HOW GEOFFREY CAME TO TAILLEMARTEL
A few leagues from the city of Rouen Geoffrey and his companions began
to come across evidences of the fearful struggle 'twixt Burgundians and
Orleanists.
Here would be seen a "Burgundian mitre"—the scorched and blackened
gables of a partially demolished cottage; there the corpse of some
unfortunate peasant dangling from the withered branch of a tree. Ever
the air reeked of charcoal and of the fetid odours emanating from
carcases of unburied cattle; for the marauders ruthlessly slew every
four-footed creature that they were unable to drive off to their
embattled retreats.
Utmost caution had to be exercised by the English travellers, since they
were not strong enough to hope to successfully repel the attacks of any
but the smaller bands of freebooters. Twice they were compelled to take
refuge in friendly woods. Once a détour of three leagues was necessary,
owing to the approach of suspicious parties of horsemen, so that the sun
had set ere Geoffrey arrived at the portals of his father's Norman
castle.
In the gloom the lad could distinguish the outlines of two massive
circular twin towers connected by a battlemented wall, pierced by a
lofty gateway concealed by the raised drawbridge. On either side of the
towers the wall ran for a distance of about fifty yards till it joined
another circular though smaller tower forming the angle of the fortified
work. Within, the summit of a square keep was just visible above the
battlements. Barbican or outwork there was none, but a deep moat
surrounded the castle.
"What think ye of Taillemartel?" asked Gripwell as the cavalcade reined
in their steeds at the edge of the moat.
"'Tis a noble pile, Arnold," replied Geoffrey, "though not so large as
Warblington, I trow. But how——"
Geoffrey's words were interrupted by a hoarse shout from the
battlements, and a sentinel demanded the names and errand of the
newcomers.
"They keep good ward," remarked Oswald, as one of the English archers
who was about to sound a tucket thrust his trumpet behind him.
"Ho, there! Who comes?" repeated the sentinel.
"I would have speech with the seneschal," replied Gripwell.
In a few minutes torches flickered behind the battlements, glittering on
steel headpiece and breastplate; then a voice exclaimed: "Here am I,
Bertrand de Vaux, seneschal to my Lord Oliver Lysle. Who would have
speech with me at this unseemly hour?"
"Sir Oliver's son stands without, and would be admitted."
"I wot not that Sir Oliver's son was coming hither," replied the
seneschal. "What proof have I that ye are not of Malevereux, or of
Entrevilles, or of Faux?"
"A truce to thy stubbornness, Bertrand," shouted Oswald. "Dost recognize
my voice? I am Oswald Steyning, Sir Oliver's squire."
"A thousand pardons, monsieur. Now I know 'tis no trick or stratagem.
Nevertheless, be it known that Sir Oliver's strict injunctions allow
neither the gate nor the sally-port to be opened after sunset, save by
virtue of his written order."
"Doth that also apply to the drawbridge?" asked Gripwell.
"Nay," replied the seneschal. "That I will have lowered, but to what
purpose?"
"Hast ever heard how the blessed St. Paul left the city of Damascus? I
pray thee lower ropes from the battlements if naught else will serve,
and I'll warrant that this night we'll slumber quietly within the walls
of Taillemartel."
To this suggestion there was no verbal response, but almost immediately
the iron chains of the drawbridge creaked and clanked as the ponderous
wooden structure fell slowly on its hinges.
Meanwhile the two archers had tethered the horses of the party in a
meadow hard by the moat. This done, Geoffrey and his companions crossed
the drawbridge, to find three stout, noosed ropes dangling from the
almost invisible heights above.
Spinning round and round like a joint on a jack, Geoffrey was drawn up,
and in this somewhat undignified manner he made his entry into his
father's Norman home.
Oswald and Gripwell followed, the ropes being again lowered for the two
archers, and soon the travellers found themselves standing on the
battlements surrounded by the eighty men-at-arms and archers comprising
the garrison of Taillemartel, but it was not until the letter bearing
the Lady Bertha's signature and the seal of Warblington was produced and
read that the seneschal led the round of cheering that greeted Sir
Oliver's son.
