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Title: The Fall Of The Grand Sarrasin
Being A Chronicle Of Sir Nigel De Bessin, Knight, Of Things That
Happed In Guernsey Island, In The Norman Seas, In And About The Year
One Thousand And Fifty-Seven
Author: William J. Ferrar
Release Date: December 3, 2004 [EBook #14245]
Language: English
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Produced by Steven Gibbs, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online Distributed
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THE FALL OF THE GRAND SARRASIN
BEING A CHRONICLE OF SIR _NIGEL DE BESSIN_, KNIGHT, OF THINGS THAT
HAPPED IN _GUERNSEY_ ISLAND, IN THE _NORMAN SEAS_, IN AND ABOUT THE YEAR
ONE THOUSAND AND FIFTY-SEVEN.
BY
WILLIAM JOHN FERRAR.
ILLUSTRATED BY HAROLD PIFFARD.
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE GENERAL LITERATURE COMMITTEE.
LONDON:
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.;
43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C.
BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET.
NEW YORK: E.S. GORHAM.
PREFACE.
Some people bring home a bundle of sketches from their summer
holiday--water-colour memories of cliff, of sea, ruined castle, and
ancient abbey. I brought back from the Channel Islands these pages here
printed, as a kind of bundle of sketches in black and white, put
together day by day as a holiday-task, and forming a string, as it were,
on which the memories of ramble after ramble were threaded,--rambles
from end to end of Guernsey, and rambles, too, among the treasures of
the Guille-Allés Library. I enjoyed my holiday all the better, as I
peopled the cliffs and glens with the shadows of eight hundred years
ago, and I hope that others may find some reality and some pleasure in
the result as it is given here.
If any inquire into the real historical foundations for the story, I
refer them to the few notes at the end of the book, which will reveal
without much doubt where fiction begins and fact ends. I hope I may be
allowed a little license in the treatment of facts. There is--is there
not?--a logic of fiction, as well as a logic of facts. At least there
seemed to be as I wrote the story, and I hope no one who reads it will
be inclined to quarrel with any part of it because its only basis
is--imagination. Anyway, I will shelter myself under the great words of
a great man, in the preface of one of the great books of the world: "For
herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity, friendliness,
hardiness, love, friendship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin.
Do after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good
fame and _renommée_. And for to pass the time this book shall be
pleasant to read in, but for to give faith and belief that all is true
that is contained herein, ye be at your liberty: but all is written for
our doctrine, and for to beware that we fall not to vice nor sin, but to
exercise and follow virtue by the which we may come and attain to good
fame and renown in this life, and after this short and transitory life
to come unto everlasting bliss in heaven" (Preface of William Caxton to
"The Book of King Arthur").
W.J. FERRAR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Of how I, _Nigel de Bessin_, was brought up by the monks of _the Vale_
in _Guernsey Island_, and how on a certain day the abbot gave me choice
of two lives, and which I chose. 5
CHAPTER II.
Of _Vale Castle_ hard by the Abbey, and how I was sent with a letter to
_Archbishop Maugher_, and by the way first saw the Sarrasin pirates at
work. 12
CHAPTER III.
Of my _Lord Maugher_ and his _Familiar Demon_. How he received the
abbot's letter, and how I was courteously entertained at his house of
_Blanchelande_. 18
CHAPTER IV.
Of the coming of the Sarrasins in force, and of the building of their
château--Of _Brother Hugo's_ confidence in God, and how I rang the
alarm-bell at _St. Pierre Port_. 28
CHAPTER V.
Of what befell the abbot's envoys to _Duke William_, our liege lord,
and more particularly _Brother Ralf_, and how we were hemmed in by
our foes. 34
CHAPTER VI.
Of our passing from cloister to castle, and of the burning of
_Vale Abbey_--Of the siege of the castle, and the exploits
of _Brother Hugo_. 40
CHAPTER VII.
Of _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of the renewed attack upon _Vale Castle_--Of
my first deeds of arms, and how the _Moors_ were beaten back. 47
CHAPTER VIII.
How I was sent forth by my lord abbot to seek protection of _Duke
William_, and of what befell me by the way of the pirates. 54
CHAPTER IX.
Of our battle on the rocks of _Jersey Isle_, and how _Simon_ gave up his
life, and how I was taken captive and brought back. 61
CHAPTER X.
How I was brought before _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of his
magnificence--How I saw _Folly_ in his chamber, and was lodged in a
cavern under earth. 65
CHAPTER XI.
By what means I was delivered from _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and how I found
shelter with the priest of _St. Apolline's_. 72
CHAPTER XII.
Of my second setting-forth for _Normandy_, and in what guise I took
passage. 80
CHAPTER XIII.
How I arrived at _St. Malo_, and, proceeding to the Abbey of _St.
Michael de Tombelaine_, found friends to set me on my road. 85
CHAPTER XIV.
How, being given letters to _Duke William_ by the Abbots of _St.
Michael_ and of _Bec_, I set out for _Coulances_, and of what befell me
on my way. 93
CHAPTER XV.
How I saw an evil face at a casement, and how at my uncle's house of
_St. Sauveur_ I heard tell of my father--And of what happed on our
getting forth for _Valognes_. 99
CHAPTER XVI.
How, at length I was brought before _William, Conquestor Invictissimus_,
of all soldiers the greatest, and most invincible of dukes--Of the
manner he received my mission, and of the expedition of _Samson
d'Anville_. 106
CHAPTER XVII.
Of the journey of our ships to relieve the Brethren of the Vale, and how
we fought a great battle with the _Moors_ outside the _Bay of
L'Ancresse_. 113
CHAPTER XVIII.
The story of the relief of _Vale Castle_. 122
CHAPTER XIX.
How we set forth to attack _Le Château du Grand Sarrasin_--Of the
_Normans'_ valour, and of the flight of our foes. 128
CHAPTER XX.
Of the sore slaughter in the glen of _Moulin Huet_, and on the shore,
and how _Le Grand Sarrasin_ was slain, and of his secret. 135
CHAPTER XXI.
Conclusion. How, the above matters being finished, I was made known to
my father. 143
HISTORICAL NOTES.
PAGE
A. Archbishop Maugher 147
B. Vale Abbey 148
C. Vale Castle 148
D. Visit of Duke Robert 149
E. The Sarrazins in Guernsey 150
F. The Expedition of Samson d'Anville 150
CHAPTER I.
Of how I, _Nigel de Bessin_, was brought up by the monks of _the Vale_
in _Guernsey Island_, and how on a certain day the abbot gave me choice
of two lives, and which I chose.
This is the chronicle of me, Nigel de Bessin, of good Norman stock,
being a cadet of the great house, whose elder branch is even to-day
settled at St. Sauveur, in the Cotentin. And I write it for two reasons.
First, for the sake of these grandchildren, Geoffrey, Guy, and William,
who gather round me in the hall here at Newton, asking for the story of
great deeds of old days, such as were the deeds of Tancred and Duke
Rollo, and him I loved and fought for--loved, though stern he was and
rude--William, who by his mighty conquest gave us our place in this fair
realm. And second, since the winter days are long, and I go no more out
to hunt or to fight as of old, to recall all this and more will have
much sweetness, and delight my old heart with gentle memories, like the
smell of lavender laid between robes or napery in the oak press yonder,
as one takes this or that from the store.
And first, how came I to write it in such clerkly wise? Ay, that was
through the foresight of my uncle, the Vicomte de Bessin, since I knew
not then my father, and the good care of the monks of the Vale, and
chiefly of Brother Bernard, a ripe scholar and a good, with whom I
progressed so well in learning, that at fifteen I was more like to have
put this grissled head under a cowl than under a soldier's helm. A fair
place was L'Ancresse in the days of Abbot Michael, false Maugher, and
the Grand Sarrasin. And a good school of manners and of learning of
books and piety, that may aid men in their earthly life, was the Vale
Cloister. I see it now--the quiet, sober place, with its great round
arches, and its seats of stone, pleasant and cool in summer, bitter cold
in winter, when the wind came in sharp from the Eastern sea, so that we
wrapt our Norway furs about us, and shivered as we sat, till Brother
Bernard said, "Up, lads; catch who catch can up to the Viking's tomb!"
or "Haste ye now, and run to meet the pirates in Bordeaux Bay, and bring
them to me to shrive, ere ye do them to death, as Normans should!" The
blood ran free and warm then, and the limbs grew straight and strong,
and the muscles of arms and legs like whipcord, and brown we were as the
brown rocks of L'Ancresse Bay, as we played at war on those
salt-breathed plains--Guy, Rainauld, Gwalkelyn. Alas! they are all
passed to their account! There were no aches or pains of back or
shoulder; there were no mean jealousies, no bitter hatreds, no
discourtesies, no words that suit not the sons of good knights or lords,
but wrestle or tussle and mock battle, and tourney, and race by land or
water in summer, when our bodies gleamed white beneath the calm waves as
we played like young dolphins in the bay. And ever and anon would
Brother Hugo be amongst us, his cowl thrown back, and his keen eagle
face furrowed into merriment as he sped on some knightly play--for he
himself was a nobleman, and had been a good knight, and a famous name
lay hid under that long Benedictine robe. Thus, wondrous peacefully and
happily had I been reared with other right princely youths and some of
humble lineage in that fair place. And but one unhappiness ever
disturbed my joyous spirit. It was that while all had fathers and
mothers that loved them, and took pride in their increase in learning
year by year, or else had dear memories of those that were their
parents, I had been told naught of my parents save their name, and
asking of them was bidden not to ask further. This at times was a grief
to my spirit, but amid so many joys it weighed not on me heavily.
