Yolande smiled a sad smile, but she said quietly,--

"Nay, fair cousin, say it not. I know what thou thinkest. It may never

be. I told thee months ago. Thou wilt some day know how true I spoke.

We cannot all have what we wish; and even if we could, we should soon

wish for something else."

"Well, I would like to try," said Ralph bluntly.

"Ay, and so should I," sighed Mistress Yolande. "But, Ralph, promise me

thou wilt look well after thy lord. He is over venturesome, and, I fear

me much, he careth naught for life; indeed I sometimes think he would

rather go hence." Yolande's voice became tremulous. She recovered

herself after a pause. "Thou wilt watch over him, Ralph? I know not

why, but I feel I shall never look upon him more!"

And so his lovely cousin had no more words for him than that he should

take care of his lord? No matter, Ralph felt he only lived for her. He

would willingly die to give her happiness. He simply answered,--

"I will do my duty."

They then went into the house, and Ralph took a respectful adieu of old

Sir William Lisle.

"Go forth, my kinsman, thou art a worthy son of our noble house. I

would well that thou, when thou returnest, shouldst take daughter and

lands, and rear up a stalwart line. But it will be as God wills it.

Take my blessing, and go forth to victory."

So Ralph left his kinsfolk, sadder at heart than he had ever been in all

his life, but resolved to bring back his lord in safety and glory to the

Wight, or die with him in France.

As he rode back over St George's Down--for he took a longer way back,

being in a dreamy and melancholy mood--the soft light of the young moon

shone in the pale primrose of the western sky. The night-jar uttered

its melancholy note, and flapped heavily past in the silence of the

evening, while a distant owl raised its plaintive cry from the dark

woods which faded in the grey and ghostly mist of the northern valley.

This was his last night in England. How many would see their homes

again of all that gallant band of high-spirited men?

But a step near at hand roused him from his reverie. Two figures passed

him almost unobserved. The slighter one turned to look, gave a little

sigh, and went on with its taller companion, who seemed to walk with

difficulty.

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

*HOW THEY LEFT THE WIGHT.*

The stirring sound of trumpets awoke Ralph at an early hour the next

morning. All the castle-yard was already busy with hurrying

men-at-arms, archers, and varlets. Sir John Trenchard, Tom o' Kingston,

and the other officers were giving orders and getting the men into their

places.

The great gates of the castle were wide open, the drawbridge was

lowered. Lady Trenchard and the domestics of the Captain's apartments

were looking down from the oriel window. The chapel bell was ringing,

and as many as could find room in the little building were reverently

assisting at the Mass, the last they should ever hear in England

performed by their worthy chaplain, who was going with them.

In another hour the troops were drawn up, and a fine body of men they

looked. All those from the West Medene, or western division of the

island, had mustered at the castle. Those from the East Medene were to

muster at St Helens, where the embarkation was to take place. But in

spite of being little more than half their strength, the small body of

about two hundred and fifty men looked very smart and serviceable.

On the right of the line drawn up in the courtyard were the men-at-arms,

a body of some forty cavaliers, armed from head to foot in complete

plate armour, and wearing the picturesque white tabard with the red

cross over their breastplates; behind these were the custrils and

grooms, all armed also, but with less complete body armour. All this

body of cavalry carried lances, daggers, and stout long swords, while

the men-at-arms, in addition, had the formidable mace hanging from their

saddle-bow.

Next to the men-at-arms, on their left, were the mounted archers--a most

serviceable force--nearly all armed with back and breastpieces, over a

stout leathern jerkin, with plates of steel strapped on their sleeves

and thighs, and armed with round targets, crossbows, slung behind their

backs, long swords and knives. On their heads they wore the salade, or

open helmet, with the gorget and chin-piece to protect their necks and

upper part of the chest. Many of them wore chain-shirts, or

brigandines, under their steel breast-plates, while these, like the

men-at-arms, wore the white tabard and red cross of St George.

The mounted archers rode stout ponies, called hobbies, and were attended

by another body of grooms, drawn up behind them. To the left of all

were the infantry, composed of the archers, armed with their long bows,

the celebrated weapon to which England owed all her victories, and

cloth-yard shafts hung in their quivers, a stout sword on thigh, and a

long keen knife in the belt. Some were protected by defensive armour,

but most were simply clad in leathern jackets and stout leggings, with a

steel cap on the head. Like all the rest of the force, they wore the

white tabard and red cross. The billmen were armed and equipped like

the archers, without the long bows. Behind this division were the grooms

and camp followers, while on the left of all were the pack animals and

baggage train.

A loud flourish of trumpets now proclaimed that the Captain of the Wight

was mounting at the door of his hall, and in another minute Sir Edward

Woodville, in complete armour, only wearing a velvet bonnet ornamented

with an ostrich plume placed jauntily on one side of his head, rode out

in front of the line--

"On his brest, a bloodie crosse he bore,

The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,

For whose swete sake that glorious badge he wore,

And dead--as living ever--him adored.

Upon his shield the like was also scored--

For soveraine hope, which in His helpe he had."

Glancing down the line, and acknowledging the general salute with which

he was greeted, the Captain of the Wight gave the order to march, and

placing himself with his esquires and pages in the centre of the column,

the little force moved off. They tramped over the drawbridge, amid the

cheers of the small body of men left to garrison the castle, and defiled

down the steep road to Newport. The march through the town was one long

leave-taking.

Master Paxhulle looked at the cavalcade with mingled feelings of

satisfaction and chagrin. He was glad to have so formidable a rival as

Tom o' Kingston removed out of his way, but he did not at all like to

see the interest Mistress Bremskete took in him, or the sobs of grief,

intermixed with ejaculations of admiration, which broke from her from

time to time.

"Marry, Master Paxhulle, that's what I call a man. Oh! when shall I see

his like again?"

"Cheer up, Mistress Bremskete, there's a-many as good as he, and much

more likely to make an honest woman comfortable."

"Nay, nay; 'tis a parlous brave man, and one of a brave heart withal.

'Tis a tender man, and one as'd let a woman have her own way. And to

think of his going to be killed in France!"

"Nay! Now nay! Mistress Bremskete, 'tis the French they're going to

kill!"

"Ah, well, 'twill be a weary time for many a loving heart 'till they be

come back again."

And so it seemed, to judge by the weeping women who were bidding their

friends good-bye. The head of the column was now passing over Copping

Bridge, and their glancing spear-points and fluttering pennons could be

seen over the hedges of the long lane which led up to the central ridge

of the island. After they had mounted the crest of Arreton Down, which

divided the fertile and sunny vale of Newchurch from the dense woods of

the northern shores of the island, a glorious view met their eye. The

gleaming bay of Sandown, bounded by the beetling cliffs of Culver on the

east, looking like walls of ivory rising from the azure sea; while on

the west loomed up the grandly swelling ridge of Boniface Down, and the

dim headland of Dunnose. Below lay the fertile land, smiling in the

morning sun, with hamlet, farm-house, and church nestling in sheltering

copse or woody dell.

"'Tis a fair land and a rich," said Lord Woodville, reining in his horse

to look at the lovely view. His glance took in the steep acclivity

above Appuldurcombe, and rested upon the darker shadow which marked

where the little Priory stood. With a sigh the Captain of the Wight

shook the reins of his horse and turned to pursue his march. He gave no

look to Briddelsford, which lay amid the northern woods, and towards

which Ralph was looking with wistful eyes, and spake but little until

they reached the end of Ashey Down.

Then a cry broke from the head of the column, for there lay the ships

that were to take them over the sea to the sunny land of France, and it

came home to all men that they might be looking on their own fair home

for the last time.

They descended to the valley below, and passing through Ashey village

they crossed the Brading road a little to the north of that borough,

where they were joined by a large body of men led by young Oglander of

Nunwell; they then skirted the beautiful Brading creek, until rising

once more they reached St Helens Green, and descended for the last time

to the old church by the sea. Here they found all the rest of the band,

and a great crowd of relations and friends come to bid them God speed.

Ralph revelled in the busy scene, and, together with Dicky Cheke and

Maurice Woodville, superintended the embarkation of the baggage. The

four ships which were to take over the expedition were lying in the

narrow channel at the entrance to Brading Haven.

As the expedition marched down the steep declivity from St Helens to the

sandy spit thrown up by the winds and waves to form a breakwater for the

broad expanse of Brading Haven, the vessels were being warped alongside

the shingly beach. The tide was falling fast, and by the time the

baggage animals had reached the sea beach, the sea had left the wide

extending flat of sand and shingle, so as to allow of all going

alongside the flat-bottomed unwieldy hulks of the transport vessels.

The work of embarkation went on all day, and by the time the tide had

risen over the beach again, every one was on board.

It was an exquisite evening, and its still beauty impressed all hearts.

Astern of Ralph's ship lay the three other awkwardly-built, high-prowed

vessels, the rising tide seething past their anchor cables, which

quivered and vibrated in the rushing eddy. Every rope and pulley, mast

and yard, and fluttering bannerole stood out velvety brown against the

pale primrose, the orange gold, the purple and grey of the western sky,

while the still waters of that large mere reflected the solemn shadowy

hills, and the brilliant light of the departed sun. The grey green mist

of evening was creeping over the distance, and the evening star

flickered its glinting light across the purling water. There was

silence in nature, but not in man. Sounds of merriment arose from the

idly floating ships; songs and laughter, and shouts to their friends

upon the shore, where the flickering firelight showed that many were

camping out to take the last view of their relatives.

