Of the coming of the Sarrasins in force, and of the building of their
château. Of _Brother Hugo's_ confidence in God, and how I rang the
alarm-bell at _St. Pierre Port_.
Through that journey to Blanchelande I was able to give the first
warning to the abbot, and Brother Hugo, our _tête d'armée_, of the
presence of new pirates in the very midst of the isle, through the ugly
sight I had seen on my way by what men called the château.
And, indeed, all looked grave at my account, and Hugo shook his head,
and he and the abbot and Martin and Richard had long and anxious
converse in the Castle, and already we were bid to move very many of our
holy things that bedecked the Church, or were used in God's service,
within the Castle wall, and the builders had set up among the ramparts
long sheds of wood, wherein began to be stored all manner of com,
brought in from all the granaries around.
For the abbot had received from St. Michael's Mount and other places on
the Breton coast most portentous accounts of a gathering together of the
pirates of the sea and marauders of the land, and that some devil's
bond had been forged between them, and that the wildest and most daring
of these villains of every race and land had elected as their chief
captain one whom they named "the Grand Sarrasin," one born of that black
race, the deadliest enemy of Christendom. Others called him "Le Grand
Geoffroy" as though they would save him at least from the black stamp of
Paynim birth; but for us he was ever the Grand Sarrasin, and still the
Grand Sarrasin, cursed a hundred times a day by every tongue in our
cloister and island.
Now, as I saw Brother Hugo on the ramparts and knew, though full of
matters now, he grudged not a word to us lads whom he loved full well, I
spake to him thus--
"What news to-day, brother, of 'Le Grand Sarrasin'?" I spake half in
jest indeed, for long ere this, this very brother had made great sport
of pirates and their dark deeds, and especially, ere this name I spake
had risen to such a sound of evil omen, had he delighted to tease the
children of the cloister therewith. As on some dangerous path he would
whisper, "Go not that way for fear of Le Grand Sarrasin!" or out in the
fishing-smack, he would point to some cosy, full-bottomed trading ship
with a "Hist, lads, the great Geoffroy there astern!" But now Brother
Hugo liked not the jest, but looked sternly at me from beneath his great
brows.
"Le Grand Sarrasin!" said he, "if so thou lovest to call the vilest
foam of filth on these Norman seas, this day last week rode into St.
Brieuc by night with eighteen ships, climbed into the fort, none letting
him, slit the throat of a sentinel and warder, barred the garrison into
its own quarters, and poured like a midnight pestilence through the
streets, bidding his Paynim hounds of slaughter, without pity and
without fear, enter where they listed, and that they did. And there by
night in St. Brieuc, good men and good wives, who never harmed man or
beast were knifed as they lay, the young maids led captive, and the
babes flung like useless baggage through windows into the gutter, and
that is the last I have heard of Le Grand Sarrasin!" said Brother Hugo,
sadly enough.
I stood beside him silently, and the salt tears burst painfully under my
eyelids as I heard the fate of that poor town by the Breton coast.
"Ay, weep, lad, weep!" he said. "And God give strength to our arms to
show him better than tears, if he come our way, this fiend that fears
not God nor man."
"But the monks, brother, are they not safe? The worst pirates ofttimes
fear to touch holy men and holy places," I interposed.
"The monks of St Brieuc," he said solemnly and sadly, "holy men and
servants of the poor, lie cold and still in their dormitories, brother
by brother, saint by saint. And the sun looks in on them and sees their
faces agonized in death, and the blind eyes staring with horror at the
fate that woke them but for death. In such wise the Sarrasin's devils
fear holy men and holy places."
I saw Brother Hugo as he looked far out to sea in his turn dash the
drops of salt from his eyes, and strive to master his sorrow.
"Should they come our way?" I asked, in bitter questioning.
"Surely, ere long!" he answered, "and we shall be prepared. I pray to
God, and--smile not at it, lad--some sort of vision in a dream has come
to me that the downfall of 'the Grand Sarrasin' shall be through us,
brethren of the Vale, and perhaps through me."
A kind of holy look floated into his face as he said this and looked
seaward; an upward look as of seraphs close to God, not seraphs frail
and delicate, but full of lusty strength and goodly spirit of war, such
as went forth with Michael, when there was war in Heaven.
"Be strong, and of good courage!" he murmured to himself; and, pausing
awhile, strode with me across the fort, showing me this or that, that
was fresh provided for safety, and the goodly stores of food, and the
watchmen even now out on the towers, and the alarms all ready to call in
the defenceless. Indeed all was there that a great captain could devise
for safety in time of border warfare.
"Thou knowest," he said presently, pointing towards the château, "that
it is forbid to travel thither. Nigel, it is a very castle they are
building, and beside it this fortress of ours is weak and small."
"It will be then," I said, "maybe a strife of castle with castle," said
I.
"Ay, so it will," he said, "and that ere long."
"Then, Brother Hugo, I need not voyage to Normandy to taste battle under
Duke William."
"The battle," said Hugo, "will be hot enough before these very walls.
Therefore thou shalt be my esquire and learn to taste blood under my
command."
Indeed I had no higher desire than this, and so I said.
* * * * *
Now, it was not many days after these words, one afternoon about
evensong, a summons came to Hugo from the watchman on the wall at Vale
Castle. He called me to go with him. We swiftly reached the rampart, the
watchman saying nothing, simply pointed to the northward, and then we
saw a very fleet of ships--pirate ships, we felt sure--bearing steadily
towards Grand Havre. And one that seemed longer and heavier than the
rest ran far ahead.
"They are making for their anchorage in Moulin Huet," said Hugo, "and it
were well for our islanders to be prepared this night. Light the beacon,
honest Bertrand, let it carry its bright word from Vale to Ivy Castle,
from Ivy to St. Pierre, from St. Pierre to Jerbourg, though they lie at
anchor below, to Torteval and far Lihou, and thou, son, shalt take a
kindly message to the men of St. Pierre."
In a few moments the bright flame burst out on the rampart tower, like a
red tongue of fire telling forth a deadly message. And lo! I saw, as I
went, other tongues leap forth along the coast from tower and castle,
all singing out in direful glee the same word "War."
And once within the market-place I ran as I was bid to the Church of St.
Pierre, and great man I felt myself, as I pushed open the church door
and took the bell-rope in my hand. "Ding-dong!" rang out the alarm bell
from the tower hasty and quick, and ere twenty pulls at the rope, the
townsmen were all around, and I was drawn into the market-place, and
there at the head of the Rue des Vaches I sang out lustily--
"Good men, good citizens and sons of St Pierre, make fast your defences,
and man your walls this night; the fleet of Le Grand Sarrasin is
anchored in Moulin Huet."