Now it was before the coming of the Grand Sarrasin and his troop of the
wild off-scouring of every sea, that settled in the midst of the isle
and defied lord and squire, abbot and prior--it was before those days
with which my chronicle has most to do--that to me, Nigel, sitting
conning an old book of knightly exploits, which for a reward Brother
Hugo let us read on summer days, came a summons to go and see no less a
one than the abbot himself. Now, the abbot was a great man of holy and
blameless life, that sat in his own chamber towards the west, and had
much traffic in matters of State and Church with the duke, and
messengers went often to and fro from him to Caen, Rouen, and Paris, and
in that year, the year one thousand and fifty-seventh since the birth of
the Saviour of men, ever adorable and blessed, there was much afoot, for
William, with the young blood still in him, gaining to himself by force
of will chief power upon the mainland, was already spreading his wings
like a young falcon for another more terrible flight. And lately
Maugher, his uncle, and his bitterest foe though out of his own
household, he had banished, archbishop though he was, from Rouen, to our
small Isle of Guernsey, where there was scarce footing for the tread of
so great and dark a schemer in high matters. And already the Conqueror
had himself appeared at Edward's Court in England, and prepared his way
thither.
I was near sixteen years old, and I stood tall for my years, some five
foot and a half, and for a lad I was well made, if yet lacking my full
strength and girth round the chest, such a lad as in two years more
Geoffrey my grandson will grow to, if God will. Fair I should have been
if I were not burnt black with the hot sun pouring through the salt air,
and my fair hair clustered crisp and neat round my temples and neck. So
stood I, no doubt a fair and honourable youth, at the entering in of the
abbot's inner chamber.
And the abbot, sitting in his carven chair amid his rolls of parchment
and instruments of writing, raised me swiftly as I stooped to kiss his
hand. Dark-eyed, hawk-nosed, with black hair not yet flecked with snow,
there was an awe and stateliness in him whether he spoke to gentle or to
simple. He was a Norman, and being such feared none, and had his will,
and when it was possible mixed a rare gentleness with his acts and
words.
"Son," said he, "thou hast been happy here?"
The keen eyes were fixed upon me, and I could not but answer the truth,
even had I wished to lie.
"Yes, holy father," I answered.
"And thou wouldst stay here ever?" The eyes were still upon me, and they
searched my soul as a bright flush, I knew, rose to my cheek, and I
hesitated how to answer. Then suddenly, as I stood in doubt, they seemed
to change, and it was as if sunlight gleamed over a landscape that
before lay dark and grim, for the abbot smiled upon me with the kindest
of all smiles. "Thou feelest no calling to the cloister and the cowl,
the book and the pen, the priesthood, and the life of prayer?"
"Ah, no, holy Father." I had gained my tongue, and spoke boldly, if
reverently. "Books and prayer are good; but I am young, and there is a
world beyond these grey walls, and my kinsmen fight and do rather than
pray or read."
"The eaglet beats his wings against his cage already," said the abbot,
kindly; "it is indeed a shapely bird. Thou art right, lad. There is a
world outside, where men strive and fight and do--how blindly and how
wildly thou knowest not. But the battle is not to the strong or the race
to the swift, though so it seem. Go, then, out into the world boldly but
warily, and be thou a good soldier, as thou art a good scholar. Thine
uncle shall know of these words between us."
I knelt again and kissed his hand, and left his broad and pleasant
chamber.
And outside I strolled upon the green, dim vague thoughts surging up
swift into my mind, as I went striding on swifter than I knew. Ere long
I reached the extreme limit of the land, the high-piled rocks of
L'Ancresse. I looked out upon the sea to where Auremen lay flat and wide
against the sky, and I thought I could descry the Norman shores and La
Hague Cape stretching towards me; and, though I knew no home but the
Vale Cloister, another voice of home seemed calling me over thither. A
voice in which battlecries and trumpet-blasts were strangely mingled;
and I seemed to see men fighting and striving, and banners and pennons
flying; and a voice seemed to spring up from my soul, bidding me go
forth, and fight and strive with them, and gain something--I knew not
what.
I knew not then; but I know now, what that voice was, that yearning,
that discontent with the past. It was the Norman blood rising within me,
the blood of force, and battle, and achievement. Surely there is
something in us Normans--a hidden fire, which sends us forth and
onwards, and makes us claim what we will for our own! And having claimed
it, we fight for it, and fighting we win it. So with Tancred of
Hauteville, so with Rou, so with William. Will of iron, heart of fire! A
grand thing it is to be born a Norman.
CHAPTER II.
Of _Vale Castle_, hard by the Abbey, and how I was sent with a letter to
_Archbishop Maugher_, and by the way first saw the Sarrasin pirates at
work.
Now, men were busy in the Vale. I have yet said no word of Vale Castle,
built a mile away from the cloister, of hewn stone, goodly and strong.
It lay upon the left horn of St. Sampson's Harbour, near where that holy
man landed with the good news of God in days of old, and its stout
bastions rested on the bare rock, and its walls seemed one with the rock
below, so thick and stout they were, built as Normans alone can build,
to last as long as the rocks, as long as the earth. And in Vale Castle
no lord or baron ruled. It was the Castle and outward defence of the
Vale Cloister, and its lord was the Abbot of the Vale. And within its
ramparts there was room (as we found ere long), in times of danger from
pirate or strange foes, for all the brethren and children of the
Cloister, and for many more besides, so that when the watch-tower fire
sprang into life upon the beacon, and the alarm-bell rang out by night
or day, the folk of the dale came flocking in with their babes and
their most prized goods for shelter beneath the abbot's wing. Vale
Castle feared no pirate-band, and in a short space all our most precious
things could be secured behind those walls snug and safe enough, until
the evil men who had come to alarm our peace steered their long ships
away again, sore dissatisfied with the plunder of our isle. So well
guarded we were, and so strong were our three castles, within whose
walls all who listed could find safety. As, indeed, it proved in the
attack of the great Moor, of which this chronicle will chiefly tell.
Now, the Castle had been built some forty years before, by none other
than the great Cherbourg himself, Duke Robert's engineer. For it chanced
that Duke Robert was royally entertained years ago by Abbot Magloirios,
when he was forced by foul weather to put into L'Ancresse Bay, who, on
his departure, left Cherbourg and other skilled men to build three
castles for their safety against pirates. So it was through Duke
Robert's stay at the Vale that our Castle was made so strong. Thus God
brought here, as ever, good out of evil.
And among the lay brothers were good soldiers, who could man the Castle.
And once, in bygone days, they say a whole company of knights (all
resting now in Abraham's bosom, and their bodies in the Vale churchyard)
came together, and sought to be made quit of the world and its strife in
our peaceful cloister. These, though they left the world behind, were
able to teach for safety's sake something of warlike matters to the
brethren; and thus it chanced that our brothers were ready to be men of
war when peace was impossible, and men said of them, in rhyming
fashion--
"White cowl and white cloak,
Chain-mail and hard stroke."
Now, about this Castle of late men had been more than ever busy. Sundry
instruments of besieged men of a new and deadly fashion lay in the
armoury, and were at times by Brother Hugo brought out and practised by
the brethren that formed, as he said, his _corps d'armes_. Then were
they soldiers indeed, not monks at all, as, cassock and cowl thrown
aside, they drew the bows, or aimed with their great engines the balls
of stone and iron.
