CHAPTER VII It was a beautiful spring day in May 1262 that Norman of Torn rode alone down the narrow trail that led to the pretty cottage with which he had replaced the hut of his old friend, Father Claude. As was his custom, he rode with lowered visor, and nowhere upon his person or upon the trappings of his horse were sign or insignia of rank or house. More powerful and richer than many nobles of the court, he was without rank or other title than that of outlaw, and he seemed to assume what in reality he held in little esteem. He wore armor because his old guardian had urged him to do so, and not because he craved the protection it afforded, and for the same cause he rode always with lowered visor, though he could never prevail upon the old man to explain the reason which necessitated this precaution. It is enough that I tell you, my son, the old fellow was wont to say, that for your own good as well as mine, you must not show your face to your enemies until I sow direct. The time will come and soon now, I hope, when you shall uncover your countenance to all England. The young man gave the matter but little thought, usually passing it off as the foolish whim of an old daughter, but he humored it nevertheless. Behind him, as he rode down the steep declivity that day, loomed a very different torn, from that which he had approached sixteen years before. When as little boy he had ridden through the darkening shadows of the night, perched upon a great horse, behind the little old woman, whose metamorphosis to this little grim gray old man of torn their advent to the castle had marked. Today the great frowning pile loomed larger and more imposing than ever in the most resplendent days of its past grandeur. The original keep was there with its huge, buttressed sacks and towers, whose mighty fifteen-foot walls were pierced with stairways and vaulted chambers, lighted by embresures which, mere slits in the outer periphery of the walls, spread to larger dimensions within, some even attaining the area of small triangular chambers. The moat widened and deepened, completely encircled three sides of the castle, running between the inner and outer walls, which were set at intervals with small projecting towers, so pierced that a flanking fire from longbows, crossbows, and javelins might be directed against a scaling party. The fourth side of the walled enclosure overhung a high precipice, which natural protection rendered towers unnecessary upon this side. The main gateway of the castle looked toward the west, and from it ran the tortuous and rocky trail down through the mountains toward the valley below. The aspect from the great gate was one of quiet and rugged beauty. A short stretch of barren downs in the foreground, only sparsely studded with an occasional gnarled oak, gave an unobstructed view of broad and lovely meadowland through which was wound a sparkling tributary of the Trent. Two more gateways led into the great fortress, one piercing the north wall and one the east. All three gates were strongly fortified, with towered and buttressed barbecans, which must be taken before the main gate could be reached. Each barbican was portocolist, while the inner gates were similarly safeguarded in addition to the drawbridges, which spanning the moat when lowered, could be drawn up at the approach of an enemy, effectually stopping his advance. The new towers and buildings added to the ancient keep under the direction of Norman of Torn, and the grim old man, who he called Father, were of the Norman type of architecture. The windows were larger, the carving more elaborate, the rooms lighter and more spacious.  Fifteen hundred war-horses, beside five hundred sumptor beasts, were quartered in the great stables, while the east court was alive with cows, oxen, goats, sheep, pigs, rabbits and chickens. Great wooden carts, drawn by slow plodding oxen, were daily visitors to the grim pile, fetching provinder for man and beast from the neighboring farmlands of the poor Saxon peasants, to whom Norman of Torn paid good gold for their crops.  But nevertheless his great carts made their trips regularly, and always returned full-laden'd, and though the husbandmen told sad tales to their overlords of the awful raids of the devil of Torn, in which he seized upon their stuff by force, their tongues were in their cheeks as they spoke, and the devils gold in their pockets. And so while the barons learned to hate him the more, the peasants' love for him increased. Them he never injured, their fences, their stock, their crops. Their wives and daughters were safe from molestation, even though the neighboring castles of their lord might be sacked from the wine cellar to the ramparts of the loftiest tower. Nor did any one dare ride roughshod over the territory which Norman of Torn patrolled. A dozen bands of cutthroats he had driven from the derby hills, and though the barons would much rather have had all the rest than he, the peasants worshiped him as a deliverer from the low-born murderers who had been want to despoil the weak and lowly, and on whose account the women of the huts and cottages had never been safe. Few of them had seen his face, and fewer still had spoken with him. But they loved his name, and his prowness, and in secret they prayed for him to their ancient god, wooden, and the lesser gods of the forest and the meadows and the chase. For though they were confessed Christians, still in the hearts of many, beat a faint echo of the old superstitions of their ancestors. And while they prayed also to the Lord Jesus and to Mary, yet they felt it could do no harm to be on the safe side with the others in case they did happen to exist. A poor, degraded, downtrodden, ignorant superstitious people they were, accustomed for generations, to the heel of first one invader and then another, and in the interims, when there were any, the heels of their feudal lords and their rapacious monarchs. No wonder, then, that such as these worshipped the outlaw of Torn, for since their fierce Saxon ancestors had come themselves as conquerors to England, no other hand had ever been raised to shield them from oppression. On this policy of his towards the serfs and freedmen, Norman of Torn and the grim old man who he called father had never agreed. The latter was for carrying his war of hate against all Englishmen. But the young man would neither listen to it nor allow any who rode out from Torn to molest the lowly. A ragged tunic was assurer-defense against his wild horde, an astout lance or an emblazoned shield. So, as Norman of Torn rode down from his mighty castle to visit Father Claude, the sunlight playing on his clanking armor and glancing from the copper boss on his shield, the sight of a little group of woodmen, kneeling uncovered by the roadside as he passed, was not so remarkable after all. During the priest's study, Norman of Torn removed his armor and lay back moodily upon a bench with his back against the wall and his strong, light legs stretched out before him. "'What hails you, my son,' asked a priest, that you look so disconsolate on this beautiful day?' "'I don't know, Father,' replied Norman of Torn, "'unless it be that I am asking myself the question. What is it all for? Why did my father train me, ever, to pray upon my fellows? I like to fight, and there is plenty of fighting which is legitimate. And what good may all my stolen wealth avail me if I may not enter the haunts of men to spend it? Should I stick my head into London-town it would doubtless stay there, held by a hempen necklace.' "'What quarrel have I with the king or the gentry? They have quarrel enough with me. It is true, but nafless. I do not know why I should have hated them so, before I was old enough to know how rotten they really are. So it seems to me that I am but the instrument of an old man's spite, not even knowing the grievance to the avenging of which my life has been dedicated by another. And at times, Father Claude, as I grow older, I doubt much that the nameless old man of Torn is my father.  "'What thank you, Father Claude?' "'I have thought much of it, my son,' answered the priest. "'It has ever been a sore puzzle to me, and I have my suspicions, which I have held for years, but which even the thought of it so frightens me that I shudder to speculate upon the consequences of voicing them aloud. Norman of Torn, if you are not the son of the old man you call father, may God forfend that England ever guess your true parentage.  Then you know why I should keep my visor down? I can only guess, Norman of Torn, because I have seen another whom you resemble.' The conversation was interrupted by a commotion from without. The sound of horses' hoofs, the cries of men and the clash of arms. In an instant both men were at the tiny unglazed window. Before them, on the high road, five knights in armor were now engaged in furious battle with a party of ten or a dozen other steel-clad warriors, while crouching breathless on her palfry, a young woman sat a little apart from the contestants. Presently one of the knights detached himself from the melee, and rode to her side, with some word of command, at the same time grasping roughly at her bridal reign. The girl raised her riding whip and struck repeatedly but futilely against the iron headgear of her assailant, while he swung his horse up the road, and dragging her palfry after him galloped rapidly out of sight. Norman of Torn sprang to the door, and reckless of his unarmored condition leaped to Sir Mortimer's back and spurred swiftly in the direction taken by the girl and her abductor. The great black was fleet and unencumbered by the usual heavy armor of his rider. Soon brought the fugitives to view. Where some mile had been covered ere the knight, turning to look for pursuers, saw the face of Norman of Torn, not ten paces behind him. With a look of mingled surprise, chagrin and incredulity, the knight reigned in his horse, exclaiming as he did so, Mom, do, Edward. Draw and defend yourself, cried Norman of Torn.  The charging steed was almost upon him, and the knight looked to see the rider draw rain. But like a black bolt, the mighty Sir Mortimer struck the other horse full upon the shoulder, and man and steed rolled in the dust of the roadway. The knight arose unhurt, and Norman of Torn dismounted to give fair battle upon even terms. Though handicapped by the weight of his armor, the knight also had the advantage of its protection, so that the two fought furiously for several minutes, without either gaining an advantage. The girl sat motionless and wide-eyed at the side of the road, watching every move of the two contestants. She made no effort to escape, but seemed riveted to the spot by the very fierceness of the battle she was beholding. As well, possibly, as by the fascination of the handsome giant who had espoused her cause. As she looked upon her champion, she saw a lithe, muscular, brown-haired youth, whose clear eyes and perfect figure, unconcealed by either Bassanette or Hallberg, reflected the clean, athletic life of the trained fighting man. Upon his face hovered a faint, cold smile of haughty pride, as the sword arm, displaying its mighty strength and skill in every move, played with the sweating, puffing, steel-clad enemy, who hacked and hewed so futilely before him. For all the din of clashing blades and rattling armor, neither of the contestants had inflicted much damage, for the knight could neither force nor insinuate his point beyond the perfect guard of his unarmored foe, who, for his part, found difficulty in penetrating the other's armor. Slowly by dent of his mighty strength, Norman of Torn drove his blade through the meshes of his adversary's mail, and the fellow, with a cry of anguish, sank limply to the ground. "'Quick, Sir Knight,' cried the girl, mount and flee. Yonder, come his fellows. And surely, as Norman of Torn turned in the direction from which he had just come there, racing toward him at full tilt, rode three steel-armored men on their mighty horses. Cried madam, called Norman of Torn. For fly I shall not, nor may I, alone, unarmored, and on foot hope more than to momentarily delay these three fellows. But in that time you should easily make your escape. Their heavy-burdened animals could never or take your fleet pal-free.' As