BESIEGED.
'Methinks, Emma, my foes will say that Ralph de Guader was a recreant
knight, who fled from his devoir and left his lady to fight for him!
Beshrew me, but it mislikes me to leave thee!'
So quoth the earl, when, after a few days of rest and rehabilitation at
Blauncheflour, he was making ready to go on board a Danish galley,
which lay moored at Lovelly's Staithe, her brightly coloured sails
flapping idly in the summer wind; the heads of the oarsmen, with their
long light hair and long light moustaches, showing in even ranks along
her bulwarks, and her high dragon-carved prow gleaming in the sun.
Emma, upright and determined, with the keys of the castle at her
girdle, and wearing her steel-cap and mail gorget, forced back the
tears that sprang to her eyes, and turned proudly to the warrior beside
her, who, dressed in complete mail, with his long cross-handled sword
suspended from a jewelled baldric, _looked_ the perfect figure of a
hero.
'Nay, my Ralph! whatever hard things they may say of thee, they will
never be so mad as to accuse _thee_ of aught that savours of cowardice.
Thy valour has been too well proven on many a well-fought field! Did
not William see thee fight at Hastings, and give thee thine earldom for
thy prowess? Didst thou not defend his conquest from the Danish
invaders, and win fresh honours and lands? Who could withstand thee in
the tourney? Oh, it is preposterous! Rebel they may call thee, recreant
never!'
Ralph de Guader, however, gauged the justice of the makers of history
better than his warm-hearted countess.[7]
[7] See Appendix, Note D.
He looked at the waiting galley with a sigh, wondering if he should
ever again be lord in his English earldom.
He had not been idle during his short stay in his capital. Without
waiting for his wounds to heal, he had been up and doing as soon as a
few days of rest had made it possible. He had summoned his local
supporters, who--if we may judge from the number of estates entered in
Domesday as '_Wasta_' later on--were numerous, to more than one
council, and had done much to restore their confidence in his arms and
their belief in his ultimate success.
His own heart had grown lighter as he went the round of his magnificent
new castle, which William had munitioned with every improvement then
known, and truly it seemed well-nigh impregnable, with its high towers
and battlemented walls, and deep, sullen moats.
Preparations for the siege had been going merrily forward. Fat beeves
were driven up from the meadows; the bleating of sheep mingled
strangely with the clangor of arms, and the large herds of swine so
dear to Saxon housekeeping contributed their quota of victims, while
not a little fun was caused among the laughter-loving soldiery by the
exciting difficulties of persuading the squeaking porkers to cross the
drawbridge, and many were the tussles and, in some cases, dire the
misfortunes incurred in the sport.
Barrels of salt meat and flour and ale were rolled up the ballium by
the stalwart arms of the bows and bills; arms destined, alas! to be but
bare skin and bone when they should issue again from the walls of the
fortress.
All was bustle and plenty. Sinews of war of every kind were there in
superfluity.
De Guader saw clearly that to shut himself up in the castle was to make
himself helpless; but that to leave its defence to his vassals, and go
forth to collect reinforcements in Denmark and Bretagne, and take the
besiegers in rear, was a plan that promised all success; and every man
among his counsellors agreed with him.
Yet it was hard to leave the fair bride for whom he had risked so much,
and whose noble sympathy in his misfortunes had endeared her to him a
thousandfold.
No wonder that his heart failed him at the last, when the moment for
parting had arrived, and the time and tide that wait for no man were
ripe for departure.
'It mislikes me to leave thee!' he said.
'Sweet my lord, "he that putteth his hand to the plough must not look
back,"' said Emma, meeting his wistful eyes firmly. 'An thou standest
quavering for my poor sake, while yon oarsmen are broiling on their
benches, I myself shall accuse thee for a recreant! Dost doubt the
courage of thy Castellan?'
'No, by St. Nicholas! Thou art the true daughter of a noble sire!' said
the earl. A group of knights, Saxon, Breton, and Norman, stood around
him, some half-dozen in readiness to accompany him, while the rest were
gathered from the neighbourhood, or formed part of the garrison;
amongst these last, Sir Alain and Sir Hoel and Leofric Ealdredsson were
conspicuous.