Now, it was in those days that the abbot sent me on matters more heavy
than I knew to that archbishop of whom I have already made mention, who,
his state laid aside, lay in exile as a poor humble man, though Duke
William's uncle, in a small moat-house, by name Blanchelande, with
little land attached beyond the forest of St. Pierre, and hard by the
bay of the Saints of God.
Though I would fain haste to our meeting, yet must I first tell what
manner of man he was reckoned by the folk of our island and by
ourselves. Abbot Michael had expressly charged us, on his first coming,
we should believe nothing of aught we heard of him. Yet tales went
round, and gathered force as they went, ill tales that took scant time
to travel; and we lads, innocent of mind, were full of shame for what
was common talk, and we were ready to believe that here was no common
sinner. We knew there were witch women whom men justly burn for sin. And
of Archbishop Maugher men said a spirit of evil ever went with him, or
was at his hand.
Now, when abbot Michael gave me the missive into my hand, there was a
look in his face that seemed to ask if I feared the journey; but I took
it readily and heartily, and turned to go.
"Stay," said the abbot, as I went. "Bring me word how my Lord Archbishop
takes my letter, what he says, how he looks. Bring me his slightest
word, his least look. Thou art quick and clever. Do my bidding as a good
lad should. Thou hast naught to fear of such as he."
So I went forth boldly, leaving the Vale behind me, and within an hour
had entered among the trees that part it from the forest land.
Now, in due course of travel I reached that high point of the isle
whence through the trees one can look down on all sides save the south,
and see the blue waves and the distant islands, and there lay, I knew,
the earthworks of an ancient fort, that the first tenants of the isle
used for defence in days long past--yea, and their wall of stone circled
the space this way and that, and the roofless walls of some building--a
temple perhaps--stood near, wherein they worshipped the false god of the
sky or the hearth; here awhile I rested, and after brake again into the
path, and made for the Bay of the Saints, where Maugher dwelt.
Now, I was not far upon my road when I heard a faint whistle through the
trees, and, running back a few yards, I saw the old ruins I had left,
not empty, as I had left them, but--strange sight--tenanted, I could
see, by men, and, as I thought, men of evil aspect. Now, I knew that
they had seen me, and thought me well upon my road, so I dared not
return; and, indeed, I feared in my heart, for I had little doubt they
were pirates, if not spirits of the men of old of whom I had been
dreaming. Therefore I went swiftly on my path, and covered quite a mile
ere I brake into the forest again, and made my way back to another side
of that old ruined fort. Now, as I crept up, I saw little that was
strange--only two men walking to and fro in earnest conversation, and
from where I lay--for nearer I durst not approach--I could hear nothing
of their talk. They were men of light and supple build, bearded, and of
dark swarthy skin, as of those who know no shelter but the decking of a
ship, and their hands were seldom absent, as they paced it side by side,
from the hilts of the brace of daggers swinging from their waists. I
guessed that they were pirates, and my heart fell as I remembered what
manner of men they were--haters of all--their God, their king, their
fellow-men--and how, in consequence, the hand of man was against their
hand, as their hand was against man's. Where were the other men I had
seen? In a moment I guessed the truth, for I caught the dull sound of
digging and delving in the earth below--thud, thud, thud--as of many
spades and picks, and beyond the angle of the wall I saw the earthwork
piled with new earth in many places. So my young eyes peered curiously
and cautiously out through the leaves, and a flood of feelings struggled
in my heart, and the digging went on--thud, thud, thud--beneath my very
feet, and the two strange men trod ever up and down, staying at times
upon their way to point to this side or that, to tap the wall, or draw
figures with their swords amid the fallen leafage.
I stood a long time fixed to the ground, and then with a great effort I
stole noiselessly away, and, once on the beaten track, I hasted on to
the moat-house.
With a heart that I could hear beating, I turned my back on the bay,
and, crossing the little drawbridge, craved of a warder at the
gate--half fisher, half ecclesiastic, in a frayed frock and seamen's
shoes--an audience of my Lord the Archbishop for the delivery of a
missive from the Abbot of the Vale, that must be delivered into his hand
alone.
CHAPTER III.
Of my _Lord Maugher_ and his _Familiar Demon_. How he received the
abbot's letter, and how I was courteously entertained at his house of
_Blanchelande_.
And my lord was not difficult of access. He sat in a deep chair in the
hall, and round him were all manner of strange things whose shape and
name I knew not, but little was there save old rolls of parchment to
betoken a Churchman's dwelling. A great table held bottles of many
shapes of glass and earthenware, and optic glasses and tools lay
intermingled. I caught the gleam of much bright steel on settle and
shelf--chain-mail, targe, dagger, helmet, and sword. A great warrior's
complete equipment, tunic and hose of mail, shield, and helm, hung
before me as I entered. Three huge hounds, with heavy chaps hanging
loose from their jaws, lay about the hearth, but only noted my entrance
with a drowsy gaze, then dropped back upon their paws; but a strange
ugly creature, like an ill-shaped child, that was so vile to look on
that I thought him the very Devil himself, crouching on the table by the
archbishop's side, set up a chattering and a muttering, with now and
then a kind of mocking laughter like a madman's meaningless merriment.
Nor would he cease until my lord clouted him twice or thrice rudely on
his ill-favoured crown with a "Hist, folly, stay thy devil's clatter."
Now, this beast it was, one, I suppose, of those apes that King Solomon
trafficked in, that gave rise to the saying that a familiar from Hell
housed with my lord in Guernsey. But being of a bold spirit, and
expecting even worse than I yet saw from the ill-fame of my lord, and
the tales of monk and churl, I stood firm, and with something of a
courtier's air placed in his hand the letter I bore, with a simple,
"Greeting, your grace, from my lord the Abbot of the Vale;" and as I
gave the letter, I set my gaze on him for the first time square and
straight, and met eyes as keen and straight as mine own. Now, this
surprised me, for I had heard evil men could not look straight into
men's faces. He was far above the common height, and his body and face
were very fat; like a great bull of the stall he lay in his chair. His
face was full and red, and I noted he had little hair, save a mass, half
grey, half red, that clung about his ears and neck. Of his passions I
was soon to see evidence, for having gazed at me a moment, he took the
letter from my hand, tore away the seal, and unrolled the scroll. As he
did so I saw another little scroll roll out, which fell upon the ground
before my feet. Then I knelt and handed this to him likewise. Can I ere
forget his look as he took it from me, or wrung it rather from my
fingers?
"Whence hast thou this? Whence came it?" he shrieked, with a rabble of
ill words; and for a moment it seemed he would have crushed me in his
great sinewy clenched hands as I stood there before him. His face was
scarlet that before was only red. Great black veins started up upon his
forehead, and his round blue eyes were straining out of the flesh in
which they were enclosed.
I stood firm before him, and humbly showed him that the second scroll
fell out of the first. Then he turned suddenly upon his heel and went
towards the window, and looking forth upon the bay below in a few
moments calmed himself, read what was writ on the first scroll, and with
an air of unconcern tossed them to a corner of the table.
"Thou knowest naught of these papers, lad?" he said at length.
"Naught, my lord, in good faith, save that I bore them hither."
"And thou didst well to do that," he said, "for here is a matter
dangerous to me, as thou sawest by mine anger. Your good abbot hath done
well to send me this letter by thee."
I answered not, since it was not for me to speak, and yet I craved to
know what could be in the second scroll to move him so.
"May I return with your grace's greeting or other message to my lord?" I
said.
"Ay, and by word of mouth," he said. "We exiled men well-nigh forget to
write, nor have much practice in the tools of the clerk. Tell the abbot
the Archbishop of Rouen thanks him for his courtesy, and that this
paper--this paper was written by some foe of other days that chooses
thus to strike the fallen. Canst thou carry that."
I said I could, but I thought that there was an ill lie behind his
words.
"Hist, good lad, what is thy name?" said he.
"Nigel de Bessin, nephew of the Vicomte of St. Sauveur," I answered.
He pondered and gazed at me curiously. "Ay, well I knew thy grandsire,
the old vicomte," said he. "And thine uncle has had of me other gifts
than shriving."
Now it came into my heart to ask him of my father, since he knew my
grandsire and my uncle; so I said boldly--
"And didst thou know my father?"
"Ay, I knew him--I knew him," said he; "but what do they tell thee of
him?"
"Nothing, in sooth, my lord," I answered; "and bid me wait till my
pupilage is over."
"Then I may tell thee naught more than thou knowest, save that we were
good friends. Thou wilt not long be bearing missives for your abbot, if
thou art like thy sires. Thou art soon for Normandy?"
