"What devil's work is this, Luke?" the Count asked. "Heard ever a man such a horrible roar? And did you see, Luke, how the wall rocked like a cockleshell on the waters, before it fell? Where did the Mortimers get the infernal compound that rends rocks as if they were but eggshells?"
Luke shook his head. He was pale and thoughtful, for he could not account for the explosion. He had seen Greek fire in the Holy Land, where it had been spouted through tubes. hurled in kegs, and poured from the walls of besieged towns. But he well knew that there was something more than Greek fire at work when that castle wall flew upward. At length he raised his head suddenly, as he remembered the visit of the Franciscan to their camp.
"My lord," said he with conviction, "I believe that I have the key to the mystery. Do you remember that old Friar whom, dressed as a minstrel, we captured in our lines?"
"Yes; but what of him? He was but a doddering old fool, begging his way through the countryside."
"Those friars are often learned men," Luke answered, "and since they travel throughout the world, they come upon strange secrets. Besides, they confide in one another, and they tell each other all the mischief they know."
