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Updated: June 17, 2025
At this period the action of our tale recommences. Drogo was still lord of the Castle of Walderne. No news had reached England of Hubert these three long years, and hence no one disputed the title of Drogo to present possession. His steps had been taken with all the craft of a subtle fox.
A handsome, athletic set they were, dressed in what we should call the Montfort livery a garb which set off their natural good looks abundantly the dark features of Drogo; the light eyes and flaxen hair of the son of a Provencal maiden, our Hubert; were fair types of the varieties of appearance to be met amongst the groups. The earl's features were clouded.
"But if Sir Drogo be absent many days thou mayst starve." "Though he slay me, yet will I put my trust in him." "I do believe he will be saved, by a miracle if needs be," muttered the man. "The saints will never let him starve, he is one of them." The second day passed, and Martin's bread and cruse yet held out.
He also was given the King's niece in marriage as a mark of special favour; but having for some reason seen fit to poison her, he fled from England, it is said, during the last few months of William's reign. The Barony of Holderness was forfeited, but Drogo was never captured.
Then the prince's men rushed upon the litter, Drogo of Walderne foremost. They thought they had got the great earl. "Come out, Simon, thou devil, thou worst of traitors," they cried. Within were only the four shrinking, timid burgesses, and Drogo and his band dragged them out, shrieking in vain that they were for the king, and cut them to pieces, poor unfortunates.
The "merrie men" have disappeared in the woods, and Drogo descends to meet him; just as the rider enters beneath the suspended portcullis into the court of the castle, he reaches the foot of the stairs. "What news? Speak, thou varlet!" "The king approaches. Already he is within sight from the upper windows of the windmill."
During these hostile preparations, Argyrus indulged himself in the use of secret and guilty weapons: a crowd of Normans became the victims of public or private revenge; and the valiant Drogo was murdered in a church. But his spirit survived in his brother Humphrey, the third count of Apulia.
What has chanced?" "He was hit by one of those arrows the treacherous Drogo shot from the wall while the flag of truce was yet flying, when we first came to demand thee. But we must work to relieve thee." And toil they did, but all in vain. They had no tools to force that iron door.
One eventide the work of the day was over, and Drogo and this squire were taking counsel in the chamber of the former; once the boudoir of Lady Sybil in better days. "Raoul," said his master, "have you heard aught yet of the Lady Alicia of Possingworth?" "Yes, my lord, but not good news." "Tell them without more grimace." "She has placed herself under the protection of the Earl of Leicester."
To the knight above Drogo paid his first visit on the following day, and bowed low before Ralph of Herstmonceux. "The fortune of war has made thee my captive, but knightly fare and honourable treatment are awaiting thee, until the day when it pleases thee to redeem thyself, and deprive us of the light of thy presence." "Thanks!
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