It came not from the castle but from the farther end of the
valley. It was answered by a second call from the walls. Then in
a long, straggling line there came a wild troop of marauders
streaming homeward from some foray. In the van, at the head of a
body of spearmen, rode a tall and burly man, clad in brazen armor,
so that he shone like a golden image in the slanting rays of the
sun. His helmet had been loosened from his gorget and was held
before him on his horse's neck. A great tangled beard flowed over
his breastplate, and his hair hung down as far behind. A squire
at his elbow bore high the banner of the bleeding head. Behind
the spearmen were a line of heavily laden mules, and on either
side of them a drove of poor country folk, who were being herded
into the castle. Lastly came a second strong troop of mounted
spearmen, who conducted a score or more of prisoners who marched
together in a solid body.
Nigel stared at them and then, springing on his horse, he urged it
along the shelter of the ridge so as to reach unseen a spot which
was close to the castle gate. He had scarce taken up his new
position when the cavalcade reached the drawbridge, and amid yells
of welcome from those upon the wall, filed in a thin line across
it. Nigel stared hard once more at the prisoners in the rear, and
so absorbed was he by the sight that he had passed the rocks and
was standing sheer upon the summit.
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