How I was sent forth by my lord abbot to seek the protection of _Duke
William_, and of what befell me by the way of the pirates.
That night there was restless sleeping in Vale Castle and but rough
quarters, but no assault nor alarm.
Next morning there was singing of "Non nobis" and "Te Deum" to boot by
the brethren assembled in martial conclave on the open lawn. Their
church was destroyed and its beauty perished; but said Abbot Michael--
"Lo, brethren, here be your choir these days, here your House of God.
See, its pillars are the Lord's, and they fear no sacrilegious hand;
see, its arch is the heaven, and its roof the sunlit sky, and for music
to our chant hear the lapping of the waves that God hath set in their
bed below." So, with comforting words, did he restore our courage, as we
thought sadly of the ruined cloister, whose smoke yet went up pitifully
to the sky.
And shortly after these solemn offices I was taken by Hugo to the
abbot's presence, in the little chamber he had on the seaward wall.
Very strange and careworn he was.
"Son," he said, greeting me with a sweet dignity, "thou hast done well
already in the profession thou hast chosen, as I hear by good report of
all, and indeed so comes out in thee the prowess of a noble race. Thou
seest what straits the brethren are in by this blockade and siege?" He
pointed seaward and landward. "And that, should help come not, a
deadlier enemy than the Sarrasin himself will strive with us--the famine
with the sword. Thou knowest all this?"
Now, as he spake, I guessed why he spake thus, and so right boldly I
replied, with a straight look in his eyes--
"Ay, my lord, right well I know. Send me, therefore, now, whither thou
thinkest well, for succour in this day of extremity!"
His eye brightened at my words, and he and Hugo looked gladly at one
another, and Hugo said, with low voice, proudly--
"Our Father, the abbot, hath chosen thee, my esquire, and a proud
mission it is, being assured of thy strength and truth of heart, to be
his messenger to our sovereign lord the duke, and to inform him of the
dangers of his faithful bedesmen here, and of the arrogance of their
foes and his own. To-night thou wilt start on a noble and knightly
enterprise."
"It is, my son," said the abbot, "a path full of danger. But also, as
our brother saith, an enterprise both noble and knightly, for the saving
of these men of God, and the feeble ones that are sheltered in our fold,
not alone from death, but from rude insult and sharp pain."
I told my lord that I was indeed willing to accept it, though I loved
life full dearly. And he, assuring me that all matters of my setting
forth that night were in Brother Hugo's hands, bent over me, and
pressing his hands, that trembled the while, on my young head, committed
me to God's care. And I went forth calm and steady with his holy words
yet in my ears and a great glory of gladness in my heart, that I, still
a lad, was thus chosen for a knight's work.
I was to set out, Hugo told me, at nightfall from a little cove named
Bordeaux Bay that lay hard by the Castle. Old Simon Renouf, a wary pilot
amid the dangerous rocks and shallows of our seas, was, with one other,
to be my comrade, and I was to be clad in the rough dress of the fisher
folk in case of capture. We were that night to make for the Isle of
Jersey, and craftily to lie hid in a quiet opening in the rocks for the
day, and then next day, if the wind were good, to sail to the port of
Granville in Normandy.
Now, it was arranged I was to bear no written message to my lord the
duke, only a ring of gold hung in a little bag about my neck, that our
abbot said would stand me in better stead with William, recalling past
services and duties, and would be thought, were I taken by the pirates,
but some harmless relic or valued heirloom. Now, the ring had on it but
the letter "A," and the motto inscribed around "_Loyal devoir_."
And so at nightfall we went forth from the back side of the Castle, down
the steep and rugged path that led at length to the shore of Bordeaux
Bay, Brother Hugo, as we went, giving me words of good counsel as to my
behaviour before Duke William, impressing on him the insult of these
knaves to his high fame as duke, and how I should keep a still tongue if
I fell into the hands of the Grand Sarrasin.