Ralph could have wished to be alone: the noises jarred upon his

feelings. He moved away from the taffrail, where he had been sitting

watching the bubbles of the tide as it eddied under the stern post.

Dicky Cheke met him. That youth had already assumed quite a nautical

air, and was casting his eye aloft with all the assurance of an old sea

dog.

"Well met, Ralph," he said. "We shall have an air o' wind anon, when

the moon's set, and the tide's done flowing. You mark my words. And

hark ye, my son, doubtless as this is thy first trip to sea thou'lt feel

squeamish a bit, I reckon. Now, take my advice, eat a hunk o' fat

bacon, and quaff off a pint or so of good ale; 'twill fortify thy

stomach, and things won't come so much amiss afterwards. I'm going to

have a right merry feed with Maurice by-and-by. Thou hadst best join

us." And Master Cheke rolled off in proper sea-going fashion,

whistling, much to Ralph's amusement.

But certainly that part of his remarks about the breeze was true. A

crisp little puff came off the land, blurring the soft reflection of

wood and hill, and star and purple sky; and as the tide had nearly done,

the skipper of the Captain's ship gave orders to weigh anchor and set

sail.

[Illustration: HOW THEY LEFT ST. HELENS, I.W.]

This was joyous news. The cable was shortened until it was nearly up

and down. The large jib was run up to the foremast, and the foresail

dropped down from the yard, and with a "Yeo, heave, yeo, break her out,

my boys," the heavy anchor was hauled up to the cathead, and the voyage

had begun. Slowly the ship moved through the still flowing tide, but as

each sail was set, and the night breeze came stronger, she gathered way

and rippled through the whispering sea. The vessels astern had followed

the example of the Captain's ship, and were stemming the tide behind.

Cheer upon cheer came from the shore, answered by ringing shouts from

the ships. The decks and rigging were crowded with lusty men, waving

scarves and caps, and cheering till the welkin rang again.

The enthusiasm was unbounded, and Ralph had never felt such excitement,

not even when he won the prize of the tourney.

As the ship drew out from the land the breeze came fresher still; and

the creaking yards and bellying sails, with the gurgling sound of the

rushing sea, told how well they were going.

Overhead the stars were shining in brilliant glitter, and the dark

outline on their right faintly indicated their island home. Should they

ever see it again? But scarce one of all that crew of lusty men gave a

thought to such a foreboding. For them, life and wealth, and name and

fame, lay away in the south across the sea, and the present was joyous.

What more could they want?

"Well, Ralph, my son, we are well at sea now. They'll be shifting over

those cloths, I'm thinking, for the breeze is coming more over her

stern. Ah! I thought so; look out for that lee sheet, thou hast got

thy leg foul of the slack. I' faith! what a thing it is to be a

landlubber."

"Certes, Dicky, thou art a mariner--at least thou thinkest so; but art

sure all thy terms are rightly applied?" said Ralph, laughing at the

nautical Dicky, who had now put on a suit of yellow oiled clothes, and

smelt very unpleasantly. "Faugh! Dicky, how parlous nasty thou art!

and why hast put on this strange suit?"

"Certes, Ralph, thou art simple! 'tis a right proper dress, and one that

suiteth the sea; had I had time, I would have bid thee get one too,"

said Dicky, who secretly had determined to surprise his comrades by his

thorough knowledge of nautical matters, and would not have told them

beforehand for worlds.

They had now lost sight of the island, and the ship was made snug for

the night--strict discipline was observed on board, and watches set,

only the pages were allowed to stay up on deck as long as they liked.

Dicky Cheke now prepared for his feast. He chose a sheltered place

under the weather gunwale; and finding three coils of rope ready to

hand, he placed his various luxuries in their protecting folds. There

was a large game pasty, a very substantial ham, a conserve of plums, and

a cheese, with new bread and a large jar of ale.

Ralph and Maurice Woodville sat down on some old sails and helped to

arrange the feast. Dicky Cheke had become more nautical than ever, and

would insist on walking about. The breeze had gradually freshened, and

they were surging through the sea in splendid style. The other ships

were hull down astern, not one of them being such a fast sailer as the

ship which carried the Captain of the Wight.

Maurice Woodville had arranged the places, and bid Dicky sit down. But

that young gentleman would persist in showing them how well he kept his

feet in spite of the rolling of the ship, which was now running through

the strong eddies of St Catherine's. However pride, as ever, goeth

before a fall. He was bending down, with legs astride, to adjust the

game pasty before he opened it, when the ship gave a heavier roll to

port, and Master Dicky sat down abruptly in a pail which Maurice

Woodville had thoughtfully put to catch him if he should fall. Dicky's

collapse caused the pail to capsize, and the luckless youth, together

with the pail, went rolling over into the lee-scuppers, bumping against

the main hatchway in his fall.

"Blessed Thomas!" ejaculated Dicky, "what in the name of all sticky

things is this?" He had caught hold of the fore halyards, and so

recovered his feet again, but he found he could not relax his fingers:

they were all glued together. "Ralph! Maurice! come hither! I am

bewitched! There's some vile trick been played upon me. I am all stuck

together: my coat's sticking to my arms. I can't move my sleeves, and

my hands are stuck to this rope. Mercy on me! come quick!"

But Maurice and Ralph were choking with laughter, and could not, or

would not, go to his help. At this moment, to make Dicky's discomfort

still greater, the ship gave a heavy yaw, and sank down in the trough of

a wave, while the man at the wheel brought her head up again to the next

sea somewhat too rapidly, with the effect of sending a deluge of water

over the head of the unfortunate Dicky, whose hat had come off, and was

lying under the lee gunwale. Dicky, gasping, shivering, and

spluttering, was violently thrown off his legs, and waved in the air for

a moment; then he banged his shins against the sharp end of a heavy iron

cleat, uttering a howl of anguish; and finally, with a violent wrench,

he got his hands free from the rope, and scrambled over the slippery

deck to his friends and guests.

"Well, Dicky, what's the matter with thee?" said Ralph, scarcely

recovered from his fit of laughter.

"Body o' me knows," said Dicky ruefully; "but methinks I am bewitched.

I can't lift up my arms; and oh! mercy! I'm stuck together every way;

and and how the water does trickle down my neck. Ugh! it's got down my

back now: I feel it running down my backbone. Ugh! oh! hold on, one of

you, or I shall be off again," and Dicky grasped at the coil of rope

nearest to him, to save himself going backwards once more as the ship

rolled over again.

But he had caught hold of a treacherous support. The rope flew out of

the coil, and once more Dicky rolled over. But this was not the worst

of the mishap. The ham, the conserve of plums, and the cheese had been

placed in this secure receptacle. They were displaced by the running

rope, and followed the struggling Dicky. The cheese only hit him on the

nose, and rolled merrily on to join the hat, which was floating in the

salt water in an angle of the bulwark stanchions, where both were

quickly joined by the ham; but the conserve of plums broke from its

cover, and the luscious fruit, with its fragrant but sticky syrup, were

thrown in the face of their miserable owner.

"Oh! ah!" gurgled Dicky, as a large and mellow plum caught him in the

eye, already smarting from the salt water, while further remarks were

rendered incoherent by another one going plop into his open mouth.

Ralph and Maurice were in imminent danger of joining the struggling

Dicky. They were convulsed with laughter, and were totally incapable of

helping him. At last Dicky once more scrambled up again, very wet,

miserable, and disconsolate. He sat down with his back to the gunwale,

and broke out into dismal grumbling.

"Well, you are scurvy knaves; you might at least have lent me a hand;

and--why, where's the cheese? and I don't see the ham: it couldn't have

been that which hit me on the nose! Oh, misery! and to think, after

all, that beautiful ham and cheese are gone overboard! I chose them

both myself! But perhaps they're only over there to leeward. Just step

over, Maurice, and see."

"Nay, Dicky, let's stow the game-pie first, 'twill be best to get that

out of the way," said Maurice, who had been longing to begin on the

noble pie before him for some time.

"Marry! that's sound advice--hand it over here. Why, what's gone wrong

with my jacket? I'm all stuck together. Oh, murder! whatever is this?"

Maurice again burst into a roar of laughter, which made Dicky furious.

"Maurice, you addled egg you, what do you see to laugh at?"

But Maurice only laughed the more.

"Ralph! rap him over the costard for me, and then do thou cut that pie.

I'm too sticky to do it myself; and, to tell truth, my appetite's a'most

gone with all this wet, and banging and shaking. I don't marvel I've

got a headache, and feel a bit queer. Ugh! oh! oh, my! I wish she would

not roll and pitch so," said poor Dicky ruefully.

Ralph did as he was told, and by the bright light of the stars and the

lantern which swung in the rigging aloft to show the Captain's ship, he

cut a large slice, and handed it to Dicky. But poor Dicky shook his

head, and gave a little groan.