he spoke he took note for the first time of the young woman. That she was a lady of quality was evidenced not only by the richness of her riding apparel and the trappings of her pal-free, but as well in her noble and haughty demeanor and the proud expression on her beautiful face. Although at this time nearly twenty years had passed over the head of Norman of Torn, he was without knowledge or experience in the ways of women, nor had he ever spoken with a female of quality or position. No women graced the castle of Torn, nor had the boy, within his memory, ever known a mother. His attitude, therefore, was much the same toward women as it was toward men, except that he had sworn always to protect them. Possibly in a way he looked up to womankind, if it could be said that Norman of Torn looked up to anything, God, man, or devil, it being more his way to look down upon all creatures, whom he took the trouble to notice at all. As his glance rested upon this woman, whom fate had destined to alter the entire course of his life, Norman of Torn saw that she was beautiful, and that she was of that class against whom he had prayed for years with his band of outlaw cutthroats. Then he turned once more to face her enemies, with the strange inconsistency which had ever marked his methods. Tomorrow he might be assaulting the ramparts of her father's castle, but today he was joyously offering to sacrifice his life for her. Had she been the daughter of a charcoal burner, he would have done no less. It was enough that she was a woman, and in need of protection. The three knights were now fairly upon him, and with fine disregard for fair play, charged with couched spears, the unarmored man on foot. But as the leading knight came close enough to behold his face, he cried out in surprise and consternation. Monde du lae prince. He wheeled his charging horse to one side. His fellows, hearing his cry, followed his example, and the three of them dashed on down the high road, in as evident anxiety to escape as they had been keen to attack. One would think they had met the devil, muttered Norman of Torn looking after them in unfaigned astonishment. What means it, lady, he asked, turning to the damsel, who had made no move to escape? It means that your face is well known in your father's realm, my Lord prince, she replied. And the king's men have no desire to antagonize you, even though they may understand as little as I why you should espouse the cause of a daughter of Simon de Monfort. Am I then taken for Prince Edward of England, he asked? And who else should you be taken for, my Lord? I am not the prince, said Norman of Torn. It is said that Edward is in France. Right you are, sir, exclaimed the girl. I had not thought on that.  Who are you then, sir Knight, who has bared your steel and faced death for a retrod daughter of Simon de Monfort, Earl of Lycaster? Be you de Monfort's daughter, niece of King Henry, queried Norman of Torn, his eyes narrowing to mere slits and face hardening? That I be, replied the girl. And from your face I take it you have little love for a de Monfort, she added, smiling. And with her may you be bound, Lady Bertrand de Monfort. Be you niece or daughter of the devil, yet still you be a woman, and I do not war against women. Wheresoever you would go, I will accompany you to safety. I was but now bound, under escort of five of my father's nights, to visit Mary, daughter of John de Stuttville of Derby. I know the castle well, answered Norman of Torn, and the shadow of a grim smile played about his lips. For scarce six days had elapsed, since he had reduced the stronghold, and levied tribute on the great baron. From you have not far to travel now, and if we make haste ye shall sup with your friend before dark. So saying he mounted his horse, and was turning to retrace their steps down the road, when he noticed the body of the dead knight lying where it had fallen. Right on he called to betrothed de Monfort. I will join you in an instant. Again dismounting he returned to the side of his late adversary, and lifting the dead knight's visor, drew upon the forehead with the point of his dagger, the letters M.T. The girl turned to see what detained him, but his back was toward her, and he knelt beside his fallen foeman, and she did not see his act. Brave daughter of a brave sire though she was, had she seen what he did, her heart would have quailed within her, and she would have fled in terror from the clutches of the scourge of England, whose mark she had seen on the dead foreheads of a dozen of her father's nights and kinsmen. Their way to Studebill lay past the cottage of father Claude, and here Norman of Torn stopped to don his armor. Now he rode once more with lowered visor, and in silence, a little to the rear of Bertrod de Monfort, that he might watch her face, which, of a sudden, had excited his interest. Never before within the scope of his memory had he been so close to a young and beautiful woman for so long a period of time. Although he had often seen women in the castles that had fallen before his vicious and terrible attacks. While stories were abroad of his vile treatment of women captives, there was no truth in them. They were merely spread by his enemies to incite the people against him. Never had Norman of Torn laid violent hand upon a woman, and his cutthroat ban were under oath to respect and protect the sex on penalty of death. As he watched the semi-profile of the lovely face before him, something stirred in his heart which had been struggling for expression for years. It was not love, nor was it allied to love, but a deep longing for companionship of such as she, and such as she represented. Norman of Torn could not have translated this feeling into words, for he did not know. But it was that far-faint cry of blood for blood, and with it may have was mixed not alone the longing of the lion among the jackals for other lions, but for his lioness. They rode for many miles in silence when suddenly she turned, saying, You take your time, Sir Knight, in answering my query. Who be he? I am Nor. Then he stopped. As before he had answered that question with haughty pride. Why should he hesitate, he thought? Was it because he feared the loathing that the name would inspire in the breast of this daughter of the aristocracy he despised? Did Norman of Torn fear to face the look of seam and repugnance that was sure to be merried in that lovely face? I am from Normandy, he went on quietly, the gentleman of France. But your name, she asked preemptorily.  You may call me Roger, he answered. Roger Dicondi. Raise your visor, Roger Dicondi, she commanded. I do not take pleasure in riding with a suit of armor. I would see that there is a man within. Norman of Torn smiled as he did her bidding, and when he smiled thus, as he rarely did, he was good to look upon. It is the first command I have obeyed since I turned sixteen, for Trodde de Monfort, he said. The girl was about nineteen, full of vigor and gaiety of youth and health, and so the two rode on their journey talking and laughing, as they might have been friends of long-standing. She told him of the reason for the attack upon her earlier in the day, attributing it to an attempt on the part of a certain baron, Peter of Colfax, to abduct her, his suit for her hand, seemed been preemptorily and roughly denied by her father. Simon de Monfort was no man to mince words, and it is doubtless that the old reprobate, who sued for his daughter's hand, heard some unsavory truths from the man who had twice scandalized England's nobility, by his rude and discourteous, though true and candid, speeches to the king. The speeder of Colfax shall be looked to, growled Norman of Torn, and, as you have refused his heart and hand, his head shall be yours for the asking. You have but the command, Bertrodde de Monfort. Very well she laughed, thinking it but the idle boasting, so much indulged in, in those days.  And what reward does the knight earn, who brings to the feet of his princess the head of her enemy, he asked lightly? What boon would the knight ask? That whatsoever a bad report you hear of your knight, of whatsoever calumies may be heaped upon him, you shall yet ever be his friend, and believe in his honour and his loyalty. The girl laughed gaily, as she answered, though something seemed to tell her that this was more than play. It shall be as you say, sir knight, she replied, and the boon once granted shall be always kept. But to reach decisions, and as quick to act, Norman of Torn decided that he liked this girl, and that he wished her friendship more than any other thing he knew of. And wishing it, he determined to win it by any means that accorded with his standard of honour, an honour which in many respects was higher than that of the nobles of his time. They reached the castle of the Stuteville late in the afternoon, and there Norman of Torn was graciously welcomed, and urged to accept the baron's hospitality overnight. The grim humour of the situation was too much for the outlaw, and, when added to his new desire to be in the company of Bertrand de Montfort, he made no effort to resist, but hastened to accept the warm welcome. At the long table upon which the evening meal was spread, sat the entire household of the baron, and here and there among the men were evidence of painful wounds but barely healed, while the host himself still wore his sword-arm in a sling. "'We have been through grievous times,' said Sir John, noticing that his guest was glancing at the various evidences of conflict. That fiend, Norman the Devil, with his filthy pack of cutthroats besieged us for ten days, and then took the castle by storm and sacked it. Life is no longer safe in England, with the king spending his time and money with foreign favourites and buying alien soldierly to fight against his own barons, instead of insuring the peace and protection which is right of every Englishman at home. But he continued, this outlaw devil will come to an end of a short halter when once our civil strife is settled, for the barons themselves had decided upon an expedition against him, if the king will not subdue him. And he may send the barons' naked home as he did the king's soldiers, laughed Bertrand de Montfort. I should like to see this fellow. What may he look like? From the appearance of yourselves, Sir John, and many of your men at arms, there should be no few here but have met him.' "'Not once did he raise his visor while he was among us,' replied the baron. But there are those who claim they had a brief glimpse of him, and that he is of hard countenance, wearing a great yellow beard and having one eye gone, and a mighty red scar from his forehead to his chin.' "'A fearful apparition,' murmured Norman of Torn. No wonder he keeps his helm closed.  Never in all the world was there such sword play as I saw that day in the courtyard. I too have seen some wonderful sword play,' said Bertrand de Montfort, and that today, oh, he, she cried, laughing gleefully. Verily, do I believe, I have captured the wild Norman of Torn for this very night, who styles himself Roger de Condi, fights as I nearsaw a man fight before, and he rode with his visor down until I chide him for it. Norman of Torn led in the laught which followed, and of all the company he most enjoyed the joke. "'And speaking of the devil,' said the Baron, how think you he will side should the king eventually force war upon the barons? With his thousand hellhounds the fate of England might well be in the palm of his bloody hands. He loves neither king nor baron,' spoke Mary de Stuteville, and I rather lean to the thought that he will serve neither, but rather plunder the castles of both rebels and royalists, while their masters be absent at war. "'It is more to his liking to come, while the master be home to welcome him,' said de Stuteville, ruefully, but yet I am always in fear for the safety of my wife and daughters, when I be away from Derby for any time. May the good God soon deliver England from this devil of Torn.' "'I think you may have no need of fear on that score,' spoke Mary, for Norman of Torn offered no violence to any woman within the wall of Stuteville, and when one of his men laid a heavy hand upon me, it was the great-outlaw himself who struck the fellow such a blow with his mailed hand as to crack the ruffian's helm, saying at the time, No you, fellow, Norman of Torn does not war upon women.' Only the conversation turned to other subjects, and Norman of Torn heard no more of himself during that evening. His stay at the castle of Stuteville was drawn out to three days, and then, on the third day, as he sat with Bertrand de Montfort in an embressure of the south tower of the old castle, he spoke once more of the necessity for leaving, and once more she urged him to remain. To be with you, Bertrand de Montfort, he said boldly, I would forgo any other pleasure, and endure any privation, or face any danger. But there are others who look to me for guidance, and my duty calls me away from you. You shall see me again, and at the castle of your father, Simon de Montfort, in Leichester, provided, he added, that you will welcome me there. I shall always welcome you, wherever I may be, Roger de Condi, replied the girl. Remember that promise, he said, smiling. Someday you may be glad to repudiate it. Never, she insisted, and a light that shone in her eyes as she said it would have meant much to a man better versed in the ways of women than was Norman of Torn. I hope not, he said gravely.  