THE FALL OF THE COUNT'S STRONGHOLD
UNDER the guidance of the Norman, the company proceeded by a
different route to that by which Raymond made his escape; and, as
night fell, they dismounted and off-saddled in a clearing within half
a league of the Count's stronghold.
Sentries were posted, and every precaution taken against surprise,
but nothing untoward occurred to disturb the camp.
Day dawned, but a thick, fleecy mist prevailed, the moisture dripping
from the steel caps of the soldiers, who, in spite of it being a
summer's morn in fair Normandy, actually shivered with cold. No fires
were allowed to be lighted for fear of giving warning of their
approach, and after a hasty breakfast the company started on the last
portion of the journey.
The way lay through a narrow avenue, similar to that in which
Raymond's ill-fated men-at-arms met with disaster, and the Norman
guide, anxious for his own and his brother's safety, used all his
skill and cunning as a woodman to ensure a successful surprise.
Presently through the mist two gnarled trunks attracted his
attention, and, halting, he beckoned to the Constable to dismount. In
low tones he explained that he wanted a riderless horse to be driven
in front of the company, and, the Constable assenting, one of the
archers dismounted and urged his steed to the head of the column.
To Raymond, who knew the perils of the path, the act occasioned no
surprise, but most of the soldiers watched the action with
wonderment.
The horse had proceeded but a short distance when it stumbled over
some invisible obstacle, and before it could recover itself, a heavy
beam, furnished with a metal barb, came crashing down from the
mist--hidden branches above, pinning the devoted animal to the earth.
A score of willing hands dragged the timber and its victim from the
path. "I pray you send another horse on ahead," exclaimed the
Constable calmly, as if unmoved by his narrow escape, for had he been
in his customary place at the head of the company his fate would have
been sealed.
Silently, and fully anticipating a fresh trap, the troop advanced,
the successor to the ill-fated horse walking cautiously as if
instinctively aware of its perilous mission. A bow-shot farther it
stopped, and, in spite of the application of the point of a dagger,
it refused to move another step.
"Prenez garde, messieurs, c'est un piège," whispered the Norman.
"Mais sans doute c'est le dernier empêchement."
"Step forward, Lavant," exclaimed the Constable in a low tone to one
of the men-at-arms. "Thrust out thy spear and see what lieth here."
The man did so, and almost without resistance the weapon sank in
turf. A twist of the spear and a large piece of what looked to be
green sward gave way, disclosing a yawning cavity, its length being
too great to permit a horse to leap across, while its depth was
sufficient to kill or maim any man or beast that had the misfortune
to fall therein.
At a sign from their leader the soldiers dismounted. One man was told
off to every four horses, a party set silently to work to cut a way
through the dense thicket, so as to make a detour round the pitfall,
and the rest of the soldiers stood where they were, resting on their
arms till the path was cleared.
This done, the company, now diminished in fighting numbers by
one-fourth, resumed their march, and, as the guide had foretold, were
unmolested by any other obstacle till they emerged from the forest at
the edge of the extensive clearing in which stood the stronghold of
the Count of Tancarville.
The sun was now above the tree-tops, and slowly the mist was
dispersing, so that the outlines of the fortress were just visible in
the clouds of lifting vapour.
Ordering his men to lie down within the shelter of the undergrowth,
Sir John called his squires, the master bowman who had taken the
place of the absent Redward, and the oldest man-at-arms, and held a
hasty consultation upon the plan of attack.
Though Raymond had not seen the castle from without, he found that
his idea of the place did not differ greatly from the appearance of
the actual building. It was a long, low structure, but one story in
height, save at one corner, where a low tower commanded the rest of
the stronghold. The walls were pierced with narrow loopholes for the
discharge of arrows, and crowned by a battlemented breastwork. Around
the walls was, as Raymond already knew, a ditch or moat. The
drawbridge was raised, and the outer fortalice or barbican was
furnished with a massive door.
There were no signs of the garrison, which, at the most, numbered
less than two score men, but the possibility of a surprise was
guarded against by the fact that the doorway of the barbican was
closed.
For several hours the little English force lay in front of the
stronghold, the soldiers prone on the grass, their leaders standing
behind a dense thicket, so that no assailant was visible to the
still unsuspecting inmates of the castle.
At length some of the archers who had remained with the horses joined
the main body, dragging with them two peasants who were captured
while on their way to the Count's fortress. The two men bore huge
baskets full of bread on their backs, and the booty was distributed
and eagerly devoured by the soldiers, while the peasants, securely
bound, were detained a short distance in the forest under a guard of
three archers.
Presently one of the men-at-arms approached Raymond. "I beg of thee,
sir, to ask the Constable that he give me leave to force an entry
into yonder fortress."
"How so, Peter? Wouldst essay the task alone?"
