THE FATE OF MALEVEREUX
Judging by the grimly exultant expressions on the faces of the men, the
expedition was a popular one. The Warblington men were well aware of the
hardships their master and his son had undergone at the hands of the
villainous Sir Denis, while the Portchester troops had occasion to
remember that their Constable's squire had been treacherously detained
by the Lord of Malevereux.
There was also the inducement held out by the presence of vast
quantities of booty to be had on the taking of the fortress; while,
above all, knight, squire, and common soldier realized that they were
carrying out a direct command of the King.
Owing to the fact that the archers were afoot the progress of the column
was necessarily slow, and when Sir Oliver called a halt for the night
only four leagues separated them from their late quarters before Rouen.
The men slept in the open, wrapped in heavy cloaks. The horses, securely
tethered, were placed in the centre of the camp, while sentinels were
posted on all sides.
[Illustration: "WITH SPEAR THRUST AND SWEEP OF AXE THEY FELL UPON THE
STORMERS."]
Shortly after midnight the alarm was raised that the camp was attacked,
and with shouts of "Stand to your arms!" the men-at-arms and archers,
hastily awakened, formed up for the purpose of repelling the threatened
onslaught.
Standing at his post behind his sire and the Constable, Geoffrey could
make out the sharp thud of the hoofs of numerous horses, while a babel
of discordant sounds, shouted in a foreign tongue, resounded on all
sides of the camp.
"Archers, make ready; let no man loose till I give the word," shouted
Sir Oliver, as, waiting sword in hand, he strove to detect something in
the voices of his unseen antagonists that might tell him who they were!
In spite of their rude awakening the soldiers preserved a coolness only
to be gained by constant training in the field. Mechanically the
dismounted men-at-arms fell into line, and dropping on one knee, drove
the butts of their long spears into the earth, while in the intervening
gaps the archers, with arrow on string, awaited the order to let fly
their deadly shafts.
Thrice the unseen cavalry galloped completely round the bristling circle
of steel, though at a respectful distance, as if attempting to find a
weak spot at which to deliver an attack.
"Let them keep to it," remarked Sir Oliver, with a laugh. "Methinks
their horses will be blown ere they come within bow-shot."
"Pile on more wood, then," ordered Sir Thomas Carberry. "Make a rousing
blaze, for 'tis in our favour, since our backs are to the light. Then
perchance we may have a glimpse of our doughty foes."
"They shout in no French tongue, fair sir," exclaimed Geoffrey.
"Then, perchance, they are the German troops whom, report saith, the
Dauphin hath hired."
"A truce to conjectures," said Sir Oliver. "Sound a tucket—one of our
camp calls—and see what that will bring forth."
Hardly had the last notes of the trumpet died away ere the discord
ceased, save for the clattering of a single horseman, who rode straight
for the hedge of steel, guided by the fiercely-blazing camp-fire.
"Stand! Thy name, condition and errand," shouted Sir Oliver.
A rich rolling voice replied, "I am Sir Brian of Ennisbarry, in the
county of Wexford. If ye be enemies of the King of England look to
yourselves. Further, should any knight among you wish to ease his soul
or seek some small advancement, I am here to help him in the furthering
o'it."
"Certes, 'tis the Irish kernes," observed Sir Oliver in an undertone;
then raising his voice he replied—
"Greetings, Sir Brian: two most unworthy knights of Southampton give
thee welcome. I pray thee first quiet thy followers, then if it please
thee join us around the camp-fire."
Amid a babel of voices the Irish horsemen formed a bivouac within a
bow-shot of their English companions-in-arms, and when they had settled
for the night, for they were about to encamp just before they stumbled
across the outposts, Sir Brian, attended by two squires, rode up to the
two Hampshire knights.
"Once again welcome, Sir Brian," exclaimed Sir Oliver. "Though I am
afeared we have but sorry fare to offer thee."
"Sure, 'tis better than I've had these last two days," replied the
Irishman, quaffing a horn of wine that Oswald had produced from the
baggage on his master's sumpter horse.
Sir Brian was a short, slender man of about fifty years of age. He was
clean-shaven, thus revealing a long upper lip and a strongly-formed
cloven chin. His bluish-grey eyes were close set, and brimming with
good-humour. His hair fell in long lank masses from beneath a
cone-shaped steel cap. His body was unprotected by defensive armour save
by a breast-plate that terminated at his waist, and was without gorget.
