"Raymond! Is it -- can it be thou?"
"Gaston! I should scarce have known thee!"
The twin brothers stood facing one another within the walls of Caen,
grasping each other warmly by the hand, their eyes shining with delight
as they looked each other well over from head to foot, a vivid happiness
beaming over each handsome face. It was more than two years since they
had parted -- parted in the quiet cloister of the Cistercian
Brotherhood; now they met again amid scenes of plunder and rapine: for
the English King had just discovered, within the archives of the city
his sword had taken, a treaty drawn up many years before, agreeing that
its inhabitants should join with the King of France for the invasion of
England; and in his rage at the discovery, he had given over the town to
plunder, and would even have had the inhabitants massacred in cold
blood, had not Geoffrey of Harcourt restrained his fury by wise and
merciful counsel. But the order for universal pillage was not recalled,
and the soldiers were freebooting to their hearts' content all over the
ill-fated city.
Raymond had seen sights and had heard sounds as he had pressed through
those streets that day in search of his brother that had wrung his soul
with indignation and wonder. Where was the vaunted chivalry of its
greatest champion, if such scenes could be enacted almost under his very
eyes? Were they not true, those lessons Father Paul had slowly and
quietly instilled into his mind, that not chivalry, but a true and
living Christianity, could alone withhold the natural man from deeds of
cruelty and rapacity when the hot blood was stirred by the fierce
exultation of battle and victory, and the lust of conquest had gained
the mastery over his spirit?
The hot July sun was beating down upon the great square where were
situated those buildings of which the King and the Prince and their
immediate followers had taken temporary possession. The brothers stood
together beneath the shadow of a lofty wall. Cries and shouts from the
surrounding streets told tales of the work being done there; but that
work had carried off almost all the soldiers, and the twins were
virtually alone in the place, save for the tall and slight youth who
stood a few paces off, and was plainly acting in the capacity of
Raymond's servant.
"I thought I should find thee here, Gaston," said his brother, with fond
affection in his tones. "I knew that thou wouldst be with the King at
such a time; and when I entered within the walls of this city, I said in
my heart that my Gaston would have no hand in such scenes as those I was
forced to witness as I passed along."
Gaston's brow darkened slightly, but he strove to laugh it off.
"Nay, thou must not fall foul of our great and mighty King for what thou
hast seen today. In truth I like it not myself; but what would you? The
men were furious when they heard of yon treaty; and the King's fierce
anger was greatly kindled. The order went forth, and when pillage once
begins no man may tell where it will end. War is a glorious pastime, but
there must ever be drawbacks. Sure thine own philosophy has taught thee
that much since thou hast turned to a man of letters. But tell me of
thyself, Raymond. I am hungry for news. For myself, thou mayest guess
what has been my life, an thou knowest how these past two years have
been spent -- wars and rumours of wars, fruitless negotiations, and
journeys and marches for little gain. I am glad enough that we have
shaken hands with peace and bid her adieu for a while. She can be a
false and treacherous friend, and well pleased am I that the bloody
banner of true warfare is unfurled at last. England is athirst for some
great victory, for some gallant feat of arms which shall reward her for
the burdens she has to pay to support our good soldiers. For his
people's sake, as well as for his own honour, the King must strike some
great blow ere he returns home and we who follow the Prince have sworn
to follow him to the death and win our spurs at his side.
"Brother, say that thou wilt join our ranks. Thou hast not forgotten our
old dreams? Thou hast not turned monk or friar?"
"Nay, or I should not now be here," answered Raymond. "No, Gaston, I
have forgotten naught of the old dream; and I too have seen fighting in
the south, where the King of France has mustered his greatest strength.
For we believed the Roy Outremer would land at Bordeaux and march to the
help of my Lord Derby, who is waging war against the Count of Lille
Jourdaine and the Duke of Bourbon in and around Gascony. And, Gaston,
the Sieur de Navailles has joined the French side, and is fighting in
the van of the foe. He has long played a double game, watching and
waiting till victory seems secure for either one King or the other. Now,
having seen the huge force mustered by the King of France in the south,
he seems to have resolved that the victory must remain with him, and has
cast in his lot against the English cause. So, Brother, if the great
Edward wins his battles, and drives from his own fair territories the
invading hosts of France, it may be that the Sieur do Navailles may be
deprived of his ill-gotten lands and castles; and then, if thou hast won
thy spurs --"
Raymond paused, and Gaston's eyes flashed at the thought. But he had
learned, even in these two years, something of the lesson of patience,
and was now less confident of winning fame and fortune at one stroke
than he had been when he had made his first step along the path that he
believed would lead him by leaps and bounds to the desired haven.