"Nay, Master Raymond, but with my comrade, Myles of Fareham, 'tis
easy to attempt."
"And easier to fail? What wouldst thou do?"
"If we don the peasant's clothes and carry their baskets filled with
stones on our backs, I trow 'twill be an easy business to fool those
that are within. Once they open the gate two honest Englishmen can
hold it against a score of Frenchmen till the main body hath time to
come to our aid."
"By St. George! Thou sayest aright; I'll speak to Sir John at once."
The Constable received the project with delight, and preparations for
the assault were instantly made. The two men-at-arms drew the
gabardines of the peasants over their armour, so that they closely
resembled the thick-set, shambling Normans, and shouldering their
heavy baskets, they advanced boldly towards the outwork.
Meanwhile their comrades were eager and alert. The bowmen had chosen
their arrows and strung their bows; the men-at-arms had drawn their
swords and had discarded their belts and sheaths to enable them to
run the quicker to the aid of the two devoted men, and with eyes
intently fixed on the gate of the barbican they awaited the signal to
rush headlong across the open space that lay between them and the
fortress.
To the waiting soldiers it seemed hours ere their two comrades drew
near to the outer work, but when within a few paces of it a sentinel
stood forth on the wall and challenged them. Then, apparently
suspicious of their errand, he blew a loud blast on a horn, which was
immediately answered by the appearance of five or six men from within
the barbican, while over a score lined the walls of the main
stronghold, some of whom began to wind their cross-bows.
At the same time the door was thrown open, and a man, apparently a
captain, stood on the threshold. Up to now these preparations were
simply a matter of form, no matter who the newcomer might be, and
fortunately the iron-nerved Englishmen understood this, for,
staggering under their loads, they still advanced with bent heads to
avoid recognition.
Suddenly the guardian of the gate realised that it was not a pair of
ignorant peasants that he had to parley with. But the knowledge came
too late. Peter of Purbrook had thrown down his load and dashed,
sword in hand, at the astonished Norman. Before the latter could
retreat a step he had fallen with his head cleft to the chin. His
body lay athwart the threshold, and ere the others could rush to
close the gate the Englishmen had pushed their baskets, filled with
stones, against the door, and were awaiting the onslaught of their
foes.
With hoarse shouts of encouragement the English men-at-arms rose from
their ambush and rushed madly to their comrades' aid, while the
archers, shooting rapidly and coolly, directed a dropping fire of
arrows at the defenders on the walls. But they of the outwork had
gathered to defend the gate, and already a fierce struggle was taking
place, the two gallant Englishmen being hard pressed by the enraged
Normans.
With axe, spear, and mace the defenders strove to thrust back the
daring intruders, while the latter, regardless of their own safety,
essayed to keep open the gate. Two of the Normans fell, their bodies
adding to the ghastly pile at the entrance to the barbican, but
directly afterwards Myles of Fareham was slain by a savage
spear-thrust.
Undismayed by the fall of his comrade, Peter of Purbrook hurled an
axe at the helm of the slayer of his friend, then, clearing at a
bound the heap of corpses, bade fair to drive back the defenders
single-handed, while his comrades, with Raymond well in the fore,
were already halfway across the intervening space.
Carried away by the heat of battle, Raymond saw as in a dream the
figure of the devoted man-at-arms clearing a path for his countrymen;
the next instant there was a blinding flash, a deafening roar, and a
thick, choking cloud of sulphurous smoke.
One of the defenders, with the fury of despair, had fired off a
bombard, the huge stone ball crashing through friend and foe alike,
and bounding over the springy turf till it came to a stop a few paces
from the edge of the forest.
Appalled by the sound, the soldiers hesitated, but when the smoke had
partially cleared away the gateway was deserted.
Then the Constable's voice was heard amid the din, "Onwards, men, the
place is ours," and regaining their wits, the Englishmen rushed
forward and reached the deserted barbican.
The discharge from the bombard, by which the remaining Frenchmen,
save one, and four English men-at-arms, including the ill-fated
Peter, had been swept away, was attended by one good result. The
drawbridge had been lowered, and, after applying the linstock, the
cannonier had darted back across it to take refuge in the fortress,
while the heavy bombard, wrenching asunder the leather thongs that
bound it to the carriage, had recoiled till its weight rested on the
end of the drawbridge, effectually preventing it from being raised by
the defenders.
In the meanwhile the English archers, while engaged in keeping down
the fire of the cross-bowmen, had marked the fugitive cannonier as he
sped back to gain the entrance. Ere he had run but half the distance
he fell, transfixed by a dozen arrows, while the attacking party
roared with excitement and jubilation.
Even if the defenders had had another bombard available they would
have been prevented by the hail of shafts from training it on their
adversaries; and, led by the Constable and his squires, the
men-at-arms crossed the drawbridge and thundered at the main gate
with their axes, while the archers, advancing in close order, kept up
a hot fire against every point where a Norman dared show the crest of
his steel cap.