"I'll go and shift my clothes," he said, in a shivering voice. "I'm as

wet as a drowned rat; and I can't think why I am so parlous sticky. I

hope you fellows will eat up the pie, and have a merry time," added poor

Dicky bravely.

This touched Maurice.

"Certes, Dicky, you are out of luck. But I'm grievous sad I put that--"

He broke into a peal of laughter, and could not go on, as he thought of

the ridiculous scene.

"Well, Maurice, I don't see there's much to laugh at," grumbled Master

Cheke.

"Oh--oh--I'm soothly grieved," gasped Maurice repentantly, trying to

speak gravely, and then bursting out into a fresh fit of uproarious

mirth.

At this moment the gruff voice of a man in the bows sung,--"Sail ho!"

"Where away?" rang out from the Master. "On the starboard beam," came

back the answer. "She's bearing up to cross us."

"Lower away that lantern, and luff a bit--so, steady," sung out the

Master, who, after scanning the strange sail, went below to tell the

Captain.

In a few moments more the crew came tumbling up the hatches, and the

Captain of the Wight appeared in his armour.

Ralph and his fellow-pages went hastily below. The report had spread

through the vessel that the stranger was a French ship, and that they

intended fighting her. This was exciting news to the boys; they quietly

armed themselves, and were returning on deck, when the piteous voice of

Dicky Cheke stopped them.

"Oh! I am so bad, and I can't get off my coat!--whatever has come to

it?"

"Why, it's all over tar," said Ralph. "You've sat down in a tar

bucket."

Maurice's laughter again broke out uncontrolled, but Dicky, who now saw

the trick that had been played upon him, made a sudden dash upon him,

and pushed his tar-covered elbow in Maurice's face, which effectually

stopped all further laughter, and the two boys fell over on the floor of

the cabin, tussling and struggling, until a kick from the

sergeant-at-arms made them get up and separate; and a ludicrous sight

they both presented as they stood looking at each other. Dicky's yellow

oilskin suit was all blotched and stuck together by great splashes of

tar, while his hair and face were smeared with the same adhesive

substance. Maurice was in very much the same condition. There was a

large smear over his mouth and nose, and one eye and the side of his

cheek were completely blackened.

"Well you be nice young gentlemen to be pages to the Lord Captain," said

the man-at-arms sarcastically. "You'd best get some one to scrape you.

I'm too busy;" so saying, the sergeant left them, to follow Ralph on

deck, where nearly the whole ship's company was assembled under arms.

"They means to lay us aboard, my lord," said the Master.

"Certes, let them," answered the Captain of the Wight.

"Then all hands had best lie down--some along the lee gunwale, but most

under hatches--or else, as they range up, they'll be afeared when they

see how strong we muster," said the crafty old seaman.

This order was promptly given, and in another minute the decks looked as

deserted as usual, only the ordinary watch required for working a

merchant vessel being left visible.

*CHAPTER XXIV.*

*OF "LA BEALE FRANCE."*

There was a faint, pale light away in the north-east, telling of the

coming dawn. Looming up dim and indistinct against the grey horizon,

Ralph, who was armed, and stood near the Captain of the Wight, saw a

dark hull and lofty sails.

The breeze was fresh, and they were now about mid-channel. The strange

sail came topping the waves, which curled and seethed under her broad

bow as she rose on their crests and dipped again in the trough of the

sea. Swiftly she ran down before the salt sea breeze, and a gallant

sight she looked.

"You'd best hide the gleam of your harness, my lord," said the old

master, "or they'll be smelling a rat."

Without stopping to inquire how a gleam could assist a sense of smell,

the Captain of the Wight, accompanied by Ralph, stepped off the lofty

poop and took their stand under the lee gunwale.

"Luff!" sung out the Master, who was carefully watching the movements of

the stranger; and a cloud of spray dashed over the bow as the head of

the ship came more round to the sea.

"That'll do; keep her going so. Ay, ay, my beauty, I sees ye; but ye

need not be in such a hurry--we're a-waiting for you, but 'twon't do to

let you think it; so now up with the helm, and let her fall off a bit.

There, keep her jogging like that: they'll be alongside in another

minute."

From where Ralph stood, by screwing his head a little he could just see

the top of the masts and the round "crow's nests" in the "tops." The

main and fore yards were braced square, and the great bellying sails

stretched out tight as drums before the fresh breeze. The masts looked

so close, he thought she must be aboard of them, and expected every

moment to hear a crash as her stem cut into the broad stern of his own

ship.

"Halloa! you there! you'll be aboard o' us an' you take no more care,"

sung out the Master through a speaking-tube.

But no answer came back; and Ralph was suddenly startled by seeing a

long black pole slowly come creeping past the side of their ship,

followed by a high black mass, and then the whole of the fore part of

the vessel seemed to grow suddenly up abreast of where he was standing.

He could plainly hear the sound of the sea as it dashed against the

bluff bows and hurtled between the two hulls.

"Hola! Messieurs les Anglais! rendez-vous," bawled a hoarse voice.

"Come aboard, then, and take us!" called out the Master, at the same

time motioning to the helmsman to put the helm down, so as to let her

range alongside.

The two vessels were now broadside to broadside, and were both surging

through the sea. The Frenchman had shortened sail so as to keep

alongside of the Captain's vessel. Ralph could see a crowd of people on

board. In another moment a stout rope with a grapnel attached was

thrown on board the Captain's vessel at the stern, and another caught in

the fore chains forward. The two ships were now lashed alongside.

"'Tis all right now, my lord," called down the Master; "I'll see to

their not getting away while you tackles them on deck."

The Frenchmen had already begun to board the Captain's ship. A burly

Norman seaman, wielding a formidable pike, had leapt over the bulwark on

to the deck, and was rushing forward to knock down Dicky Cheke, who had

suddenly caught sight of his cheese, when the Frenchman stepped upon it

and instantly slipped up with a fearful exclamation.

"You villain! 'tis my cheese, and you have spoilt it for ever!" shrieked

Dicky Cheke, in a rage.

And without a moment's hesitation he drove his sword into the Norman's

body, amid the cheers of Ralph and the crew, who had watched the scene.

But now the men-at-arms and archers came pouring up from below. The

Captain, closely followed by Ralph, sprang forward, shouting "St George

for England!" And the Frenchmen, seeing they had caught a Tartar,

sprang back to their own ship, followed fiercely by the men of the

Wight.

The Frenchmen offered but a feeble resistance. They were not nearly so

numerous as the English, and were armed with far less complete armour.

It was an age of cruel reprisals, and it would have been thought no

reflection on the humanity of the Captain of the Wight had he put the

crew of the captured vessel to the sword. But beyond the few who were

killed in the first excitement of the moment, no further bloodshed

followed, and the French prisoners were transferred to the Captain's

vessel, while a sufficient crew was placed on board the prize, with

orders to keep in company and sail for Guernsey.

This was a glorious beginning, and every one hailed it as a joyous omen.

The glow of the coming sun flushed up over the pale grey sky. Creamy

and crisp the crests of the tumbling sea sparkled and flashed in the

ruddy light, and the sea dew glittered on spar and mast and straining

sail.

Ralph never tired of watching the bows of the prize as she crashed

through the curling waves, and he felt more than ever the joy of the

full pulse of healthy, vigorous life.

Dicky Cheke had quite recovered his spirits. He felt his reputation was

now firmly established, and he was rendered quite happy by discovering

his ham inside his oil-skin hat. It was soaked in salt water, it was

true, but, as he wisely remarked, that would only improve the flavour,

after it had been dried before the galley fire.

The sun now rose out of the tumbling, restless sea, and Ralph and the

two boys went below to turn in for a short sleep. In another three

hours a loud cry on deck roused them suddenly out of their troubled

doze.

Hastening on deck, they saw a few dark specks, and a high rock, over

which the sea was dashing and leaping; beyond it a black mass loomed up

like a tall hay-cock, and away over the grey sea was the dim shadow of

some high land.

"Where are we? what is it?" asked Ralph.

"'Tis Alderney, and yon is the Casketts, and the Ortach; and there's a

swingeing tide carrying us through," answered an old seaman.

And so it seemed, for they flew past the rocks, and staggered along

before the still fresh breeze.

Ralph went below, and dozed off once more. When he awoke again the

motion of the vessel had ceased, but the noise on deck was great.

"Rouse up, Ralph," called Dicky Cheke. "Here's Guernsey, and we're to

wait here for those heavy-sailing tubs of ours, that haven't got as far

as Alderney yet, I'll warrant."

The whole of that day they spent at anchor off Peter Port. Ralph

admired the grey castle Cornet, and the picturesque outlines of Herm,

Jettou, and Sark, and marvelled greatly at the wonderful maze of rocks.

About mid-day the masts of the other vessels could be seen round the

south-eastern point under St Martin's, and in a short time they dropped

anchor abreast of the Captain's ship. Their arrival was greeted by loud

cheers from the latter vessel, and the ringing cheers which came back

showed that the others had seen the captured Frenchman lying inshore of

the Captain's ship, with the Cross of St George waving over the Lilies

of France.