"Then thou hast been there? Hast thou seen the old places -- the old
faces? Truly I have longed to visit Sauveterre once more; but all our
plans are changed, and now men speak of naught but pressing on for
Calais. Where hast thou come from?"
"From the old home, Gaston, where for three months I and Roger have
been. What! dost thou not know Roger again? In truth, he looks vastly
different from what he did when thou sawest him last. We are brothers in
arms now, albeit he likes to call himself my servant. We have never been
parted since the day we snatched him from that evil place within the
walls of Basildene. We have been in safe shelter at the mill. Honest
Jean and Margot had the warmest welcome for us, and Father Anselm gave
us holy words of welcome. Everything there is as when we left. Scarce
could I believe that nigh upon three years will soon have fled since we
quitted its safe shelter. But I could not stay without thee, Brother. I
have greatly longed to look upon thy face again. I knew that thou wert
with the King, and I looked that this meeting should have been at
Bordeaux. But when news was brought that the English ships had changed
their course and were to land their soldiers in the north, I could tarry
no longer, and we have ridden hard through the land northward to find
thee here. Tell me, why this sudden change of plan? Surely the King will
not let his fair province of Gascony be wrested from his hand without
striking a blow in its defence in person?"
Gaston laughed a proud, confident laugh.
"Thou needst scarce ask such a question, Raymond; little canst thou know
the temper of our King an thou thinkest for a moment such a thing as
that. But methinks we may strike a harder blow here in the north against
the treacherous French monarch than ever we could in the south, where
his preparations are made to receive us. Here no man is ready. We march
unopposed on a victorious career. The army is far away in the south; the
King has but a small force with him in Paris. Brave Geoffrey of
Harcourt, by whose advice we have turned our course and landed here at
La Hague, has counselled us to march upon Calais and gain possession of
that pirate city. With the very key of France in our hands, what may not
England accomplish? Wherefore our march is to be upon Calais, and
methinks there will be glory and honour to be won ore this campaign closes!"
And, indeed, for a brief space it did seem as though King Edward's
progress was to be one of unchecked victory; for he had already routed
the French King's Constable, sent to try to save Caen; had taken and
pillaged that city, and had marched unopposed through Carbon, Lisieux,
and Louviers to Rouen, leaving terrible devastation behind, as the
soldiers seized upon everything in the way of food from the hapless
inhabitants, though not repeating the scenes which had disgraced the
English colours at Caen.
But at Rouen came the first of those checks which in time became so
vexatious and even perilous to the English army. The French, in great
alarm, had realized that something must be done to check Edward's
victorious career; and as it was plain that if he turned his steps
northward there would be no chance of opposing him, their aim and object
was to pen him as far in the south as possible, so that the army in
Gascony, perhaps, or failing that the new one mustering rapidly round
the King in Paris, might close in upon the alien army and cut them to
pieces by sheer force of numbers, before they could reach the coast and
their ships. So Philip, recovering from his first panic, sent orders
that all the bridges between Rouen and Paris should be broken down; and
when Edward reached the former city, intending to cross there to the
north side of the Seine, he found only the broken piers and arches of
the bridge left standing, and the wide, turbid waters of the great river
barring his further progress.
Irritated and annoyed, but not really alarmed as yet, the English King
turned his steps eastward toward Paris, still resolved to cross by the
first bridge found standing. But each in turn had been broken down; and
the only retaliation he could inflict upon the people who were thwarting
and striving to entangle him in a net, was to burn the towns through
which he passed; Pont de l'Arche, Vernon, and Verneuil, until he arrived
at last at Poissy, only a few miles from Paris, to find the bridge there
likewise broken down, whilst messengers kept arriving from all sides
warning him that a far mightier host was gathering around Philip than he
had with him, and advising instant retreat along the course by which he
had come.
