear?"

"Naught, My Lord; thou didst but mutter incoher-
ently", replied the Spaniard.

The old man eyed him closely.

"An did I more, Spizo, thou heardst naught but mut-
tering, remember."

"Yes, My Lord."

An hour later the old man of Torn dismounted be-
fore the cottage of Father Claude and entered.

"I am honored," said the priest, rising.

"Priest," cried the old man, coming immediately to
the point, "Norman of Torn tells me that thou wish
him and me and Leicester to meet here. I know not
what thy purpose may be, but for the boy's sake carry
not out thy design as yet. I may not tell thee my rea-
sons, but it be best that this meeting take place after
we return from the south."

The old man had never spoken so fairly to Father
Claude before, and so the latter was quite deceived
and promised to let the matter rest until later.

A few days after, in the summer of 1263, Norman of
Torn rode at the head of his army of outlaws through
the county of Essex, down toward London town. One
thousand fighting men there were, with squires and
other servants, and five hundred sumpter beasts to
transport their tents and other impedimenta, and bring
back the loot.

But a small force of ailing men-at-arms, and servants
had been left to guard the castle of Torn under the
able direction of Peter the Hermit.

At the column's head rode Norman of Torn and the
little grim, gray, old man; and behind them nine com-
panies of knights, followed by the catapult detachment;
then came the sumpter beasts. Horsan the Dane,
with his company, formed the rear guard. Three hun-
dred yards in advance of the column rode ten men to
guard against surprise and ambuscades.

The pennons, and the banners and the bugles; and
the loud rattling of sword, and lance and armor and
iron-shod hoof carried to the eye and ear ample assur-
ance that this great cavalcade of iron men was bent
upon no peaceful mission.

All his captains rode today with Norman of Torn.
Beside those whom we have met there was Don Piedro
Castro y Pensilo of Spain; Baron of Cobarth of Germany,
and Sir John Mandecote of England. Like their leader,
each of these fierce warriors carried a great price upon
his head, and the story of the life of any one would
fill a large volume with romance, war, intrigue, treach-
ery, bravery and death.

Toward noon one day in the midst of a beautiful
valley of Essex they came upon a party of ten knights
escorting two young women. The meeting was at a
turn in the road, so that the two parties were upon
each other before the ten knights had an opportunity
to escape with their fair wards.

"What the devil be this," cried one of the knights, as
the main body of the outlaw horde came into view,
"the King's army or one of his foreign legions?"

"It be Norman of Torn and his fighting men," replied
the outlaw.

The faces of the knights blanched, for they were
ten against a thousand, and there were two women
with them.

"Who be ye?" said the outlaw.

"I am Richard de Tany of Essex," said the oldest
knight, he who had first spoken, "and these be my
daughter and her friend, Mary de Stutevill. We are
upon our way from London to my castle. What would
you of us? Name your price, if it can be paid with
honor it shall be paid; only let us go our way in peace.
We cannot hope to resist the Devil of Torn, for we be
but ten lances. If ye must have blood, at least let the
women go unharmed."

"My Lady Mary is an old friend," said the outlaw.
"I called at her father's home but little more than a
year since. We are neighbors, and the lady can tell
you that women are safer at the hands of Norman of
Torn than they might be in the King's palace."

"Right he is," spoke up Lady Mary, "Norman of Torn
accorded my mother, my sister, and myself the utmost
respect; though I cannot say as much for his treatment
of my father," she added, half smiling.

"I have no quarrel with you, Richard de Tany," said
Norman of Torn. "Ride on."

The next day a young man hailed the watch upon
the walls of the castle of Richard de Tany telling him
to bear word to Joan de Tany that Roger de Conde, a
friend of her guest Lady Mary de Stutevill, was without.

In a few moments the great drawbridge sank slowly
into place and Norman of Torn trotted into the court-
yard.

He was escorted to an apartment where Mary de
Stutevill and Joan de Tany were waiting to receive him.
Mary de Stutevill greeted him as an old friend, and
the daughter of de Tany was no less cordial in wel-
coming her friend's friend to the hospitality of her fath-
er's castle.

