Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 20: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

14 for Gislac’s men knew their lord too well to shirk. Even as he watched, he stiffened and peered out into the night. Minute after minute he stared, till that which had caught his suspicion grew near and clearer—a blob of flame bobbing on the level land toward the Sollett. Leaning his spear against the merlon, he walked swiftly along the ram- parts and spoke softly to the officer of the watch. The latter’s face, half-lighted by the smoky glare of a single cresset in the cen- ter of the tower platform, grew keen with expectation. The light flickered redly on his mail. “We shall have something to do at last,” he said quietly. ‘‘No man would stir on the plain on such a night if he were honest. Not with a torch. Where there is a torch, there are more men than one. Sir Giles should know of this. Do you tell him.” The sentry descended the stone stair which wound down into the bowels of the tower. Passed by the men-at-arms on guard at the landing at each turn in the corridor, he was halted at Sir Giles’ door. “My lord sleeps,” the grim-faced guards- man rebuked him. “T have news that will wake him, then,”’ the sentry retorted. ‘“Bermond’s orders were to report to Sir Giles himself.” “On your head, then, if he is angered at losing his first sleep.” The guardsman threw open the door. The bleak four-square chamber was dimly lighted by asingle lamp. By its thin ray the sentry could make out the great form of Sir Giles on his narrow pallet and the black bush of his beard. Advancing to the couch, he laid a hand on his master’s shoulder and shook him. The big man sat up, broad awake on the instant. “There is a light on the plain, coming toward the Sollett,” he announced. ‘‘Ber- mond bade me report.”’ Even as he spoke, Sir Giles was on his feet, reaching out for his clothes. “Fetch me my hauberk and sword from the press yonder,” he continued. ‘Good! Fasten this buckle. Now my helmet and shield. That will do. Rouse the lads be- “low. Haye the grooms saddle as quickly as they may. Be swift and be quiet, lest ye startle the women.” The sentry had scarcely left the chamber when Sir Giles was after him, settling his shield on his back with a clang accompanied Adventure by a shrug of his broad shoulders. Many a night alarm had brought him from his bed in the troublous years since King Henry died; many a seeming trifle, no more start- ling than this single light across the Sollett, had turned out the garrison of High Tower in force or manned its broad walls with spearmen. In the reign of Stephen the weakly, hon- est men slept lightly and attached grim sig- nificance to the slightest things. Or if they did not, they died young, and men with harder fists and keener eyes enjoyed the treasure they had gathered. Close behind Sir Giles followed he who had stood guard at the door, a broad-faced ax in his big gauntleted hand. The men-at- arms turned out as they swung down into the court of the keep, buckling the last straps as they hurried from their quarters off the guard-room, trailing their weapons. Horses were led out from the stables, sad- dled and bridled. The great court was quick with lively, or- dered bustle. The torchlight flickered on set faces, on armor that glinted as it was fastened about sturdy bodies, on the smooth coats of the beasts that were being led to their places before the great archway. Catching sight of the captain of the wall, the knight strode to him, asking in that vi- brant voice of his: ‘“‘Are they many, Gerard? Do they ad- vance?” ‘““How many I know not, my lord. Ber- mond woke me but a moment since; it was his watch. He says the light still advances. He can not vet see who bears it. It is very dark without; there may be two men or twenty.” “Scarce twenty, unless they are half- armed. A score of shields clanging on mailed backs would be heard almost to the Murkwood. Richard de Monrepaire might be shrewd enough to muffle the shields, but I am making my peace with him. Ten men will serve us. You, Gerard, and Thomas, and you, and you, and you! Yes, Guil- laume and Joseph too. That willdo. Ber- mond, man the wail!’’ Sir Giles swung to the saddle, took the lance that his favorite guardsman Thomas handed him, loosened his sword in its sheath and gave the command to raise the port- cullis. The massive grating rose slowly in its grooves; the drawbridge sank with the scream of protesting chains and the riders COmiclbook CO