By what means I was delivered from _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and how I found
shelter with the priest of _St. Apolline's_.
The cell had been dark before. Now it was black as night, and having
eaten my friend's goodly parcel of food, I was refreshed, and eagerly
awaited his return. Presently he was with me, and softly rolling the
great door on its hinge, let me swiftly through into the long earthy
passage that led upward. We traversed many yards, and I know not what
treasures I saw heaped hastily on this side or on that, and I saw at the
end, where the path passed forth, the form of the sentinel at his post.
Now all our hope lay in what that moment chanced. He lolled easily
against the rock, gazing forth, as I thought dreamily, into the open. My
companion drew me along on tiptoe till we were even a pace behind him.
We were so close that I think I heard him breathe. Then rapidly the man
felt a scarf round his mouth and wiry fingers at his throat, so that he
could make no sound.
"Strike, Nigel!" said my comrade. "There is little time for mercy!"
So I drew my companion's dagger from his waist and used it swiftly,
though it went sore against my nature thus to strike a sentinel at his
post by surprise.
He fell heavily backward. I drew forth the dagger, and we ran swiftly
for the cover of the side of a building. Along the wall we crept warily
and without sound, and the next moment I saw my deliverer swing himself
upon a bough that hung within his reach. In his train I followed, as he
caught wondrous craftily in the darkness now at this branch, now at
that, and more than once passed like an ape or squirrel of the woodland
from tree to tree. At last I looked down and saw the wall loom from
below, and the branch whereon I clung spread across the wall into the
open. There we dropped down right nimbly as I remember a full ten feet,
and the branch swung back from our hands noiselessly, and without sound
we passed swiftly on hands and knees for a space under the near shelter
of the forest brushwood.
Nothing was said till we were a round two hundred yards within, and then
my friend pointed to a little path, for the moon was risen.
"Yonder, dear lad," he said, "lies thy way to the Vale, and I must now
be for a space a dead man in the woods, outcast even of the pirates."
"Nay, friend," said I, "I go not back to the Vale till I come with force
to release them from their woes."
"What!" said he. "Thou still art minded to journey to Normandy? Oh,
dear and knightly lad!"
"Yea," I said, "thither must lie my road, and I pray thee to help me on
my way, for indeed I fear to fall into Geoffrey's jaws again; and now
three days are lost that should have brought me nearer to William."
"If it be indeed thy will," he said, "and indeed thou couldst not will
better, since, as the case is, yonder castle could not many weeks
withstand the Sarrasin, thou must come with me, and on the road to my
good friend, to whom I journey for safety, I will ponder over this
matter, and concert a scheme, whereby the wish of thy heart may be
carried out. Meanwhile, trust me, good child, as so far thou hast nobly
done."
"One thing, good friend," I said, as we swung along southward, "what is
thy name, that I may know whom I may thank for this wonderful
deliverance."
My comrade laughed strangely at my words, and answered hastily--
"For names, lad, we are not over-ready with them in the château yonder.
Ofttimes their sound, compared with their ring in other days, bringeth
more pain than joy. You may call me, if thou wilt, Des Bois, for indeed
I love the woodland. And for thanks, lad, thank me with a kind word and
trustful look, and a good stroke of the sword, if that be needful ever
for mine honour."
So we strode on, and as the moonlight made silvery passages amid the
trees, I watched him as he knitted his brows in thought, whether on my
account or his own I knew not. I thought I saw in him all that I dreamed
of knightly spirit, and I guessed that in Des Bois lay hidden one like
Brother Hugo, who for some reason masked a great and noble name in this
poor, paltry disguise. Ay, but it was a visage that not long rested
serious. A smile broke over its furrows, making it like a field that
smiled in the sunlight, and he said right gaily in my ear--
"Ay, good lad, we will weave thee a rope to Normandy both strong and
subtle, and witty withal, and thou shalt hear its texture when we arrive
yonder; but as the night wears on, we must ride faster, or trot
ourselves, since steed are lacking, so let us not lose time."
With that indeed he broke into a nimble run, and I followed. And ere
half a mile was passed, we were out of the forest and by the shore of
the sea, hard by Cobo Bay, and keeping still close to cover, lest danger
should arise--for the pirates had their sentinels in huts in every small
harbour of the isle--we ere long were by La Perelle Bay, and I could see
on Lihou the dim outline of the monastery.
Soon Des Bois turned sharply to the left, and we were soon in a trim
wood that ran up almost from the shore. The blind, thick wall of a small
building lay in our path, and by its side a little low-roofed hut of
daub and wattle.