The same evening they weighed anchor again, but as the wind dropped, and

the tide was on the turn, the Master thought it better to run in for

Jersey and wait for morning.

The next day at early dawn, with a favouring breeze, they once more

weighed anchor, and stood out of St Helier's Bay. In another two hours

they sighted the high land of Cape Frehel, and with a fresh breeze and

flowing tide they entered the intricate channel of St Malo.

"So, this is France, is it?" said Dicky Cheke. "Marry, 'tis a barren

place enough. I thought they called it a fertile land. They must be

parlous odd plants as would grow on these bare rocks. Did you ever see

such a lot of stones? Why, they've so many of them, they've been forced

to throw them into the sea, and so fill up their harbour; or did they

place them here to frighten strangers away?"

They were scudding past the Cezembre, and all its dangerous reefs; past

the Grand Jardin, and in a short time had dropped anchor in St Malo

roadstead.

The arrival of such a squadron as five English ships was an event in the

usually tranquil lives of the inhabitants of St Malo. The town was held

for the Duke of Brittany by a force of men-at-arms and demi-lances, and

a force of Swiss or Allemaynes, as the English called them, had already

arrived, sent by the King of the Romans to assist his betrothed wife.

The Captain of the Wight was speedily visited by the Governor of the

place, and Ralph was delighted to see, accompanying that official, his

old friend the Sire de la Roche Guemene, who greeted him with frank

courtesy, and welcomed him to Brittany. The capture of the French

vessel was looked upon as a lucky omen.

In the course of the afternoon the vessels were able to come into the

harbour and lie alongside the quay, when the Captain of the Wight landed

in state, and was escorted to his quarters in the town.

Dicky Cheke was in raptures at the size of the town, there being no

place at all to compare with it in the Isle of Wight. Southampton was

the only port with which he could compare it; and he was astonished at

the volubility of the French children.

"What scholars they be," he said. "They all talk French as easy as I

talk English. But--faugh! I say, Ralph, they like it strong about

here. Oh! I say, these French don't mind rank smells. Phew!"

"Humph! It is something out of the common," said Maurice.

But this was their first experience of French towns and French

sanitation. Not that the towns of England were much better in those

days. But the English, like most Teutonic races, had a habit of

spreading their towns rather more, and the love of a plot of ground, so

inherent in the English mind, kept freer currents of air in their back

premises than in the narrow, cooped up streets of the French

municipalities, hemmed in with lofty walls, and whose enormously tall

houses shut out all daylight from the streets below.

The next few days were occupied in drilling the expeditionary force, and

the Bretons admired the tall, stalwart figures of the men of the Wight,

their martial bearing, and thorough equipment.

The knights and men-at-arms gave a tourney in the level plain at the

back of St Malo, in return for the jousts which the Breton knights had

given in Carisbrooke Castle, and many gallant feats were done, Ralph

Lisle distinguishing himself greatly. Both he and the other young men

enjoyed themselves very much, and they won universal praise by their

courteous bearing and gallant looks.

Hawking and hunting, and the many duties of garrison life, passed away

the time pleasantly enough. But Ralph longed for a more active scene.

He did not care for dances and the gaieties of the lively French

society, and while Dicky Cheke was in his element talking execrable

French with easy self-assurance, Ralph was moping on the ramparts, or

leaning over the parapet of the harbour mole, watching the fishing-boats

and the busy life of the crowded harbour. He made many expeditions up

the Rance and among the numerous islands of the rocky archipelago, and

was fast becoming a hardy sailor, well acquainted with the set of the

tides and the intricacies of the many dangerous channels. One long

expedition he made with Maurice Woodville as far as the harbour of

Cancalle, through the difficult passage of La Bigne, and gazed upon the

marvellous pile of Mont St Michel, rising out of the desert of sand, and

he longed to visit it. But it was held by a French garrison, the most

proud and enterprising in all France; for there, in the noble "Salle des

Chevaliers," had been instituted in a solemn chapter the Knights of the

Order of St Michel, in 1469, to commemorate the fortress never having

fallen into the hands of the English, and to perpetuate the brave

defence of Louis d'Estouteville in 1427.

There was some danger in this trip, not only from the sunken rocks and

eddying tides, but from the chance of capture by the boats belonging to

the garrison of Mont St Michel; and once they had a narrow escape from

one of these latter, for as they emerged behind one great pile of

granite they saw a boat drawn up on the rocks on the other side, left

high and dry by the tide, and the crew were busy collecting shellfish on

the rocks below. They heard one man shout out, "Voila! les Anglois,"

and they saw the others hasten up to look after them; but evidently they

thought it hopeless to try to catch them, as before they could launch

their unwieldy boat the light shallop of the two boys would be far

beyond their reach. It was a narrow escape, however, and Ralph

determined not to go so far away again.

There was no danger in making expeditions up the Rance, for Dinan was

garrisoned for the Duke of Brittany, and all away to the west towards St

Brieuc and Treguier was faithful to its native prince. One day, as

Ralph returned from one of these expeditions, he was surprised to see a

great stir in their camp. The Allemaynes had already marched out, and

their long pikes and swaggering plumes could be seen over the hedges, on

the road to Rennes. He hastened up to the Captain's quarters, and

learned that orders had come to break up their camp and march at once to

relieve Fougeres.

This was joyful news. The little force was by this time perfectly

disciplined, and in a very short time the tents were struck. The squad

was drawn up, the companies formed, and the column awaiting the order to

march. The two Breton knights were directed to accompany the English

and act as guides.

The Captain of the Wight, in full armour, attended by Sir John Trenchard

and his esquires, put himself at the head of the main body, and ordered

his banner to be unfurled. The trumpets sounded, and the order to march

immediately followed. To Ralph was assigned the honourable post of

accompanying Tom o' Kingston with the advanced guard.

As they left the sea, the country became more and more fertile. Sunny

orchards and rich pastures, interspersed with pleasant farm-houses, bore

witness to the truth of the proverbial fertility of France; but traces

were also seen of the ravages of war. They were now approaching Dol,

whose grey cathedral could be seen to the east of a rising bluff,

conspicuous in the level landscape. Great care was requisite in passing

this town. The Swiss were halted in a neighbouring field, and the whole

force marched past the walls in battle order, for Dol had lately been

taken by the French troops, and an attack might be made on the column as

it defiled past the grey old town.

As it was, Ralph saw for the first time in his life a shot fired with

murderous intent. The garrison of Dol, more from defiance than with

hope of doing any execution, trained a coleuvrine upon the head of the

column which was marching past with banners displayed, drums beating,

and trumpets sounding, in all the insolent pomp and bravery of war. But

the shot fell short, and a derisive shout was set up by the Switzers and

English archers. The rest of the march to Rennes was performed without

further adventure. They encamped the first night at the Chateau de

Combourg, near the little stream of the Dore, which belonged to the

Comte de Chateaubriand, who was then marching upon Rennes with the Duke

of Orleans, and the rest of the army of the Duke of Brittany.

The hearts of all beat high as they approached Rennes, and heard the

sounds of martial music, and saw the glint of spears, and flash of steel

helmet and polished cuirass. Ralph felt very proud as he rode in front

of the English division, beside Tom o' Kingston, clad in complete

armour, and carrying his lance erect, while he entered the streets of

Rennes, the capital of Brittany. The populace had all turned out to see

the redoubted English and Swiss march through their streets, as allies

and friends, and they were greeted cordially. A very splendid

appearance they presented. The uniform of the men of the Wight, their

complete equipment, and their soldierly bearing, were loudly admired,

while the swash-bucklering air of the Swiss pikemen, with their huge

puffed leathern jerkins, great bonnets lined with steel, and ornamented

with feathers, their long swords and stout pikes, excited much

astonishment, for this formidable mercenary force was as yet only just

beginning to be appreciated, and had never been seen before in Brittany.

There were eight hundred of the Swiss, all wearing the black imperial

two-headed eagle on their padded and slashed buff jerkins. They marched

through the city, and were encamped outside the walls, on the north.

Fresh troops were continually arriving, and in three days afterwards the

main body, under the Duke of Orleans, the Prince of Orange, and the Lord

d'Albret, marched into the city. Ralph attended upon the Captain of the

Wight, who was sometimes called Lord Rivers by the Bretons, and enjoyed

the spectacle of all this fine body of men and so many well-known nobles

and knights defiling before him. There was the ducal ermine of

Brittany; the golden lilies of France, with the silver label of

Orleans--the lilies quartering the purple of Albret, the silver bend

sinister abating the regal lilies of Dunois; and the red cross, with its

silver escallops, blazing in a golden shield, with its azure eagles, for

Laval. Ducal, princely, noble banners passed in gay procession before

the eyes of the delighted page, while the splendidly armed cavaliers,

attended by their esquires and varlets, rode past at the head of their

squadrons. There were four hundred steel-clad men-at-arms, and eight

thousand foot, with a large train of artillery, the first that Ralph had

ever seen for use in the field, for the English still trusted to their

own peculiar weapon, the famed long bow of England, for winning

victories in the open field.