But Edward well knew that retreat was impossible. He had so exhausted
the country and exasperated its inhabitants by his recent march and its
attendant ravages, that it would be impossible to find food for his
soldiers there again, even if the people did not rise up in arms against
them. Rather would he face the French foe, however superior to his own
force, in open fight, than turn his back upon them in so cowardly a fashion.
Meantime, as Philip did not move, he set to work with his soldiers to
repair the bridge, sending out detachments of his army to harass and
alarm the inhabitants of Paris, ravaging the country up and down, and
burning St. Germain, St. Cloud, and Montjoie.
These expeditions, so perilous and so singularly successful, were just
of the kind to delight the eager spirits of the camp, and keep
enthusiasm up to a high pitch. Why Philip suffered these ravages, when
his army already far outnumbered that of the English, and why the French
permitted their foes to repair and cross the bridge at Poissy without
stirring a finger to hinder them, are questions more easily asked than
answered. Possibly the knowledge that the Somme still lay between their
enemies and the sea, and that the same difficulties with regard to the
bridges was to be found there, kept the French army secure still of
final victory. Possibly they thought that, hemmed in between the two
great rivers, the army of Edward would be so well caught in a trap that
they need not bestir themselves to consummate the final scene of the
drama. At any rate, Philip remained inactive, save that his army was
rapidly augmenting from all sides; whilst the English finished their
bridge and marched northward, only opposed by a large body of troops
sent out from Amiens to meet them, over which they obtained an easy victory.
Nevertheless the position of the English was becoming exceedingly
critical, and their march certainly partook something of the nature of a
retreat, little as they themselves appeared to be aware of the fact.
Philip with his host was advancing from behind, the great river Somme
lay before them, all its bridges either broken down or so well fortified
as to be practically impassable; and though their allies in Flanders had
raised the siege of Bovines in order to march to the assistance of the
English King, there appeared small chance of their effecting a junction
in time to be of any use.
At Airaines a pause was made in order to try to discover some bridge or
ford by which the river might be passed. But Philip's work had been so
well done that not a whole bridge could anywhere be found; and the
French army was pressing so hard upon the English that in the end they
had to break up their camp in the greatest haste, leaving their cooked
provisions and tables ready spread for their foes to benefit by. They
themselves hastened on to Abbeville, keeping slightly to the west of the
town so as to avoid provoking attack, and be nearer to the coast, though
as no English ships could be looked for in the river's mouth, the
seacoast was of small service to them.
Such is the brief outline of the facts of Edward's well-known march in
this campaign, destined to become so famous. The individual action of
our Gascon twins must now be told in greater detail.
Their reunion after so long a separation had been a source of keen
delight to both the brothers. Each had developed in a different
direction, and instead of being shadows the one of the other as in old
days, they were now drawn together by the force of contrast. Gaston was
above all else a soldier, with a soldier's high spirit, love of
adventure, and almost reckless courage. He fairly worshipped the King
and the Prince, and was high in favour with the youthful Edward, whose
first campaign this was. Raymond, whilst imbued with the same high
courage, though of a loftier kind, in that it was as much spiritual as
physical, and with much of the chivalrous love of adventure so common to
the gallant youths of that age, was far more thoughtful, well
instructed, and far-seeing than his brother. He looked to the larger
issues of life. He was not carried away by wild enthusiasm. He could
love, and yet see faults. He could throw in his lot with a cause, and
ardently strive for the victory, and yet know all the while that there
were flaws in that same cause, and admit with sorrow, yet firm
truthfulness, that in this world no cause is ever altogether pure,
altogether just. He was not of the stuff of which hot partisans are
made. He had a spirit in advance of his times, and the chances were that
he would never rise to the same measure of success as his brother. For
those who try to keep a stainless name in times of strife, bloodshed,
and hostile jealousy, seldom escape without making bitter enemies, and
suffer the penalty that will ever attend upon those who strive after a
higher ideal than is accepted by the world at large.
But if growing apart in character, the bond of warm love was but drawn
closer by the sense that each possessed gifts denied to the other.