The earl turned to them: 'Obey your lady loyally, guard her zealously;
and may the saints have mercy on the man who is untrue to his trust!'
he cried, 'for I will have none.'
'Thy threat touches no man here, good my lord,' blustered De Gourin. 'I
will warrant every soul in the garrison ready to die for that trust.'
'Ay, ay!' cried the rest; but a strange quiver of doubt ran through the
bosom of the valorous Castellan, as to whether one man there was honest
and leal, and the man she doubted was the Breton protester.
Then the earl mounted and rode down to the waiting galley; and soon the
long oars were sweeping rhythmically through the blue water and
shedding simultaneous showers of pearly drops from their glittering
blades; the gay sails swelled fairly in the breeze, so that the
dragon-prow moved swiftly down the shining reaches of the Yare.
But Emma did not watch it; she had slipped away to the oratory, and
knelt before the altar in speechless but passionate prayer, while the
tears she had repressed so long chased each other down her cheeks.
A terrible fear was gnawing at her heart, that her husband had but left
her to die in that wild Denmark, amongst the rough Norsemen, for she
knew how sore and desperate were his unhealed wounds, and by what
effort his high spirit forced his body into action.
She had steeled herself to serve him as he wished to be served, but it
had been liefer to her woman's heart to tend and leech him into perfect
health, than to command and urge his vassals to hurt others as sorely.
Meanwhile the king's forces were not so far away as Ralph supposed.
On the eve of the third day after the earl's embarkation, the warders
on the battlements of Blauncheflour heard afar off the thunderous tramp
of steeds and the jingle and clang of harness and arms, and, as the sun
sank in a splendour of golden clouds, his last rays gilded the hastily
pitched pavilions of Bishop Geoffrey of Coutances, Earl William of
Warrenne, and Robert Malet, who led the investing army to the attack.
The Bishop of Bayeux, though not dead, as the fugitives supposed who
had seen the combat between Odo and Earl Ralph, with its catastrophe of
mutual unhorsing, was _hors-de-combat_ for the time being, and unable
to seek retrieval of his knightly prowess in person.
The Countess Emma, with Eadgyth and her ladies, ascended to the
battlements of the keep to view the encampment of the foe, and in sooth
the sight would have been gay enough if it had not borne so dire a
meaning.
Groups of glittering horsemen, their long lances decked with
many-coloured pennons gleaming in the golden light, their horses
curveting and prancing, were riding hither and thither, directing and
superintending. Long lines of bowmen and slingers were advancing in
order at a quick march, wheeling and breaking into companies as they
reached the camping ground. Trains of sumpter mules and squires with
led horses mingled with the infantry; and shouts and laughter, the
braying of trumpets and neighing of horses, mixed fitfully in the soft
south wind. Sometimes even the words were audible as some man-at-arms
shouted to his followers, and the blows of the mallets with which the
poles of the pavilions were being driven into the ground came sharply
through the air. The tents themselves were decked with richly-hued
silks, and soon displayed the banners of their noble owners. As the
twilight deepened, some hundreds of watchfires threw out bright flames
into the dusk, and made the air fragrant with their sweet wood smoke,
seeming to blaze the brighter as the curfew boomed forth from the
church towers in Norwich, to bid all the inhabitants of humble rank
rake out their cheerful hearths.
All 'the pomp and circumstance of glorious war,' as it was known in
those days, was spread out before Blauncheflour, and, as Emma watched
the doings of her foe, there rose in her spirit that wild and
mysterious 'rapture of battle,' which modern Darwinians explain by
tracing back our lineage to tiger forefathers,--that strange yearning
to dare all and spend life itself in one great effort, which some have
said is but the endeavour to satisfy our instinct to grapple with
abstract evil by personifying it in the form of a human foe; but which
others define, perhaps more truly, as the final efflorescence of
egotism run riot, which satisfies its lust of power even at the cost of
destruction to itself.