In addition to the great names of the feudal chiefs, there were other

Breton lords. The Marechal de Rieux, lately returned to his allegiance

to his lawful Duke; the Lords of Chateaubriand, Leon, Crenettes, Pont

l'Abbe, Plessis, Balines, and Montigny Montuet, and Ralph was astonished

at the gallant show and numbers of the Breton force.

He little knew what fatal jealousies were burning in the hearts of those

baronial figures as they proudly rode past to the great square before

the Parliament House of Rennes.

There was a great council of war held in the ancient steep-roofed

building. The Captain of the Wight attended, and received a flattering

greeting, as uncle of the Queen of England, and son of the Lady of

Luxemburg. But it was at once apparent to his observant eye how many

difficulties were to be surmounted in handling this heterogeneous band

of high-spirited, proud, and impracticable men. There were present

representatives of five languages--the German, the French, the Breton,

the Basque, and the English; while the guttural speech of the Gascon

nearly made a sixth. And the aims and objects of their leaders were as

diverse as their tongues. Two suitors for the hand of the Duchess Anne

were present in person; the troops of a third were there to enforce his

claims; while opposed to them all were the armies of the fourth

candidate. The jealousies of personal rivalry were increased by the

prejudice of race. The Bretons disliked and mistrusted the French. The

French, with their _amour propre_ and personal conceit, were disgusted

at the braggadocio and pugnacity of the Gascons; and the English and

Germans did nothing to disguise their natural antipathy and contempt for

the Latin races; while the stubborn Breton opposed with national and

hereditary obstinacy every plan he did not himself see the use of, or

which would bear directly upon the interests of his land.

After long debate nothing was decided; only the differences of the Duke

of Orleans and the Lord d'Albret were rendered more conspicuous, and the

nobles dispersed to their respective quarters.

The following week was spent in inaction, much to the disgust of the

Captain of the Wight. The French army, under the celebrated young

commander, Louis de la Tremouille, Vicomte de Thouars, was pressing hard

upon Fougeres, and all men longed to march to its relief. At last all

differences appeared to be accommodated, and the Duke of Orleans, who

was appointed Commander-in-Chief, gave the order for the army to march.

The following night the whole force encamped at Andouille, a small

village half-way between Combourg and Fougeres. Here another two days

were wasted in settling a somewhat serious quarrel that had broken out

at night between the Gascon followers of the Lord d'Albret and the

French followers of the Duke of Orleans. In the midst of these

bickerings, a dusty and heated messenger arrived to say Fougeres had

fallen, and that the victorious French army was marching to attack them.

Instantly all was confusion. But the startling news had this good

effect--all, with one consent, agreed they must march at once on Orange,

with a view to occupying St Aubin du Cormier, which lay on the direct

road from Fougeres to Rennes.

They also hoped to be able to effect a junction with the garrison of

Fougeres, who had surrendered upon terms that they might march out with

bag and baggage.

But on reaching Orange, which was a small hamlet some six miles from St

Aubin, they heard that the French army was close upon them. They

therefore halted, and spent the night there, prepared to fight a

decisive battle the next day.

"Well, Ralph, we shall see some fun to-morrow," said Dicky Cheke. "'Tis

Sunday, too; our good folks at Mottestone will be in church."

"Ay, and where shall we be?" said Ralph thoughtfully.

*CHAPTER XXV.*

*OF ST AUBIN DU CORMIER.[*]*

[*] So called from the Service Tree, or Serb Apple Tree, which grows in

profusion all round the village, and to distinguish it from St Aubin

d'Audigne nearer Rennes.

The grey mists of early morn were clinging to the dank earth when Ralph

awoke after such snatches of sleep as he could get amid the noise of

that large body of ill-assorted men.

It was Sunday morning, the 27th of July--a day Ralph well remembered,

for it was this very day a year ago he had left his father's house to

seek his fortune in the household of the Captain of the Wight. What

events had taken place since then! He thought of it all, and his heart

beat as he turned to look over the leafy woods, the steep slopes of the

hilly country, with its fresh valleys, whence, amid the rich foliage of

orchard and copse and wide-reaching forest, the spires of the village

churches and the steep gables of nestling farm-houses rose above the

steaming verdure, or peeped out in shy suggestion. The birds were

warbling blithely all around. There was a tinkle of distant bells, a

hum of awakening life, and the soft, warm fragrance of a midsummer night

still floated in the balmy morning air.

Ralph could not believe that in another few hours he and all that host

of lusty, careless men would be fighting for fame and name, and very

life itself. He had only twice had experience of the fierce struggle of

deadly fight. But his whole training had accustomed him to it, and he

gave little thought to the battle. But the deep bells from a

neighbouring monastery stirred softer thoughts. He thought of his

mother and father, of Thruxton Manor away over the sea, and then of his

cousin Yolande and his promise.

But the trumpets sounding the _reveille_ interrupted all softer

thoughts. The reality of life had begun.

"Well, Ralph, my boy," said the cheerful voice of Dicky Cheke, "'tis a

fine morning for our sport. Marry, I trust you and I will win our spurs

to-day. But come to breakfast. There's a right pleasant smell of fried

eggs and bacon over yonder, and thy man Humphrey hath gotten a rare fat

capon out of some farm hard by. I've asked young De Rohan to come and

share with us, 'twill improve thy French; only he talks it with such a

sad Breton accent I fear me he will mar my fine tongue. But come

along--there he is."

Ralph sauntered back with Dicky. The four boys were soon laughing and

talking over their breakfast. The young Seigneur de Rohan was a merry

addition to their party, and kept them in constant laughter by his

attempts to talk English.

By eight o'clock orders came from the Duke of Orleans for their division

to prepare to march. There had been a very stormy council of war, and

the suspicions of the Breton infantry were so strong, that to quiet them

it was arranged that the Duke of Orleans and the Prince of Orange should

dismount and fight on foot among the pikemen, a very dangerous service,

and one which showed their courage in the highest degree. But the

jealousies between the infantry and cavalry had reached such a high

pitch, that it required very strenuous exertions to prevent the former

marching off the ground; the Bretons affirming that the French princes

only used them to make cat's-paws of them.

Young De Rohan astonished the pages by saying that seventeen hundred of

the Breton infantry were going to wear the same uniform as the men of

the Wight, in order to make the French think there were more English

than there were. This was a great compliment, and rejoiced Dicky's

heart, for he knew how much more important the Captain of the Wight

would be if he commanded two thousand instead of four hundred men.

In another hour the whole army was equipped and marching to its position

to the right of a vast forest, the Foret de la Seve, and there was

already promise of the great heat the coming noon would bring. The

bells of Orange were sounding for morning service, and the faint tinkle

of the other village bells could be heard over the forest and hills. A

deep blue sky spread overhead, and a mellow haze floated over the

horizon. There was scarcely a breath of air, and the banner of the

Captain of the Wight hung in white and crimson folds down its gilded

shaft.

The men of the Wight were now drawn up--the men-at-arms on the right,

the infantry in the centre, and the mounted archers on the left. All

were completely armed, and they had now become a thoroughly

well-disciplined, splendid body of men, typical of the British

army--"The best in the world, if only there were more of them." The

Captain of the Wight, mounted on his black charger, armed like himself

in full plate-armour, rode in front of the line, and glanced down it

with martial pride. Only a few words he said, but they were fiery,

knightly, encouraging words, such as a brave leader and chivalrous

knight knew how to say. He told them of the compliment the Duke of

Orleans was paying them in reinforcing them with seventeen hundred

Breton foot all clad to look like Englishmen. He reminded them of

Crecy, Poictiers, and Agincourt. He bid them think that the eyes of

England, of France, and of their own dear island home were upon them;

and he bid them fight as became the ancient valour of their name and

race. Their quarrel was a just one, and their foe the natural enemy of

their hearths and homes.

"Men of Yaverland and Brading, remember Sir Theobold Russel, and how he

died for you. Men of Newport, remember Deadman's Lane and Neddie's

Hill. Men of Yarmouth and Newtown, remember your burning homes and

ruined boroughs. Men of the Wight, you are here to show your manhood,

your skill, and your hardihood; that Frenchmen may see and feel how vain

are their vapourings, how keen are our swords. And here before you all,

in the glorious light of that splendid sun, I draw my blade, vowing

never more to sheath it till the victory is won, or my hand can hold it

no more."

As the Captain of the Wight spoke, his sword-blade flashed in the sun,

while he held it aloft over his crested helm.

A ringing cheer answered these stirring words, and Dicky Cheke murmured

to Ralph,--

"In sooth, he is a hero, this Captain of ours, and I am sorry for the

French. We won't be too hard on them, Ralph. I sha'n't ask for more

than a couple of thousand crowns for my prisoners, unless I take the

Sire de la Trimouille himself, and then, as it won't do to spoil the

market, I must make him pay a good round sum--perchance fifty thousand

pistoles, or so; only I will let him off the last ten if he pays up

well;" and Dicky Cheke became quite pensive as he thought how he would

spend his money, and bumped against Sir John Trenchard, who had ridden

down the line with the Captain to inspect the men.

And now the Breton infantry marched up, all clad alike, and the eye of

their commander kindled as he welcomed them to his battalion.

