OSWALD'S DEFENCE OF HIS CASTLE.
"Cry 'Havock!' and let slip the dogs of war."--Shakespeare.
In the meantime, the Normans had made diligent preparation for an
assault on the castle. Now the castle could not be described as a very
formidable stronghold, or one designed to withstand a regular siege. It
had been built mainly to resist the incursions of the Scots, who
periodically raided in force into these parts, their purpose being
plunder and cattle-lifting. They overran the country quickly, getting
them back as speedily as possible, before the Saxons had time to
concentrate, so that no very great powers of resistance were needed to
repel them, or weary them. Occasionally also the Danes carried fire and
sword to our parts; but since the conquest of Northumbria and the north
of England generally, by Halfdane, and the settlement of so many of his
followers in the land, we had not been afflicted much with their
incursions in this part of the kingdom, during my lifetime. Thus, the
strength of the castle being sufficient for our hereditary foes, it
still was not such as would be likely to long resist the experienced and
numerous foes now pitched before it. The castle itself stood on an
eminence; was built of good solid masonry, with a battlemented tower
rising from its centre, but without any special design. It was
strengthened by a wall which ran completely round, forming a spacious
enclosure, in which cattle could be speedily and safely housed in cases
of emergency. This wall was lofty and fairly proportioned, but its great
length made it difficult to man by the handful of Saxon defenders. It is
well also to note that, as in the case of nearly all the strongholds of
the land, it was provided with a secret passage, known only to the
trusted followers of Oswald--a passage which could be entered by the
initiated at a certain place in the circular stair which led to the
turret. This underground passage had an emerging place, carefully
concealed in a dense wood some distance away.
In a very few days the Normans had prepared themselves with scaling
ladders, and had cut long poles from the forest for the purpose of
pushing the defenders from the wall. Mantelets were prepared of boards
fastened together, behind which the attacking parties could advance on
the defenders, without exposing themselves to the arrows and javelins
which would be hurled at them. The leaders also had pavises, or large
shields, which covered the person from head to foot. The time had now
come when the assault might be made, it was believed, with impunity, so
the Norman forces were put into battle array, a small number only being
appointed to the task of protecting the women and the camp.
It was a fine sight to see these disciplined men as they moved to the
attack in orderly array. Everything bore evidence to the fact that the
plan of attack, and the marshalling and disposition of the forces, was
the work of a competent general, one who was well versed in the art of
war.
The Norman bowmen were thrown out in companies on either flank, for the
protection of the forces who were to conduct the assault, and also for
the purpose of distracting and harassing the defenders as they strove to
repel the attack of the besiegers.
It needed little military knowledge to see that the issue could not be
doubtful. The meagre band of Saxons, stretched in thin line over the
extent of wall, could never hold it against the multitude who swarmed to
the attack. Oswald alone, of all the Saxons, was fully equipped for the
resistance of the clouds of barbed arrows about to be poured amongst
them. His second in command, Wulfhere, was partly clad in a light coat
of mail; but, for the most part, leathern jerkins were the only
protection they had. Had it been an attack in the open, in which the
forces were equal, these rough Saxons would have given a good account of
themselves. Any one of them could have been depended upon to bring down
a stag at a hundred paces. Whilst, if it had been a hand-to-hand
struggle with their broadswords, or their pikes, they would have fought
with the ferocity of tigers. But here they were outnumbered by ten to
one, and so circumstanced that they could not hurl themselves upon their
adversaries, and by sheer bravery strike terror into their ranks. They
must wait to be attacked, and for every arrow they shot, and for every
javelin they flung, there would be half a dozen returned.
Vigneau, Reynard, Jules Reynard and other leaders, were grouped together
with De Montfort, who gave orders for successive movements of the
besiegers, as though, with the prevision which comes of a carefully
matured plan, he could see every act of the stirring drama about to be
enacted.
Now the order for assault is given. The attacking party, with their
mantelets mounted on rude wheels, steadily advance across the plain, the
archers disposing themselves to the right and left in advance of the
main body, giving the attacking forces the form of a crescent. The
archers, dodging adroitly beneath the trees, were able to get near the
wall, thus threatening to put the defenders between a cross fire. The
Saxons, with bow in hand and pike at their feet, but without a shout or
the wasting of a single arrow, stood grimly awaiting the onset. The
Norman archers commenced the attack by letting fly a volley of arrows,
but at too great a distance to be effective. Some of them fell short,
and the others were easily dodged by the Saxons, who, as yet, had no
pressing call upon their attention. But now the attacking party draw
near, and, as they do so, they become more exposed. At a signal from
Oswald a stinging volley of arrows from the Saxons come hissing amongst
them with galling effect. At this the pace of the besiegers is
quickened, and their archers are quickly within distance to do deadly
execution with their arrows.