Good-bye, Bertrand de Montfort, and he bent one knee as he raised her fingers to his lips. As he passed over the drawbridge, and down toward the high road, a few minutes later, on his way back to Torn, he turned for one last look at the castle, and there, in an embouchure in the south tower, stood a young woman who raised her hand to wave, and then, as though by sudden impulse, threw a kiss after the departing night, only to disappear from the embouchure with the act. As Norman of Torn rode back to his grim castle in the hills of Derby, he had much food for thought upon the way. Never till now had he realized what might lie in another manner of life, and he fell to twinge of bitterness toward the hard old man, whom he called father, and whose teachings from the boy's earliest childhood had guided him in the ways that had out him off completely from the society of other men, except the wild horde of outlaws, ruffians, and adventurers that rode beneath the gristly banner of the young chief of Torn. Only in an ill-defined, nebulous way did he feel that it was the girl who had come into his life that caused him for the first time to feel shame for his past deeds. He did not know the meaning of love, so he could not know that he loved Bertrand de Montfort. And another thought which now filled his mind was the fact of a strange likeness to the crown prince of England. This together with the words of Father Claude puzzled him sorely. What might it mean? Was it a heinous offense to own an accidental likeness to a king's son, but now that he felt he had solved the reason that he rode always with closed helm, he was for the first time anxious himself to hide his face from the sight of men. Not from fear, for he knew not fear, but from some inward impulse which he did not attempt the phantom. CHAPTER VIII. As Norman of Torn rode out from the castle of Distuteville, Father Claude dismounted from his sleek donkey within the ballyam of Torn. The austere stronghold, notwithstanding its repellent exterior and unsavory reputation, always extended a warm welcome to the kindly, genial priest, not alone because of the deep friendship which the master of Torn felt for the good father, but through the personal charm and loveliness of the holy man's nature, which shone alike on saint and sinner. It was doubtless due to his unremitting labors with the youthful Norman. During the period that the boy's character was most ameniable to strong impressions, that the policy of the mighty outlaw was in many respects pure and lofty. It was the same influence, though, which won for Father Claude his only enemy in Torn. The little grim, grailed man, whose sole aim in life seemed to have been to smother every finer instinct of chivalry and manhood in the boy, to whose training he had devoted the past nineteen years of his life. His father Claude climbed down from his donkey. Fat people do not dismount. Half a dozen young squires ran forward to assist him, and to lead the animal to the stables. The good priest called each of his willing helpers by name, asking a question here, passing a merry joke there with the ease and familiarity that bespoke mutual affection and old acquaintance. As he passed through the great gate, the men of arms through him laughing, though respectful, welcomes, and, within the great court, beautiful with smooth lawn, beds of gorgeous plants, fountains, statues, and small shrubs and bushes, he came upon the giant red shandy, now the principal lieutenant of Norman of Torn. "'Good morrow, St. Claude,' cried the burly ruffian, "'Has come to save our souls or dam us? What manner of sacrilege have we committed now? Or have we merited the blessings of holy church?' Doused come the scold or praise. "'Neither, thou unregenerated villain,' cried the priest, laughing, though me thanks you merit chiding for the grievous poor courtesy, with which thou didst treat the great bishop of Norwich this past week.' "'Tut, tut, father,' replied red shandy. We did but aid him to adhere more closely to the injunctions and precepts of him who's servant and disciple he claims to be. Were it not better for the archbishop of his church to walk in humility and poverty among his people, than to be ever surrounded with the temptation of fine clothing, jewels, and much gold, to say nothing of two sumptuous beasts heavy laden with runnlets of wine? I warned his temptations were less, but at least as many runnlets of wine as may be borne by two sumptuous beasts when thou, red robber, had finished with him,' exclaimed father Claude. "'Yes, father,' laughed the great fellow, "'for the sake of Holy Church, I did indeed confiscate the temptation completely, and if you must needs have proof in order to absolve me from my sins, come with me now, and ye shall sample the excellent discrimination which the bishop of Norwich displays in the selection of his temptations.' "'They tell me you left the great man quite destitute of finery,' read Shandy,' continued father Claude, as he locked his arms in that of the outlaw, and proceeded toward the castle. One garment was all that Norman of Torn would permit him, and, as the sun was hot overhead, he selected for the bishop a bassinet for that single article of apparel, to protect his tauntsered pate from the rays of old soul. Then, fearing that it might be stolen from him by some vandals on the road, he had one eyed canty riveted at each side of the gorget, so that it could not be removed by other than a smithy. And thus strapped face to tail upon a donkey, he sent the great bishop of Norwich rattling down the dusty road, with his head at least protected from the idle gaze of whomesoever he might chance to meet. Forty stripes he gave to each of the bishop's retinae, for being abroad in bad company. But come, here we are, where you shall have the wine as proof of my tail. As the two sat sipping the bishop's good canary, the little old man of Torn entered. He spoke to father Claude in a surly tone, asking him if he knew ought of the whereabouts of Norman of Torn. We have seen nothing of him since some three days gone. He rode out in the direction of your cottage, he concluded. Why, I said the priest, I saw him that day. He had an adventure with several knights from the castle of Peter of Colfax, from whom he rescued a damsel, whom I suspect from the trappings of her palfry, to be of the house of Montford. Together they rode north, but thy son did not say wither or for what purpose. His only remark, as he donned his armor, while the girl weighed it without, was that I should now behold the falcon guarding the dove. Has he not returned? No, said the old man, and doubtless his adventure is of a nature in line with my purial and effeminate teachings. Had he followed my training, without thy accursed priestly interference, he'd have made an iron-barreled nest in Torn for many of the doves of thy damned English nobility. And thou leave him not alone. He will soon be seeking service in the household of the king. Where perchance he might be more at home than here, said the priest quietly. Why say you that, snapped the little old man, I and Father Claude, narrowly? O, laughed the priest, because he, whose power and main, be ever more kingly than the king's, would rightly grace the royal palace. But he had not failed to note the perturbation his remark had caused, nor did his offhand reply entirely deceive the old man. At this juncture a squire entered to say that Shandy's presence was required at the gates, and that worthy, with a sorrowing and regretful glance at the unemptied flaggin, left the room. For a few moments the two men sat in meditative silence, which was presently broken by the old man of Torn.  It were needless that he should have wasted so much precious time from swordplay to learn the useless art of letters, of what benefit may a knowledge of Latin be, to one whose doom looms large before him. It may be years, and again it may be but months. But as sure as there be a devil in hell, Norman of Torn will swing from the king's giblet. And thou knowsed it, and he too, as well as I. The things which thou has taught him be above his station, and the hopes and ambitions they inspire, will but make his end the bitterer for him. Of late I have noted that he rides upon the highway with less enthusiasm than was his want. But he has gone too far ever to go back now. Nor is there where to go back too. What has he ever been other than outcast and outlaw? What hopes could you have engendered in his breast greater than the behated and feared among his blood enemies? I knowest not thy reasons, old man, replied the priest, for devoting thy life to the ruining of his, and what I guess at be such as I dare not voice. But let us understand each other once and for all. For all thou dost, and has done, to blight and curse the nobleness of his nature, I have done, and shall continue to do, all in my power, to controvert. Has thou has been his bad angel? So shall I try to be his good angel. And when all is said and done, and Norman of Torn swings from the king's giblet, as I only too well fear he must, there will be more to mourn his loss than there be to curse him. His friends are from the ranks of the lowly, but so too are the friends and followers of our dear Lord Jesus. So that shall be more greatly to his honour than had he preyed upon the already unfortunate. Women have never been his prey. That also will be spoken to his honour when he is gone. And that he has been cruel to men will be forgotten in the greater glory of his mercy to the weak. Never be thy object, whether revenge or the natural bent of a cruel and degraded mind, I know not. But if any be cursed, because of the outlaw of Torn, it will be thou. I had almost said, unnatural father, but I do not believe a single drop of thy debased blood flows in the veins of him, thou callest son. The grim old man of Torn had sat motionless throughout this indictment. His face somewhat pale was drawn into lines of manevilate hatred and rage, but he permitted Father Claude to finish without interruption. Thou has made thyself and thy opinions quite clear, he said bitterly. But I be glad to know just how thou standeth. In the past there has been peace between us, though no love. Now let us both understand that it be war and hate. My life work is cut out for me. Things like thyself have stood in my path, yet today I am here, but where are they? Doused understand me, priest, and the old man leaned far across the table, so that his eyes, burning with an insane fire of venom, blazed but a few inches from those of the priest. Father Claude returned the look with calm level gaze. I understand, he said, and rising left the castle. Shortly after he had reached his cottage a loud knock sounded at the door, which immediately swung open without waiting the formality of permission. Father Claude looked up to see the tall figure of Norman of Torn, and his face lighteth with a pleased smile of welcome. Greetings, my son, said the priest. And to thee, Father, replied the outlaw, and what may be the news of Torn? I have been