I wished not to unfold my purpose to this man, so I simply bowed, and
prepared to go with due courtesy. Now, as I knelt upon one knee, he
laid his hand upon my shoulder wondrous kindly, and raised me up by the
arm, and led me to a seat so gently that for the moment I forgot that I
distrusted him. Then he spoke of studies, and brought down some great
tomes, excellently well writ and pictured in French scriptoria, and
turning from them to his table he showed me a wondrous box, which
looking through, as I held it up, I saw as it were the far off bay draw
near to mine eyes, so that I could see men walk clear where I saw but
shapes before. And with surprise I well-nigh dropped it from my hands.
He took it from me, and told me I had seen what none had seen in the
earth before but he alone.
And the thought entering into my mind that here was something more than
human, he seemed to guess it, and said with a smile that was hard and
keen--
"Nor is there wizardry therein, save the wizardry of a lonely man, that
devises new solace for his loneliness."
A pasty was ere long set before us and a flask of wine, whereof we both
partook.
"Say not," said he, "that my lord of Rouen sends his guests hungry
away."
So we ate together. And after eating, as the sun was already stealing
down the western sky, he bade me farewell, and pressed a little ring
upon my finger as I left him, bidding me not forget to see him again ere
I left for the wars, and at any time he said he would stand my friend,
with a greater air of power, it struck me, than one could show who knew
no other future than more long years of exile, such as he now lived in
our small isle.
Now, as I turned from the drawbridge at the moat-house of Blanchelande
to go homewards the remembrance came to me of those men that I guessed
were pirates digging their storehouse in mother earth in the midst of
the wood. And thinking on it, though I feared them not, I had no taste
to return to the vale that way. So, instead, I followed the path rugged
and uneven as it was, along the side of the cliff to the northward.
First along the gorge of the Bay of Saints I went by the side of the
stream that ran singing from Blanchelande, and then I cut straight up
the cliff amid the heather, and so came into sight of Moulin Huet, where
an ugly craft, that I liked not the sight of lay at anchor, right under
the nose of Jerbourg Castle, wherein our abbot had a small corps of men,
even as at the Vale. I stood a moment looking down on her riding deep in
the sky-blue water, and presently I saw a boat put out from shore with
men on board that rowed towards her. I could not tell if they were the
same I saw up by the château, but I guessed they were, as I saw them
climb into the bark. And then I journeyed on, clinging here and there to
the cliff or the green stuff that grew thereon, like a very cat of the
woods, past Fermain Bay, and through the little township of St. Pierre
Port, and I wondered, since the pirate bark was so near at hand, that
naught was stirring in the street or on the jetty. Now, St. Pierre Port
was a pleasant place to me. A little world of its own, for every man of
St. Pierre Port was a soldier, and could draw bow and slash with his
broadsword, and pirates meddled not much with St. Pierre Port, for its
men were tough and stern and loved their homes right well.
I stayed not to chatter with fishermen or priest to-day; but hasted on,
and at length the little tower of St. Sampson arose before me, and ere
long I was at the abbot's lodging.
The abbot paced up and down his orchard and garden of flowers.
"Thou art late, my son," said he. "Did my lord detain you?"
"My lord," I said, "was very kind and gentle, far beyond that I dreamed
possible, and kept me with good entertainment and choice converse far
into the day."
"And my lord was pleasing to thy taste?" said Abbot Michael, with a
strange smile, not like his own, that I knew not.
"How may I, holy Father," answered I, "speak aught but well of him, who
did me no ill, but good only? And, indeed, my lord spake to me out of
his store of knowledge, as to one not ignorant and young; but, indeed,
like himself in age and state. And yet, in good faith, he pleased me not
at first."
"And how was that?"
"There seemed indeed, Father, somewhat that I distrusted, and then his
passion at the opening of thy scroll was terrible to see."
"Ay, was he moved? And what said he when he perceived that inner
scroll?" inquired the abbot.
"Moved, Father! I thought he might have done some deadly deed. But he
calmed himself at length."
"And what sent he in return?"
"Nothing in writing," I answered, "but this by my mouth--that the inner
scroll was the writing of some foe of other days, who thus strikes at a
fallen man."
The abbot mused in silence at this reply, and took a pace or two beside
his lily border. Then he gazed seriously at me for a moment, and bade me
walk by his side.
"Thou hast seen to-day, son, one of the world's schemers, and thou hadst
been, as was natural, deceived by him. With ill men first impressions
are the true ones. Thou hadst been more than a stripling of the
cloister, and we had taught thee over well for thy years, had he, whose
power has lain in such arts, not made thee love him in spite of thyself.
Son, dost thou know why this Maugher lies here in exile?"
"Ay, Father, was he not like St. John of old, who said, 'Thou shalt not
have her:' to King Herod?" answered I, as I thought aptly.
"Indeed, my son, they said so, and strong were the archbishop's words
when Duke William wedded against God's law. But thou wilt learn, that
words and censures of Holy Church are too oft like daggers and knives in
the hands of evil men in high places of the Church--and such was this
censure of the marriage of Matilda in the hand of Maugher. He would have
cut his way with it--dost thou know whither, son?"
"Whither, Father?"
"My son, to the dukedom itself, Churchman though he was."
I listened in astonishment, and an air of doubt must have shone out from
my innocent eyes, that never knew to hide the thought within.
"Wouldst thou have proof of this that I say, and know how even to-day
this serpent in our island-grass bites at the heel of princely
authority?" the abbot asked.
"Indeed, Father, I would. His words to me so frank, his description of
great men so just--his----" I was about to be fervent indeed in the praise
of my new-found friend. Abbot Michael drew a scroll from his breast, and
held it before my eyes with firm fingers, watching me intently the
while. It was like the scroll I had taken to Blanchelande within the
other. It was the same scroll, or a cunning copy, for there lay two
great hasty blots upon it in one corner, and its signature ran up the
page like a ladder against a wall.
"Read here, and here," said he, "and understand how this cursed man
would incite milder men to shed Duke William's blood!"
CHAPTER IV.
Of the coming of the Sarrasins in force, and of the building of their
château. Of _Brother Hugo's_ confidence in God, and how I rang the
alarm-bell at _St. Pierre Port_.
Through that journey to Blanchelande I was able to give the first
warning to the abbot, and Brother Hugo, our _tête d'armée_, of the
presence of new pirates in the very midst of the isle, through the ugly
sight I had seen on my way by what men called the château.
And, indeed, all looked grave at my account, and Hugo shook his head,
and he and the abbot and Martin and Richard had long and anxious
converse in the Castle, and already we were bid to move very many of our
holy things that bedecked the Church, or were used in God's service,
within the Castle wall, and the builders had set up among the ramparts
long sheds of wood, wherein began to be stored all manner of com,
brought in from all the granaries around.
For the abbot had received from St. Michael's Mount and other places on
the Breton coast most portentous accounts of a gathering together of the
pirates of the sea and marauders of the land, and that some devil's
bond had been forged between them, and that the wildest and most daring
of these villains of every race and land had elected as their chief
captain one whom they named "the Grand Sarrasin," one born of that black
race, the deadliest enemy of Christendom. Others called him "Le Grand
Geoffroy" as though they would save him at least from the black stamp of
Paynim birth; but for us he was ever the Grand Sarrasin, and still the
Grand Sarrasin, cursed a hundred times a day by every tongue in our
cloister and island.
Now, as I saw Brother Hugo on the ramparts and knew, though full of
matters now, he grudged not a word to us lads whom he loved full well, I
spake to him thus--
"What news to-day, brother, of 'Le Grand Sarrasin'?" I spake half in
jest indeed, for long ere this, this very brother had made great sport
of pirates and their dark deeds, and especially, ere this name I spake
had risen to such a sound of evil omen, had he delighted to tease the
children of the cloister therewith. As on some dangerous path he would
whisper, "Go not that way for fear of Le Grand Sarrasin!" or out in the
fishing-smack, he would point to some cosy, full-bottomed trading ship
with a "Hist, lads, the great Geoffroy there astern!" But now Brother
Hugo liked not the jest, but looked sternly at me from beneath his great
brows.
"Le Grand Sarrasin!" said he, "if so thou lovest to call the vilest
foam of filth on these Norman seas, this day last week rode into St.
Brieuc by night with eighteen ships, climbed into the fort, none letting
him, slit the throat of a sentinel and warder, barred the garrison into
its own quarters, and poured like a midnight pestilence through the
streets, bidding his Paynim hounds of slaughter, without pity and
without fear, enter where they listed, and that they did. And there by
night in St. Brieuc, good men and good wives, who never harmed man or
beast were knifed as they lay, the young maids led captive, and the
babes flung like useless baggage through windows into the gutter, and
that is the last I have heard of Le Grand Sarrasin!" said Brother Hugo,
sadly enough.
