King Arthurs Knights | Page 9

quick of eye, and as restless as an unquiet
spirit.
Anon the lad would pass through the arras, creep to the great outer door,
and look at the porter in his room beside it. Then he would stand at the
wicket and listen to the rare footsteps pass down the road, and when the
rising wind keened and shrilled through the crannies, he would glance
about him with quick looks as if in fear of an enemy.
Once he went to Falk, the king's porter, and said:
''Tis a stormy night, Sir Falk. I doubt few are about the streets of
Caerleon on such a night.'
'Few indeed,' said Falk.
'Yet methought but now I heard the rattle of a bridle in the distance, as
if a steed stood in armour.'
'I heard naught,' said Falk. ''Twould be but the grinding of a chain
beside a horseblock.'
Young Owen went away, and sat where the king and his knights
listened to the marvellous tales of the wise Gildas, who told of most
terrible witches and warlocks in the wizard woods of Brittany.
Again the lad approached the door and listened; then going to the porter
he said:
'This drenching storm will tear the last poor leaves from the forest trees,
I ween, Sir Falk.'
'Of a truth,' said the porter, ''tis overlate for leaves. They be stuck in the

mire of the rides long ere this.'
'They could not be blown so far in this gushing storm,' said the page,
'and therefore I have deceived myself. But I thought I heard the rustle
of leaves on the stones before the door but now.'
'It could not be,' said the porter; 'it was doubtless the gouts of water
from the roof of the hall thou didst hear.'
Owen went away, but in a little while returned, and softly opened the
wicket panel in the door a little way, and looked forth into the roaring
darkness of rain and wind.
'Think you, Sir Falk,' he said, going to the porter, 'that the witches from
the woods of Denn do send their baleful fires on such a night as this to
lead poor houseless wretches into the marsh below the wall?'
The porter laughed.
'Thou'rt over-full of fancies to-night, young sir,' he said. 'Have no fear
of witches. We're all safe and sound here till the blessed daylight comes,
and none need stir out till then.'
'Methought I saw a flash in the dark but now,' said Owen, 'as if 'twas
the gleam of a sword or a wandering marsh fire.'
'Not a doubt 'twas but a lightning flash,' returned the porter. 'Now go ye,
for I hear the king moving towards bed. Sleep soundly, lad; no need to
fear this night.'
In a little while the palace was sunk in darkness, and in silence save for
the smothered cries of sleepers in their dreams. Outside, the rain still
sobbed at the eaves, and the wind beat at the narrow casements. Time
passed, and for all his weariness young Owen could not sleep.
His spirit had been heavy all the day, and vague and dreadful fears had
haunted him. Something told him that the life of the beloved king, who
had taken him from the foul and cruel power of Sir Turquine, was

threatened. He rose in the dark from his pallet of straw in the hall where
lay the other pages, and stole softly out. He would make his way to the
king's door, and, wrapped in his cloak, would lie before it.
He felt his way softly along the corridor in the deep darkness. Suddenly
he stopped. Something alive was near him in the dark. Even as he
turned, a hand seized him by the throat, and a hateful voice which he
knew growled in his ear:
'Lead us to the king's room, or this shall sink in thy heart!'
He knew at once that all his fears of the day and the night had been true.
He had indeed heard the stealthy footsteps before the door of the hall,
and had seen the dull gleam of a sword in the hand of one of those who
lay in wait to murder the king.
'Speak!' said the voice again. 'Is the king's room backward or forward?'
'I will not tell thee!' he gasped, and heard a low mocking laugh.
''Tis thee, my caitiff boy!' sneered Sir Turquine, for he it was. 'Then this
for thee!'
With the words he thrust his dagger into the body of the struggling boy,
who swooned and dropped to the floor.
In a few moments Owen stirred, for his struggles had caused his
enemy's dagger to swerve, and though weak from loss of blood, the
young page knew that he must act at once to save his hero