Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

30 use them as he pleases. His scheme—for he has brains—will be to starve us out without the loss of his stout men-at-arms.” “But the king’s men,” the girl inter- posed, “would not they take the part of Monrepaire against the other two? He commands with the king’s commission.” “Stephen’s men? They will follow the example of their master—wait to see whether Richard or the other two have the upper hand and then join the stronger. But Geoffrey is still unaware of his uncle’s part in this?” “Of course,” answered Margaret with a hint of reproach in her voice. ‘No one is allowed to speak of it within his hearing. He heard the tumult of their approach and the cries from the battlements and asked what it was. I could not tell him we were in no peril—he knows the sounds of battle —but I told him only that de Born and Umfraville were attacking.” “What did he say?” “He asked me: ‘Why do vou not send for aid to my uncle? He will be glad to help you, now that we are betrothed.’ So I said—wisely, I hope, though I had scarce time for thought—‘Sir Richard has already heard, and is here; but the doctor will not let you see him. The king also has sent troops.’ “He seemed content and answered: ‘Ah, now all will be well, since my uncle has brought you aid. He has a shrewd brain. He will be worth many men.’ “Geoffrey is still so weak that he can be easily managed. My poor boy! How he loves his terrible uncle!’ Her black eyes dimmed with tears. _Even as she spoke, there came a tremen- dous clangor at the postern, a little gate deep-sunk in the eastern wall, guarded by two salient battlemented galleries. Fol- lowing the clang, there was a great thump- ing noise and the cries of the garrison on the wall. Gislac leaped up from his long finished meal, hurried back into his armor, which he had flung aside on a bench against the wall and, his fingers still fumbling with the clasps, ran to the battlements, while Margaret sped like a deer back to Geof- frey’s bedside. The fires on the wall, glowing to keep the pitch-kettles hot, made the wall appear a very inferno, through which men-at-arms scurried to and fro with their weapons like devils scuttling about hell with pitchforks. Adventure Below, whence the thumping clamor came, the darkness hid the nature of the attack. But the sounds told clearly what was going on. “That tree-trunk came from the Murk- wood,” Gislac muttered. “Light the pitch- balls,”’ he shouted, “before they smash the timbers of the gate!” : He was not greatly afraid, for the postern, stout in itself, was barricaded with beams and boulders. But once its timbers started, it would be a weak joint in the armor of defense. At his command, pitch-balls— great globes of pitch and flax—were thrust into the fires till they burst into brilliant blaze and flung down over the wall. Where- ever they struck, they cast a glare that threw all about them into bright relief. Instantly the movements below were re- vealed. In the light of the pitch-balls the defenders saw a score of figures running up with a huge stripped trunk, preparing to crash it against the postern with all the force of their onrush, as they had already done several times. Behind them, tailing off from dimmer light into darkness, many men in armor waited in a throng. Their weapons were ready, their faces fierce with the lust of battle. As soon as the gate should crash, they would pour into the breach, their swords hungry for the blood of those within. ‘“‘Now!” Gislac shouted, as the second relay of pitch-balls brought this throng of warriors into clearer sight. “Bows and javelins!” His men-at-arms crowded the battle- ments, those nearest the merlons hurling down heavy spears, weighted at the point, shooting arrows into the press of those be- low, launching iron-tipped stakes. Cries of dismay rose from the would-be assailants. Galled by the sudden flight of weapons, eager for hand-grips, they rushed madly in, closing about the postern in a dense mass. A mighty man with dark-plumed helmet led them on, swinging high a great ax. In a moment its blows rang against the iron- studded woodwork of the gate. At sight of his momentarily upturned face against the glare Gislac laughed and shouted down: “Mad, mad, Umfraville! You shall sleep in hell tonight!” And he hurled a javelin straight down at the astounded face of his enemy. But the light, reflected back from the stone sur- face of the wall, deceived his aim. The COmiclbook CO