THE TABLES TURNED
ONLY one thing could Raymond do. He sat down on the grassy hillock
and watched, knowing well that the fight could but end in one way.
A little group of Norman knights led the van of the French, whose
forces were composed mostly of townsmen, desperate in their vain
attempt to save their town from pillage. Eagerly the keen eyes of the
squire followed their disorderly advance, till they were almost lost
to view in the distance.
To him it seemed as if the white-coated lines of English archers
stirred neither hand nor foot, but he knew full well that the blast
of deadly arrows had sped, for as if by magic the dark masses of the
Frenchmen broke and fled, without coming to hand-grips. Already the
English cavalry were in hot pursuit, and the white winding road
leading to the town was outlined with clouds of dust, which almost
concealed the disorderly remnants of the defeated fugitives.
Directly the advance guard of the fleeing army began to draw near,
Raymond rose from the grass and ran swiftly towards the road. The
Frenchmen, each intent upon his own safety, rushed past him, throwing
off their armour to aid their flight, the mounted fugitives
ruthlessly riding down their less fortunate countrymen.
Seated by the roadside was a man-at-arms, who, sorely wounded in the
shoulder, was endeavouring to divest himself of his hauberk in order
to ease the pain. Actuated both by his own requirements and a feeling
of pity, Raymond helped him to unburden himself of the steel-ringed
coat, and having donned the Frenchman's discarded armour, he bathed
his wound, a deep lance-thrust, with water obtained from a rivulet
that ran by the roadside.
After rendering this service he proceeded to complete his own
equipment. A heavy sword and a light shield were soon found, and it
did not require much effort on the part of the active squire to seize
a riderless horse.
With difficulty curbing the restlessness of his newly-acquired steed,
Raymond urged it into an adjoining field to avoid being swept away by
the panic-stricken horde of fugitives, and eagerly awaited the
arrival of the English host.
Soon the tide of fleeing Frenchmen slackened, and the braver spirits,
maintaining a running fight, alone remained to uphold the honour of
the ill-assorted army of the citizens of Caen.
Suddenly Raymond's attention was drawn to a knot of mailed figures,
who, surrounded by a press of Englishmen, fought savagely with the
courage of despair. One by one the French mounted men-at-arms and
squires fell, till only two knights remained.
The pair, keeping side by side, held their enemies at bay by a shower
of blows from sword and mace, till one, his horse slain by a
Welshman, who paid for his act by having his head cleft by a
back-handed sweep, was dashed to the ground and made prisoner.
On seeing his comrade's fate, the other knight urged his horse
through the crowd of assailants and made a dash for the open field,
where Raymond awaited the chance to join his friends.
Directly the squire caught sight of his emblazoned surcoat and shield
he recognised the Frenchman--it was none other than the Count of
Tancarville!
Shaking off his pursuers, who preferred to return to squabble over
their rights to the ransom of the captive knight, the Count rode
straight for the place where Raymond was concealed. When he was
twenty paces off the squire rode forward and barred his way.
"Yield thyself, Sir Knight!" exclaimed Raymond.
For a moment the Count gazed with undisguised astonishment at the man
whom he had last seen as a prisoner in his stronghold, then,
recovering himself, he put spur to his horse and rode furiously at
the squire.
The combatants were evenly matched, for the advantage of the
Frenchman's complete coat of mail was balanced by the comparative
freshness of his opponent and his steed. The knight had lost his
lance, so that the fight was with swords.
Reining back his horse, Raymond skilfully avoided the first rush, the
Count's sword-point missing his unguarded face by a hand's breadth,
while the squire's return blow fell harmlessly on his adversary's
shield. Instantly Raymond closed in, and before the knight could turn
his steed to meet the counter-attack, the squire's sword had bit
deeply into his enemy's thigh. Then their blades met, and amid a
shower of sparks and the clicking and rasping of steel, Raymond found
himself at pains to defend his unvisored face, and it was not long
before the blood was flowing freely from a cut on his cheek. But the
Count's previous exertions and the loss of blood from several deep
wounds were beginning to tell. His blows did not fall with the same
strength that marked his first rush, though the squire could not
break down his guard.
Long they fought, their horses prancing and curveting as if realising
that their efforts would materially aid their masters' sword-play,
till Raymond's untried blade snapped off close to the hilt, and, with
the exception of a short knife, he was left weaponless.
A quick pull at the reins, and the squire's horse ranged alongside
that of the Norman. The next instant Raymond had grasped his opponent
round the body, and with a mighty heave sought to tear him from the
saddle.
