A SUBTERRANEAN CONFLICT.
The besiegers on their part had not been idle. They had established
quite a _menagery_ of mechanical contrivances, rejoicing in the
zoological names of tortoises, sows, and cats, to protect their
approaches to the white walls of Blauncheflour, and under cover of
these they had cut a channel to the castle ditch and drained the water
from it, so that it was as dry as at present, though, instead of
growing fair greenery of bushes and flowers, it showed a bottom of
parched, foetid mud under the hot summer sun.
They had thrown up large mounds of earth at intervals around the
ballium, and upon these had built up towers of wood overtopping the
walls. These were furnished with drawbridges which could be let down at
pleasure upon the merlons of the battlements, so to give ingress to
their men-at-arms; their upper storeys serving to shelter archers and
slingers, while from the lower, battering-rams were sturdily plied, and
the warrewolves flung their stones and balls of lead.
These towers had cost them many good lives, for not one had been
established without a fierce struggle. Sally after sally had been made
from the castle, but, in the end, numbers prevailed, and at last their
impertinent wooden crests were reared above the Caen stone of
Blauncheflour.
Those within were, however, more troubled by the mines which their
assailants had run from the bottom of the moat beneath the foundations
of the castle; for although these had been met by countermines, and
many a furious combat had taken place in these uncanny lists, each mine
meant a point to be guarded with jealous care, and was a source of
weakness and anxiety; demanding exhausting sentry duty from the already
over-burdened garrison.
The countess found her office of Castellan no sinecure. The motley
garrison were anything but homogeneous. All manner of petty jealousies,
personal and national, raged among them. The Normans were jealous of
the Bretons, and the Bretons blustered about independence, boasting
that they were 'no man's men;' while the Saxons hated them both, and
regarded their refinements as dandyisms and their courtesies as cant;
and the Normans and the Bretons both looked down upon the Saxons as
savages, and gibed at their priest-bestowed knighthood; so that, on the
whole, they were as much inclined to fight against each other as
against the king's forces outside the walls, and sometimes actually
came to blows.
However, the countess set her woman's wit to weigh these quarrelsome
gentlemen against each other, and managed to do it, owing to the
three-sidedness of the situation.
After all, their want of unity had its advantages, as they never 'went
solid' in any direction, except under the self-evident necessity of
defending their lives and the castle.
Still, at times, Emma grew very weary, and almost failed under the
burden she had taken upon her slender shoulders, feeling terribly
feeble and lonely and out of her depth.
Sir Hoel de St. Brice was her chiefest comfort and principal
counsellor. The old knight had come to regard her with absolute
veneration and the deepest affection, and in him she felt that she had
a true and sincere friend.
His zeal for the earl's cause nearly equalled her own. To say that he
would have given his life for it would express little, for all in the
garrison were formally pledged to do that; but he had no other object
in life.
Emma had sought the earliest opportunity to tell him the circumstances
under which she had discovered the imprisonment of Sir Aimand de
Sourdeval, and to repeat his account of the foul treatment he had met
with from De Gourin.
'Unknightly!' he had said,--'from first to last unknightly. But what
would you have? Can a man who sells his lance to the first bidder,
without inquiry into the justice of his cause, be a true knight?'
Altogether he gave evidence of shrewd indignation, but no keen
surprise.
'I love not the mercenary,' he answered, 'and wish that he had not so
high a command in the garrison. I know well that he had no great liking
for the young Norman _prudhomme_, whose boyish enthusiasms were
stronger than his prudence, and led him to throw taunts at Sir Alain's
thick head, all the more galling that they were barbed with truth.'
But he agreed that, under the circumstances, it was best to let matters
stand; De Gourin was evidently of the same opinion, and, save for a few
veiled gibes at the magnanimity of the countess, made no reference to
the freeing of the young knight.
Sir Aimand, for his part, had a dismal time of it, and almost wished
himself back in his dungeon, securely chained by the leg.
As soon as his health began to mend, which was speedily enough, under
the combined influences of good food, good air, and the sight of his
lady's face, Eadgyth withdrew that last and sweetest influence.
For she was determined by no word or look of hers to tempt him to be
untrue to his high standard of honour, and she felt on her own part
more Saxon than ever, and judged the gulf between them impassable, save
by the wreckage of the ideals of both; and therefore she deemed that to
bestow her company upon him would be but cruel kindness.
So the poor knight mooned about in solitary meditation, and his
returning strength made inaction a veritable purgatory to him. To hear
blows going, and have no hand in giving or taking them, was truly about
the cruellest torture that could have been invented for one of his
order and temper in those days when Christians still thirsted for the
Valhalla of the old Norsemen, wherein the immortal heroes were healed
of their wounds at night that they might slay each other over again in
the morning.
Again and again he was on the point of throwing his scruples to the
wind, and buckling on sword and helm in defence of the generous dame
who had given him his freedom so unconditionally. Again and again he
restrained himself, and did penance by fasting and prayer, wishing the
while that she had left him in durance, so he had escaped such doubting
and searching of heart.