"Are all your old friends and neighbors come after
you to Essex," cried Joan de Tany, laughingly, address-
ing Mary. "Today it is Roger de Conde, yesterday it
was the Outlaw of Torn. Methinks Derby will soon be
depopulated unless you return quickly to your home."

"I rather think it be for news of another that we owe
this visit from Roger de Conde," said Mary, smiling.
"For I have heard tales, and I see a great ring upon
the gentleman's hand--a ring which I have seen before."

Norman of Torn made no attempt to deny the reason
for his visit, but asked bluntly if she heard aught of
Bertrade de Montfort.

"Thrice within the year have I received missives
from her," replied Mary. "In the first two she spoke
only of Roger de Conde, wondering why he did not
come to France after her; but in the last she mentions
not his name, but speaks of her approaching marriage
with Prince Philip."

Both girls were watching the countenance of Roger
de Conde narrowly, but no sign of the sorrow which
filled his heart showed itself upon his face.

"I guess it be better so," he said quietly. "The daugh-
ter of a De Montfort could scarcely be happy with a
nameless adventurer," he added, a little bitterly.

"You wrong her, my friend," said Mary de Stutevill,
she loved you,--and unless I know not the friend of my
childhood as well as I know myself, she loves you yet;
but Bertrade de Montfort is a proud woman and what
can you expect when she hears no word from you for
a year? Thought you that she would seek you out and
implore you to rescue her from the alliance her father
has made for her?"

"You do not understand," he answered, "and I may
not tell you; but I ask that you believe me when I say
that it was for her own peace of mind, for her own
happiness, that I did not follow her to France. But let
us talk of other things; the sorrow is mine and I would
not force it upon others. I cared only to know that she
is well, and, I hope, happy. It will never be given to
me to make her or any other woman so. I would that
I had never come into her life, but I did not know what
I was doing; and the spell of her beauty and goodness
was strong upon me, so that I was weak and could not
resist what I had never known before in all my life--
love."

"You could not well be blamed," said Joan de Tany,
generously. "Bertrade de Montfort is all and even more
than you have said; it be a benediction simply to have
known her."

As she spoke, Norman of Torn looked upon her criti-
cally for the first time, and he saw that Joan de Tany
was beautiful, and that when she spoke her face lighted
with a hundred little changing expressions of intelli-
gence and character that cast a spell of fascination
about her. Yes, Joan de Tany was good to look upon,
and Norman of Torn carried a wounded heart in his
breast that longed for surcease from its sufferings--for
a healing balm upon its hurts and bruises.

And so it came to pass that for many days the Outlaw
of Torn was a daily visitor at the castle of Richard de
Tany, and the acquaintance between the man and the
two girls ripened into a deep friendship, and with one
of them it threatened even more.

Norman of Torn, in his ignorance of the ways of
women, saw only friendship in the little acts of Joan
de Tany. His life had been a hard and lonely one. The
only ray of brilliant and warming sunshine that had
entered it had been his love for Bertrade de Montfort
and hers for him.

His every thought was loyal to the woman whom he
knew was not for him, but he longed for the compan-
ionship of his own kind and so welcomed the friendship
of such as Joan de Tany and her fair guest. He did not
dream that either looked upon him with any warmer
sentiment than the sweet friendliness which was as new
to him as love--how could he mark the line between
or foresee the terrible price of his ignorance!

Mary de Stutevill saw and she thought the man but
fickle and shallow in matters of the heart--many there
were, she knew, who were thus. She might have warned
him had she known the truth, but instead she let things
drift except for a single word of warning to Joan de
Tany.

"Be careful of thy heart, Joan," she said, "lest it be
getting away from thee into the keeping of one who
seems to love no less quickly than he forgets."

The daughter of De Tany flushed.

"I am quite capable of safeguarding my own heart,
Mary de Stutevill," she replied warmly. "If thou covet
this man thyself, why, but say so--do not think though
that because thy heart glows in his presence mine is
equally susceptible."

It was Mary's turn now to show offense, and a sharp
retort was on her tongue when suddenly she realized
the folly of such a useless quarrel. Instead she put her
arms about Joan and kissed her.

"I do not love him," she said, "and I be glad that
you do not, for I know that Bertrade does, and that but
a short year since he swore undying love for her. Let
us forget that we have spoken on the subject."