absent for several days. Is all well at the castle? I'll be well at the castle, replied Father Claude. If by that you mean, have none been captured or hanged for their murders. Ah, my boy, why wilt thou not give up this wicked life of thine? It has never been my way to scold or chide thee, yet always hath my heart ached for each crime laid at the door of Norman of Torn. Come, come, Father, replied the outlaw. What douse I that I have not good examples from the barons and the king and holy church? Murder, theft, raping, passive a day over England, which sees not one are all perpetrated in the name of some of these. Be it wicked for Norman of Torn to pray upon the wolf, yet righteous for the wolf to tear the sheep? Me thinks not. Only do I collect from those who have more than they need, from my natural enemies, while they pray upon those who have not. Yet, and his manner suddenly changed, I do not love it, Father, that thou know, I would that there might be some way out of it, but there is none. If I told you why I wished it, you would be surprised indeed, nor can I myself understand, but of a verity, my greatest wish to be out of this life is due to the fact that I crave the association of those very enemies I have been taught to hate. But it is too late, Father, there can be but one end, and that the lower end of a hempen rope. No, my son, there is another way, an honorable way, replied the good Father. In some foreign clime there be opportunities abundant for such as thee. France offers a magnificent future to such soldiers as Norman of Torn. In the court of Louis you would take your place among the highest of the land. You be rich and brave and handsome, Nay, do not raise your hand. You be all these and more, for you have learning far beyond the majority of nobles, and you have a good heart and a true chivalry of character, with such wonderful gifts not could bar your way to the highest pinnacles of power and glory, while here you have no future beyond the halter. Canst thou hesitate, Norman of Torn? The young man stood silent for a moment, then he drew his hand across his eyes as though to brush away a vision. There be a reason, Father, why I must remain in England for a time, at least, though the picture you put is indeed wondrous alluring. The reason was Bertrand de Monfort. The visit of Bertrand de Monfort with her friend Mary de Stoutville was drawing to a close. Three weeks had passed since Roger de Comde had ridden out from the portals of Stoutville, and many times the handsome young knight's name had been on the lips of his fair hostess and her fairer friend. Today the two girls roamed slowly through the gardens of the great court, their arms about each other's wastes, pouring the last confidences into each other's ears, for to-morrow Bertrand had elected to return to Leicester. Me thinks thou be very rash indeed, my Bertrand, said Mary. Weren't my father here, he would, I am sure, not permit thee to leave with only the small escort which we be able to give. Fear not, Mary, replied Bertrand. Five of thy father's knights be ample protection for so short a journey. By evening it will have been accomplished, and, as the only one I fear in these parts, received such a sound set back from Roger de Comde recently, I do not think he will venture again to molest me. But what about the Devil of Torn, Bertrand, urged Mary. Only yester eve, you what, one of Lord de Grey's men at arms came limping to us with the news of the awful carnage the foul fiend had wrought on his master's household. He be abroad, Bertrand, and I can't think of not more horrible than to fall into his hands. By Mary, thou ditzt, but recently say, Thy very self, that Norman of Torn, was most courteous to thee, when he sacked this thy father's castle. How be it, thou, so soon has changed thy mind. Yes, Bertrand, he was indeed respectful, then, but who knows what horde freak his mind may take, and they do say that he be cruel beyond compare. Again forget not that thou be like Haster's daughter and Henry's against both of whom the outlaw of Torn openly swears his hatred and his vengeance. O Bertrand, wait for but a day or so. I be sure my father must return ere, then, and fifty nights shall accompany thee instead of five. What be fifty nights against Norman of Torn, Mary? Thy reasoning is on a parity with thy fears. Both have flown wide of the mark. If I am to meet with this wild ruffian, it were better that five nights were sacrificed than fifty, for either number would be but a mouthful to that horrid horde of unhung murderers. No, Mary, I shall start to-morrow, and your good nights shall return the following day with the best of word from me. If thou wilst, thou wilst, cried Mary petulantly. Indeed it were plain that thou be a demonford. The race whose historic bravery be second only to their historic stubbornness. Bertrand demonford laughed and kissed her friend upon the cheek. May have I shall find the brave Roger de Condi again upon the high road to protect me. Then indeed shall I send back your five nights. For of a truth his blade is more powerful than that of any ten men I air saw fight before. Me think, said Mary, still peeved at her friend's determination to leave on the morrow. As should you meet that dowry Sir Roger all unarmed, that still you would send back my father's nights. Bertrand flushed and then bit her lip as she felt the warm blood mount to her cheek. Thou be a fool, Mary, she said. Mary broke into a joyful, teasing laugh, hugely enjoying the discomforture of the admission the tell-tale flush proclaimed. Ah, I did guess but how thy heart and thy mind tended, Bertrand. But now, I ceased, I divined all too truly. He be indeed good to look upon. But what knowest thou of him? Hush, Mary, commanded Bertrand, thou know not what thou sayest. I would not wipe my feet upon him. I care not whatever for him. And then—it has been three weeks since he rode out from Stuteville, and no word hath he sent.  My lady would not wipe her feet upon him, but she be sore vexed that he hath sent her no word. On, do, but thou hast strange notions, Bertrand. I will not talk with you, Mary, cried Bertrand, stamping her sandaled foot, and with the toss of her pretty head she turned abruptly toward the castle. In a small chamber in the castle of Colfax two men sat at opposite sides of a little table. The one Peter of Colfax was short and very stout.  While his thick lips, the lower, hanging large and flabby over his receding chin, indicated the base passions to which his life had been given. His companion was a little grim gray man, but a suit of armor and closed helm gave no hint to his host, of whom his guest might be. It was the little armored man who was speaking. Is it not enough that I offer to aid you, Sir Peter, he said, that you must have my reasons? Let it go that my hate for Lycaster be the passion which moves me. Thou failed in thy attempt to capture the maiden. Give me ten nights, and I will bring her to you. Thou knowest thou she rides out to-morrow for her father's castle, asked Peter of Colfax. That again be no concern of thine, my friend, but I do know it, and if thou wouldst have her, be quick, for we should ride out to-night that we may take our positions by the highway in ample time to-morrow. Still Peter of Colfax hesitated. He feared this might be a ruse of Lycaster's to catch him in some trap. He did not know his guest. The fellow might want the girl for himself, and be taking this method of obtaining the necessary assistance to capture her. Come, said the little armored man irritably, I cannot buy it here forever. Make up thy mind. It be nothing to me other than my revenge, and if thou willst not do it, I shall hire the necessary ruffians, and then not even thou shalt see Bertrod de Montfort more. This last fret decided the Baron. It is agreed, he said, the men shall ride out with you in half an hour, wait below in the courtyard. When the little man had left the apartment, Peter of Colfax summoned his squire, whom he had sent to him at once one of his faithful henchmen. Guy said Peter of Colfax has the man entered. You made a rare fizzle of a piece of business some weeks ago. You watt of which I speak? Yes, my lord. It chances that on the morrow ye may have opportunity to retrieve thy blunder. Ride out with ten men, where the stranger who waits in the courtyard below shall lead ye, and come not back without that which ye lost to a handful of men before.  Yes, my lord. One guy, I half mistrust his fellow, who hath offered to assist us. At the first sign of treachery, fall upon him with all thy men and slay him. Tell the others that these be my orders. Yes, my lord, when do we ride? At once you may go. The morning that Bertrod de Montfort had chosen to return to her father's castle, dawn gray and threatening. In vain did Mary Distutewheil plead with her friend to give up the idea of setting out upon such a dismal day and without sufficient escort, but Bertrod de Montfort was firm. Already I have overstayed my time three days. And it is not lightly that even I, his daughter, fail in obedience to Simon de Montfort. I shall have enough to account for, as it be. Do not urge me to add even one more day to my excuses. And again, per chance, my mother and my father may be sore distressed by my continued absence. No, Mary, I must ride to-day. And so she did, with the five knights that could be spared from the castle's defense. Scarcely half an hour had elapsed before a cold drizzle set in, so that they were indeed a sorry company that splashed along the muddy road, wrapped in mantle and surcoat. As they proceeded, the rain and wind increased in volume. Until it was being driven into their faces in such blinding gusts that they must needs keep their eyes closed and trust to the instincts of their mounts. Less than half the journey had been accomplished. They were winding across a little hollow toward a low ridge covered with dense forest into the somber shadows of which the road wound. There was a glint of armor among the drenched foliage, but the rain-buffeted eyes of the riders saw it not. One they came, their patient horses plodding slowly through the sticky road and hurtling storm. Now they were halfway up the ridge's side. There was a movement in the dark shadows of the grim wood. And then, without a cry or warning, a band of steel-clad horsemen broke forth with couched spears. Charging at full run down upon them, they overthrew three of the girls' escorts before a blow could be struck in her defense. Her two remaining guardians wheeled to meet the return attack, and nobly did they acquit themselves, for it took the entire eleven who were pitted against them to overcome and slay the two. In the melee, none had noticed the girl, but presently one of her assailants, a little grim gray man, discovered that she had put spears to her palfrey and escaped. Calling to his companions, he set out at a rapid pace in pursuit. Notice of the slippy road and the blinding rain, Bertrand de Montfort urged her mount into a wild run, for she had recognized the arms of Peter of Colfax on the shields of several of the attacking party. Nobly the beautiful Arab bent to her call for speed. The great beasts of her pursuers, bred in Normandy and Flanders, might have been tethered in their stalls for all the chance they had of overtaking the flying white steed, that fairly split the gray rain as lightning flies through the clouds. But for the fiendish cunning of the little grim gray man's foresight, Bertrand de Montfort would have made good her escape that day. As it was, however, her fleet-mount had carried her but two hundred yards' air in the midst of the dark wood. She ran full upon a rope stretched across the roadway between two trees. As the horse fell with a terrible lunge, tripped by the stout rope, Bertrand de Montfort was thrown far before him, where she lay a little limp, the draggled figure in the mud of the road. There they found her, the little grim gray man, did not even dismount. So indifferent was he to her fate, dead or in the hands of Peter of Colfax. It was all the same to him. In either event his purpose would be accomplished, and Bertrand de Montfort would no longer lure Norman of Torn from the path he had laid out for him. At such an eventuality threatened he knew from