Of _Vale Castle_, hard by the Abbey, and how I was sent with a letter to
_Archbishop Maugher_, and by the way first saw the Sarrasin pirates at
work.
Now, men were busy in the Vale. I have yet said no word of Vale Castle,
built a mile away from the cloister, of hewn stone, goodly and strong.
It lay upon the left horn of St. Sampson's Harbour, near where that holy
man landed with the good news of God in days of old, and its stout
bastions rested on the bare rock, and its walls seemed one with the rock
below, so thick and stout they were, built as Normans alone can build,
to last as long as the rocks, as long as the earth. And in Vale Castle
no lord or baron ruled. It was the Castle and outward defence of the
Vale Cloister, and its lord was the Abbot of the Vale. And within its
ramparts there was room (as we found ere long), in times of danger from
pirate or strange foes, for all the brethren and children of the
Cloister, and for many more besides, so that when the watch-tower fire
sprang into life upon the beacon, and the alarm-bell rang out by night
or day, the folk of the dale came flocking in with their babes and
their most prized goods for shelter beneath the abbot's wing. Vale
Castle feared no pirate-band, and in a short space all our most precious
things could be secured behind those walls snug and safe enough, until
the evil men who had come to alarm our peace steered their long ships
away again, sore dissatisfied with the plunder of our isle. So well
guarded we were, and so strong were our three castles, within whose
walls all who listed could find safety. As, indeed, it proved in the
attack of the great Moor, of which this chronicle will chiefly tell.
Now, the Castle had been built some forty years before, by none other
than the great Cherbourg himself, Duke Robert's engineer. For it chanced
that Duke Robert was royally entertained years ago by Abbot Magloirios,
when he was forced by foul weather to put into L'Ancresse Bay, who, on
his departure, left Cherbourg and other skilled men to build three
castles for their safety against pirates. So it was through Duke
Robert's stay at the Vale that our Castle was made so strong. Thus God
brought here, as ever, good out of evil.
And among the lay brothers were good soldiers, who could man the Castle.
And once, in bygone days, they say a whole company of knights (all
resting now in Abraham's bosom, and their bodies in the Vale churchyard)
came together, and sought to be made quit of the world and its strife in
our peaceful cloister. These, though they left the world behind, were
able to teach for safety's sake something of warlike matters to the
brethren; and thus it chanced that our brothers were ready to be men of
war when peace was impossible, and men said of them, in rhyming
fashion--
"White cowl and white cloak,
Chain-mail and hard stroke."
Now, about this Castle of late men had been more than ever busy. Sundry
instruments of besieged men of a new and deadly fashion lay in the
armoury, and were at times by Brother Hugo brought out and practised by
the brethren that formed, as he said, his _corps d'armes_. Then were
they soldiers indeed, not monks at all, as, cassock and cowl thrown
aside, they drew the bows, or aimed with their great engines the balls
of stone and iron.
Now, it was in those days that the abbot sent me on matters more heavy
than I knew to that archbishop of whom I have already made mention, who,
his state laid aside, lay in exile as a poor humble man, though Duke
William's uncle, in a small moat-house, by name Blanchelande, with
little land attached beyond the forest of St. Pierre, and hard by the
bay of the Saints of God.
Though I would fain haste to our meeting, yet must I first tell what
manner of man he was reckoned by the folk of our island and by
ourselves. Abbot Michael had expressly charged us, on his first coming,
we should believe nothing of aught we heard of him. Yet tales went
round, and gathered force as they went, ill tales that took scant time
to travel; and we lads, innocent of mind, were full of shame for what
was common talk, and we were ready to believe that here was no common
sinner. We knew there were witch women whom men justly burn for sin. And
of Archbishop Maugher men said a spirit of evil ever went with him, or
was at his hand.
Now, when abbot Michael gave me the missive into my hand, there was a
look in his face that seemed to ask if I feared the journey; but I took
it readily and heartily, and turned to go.
"Stay," said the abbot, as I went. "Bring me word how my Lord Archbishop
takes my letter, what he says, how he looks. Bring me his slightest
word, his least look. Thou art quick and clever. Do my bidding as a good
lad should. Thou hast naught to fear of such as he."
So I went forth boldly, leaving the Vale behind me, and within an hour
had entered among the trees that part it from the forest land.
Now, in due course of travel I reached that high point of the isle
whence through the trees one can look down on all sides save the south,
and see the blue waves and the distant islands, and there lay, I knew,
the earthworks of an ancient fort, that the first tenants of the isle
used for defence in days long past--yea, and their wall of stone circled
the space this way and that, and the roofless walls of some building--a
temple perhaps--stood near, wherein they worshipped the false god of the
sky or the hearth; here awhile I rested, and after brake again into the
path, and made for the Bay of the Saints, where Maugher dwelt.
Now, I was not far upon my road when I heard a faint whistle through the
trees, and, running back a few yards, I saw the old ruins I had left,
not empty, as I had left them, but--strange sight--tenanted, I could
see, by men, and, as I thought, men of evil aspect. Now, I knew that
they had seen me, and thought me well upon my road, so I dared not
return; and, indeed, I feared in my heart, for I had little doubt they
were pirates, if not spirits of the men of old of whom I had been
dreaming. Therefore I went swiftly on my path, and covered quite a mile
ere I brake into the forest again, and made my way back to another side
of that old ruined fort. Now, as I crept up, I saw little that was
strange--only two men walking to and fro in earnest conversation, and
from where I lay--for nearer I durst not approach--I could hear nothing
of their talk. They were men of light and supple build, bearded, and of
dark swarthy skin, as of those who know no shelter but the decking of a
ship, and their hands were seldom absent, as they paced it side by side,
from the hilts of the brace of daggers swinging from their waists. I
guessed that they were pirates, and my heart fell as I remembered what
manner of men they were--haters of all--their God, their king, their
fellow-men--and how, in consequence, the hand of man was against their
hand, as their hand was against man's. Where were the other men I had
seen? In a moment I guessed the truth, for I caught the dull sound of
digging and delving in the earth below--thud, thud, thud--as of many
spades and picks, and beyond the angle of the wall I saw the earthwork
piled with new earth in many places. So my young eyes peered curiously
and cautiously out through the leaves, and a flood of feelings struggled
in my heart, and the digging went on--thud, thud, thud--beneath my very
feet, and the two strange men trod ever up and down, staying at times
upon their way to point to this side or that, to tap the wall, or draw
figures with their swords amid the fallen leafage.
I stood a long time fixed to the ground, and then with a great effort I
stole noiselessly away, and, once on the beaten track, I hasted on to
the moat-house.
With a heart that I could hear beating, I turned my back on the bay,
and, crossing the little drawbridge, craved of a warder at the
gate--half fisher, half ecclesiastic, in a frayed frock and seamen's
shoes--an audience of my Lord the Archbishop for the delivery of a
missive from the Abbot of the Vale, that must be delivered into his hand
alone.