It was at this time that the King's soldiers were har-
assing the lands of the rebel barons, and taking a heavy
toll in revenge for their stinging defeat at Rochester
earlier in the year, so that it was scarcely safe for small
parties to venture upon the roadways lest they fall into
the hands of the mercenaries of Henry III.

Not even were the wives and daughters of the barons
exempt from the attacks of the royalists; and it was no
uncommon occurrence to find them suffering imprison-
ment, and something worse, at the hands of the King's
supporters.

And in the midst of these alarms it entered the will-
ful head of Joan de Tany that she wished to ride to
London town and visit the shops of the merchants.

While London itself was solidly for the barons and
against the King's party, the road between the castle
of Richard de Tany and the city of London was beset
with many dangers.

"Why," cried the girl's mother in exasperation, "be-
tween robbers and royalists and the Outlaw of Torn
you would not be safe if you had an army to escort
you."

"But then, as I have no army," retorted the laughing
girl, "if you reason by your own logic, I shall be indeed
quite safe."

And when Roger de Conde attempted to dissuade
her, she taunted him with being afraid of meeting with
the Devil of Torn, and told him that he might remain
at home and lock himself safely in her mother's pantry.

And so, as Joan de Tany was a spoiled child, they
set out upon the road to London; the two girls with a
dozen servants and knights; and Roger de Conde was
of the party.

At the same time a grim, gray, old man dispatched
a messenger from the outlaw's camp; a swarthy fellow,
disguised as a priest, whose orders were to proceed to
London, and when he saw the party of Joan de Tany,
with Roger de Conde, enter the city he was to deliver
the letter he bore to the captain of the gate.

The letter contained this brief message:

"The tall knight in gray with closed helm is Norman
of Torn," and was unsigned.

All went well and Joan was laughing merrily at the
fears of those who had attempted to dissuade her when,
at a cross road, they discovered two parties of armed
men approaching from opposite directions. The leader
of the nearer party spurred forward to intercept the
little band, and, reining in before them, cried brusque-
ly,

"Who be ye?"

"A party on a peaceful mission to the shops of Lon-
don," replied Norman of Torn.

"I asked not your mission," cried the fellow. "I asked,
who be ye? Answer, and be quick about it."

"I be Roger de Conde, gentleman of France, and
these be my sisters and servants," lied the outlaw, "and
were it not that the ladies be with me your answer
would be couched in steel, as you deserve for your
boorish insolence."

"There be plenty of room and time for that even
now, you dog of a French coward," cried the officer,
couching his lance as he spoke.

Joan de Tany was sitting her horse where she could
see the face of Roger de Conde, and it filled her heart
with pride and courage as she saw and understood the
little smile of satisfaction that touched his lips as he
heard the man's challenge and lowered the point of his
own spear.

Wheeling their horses toward one another the two
combatants, who were some ninety feet apart, charged
at full tilt. As they came together the impact was so
great that both horses were nearly overturned and the
two powerful war lances were splintered into a hundred
fragments as each struck the exact center of his oppo-
nent's shield. Then, wheeling their horses and throwing
away the butts of their now useless lances, De Conde
and the officer advanced with drawn swords.

The fellow made a most vicious return assault upon
De Conde, attempting to ride him down in one mad
rush, but his thrust passed harmlessly from the tip of
the outlaw's sword, and as the officer wheeled back to
renew the battle they settled down to fierce combat,
their horses wheeling and turning shoulder to shoulder.

The two girls sat rigid in their saddles watching
the encounter, the eyes of Joan de Tany alight with the
fire of battle as she followed every move of the won-
drous sword play of Roger de Conde.

He had not even taken the precaution to lower his
visor, and the grim and haughty smile that played upon
his lips spoke louder than many words the utter con-
tempt in which he held the sword of his adversary. And
as Joan de Tany watched she saw the smile suddenly
freeze to a cold, hard line, and the eyes of the man
narrow to mere slits, and her woman's intuition read the
death warrant of the King's officer ere the sword of
the outlaw buried itself in his heart.

The other members of the two bodies of royalist
soldiers had sat spellbound as they watched the battle,
but now, as their leader's corpse rolled from the saddle
they spurred furiously in upon De Conde and his little
party.