one, Spizo the Spaniard, the single trader in the service of Norman of Torn, whose mean aid the little grim gray man had purchased since many months to spy upon the comings and goings of the great outlaw. The men of Peter of Colfax gathered up the lifeless form of Bertrand de Montfort, and placed it across the saddle before one of their number. "'Come,' said the man, called Guy, if there be life left in her we must hasten to Sir Peter before it be extinct. "'I leave ye here,' said the little old man, my part of the business is done. And so he sat watching them until they disappeared in the forest toward the castle of Colfax. Then he rode back to the scene of the encounter, where lay the five knights of Sir John de Stoutville. Three were already dead, the other two sorely but not mortally wounded, lay groaning by the roadside. The little grim gray man dismounted, as he came abreast of them, and with his long sword silently finished the two wounded men. Then, drawing his dagger, he made a mark upon the dead foreheads of each of the five, and, mounting, rode rapidly toward Torn. "'And if one fact be not enough,' he muttered, that mark upon the dead will quite effectually stop further intercourse between the houses of Torn and Leichester.' Henry de Montfort, son of Simon, rode fast and furious at the head of a dozen of his father's knights on the road to Stoutville. John de Montfort was so long overdue that the earl and princes, Eleanor his wife, filled with grave apprehensions, had posted their oldest son off to the castle of John de Stoutville to fetch her home. With the wind and rain at their backs the little party rode rapidly along the muddy road, until late in the afternoon they came upon a white palfrey, standing huddled beneath a great oak, his arched back toward the driving-storm. Why God cried de Montfort, to my sister's own Abdul. There be something wrong here indeed. But a rapid search of the vicinity, and loud calls, brought forth no further evidence of the girl's whereabouts. So they pressed on toward Stoutville. Some two miles beyond the spot where the white palfrey had been found, they came upon the dead bodies of the five knights who had accompanied Bertrand from Stoutville. At this mountain Henry de Montfort examined the bodies of the fallen men. The arms upon shield and helm confirmed his first fear that these had been Bertrand's escort from Stoutville. As he bent over them to see if he recognized any of the knights, they stared up into his face from the foreheads of the dead men. The dreaded sign, N.T., scratched there with a daggers point. The curse of God beyond him cried de Montfort. It be the work of the devil of Torn, my gentleman, he said to his followers. Come, we need no further guide to our destination. And remounting, the little party spurred back toward Torn. When Bertrand de Montfort regained her senses, she was in a bed in a strange room, and above her bent an old woman, a repulsive, toothless old woman, whose smile was but a fangless snarl. Ho-ho! she croaked, the bride waketh. I told my lord that it would take more than a tumble in the mud to kill a de Montfort. Come, come now, arise and clothe thyself. For the handsome bridegroom canst scarce restrain his eager desire to fold these in his arms. Below in the great hall, he paces to and fro, the red blood mantling his beauteous countenance. Who be ye, cried Bertrand de Montfort, her mind still dazed from the effects of her fall? Where am I? And then, oh, Monde du! Has she remembered the advance of the afternoon, and the arms of Colfax upon the shields of the attacking party? In an instant she realized the horror of her predicament, its utter hopelessness. Beast though he was, Peter of Colfax stood high in the favor of the king, and the fact that she was his niece would scarce aid her cause with Henry, for it was more than counterbalanced by the fact that she was the daughter of Simon de Montfort, who he feared and hated. In the corridor without she heard the heavy tramp of approaching feet, and presently a man's voice at the door. Within their call, hast a damsel awakened from her swoon? Yes, Sir Peter replied the old woman. I was but just urging her to rise and clothe herself, saying that you awaited her below. Haste then, my Lady Bertrand, called the man, no harm will be done thee, if thou showest the good sense I give thee credit for. I will await thee in the great hall, or, if thou prefer, will come to thee here. The girl paled more in loathing and contempt than in fear, but the tones of her answer were calm and level. I will see thee below, Sir Peter, anon. And, rising, she hastened to dress, while the receding footsteps of the Baron diminished down the stairway, which led from the tower room in which she was imprisoned. The old woman attempted to draw her into conversation, but the girl would not talk. Her whole mind was devoted to weighing each possible means of escape. A half hour later she entered the great hall of the castle of Peter of Colfax. The room was empty. Little change had been wrought in the apartment since the days of Ethel Wolf. As the girl's glance ranged the hall in search of her jailer, it rested upon the narrow, unglazed windows beyond which lay freedom. Would she ever again breathe God's pure air outside these stifling walls, these grimy, hateful walls? Black as the inky rafters and wainscote, except for occasional splotches, a few shades less begrimed, where repairs had been made. As her eyes fell upon the trophies of war and chase, which hung there, her lips curled and scorned, for she knew that they were acquisitions by inheritance rather than by personal prowness of the present master of Colfax. A single crescent light at the chamber, while the flickering light from a small wood fire upon one of the two great hearths, seemed rather to accentuate the dim shadows of the place. Betrayed crossed the room and leaned against a massive oak table, blackened by age and hard usage to the color of the beams above, dented and nicked by the pounding of huge drinking-horns and heavy swords, when wild and lusty brawlers had been moved to applause by the lay of some wandering minstrel, or sterner call of their mighty chieftains, for the oath of fealty. Her wandering eyes took in the dozen benches and the few rude, heavy chairs which completed the rough furnishings of this rough room, and she shuddered. One little foot tapped sullenly upon the disordered floor, which was littered with a miscellany of rushes interspersed with such bones and scraps of food as the dogs had rejected or overlooked. But to none of these surroundings did Bertrod de Monford give but passing heed. She looked for the man she sought that she might quickly have the encounter over and learn what fate the future held in store for her. Her quick glance had shown her that the room was quite empty. That in addition to the main doorway at the lower end of the apartment where she had entered, there was but one other door leading from the hall. This was at one side, and as it stood ajar she could see that it led into a small room, apparently a bed-chamber. As she stood facing the main doorway a panel opened quietly behind her and directly back of where the thrones had stood in past times. From the black mouth of the aperture stepped Peter of Colfax. Silently he closed a panel after him, and with soundless steps advanced toward the girl. At the edge of the raised diast he halted, rattling his sword to attract her attention. If his aim had been to unnerve her by the suddenness and mystery of his appearance he failed signally, for she did not even turn her head as she said. What explanation hast thou to make, Sir Peter, for this base treachery against thy neighbor's daughter and thy sovereign's niece? When fond hearts be thwarted by a cruel parent replied the potbellied old beast in a soft and fawning tone, love must still find its way, and so thy gallant swain hath dared the wrath of thy great father and majestic uncle, and lays his heart at thy feet. O, beauteous Bertrand, knowing full well that thine hath been hungering after it, since we ditched first avow our love to thy hard heart at sire, see I kneel to thee, my dove.  Bertrand turned as she saw him, her haughty countenance relaxed into a sneering smile.  It is useless to pursue thy cause, for I will have none of thee. Let me hence, if thou be a gentleman, and no word of what hath transpired, shall ever pass my lips. But let me go, tis all I ask. And it is useless to detain me, for I cannot give what you would have. I do not love you, nor ever can I. Her first words had caused the red of humiliation to model his already ruby visage to a semblance of purple. And now, as he attempted to rise with dignity, he was still further covered with confusion by the fact that his huge stomach made it necessary for him to go upon all fours before he could rise, so that he got up much after the manner of a cow, raising his stern high in the air in the most ludicrous fashion. As he gained his feet he saw the girl turn her head from him to hide the laughter on her face. Return to thy chamber, he thundered. I will give thee until tomorrow to decide whether thou will accept Peter of Colfax as thy husband, or take another position in this household which would bar thee for all time from the society of thy kind. The girl turned toward him, the laugh still playing on her lips. I will be wife to no buffoon, to no clumsy old clown, to no debouched, degraded parody of a man. And as for thy other rash threat, thou hast not the guts to put thy wishes into deeds, thou craven coward. For well ye know that Simon D. Monford would cut out thy foul heart with his own hand if he ever suspected that work guilty of speaking of such to me, his daughter. And Bertrod D. Monford swept from the great hall, and mounted to her tower chamber in the ancient Saxon stronghold of Colfax. The old woman kept watch over her during the night, and until late the following afternoon, when Peter of Colfax summoned his prisoner before him once more. So terribly had the old hag played upon the girl's fears that she felt fully certain that the baron was quite equal to his dire threat, and so she had again been casting about for some means of escape or delay. The room in which she was in prison was in the west tower of the castle, fully a hundred feet above the moat, which the single ombra sure overlooked. There was therefore no avenue of escape in this direction. The solitary door was furnished with huge oaken bars, and itself composed of mighty planks of the same wood, cross-barred with iron. If she could get the old woman out, thought Bertrod, she could barricade herself within, and thus delay at least her impending fate in the hope that succor might come from some source. But her most subtle wiles proved ineffectual in ridding her even for a moment of her harpy jailer, and now that the final summons had come she was beside herself for a lack of means to thwart her captor. Her dagger had been taken from her, but one hung from the girdle of the old woman, and this Bertrod determined to have. Feigning trouble with the buckle of her own girdle, she called upon the old woman to aid her, and has the hag bent her head close to the girl's body to see what was wrong with the girdle clasp. Bertrod reached quickly to her side, and snatched the weapon from its sheath. Quickly she sprang back from the old woman, who, with a cry of anger and alarm, rushed upon her. Back cried the girl, stand back, old hag, or thou shalt field the length of thine own blade. The woman hesitated, and then fell to cursing and blaspheming in a most horrible manner, at the same time calling for help. Bertrod back to the door, commanding the old woman to remain where she was on pain of death, and quickly dropped the mighty bars into place. Scarcely had the last great bolt been slipped, then Peter of Colfax, with a dozen servants and men at arms, were pounding loudly upon the outside. What's wrong with in, Cole? cried the baron. The wench has wrestled my dagger from me, and is murdering me, shrieked the old woman. And that I will truly do, Peter of Colfax, spoke Bertrod, if you do not immediately send for my friends to conduct me from thy castle. For I will not step my foot from this room, until I know that mine own people stand without. Peter of Colfax pled and threatened, commanded and coaxed, but all in vain. So passed the afternoon, and as darkness settled upon the castle, the baron desisted from his attempts, intending to starve his prisoner out. Within the little room, Bertrod de Monfort sat upon a bench guarding her prisoner, from whom she did not dare move her eyes for a single second. All that long night she sat thus, and when morning dawned, it found her position unchanged, her tired eyes still fixed upon the hag. Only in the morning Peter of Colfax resumed his endeavors to persuade her to come out. He even admitted defeat and promised her safe conduct to her father's castle. But Bertrod de Monfort was not one to be fooled by his lying tongue. Then I will starve you out, he cried at length. Gladly I will starve in preference to falling into thy foul hands, replied the girl, but thy old servant here will starve first, for she be very old and not so strong as I.  