From his belt dangled a long, cross-hilted sword in a scabbard of black
leather, ornamented with Runic characters, while across his back was
slung a targe of wood covered with undressed leather.
As for his two squires, they were unable to speak a word of English, and
since Geoffrey and Oswald were ignorant of Irish their attempts to
entertain their visitors were limited to dumb show.
It was a strange story that Sir Brian related a part of. His light
cavalry had been surprised earlier in the day by the soldiers of Sir
Denis, and after a fierce engagement the former were compelled to
retreat, leaving four of their number in the hands of the Lord of
Malevereux, by whose orders they were hanged on the battlements of the
castle.
When the Irish knight heard that Sir Oliver was about to assault the
stronghold of Sir Denis, his excitement knew no bounds. He would, he
declared, join his men with those of the Hampshire knights. There would
be booty enough and to spare for all, but he chiefly desired vengeance
upon the Lord of Malevereux for the execution of his four men.
"As thou wilt, Sir Brian," quoth Sir Oliver. "The more the merrier; but,
since we start at daybreak, thou hadst best seek repose."
When the march was resumed a strange sight met Geoffrey's eyes. He had
often heard of the King's Irish kernes, but since they were employed
almost exclusively in scouring the country around Rouen, he had never
before had the opportunity of seeing them.
They were for the most part only partially clad. Many were barefooted,
others boasted of one stocking and one shoe only. They rode barebacked
upon wiry mountain horses, so small that the riders' feet came within a
few inches of the ground.
All except their leader were quite without armour, their offensive
weapons consisting of stout spears and long double-edged knives, while a
few carried round targes provided with a steel spike in the place of a
boss. Though they were ill-disciplined they were excellent scouts, while
in a hand-to-hand conflict they made up for their lack of mail by a wild
impetuosity that struck terror into the hearts of the well-accoutred
French men-at-arms.
It was late in the afternoon when the expeditionary force came in sight
of the Castle of Malevereux. The appearance of the gloomy pile, rendered
even more forbidding by the presence of four gibbets and their ghastly
burdens standing clearly against the sky, aroused many burning thoughts
in Geoffrey's mind.
As it was too late that day to open the assault Sir Oliver ordered his
men to rest themselves, and having constructed hasty entrenchments the
Englishmen and their Hibernian allies lay around the castle, so that
none might leave or enter.
The night passed without interruption, and shortly after daybreak
preparations were made to deliver an assault upon the frowning walls.
From the neighbouring woods the besiegers obtained timber, out of which
rough ladders were constructed, while the Irish levies, who had tethered
their horses at a safe distance from the castle, were kept busily
employed in gathering and carrying bundles of straw and faggots to fill
the moat.
Clad in complete mail, Sir Oliver, accompanied by his squire and a
mounted man-at-arms, rode towards the gateway, while a strong body of
archers occupied a position half a bow-shot in the rear.
To all outward appearances the castle seemed deserted, save by the
dangling corpses of the unfortunate Irish prisoners, but on Sir Oliver
ordering a rousing blast to be sounded, a burly figure, whom Geoffrey
recognized from a distance as Sir Denis, appeared on the battlements,
wearing a white scarf.
"In the name of the most puissant sovereign Henry King of England and
France, I, Oliver, knight of Warblington, summon thee, Denis de
Valadour, Lord of Malevereux, to give up the said castle immediately and
unconditionally," shouted the English knight.
For an answer, Sir Denis raised his right arm, and pointed derisively at
the swaying bodies that hung from the gibbets. This action was the
signal for a sudden discharge of cross-bow bolts from the oyelets, while
a huge stone hurled by a mangonel cunningly concealed behind a
projecting spur of masonry, flew but a few inches above Sir Oliver's
head. As for the bolts, one glanced from Oswald's shield, another struck
the horse of the man-at-arms to the earth, but the rest either fell
short or wide.
Standing in his stirrups the Lord of Warblington shook his fist at the
treacherous and recreant Norman, while a flight of arrows, well and
truly sped, rattled against the corslet and visor of Sir Denis. Whether
any of the missiles took effect or not the Englishmen were unable to
see, but the knight quickly disappeared behind the parapet.
Scorning to turn his face from the foe, Sir Oliver, regardless of the
bolts that still came from the castle, slowly backed his horse till out
of range.