Between the two plunging steeds the combatants fell, locked in a
close embrace, Raymond uppermost; but before he could make good his
advantage and demand his enemy's surrender a stunning kick from the
Count's horse left its master at the Englishman's mercy.
Raymond rose to his feet bruised and breathless, and at that moment a
band of soldiers came hurrying towards them. The newcomers were the
wild-looking Welsh mercenaries, intent on plunder; and, unable to
make them understand who he was, the squire was for a while in danger
of being set upon by these lawless booty-seeking warriors. Standing
over the body of the prostrate knight, he beckoned, shouted, and
threatened, till a highly-pitched voice behind him demanded who and
what he was.
Raymond turned and saw a gigantic, swarthy, and black-bearded man,
clad in a bronze-coloured suit of armour, having a green dragon
emblazoned on his surcoat and shield.
"Squire to Sir John Hacket of Hamptonshire," he replied breathlessly.
"I pray thee bid these rascals desist."
A word from the stranger in an unknown tongue, and the Welshmen
retired.
"Rascals, iss what ye call tem?" asked the new arrival, laughing
boisterously. "I would haf yes know, poy, tat tey are from
Glamorgan--from Glamorgan, I tell you! And tey are the best men in
the Army, I tell ye, poy, for tey are my men, I, David Evans, knight
off Glamorgan. I pray ye pear tat in mind. I myself tought ye wass a
Norman, or at pest a Gascon, seeing ye wass to wear a Frenchman's
hauberk."
The Welsh leader rode off, leaving Raymond to wonder how he could
escape molestation from his friends and still stand by his captive.
Most of the pursuers kept to the highway, and only a few came close
to where he stood. In vain he begged and entreated the passing
soldiers to give a hand to carry off the unconscious Count. Even the
promise of a silver penny had no effect, for the English, intent on
plunder, were already streaming into Caen with the last of their
foes, and the comparatively bountiful offer of payment was invariably
rejected with contempt.
At length, despairing of obtaining assistance, Raymond left his
prisoner and made his way back to the road, hoping to see a familiar
face amongst the victorious soldiers who were hurrying forward to
join in the sack of the town, but there were none of the Hampshire
companies.
Picking up another sword to replace his broken weapon, the squire
preferred to go back to guard his captive, consoling himself with the
thought that on the Count's return to consciousness he could lead him
into the camp; then, suddenly bethinking himself of the rivulet
higher up the road, he hastened towards it to slake his burning
thirst.
This he did, and thereupon made his way back by a different route to
where the Count lay. Barely had he gone half the distance than he
came to a dry ditch, where, to his surprise, he found two fugitives
cowering in the long grass that grew in the trench.
"Je me rends!" they both exclaimed, grovelling at his feet in fear of
instant death, for, being but peasants, they knew that scant mercy
was shown to those who were unable to offer ransom.
In a moment Raymond saw and seized his chance. "Vous êtes mes
prisonniers," he exclaimed, brandishing his weapon. "Venez avec moi."
Driving them before him, the squire soon reached the place where he
had left the Count of Tancarville, and indicated by signs that they
should carry him. This they did, panting with their exertions, for
the knight in his complete armour was a heavy burden. Their progress
was slow, till on arriving on the highway Raymond made them take two
broken lances, and forming a rough litter, they were able to make a
better pace.
At length, they came in sight of the camp, and to his great joy
Raymond saw the well-known banner of the crescent on the blue field,
waving close to the pavilion over which floated the royal standard of
England, for the Constable of Portchester's company was that day
detailed as guard to the camp.
Great was the delight and astonishment of Sir John Hacket and his men
on Raymond's reappearance, for he had been given up for lost; and
greater was the Constable's surprise when his squire, pointing to the
litter, exclaimed with pardonable pride: "Behold, sir, I bring thee
the Count of Tancarville according to thy instructions."
Having handed over his three prisoners and given a brief account of
his adventures, Raymond retired to a tent to enjoy a well-earned meal
and a rest. From one of the archers he learned that his father,
maddened by grief and rage at the supposed loss of his son, had
obtained permission to join for the time being the Sussex company of
Sir Guy of Bramber, vowing that twenty Norman lives would but
ill-balance Raymond's death.
The squire's leisure was of short duration, for Sir John Hacket came
in person to inform him that the King had ordered him to appear
before him.
Raymond's eyes sparkled with delight, for this was a step at least
towards his coveted reward, and hastily attiring himself suitably for
the royal presence, he followed the Constable to the King's pavilion.