Bertrand de Vaux was a short, broad-shouldered, bull-necked Norman, of
about forty years of age. Muscular strength was evinced by his frame,
while his deep-set eyes and heavy square-cut chin denoted resolution and
determination akin to obstinacy.
He was soberly attired in a close-fitting suit of green cloth slashed
with red, while a silver belt, ornamented with the arms of the Lysles,
encircled his waist. On his head he wore a velvet cap of maintenance
ornamented by a silver clasp, also stamped with the turbot and the
stars, while his feet were encased in untanned leather shoes, the toes
of which terminated in long points that for convenience' sake were
turned upwards and fastened to the wearer's calves by means of silver
buckles.
"I pray you bear me company to the banqueting-hall," said the seneschal
addressing Geoffrey and Oswald. "I doubt not that Taillemartel can still
provide a repast fitting for Sir Oliver's son, e'en though Sir Oliver
himself be not here to have the ordering of it."
So saying, he led the way to the hall where the men-servants had already
prepared a plentiful repast of cold venison, pheasants, long rolls of
bread, and a copious supply of mead and wine.
Arnold Gripwell had partaken himself to the quarters of the
_sous-officiers_, while the archers had to content themselves with
company of the Norman soldiery, but their slight knowledge of the
foreign tongue was sufficient to enable them to carry on a conversation
with their new comrades.
"Hast heard or seen aught of Sir Yves of Malevereux?" asked Geoffrey, as
they were doing full duty towards the viands.
"Of Sir Yves nothing; of his following overmuch. Thrice within the last
fortnight have his men appeared within sight of Taillemartel. Yet though
they did us no scath, they did not hesitate to mock at us. _Ma foi_,
when they mentioned the name of Sir Oliver, and taunted us that we were
children not to stir on his behalf 'twas as much as I could do to keep
my men in hand. Yet seeing that they of Malevereux were thrice as many,
and that little or no good was to come of adventuring ourselves 'gainst
them in the open, I kept our men within walls."
"I trust that they have done no harm to the tenantry?"
"Only to Pierre, the wood-cutter," replied Bertram carelessly. "Poor
fool, he would not take shelter within the castle as the rest have done,
so they slew him on his own threshold—not before he had killed two of
the villains."
"Now that is good cheer," continued the seneschal, when Geoffrey had
told him of the proposed alliance with Sir Raoul d'Aulx. "By St. Denis,
with three hundred men-at-arms, archers, and cross-bowmen 'gainst it,
Malevereux will assuredly fall. And then——Ah, with Sir Oliver set free,
and the plunder of two score years within our grasp, life will be worth
living."
On the morning following the arrival of the Englishmen at Taillemartel,
Oswald Steyning set out to deliver the letter from the Lady Bertha to
Sir Yves de Malevereux.
In spite of the young squire's forebodings, he persevered in his
determination of bearding the Tyrant in his den. Refusing to take any of
the garrison as an escort, he bade farewell to Geoffrey and his friends,
both English and Norman; then, trusting to chance to avoid straggling
parties of raiders (though the fact that he bore a letter addressed to
the Tyrant might afford him safe conduct), he rode forth from the
sheltering walls of Taillemartel.
From that moment it seemed as if the earth had opened and swallowed up
the bold and devoted squire of Sir Oliver Lysle. Day after day passed,
yet Oswald did not return. Reluctantly Geoffrey had to admit that,
unless some misadventure had befallen his friend on the way, Sir Yves
had been guilty of a gross breach of faith, and had made the young
squire captive in the gloomy castle of Malevereux.
For the next fifteen days following Oswald's departure nothing of
interest occurred to break the ordinary routine observed at
Taillemartel. Occasionally parties of horsemen, bearing Sir Yves'
livery, would appear before the castle, but they wisely forbore from
approaching within bow-shot. Nevertheless, Geoffrey had not been idle.
Under Gripwell's tutorage he studiously practised the use of the lance,
sword and mace, or engaged in tourneys with blunted lances. Hard knocks
were given and received with good grace, and day by day the heir of
Warblington made rapid progress in the art of war.