"The chapel of good St. Apolline!" I said in surprise, for I knew well
that little shrine by the coast, where the fisher-people made
supplication for good weather and success in their craft, and hung up
their poor offerings for the holy saint's honour.
"Ay, that it is," said Des Bois. "Now will we find its guardian at his
vigils."
He oped with ease the latch of the lowly door of the hut, and we found,
indeed, no saint at matins or prime, but only the priest of St.
Apolline, curled on his wood settle in honest slumber, and snoring
lustily withal.
Des Bois gazed at him with a merry smile, and presently tweaked him
merrily by the ear, crying out--
"Up, good hog! up, griskin-knave! up, lubber! and provide meet
entertainment for honest men."
"Ralf! Ralf!" sang out the priest in alarm, as he leapt from his poor
couch. "What make you here at this hour of night?"
"Often hast thou," answered Des Bois, "with sage reproof bid me turn to
an honest and a sober life, and now I have turned to the side of the
holy saints. Lo! I have cut my ropes this night, and am free again.
Free, that is to say, if thou wilt hide me for a season, and do thy good
offices for Nigel here, who indeed hath saved me, as I him."
The good priest grasped his hand, and I thought he wept, as though Des
Bois' words conveyed more than I could understand. The two men drew
aside together and whispered seriously for a time.
But I was glad, before they ceased, to wash away the blood from my
wounds, and all the dust and sweat of my capture and escape. And after
much washing in the brook, I felt well-nigh a new man; and sitting down
at the priest's rough board, we next refreshed ourselves with such store
as the good man had. And after we had eaten, Des Bois, whose name I now
knew was Ralf, began to explain the plan by means of which I was still
to journey safely to Normandy.
"Hark you, good Nigel," said Ralf. "I have discovered a rare likeness
betwixt you and our Father, this dear Augustine. Indeed, saving for the
marks of time, ye might be brothers of one birth. Now, it likes me not
to cast away prodigally such rare aid given by Mother Nature to our
designs. So, look you, you shall journey to Normandy as Father
Augustine, priest of St. Apolline's in Guernsey, while Father Augustine
and I, dear yoke-fellows of old, shall betake ourselves, as once or
twice before, to the nether-world for a season."
Father Augustine smiled his assent to the scheme, as I asked hastily--
"But, even so, how will the knaves yonder let me pass?"
Ralf smiled as he replied, "Ay, they will not molest thee. Augustine
hath a gift of walking warily, so that all men count him their friend,
and, earnest man, he hath full oft his own good designs, that carry him
to and fro across the seas. Thou hast but to stride with his smart step
boldly by yon château gate, and so to Pierre Port, and none will forbid
thy passage on any vessel that thou pleasest, if thou but give good word
to all thou meetest, Moor and islander alike, good man and good dame.
Pat, too, the little innocents on the head with a paternal blessing.
Answer not save in words of hearty jest. Keep a front unconcerned and
free, though thy heart rap hard against thy chest-bones, and, in good
faith, within a sennight or twain thou wilt be back in the isle, with
Duke William at thy tail."
"And it is well for thee, good lad," said Augustine, "that thou art
better suited than this rogue to figure harmlessly as a priest that men
trust. But surely it will aid thee much in carrying through this scheme
that thou wast bred amid monks, and churchmen, and art used to their
ways of act and speech. Yea, lad, with a bold step and an easy manner
thou wilt be safer beneath my cloak in the open than if by secret paths
thou essayedst never so warily to cheat the Sarrasin's sentinels."
What could I do but thank them, and yield myself with all despatch into
their hands, to be turned by means of razor and paint, of cunning dye,
still nearer like the priest of St. Apolline? In the end, as I drew the
good father's cowl around my pate, and essayed to imitate his careless
stride and easy gait, they both swore that the good saint himself, were
he to escape from the skies and visit his earthly shrine, would be hard
put to it to know which was his own priest and which the counterfeit.
But ere this the sun was up, and there were sounds of fishermen already
moving in the bay below. We knew that by this time our escape must be
discovered, and so with hurried counsel my friends betook themselves
away--at least, they were with me at one moment, and then of a sudden,
like dreams, were lost to my sight. And I, as it were to try the
strength of my disguise, went down for a short space among the huts of
the fisher-people.
There goodman and goodwife alike gave me friendly greeting, and I
cheerily told them they must spare me for one sennight, if that might
be; whereupon the children, running up, stayed further question, and in
a moment I, in my long, sober cloak, was a war-horse, or a crazy bull at
the least, that went ramping among their blue-eyed chivalry, carrying
little affright, but rather earning peals of merry laughter.