Raymond found in Gaston the most charming and enlivening comrade and
friend. Gaston began unconsciously to look up to his brother, and to
feel that in him was a power possessed by few of those by whom he was
surrounded, and to which he could turn for counsel and help if ever the
time should come when he felt the need of either.
In Raymond's presence others as well as Gaston began to curb some of
that bold freedom of speech which has always characterized the stormy
career of the soldier. Those who so curbed themselves scarce knew why
they did so. It was seldom that Raymond spoke any word of rebuke or
admonition, and if he did it was only to some youth younger than
himself. But there was something in the direct grave look of his eyes,
and in the pure steadfastness of his expression, which gave to his
aspect a touch of saintliness quickly felt by those about him. For in
those days men, in spite of many and great faults, were not ashamed of
their religion. Much superstition might be mingled with their beliefs,
corruption and impurity were creeping within the fold of the Church,
darkness and ignorance prevailed to an extent which it is hard in these
times to realize; yet with all this against them, men were deeply and
truly loyal to their faith. It had not entered into their minds that a
deep and firm faith in God was a thing of which to be ashamed; that to
trust in special providence was childish folly; to receive absolution
upon the eve of some great and perilous undertaking a mere empty form,
or a device of cunning priestcraft. It has been the work of a more
"enlightened" age to discover all this. In olden times -- those despised
days of worn-out superstition -- men yet believed fully and faithfully
in their God, and in His beneficent care of His children. Raymond, then,
with his saint-like face and his reputation of piety, together with the
story of his residence beneath the care of Father Paul, quickly obtained
a certain reputation of his own that made him something of a power; and
Gaston felt proud to go about with his brother at his side, and hear the
comments passed upon that brother by the comrades he had made in the
past years.
During the exciting march through the hostile country Gaston and Raymond
had known much more of the feeling of the people than their comrades.
The French tongue was familiar to them, and though they did not speak it
as readily as English or their Gascon dialect, they had always known it
from childhood, and never had any difficulty in making themselves
understood. Despite their English sympathies and their loyalty to
England's King, they felt much natural compassion for the harried and
distracted victims of Edward's hostile march; and many little acts of
protective kindness had been shown by both the brothers (generally at
Raymond's instigation) towards some feeble or miserable person who might
otherwise have been left in absolute destitution. These small acts of
kindness won them goodwill wherever they went, and also assisted them to
understand the words and ways of the people as they would scarcely have
done without.
Then, as in all countries and all times the old proverb holds good that
one good turn deserves another, they picked up here and there several
valuable hints, and none more valuable than the knowledge that somewhere
below Abbeville, between that town and the sea, was a tidal ford that
could be crossed twice in the twelve hours by those who knew where to
seek it. Thus whilst the King's Marshals were riding up and down the
river banks, vainly seeking some bridge over which the hard-pressed army
could pass, the twin brothers carefully pursued their way down the
stream, looking everywhere for the white stone bottom which they had
been told marked the spot where the water was fordable.
But the tide was rolling in deep and strong, and they could see nothing.
Still cautiously pursuing their way -- cautiously because upon the
opposite bank of the river they saw a large gathering of archers and
footmen all belonging to the enemy -- they lighted presently upon a
peasant varlet cutting willow wands not far from the river's brink. The
boys entered into talk with him, and Raymond's kindly questioning soon
elicited the information that the man's name was Gobin Agace, that he
was a poor man with little hope of being anything else all his days, and
that he knew the river as well as any man in the realm.
"Then," said Raymond, "thou needest be poor no longer; for if thou wilt
come with us to the camp of the English King a short league away, and
lead him and his army to the ford of the Blanche Tache which lies not
far from here, he will make thee rich for life, and thou wilt be
prosperous all thy days."
"If the King of France do not follow and cut off my head," said the man
doubtfully, though his eyes glistened at the prospect of such easily-won
wealth.
"By holy St. Anthony, thou needst not fear that!" cried Gaston. "Our
great King can protect thee and keep thee from all harm. See here, good
knave: it will be far better for thee to win this great reward than for
us, who have no such dire need of the King's gold. If thou wilt not aid
us, we must e'en find the place ourselves; but as time presses we will
gladly lead thee to the King, and let him reward thee for thy good
service. So answer speedily yea or nay, for we may not linger longer
whilst thou debatest the matter in that slow mind of thine."