Good or bad, the feeling flooded Emma's heart. At sight of real danger,
menacing and close, she who had fainted at the thought of it grew bold
as any of the belted knights in the hostile host below. The blood of
her hero father coursed swiftly through her veins, and the wild
battle-song of Rollo, which had served her ancestors so often as a
national hymn, haunted her brain.
She had ascended one of the small flights of steps at the angle of the
battlements, which served to raise the sentinel above the merlons.
Eadgyth stood beside her, and the ladies and knights in attendance were
all busily watching the encamping foe through the embrasures, and were
out of earshot.
Emma stretched out her right hand with its small fingers tightly
clenched, and shook it at the beleaguering host.
[Illustration: Emma's first sight of the Foe.]
'Methinks, Eadgyth, these haught chevaliers with their baldrics and
their golden spurs, and above all my Lord Bishop of Coutances, cut a
sorry figure assembling their forces thus to crush a woman,' she cried,
with an excited laugh. 'How wrathful will they be, when the brave
ger-falcon they deem to be mewed up within these towers swoops down
upon them as from the skies, with a gallant army of bold Bretons,
backed by some of Sweyn Ulfsson's best warriors. Do your worst, ye
tools of my tyrant kinsman! I fear ye not. My lord is safe--my lord ye
would fain have hindered from being mine. And I am safe also, whatever
betide--my _misericorde_ assures that.'
'Holy Mary preserve thee from such a desperate safety!' exclaimed
Eadgyth, whose sad, still face contrasted strongly with the flushed
excitement of the impulsive Norman.
'Thou art down-hearted, Eadgyth!' said Emma, after a piercing glance
into her bower-maiden's eyes. 'I know thee too well to believe that thy
depression comes from vulgar fear. Tell me thy grief. We are as private
here as in my bower. None can hear our speech.'
'Seest thou yon star shining between two bars of cloud, noble Emma? It
reminds me of one who bore a painted star between two clouds for his
cognisance. A dire doubt haunts me lest he be in the ranks of the foe;
for I well remember his heart was always with the Duke of Normandy.'
'Sir Aimand de Sourdeval? Nay, surely he would not lift his hand
against his lord. Besides, the earl told me that he had sent him on a
long journey.'
Through Eadgyth's heart passed a quiver of pain.
'Not surely the longest journey of all,' her anxious affection
whispered, but she was silent.
'Poor child, I feel for thee!' said the countess, laying her hand
caressingly on the flaxen head of the Saxon, which her elevated
position on the stone steps enabled her to do comfortably. She had
assumed a very matronly manner since the gold ring had been slipped
upon her finger by her heart's chosen, and, in truth, she felt as if
years of experience had gone over her head since the day when her
brother had come to her and told her 'that her broken troth should soon
be mended.'
Sir Alain de Gourin approached with an obsequious air, and the countess
said to him gaily, 'I hope, fair sir, the gentlemen yonder are well
satisfied with the quarters they have chosen, for methinks it will be
somewhat long e'er they change them for the hospitable shelter of
Blauncheflour.'
At which De Gourin laughed applaudingly, and swore that if the garrison
had half the spirit of their Castellan, they would send them to bide
still farther from their doors.
Then the countess led her ladies down to the chapel, where the chaplain
performed a special mass, praying the protection of the heavenly powers
for the beleaguered garrison and for all who fought on their side, at
home or abroad, and offering prayers for the safety and success of the
earl.
The tears rolled down Emma's cheeks as she repeated these last, and
many of the ladies sobbed audibly, partly for the woes of their
countess and partly through fears or sorrows of their own.
When the service was over, Emma dismissed her attendants, even Eadgyth,
and followed Father Pierre into his sacristy.
'I would have a mass performed, father,' she said, 'for the soul's
welfare of a knight whom I regard for the sake of one who loves him
well, and also in that he did always seem to me an honest wight, but of
whom I know not whether he be fighting for my dear lord, or if he be in
the opposing host without. There is no reason why I should make mystery
of his name--Sir Aimand de Sourdeval.'
'Sir Aimand de Sourdeval!' repeated Father Pierre, gazing at the lady
with startled eyes. 'Knowest thou not, noble countess, that he is a
prisoner in the dungeons of this keep?'