Under the furious blows the door was splintered; then with a united
effort the shattered woodwork gave way, and the victorious Englishmen
rushed headlong into the castle, only to find that not a man of the
garrison was to be seen.
With his own hands the Constable tore down the scarlet wolves' heads
of the banner of the Count of Tancarville, and the blue guidon with
the demi-lune floated in its place, amidst a fanfare of trumpets and
the cheers of the victors.
Then a systematic search of the stronghold was undertaken, but no
trace of the Normans was found till an archer stumbled over a heavy
trap-door, which, on being raised, disclosed a flight of dank stone
steps leading to a subterranean passage. Listening intently, the
Constable and his squires heard the faint sounds of retreating
footsteps echoing along the stone walls of the tunnel.
"It matters not," quoth Sir John. "I doubt whether there be any
person of quality amongst them. Their burrow doubtless leads to some
spot in the forest, and I can ill-afford to risk more lives in a
needless undertaking."
To close the entrance, pieces of heavy timber weighted with stone
were thrown down the yawning pit, and having made all chance of a
return by this outlet impossible, the soldiers devoted their energies
to the exploration of the building.
It was more of a fortified arsenal than a castle, the Count's
principal fortress being ten leagues off, but the spoils of war were
both numerous and useful.
In all, including the bombard in the barbican, there were eleven
pieces of ordnance, a score barrels of powder, steel caps, hauberks,
and weapons of all descriptions. Unwilling to leave the booty where
it might again fall into the hands of the Normans, the Constable made
preparations to carry off the whole of the munitions of war.
Dragging long planks across the open ground, a party of archers
returned to where the horses had been left. By bridging the pitfall,
the steeds were led safely across the fatal trap, and in less than an
hour were within the stronghold, where rough carts in abundance were
ready to be loaded up with the spoil.
Meanwhile Raymond had not forgotten the unfortunate man-at-arms who
had been captured with him in the first attempt to seize the Count.
Aided by a couple of archers, he searched vainly for the secret
oubliette, till at length he bethought him of the two peasants who
had been taken earlier in the day.
These were brought before him, and without much difficulty were
compelled to lead the way. In the floor of the lowest apartment the
peasants pointed out a small door, almost invisible in the deep
gloom. Procuring a torch, Raymond and the archers shot back the
bolts, and on lifting the trapdoor, a dark, evil-smelling dungeon was
disclosed, unlighted and almost unventilated. Mingled with the noise
of scores of rats a low moaning was heard, and in the fitful glare of
the torchlight a narrow circular hole could be distinguished in the
centre of the dungeon, its mouth unprotected by a barrier of any
kind.
"Art there, Robert?" asked the squire, his voice shaking with pity
and emotion.
The only reply was another low moan, as of a human being in direst
distress. Sending one of the archers back for assistance, Raymond
impatiently waited by the yawning pit. The man soon returned, and
with him four lusty men-at-arms, one of whom carried a coil of stout
rope and two more torches.
Directing the men to lower him slowly and carefully, Raymond knotted
one end of the rope under his arms and boldly descended, holding a
flaming torch above his head. The light flickered on the slimy walls
of the pit, which, as he descended, began to increase in size, till
at length he reached the bottom of a deep, bottle-shaped cavity, the
only approach to which being the narrow neck through which he had
been lowered.
The floor was ankle-deep in filth and slime; and, by the aid of the
torch, the squire saw, crouched in the corner, apparently heedless of
the presence of his rescuer, the figure of a man.
Bending over him, Raymond failed at first to recognise his ill-fated
companion-in-arms, for the soldier's face, instead of being the
deep-bronzed, healthy colour that comes of a life in the open air,
was of a ghastly greenish hue, and his eyes, dazzled by the glimmer
of the torch, blinked with a peculiar vacant expression that
suggested madness.
Finding that the man was too weak to stand the strain of the rope
round his chest, Raymond, placing the torch on the ground, lifted him
to his feet, and taking him in his arms, called out to those above to
haul up. Shielding the soldier as well as he could from the rough
sides of the shaft, the squire with his pitiful burden came slowly to
the surface, where rough but kindly hands took charge of the rescued
prisoner, who was little more than a corpse.
[Illustration: A PITIFUL DISCOVERY]
On rejoining the Constable, Raymond found that a discovery had been
made of another score of barrels filled with powder, and the question
of transport was troubling Sir John sorely. For not only was the
quantity too great for the numbers of men and waggons at their
disposal, but the difficulty arose how to reach the highway, the path
by which they had come being quite unsuitable for the carts.
Two scouts were therefore sent out with instructions to follow the
cart-tracks, and to find out whether any of the late garrison still
remained in the neighbourhood.