"This will be a right joyous encounter, Thomas," he exclaimed to his
companion knight, at the same time dismounting and handing his steed
over to the care of an archer. "Is all prepared?"
"Ay," replied Carberry. "The men are like hounds in leash. Look also, I
pray thee, at those Irish."
"Sir Brian hath a strange following, yet, methinks they are not lacking
in courage e'en though they may err through rashness. But bid the
archers shoot."
Under a fire so straight and true that none of the enemy dared show
himself, the Irish kernes ran up to the dry moat and threw down their
burdens, till a swaying yet passable causeway took the place of the
raised drawbridge.
"Men-at-arms! In the name of St. George and for Merrie England—forward!"
shouted Sir Oliver, and with one accord squires and common soldiers ran
steadily towards the walls, keeping decorously behind the two mail-clad
knights, whose armour greatly retarded their speed.
Mingled with the men-at-arms were several archers, whose special duty it
was to carry the scaling ladders up to the walls, while in the rear
their comrades maintained their steady fire.
The mass of panting, shouting, and excited men gained the edge of the
moat, and, with swords and axes brandished above their heads, prepared
to follow Sir Oliver and Sir John across the temporary bridge, when a
cross-bowman more daring than his fellows showed himself for an instant
above the battlements and shot his bolt.
The next instant he toppled over the parapet, pierced by half-a-score of
arrows; but the mischief was already done, for the quarrel transfixed
Sir Oliver's leg just above the left genouillère, or metal knee-cap.
With a crash the knight fell to the ground, but as two men-at-arms
rushed to his assistance he waved them off.
"To the walls," he exclaimed. "Ye can do much service there. As for me,
I will tarry here till we gain the castle."
In spite of this momentary check the stormers pressed forward, and
scaling ladders were reared, and, led by Sir Thomas Carberry, the
men-at-arms clambered impetuously up the swaying and creaking timber.
Hitherto the English archers had kept the garrison well in check, but
now, fearful of harming friend as well as foe, they desisted. In a
moment the battlements were thronged by the desperate defenders,
foremost of whom was Sir Denis.
With spear thrust and sweep of axe they fell upon the stormers ere the
latter could gain a footing on the walls. Many an Englishman and Norman,
clasped in a deadly embrace, were tumbled from the battlements; to the
hoarse shouts of the combatants were added the shrieks of the maimed and
wounded, while the steady stream of ascending men continued without any
appreciable sign of a lodgement being obtained upon the
fiercely-defended wall.
Geoffrey, sword in hand, found himself half-way up the creaking ladder,
when a loud shout of warning rose high above the din. The enemy had
loosened a huge mass of masonry, and toppling it over, swept the ladders
of their human burden.
From the mingled crush of dead and wounded the survivors contrived to
extricate themselves, and, hopelessly repulsed, began to give back, with
cries of rage and alarm.
Shaken and bruised from head to foot, but otherwise unhurt, Geoffrey
found himself lying on the brushwood that had broken his fall. With an
effort he regained his feet, stung with the bitterness of defeat.
"Stand!" he shouted to the wavering men-at-arms. "Stand! E'en though we
have not yet won the day we cannot leave our comrades here."
Encouraged by his words, and by the fact that the English archers were
again able to deliver a death-dealing flight of arrows, the discomfited
men-at-arms stood their ground, and began to remove the bodies of their
unfortunate comrades from the floor of the moat, and with some semblance
of order they retired to the rear of the bowmen.
The losses in the repulse had been great. In addition to Sir Oliver, the
Constable of Portchester had been stunned through being hurled from the
ladder, while eleven dead and fifteen badly wounded men-at-arms
testified to the stubbornness of the defence.
"Geoffrey, my son," exclaimed Sir Oliver, as Gripwell and another
man-at-arms were preparing to withdraw the quarrel from his leg, "on
thee has fallen the command. Thou must needs turn this check into
victory, and that soon, otherwise 'tis better to perish to a man than to
return to our King beaten and dishonoured."
Then overcome by the anguish of his wound the knight swooned.
The squire realized the responsibility that had been forced upon him.
Undoubtedly he must act, and that quickly; yet he was adverse to making
another attempt without adopting some other and better plan of attack.