The Saxons, too, find it necessary to let go their bows, and grasp their
javelins and spears to deal with foes in close contact, who by this time
have begun to scale the wall. The foremost Normans were met with a
merciless slaughter, and it is probable that never a Norman that day
would have kept a foothold on the wall had it not been for the support
of their archers. These, being now at close quarters, pour their arrows
in pitiless showers into the ranks of the defenders, and many a stout
Saxon falls with dozens of these barbed messengers of death in his body.
Where the attack is hottest, the Saxons reel and stagger, a foothold on
the wall is gained, and the Normans are swarming upon it. Oswald
immediately dashes to the spot and his battle-axe descends in thunder
strokes. Right and left the Normans are beaten down before him; and,
with a shout, the Saxons signal the wall clear again.
But the respite is brief, for quickly Oswald's attention is directed
elsewhere by the loud shouts of the Normans. He turns a hurried glance
thitherward, only to see that the Normans there have gained a foothold
on the wall, and are rapidly overbearing his handful of men, though
Wulfhere manfully stems the tide, and deals out to the Normans many a
deadly blow. In a moment, Oswald also is on the spot to the rescue, and
once more the tide of victory smiles upon the Saxon cause. Again it is
only for a brief span, for like an oncoming and resistless tide the
Normans surge upon the wall, and beat back the slender ranks of the
Saxons. One advantage, however, the Saxons now reap; the combatants are
so mingled in one deadly hand-to-hand struggle, that the Norman archers
dare not let fly their shafts, and can only stand, and, with bated
breath, watch the sanguinary struggle.
In the distance yonder, and at the entrance to the tent, there stand
Alice and her maid Jeannette, who shudderingly watch the carnage
proceed. Oswald and Wulfhere are now fighting back to back, with shield
on arm, and having exchanged their axes for their broadswords. Together
they cleave down the ranks of the enemy, until like sheep they quail
before these stalwart Saxons.
"What matchless valour this pair of Saxon chieftains display, Jeannette!
If ever heroism and valour deserved to win a battle, surely this is the
time!"
"How frightened our men-at-arms seem to be!" said Jeannette. "Do you see
how frantically the Baron raves there at the foot of the wall, and
shouts at the men? He boasts him of his valour. Why does he not mount
the wall and face this Saxon?"
"What human lives are being sacrificed! 'Tis most dreadful! May God send
us peace quickly!" murmured Alice, shading her eyes at the spectacle
before her. "These are our people, Jeannette, but I must confess my
sympathies are with the Saxons. This leader, too, defends his home with
the courage of a hero. God grant he may not fall into the hands of our
men alive, or he will be tortured with fiendish brutality for this day's
work!"
The struggle still proceeds with gathering intensity and fierceness.
Baron Vigneau, indeed, as Jeannette had described him, does rave and
gesticulate frantically. "Down with him! Now, men, rush on him two or
three together! Close with him! Push him from the wall! Hurl something
at him!" But nevertheless he makes no effort to mount the wall himself.
De Montfort also stands there nervously directing the attack. "Here,
man," said he, to a stalwart soldier by his side, "heave up this long
pole and aim a blow at the Saxon." The man heaves up the pole, and, with
a run and a powerful blow, he struck Oswald on the head. The blow
completely staggers the Saxon; for a moment or two he hovers on the edge
of the wall endeavouring to recover his balance; but, alas! it is all in
vain, and he drops, with his heavy harness on, down into the castle yard
a dozen feet or more.
At this untoward event the Saxons, in a perfect panic, rush for the
drawbridge thrown across to the wall from one of the barbicans, and
intended as a means of retreat by Oswald in the last resort. But the
Normans have intercepted them and cut them off from this, and the
custodians, seeing that this would be seized by the Normans, immediately
withdraw it. Then the Saxons wildly leap from the wall, and for dear
life's sake, rush like hunted hares, for the neighbouring thicket.
