"Rat, tat, tat!" came thundering on the door from the sword-hilt of the Sergeant in command of the party.
There was no answer; no light shone from the house, for the window was closely shuttered. Again the Sergeant hammered on the door.
"This pestilent smith is gone to bed," he cried in vexation. "But we must leave no house unsearched. Come, we must break in the door!" and he began to examine the door, and found that it was a fine solid door, of good oak and clamped with iron.
"Phew, we shall have a job with this door!" he sighed. "Why, in the devil's name, doesn't the fellow answer? Stephen, Stephen! Ho, there! Stephen!"
Yet no answer came from the inside of the house.
But at this moment another sound struck sharp on the ears of the Sergeant and his men. It was the noise of flames crackling; from the house next to Stephen's (which belonged to him, but was inhabited by a fruit-seller) there welled out smoke in volumes from every window; and the fruit-seller and his family appeared at the windows calling for aid. Seeing this, the Sergeant blew very loudly the whistle that he carried and cried "Fire!" and bade his men run and procure a ladder; for plainly the fruit-seller's house was on fire, and it was a more urgent matter to rescue men and women from burning than to find the Countess and the Prince. Presently the ladder came, and a great crowd of people, roused by the whistle and the cries of fire, came also; and then the door of Stephen's house was opened, and Stephen himself, looking out, asked what was the matter. Being told that the next house was on fire, he turned very grave – for the house was his – and waited for a moment to watch the fruit-seller and his family being brought down the ladder, which task was safely and prosperously accomplished. But the Sergeant said to him: "The fire may well spread, and if there is anyone in your house, it would be prudent to get them out."
"That is well thought of," said Stephen approvingly. "I was working late with three apprentices, and they are still in the house." And he put his head in at his door and called: "You had better come out, lads, the fire may spread." But the Sergeant turned away again and busied himself in putting the fire out.
Then three lads, one being very tall, came out of Stephen's house, clad in their leather breeches, their aprons, and the close-fitting caps that apprentices wore; and for a moment they stood watching the fire at the fruit-seller's. Then, seeing that the fire was burning low – which it did very quickly – they did not stay till the attention of the Sergeant was released from it, but, accompanied by Stephen, turned down the street, and, going along at a brisk rate, rounded the corner and came into the open space in front of the Cathedral.
"The gates will be shut, I fear," said the tallest apprentice. "How came the fire, Stephen?"
"It was three or four trusses of hay, sir, and a few crowns to repair his scorched paint. Shall we go to the gate?"
"Yes, we must try the gate," said Prince Henry, gathering the hand of the Countess into his; and the third apprentice walked silently by Stephen's side. Yet once as she went, she said softly:
"So it was no trick, Stephen?"
"No trick, but the truth, madame," said Stephen.
"I do not know," said Osra, "how I am to return to the palace in these clothes."
"Let us get your brother and the Countess away first," counselled the smith.
Now when they came to the nearest gate it was shut; but at the moment a troop of mounted men rode up, having been sent by the King to scour the country round, in case the fugitives should have escaped already from the city. And the Commandant of the company bore an order from the King's Marshal for the opening of the gate. Seeing this, Stephen the smith went up to him and began to talk to him, the three apprentices standing close by. The Commandant knew Stephen well, and was pleased to talk with him while the gates were opened and the troopers filed through. Stephen kept close by him till the troopers were all through. Then he turned and spoke to the apprentices, and they nodded assent. The Commandant checked his horse for an instant when he was half-way through the gate, and bent down and took Stephen's hand to shake it in farewell. Stephen took his hand with marvellous friendliness, and held it, and would not let him go. But the apprentices edged cautiously nearer and nearer the gate.
"Enough, man, enough!" laughed the Commandant. "We are not parting for ever."
"I trust not, sir, I trust not," said Stephen earnestly, still holding his hand.
"Come, let me go. See, the gate-warden wants to shut the gate!"
"True!" said Stephen. "Good-bye then, sir. Hallo, hallo! stop, stop! Oh, the young rascals!"
For even as Stephen spoke, two of the apprentices had darted through the half-closed gate, and run swiftly forward into the gloom of the night. Stephen swore an oath.
"The rogues!" he cried. "They were to have worked all night to finish an image of Our Lady! And now I shall see no more of them till to-morrow! They shall pay for their prank then, by heaven they shall!" But the Commandant laughed.
"I am sorry I can't catch them for you, friend Stephen," said he, "but I have other fish to fry. Well, boys will be boys. Don't be too hard on them when they return."
"They must answer for what they do," said Stephen; and the Commandant rode on and the gates were shut.
Then the Princess Osra said:
"Will they escape, Stephen?"
"They have money in their purses, love in their hearts, and an angry King behind them. I should travel quickly, madame, if I were so placed."
The Princess looked through the grating of the gate.
"Yes," she said, "they have all those. How happy they must be, Stephen! But what am I to do?"
Stephen made no answer and they walked back in silence to his house. It may be that they were wondering whether Prince Henry and the Countess would escape. Yet it may be that they thought of something else. When they reached the house, Stephen bade the Princess go into the inner room and resume her own dress that she might return to the palace, and that it might not be known where she had been nor how she had aided her brother to evade the King's prohibition; and when she, still strangely silent, went in as he bade her, he took his great staff in his hand, and stood on the threshold of the house, his head nearly touching the lintel and his shoulders filling almost all the space between door-post and door-post.
When he had stood there a little while, the same Sergeant of the Guard, recollecting (now that the fire at the fruit-seller's was out) that he had never searched the house of the smith, came again with his four men, and told Stephen to stand aside and allow him to enter the house.
"For I must search it," he said, "or my orders will not be performed."
"Those whom you seek are not here," said Stephen.
"That I must see for myself," answered the Sergeant. "Come, smith, stand aside."
When the Princess heard the voices outside, she put her head round the door of the inner room, and cried in great alarm to Stephen:
"They must not come in, Stephen. At any cost they must not come in!"
"Do not be afraid, madame, they shall not come in," said he.
"I heard a voice in the house," exclaimed the Sergeant.
"It is nothing uncommon to hear in a house," said Stephen, and he grasped more firmly his great staff.
"Will you make way for us?" demanded the Sergeant. "For the last time, will you make way?"
Stephen's eyes kindled; for though he was a man of peace, yet his strength was great and he loved sometimes to use it; and above all, he loved to use it now at the bidding and in protection of his dear Princess.