"They are sturdy little fellows," said Dicky, surveying them with a

critical air. "But they want beef; they haven't got our breadth of

chest and length of limb."

"You atom, you imp, you," said Maurice Woodville, "when will you be done

with your coxcombery? Why, they are all big enough to eat you, boots and

all."

"Now, Maurice, none o' your sauce. You've never been the same varlet

since you fell into the mud at St Malo, when you were so frightened by

the old cherry woman from whom you filched those cherries."

Maurice was going to give Dicky a cuff, only Sir John Trenchard happened

to look round, and he drew in his hand again, muttering, "I'll give it

you afterwards; you look out this evening."

But all further talk was put an end to by the arrival of the Marechal de

Rieux, an old and experienced warrior, who had lately had his castle and

town of Ancenix burned to the ground by the French, and who was eager to

revenge himself upon his enemies. He saluted the Captain of the Wight

and his division, and briefly exchanged a few words with the former.

After which Lord Woodville turned to his escort and said with

satisfaction,--

"We have been paid one more courtesy. We are to be the vanguard of the

army, and the very puissant knight the Comte de Rieux is to lead us."

The order to march now came, and the whole division broke into column,

and took the road to St Aubin, the old Marshal and the Captain of the

Wight with drawn sword riding at their head.

After marching some three miles, and when the houses of St Aubin du

Cormier were just visible over the orchards, they came to a highroad

which their road intersected. Here a halt was called, and the men were

allowed to refresh themselves. The heat was getting very oppressive.

Ralph and Dicky Cheke wandered off to see the rest of the army come up.

"Oh, I wish I had put a cabbage leaf inside my helmet," groaned Dicky.

"I shall be roasted like a chestnut inside its coat. I'm stewing in my

own juice--oh!"

"'Tis a lucky chance we are wearing tabards; look at those men-at-arms

riding with my Lord d'Albret; they must needs be grilled. They've

neither lambrequin nor surcoat, and shine in the sun like fresh-caught

mackerel," answered Ralph.

"What a fine lot they all look! and look at those Allemaynes! I do like

those swash-bucklering varlets. Certes we are a fine show! I get more

and more pitiful when I think of those jackanapes of Frenchmen yonder.

If only they knew it, how much better it would be, and what a lot of

waste of moist humours it would save, if they just came in and sorted

themselves out among us. What a comfort it would be! Ugh! how parlous

moist I am!"

"Look, Dicky, at those coleuvrines and dragons! I am all agog to see

them fire; we've a right plentiful store of artillery, I trow!" said

Ralph. "Not but what I don't believe our archers are worth a hundred of

them, and more, too; but we shall see. Oh, I wish they would begin.

Where are the French, I marvel. Look, our men are falling in; let's

hasten back. There's something going on."

And so there seemed. The English division, forming, with some Breton

men-at-arms and the seventeen hundred infantry, the vanguard of the

army, was standing to its arms. The cavalry were mounting, and a body

of mounted archers was thrown forward under Tom o' Kingston.

The rest of the army had come up, and the main battle, or middle ward,

as it was called, under the Lord d'Albret, in which was the fine body of

Swiss infantry, conspicuous among whom were the Duke of Orleans and the

Prince of Orange, was drawn up to support the vanguard.

The rear ward was commanded by the Comte de Chauteaubriand, whose castle

had also been lately razed to the ground by the army of Charles VIII.

The artillery was brought up and placed upon the flanks of the vanguard,

and a small body of mounted archers was drawn up in support of the

clumsy cannon.

As the two boys rode back to their lord, they could see the general

disposition of the army, and their hearts beat high with pride and

excitement.

"This is something like!" said Dicky. "They'll think great things of us

at home when I tell them. I would give a crown our old varlet, Nick

Goodall, saw me here. He'd never say I wasn't good for much again. Ah!

and I wish that saucy little wench who called me a tom-tit could just

see me too. Tom-tit, indeed! Tom-tit, quotha!"

When they reached their own division, they saw the mounted archers

halted on the brow of the rise in front, and the burly form of Tom o'

Kingston sitting his powerful horse, with lance resting on his steel

solleret.

The sun was now pouring down its unclouded heat. The divisions of the

army were all in battle array at half a bow-shot's length from each

other, and were echeloned along the high road from Fougeres to Rennes,

with the great wood of La Seve in their rear.

As Ralph, sitting his horse, his cousin Yolande's present, by the side

of the Captain of the Wight, turned round to look at the splendid sight

behind him, where helm, and crest, and spear point flashed in the

glowing sun, and where the gay banners of the nobles gently fluttered in

the light summer air, he heard a whizz, and turned quickly round.

"Hullo, Ralph!" said Maurice Woodville, "what's that archer tumbled off

his horse for? Is he in a swoon from the heat, think you? and look,

they're beginning to shoot. Why, it must be the enemy on the other side

of the hill."

"We shall know directly. Look, there's old De Rieux going forward, and

so are we. Now, Dicky, you'll get your money, look to your lance," said

Ralph, as the Captain of the Wight and his esquires put spurs to their

horses and rode up to the crest of the hill.

"Ma foi, c'est de l'Hopital, et ses gaillards. Je le connais par ses

armoiries. Et voila! Gabriel de Monfalzois, c'est lui, a gauche, le

petit, monte sur le grand hacquene. Aha! mon ruse soudard, c'est toi

qui a brule mon chateau," said the Marechal de Rieux, pointing to a

squadron of men-at-arms who had halted out of bow-shot in the valley

below. Two or three arbalisters had dismounted, and one had advanced

within shot, and it was his quarrel which had struck the English archer

off his horse; but Ralph was delighted to see a shot from one of their

own men, who had also dismounted, take effect on the Frenchman, for he

threw up his hands and fell to the ground.

"Who's that?" said Lord Woodville, who had seen the shot. "What! is't

thou, David Urry? here's a gold piece for thee for having dropped the

first Frenchman to-day."

"Shall we charge them, my lord," said the Captain, turning to the old

baron.

"Mais non, milord, ce n'est rien," replied the tough Marshal.

The vanguard, however, was advanced to the brow of the hill; the cannon

were also brought forward, and the enemy retired.

Another hour of broiling heat ensued. The men became restive. Murmurs

at this prolonged inaction could be heard on all sides; and here and

there the cry so fatal to French arms, and, at the same time so useful

to explain their defeats, was heard--"Nous sommes trahis."

At last, about one o'clock, the gleam of lances could be seen among the

trees which skirted the road below, and the cloud of dust, which rose

above the foliage, told of a moving host.

"They're coming now, Dicky," said Ralph; "we shall soon begin."

"Poor fools!" said Dicky, contemptuously; "I am sorry for them; but,

after all, 'tis what we've come for. I shall keep my eye on a knave in

a good suit of armour, and well mounted, too. None of your scurvy

beggars for me. And, Ralph, I'll stand you a good supper to-night, if I

am not all melted away. Marry, I am hot!"

"Look at the cannon they are bringing up," said Maurice. "Humph! I

hope our fellows will knock them over."

"They've brought them near enough. Why ever don't our knaves begin?

Ah! there they go," added Dicky, as a flash and cloud of smoke flew out,

and a loud report followed, causing all the horses of the men-at-arms to

prance and rear, and unseating several of their riders.

"Well, that did do a parlous deal of harm! there's more off on our side

than there is on the other," said Dicky. "But, mercy on us, what a

whizz!" he added, ducking his head; "whose head's off, I marvel!" as a

round shot came hurtling through the air, without doing any harm,

however.

"We'd best retire our men behind the brow of the hill," said Lord

Woodville. The division was, therefore, ordered back a few yards, and

moved a little to the right, so as to be out of the line of fire.

The artillery duel greatly amused the boys, and Dicky longed to dismount

and catch one of the iron balls as they came bounding along, until he

saw one strike a stout Swiss pikeman, and knock him down, where he lay a

dreadful sight.

"Certes! I'm glad I thought better of it," said Dicky. "Who'd have

thought there was such might in those bumping iron bowls."

"'Tis a game where you'd best not be a ninepin," said Ralph; "but when

are we to move? Oh! I am roasted alive! I would I could look over the

brow of the hill and see what our artillery is doing. Ah! there goes

another. Mercy on us! but it's knocked over four at once--and--ah! 'tis

a fearful sight. How they writhe! Poor wretches! Look! there's Tom o'

Kingston down, and Oglander, and--ah! why don't we charge; they've got

our distance. Ah! they've stopped, thank the saints!" and Ralph became

calmer as the noise ceased.

"Look, Ralph, there's a smash! Cannon, and master gunner, and all, gone

to bits. What a shot!"

But this was the last shot. The smoke blew away, causing Dicky to sniff

and sputter at the smell of the saltpetre.

"Faugh, what a foul mixture. Phew! Ah, it's got down my throat.

Hullo, what are we up to now? Oh, I see, we're to become footmen. Well,

I'd rather be a-horseback. But there, there; it's all one in this

roasting heat. Body o' me, I'm swimming in my harness."

But only the Captain of the Wight, and Ralph, with the rest of the

esquires, and the Marshal de Rieux, dismounted. Dicky Cheke and Maurice

Woodville were ordered to take their lords' horse, with the other

animals, to the rear, and bring them back when the fight was over. This

was grievous news to the two boys. But there was no help for it, and

they retired with a very crestfallen air.