Hastily conferring with Oswald, Gripwell, and Sir Brian, he expounded
his proposals for the renewed assault. The Irish, who had hitherto been
held in reserve, were to set fire to the heap of faggots and straw that
lay in the moat before the gateway. Should the latter be sufficiently
charred to enable it to be splintered with axes, the kernes were to dash
through the smouldering embers and force an entrance; while the
men-at-arms, led by Geoffrey, were to assail the postern through which
the two squires had effected their escape on the occasion of their
captivity.
The main entrance and this portion being on opposite sides of the castle
gave the attackers an advantage, inasmuch as the besieged would be
compelled to divide their numbers instead of concentrating the whole of
their forces in one spot.
"Bravely thought of, young sir," exclaimed Sir Brian. "Give my fellows
but a footing in the gateway, and they'll serve yon villains as did the
blessed St. Patrick the serpents in ould Ireland."
"Saving thy presence, sir," quoth the master bowman. "Our stock of
arrows is but scanty. Already many of the archers have empty quivers."
"Then I pray thee bid them husband their shafts," replied Geoffrey.
"Without a covering flight the escalade will assuredly be a doubly-hard
task. Art ready, Sir Brian?"
Supported by a steady discharge of arrows a body of the Irish levies,
bearing flaming torches, rushed to the edge of the moat, and in a few
moments a crackling column of flame ascended.
While the fire was in progress, Geoffrey, profiting by the confusion,
led his men-at-arms to the opposite side of the castle, where, lying in
ambush in the depression formed by a brook, they waited the signal for
the combined assault.
As soon as the fire had burned itself out, Sir Brian placed himself at
the head of his men, and with a wild shout the Irish rushed at the
charred door. Though numbers fell as they crossed the moat the advance
was irresistible. With a ponderous crash the timbered door was
shattered, and the ill-armed swarm of Irishmen flung themselves upon
their better accoutred yet demoralized foes.
Meanwhile the English men-at-arms had crossed the pike-studded moat,
and, ere the defenders were aware of the assault, fifty mail-clad
warriors had forced the wicket gate at the end of the disused
postern-gallery.
With shouts of triumph the assailants threaded their way through the
narrow tortuous passages and emerged at the inner bailey. Here they
found themselves in the rear of the survivors of the garrison, who were
being hard pressed by the Irish kernes.
Caught betwixt two bodies of their attackers the Normans fought with the
fury of despair, scorning to ask the quarter that they knew would be
denied them.
Sir Denis was almost the last to fall. In spite of his cruel and
treacherous character he was no coward in the fight, and wielding his
axe with ferocious skill and strength, he kept at bay the circle of
steel that surrounded him.
At length, mindful of Geoffrey's shouts to take him alive, three of the
men-at-arms using a stout plank as a means of offence, brought him to
his knees. Even then the knight continued to lay about him, till he was
finally over-borne by a rush of the infuriated Irish, who were with the
utmost difficulty prevented from plunging their knives into his body.
"I pray thee make an end and that quickly," exclaimed Sir Denis
dauntlessly, when, at the end of the combat, he was brought before
Geoffrey.
"That I must do," replied the squire. "Yet e'en though thou hast dealt
foully with me and mine, 'tis not by my will that thou must die. By the
orders of my sovereign lord—and thine, though thou art a rebel—thou must
be hanged on thine own battlements."
"Hanged!" exclaimed Sir Denis, his face turning an ashen grey. "Hanged!
'Tis impossible. A knight to die a villein's death?"
"Such are mine orders," replied Geoffrey curtly. "If there is aught on
thy mind thou mayest have an hour's respite."
The sun was sinking low in the west as the doomed prisoner, accompanied
by a strong guard of men-at arms and archers, was led to the
battlements, where Sir Brian, Geoffrey, Oswald and Walter Talbot were
present to execute the King's commands. Already some of the Irish troops
had removed the bodies of their comrades from the gallows, and the rope
of one was in readiness to receive its victim.
With a firm step Sir Denis walked to the place assigned for him, his
arms bound behind his back, and his neck bared for the fatal noose.
"Young sir," said he, "cannot this be put aside? I do not beg for life,
yet of thy charity, give me the axe rather than the cord."
"Nay," replied Geoffrey shortly, for he could not trust himself to say
more. Then turning to the archers he signed to them to proceed with
their work.
As one of the men bent to secure the knight's ankles, Sir Denis leapt
backwards, sprang on to the parapet, and with a hoarse roar of defiance,
dropped to his death upon the rocks fifty feet below.