I stood beside him silently, and the salt tears burst painfully under my
eyelids as I heard the fate of that poor town by the Breton coast.
"Ay, weep, lad, weep!" he said. "And God give strength to our arms to
show him better than tears, if he come our way, this fiend that fears
not God nor man."
"But the monks, brother, are they not safe? The worst pirates ofttimes
fear to touch holy men and holy places," I interposed.
"The monks of St Brieuc," he said solemnly and sadly, "holy men and
servants of the poor, lie cold and still in their dormitories, brother
by brother, saint by saint. And the sun looks in on them and sees their
faces agonized in death, and the blind eyes staring with horror at the
fate that woke them but for death. In such wise the Sarrasin's devils
fear holy men and holy places."
I saw Brother Hugo as he looked far out to sea in his turn dash the
drops of salt from his eyes, and strive to master his sorrow.
"Should they come our way?" I asked, in bitter questioning.
"Surely, ere long!" he answered, "and we shall be prepared. I pray to
God, and--smile not at it, lad--some sort of vision in a dream has come
to me that the downfall of 'the Grand Sarrasin' shall be through us,
brethren of the Vale, and perhaps through me."
A kind of holy look floated into his face as he said this and looked
seaward; an upward look as of seraphs close to God, not seraphs frail
and delicate, but full of lusty strength and goodly spirit of war, such
as went forth with Michael, when there was war in Heaven.
"Be strong, and of good courage!" he murmured to himself; and, pausing
awhile, strode with me across the fort, showing me this or that, that
was fresh provided for safety, and the goodly stores of food, and the
watchmen even now out on the towers, and the alarms all ready to call in
the defenceless. Indeed all was there that a great captain could devise
for safety in time of border warfare.
"Thou knowest," he said presently, pointing towards the château, "that
it is forbid to travel thither. Nigel, it is a very castle they are
building, and beside it this fortress of ours is weak and small."
"It will be then," I said, "maybe a strife of castle with castle," said
I.
"Ay, so it will," he said, "and that ere long."
"Then, Brother Hugo, I need not voyage to Normandy to taste battle under
Duke William."
"The battle," said Hugo, "will be hot enough before these very walls.
Therefore thou shalt be my esquire and learn to taste blood under my
command."
Indeed I had no higher desire than this, and so I said.
* * * * *
Now, it was not many days after these words, one afternoon about
evensong, a summons came to Hugo from the watchman on the wall at Vale
Castle. He called me to go with him. We swiftly reached the rampart, the
watchman saying nothing, simply pointed to the northward, and then we
saw a very fleet of ships--pirate ships, we felt sure--bearing steadily
towards Grand Havre. And one that seemed longer and heavier than the
rest ran far ahead.
"They are making for their anchorage in Moulin Huet," said Hugo, "and it
were well for our islanders to be prepared this night. Light the beacon,
honest Bertrand, let it carry its bright word from Vale to Ivy Castle,
from Ivy to St. Pierre, from St. Pierre to Jerbourg, though they lie at
anchor below, to Torteval and far Lihou, and thou, son, shalt take a
kindly message to the men of St. Pierre."
In a few moments the bright flame burst out on the rampart tower, like a
red tongue of fire telling forth a deadly message. And lo! I saw, as I
went, other tongues leap forth along the coast from tower and castle,
all singing out in direful glee the same word "War."
And once within the market-place I ran as I was bid to the Church of St.
Pierre, and great man I felt myself, as I pushed open the church door
and took the bell-rope in my hand. "Ding-dong!" rang out the alarm bell
from the tower hasty and quick, and ere twenty pulls at the rope, the
townsmen were all around, and I was drawn into the market-place, and
there at the head of the Rue des Vaches I sang out lustily--
"Good men, good citizens and sons of St Pierre, make fast your defences,
and man your walls this night; the fleet of Le Grand Sarrasin is
anchored in Moulin Huet."
CHAPTER V.
Of what befell the abbot's envoys to _Duke William_, our liege lord, and
more particularly _Brother Ralf_, and how we were hemmed in by our foes.
There was no attack of the pirates upon St. Pierre that night, and no
assault on our castles or cloister. And those who had taken refuge
within our walls, ladies and children for the most part, whose lords
were at the wars, spake as though they would return home having nought
to fear. But this our abbot did prevent, except the very nearest living
souls. Others from afar, as Dame Maude de Torteval, and the Lady Marie
de la Mahie with those that they brought with them he sternly bade to
stay in their safe haven.
Now, the pirates touched nor harmed naught in Guernsey through those
first days, save some few beasts they drave up to their château with its
high bastions amidst the trees, and its great flagstaff bearing a green
flag with a white curve like a sickle moon broidered on it.
And it would seem that the fleet that lay in Moulin Huet had chiefly
come to disencumber itself of all manner of goods for the furnishing
and defence of the castle up yonder. For some four days the train of
rough-bearded men in long seamen's boots toiled to and fro from bay to
castle, from castle to bay, with horse and ass, waggon and cart, till
men said all the spoil of Brittany and Spain, with all manner of
treasures of Moorish lands were stored in the deep caverns under the
château. And it was even said that since Le Grand Sarrasin would be lord
of Guernsey, he would treat well and justly them that dwelt therein, and
that if the islanders touched not him he would smite not them, and so
forth. But we of the cloister knew our abbot was no man to close his
eyes, when ill was afoot around him, and that though the pirate-swarm
had none other hand thrust into their comb, his at least would go there,
or send others that were mightier.
And messengers to Normandy had been sent week by week, but none had of
late returned. Day by day our hearts grew more anxious as we saw the
number of Moorish ships in our waters, and we began to fear that they
and their letters had fallen into those evil hands.
And then our worst fears were realized. It was late one evening, I stood
at the cloister gate, and on the white road that led to the château I
saw a figure I seemed to know; but kind heavens, what a figure I It was
good Brother Ralf indeed! But his white skirts were slit in rags, his
ankles bleeding with sore wounds; he stooped and tottered as he walked,
and, horror! that women's sons should do such deeds, his ears had been
hacked and hewn away, and his head hung bloody on his breast whereon a
strip of parchment said--
The envoy of Michael to William returns from Geoffroy to Michael.
More such will follow, and Geoffroy himself ere long cometh to do
unto Michael likewise for his courtesies. Salut.
In a horror I summoned up the brothers, as they trooped out from
compline-prayer, and two of the stoutest bore Ralf gently to the
refectory. There, drugs and good care brought the life back to his eyes,
and he smiled on us as though half in fear that we were foes.
We would have had him speak; but he spake not. And the abbot came, calm
and unmoved yet, but a glitter of keen light kept glancing
lightning-like from his eyes, and he said, as he stood by the settle
whereon he lay--
"Speak, dear son--speak to us thy brethren."
Ralf struggled, and raised his heavy hand, and but babbled without
meaning.
A quick burst of colour rushed into the abbot's face. Calm, stately,
still, with a very blaze of anger hidden in his eyes, that we trembled
again, he stood with that red glow in his cheeks.
"He speaks not--for he is distraught," he said. "What shall God do to
men that rob their brothers of His noblest gift--the gift of reason?"
For a moment he stood in prayer, and then raised his shapely hand and
blessed him thrice, and then bid us bear him to the sick-house, where
sisters nursed him tenderly to life, and won him back much of strength
and health--but never the gift, the abbot called God's noblest gift--for
he had left that for ever behind in the château on the hill.
Now, this Brother Ralf had set out three weeks before in a trader's bark
that sailed for Granville Harbour in Normandy. And he had borne most
urgent missives from our abbot to Duke William. In them was writ how
that a castle of ill-fame was already built, in them that the arch-foe
himself, that so harried St. Brieuc with a very fleet of ships, either
lay in the harbour, or in the new château.
But thus three things we knew. First, that as yet Duke William had had
no word of the evil presumption of this foul settler in the isle, and
could therefore send none to destroy him, and that therefore we had for
the time naught but our own hands and walls to succour us. And next, we
understood, that there was indeed between Le Grand Geoffroy and
ourselves war that none could stay with prayer or supplication to men or
to God. For whereas he knew we had sent to the duke, the sternest
sweeper from land or sea of robber and marauder, to deliver us--so we
knew, as we thought of Ralf, that life and life's joy would have for us
neither sweetness nor endurance, if he went free, who had been to our
brother without mercy and without pity. And, lastly, it was clear that
Geoffroy's Moors were yet more deadly than we thought, and more
numerous. They were stationed, we dreaded to believe, off every point,
at all four quarters. They ringed the Norman Sea with their cursed
hulks. They lay like a moving line of forts 'twixt us and William.