The dismounted knights and esquires had barely time to get inside the

square of pike men when the fluttering pennons of the enemies'

men-at-arms could be seen over the brow of the hill.

"Here they come," said Tom o' Kingston, who had had his horse killed

under him, but was not otherwise hurt. "Now, my knaves, think what

they'll say at home, and let us play the man."

[Illustration: HOW THE MEN OF THE WIGHT WITHSTOOD THE FRENCH.]

And now the serried ranks of the French men-at-arms, their helms well

down, the shields before their left arms, and with lances in rest, came

cantering over the rise in front.

"Now, archers, let fly your shafts," cried the Captain of the Wight, and

a twanging sound instantly followed, for every archer knew what was

coming, and had already put his arrow on the string. The rushing sound

which fluttered in the air was succeeded by a splintering crack or dull

thud, or heavier groan, as the shafts flew home. And many a gallant

man-at-arms fell to the ground in the death sob. But still fresh ranks

came topping the hill, and fierce shouts arose. "A bas les Anglais!

Tuez les!" from the steel-clad figures who cantered onward in grim

resolve.

Some few of the foe would not be refused, and in spite of cloth yard

shaft and sturdy pike, pushed home into the first ranks of the square,

but only to perish under the daggers of the footmen, or be kept as

prisoners to be held to ransom afterwards.

The bravery of these men-at-arms was very conspicuous. They rode up to

the face of the square and thrust fiercely with their long lances at the

pikemen, and bodies of two or three would charge at full speed upon the

halberds, and then leap their horses over the first ranks. But the men

of the Wight stood firm, and although a heavy groan or occasional scream

would tell of a deadly wound or ghastly thrust, no opening had been

made, and still the grey goose shaft did its deadly and silent work.

"Well done, my merry men," called out the clear voice of the Captain of

the Wight. "We will tell of this round many a cheerful yule-tide fire."

But Ralph did not like this way of fighting. He had pictured the battle

to himself as a charge of gallant knights, where individual prowess

would have a chance of distinction. As yet he had exchanged no blows,

and he longed to get out of the stifling mass of crowded infantry.

There now came a lull. The closely thronging men-at-arms seemed daunted

by the bold face of the English footmen. They drew off, and retired

behind the brow of the hill, followed by the deadly arrows of the

archers.

"Bravo, Messieurs les Anglais," said the deep voice of the tough old

Marechal de Rieux. "I vish nevare to be vid more better fantassins. I

mak you mes felicitations."

The hill became thick with lances, and a tall and very graceful knightly

figure could be seen riding amid a press of splendidly armed knights.

"Aha, voila, Monsieur de la Trimouille! C'est un jeune homme tres

capable, et un chevalier sans peur et sans reproche. Il est Capitaine

pour le Roi, et Vicomte de Thouars. Enfin notre affaire, va commencer!"

The cavalry seemed now to avoid the vanguard, and the men of the Wight

had every reason to be proud of themselves. They had driven off the

foe, and had made themselves respected. Most of the young men of the

Wight thought the victory was won, and exchanged many a merry jest at

the expense of the defeated French.

*CHAPTER XXVI.*

*HOW "THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST WERE A' WEDE AWAY."*

In this pause of the battle, Dicky Cheke and Maurice Woodville, with the

custrels and varlets who were looking after the horses of the dismounted

knights and esquires, took refuge in the square, and the men began to

take the affair a little more easily.

The dismounted knights got on horseback again, and Ralph was delighted

to see that the time was coming when they would be the attacking party.

He longed to break a lance with some of those swaggering French

men-at-arms who rode past them, waving their spears and jeering them

with taunting words. But the time had not come yet. In the interval

the wounded were attended to. Surgical science was at a very low ebb,

but what little the surgeon-barbers did know, was applied to the relief

of the sufferers, most of whom, however, bled to death. The men of the

Wight had hitherto suffered very little; two men had been killed

outright by a cannon-ball, and some dozen or so had received more or

less serious lance thrusts. The men who served the artillery, however,

had been very severely handled, and the Isle of Wight men, few of whom

had seen cannon-shot wounds, were shocked at the awful results of those

few minutes of artillery practice at close quarters.

Clumsy and badly served as those primitive guns were, the execution they

did was murderous; and the Captain of the Wight, who possessed such

large experience of mediaeval warfare, noted the change those deadly

weapons must produce, and determined to urge upon King Henry the

importance of employing more largely in the field these engines of

destruction.

Dicky, Ralph, and Maurice were all mounted and standing together. From

their superior position on horseback they could see through their visors

all that was going on, as far as it was possible to make out anything in

that forest of spears. The boys could not understand why they stood

inactive spectators.

"Marry, Ralph, why don't we give it these varlets as they ride past us?

A good charge now would knock over dozens, and I am longing for my

prize-money. Look at that fat Frenchman! did you ever see such a

jack-pudding?"

"T wish I could make out what is going on," said Ralph, who had been

trying to pierce the bewildering masses of steel-clad men, who seemed

never to end as they trotted past with lance on hip and fluttering

pennon. "Hullo, here come the footmen; now look out."

But the free archers only drew up out of bow-shot, and watched the

men-at-arms. It was evident by their gestures they could see something

the vanguard could not see.

The Captain of the Wight seemed uneasy and restive. He was urging

something in a low tone on the old Marshal de Rieux, who only shook his

head and muttered,--

"Pas a present; ce n'est pas le moment."

"Then it will never be the moment," said the Lord Woodville impatiently.

"Look there!"

"Body o' me, Ralph!" said Dicky in consternation, "the Bretons and

Gascons are running away. Look, there goes the banner of Laval; down

goes the golden flag with its fiery cross and blue eagles; there goes

d'Albret. Fie on its golden lilies and purple flag! where are Orleans

and Orange! Look! the Allemaynes are being cut down. Mercy on us! see

how the sword-strokes flash. Why don't we charge?"

The impatience of all the men of the Wight became very great. They

uttered their grumblings aloud.

"Let's charge them, my Lord Captain. Don't be kept back by that old

dotard of a Frenchman. He's changed sides twice; maybe he'd fain do it a

third time."

This was a very awkward suspicion, and one at such a moment most

sinister in its influence on the minds of the English and Breton troops.

The Captain of the Wight saw he could restrain them no longer. He also

longed to take an active part in the battle. He turned to the Marechal

de Rieux.

"Sir, I can keep my people together no longer. We must charge and

retrieve the fortunes of the day, or die in the attempt."

"Comme vous voulez," said the Marshal, shrugging his shoulders. "Mais

tout est perdu. On ne peut plus."

The Captain of the Wight turned in his saddle--he raised his sword.

"Men of the Wight, now is our time. Men-at-arms, close your ranks.

Archers and billmen, prepare to charge. Let all men follow me."

A loud and ringing cheer broke from all that eager band of armed men,

and with a fierce alacrity the square broke up. The little force of

men-at-arms in front, the infantry forming their serried ranks behind.

"'Tis too late!" muttered Tom o' Kingston, and many of the older and

cooler heads agreed with him.

"'Twould be better to march off the field as we are," said Sir John

Trenchard; "they'll never dare to touch us--they've had too much of it

already, and we could join the garrison of Fougeres, who are marching

upon Rennes."

But these experienced soldiers kept their grumblings to themselves, and

prepared to do their duty, even though they knew death to be the reward.

As Dicky Cheke rode behind his chief, he noticed a wounded archer, and

was struck by his calm courage. The man had lost one leg from a cannon

shot, but he was still sitting up supporting himself on the other and

shooting steadily at the French. When he saw his comrades were about to

leave him, without a word or thought of himself, he called out to his

comrade,--

"Dickon, have thou mine arrows, I can go no more. There are still three

left. Take them and riddle yonder Frenchmen. Give my love to Sue, poor

lass! I'll just lay me down a while."

And so the archers parted; and Dicky rode on more grave than he had ever

been in his life.

"Ralph," he muttered; "Ralph, dear boy, if I should be left behind too,

there's a gold chain I would like thee to have, and my goshawk, she's

been well trained, and thou wilt be kind to her, I know. There's little

Alice, my sister, too, give her my bells and jesses; and to mother--No,

certes, Ralph, I'll not play the girl. Art not ashamed of me, Ralph?"

and Dicky tried to whistle a tune, but it only came in a melancholy pipe

from out his barred helm. "Marry, 'tis the heat," said Dicky ruefully.

"Nay, Dicky, cheer up. There's thy Frenchman in the gay armour a-head.

Think of the ransom thou art going to get."

"Ah, Ralph, my boy, methinks 'tis the ransom Sir John Merlin told us had

been paid for all of us long years gone by that I shall win to-day. I

wish I had paid more attention to my prayers--But marry, come up! here

we go! Oh! this is something like! Have at them! A Cheke! a Cheke!

say I. St George for merry England!--Ah!"

His voice suddenly changed, and the poor boy reeled in his saddle, as a

fierce and burly French man-at-arms drove his lance into his corslet and

broke off the point. Dicky's head fell forward. He dropped his lance

and clutched the pommel of his saddle. Everything swam before his eyes,

and he fell from his horse with a groan.