Peter of Colfax entertained no doubt, but that his fair prisoner would carry out her threat. So he set his men to work with cold chisels, axes, and saws upon the huge door. For hours they labored upon that mighty work of defense, and it was late at night ere they made a little opening large enough to admit a hand and arm. But the first one intruded within the room to raise the bars was drawn quickly back with a howl of pain from its owner. Thus the keen dagger in the girl's hands put an end to all hopes of entering without completely demolishing the door. To this work the men without then set themselves diligently, while Peter of Colfax renewed his entreaties through the small opening they had made. Hard replied but once. "'Seeest thou this pointered?' she asked. "'When that door falls, this point enters my heart. There is nothing beyond that door, with thou, Pultrune, to which death in this little chamber would not be preferable. As she spoke she turned towards the man she was addressing. For the first time during all those weary, hideous hours removing her glance from the old hag. It was enough. Silently, but with the quickness of a tigress, the old woman was upon her back, one claw-like paw grasping the wrist which held the dagger. "'Quick, my lord!' she shrieked. The bolts. Quick!' Instantly Peter of Colfax ran his arm through the tiny opening in the door, and a second later four of his men rushed to the aid of the old woman. Easily they wrestled the dagger from Bertard's fingers, and at the barrens' bidding, they dragged her to the great hall below. As his retainers left the room at his command, Peter of Colfax strode back and forth upon the rushes which strewed the floor. Finally he stopped before the girl, standing rigid in the center of the room. "'Has come to thy senses yet, Bertard de Montfort?' he asked angrily. "'I have offered you your choice, to be the honored wife of Peter of Colfax, or by force his mistress. The good priest waits without. What be your answer now?' "'The same as it has been these past two days,' she replied with haughty scorn, the same that it shall always be. I will be neither wife nor mistress, to a coward, a hideous, abhorrent pig of a man. I would die, it seems, if I felt the touch of your hand upon me.  I, the daughter of an earl, the niece of a king. Head to the warty toad, Peter of Colfax.' "'Hold chit!' cried the baron. Live it with rage. You have gone too far. Enough of this. And you love me not now. I shall learn you to love ere the sun rises. And with a vile oath he grasped the girl roughly by the arm, and dragged her toward the little doorway at the side of the room.' CHAPTER X For three weeks after his meeting with Petrard de Montford, and a sojourn at the castle of John de Stoutville, Norman of Torn was busy with his wild horde in reducing and sacking the castle of John de Grey. A royalist baron, who had captured and hanged two of the outlaws fighting men, and never again after his meeting with the daughter of the chief of the barons, did Norman of Torn raise a hand against the rebels or their friends. Shortly after his return to Torn, following the successful outcome of his expedition, the watch upon the tower reported the approach of a dozen armed knights. Norman sent Red Shandy to the outer walls to learn the mission of the party. For visitors seldom came to this inaccessible and unhospitable fortress, and he well knew that no party of a dozen knights would venture with hostile intent within the clutches of his great band of villains. The great Red Giant soon returned to say that it was Henry de Montford, old as son of the Earl of Leichester, who had come under a flag of truce, and would have speech with the master of Torn. Admit them, Shandy, commanded Norman of Torn. I will speak with them here. When the party a few minutes later was ushered into his presence, it found itself facing a mailed knight with drawn visor. Henry de Montford advanced with haughty dignity until he faced the outlaw. Be ye Norman of Torn, he asked, and did he try to conceal the hatred and loathing which he felt he was poorly successful? They call me so, replied the visored knight, and what may bring a de Montford after so many years to visit his old neighbor? Well ye know what brings me, Norman of Torn, replied the young man. It is useless to waste words, and we cannot resort to arms, for you have us entirely in your power. Name your price, and it shall be paid. Only be quick, and let me hence with my sister. What wild words be these, Henry de Montford, your sister? What mean you? Yes, my sister, Bertrod, who you stole upon the highway two days since, after murdering the knights of John de Stuttville, who were fetching her home from a visit upon the baron's daughters. We know that it was you, for the foreheads of the dead men bore your devil's mark. Shandy, roared Norman of Torn, what means this, who has been upon the road attacking women in my absence? You were here and in charge during my visit to Lord de Grey, as you value your hide, Shandy, the truth. Since you laid me low, in the hut of the good priest, I have served you well, Norman of Torn. You should know my loyalty by this time, and that never have I lied to you. No man of yours has done this thing, nor is it the first time that vile scoundrels have placed your mark upon their dead, that they might thus escape suspicion themselves. Henry de Montford, said Norman of Torn, turning to his visitor. We of Torn bear no savory name, that I know full well. But no man may say that we unsheathe our swords against women. Your sister is not here. I give you the word of honor of Norman of Torn. Is it not enough? They say you never lie, replied de Montford. Would the God I knew who had done this thing, or which way to search for my sister? Norman of Torn made no reply. His thoughts were in wild confusion, and it was with difficulty that he hid the fierce anxiety of his heart, or his rage against the perpetrators of this dastardly act, which tore his whole being. In silence de Montford turned and left. Nor had his party scarce past a drawbridge ere the castle of Torn was filled with hurrying men, and the noise and uproar of a sudden call to arms. Some thirty minutes later, five hundred iron-clad horses carried their mailed riders beneath the portcullis of the grim pile, and Norman the Devil, riding at their head, spurred rapidly in the direction of the castle of Peter of Colfax. The great troop winding down the rocky trail from Torn's buttressed gates presented a picture of wild barbaric splendor. The armor of the men was of every style and metal, from the ancient bandit mail of the Saxon to the richly ornamented plate of Milan. Gold and silver and precious stones set in plumed crest and breast plate and shield, and even in the steel-spiked chamfrons of the horse's head armor showed the rich loot which had fallen to the portion of Norman of Torn's wild raiders. Green penions streamed from five hundred lance-points, and the gray banner of Torn, with the black falcon's wing, flew above each of the five companies. The great linden wood shields of the men were covered with gray leather, and in the upper right-hand corner of each was the black falcon's wing. The sircoats of the riders were also uniform, being of dark gray velosa, faced with black wolfskin, so that notwithstanding the richness of the armor and the horse trappings, there was a grim gray warlike appearance to these wild companies that comport it well with their reputation. Recruited from all ranks of society and from every civilized country of Europe, the great horde of Torn numbered in its ten companies, Serf and Noble, Britain, Saxon, Norman, Dain, German, Italian, and French, Scott, Pict, and Irish. Here birth caused no distinctions. The escaped Serf, with the gall marks of his brass collar, still visible about his neck, rode shoulder to shoulder with the outlawed scion of a noble house. The only requisites for admission to the troop were willingness and ability to fight, and an oath to obey the laws made by Norman of Torn. The little army was divided into ten companies of one hundred men, each company captain by a fighter of proven worth and ability. Our old friends, Red Shandy, and John, and James Flory, led the first three companies, the remaining seven being under command of other seasoned veterans of a thousand fights. John I. Canty, owing to his early trade, held the always important post of chief armorer. While Peter the Hermit, the last of the five cutthroats whom Norman of Torn had bested that day six years before in the hut of Father Claude, had become major domo of the great castle of Torn, which post included also the vital functions of quartermaster and commissary. The old man of Torn attended to the training of Serf and Squire in the art of war, for it was ever necessary to fill gaps made in the companies, due to their constant encounters upon the high road and their battles at the taking of some feudal castles in which they did not always come off unscathed, though usually victorious. Today has a wound west across the valley, Norman of Torn rode at the head of the cavalcade, which strung out behind him in a long column. Above his gray steel armor a falcon's wing rose from his crest. It was the insignia which always marked him to his men in the midst of battle. Where it waved might always be found the fighting and the honors, and about it there a want to rally. Beside Norman of Torn rode the grim gray old man silent and taciturn, nursing his deep hatred in the depths of his malign brain. At the head of their respective companies rode the five captains, Red Shandy, John Flory, Edwild the Serf, Emilio, Count de Grapello of Italy, and Sir Ralph de la Campigny of France. The hamlets and huts which they passed in the morning and early afternoon brought forth men, women and children to cheer and wave God's speed to them. But as they passed further from the vicinity of Torn, where the black falcon wing was known more by the ferocity of its name than by the kindly deeds of the great outlaw, to the lowly of his neighbors they saw only closed and barred doors with an occasional frightened face peering from a tiny window. It was midnight ere they sighted the black towers of Colfax silhouetted against a starry sky. Then as men into the shadows of the forest, a half-mile from the castle, Norman of Torn rode forward with Shandy and some fifty men to a point as close as they could come without being observed. Here they dismounted and Norman of Torn crept stealthily forward alone. Taking advantage of every cover he approached to the very shadows of the great gate without being detected. In the castle a light shone dimly from the windows of the great hall, but no other sign of life was apparent. To his intense surprise Norman of Torn found the drawbridge lowered and no sign of a watchman at the gate or upon the walls. As he had sacked this castle some two years since, he was familiar with its internal plan, so he knew that through the scullery he could reach the small anti-chamber above, which led directly into the great hall. And so it happened that as Peter of Colfax wheeled towards the door of the little room, he stopped short in terror. For there before him stood a strange knight in armor, with lower adviser and drawn sword. The girl saw him, too, and a look of hope and renewed