I longed in my heart to break through that encircling line and reach
Duke William; but how could I go? The attack might at any hour come, the
brethren were armed beneath their robes, all goodly things were already
stored in the Castle, and we were ready to pass thither when commanded.
Hugo had his watchmen on the seaward wall, and had enrolled in martial
wise all the lay brethren, many gentlemen, and sundry stout herdmen,
shepherds, and merchants of the island. None slept, though some lay down
to sleep; two days passed without attack, but at the dawning of the
third day we saw some twenty ships sweep from St. Martin's northward,
and as the wind permitted, draw nearer, until they were as close as they
dared come, and we saw the boats trailing astern of every ship.
Then we knew we were surrounded both on land and by sea. Yet that sheer
cliff was hard to mount, running straight up to our wall from the very
sea. So in God and our own walls we had confidence still, and the
prayers of men in danger went up from the Abbey choir. No prayers were
said in those walls, after that day for ever. The day after, church,
cloister, hall, refectory, guesthouse and abbot's dwelling were flaming
up to heaven, or charred and ruined amid their fallen roofs and stones.
CHAPTER VI.
Of our passing from cloister to castle, and of the burning of the _Vale
Abbey_. Of their siege of the castle, and the exploits of _Brother
Hugo_.
Now, on the next day it was close upon the hour of Lauds, when the
scouts that were set in sight of the château among the thick brushwood
and gorse, came with great haste and told us that the Moors were even
now on their way to us, hoping to catch us unsuspecting at our prayers.
Now we had our orders of Brother Hugo in such a case, and we simply did
what we had done already at his bidding, many times for practice of
safety in an hour of danger. First the great heavy doors of the
monastery were closed, and the bolts drawn, and the bars of iron swung
into place to stay their passage. Then we swiftly gathered up whatever
still was left that was precious or useful--books, vestments, relics,
and sacred vessels had gone already--and by the ringing of a little bell
gathering together all that were now housed with us--a goodly company
indeed it was of old and young--with all due confidence of heart and
mind we proceeded in long line to the Church, which lay from east to
west, forming with high thick walls the northern defence of our
cloister. And as we passed two and two up the choir that morning, the
monks raised with slow and solemn voice their last Miserere in that holy
place, the home of many of them from their boyhood.
But what did the convent at its prayers, as the Moorish host drew near?
This was made clear ere long. For we were to see, we lads, what ne'er
had met our eyes before, the very earth open to save us, and this by no
miracle save man's skill given by God to devise wise and cunning shifts
for those in peril.
Lo! the abbot stood, _in medio chori_, noble and calm, and the sad
strains of Miserere rolled down the aisle. He stood by a stool of oak
that rested there for prayer withal, and ever so lightly touched a
little point of brass, that lay but a speck in the midst of the stone
floor. And as he pressed with his kid shoe a moment, the stone sank
slowly some two fathoms, leaving disclosed a stairway, and a passage
arched overhead with bricks, with a cool and pleasant air therein, that,
rushing up, refreshed our souls.
Then we passed downwards, old and young, and so along the brick passage,
that ran straight eastward, as I guessed to the Vale Castle. And the
abbot stayed till we had all passed through. Then, as he pressed upon
the stone, it slowly rose again to its right level, and looking round I
saw him in like manner cause sundry other stones to drop behind him as
he came. Then letting loose a trap--lo! a very shower of granite blocks
came falling down closing the path behind us with great heaps high as a
man's shoulders.
So, heartening one another with cheery words as we went, we passed
through a little chamber that led straight through the Keep--and so we
were met by Hugo and Bernard, and dispersed each to his right place, as
was meet in such a perilous time.
Now, by favour of Brother Hugo, I stood near and succoured him, and
though in my stormy life I have had fighting and besieging in Normandy,
Brittany, Touraine, and here in England, never have I seen such prowess
and such strength as I saw in Brother Hugo.
Thus, by his favour, I was ere long on the south bastion that overlooked
the gate of the Castle. There was but one gate by Cherbourg's design,
and that a small one for so great a place, and yet, what need of
greater? The larger hole surely that a rat's home hath the easier to
find the rat, and rabbiting were easier were the burrow a yard in
circuit. So Cherbourg built Vale gate not for state but for use, to pass
men through, not foes but friends, and it was clamped with well-hammered
iron, and secured by ponderous bars and bolts.
From the rampart we looked southward, and saw away by the cloister gates
the black swarm of the Sarrasin. We saw them nearer by-and-by. But now
they stood before the gate, and seemed as they would hold parley with
those that they thought to be within. But they heard naught, and saw
naught through trap or grating. Then must they have thought the brethren
were in hiding, or maybe stayed in the church to meet death at prayer,
as good monks have chosen to do ere this, preferring so with calm hope
to pass to God than in a useless struggle, for which He framed them not.
For a young tree was rooted up, and with its full weight, rammed by a
troop of knaves against the gate. And though it stood the charge not
once, nor twice, nor thrice indeed, at length with the rush and weight
of many men behind it, it charged with such a force that the great gate
fell with a sound that we could hear in the still morning, and in a
moment the barbarous swarms were over it, and ready to work their will
in cloister and house of prayer.
It was a sore moment, and one to make the strongest set their teeth hard
together, when we saw through the trees a little curl of smoke wreathe
itself up in the calm air, and then smoke more dense, and still more
dense to follow, and then the bright red tongues of flame leaping and
dancing as though in ungrateful glee o'er the ruin of the home of men
who did no harm, but only good.
"They will soon be here, lad," said Hugo, beside me on the wall. "Let us
say, 'Sursum corda.'"
"Ay, 'ad Dominum,'" I answered bravely.
Now, these were our sign and countersign for our holy war that day. And
just then word came from the north-east bastion that the Moors were
already in their boats, and rowing to the Castle, with ladder and rope
on board, a round hundred or so of the knaves, hoping to catch us asleep
in the rear, while we met the foe in front, and order was given that at
once we be prepared to discharge plenty of stones, and to shoot our
ignited darts down on them from the height. There was no sign yet of the
foe in front, so we went to the seaward wall, whither the boats drew
near. Now, Hugo himself sent forth the first stones, but the boats were
yet too far, and the balls but struck the waves, and made them spurt up
fountains of foam.
Yet the rogues seemed surprised and scared at our being so ready with
defence, and they stayed a moment ere they came within range of our
armoury. Then at a signal of command they all rowed straight forward.
They hoped out of so many some would get through. See! A very hail of
stones and rocky fragments, and a very shower of fiery arrows, each one
a deadly comet as it falls! They descend on the swift-rowed boats. They
fall as they will without mercy on man or thwart. The devils shriek out
and drop their oars, and writhe horribly when they are hit. And some
with bold hands sweep them out of their craft.
In one boat some three fire-darts fell, and while the rogues struggled
among themselves to escape burning, a worse thing happened, for the dry
wood within sprang into flame, and no dowsing of the water could put the
fire out, till the waves rushed in and swamped her in a moment, and the
crew of some ten souls were struggling in the water. None of the rest
essayed to save them; they were already overburdened, and had their own
work to escape damage.
I know not whether they retired, or whether, landing hard by, they
swelled the main attack, which as I write had already begun. For Hugo
had left me to speed the manage of the balls, and when he called me
again I saw a new sight in front of the great southwestern bastion.
The Moors were gathered in force indeed, and an evil crew, evil
equipped, and in evil order they were. Each within a little his own
general as we first viewed them, each his own envoy to shoot forth to us
on the walls foul and blasphemous words, that shamed us to hear: "Come
forth, ye foul rats of the cloister; come and be spitted here on the
ground." "Spear or fire, greasy monks, which choose ye, or a spit to
roast your fat carcases by the flame." "Good Michael, send us, prithee,
thine envoy hither; see us deck him with fair traps for thine
entertainment"
In such wise they ranted and railed before us, but naught was said in
answer, nor, as they doubtless hoped, did they draw us to think of
leaving our fastness for the open. No word was spoken. No arrow was
shot. Nor was a ball thrown yet.