But Ralph had well revenged him. His lance caught the Frenchman under

the gorget, driving the chain shirt into his neck, and bore the

man-at-arms out of his saddle to the ground.

The melee had now become fierce. The French, who were well handled by

their skilful young leader, the Vicomte de Thouars, who was only

twenty-seven years old, had kept a body of men-at-arms behind their

infantry in reserve, and to watch the movements of the Breton vanguard.

This fine body of troops, under the celebrated James Galliotti, seeing

the change of formation of the square, charged at once, and took the

vanguard in flank. The infantry were cruelly handled, and orders were

issued to spare not a single man who wore a red cross. Out-generalled,

and abandoned by the rest of the army, for the main battle had been

utterly broken, the Swiss pikemen were doggedly holding their ground, or

slowly retiring before the fierce onslaught of the French, while the

rearward, seeing how hardly the battle was going, had fled without

striking a blow. The men of the Wight and their Breton comrades were

gallantly upholding the honour of their race. Shoulder to shoulder, and

back to back, the pikemen stood, fiercely exchanging thrust for thrust

with the eager warriors of Gaul. But numbers were against them, and

gradually their ranks were thinned.

The Captain of the Wight, boldly seconded by his knights, esquires, and

men-at-arms, had plunged into the midst of the French cavalry.

Three knights the Lord Woodville had himself unhorsed, his lance was

gone, but his sword still flashed, and rose and fell, and Ralph still

rode beside his lord.

Seeing how fierce was the little band of men around the Captain of the

Wight, the French men-at-arms turned aside to easier conquests, and the

battered and wounded knights and esquires were fain to rest grimly on a

little rising ground they had gained to the right of the battle-field.

How different was the scene from the morning. Of all that gallant, gay,

and careless army, no coherent mass remained. The dusty road was

covered with piles of dead and dying men. Broken pikes, splintered

lances, pools of blood lay all around. Here and there fainting men, sore

stricken, leant upon the end of their halberds, or sank swooning to the

ground. A weary group of English still held together, and repelled the

relentless onslaught of the French; but they had no hope, and had

nowhere to go. No quarter was offered or asked, and their only object

was to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

Ralph looked wearily round. Dicky Cheke had gone. Maurice, poor lad,

could scarcely sit his horse. His head ached, and his pulses throbbed

with the fearful heat of the day, and he had received a terrible blow

from a bill across his thigh. The taces of his armour had saved his

leg, but it had shorn away the upper part of his genouilliere, or

knee-piece, and exposed the bone of the knee.

Ralph himself was badly wounded on the left arm, but he could still

wield his mace. His sword had been broken long ago, and he knew

scarcely anything of the fight. His head swam, and he felt giddy and

faint. The Captain of the Wight was also desperately wounded, and had

raised his visor for more air. Tom o' Kingston leant forward on his

horse's neck, and Sir John Trenchard reeled in his saddle. Master Meux

had gone. No other knight or esquire remained. They could be seen,

easily distinguished by their white surcoats and red crosses, lying

still and motionless, either apart or amid a pile of their enemies.

At this moment a fresh body of men-at-arms, among whom were two or three

knights in very rich armour, rode back from the pursuit of the flying

Bretons.

"They give us no quarter: let us die in harness," said the Captain of

the Wight. "Yonder are all that are left of our gallant fellows; let us

go and die with them."

No one answered. Ralph still thought of his promise. Although Yolande

would never know it, he would save his lord from death, or die with him.

But they were utterly weary with fighting. Their arms were stiff and

nerveless. Ralph could form no thought, he only kept saying to himself,

"I will do my duty, I will do my duty."

"Now, gentlemen," said the Captain, in a voice still clear and resolute,

although feeble from pain and weariness, "this is the last time we shall

speak to each other on earth. My friends and comrades, do you pardon me

for having brought you into such great misery? I humbly ask your

forgiveness, and it sore repenteth me of the dolour I have caused."

"My lord, say no more," said Sir John Trenchard: "may God assoil thee as

freely as I do. 'Tis the lot of all men to die. We have done our duty,

and shall do more yet before we go hence. Let us charge the enemy."

[Illustration: THE LAST CHARGE AT ST. AUBIN.]

"Ay, before our wounds grow stiff," muttered Tom o' Kingston. "But I

would fain some one could tell Polly Bremskete how I played the man."

But Ralph thought of nothing that was said. He only saw a grey mist--a

crimson sunset glow--brown purply foliage, and a lovely face with large

blue eyes, a crown of waving yellow hair, and two soft lips saying,

"Thou will watch over him, Ralph;" and he kept saying to himself. "I

will do my duty."

And now the time had come. The group of weary horsemen rode down to

meet their death. Grimly they settled themselves in their saddles, and

sternly they handled their weapons. The setting sun glowed on their

battered armour, their fluttering tabards, and on the blood-red cross on

their breasts--

"The deare remembrance of their dying Lorde."

All the gay splendour of pompous war was gone, there only remained the

iron will of stern and fixed resolve animating those war-worn figures,

awful in their grim and reckless daring. They rode to seek their death.

The French men-at-arms, seeing them coming, were struck with admiration

at their gallant bearing; but the orders of their captain were strict.

No one who wore a red cross was to be spared. They therefore prepared

to meet the little troop. Their leader was no less a person than Sir

James Galliotti himself. With generous chivalry, seeing the Lord

Woodville had no lance, he threw away his own, and drew his sword. The

little squadrons met, and for a moment it was difficult to tell how the

shock had gone. But in a minute more it was seen that the Captain of

the Wight was still on horseback, and fighting against fearful odds.

But the gallant Sir James Galliotti was down, and so were Tom o'

Kingston and Sir John Trenchard. The former had singled out a huge

Frenchman, and cleft his helm in twain, but had, at the same time, been

pierced through his visor into his brain by another man-at-arms. Sir

John had also killed his man, but had received a mortal wound in doing

so, and lay grimly still waiting for death to relieve him. "I would my

good dame could have had my body for burial, for she ever kept such fine

linen for my winding-sheet. But it is as God wills, and it will serve

for her own cere-cloth. 'Tis hard for her I die, seeing her own age. I

misdoubt me if she can find another husband now. But 'tis ever as God

wills."

Ralph still struggled beside his lord. He had set his teeth, and his

gauntlet seemed to have grown to his mace. In front of him was a

well-armed cavalier, who was aiming a deadly thrust at the Captain of

the Wight. Ralph smote down the spear, and attacked the foe with such

strength as was left him. He threw himself upon the man-at-arms, and

split his helmet with his mace. But his antagonist had also struck him,

and the fierce back-handed stroke shore off the upper part of his

casque, exposing Ralph's wavy fair hair and weary eyes.

"What! Is it thou, De Lisle?" cried the voice of his foe. "Then I am

right joyous. Never more shalt thou leave this field. I have sought

for thee everywhere to-day. At last my hour hath come."

"Ay, and so it hath," said Maurice Woodville, who with a last faint

effort, thrust his dagger through the visor of the man-at-arms, and both

fell to the ground together.

Ralph, still thinking only of his lord, and heeding nothing that

concerned himself, turned round to see where he was. In wild despair he

leapt from his horse. The Captain of the Wight was down; but over him

stood a tall knight, who was defending him against the thrusts and blows

of the enemy. Ralph rushed forward, parrying a fierce cut at his

exposed head with his wounded left arm, and the Frenchman, seeing no

more glory was to be won, turned away to look after their fallen leader.

Ralph stooped down over his lord. His head swam, he reeled and fell.

All sense left him, and he lay in a dead faint. He must have lain some

time unconscious, for when he was recalled to life by some cooling

bandage to his head, the sun had sunk, and the pale primrose of the

evening sky was fading into the ashy grey of night. There were faint

sounds near, voices, and dreary moans, and above, the stars were shining

down on that grim scene of woe, as they had shone on thousands before

and would shine on thousands after. He listened to the faint voices

near. Was he in England? Who were they?

"Then I have thy pardon, noble knight? Would to God I could have His

too! Ah, evil have been my days, and fierce my life, but from

henceforth I vow to humble myself before Him, and lay aside the sword

for ever."

Ralph listened. Who could it be?

A faint voice answered with great difficulty and many pauses.

"I thank God I have had this meeting before I die--He hath ever been

merciful to me, sinful man that I am--but in no wise hath His mercy been

more marvellously proven than in saving me from the sin thou wottest

of.--Thou didst her and me cruel wrong. I say no more of that--I thank

God I die, and I thank Him all the more in that thou knowest now how

guiltless she and I have been. Not of mine own strength did I resist

temptation, but, as is written in Holy Writ, 'Noe temptacion hath

o'ertaken thee, but what God will withe ye temptacion alsoe makke a waie

to escape.' I am near my end now." The voice became weaker. "I cannot

forgather my thoughts. Thou wilt see her. Tell her--ah!--I shall see

her too, where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but

where we 'are as the angels of God in heaven.'" And the voice, scarcely

audible in the last few gasps, ceased for ever.