At length Richard Ratclyffe arrived at the castle, his crestfallen face
forewarning the garrison of the failure of his mission. Sir Raoul had
been summoned to Paris to attend upon the Dauphin, and for an apparently
indefinite time the Castle of Maissons was to be shorn of its numerous
soldiery, a bare thirty men-at-arms and cross-bowmen being left to hold
the fortress during its lord's absence.
"I can only return to my master, Sir Thomas Carberry, with assurances of
Sir Raoul's condolence," exclaimed Ratclyffe ruefully. "That is but cold
comfort, yet 'tis better than nothing at all. But on the other hand,
Geoffrey, there are great doings afoot. I heard, on the authority of one
of the French king's attendants, that our King Harry hath formally
presented his claim to the throne of France. Failing an immediate
compliance he vows that he will submit his claim to the arbitrament of
the sword."
"'Tis good news," replied Geoffrey enthusiastically, but the brow of the
Norman seneschal clouded ominously.
"France for the Frenchmen," said he. "So long as Sir Oliver holds
Taillemartel as a fief of King Charles I am content. With Burgundian
fighting Orleanist I am likewise content to side with the Duke of
Burgundy. Should he think fit to make alliance with your King Henry 'tis
well; but failing that, how can I, Bertrand de Vaux, stand aloof when
English armies tread on French soil?"
"Have a care, sir, lest you fall betwixt two stools," exclaimed
Ratclyffe. "'Tis said that Burgundy favours King Henry's claim."
"If that be so, I, too, am with him; yet at heart I am a Frenchman."
"Time will prove, good Bertrand. Meanwhile, concerning the matter in
hand; it is my purpose to journey homewards to-morrow, Geoffrey, so if
thou hast a message to send to Warblington I will be the bearer."
"Since so little has been done towards setting free my father, I am at a
loss what to say," replied Geoffrey, sadly. "But this: bear my mother my
most dutiful expressions of regard, and tell her that by the blessing of
God I am in good health. Also that I am striving to do my devoirs as a
true Lysle."
Late in the afternoon of the day following Ratclyffe's departure, a
small cavalcade was observed to be rapidly approaching the castle. The
battlements were immediately manned, the gates shut, and the drawbridge
raised, while speculation was rife as to the object of the new-comers.
Without hesitation the little band rode fearlessly up to the edge of the
moat. There were but seven, all most magnificently mounted and
accoutred, while their leader bore the French Royal arms upon his
surcoat—the silver lilies upon an azure field. A horn was sounded, and
admittance was demanded for a herald of King Charles of France. Upon
this the drawbridge was lowered, and the gates thrown open.
"Welcome, Sir Jacques d'Erquai," exclaimed the seneschal, recognizing
the new arrival as a distinguished knight of the French Court. "What is
thy pleasure?"
"I ask entertainment for me and mine this night, Bertrand. To-morrow we
hasten towards Harfleur, for my royal master hath deigned to favour me.
In sooth, I am ambassador-extraordinary to the King of England."
That evening Sir Jacques was the guest at Taillemartel. During his stay
he spoke but little concerning the nature of his mission. When, however,
he had taken his departure, Arnold Gripwell approached the English lad,
his face working with excitement.
"Yesternight I lay low and said but little, though mine ears were as
busy as a housewife's fingers. Certes, though I understand that this Sir
Jacques d'Erquai kept a proper curb on his tongue, his varlets lacked
common discretion. What, think ye, is the Dauphin's answer to our
Sovereign Lord's demands?"
"Surely the Dauphin will not submit tamely?" suggested Geoffrey.
"Of a surety he will not," continued the man-at-arms. "Not only hath he
refused the king's conditions, but he hath gone further; by the hand of
Sir Jacques he hath sent an insulting message, together with a present."
"The message?" asked Geoffrey eagerly.
"To fully understand the message 'tis necessary to know the nature of
the present, young sir. In short, the Dauphin has sent a box of tennis
balls with the message that King Harry would do better to find amusement
with them rather than present a claim to the crown of France."
"After that there can be but one issue," remarked Geoffrey.
"Ay—war," was Gripwell's curt response.