The Baron's men put up a noble fight, but the odds
were heavy and even with the mighty arm of Norman
of Torn upon their side the outcome was apparent from
the first.

Five swords were flashing about the outlaw, but his
blade was equal to the thrust and one after another of
his assailants crumpled up in their saddles as his leap-
ing point found their vitals.

Nearly all of the Baron's men were down, when one,
an old servitor, spurred to the side of Joan de Tany and
Mary de Stutevill.

"Come, my ladies," he cried, "quick and you may
escape. They be so busy with the battle that they will
never notice."

"Take the Lady Mary, John," cried Joan, "I brought
Roger de Conde to this pass against the advice of all
and I remain with him to the end."

"But, My Lady--" cried John.

"But nothing, sirrah!" she interrupted sharply. "Do
as you are bid. Follow my Lady Mary, and see that
she comes to my father's castle in safety," and raising
her riding whip she struck Mary's palfrey across the
rump so that the animal nearly unseated his fair rider
as he leaped frantically to one side and started madly
up the road down which they had come.

"After her, John," commanded Joan peremptorily,
and see that you turn not back until she be safe with-
in the castle walls; then you may bring aid."

The old fellow had been wont to obey the imperious
little Lady Joan from her earliest childhood, and the
habit was so strong upon him that he wheeled his
horse and galloped after the flying palfrey of the Lady
Mary de Stutevill.

As Joan de Tany turned again to the encounter be-
fore her, she saw fully twenty men surrounding Roger
de Conde, and while he was taking heavy toll of those
before him he could not cope with the men who at-
tacked him from behind; and even as she looked she
saw a battle axe fall full upon his helm, and his sword
drop from his nerveless fingers as his lifeless body
rolled from the back of Sir Mortimer to the battle-
tramped clay of the highroad.

She slid quickly from her palfrey and ran fearlessly
toward his prostrate form, reckless of the tangled mass
of snorting, trampling, steel-clad horses, and surging
fighting-men that surrounded him. And well it was for
Norman of Torn that this brave girl was there that day,
for even as she reached his side the sword point of one
of the soldiers was at his throat for the coup de grace.

With a cry Joan de Tany threw herself across the
outlaw's body, shielding him as best she could from the
threatening sword.

Cursing loudly, the soldier grasped her roughly by
the arm to drag her from his prey, but at this juncture
a richly armored knight galloped up and drew rein
beside the party.

The newcomer was a man of about forty-five or fifty;
tall, handsome, black-mustached and with the haughty
arrogance of pride most often seen upon the faces of
those who have been raised by unmerited favor to
positions of power and affluence.

He was John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, a for-
eigner by birth and for years one of the King's favorites;
the bitterest enemy of De Montfort and the barons.

"What now?" he cried. "What goes on here?"

The soldiers fell back, and one of them replied:

"A party of the King's enemies attacked us, My Lord
Earl, but we routed them, taking these two prisoners."

"Who be ye?" he said, turning toward Joan who was
kneeling beside De Conde, and as she raised her head,
"My God! The daughter of De Tany! a noble prize
indeed my men. And who be the knight?"

"Look for yourself, My Lord Earl," replied the girl
removing the helm, which she had been unlacing from
the fallen man.

"Edward?" he ejaculated. "But no, it cannot be, I
did but yesterday leave Edward in Dover."

"I know not who he be," said Joan de Tany, "ex-
cept that he be the most marvelous fighter and the
bravest man it has ever been given me to see. He called
himself Roger de Conde, but I know nothing of him
other than that he looks like a prince, and fights like
a devil. I think he has no quarrel with either side, My
Lord, and so, as you certainly do not make war on
women, you will let us go our way in peace as we were
when your soldiers wantonly set upon us."

"A De Tany, madam, were a great and valuable cap-
ture in these troublous times," replied the Earl, "and
that alone were enough to necessitate my keeping you;
but a beautiful De Tany is yet a different matter and
so I will grant you at least one favor, I will not take
you to the King, but a prisoner you shall be in mine
own castle for I am alone, and need the cheering com-
pany of a fair and loving lady."

The girl's head went high as she looked the Earl full
in the eye.