But the number of the villains! Stretching back across the common,
well-nigh to the cloister, and seeming even still to be pouring down
from the woods. Ah me! What a black hell of sin lay 'neath those faces,
like an ugly, stormy sea below us, and what a motley of lost souls of
every race. Dark Moors were there in plenty, with rich dress and shining
mail; black Africans with blubber lips and mats of furzy hair; sleek
Jews slithering in and out the groups, inciting to devil's work; figures
of nobles and gentlemen of France or Espagne, dishonoured and merged in
the depth of the lowest scum there present; great Saxon churls and
Danes, standing stern and resolute, but barbarous, as lions in the ranks
of jackals and wolves!
CHAPTER VII.
Of _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of the renewed attack upon _Vale Castle_. Of
my first deeds of arms, and how the _Moors_ were beaten back.
What they waited for we guessed not, till a great black horse came
cantering over the plain, and a whisper went through the ramparts: "The
Grand Sarrasin himself!" And he it was. He had his visor down. For none,
so men said, had ever seen his face; and with excellent management of
the steed of Araby, whereon he sat, drew up straight in front of the
long rank of villains that he led. A great figure he sat on his horse,
but swift and ready in his movements, though stout and heavy, and
exceedingly knightly, as he rested with one hand on the beast's haunch.
The ranks were no more in disorder, and the sounds ceased. Side by side
they stood, erect and deadly. Each eye on him. Each head steady. It was
a disciplined host. It was a band of music that he ruled with the sweep
of his hand. We understood how the pirates of the Norman seas were all
at one. They had found their master, and knew naught but his will.
Soon we saw the army break into three, and come forth to assault us at
different points. Of the southeastern bastion, where I was stationed, I
can only tell. What happened otherwhere I only know by hearsay. There we
had some forty of our complement of men to relieve one another with the
stones, and shoot their arrows, and be prepared for service with the
broadsword should need come. And great prongs we had very swiftly to
dislodge the ladders, which with sore effort they strove to thrust into
the thick cement 'twixt stone and stone. And once or twice when the
ladder held, there was quick work pouring hot pitch on their heads. Hour
by hour they strove on, caring not for defeat, for when men fell wounded
and hurt, others more like devil-cats took their place; but we thought,
for our part, the attack was slacker, when sudden, from the northern
rampart, that was steeper than the rest, and therefore less defended,
rang deadly, heartrending shrieks and clamour for aid, and we knew that
at that post the Moors had gained a footing, and "Haste ye, left rank
with me," said Brother Hugo; "you, Bertram, and you, Alain, keep up the
defence here."
So by Brother Hugo's side I rushed to the northern rampart, and saw him,
with his bright blade sweeping like lightning through the air, deal
death amid that Sarrasin crowd, that in face of pitch and stones had
worked their way up the well-nigh upright wall.
There were with us at that moment some twenty on the rampart, and this
was well-nigh enough, had there been no surprise in the attack. For the
Sarrasins could but come up slowly, and one, discomfited at the summit,
would roll back and carry with him many that were clambering up below
him. But already some thirty were on the rampart, or in preparation to
spring. And our men had been affrighted and fled, had not Hugo, with his
"Rou! Rou!" loud upraised, relighted their failing courage. And, indeed,
who would not follow bravely such a one, in such peril fearless, and
himself tackling already a knot of five or six of the foe with his
invincible sword that was named "Roland"? The white blade swept down
sharp and swift, and in a moment two Sarrasins lay helpless, for they
were surprised by the swift onset. Up the blade rose again, and met
ready parry and defence from a tall, sinewy fellow, that bore in his
address the signs of nobility. And then began a sharp tussle 'twixt the
twain, sword against sword with ready guard of shield, that I saw not,
for a passion that I knew not possessed me--the fever of war, a sad
thing, but a glad thing yet when it doth sweep into a youth's heart in
his first assay of arms. This new thing in me, raging like a fire, bore
me to bar the way of two that rushed to clear the path that ran down
beside me to the open lawn within, and so to shun the onset of our men
who were driving back with good success already those that were in act
to spring over the wall. 'Gainst one I struck, and he, despising my
stroke, or but half seeing 'neath the stairway, parried but carelessly,
and my blade slipped through, and wounded his sword-arm at the wrist,
that it fell slack, and the blade dropped clattering on the
paving-stones. Then the other knave pinned me against the bastion, and I
for five good minutes stuck at sword-play with him, he waxing each
moment more wild and fierce, I striving to remember and show forth in
act all that I had learned of defence.
"Play not longer with the lad, Guilbert," quoth one behind, "or he will
breathe thee." And at this cry shame stung him, and he waxed more
dreadful fierce, and I within me seemed to hear a voice say "Keep cool,
and all is well!" So, wonderful to tell, the more he raged the more cool
was I, and little strange was it that he, sweeping the air with wild
thrust and parry, met ere long in his heart the clean stroke of my
sword, and I, quivering and half appalled as I drew it reeking forth,
was forced in a moment to be on guard again, for another rogue was at
me. Yet, with a wild gladness, I saw the villain roll moaning at my
feet, and the new rogue found himself involved at once in a battle with
two--myself and a stout farmer, who, seeing me in danger, had rushed in
to my defence. He, with sheer strength, beat down his sword, and sore
wounded him, catching himself a scar meanwhile, and so I had time to
glance and see how the battle went.
Still Hugo stood like a king of swordsmen, and around him lay those that
he or others mustering to his defence had slain--some five or six--and
now he was engaged with one that seemed the captain of that storming
party--as I believe, an Englishman, cold and resolute, and thereby the
more dangerous. And I dreaded, for I saw Hugo grow wilder in his stroke,
and moreover weaker and weary withal with his great prowess. And I
seemed almost to see with my eyes what I dreaded--that the Englishman
should tire him out, and then take him where he would; so, careless of
rule, I ran and struck forth at him on the left, and for a moment he
kept us both in play. And then Hugo, gathering himself now as for a
final stroke, struck him below the tunic, and he too fell among the
slain or wounded.
Then we looked round. "It was done warily and bravely, lad," he said.
"Maybe thine arm saved my life. But see! No longer they leap our wall,
and but few are left to slay."
"See, see!" I cried in exultation, "they rush back! We have them now in
the rear."
And so we had in faith, for the scant dozen that were yet unharmed were
easy prey as they fled, choosing to risk their bones as they dropped, or
clung with a bare chance of life, to be cut to pieces by us; for it was
clear that Le Grand Sarrasin had called off the attack at that quarter.
Two or three got off scot-free; but, thank Heaven, these gave such an
account of us as monk-devils and witch-men, that all hope was given up
of taking us by storm--by day at least.
It was now towards evening. No better success had been won by the
Sarrasin at any point in the attack. It but remained for him to sweep
his forces back again to the château. Our hearts leapt up to see them
turn their faces towards the forest-land. And before long, with a flag
of truce, they were collecting the wounded and the bodies of the dead.
Those of the storming party we handed down the wall, or, if living
still, led them through the gate.
Now we reckoned that the Moors that day, by sea, arrow, stone, and ball,
and in storming, had lost at least a hundred men, while our loss was
only nine men killed and twenty-six in hospital. So nobly and well we
faced that day of my first fighting.
"Now, look you," said Hugo, "we shall have no more storming, unless they
find greater forces."
"What then?" said I.
"Next will they come like Brother Mole," he said, "with his long tunnel
under earth. And then, if that fail--as God grant it may--they will
trust to a surer _aide-de-camp_ that I fear the most. His step is heard
already--"
"And who is he--this friend who will aid them best?"
"Hush! Whisper it not, Nigel, abroad to dishearten any; but we have but
three weeks' provisions here for so many mouths, or a month's at the
most, if we be wary in giving rations."
"Then their friend is----"
"Famine!" said Hugo, grimly.
CHAPTER VIII.
How I was sent forth by my lord abbot to seek the protection of _Duke
William_, and of what befell me by the way of the pirates.
That night there was restless sleeping in Vale Castle and but rough
quarters, but no assault nor alarm.
Next morning there was singing of "Non nobis" and "Te Deum" to boot by
the brethren assembled in martial conclave on the open lawn. Their
church was destroyed and its beauty perished; but said Abbot Michael--
"Lo, brethren, here be your choir these days, here your House of God.
See, its pillars are the Lord's, and they fear no sacrilegious hand;
see, its arch is the heaven, and its roof the sunlit sky, and for music
to our chant hear the lapping of the waves that God hath set in their
bed below." So, with comforting words, did he restore our courage, as we
thought sadly of the ruined cloister, whose smoke yet went up pitifully
to the sky.
And shortly after these solemn offices I was taken by Hugo to the
abbot's presence, in the little chamber he had on the seaward wall.
Very strange and careworn he was.