Nor did he find much peace in Hall. Norman, Breton, and Saxon were all
against him. Gibes and jeers were his portion. They called him the
'ladies' tame tiercel,' the 'gamecock without spurs,' the 'dancing
bear,' and a hundred other names suggestive of carpet-knight-errantry.
Then his fists would ball and his clear-cut, high-bred face grow white
with anger, though he never made reply, as he felt it an evident point
of honour that, being a prisoner on parole, he might neither risk his
own person, which carried value for ransom, nor seek to injure any of
the garrison.
But on the eve of the assault, when the countess was holding council
with Sir Hoel de St. Brice, attended only by Eadgyth, the young Norman
prayed audience of her, and on its being granted strode into the
chamber with curiously flashing eyes.
'I beseech thee, noble Emma, to furnish me with an helm and an hauberk,
and the sharpest sword thou canst spare out of thine armoury, and I
will put them to a good use in thy service,' he said, with speech that
was rather too hasty to be clear.
'Hast found thy senses at last, brave sir?' demanded Sir Hoel, smiling
indulgently, for he had always liked the young knight.
But Eadgyth noticed his flushed cheek and excited mien with a chill
dread at her heart. Was he about to be false to the noble ideals for
which he had endured so much, or--saints in Heaven forfend!--did his
exaggerated love to his suzerain lead him to contemplate a baser
falseness still, and so confuse his mind that he should fancy it would
be virtue to betray the castle? Her cousin Leofric had said more than
once, that only a woman playing Castellan would be so imprudent as to
allow one holding so invidious a position as did De Sourdeval, to be
free of the castle and aware of all its secrets; and though at the time
she had cried shame on his mean suspicions, the words had rested in her
mind with the burr-like persistency characteristic of such suggestions
of evil.
The countess, however, looked at him with her frank glad eyes, and
rejoiced, for she had always hoped that the time would come when he
would repay her generosity with complete allegiance, and she was about
to reply unconditionally, 'Ay, that will I.'
But before she could speak, Sir Aimand continued, 'I ask thee more. I
want not only arms for myself, but twenty men to back me.'
Sir Hoel looked grave, and lifted his bushy white eyebrows high in
astonishment.
'Pick men of whose fidelity you are assured,' Sir Aimand cried. 'Let
Leofric Ealdredsson go with me. Thou knowest he has no liking for me,
and is in no way in collusion with me, sith there is race hatred
between us and rivalry in love.'
'Rivalry in love!' exclaimed Emma, turning quickly to Eadgyth, and the
cheeks of the Saxon maiden burned scarlet under her gaze, but not more
redly than those of the knight, who had exposed his jealousy unawares.
'I should not have said rivalry,' he amended hastily, 'sith I have no
claim.'
Eadgyth was in a difficult position. If she made the protest her heart
urged, that Leofric was her cousin and nothing more, and never could be
more, she would give Sir Aimand an encouragement which was cruel. If
she did not make it, she let that be believed which she imagined had no
foundation in fact.
Emma saved her from need of reply.
'Upon the honour of Leofric Ealdredsson I can rely,' she said, 'whether
he have cause to like or mislike thy person, fair knight. What more
hast thou to ask?'
'That he, with twenty of his stout Anglo-Danes, may be put under my
guidance, with instructions to hew me in sunder if I in any way show
token of treachery. I can serve thee best if none know of this matter,
nor the end in view, save Leofric alone. But this I will say in
explanation, there is a traitor in thy camp, and I would fain foil him.
I cannot fight under thy banner, noble countess, but it accords with my
vow of chivalry to save thee from foul betrayal.'
'Let Leofric Ealdredsson be summoned, Sir Hoel,' said the countess.
And in the end De Sourdeval obtained his boon.
Knowing what had been granted to the Norman, and that Leofric and his
stout carles would not have accepted service under him unless with some
prospect of stiff work to follow, Sir Hoel was somewhat surprised to
see the Anglo-Danes linger later than usual over the wassail bowl in
Hall that even, seeing too that on the morrow it was certain that
shrewd blows would be going, and all heads wanted clear.
Sir Alain de Gourin thought fit to rebuke them. 'For as thick skulls as
your battle-axes there may boast, Childe Leofric,' he said, 'they had
best have wakeful wits under them by dawn.' And he set a worthy example
by leaving the revel.
His most important followers slipped after, first one and then another,
but still the Vikings drank on, and Sir Hoel began to have queer doubts
of the wisdom of granting the whimsical De Sourdeval control over such
a crew, and determined to watch them out.
[Illustration: "The big rat has gone into his hole!"]
Presently in came Sir Aimand, wrapped in a long cloak, with a hood over
his head, and whispered to Leofric,--
'The big rat has gone into his hole.'
And Leofric wagged his yellow beard approvingly, and rose up, tall and
strong, with a rattle of mail and bracelets, and took his great
two-handed axe and strode with De Sourdeval out of the hall; and Sir
Hoel saw that under De Sourdeval's cloak was a mail hauberk and steel
headpiece.