We found Simon Renouf and Jacques de la Mare waiting for us in their
small fishing-smack which I knew so well, having so often sailed with
them as boy and lad, and well they loved me, as did all the fishers of
Grande Havre and St. Sampson. But now, as Jacques took the tiller, old
Simon bade me handle the sail, as though I were indeed that which I
appeared, a raw hand learning seaman's craft. Right manfully I took up
my task, and in a moment the dark sail ran up the mast, Simon undid the
fastening and pushed off, and with Jacques cunningly guiding us from the
rocks, the boat stole noiselessly from the bay, coasting northward for a
space to get away from the Moorish ships that still lay outside, and
then, aided by a dim white mist that lay upon the face of the waters and
a chill night-breeze, we bore away to the south of Herm and Jethou,
whose craggy sides loomed black and terrible as we sailed by.
Presently the wind fell, and we lay well-nigh becalmed, and the moon
came out, and we could see now the high walls of Sark and the steep side
of Brecquou, and slowly we approached thither. So we ran straight to
Jersey. The moon set presently, and we made little way, and with the
light of breaking dawn we entered a small creek, wherein the water lay
calm and still. When the boat was in safety we clambered upon the rocks,
and among them Simon showed a little cave overhung with green streaming
plants that indeed was a pleasant place, with all manner of coloured
sea-plants clinging to the wall, that the light as it entered played
upon. Here we ate of the good store that lay in the boat's locker, and a
rare draught of wine washed down the food and refreshed our spirits, and
then Simon bade me lie down and rest, and as the sun began to climb up
and make all the sea glisten along its crest, I lay down and slept, and
awaked not till he had climbed far up into the sky. But when I awoke old
Simon Renouf still sat by the cave-mouth, gazing out to sea from under
his looming brows, and I thought he sat there like some great eagle by
its eyrie keeping watch over its young. And such indeed he was, an eagle
soaring high in fidelity, and my guardian to the death, as in the end it
appeared.
Now, as evening drew near, Simon showed us that with an early start
that night, with good weather as the wind lay, we would make the Norman
coast ere morning, and creep along as we might to Port Granville by
daylight.
But alas! that night we had but just shot out of our hermitage amid the
rocks, and were giving great heed to the perilous passage withal, when,
as we rounded a sudden shelve of rock, we met almost face to face a
great ship that was making across our course. And I feared that the
worst would hap, for she was of the same build as the fleet of Le Grand
Sarrasin. Did they see us lying in now close by the rock? We could not
tell for a moment, but then there was no doubt. A shout rang out, and a
voice bidding us come aside.
What could men so bidden do? To sail forth were hopeless. This great
craft would overhaul us of an instant. To coast along the shore were
perilous and must end in capture. For a moment Simon hesitated, and then
ran our boat into the creek again.
"See, lads," he said, "here we must stand. The land is more friendly
than the water. Yet I have prayed oft to die on the sea, when my time
came."
We climbed on to the rocks, and he handed us a cutlass apiece and a
knife such as seamen use, and he pointed to a square ledge of rock, that
but one could enter upon at a time, since a thick jagged wall protected
half the front.
"Stay, Simon," said I, "art sure she is a pirate?"
"Ay, lad, sure," he said; "none but a pirate so hails peaceable fisher
craft"
"Simon," I said, "why not give in? Why should you and the lad die for
me?"
The old man laid his rugged hand upon me, and the sun lit up with a rich
light his red beard as he spoke.
"Have not the Brethren taught thee a word called 'Duty,' lad?" he slowly
said, "a word for me, that was born a poor fisherman in the calling of
the Lord's Apostles, as well as for thee born of a great house."
"Then it is thy duty thus to do?" I said, perceiving that naught could
move him, and that indeed a noble strain within him forbade him to be
moved.
"Ay, lad," said he, "and may we all, thou, Jacques, and I, old though I
be, do our duty right well this morn!"