"Think you, John de Fulm, Earl of Buckingham, that
you be talking to some comely scullery maid? Do you
forget that my house is honored in England, even
though it does not share the King's favors with his
foreign favorites, and you owe respect to a daughter
of a De Tany?"

"All be fair in war, my beauty," replied the Earl.
"Egad," he continued, "methinks all would be fair in
hell were they like unto you. It has been some years
since I have seen you and I did not know the old fox
Richard de Tany kept such a package as this hid in his
grimy old castle."

"Then you refuse to release us?" said Joan de Tany.

"Let us not put it thus harshly," countered the Earl.
"Rather let us say that it be so late in the day, and the
way so beset with dangers that the Earl of Buckingham
could not bring himself to expose the beautiful daugh-
ter of his old friend to the perils of the road, and so--"

"Let us have an end to such foolishness," cried the
girl. "I might have expected naught better from a turn-
coat foreign knave such as thee, who once joined in
the councils of De Montfort, and then betrayed his
friends to curry favor with the King."

The Earl paled with rage, and pressed forward as
though to strike the girl, but thinking better of it, he
turned to one of the soldiers, saying:

"Bring the prisoner with you. If the man lives bring
him also. I would learn more of this fellow who mas-
querades in the countenance of a crown prince."

And turning, he spurred on towards the neighboring
castle of a rebel baron which had been captured by
the royalists, and was now used as headquarters by
De Fulm.











CHAPTER XIII

WHEN Norman of Torn regained his senses he found
himself in a small tower room in a strange castle. His
head ached horribly, and he felt sick and sore; but he
managed to crawl from the cot on which he lay, and
by steadying his swaying body with hands pressed
against the wall he was able to reach the door. To his
disappointment he found this locked from without,
and in his weakened condition he made no attempt to
force it.

He was fully dressed and in armor, as he had been
when struck down, but his helmet was gone, as were
also his sword and dagger.

The day was drawing to a close, and as dusk fell
and the room darkened he became more and more
impatient. Repeated pounding upon the door brought
no response and finally he gave up in despair. Going
to the window he saw that his room was some thirty
feet above the stone-flagged courtyard, and also that
it looked at an angle upon other windows in the old
castle where lights were beginning to show. He saw
men-at-arms moving about, and once he thought he
caught a glimpse of a woman's figure, but he was not
sure.

He wondered what had become of Joan de Tany and
Mary de Stutevill. He hoped that they had escaped,
and yet--no, Joan certainly had not, for now he dis-
tinctly remembered that his eyes had met hers for an
instant just before the blow fell upon him, and he
thought of the faith and confidence that he had read in
that quick glance. Such a look would nerve a jackal to
attack a drove of lions, thought the outlaw. What a
beautiful creature she was; and she had stayed there
with him during the fight. He remembered now; Mary
de Stutevill had not been with her as he had caught
that glimpse of her, no, she had been all alone. Ah!
That was friendship indeed!

What else was it that tried to force its way above
the threshold of his bruised and wavering memory?
Words? Words of love? And lips pressed to his? No,
it must be but a figment of his wounded brain.

What was that which clicked against his breastplate?
He felt, and found a metal bauble linked to a mesh of
his steel armor by a strand of silken hair. He carried
the little thing to the window, and in the waning light
made it out to be a golden hair ornament set with
precious stones, but he could not tell if the little strand
of silken hair were black or brown. Carefully he de-
tached the little thing, and, winding the filmy tress
about it, placed it within the breast of his tunic. He
was vaguely troubled by it, yet why he could scarcely
have told, himself.

Again turning to the window he watched the lighted
rooms within his vision, and presently his view was
rewarded by the sight of a knight coming within the
scope of the narrow casement of a nearby chamber.

From his apparel he was a man of position, and he
was evidently in heated discussion with some one
whom Norman of Torn could not see. The man, a great,
tall black-haired and mustached nobleman, was pound-
ing upon a table to emphasize his words, and presently
he sprang up as though rushing toward the one to
whom he had been speaking. He disappeared from the
watcher's view for a moment and then, at the far side
of the apartment, Norman of Torn saw him again just
as he roughly grasped the figure of a woman who
evidently was attempting to escape him. As she turned
to face her tormentor all the devil in the Devil of Torn
surged in his aching head, for the face he saw was
that of Joan de Tany.

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