Then one after another the Anglo-Danes picked themselves out of the
rushes, whither they had subsided to save the trouble of falling, and
went out also, with strange steadiness for tipsy men.
And De Sourdeval led Leofric to a mine that had been run to meet one
dug by the enemy on the north-west side of the castle, near the
chiefest of the wall towers, and two dozen good men and true were at
their back.
They went down into the darkness, dimly lighted with rude lanterns, and
they found the watch were one and all Breton mercenaries. These one
after another they stealthily seized, gagged before they could make
outcry, bound, and carried up into the outer air, setting their own men
in their stead. Then they crouched down and waited at the extremity of
the mine, where it met the Norman parallels.
And after a while they heard sounds approaching. The clink and chink of
weapons and mail and the muffled beat of creeping footsteps.
'Remember--Sir Alain to me,' hissed De Sourdeval in a hoarse
whisper,--'Sir Alain and his traitors. I strike no blow against the
king's true men.'
'By Odin! all's fish that comes to my net. Breton or Norman, what have
they to do in Harold's Norwich?' returned Leofric savagely. 'But I'll
not poach on thy manors. Sir Alain to thee.'
Two minutes later, the Breton mercenary, leading the foe with whom he
had traitorously compounded to save his own skin, was startled to meet
the fierce white face of Sir Aimand instead of the friendly countenance
of one of his own ruffians.
'Ha! caught in thine own burrow, despicable rat!' shouted the Norman,
and the next moment they were hewing at each other with the fury of a
long hatred.
De Gourin had the disadvantage of surprise, and he lost his head and
struck wildly. De Sourdeval got within his guard, and the next moment
the Breton rolled heavily to earth.
Over his dead body waged a fierce battle, but it was not maintained for
long. The besiegers, expecting to be led straight into the heart of the
castle, were not prepared for the determined resistance they met with
thus at the outset, and credited the Bretons with decoying them into a
trap. The latter were therefore the chief combatants, for their case
was desperate. They were between two foes, and scarce one of them
escaped alive; nor did Sir Aimand find any great difficulty in keeping
his vow to deal with them alone.
So Sir Aimand slew his enemy in the bowels of the earth; the man
through whose treachery he had been forced to live for so many long
days as deeply buried from the free air and cheerful light of day. Yet
the personal quarrel was merged in a greater cause, and in revenging
his own wrong he was saving the brave Countess Emma and the lady of his
love, with all the womanhood in the castle, from the horrors of a
sudden sack.
When the garrison heard of this feat which 'the ladies' tame tiercel'
and 'the Danish wolf' had carried through between them, the enthusiasm
knew no bounds, and the curses and maledictions that were poured on the
senseless head of the treacherous Breton knew no bounds either, till
Sir Aimand said,--
'The greater his sins, the greater need we pray for him,' and ordered
masses for the dead man's soul at his own expense, so putting bitter
tongues to shame.
The countess came down into the great hall and met the heroes of the
hour with shining eyes and heartfelt thanks; but, to say truth, they
were both more anxious for kind glances and sweet praise from her Saxon
bower-maiden, and their eyes went round the hall in search of her. But
she was not there; she had slipped away to ask the chaplain to set her
penances for having entertained suspicions of an innocent person.
Perhaps none felt deeper indignation against the foiled traitor than
those of the Breton mercenaries whom he had not included in his band of
deserters. If his plot had been successful, they would probably have
suffered most of all in the garrison, for mercenaries are rolling
stones who make enemies wherever they go, and whose services being paid
for in cash and plunder, win no gratitude even from those they defend.
They knew well that if the besiegers got the upper hand, it would go
hard with them.
Therefore they stood aghast when they heard of the treachery of their
leader and of those of their comrades who had been with him, feeling
that treachery to be in a manner twofold towards themselves. They
gathered round De Sourdeval asking eager questions.
'How had he discovered the plot? Had he known it long? What proofs had
he to support his assertion?'
To which he made reply that he had not known it long, only an hour or
two before his counterplot was framed and executed, and it had come to
his knowledge in this wise. A certain soldier in De Gourin's band had
been Sir Aimand's warder during his imprisonment in the dungeons of the
castle, and it seemed that the man had conceived a great affection for
him. Being one of the sentries whose duty it was to guard the mine, he
had received instructions from De Gourin to admit the king's troops,
and was perforce made privy to the nefarious designs of the leader.
Believing De Sourdeval to be hostile to the garrison, and wishing to do
him a good turn, he had told him of the scheme on hand, and had
undertaken to procure a disguise for him, so that he might pass out
amid De Gourin's band. The man would tell them the story himself; he
now lay bound in the courtyard of the castle with the rest of the
Breton sentries.
The next day Sir Aimand returned to the countess the arms with which
she had provided him from the castle armoury, holding fast to his
resolution not to bear them against the king's forces.