FATHER AND SON SET OUT FOR HENNEBON
NEARLY four years have elapsed since the events recorded in the last
chapter--years full of national interest. The naval battle of Sluys
had been fought and won, and for the time the English fleet ruled the
Channel, so that scarce a French or Spanish vessel dared to show
itself betwixt Ushant and Cape Grisnez.
After the siege of Tournay, a treaty had been concluded between King
Edward III. and Philip of France, but the former was ever on the
alert to seize a favourable opportunity of renewing hostilities, and
late in 1341 an incident occurred that gave the King the excuse to
prosecute the war once more--a step that led to the glorious victory
at Crécy and the overrunning of nearly the whole of France by the
victorious arms of England.
The Duchy of Brittany was disputed between John of Montfort and
Charles of Blois, and, while the latter was pressing his claims at
the French Court, Montfort, by force or intrigue, had acquired the
fortresses of Rennes, Nantes, Brest, and Hennebon; and in order to
obtain a powerful supporter he had journeyed to England and concluded
an offensive and defensive alliance with King Edward, at the same
time offering to do him homage for the Duchy of Brittany.
Keeping this treaty a deep secret, Montfort did not hesitate to
return to Paris to defend his case, but realising that the French
King did not favour him, and fearing violence at his hands, the Earl
retired to Brittany and declared war against the Count of Blois.
Philip sent his son, the Duke of Normandy, with a powerful force to
aid Charles of Blois, and Montfort, after sending urgent requests for
assistance to the King of England, shut himself up in Nantes, which
was immediately besieged by the French.
By the treachery of the inhabitants Nantes fell, and Montfort, taken
prisoner, was hurried to Paris, where he was loaded with chains and
thrown into a loathsome dungeon in the Louvre.
But, though low, the fortunes of the Montforts were destined to
recover. The cause was taken up by the Countess Joan of Montfort, the
heroic wife of the imprisoned Earl, and being loyally supported by
the Bretons, she withdrew her forces to the town of Hennebon, where
she awaited the onslaught of the French, trusting in the expected aid
from England.
* * * * *
But to return to Raymond Buckland and his adventures. As squire to
Sir John Hacket, the Constable of the King's Castle of Portchester,
he was now a member of the knight's household, spending the greater
part of his time within the grey walls of the fortress.
Four years had made a great change in Raymond's appearance. He was
now a youth of twenty, tall and well built. Thanks to his
surroundings, he was skilled in the arts of warfare, and few could
withstand him at the jousts and spear-runnings that were frequently
held in the extensive grass-grown square that formed the outer bailey
of the castle. Moreover, his monkish training admirably fitted him
for the more clerkly duties that fell to him, and by his diligence,
intelligence, and courage he was held in high esteem by the fiery old
knight.
Redward, too, for his tried devotion and experience was made head
master-bowman of the Constable's company, and, when occasion served,
Sir John was not above asking his advice in the ordering of the
castle and its defences.
But over Raymond hung a dark cloud of perplexity. The image of the
fair Lady Audrey was ever present in his mind, and, encouraged by the
Constable's prediction that in due course he might be entitled to
wear the gilded spurs of knighthood, his hopes ran high of one day
being in a position to win the maiden's heart and hand. But to his
unbounded surprise, Raymond found that his father was tacitly opposed
to this, his dearest wish. With difficulty Redward had been persuaded
to allow the young squire to wait upon Sir Reginald Scarsdale, when
that knight wished to thank him for his services. Any mention of the
name of Scarsdale served to plunge the master-bowman into moodiness
and silence, and any question that the lad put to his sire on the
subject was turned in a way that puzzled Raymond in no small degree.
One day an event happened that was to transfer the lad from the
pleasant life of ease at the castle to a far more active and
dangerous sphere.
How well Raymond remembered it in after years. That morning he and
another squire had mounted the four-storeyed Norman keep, and from
the battlements looked down upon the scene below. It was a striking
picture; the keep stood at the north-west-angle of the huge fortified
enclosure. Immediately beneath the east and south faces of the donjon
lay the inner bailey. In the far corner of the outer bailey stood the
church, and close by was the water-gate, at which lay the Constable's
state barge. Away to the south stretched the wide expanse of
Portsmouth Harbour, its waters dotted with the sails of high-sided
cogs and other merchant vessels, as they threaded their way up the
sinuous deep-water channels that led to the castle.
Immediately opposite the water-gate was the landport, or gateway
giving access to the castle from the land. The lads could follow the
line of the dusty road as it passed through the little village, swept
round the head of the harbour, and eventually was lost in the
distance as it ran towards the City of London.
"Look, Raymond," exclaimed his companion, a Hampshire lad named
Oswald Mant. "A horseman approaches, and, my faith, he does not spare
his steed!"
"'Tis not one of the company?"
"Nay, look at the livery--murrey slashed with green--he is of the
household of Sir John Chandos."