For a little while attention is distracted from the fallen chieftain by
the efforts of the Normans to cut off these flying Saxons. But down
there in the castle yard lies Oswald, stunned, bleeding, and insensible;
helpless to fight or to fly. Wulfhere witnesses the helpless condition
of his leader, and down he leaps and lifts him up and detaches his
visor. As he does so, a deep sob escapes from the parted lips of Oswald;
but there is no further sign of life or returning consciousness.
Whilst this has been transpiring, the attention of the Normans has been
distracted from the leaders by the necessity to clear the walls of the
few Saxons who, disdaining to seek safety in flight, die fighting most
determinedly at their posts. Now, however, the Normans turn their
attention to the two Saxon leaders entrapped within the castle yard.
Immediately they send up a yell of fiendish delight, as they behold the
almost frantic efforts of Wulfhere to arouse his unconscious master, and
restore him to his senses.
But 'twas in vain. Oswald's head had been rudely jammed by the steel
helmet in the shock of falling; and it was soon apparent to Wulfhere
that the brief respite was now exhausted, without bringing any signs of
returning consciousness. He threw his left arm around the waist of his
helpless chieftain, and drew him, harness and all, upon his hip, and,
grasping his broadsword in his right hand, he made with all the speed he
could command for the door of the castle, hoping by this manoeuvre to
gain time.
But the stalwart and muscular form of Oswald, encumbered as it was by
heavy armour, made progress painfully slow. In the meantime, the Normans
reversed their scaling ladders and slid down into the quadrangle, and
came trooping after the fugitives. Wulfhere saw his task was hopeless,
and with a cry of pain like a wounded deer he dropped his helpless
burthen on the greensward, and, furious as some wild beast, sprang at
the yelling foe, cutting down the foremost at a blow. Following up the
others, who quailed before him, he quickly laid half a dozen corpses in
a ghastly circle round his master. But there was no end to the stream of
furious assailants who were fast surrounding him. "'Tis in vain!" he
pitifully exclaimed. "Oh, had I here but a score of stout men to make a
rampart of steel, we would defy the yelling crew! God forgive me for
this coward's act, my master! I would gladly die with you, but I know I
shall better do your will by reserving my worthless life for service to
your followers."
So saying, he bounded over the prostrate form of Oswald, and across the
sward, mounting the half-dozen steps at the terrace entrance at a
spring, and dashing through the open door.
The Normans followed him in concert; but when it became a question of
single file to pass the portal, without knowing whether Wulfhere was
lurking within, why then they in "honour preferred one another," with
the result that they one and all ceased following Wulfhere, and
courageously returned to help their fellows to heap indignities upon the
prostrate Earl.
Meanwhile, the gates had been burst open and the Norman soldiers, camp
followers and all, had pressed into the enclosure, Alice and Jeannette,
with the women, bringing up the rear.
"Whatever are they clambering and yelling so about, Jeannette? Is it the
dead chieftain?"
"I think so, my lady. They are like wolves worrying their prey."
"It is a pity so brave a man should perish. If he be not dead I will
beseech my father for his life; though I am afraid it will be to little
purpose."
"See, my lady, he is not dead; he is standing up."
Oswald had recovered consciousness, and, stripped of his helmet, looked
around, though deathly pale and half-dazed.
"Do not kill him, men!" roared Vigneau. "We'll have some sport
to-morrow, and then you may cut his throat if he survives."
"Do you hear what that beast in human form is saying, Jeannette?"
"It is horrible, my lady. Let us go away; I am quite sickened."
"Stay a minute, Jeannette. Let us have a good look at him. How pale he
is! But look at his noble countenance--handsome and expressive as a
hero's should be! Such countenances have men only who live temperately
and think purely. Contrast, Jeannette, the blotched and bleared
countenance of Vigneau. There is a tell-tale and an index at once to the
beastly life and foul imagination. How my heart revolts at the sight of
him! I would prefer the touch of a vampire."
Meanwhile, Wulfhere threaded his way by a path familiar to him, until he
reached the foot of the circular stair which led to the turret,
ascending which, and watching through a loophole, he heard the command
to spare Oswald's life until the morrow.
"Thank Heaven! Whilst there is life there is hope. If a desperate effort
to rescue him will succeed, I count upon a few daring spirits to venture
it."
But the tramp of heavy feet resounding through the corridors warned him
to delay no longer. Turning his face towards a farther ascent, he ran
his hand along the wall in the darkness until the feel of a certain
stone arrested his attention, applying his strength to which, it slowly
revolved, disclosing an aperture into which a man might drop.
Into this aperture Wulfhere disappeared; and the stone revolved to its
place again.