It was a large tent, hung with damask, and divided into two parts by
a heavy curtain. In the ante-room were crowds of knights awaiting an
audience, their names and titles being carefully set down by a
herald, while another, stationed at the flap of the partitioning
curtain, where two knights in full armour stood on guard, announced
the various personages who had business with their Sovereign.
Each knight who was ushered into the inner apartment had but a short
stay in the royal presence, and to Raymond, as he waited in
breathless expectation, it seemed as if there was a continuous
procession of warriors, some elated with the prospect of praise and
honour, others nervously ignorant of why they were summoned thither;
while others, knowing that their master had cause for displeasure,
were pacing the crowded ante-chamber, biting their lips in their
anxiety.
All the while a buzz of suppressed voices was heard from the inner
room, and occasionally Edward's hearty voice could be clearly
distinguished as he praised or chid according to the merits or
demerits of the person before him.
Suddenly the sound of a galloping horse was heard, coming rapidly
nearer, then, amid a hum of ill-concealed excitement, a knight,
covered in mud from head to foot, and breathless from hard riding,
burst into the ante-chamber.
"Ah, Sir William!" he exclaimed to the royal herald, "I pray thee
announce me to the King with all despatch. The matter brooks not
delay!" And clanking in his heavy armour at the heels of the herald
he disappeared behind the curtain that concealed the royal presence
from the crowd of waiting knights.
"'Tis Lord Bassett," whispered Sir John to his squire. "Certes, some
event of much moment hath occurred to bring him from the field.
Hearken!"
The newcomer's voice was distinctly audible to those who waited
without. "The men of Caen are holding out stubbornly, Sire, every
house being closed to our troops, and our losses from the darts of
those within are exceeding great. The Welsh levies, aye, and our own
men as well, are killing without mercy man, woman, and child, yet
their acts do but increase the fury of the men of Caen. I pray you,
Sire, that the word goes forth that every soldier shall withdraw from
the city, for otherwise they threaten to destroy it with fire."
"But wherefore should we hold our hand?" inquired the King. "They of
Caen set themselves in battle against our hosts, and must of
necessity abide the consequences."
"But the spoil, Sire, the spoil! 'Tis the richest town in all
Normandy. If we can but prevail on the citizens to lay down their
arms, then the sack can be resumed with more profit and less risk."
"There's wisdom in thy words," replied Edward, "but thy advice is
every whit the same as the Cardinal Legates gave to us but an hour
agone. These we told that it was our resolve to brook no interference
of the Holy Father in matters appertaining to war, but, by my
halidome, the suggestion commends itself to us. Therefore withdraw
our troops. Beat a parley with the townsmen, and demand their
surrender with promise of quarter. Stay! I'll to the front myself!
Herald! Dismiss the knights in waiting, and inform them that we will
receive them on the morrow."
Thus Raymond's opportunity had passed for the present, for when the
morrow came, the King in person met the chief magistrate of Caen, and
in the presence of the Papal Envoys, agreed to accept the
unconditional surrender of the town, pledging his kingly word,
however, that the massacre should cease, and before the evening came
the squire was detailed for another errand.
"Raymond," quoth Sir John Hacket, "I have it in mind that a slight
advancement and no little honour can be obtained if we can seize the
stronghold of the Count of Tancarville, and gain possession of the
store of powder and the bombards of which thou hast spoken. What
think ye? All the powder was not taken away by the Count?"
"I think not, sir."
"And the bombards?"
"I saw none go; nevertheless they may have sent them away."
"Then I'll go to Chandos and crave permission to lead the company
against this strange hunting-lodge in the Forest of Brique. Meanwhile
have thy two prisoners closely questioned, for, methinks, they know
exactly where this stronghold lieth."
The Constable hastened to the tent of Sir John Chandos to obtain the
required boon, while Raymond sent for the two Normans whose lives he
had spared. They were, so the squire ascertained, brothers, and one
had been in the service of the Count of Eu, and knew the precise
position of the Count of Tancarville's forest castle.
Soon Sir John returned, having succeeded in his mission. One of the
prisoners was made to act as guide, and to avoid another blunder he
was told that should the enterprise fail through his neglect or
treachery his brother's life would be forfeit. Rations were served
out to the company, and an hour later Sir John's command, consisting
of three squires, thirty men-at-arms, and fifty mounted archers,
moved out of camp amid the encouraging shouts of their comrades, and
disappeared in the gathering gloom towards the dark masses of the
Forest of Brique.