courage overspread her face. Draw commanded a low voice in English, unless you prefer to pray, for you are about to die. Who be, Varlet cried the barren? Ho, John, ho, Guy! To the rescue, quick, he shrieked. And drawing his sword he attempted back quickly toward the main doorway of the hall, but the man in armor was upon him and forcing him to fight ere he had taken three steps. It had been short shrift for Peter of Colfax at night had not John and Guy and another of his henchmen rushed into the room with drawn swords. There Sir Knight cried the girl as she saw the three naves rushing to the aid of their master. Turning to a meteor assault, the knight was forced to abandon the terror-stricken barren for an instant, and again he made for the doorway bent only on escape. But the girl had divined his intentions, and running quickly to the entrance, she turned the great lock and threw the key with all her might to the far corner of the hall. In an instant she regretted her act, for she saw that where she might have reduced her rescuer's opponents by at least one, she had now forced the cowardly barren to remain, and nothing fights more fiercely than a cornered rat. The knight was holding his own splendidly with the three retainers, and for an instant Bertrand de Monford stood spellbound by the exhibition of swordsmanship she was witnessing. Between the three alternately, in pairs, and again, all at the same time, the silent knight, though weighed by his heavy armor, forced them steadily back, his flashing blade seemed to weave a net of steel about them. Suddenly his sword stopped just for an instant, stopped in the heart of one of his opponents, and as the man lunged to the floor it was flashing again, close to the breasts of the two remaining men at arms. Another went down less than ten seconds later, and then the girl's attention was called to the face of the horrified barren. Peter of Colfax was moving slowly and consciously. He was creeping from behind toward the visored knight, and in his raised hand flashed a sharp dagger. For an instant the girl stood frozen with horror, unable to move a finger or to cry out, but only for an instant, and then regaining control of her muscles she stooped quickly, and grasping a heavy footstool hurled it full at Peter of Colfax. It struck him below the knees and toppled him to the floor, just as the knight's sword passed through the throat of his final antagonist. As the barren fell he struck heavily upon a table which supported the only light at Cresset within the chamber. In an instant all was darkness. There was a rapid shuffling sound, as of the scurrying of rats, and then the quiet of the tomb settled upon the great hall. "'Are you safe and unhurt, my Lady Betroth?' asked a grave English voice out of the darkness. "'Quite, Sir Knight,' she replied, "'And you?' Not a scratch, but where is our good friend the barren?' He lay here upon the floor but a moment since, and carried a thin long dagger in his hand. Have a care, Sir Knight. He may even now be upon you.' The knight did not answer, but she heard him moving boldly about the room. Soon he had found another lamp and made a light. As its feeble rays slowly penetrated the black gloom the girl saw the bodies of the three-minute arms, the overturned table and lamp, and the visor'd night. But Peter of Colfax was gone. The knight perceived his absence at the same time, but he only laughed, the low grim laughed. "'He will not go far, my Lady Betroth,' he said. "'How know you my name?' she asked. "'Who may you be? I do not recognize your armor, and your breastplate bears no arms.' He did not answer at once, and her heart rose in her breast, as it filled with the hope that her brave rescuer might be the same Roger Dekondy, who had saved her from the hirelings of Peter of Colfax but a few short weeks since. Surely it was the same straight and mighty figure, and there was the marvellous sword play as well. It must be he. And yet Roger Dekondy had spoken no English, while this man spoke it well, though it was true with a slight French accent. "'My Lady Betroth, I be Norman of Torn,' said the visor knight, with quiet dignity. The girl's heart sank, and a feeling of cold fear crept through her. For years that name had been the symbol of fierce cruelty and mad hatred against her kind. Little children were frightened into obedience by the vaguest hint that the devil of Torn would get them, and grown men had come to whisper the name with grim, set lips. "'Norman of Torn,' she whispered, "'may God have mercy on my soul!' Beneath the visor's helm, a wave of pain and sorrow surged across the countenance of the outlaw, and a little shudder, as of a chill of hopelessness, shook his giant frame. "'You need not fear, my Lady,' he said sadly. "'You shall be in your father's castle at Leicester ere the sun marks noon, and you will be safer under the protection of the hated devil of Torn than with your own mighty father or your royal uncle.' "'It is said that you never lie, Norman of Torn,' spoke the girl, "'and I believe you. But tell me why you thus befriend, Demomford. It is not for love of your father or your brothers, nor yet hatred of Peter of Colfax, nor neither for any reward whatsoever. It pleases me to do as I do. That is all. Come!' He led her in silence to the courtyard and across the lower drawbridge. To where they soon discovered a group of horsemen, and in answer to a low challenge from Shandy, Norman of Torn replied that it was he. "'Take a dozen men, Shandy, and search, yawn, hill-hole. Bring out to me alive Peter of Colfax, and my ladies' cloak and palfry. And, Shandy, when all is done as I say, you may apply the torch. But no looting, Shandy!' Shandy looked in surprise upon his leader, for the torch had never been a weapon of Norman of Torn, while loot, if not always the prime objective of his many raids, was at least a very important consideration. The outlaw noticed the surprised hesitation of his faithful sublateron, and, signing him to listen, said, "'Red Shandy, Norman of Torn has fought and sacked and pillaged for the love of it, and for a principal, which was at best but a vague generality. Tonight we ride to redress a wrong done to my Lady Betrard de Monfort, and that, Shandy, is a different matter. The torch, Shandy, from tower to scullery, but in the service of my Lady, no looting.' "'Yes, my Lord,' answered Shandy, and depart it with his little detachment. "'In a half-hour he returned with a dozen prisoners, but no, Peter of Colfax.' "'He has flown, my Lord,' the big fellow reported, and indeed it was true. Peter of Colfax had passed through the vaults beneath his castle, and, by a long subterranean passage, had reached the quarters of some priests without the lines of Norman of Torn. By this time he was several miles on his way to the coast and France, for he had recognized the swordsmanship of the outlaw, and did not care to remain in England, and faced the wrath of both Norman of Torn and Simon de Monfort. He will return,' was the outlaw's only comment, when he had been fully convinced that the Baron had escaped. They watched until the castle had burst in the flames in a dozen places. The prisoners huddled together in terror and apprehension, fully expecting a summary and horrible death. When Norman of Torn had assured himself that no human power could now save the doomed pile, he ordered that the march be taken up, and the warriors filed down the roadway behind their leader and betrothed de Monfort, leaving their erstwhile prisoners sorely puzzled, but unharmed and free. As they looked back, they saw the heavens red with the great flames that sprang high above the lofty towers. Immense volumes of dense smoke rolled southward across the skyline. Occasionally it would clear away from the burning castle for an instant to show the black walls pierced by the hundreds of ombra shores, each lit up by the red of the raging fire within. It was a gorgeous, impressive spectacle, but one so common in those fierce wild days that none thought it worthy of more than a passing backward glance.  Norman of Torn was both elated and sad. Elated that he had been in time to save the girl who awakened such strange emotions in his breast, sad that he was a lousome thing in her eyes, but that it was pure happiness just to be near her, sufficed him for the time of the morrow. What used to think? The little grim gray old man of Torn nursed the spleen he did not dare vent openly, and cursed the chance that had sent Henry Demanford to Torn to search for his sister, while the followers of the outlaws swore quietly over the vagary which had brought them on this long ride without either fighting or loot. Bertard Demanford was but filled with wonder that she should owe her life and honor to this fierce wild cutthroat who had sworn a special hatred against her family because of its relationship to the house of Plantagenet. She could not fathom it, and yet he seemed fair-spoken for so rough a man. She wondered what manner of countenance might lie beneath that barred visor. Once the outlaw took his cloak from its fasting at his saddle's cantile and threw it about the shoulders of the girl, for the night air was chilly, and again he dismounted and led her palfery around a bad place in the road, least the beast might slip and fall. She thanked him in her courtly manner for these services, but beyond that no word passed between them, and they came in silence about midday within the sight of the castle of Simon Demanford. The watch upon the tower was thrown into confusion by the approach of so large a party of armed men, so that by the time they were inhaling distance the walls of the great structure were crowded with fighting men. He rode ahead with a flag of truce, and when he was beneath the castle walls Simon Demanford called forth, Who be ye in what your mission, peace or war? It is Norman of Torn come in peace, and in the service of a Demanford replied Shandy. He would enter with one companion, my Lord Earl. Dares Norman of Torn enter the castle of Simon Demanford? Is he I keep a robber's roost, cried the fierce old warrior? Norman of Torn dares ride where he will in all England, boast at the red giant. Will you see him in peace, my Lord? Let him enter, said Demanford, but no navery now. We are a thousand men here, well armed and ready fighters. Shandy returned to his master with reply, and together Norman of Torn and betrothed Demanford clattered across the drawbridge beneath the portcullis of the castle of the Earl of Lycaster, brother-in-law of Henry III of England. The girl was still wrapped in the great cloak of her protector, for it had been raining so that she rode beneath the eyes of her father's men without being recognized. In the courtyard they were met by Simon Demanford and his sons Henry and Simon. The girl threw herself impetuously from her mount, and flinging aside the outlaw's cloak rushed toward her astounded parent. What means this, cried Demanford? Has the rascal offered you harm or indignity?  