"Then I will e'en go with you, fair sirs," answered the fellow, who was
in no mind to let the reward slip through his fingers; and within an
hour Gaston and Raymond led before the King the peasant varlet who held
the key of the position in his hands.
Every hour was bringing fresh messages of warning. The French King was
in pursuit of his flying foe (as he chose to consider him), and though
he felt so certain of having him in a trap that he did not hasten as he
might have done, there was no knowing when the van of the French army
would be upon them; and the moment that the King heard of this ford, and
was assured by the peasant that at certain states of the tide twelve men
abreast could ford it, the water reaching only to the knee, he broke up
his camp at an hour's notice, and with Gobin Agace at his side proceeded
in person to the water's edge, the flower of his army crowding to the
spot beside him, whilst the mass of his troops formed in rank behind,
ready to press forward the moment the water should be fordable.
Night had fallen before the trumpets had sounded, warning the soldiers
of the breaking up of the camp. All night long they had been working,
and then marching to the fordable spot: but now the tide was rolling in
again; and worse than that, the English saw upon the opposite shore a
compact band of twelve hundred men -- Genoese archers and picked cavalry
-- posted there by the now vigilant Philip, ready to oppose their
passage if they should chance upon the ford.
"Knights and gentlemen," said the King, as he sat his fine charger and
looked round upon the gallant muster around him, "shall we be daunted by
the opposing foe? They are but a handful, and we know the coward temper
of yon Italian crossbowmen. Who will be the first to lead the charge,
and ride on to victory?"
A hundred eager voices shouted a reply. The enthusiasm spread from rank
to rank. Foremost of those beside the water's edge stood Oliver and
Bernard de Brocas; and when at last the ebb came, and the word was given
to advance, they were amongst the first who dashed into the shallow
water, whilst Gaston and his brother, though unable to press into the
foremost rank, were not far behind.
Thick and fast fell round them the bolts of the crossbows; but far
thicker and more deadly were the long shafts of the English archers,
which discomfited the foreign banners and sent them flying hither and
thither. In vain did their brave leader, Godemar de Fay, strive to rally
them and dispute the passage of the main body of the army, even when the
horsemen had passed across. Edward's splendid cavalry rode hither and
thither, charging again and again into the wavering band. Quickly the
Genoese hirelings flung away their bows and ran for their lives; whilst
the English army, with shouts of triumph, steadily advanced across the
ford in the first quivering light of the dawning day, and looked back to
see the banners of Philip of France advancing upon them, whilst a few
stragglers and some horses were actually seized by the soldiers of that
monarch.
"Now God and St. George be praised!" cried Edward, as he watched the
approach of the foe, who had so nearly trapped him upon ground which
would have given every advantage to the French and none to his own army.
"Methinks had our good brother but pressed on a day's march faster, it
would have gone hard with us to save the honour of England. Now I stand
on mine own ground. Now will I fight at my ease. There is bread for my
soldiers. They shall rest ere they be called upon to fight. Let Philip
do his worst! We will be ready with an English welcome when he comes.
Let his host outnumber ours by three to one, as men say it does, shall
we be afraid to meet him in fair field, and show him what English
chivalry may accomplish?"
A tumultuous cheer was answer enough. The whole of the English army now
stood upon the north bank of the Somme, watching, with shouts of triumph
and gestures of defiance, the futile efforts of the French to plunge
over the ford. The tide was again flowing. The water was deep and rapid.
In a moment they knew themselves to be too late, and a few well-aimed
shafts from English longbows showed them how futile was now any effort
in pursuit of the foe who had eluded them.
Sullenly and with many menacing gestures, that were replied to by shouts
of derisive laughter from the English soldiers, the French army turned
hack towards Abbeville, where they could cross the river at their
leisure by the bridge which had been strongly fortified against Edward.
Careless confidence had lost Philip the advantage he might have gained
through clever generalship; he was now to see what he could do by force
of arms when he and Edward should stand face to face in their opposing
hosts in the open field of battle.