"Then something of importance hath taken place. I would 'twere good
tidings from France!"
Leaving a dense white cloud of chalky dust behind him, the messenger
clattered down the road, pulled up for a moment at the outer gateway
to reply to the challenge of the guard, then spurred madly across the
courtyard to the foot of the steps leading to the keep. Here a page
ran forward to hold his horse, and, throwing himself wearily from the
saddle, the rider staggered up the steps and disappeared under a low
archway that gave access to the Constable's quarters.
An hour passed ere the messenger reappeared, and, after draining a
cup of wine, he remounted and spurred his horse on his homeward
journey.
While the two squires were debating over the matter, a page sought
them, summoning Raymond to instantly repair to Sir John's apartment.
With beating heart, as if anticipating some good fortune, Raymond
followed the page, and was ushered into the Constable's presence,
where he found that Redward was already before him. It was a long,
narrow room, lighted with lancet windows and hung with rich arras. At
one end was a heavy table littered with papers and plans, and, for
the nonce, unmindful of the dignity of his position, Sir John was
sitting on its edge, swinging one leg, with the air of a man who is
occupied by a perplexing problem.
Directly the page had retired, the Constable signed to Redward to
draw a thick hanging over the door.
"Raymond," quoth he, "the King hath done us a signal honour. A
messenger hath arrived with orders for me to send a trusty squire to
the Countess of Montfort, who, as ye know, is beleaguere in Hennebon.
'Twill be a grave and hazardous task, yet withal one of great honour.
To my mind, I cannot name a more promising messenger than thee. Art
willing to take the risk?"
"To have a chance to distinguish myself in the King's service is my
ardent desire, sir!"
"'Tis well. Now listen. Hennebon is on the sea coast of Brittany,
betwixt the great River Loire and the town of Brest. As the foemen
lie thick around it, and have also, I doubt not, a strong
water-guard, 'tis a matter of stratagem rather than open work. But,
in any case, this packet must be delivered into the hands of the
Countess at all costs--at all costs, I repeat. I give thee a free
hand in the matter. Take what men thou dost deem fit--though,
methinks, the smaller the party the more chance of success."
"Methinks my father will be sufficient company for me, sir."
"Ah! as I thought. Thou hast chosen wisely. Now take this map and
mark it well--'tis by the hand of the King's own guide--and get you
gone to prepare for thy journey, for to-morrow morn a stout little
craft will lie off the water-gate ready to bear thee over the sea."
Overjoyed at the prospects of such an adventure Raymond withdrew, and
consulted with his father on the best means of getting through the
cordon that was drawn round the beleaguered town.
As night drew on, father and son repaired to the little church within
the walls, and for seven long hours kept an earnest vigil before the
altar, praying fervently for the success of their enterprise, and
invoking the protection of their patron saints against the perils of
land and sea. Then, as daylight dawned, they arose, weary and stiff,
to partake of food and drink ere embarking.
Tidings of their mission had already spread throughout the garrison
of the castle, and when, accompanied by the Constable himself, the
two travellers made their way to the water-gate, a large concourse of
soldiers and members of the household flocked behind them to cheer
them on their way and to wish them God-speed.
Riding easily at her hempen cable, on the first of the ebb tide, lay
the staunch vessel that was to carry them across the Channel. On her
stern were engraved the words _Les Trois Frères de Guernesey_,
showing her to be one of the Channel Islands boats, whose crew, brave
and hardy fishermen, were the best pilots obtainable.
They were, in fact, the only vessels that in those days were capable
of making any pretence of sailing into the wind, and even then only,
in nautical language, "full and bye." The usual type of ships, with
their huge square sail, could only run before the breeze.
The skiff of _Les Trois Frères_ was waiting at the little Hard, and
the farewells were quickly said. The precious despatch was sewn in
the hem of Raymond's jerkin, and once again the stern old knight
impressed upon his squire the necessity of the utmost caution. Then
he extended his hand to the lad.
"God be with thee, and bring thee safely home again. I would be loth
to lose so promising a lad!" exclaimed Sir John.
"Thanks for thy good wishes, fair sir," replied Raymond. "And should
I not return," he added, with a faint catch in his voice which, in
spite of his stout heart, he was unable to conceal, "I pray you send
this packet to the lady whose superscription appears hereon." And,
thrusting into the knight's hand a bulky missive, Raymond turned
quickly on his heel, to hide his rising colour, and stepped into the
skiff.
The Constable watched the Guernsey bark hoist her sails, and waited
till she was well on her way down towards the harbour's mouth; then
he returned slowly towards his quarters.
Glancing at the packet, he deciphered with difficulty the
superscription, written in a scrawling hand: "To ye richt
worshippefulle Ladye Audrey Scarsdale."
"Heaven bless the lad," he mused. "Certes I am of a mind to forward
this missive whether he returns or not!"