Count Hannibal

In a room beside the gateway, into which, as the nearest and most

convenient place, Count Hannibal had been carried from his saddle, a man

sat sideways in the narrow embrasure of a loophole, to which his eyes

seemed glued. The room, which formed part of the oldest block of the

chateau, and was ordinarily the quarters of the Carlats, possessed two

other windows, deep-set indeed, yet superior to that through which

Bigot--for he it was--peered so persistently. But the larger windows

looked southwards, across the bay--at this moment the noon-high sun was

pouring his radiance through them; while the object which held Bigot's

gaze and fixed him to his irksome seat, lay elsewhere. The loophole

commanded the causeway leading shorewards; through it the Norman could

see who came and went, and even the cross-beam of the ugly object which

rose where the causeway touched the land.

On a flat truckle-bed behind the door lay Count Hannibal, his injured leg

protected from the coverlid by a kind of cage. His eyes were bright with

fever, and his untended beard and straggling hair heightened the wildness

of his aspect. But he was in possession of his senses; and as his gaze

passed from Bigot at the window to the old Free Companion, who sat on a

stool beside him, engaged in shaping a piece of wood into a splint, an

expression almost soft crept into his harsh face.

"Old fool!" he said. And his voice, though changed, had not lost all its

strength and harshness. "Did the Constable need a splint when you laid

him under the tower at Gaeta?"

The old man lifted his eyes from his task, and glanced through the

nearest window.

"It is long from noon to night," he said quietly, "and far from cup to

lip, my lord!"

"It would be if I had two legs," Tavannes answered, with a grimace, half-

snarl, half-smile. "As it is--where is that dagger? It leaves me every

minute."

It had slipped from the coverlid to the ground. Badelon took it up, and

set it on the bed within reach of his master's hand.

Bigot swore fiercely. "It would be farther still," he growled, "if you

would be guided by me, my lord. Give me leave to bar the door, and

'twill be long before these fisher clowns force it. Badelon and I--"

"Being in your full strength," Count Hannibal murmured cynically.

"Could hold it. We have strength enough for that," the Norman boasted,

though his livid face and his bandages gave the lie to his words. He

could not move without pain; and for Badelon, his knee was as big as two

with plaisters of his own placing.

Count Hannibal stared at the ceiling. "You could not strike two blows!"

he said. "Don't lie to me! And Badelon cannot walk two yards! Fine

fighters!" he continued with bitterness, not all bitter. "Fine bars

'twixt a man and death! No, it is time to turn the face to the wall.

And, since go I must, it shall not be said Count Hannibal dared not go

alone! Besides--"