And with his words the young man flung himself upon Norman of Torn with drawn sword. Quicker than the eye could see the sword of the visor night flew from its scabbard, and with a single lightning-like move sent the blade of the young Demanford hurtling across the courtyard, and then, before either could take another step, betrothed Demanford had sprung between them and, placing a hand upon the breast plate of the outlaw, stretched forth the other with palm outturned toward her kinsman, as though to protect Norman of Torn from further assault. Be he outlaw or devil, she cried. He is a brave and courteous knight, and he deserves, from the hands of the Demanfords, the best hospitality they can give, and not cold steel and insults. Then she explained briefly to her astonished father and brothers what had befallen during the past few days. Every Demanford with the fine chivalry that marked him was the first to step forward without stretched hand to thank Norman of Torn, and to ask his pardon for his rude words and hostile act. The outlaw but held up his open palm, as he said. Let the Demanfords think well ere they take the hand of Norman of Torn. I give not my hand except in friendship, and not for a passing moment, but for life. I appreciate your present feelings of gratitude, but let them not blind you to the fact that I am still Norman the Devil, and that you have seen my mark upon the brows of your dead. I would gladly have your friendship. But I wish it for the man, Norman of Torn, with all his faults, as well as what virtues you may thank him to possess. You are right, sir, said the Earl. You have our gratitude and our thanks for the service you have rendered the house of Monford. And ever, during our lives, you may command our favors. I admire your bravery and your candor. But while you continue the outlaw of Torn, you may not break bread at the table of Demanford as a friend would have the right to do. Your speech is that of a wise and careful man, said Norman of Torn quietly. I go, but remember that from this day I have no quarrel with the house of Simon Demanford, and that should you need my arms, they are at your service a thousand strong. Good-bye! But as he turned the go, betrothed Demanford, confronted him with outstretched hand. You must take my hand, friendship, she said. For to my dying day I may ever bless the name of Norman of Torn because of the horror from which he has rescued me. He took the little fingers in his mailed hand, and bending upon one knee raised them to his lips. To no other woman, man, king, god or devil has Norman of Torn bent the knee. If ever you need him, my lady betrothed, remember that his services are yours for the asking. And turning he mounted and rode in silence from the courtyard of the castle of Lancaster, without a backward glance, and with his five hundred men at his back, Norman of Torn disappeared beyond a turning in the roadway. A strange man, said Simon Demanford, both good and bad, but from today I shall ever believe more good than bad. Would that he were other than he be, for his arm would wield a heavy sword against the enemies of England, and he could be persuaded to our cause. Who knows, said Henry Demanford, but that an offer of friendship might have won him to a better life. It seemed that in his speech was a note of wistfulness. I wish, Father, that we had taken his hand.


Tenant. The number whatever appears on screen right now film that Christopher Nolan has directed. Christopher Nolan's latest release to cinemas and the only reason that American theaters are currently open because they refused to wait any longer.  My health is at risk because of you.  Christopher Nolan's insistence that this had to be a release in cinemas. Look I work at a movie theater. I because of you am now at higher risk of getting the damn virus. Though I did get another job so I'm equally at risk there is whatever. Like I said Tenant is the latest film that Christopher Nolan has directed and released and I can say if you love Christopher Nolan movies you are going to enjoy this movie. If you do not like Christopher Nolan movies you are not going to like this movie. There if that's all you need end of the review you can leave now. Now for the rest of you that are staying here for my actual thoughts and opinions on this movie I think it's actually pretty good. I do not think it is Nolan's best work but that is because I am very biased and believe it to be the prestige and it will always be the prestige and nothing will ever make it not the prestige. Can you tell I like the prestige yet? This is a pretty good movie though it is probably about average for what Christopher Nolan puts out. That is very good but not as good as some of his other films though if you again if you like his stuff you are going to enjoy this movie. Now Tenant at its core is a spy thriller going through and trying to get the information on how to prevent the world from ending. And if you have seen the trailers you know that is not a spoiler because that is 100% just stated in the film. But in this they are trying to end it by preventing the world from entering. How is it described in the film? Reversing an object's entropy? Basically inverse the flow of time on an object. That's basically how it's described. Though I was given the impression that it was going to be that that was going to be used a lot more than it actually is in the film. It's a little confusing and a little bit spoilery to get into the true scientific nature of it but basically an inverse object as it's known a case something that you can do something like pull the gun and catch it. Those items specifically occur when an object is like sent backwards through time. The problem is that the way that this trailer the way that every trailer has presented itself makes it feel like people have this innate ability to reverse an object on their own. It doesn't need to be a special object but it does in the actual movie so that was a little off-putting to me initially because I was like so they can't just do it to anything that's but you made it sound like it could so why can't it just do it to everything because no one wrote it like that. It's not an excuse or at least that's how I felt but yeah again this movie at its core is a spy thriller and I thought that worked really well especially with the acting of all the characters. The main character of this movie whose name I cannot remember nor can I remember the actor's name because I am terrible about that kind of thing. He works for the CIA initially at the very beginning of the film until he doesn't anymore because reasons that I'm not going to get into because massive spoilery territory. Spice it to say another group kind of picks him up though again if you've seen the trailers that's kind of obvious but anyway I thought he did a fantastic job. He played the role of the calm collected spy dude really really well and another note Chris uh Chris Paterson. Cedric Diggory from the fourth Harry Potter movie or as most people know him Edward from Twilight. He also did a phenomenal job especially uh with the role his character overall plays in the story he is a hell of a lot of fun to watch and his character is pretty entertaining though not as eccentric again as I was led to believe with the trailers so there is that. Now none of the performances are truly phenomenal to me. Not saying they're bad but none of them really stand out as these master level none of the performances in this film are truly stand out to me. None of them like stand high above the rest of the performances as especially extremely good. They were all phenomenal actors but they all just felt like good actors there was no standout performance in this which isn't necessarily a bad thing in fact I would argue that it's a good thing because everyone did a really really good job and I have to say I would love to see the like main actor in this movie the the main character dude I would love to see him in more stuff he did a phenomenal job I want to see his career continue and grow I don't know if he's been in a ton of other stuff again I don't keep up with a ton of actors I don't keep up with a ton of Hollywood news but the guy in the lead I thought he did a good job I would love to see his career continue to grow and just him continue to make phenomenal movies well there's no standout actor in this movie neither is the plot truly extraordinary like I said at its center Tenant is a spy thriller film with the added element of inversing in objects time so it you know goes backwards issue here stems not from the fact that it is bad if that makes sense the issue here is that I would have liked to see it play a little bit more of an important role to the plot the inversion of objects because we only see this effect done a few times and I would have loved to see it done more and see it affect things because in a preview that I saw for this movie it ragged on how the stunt teams had to work a lot to do these backwards to like do things in reverse and reverse the fight scenes and do all of that which yeah it's impressive but a lot of this movie really is more of them sitting around and talking and discussing and planning a lot of this action isn't there honestly a good chunk of the trailer which was mostly action scenes that's pretty much every action scene in the film yeah they're a bit longer but most of this movie is talking and discussing much like Inception which is another issue that I personally had with that film a lot of this movie isn't actually spent on what its selling point is a lot of it is discussing and talking about what will occur and how they are going to do the thing that needs to be done but yeah that was one major issue I had with it is that the selling point of the film wasn't primarily focused on and I really really wish that it had been because that's what I came to watch that's what I wanted to see but I can understand it's hard to do something like that overall but I don't know for me I personally would have loved to see it I would have loved to see that idea actually delved into a lot more than what is ultimately in the movie another gripe that I have with this movie is how much they tried to sell the fact that it is done entirely practically yes on the whole practical acts do look marginally better than the effect shots practical facts are not the end all be all in Nolan uses a lot of CGI in most of his movies because movies today are almost impossible to make without CGI even if it is simple wire removals or just the painting out of rigs there is CGI in almost every single Christopher Nolan movie Inception is probably the most blatant one because you know it's impossible to do that kind of thing without CGI there are shots in there literally impossible to get without CGI there are shots in this movie that are also similarly impossible even if they are just quick comp shots of the care of carriage going forward in time while everyone else is going backwards in time and I say this because there are shots like that in this movie where not only are people running forward and running backwards the running backwards is easy enough to just practice and choreograph correctly but you see explosions and stuff reversing itself which is impossible to do without the aid of computer generated imagery so Nolan stop hating on CG stop claiming everything you do is practical it is not it never will be and you know it you just know where to apply it correctly to may enhance your movies that is my rant about Christopher Nolan CG shit sorry I love practical effects I'm I'm a big proponent of using them in movies as much as possible but CGI is not the worst thing out there in fact when CGI is incredibly good you do not notice that shit unless they want you to notice it seriously people only complain about bad CG as often as they do and say everything is bad because you notice that shit because it looks out of place no one complains about the planet of the apes movies because it's all really good CG no one complains about Blade Runner 2049 because it's all damned good CGI fuck as much as I rag on the Transformers movies that's really really good CGI because the Transformers look like they exist in the same plane as the humans okay my rant about CGI is over back to the review but yeah overall I thought Tenant was a lot of fun again if you enjoy Christopher Nolan films you are going to enjoy his latest spy thriller epic all of the actors do a phenomenal job with their roles one role I have to give credit to Kenneth Branagh aka Gilderoy Lockhart Hercule Perot the director of Thor and that racist as heck villain from Wild Wild West he does a phenomenal job as a villain of this movie and I would say he does a really good job making you hate him so there's that but again all the actors do a phenomenal job and this movie is highly entertaining because all their performances are really really good and solid and with that I would say for me Tenant roles as 17 overall a very very good movie but not Christopher Nolan's best and if you do enjoy Christopher Nolan's stuff overall I would say go watch it and just enjoy the ride for what it is what's up guys I hope that you enjoyed that video from me I enjoyed this movie if you can't tell but Nolan himself is a little grating on my nerves personally but that is all beside the point of this video if you would like to follow me on social media links to my Twitter and Instagram will be in the description down below as always and with that I hope that you guys have a fantastic day and as always peace out guys