"Son," he said, greeting me with a sweet dignity, "thou hast done well
already in the profession thou hast chosen, as I hear by good report of
all, and indeed so comes out in thee the prowess of a noble race. Thou
seest what straits the brethren are in by this blockade and siege?" He
pointed seaward and landward. "And that, should help come not, a
deadlier enemy than the Sarrasin himself will strive with us--the famine
with the sword. Thou knowest all this?"
Now, as he spake, I guessed why he spake thus, and so right boldly I
replied, with a straight look in his eyes--
"Ay, my lord, right well I know. Send me, therefore, now, whither thou
thinkest well, for succour in this day of extremity!"
His eye brightened at my words, and he and Hugo looked gladly at one
another, and Hugo said, with low voice, proudly--
"Our Father, the abbot, hath chosen thee, my esquire, and a proud
mission it is, being assured of thy strength and truth of heart, to be
his messenger to our sovereign lord the duke, and to inform him of the
dangers of his faithful bedesmen here, and of the arrogance of their
foes and his own. To-night thou wilt start on a noble and knightly
enterprise."
"It is, my son," said the abbot, "a path full of danger. But also, as
our brother saith, an enterprise both noble and knightly, for the saving
of these men of God, and the feeble ones that are sheltered in our fold,
not alone from death, but from rude insult and sharp pain."
I told my lord that I was indeed willing to accept it, though I loved
life full dearly. And he, assuring me that all matters of my setting
forth that night were in Brother Hugo's hands, bent over me, and
pressing his hands, that trembled the while, on my young head, committed
me to God's care. And I went forth calm and steady with his holy words
yet in my ears and a great glory of gladness in my heart, that I, still
a lad, was thus chosen for a knight's work.
I was to set out, Hugo told me, at nightfall from a little cove named
Bordeaux Bay that lay hard by the Castle. Old Simon Renouf, a wary pilot
amid the dangerous rocks and shallows of our seas, was, with one other,
to be my comrade, and I was to be clad in the rough dress of the fisher
folk in case of capture. We were that night to make for the Isle of
Jersey, and craftily to lie hid in a quiet opening in the rocks for the
day, and then next day, if the wind were good, to sail to the port of
Granville in Normandy.
Now, it was arranged I was to bear no written message to my lord the
duke, only a ring of gold hung in a little bag about my neck, that our
abbot said would stand me in better stead with William, recalling past
services and duties, and would be thought, were I taken by the pirates,
but some harmless relic or valued heirloom. Now, the ring had on it but
the letter "A," and the motto inscribed around "_Loyal devoir_."
And so at nightfall we went forth from the back side of the Castle, down
the steep and rugged path that led at length to the shore of Bordeaux
Bay, Brother Hugo, as we went, giving me words of good counsel as to my
behaviour before Duke William, impressing on him the insult of these
knaves to his high fame as duke, and how I should keep a still tongue if
I fell into the hands of the Grand Sarrasin.
We found Simon Renouf and Jacques de la Mare waiting for us in their
small fishing-smack which I knew so well, having so often sailed with
them as boy and lad, and well they loved me, as did all the fishers of
Grande Havre and St. Sampson. But now, as Jacques took the tiller, old
Simon bade me handle the sail, as though I were indeed that which I
appeared, a raw hand learning seaman's craft. Right manfully I took up
my task, and in a moment the dark sail ran up the mast, Simon undid the
fastening and pushed off, and with Jacques cunningly guiding us from the
rocks, the boat stole noiselessly from the bay, coasting northward for a
space to get away from the Moorish ships that still lay outside, and
then, aided by a dim white mist that lay upon the face of the waters and
a chill night-breeze, we bore away to the south of Herm and Jethou,
whose craggy sides loomed black and terrible as we sailed by.
Presently the wind fell, and we lay well-nigh becalmed, and the moon
came out, and we could see now the high walls of Sark and the steep side
of Brecquou, and slowly we approached thither. So we ran straight to
Jersey. The moon set presently, and we made little way, and with the
light of breaking dawn we entered a small creek, wherein the water lay
calm and still. When the boat was in safety we clambered upon the rocks,
and among them Simon showed a little cave overhung with green streaming
plants that indeed was a pleasant place, with all manner of coloured
sea-plants clinging to the wall, that the light as it entered played
upon. Here we ate of the good store that lay in the boat's locker, and a
rare draught of wine washed down the food and refreshed our spirits, and
then Simon bade me lie down and rest, and as the sun began to climb up
and make all the sea glisten along its crest, I lay down and slept, and
awaked not till he had climbed far up into the sky. But when I awoke old
Simon Renouf still sat by the cave-mouth, gazing out to sea from under
his looming brows, and I thought he sat there like some great eagle by
its eyrie keeping watch over its young. And such indeed he was, an eagle
soaring high in fidelity, and my guardian to the death, as in the end it
appeared.
Now, as evening drew near, Simon showed us that with an early start
that night, with good weather as the wind lay, we would make the Norman
coast ere morning, and creep along as we might to Port Granville by
daylight.
But alas! that night we had but just shot out of our hermitage amid the
rocks, and were giving great heed to the perilous passage withal, when,
as we rounded a sudden shelve of rock, we met almost face to face a
great ship that was making across our course. And I feared that the
worst would hap, for she was of the same build as the fleet of Le Grand
Sarrasin. Did they see us lying in now close by the rock? We could not
tell for a moment, but then there was no doubt. A shout rang out, and a
voice bidding us come aside.
What could men so bidden do? To sail forth were hopeless. This great
craft would overhaul us of an instant. To coast along the shore were
perilous and must end in capture. For a moment Simon hesitated, and then
ran our boat into the creek again.
"See, lads," he said, "here we must stand. The land is more friendly
than the water. Yet I have prayed oft to die on the sea, when my time
came."
We climbed on to the rocks, and he handed us a cutlass apiece and a
knife such as seamen use, and he pointed to a square ledge of rock, that
but one could enter upon at a time, since a thick jagged wall protected
half the front.
"Stay, Simon," said I, "art sure she is a pirate?"
"Ay, lad, sure," he said; "none but a pirate so hails peaceable fisher
craft"
"Simon," I said, "why not give in? Why should you and the lad die for
me?"
The old man laid his rugged hand upon me, and the sun lit up with a rich
light his red beard as he spoke.
"Have not the Brethren taught thee a word called 'Duty,' lad?" he slowly
said, "a word for me, that was born a poor fisherman in the calling of
the Lord's Apostles, as well as for thee born of a great house."
"Then it is thy duty thus to do?" I said, perceiving that naught could
move him, and that indeed a noble strain within him forbade him to be
moved.
"Ay, lad," said he, "and may we all, thou, Jacques, and I, old though I
be, do our duty right well this morn!"
CHAPTER IX.
Of our battle on the rocks of _Jersey Isle_, and how _Simon_ gave up his
life, and how I was taken captive and brought back.
The pirates had put off in two long-boats, and in a short space of time
entered the creek, and climbed across our boat to shore--if shore it
could be called, where the rocks stood broken into such strange and rude
shapes, and where the footing amid them was so rough. I had no doubt of
their errand, for each man had a great ugly naked weapon in his hand,
such as we bore ourselves, only heavier.
Up the cliff they clambered, and soon spied us in our fastness.
"Come out, ye spies," they shouted; "come out, cursed rats, or we will
come and slay you where you stand."
Our hearts panted to answer, but we said naught. Then they in a moment
changed their tone, and two approaching more civilly, spoke with us
almost at the entry of our fast place. Fair words they used, saying that
their captain had business of great import with certain stalwart seamen
of Jersey that day, and begged us for our own advantage to come down
aboard their ship.
"And who is your captain?" curiously asked Renouf.
The rogue dissembled not. "Our captain is Le Grand Geoffroy, Lord of
Guernsey, and his _aide-de-camp_, Mahmud le Terrible, is even now on
board of yonder craft."
"Then, hark you, Sarrasin dog!" said Simon. "Sooner will we three die on
this rock as good men and true to the law of God and man, than have
parley further in anywise with you and your men of blood."
Our civil visitors saw that fair words were of no avail to save
fighting, and so they ran back to their fellows, and with a few minutes'
chatter among themselves, half of them climbed up amid the rocks, to
drop on us, as we guessed from above, where they might find foothold
among the crevices, and the others with determined aspect ran up to us
in single line, taking the narrow ledge for their road to our
stronghold.
Then began the fray. It was no hard matter for Jacques de la Mare and me
at first to stay their attack, for the first comer and the next, struck
ere they strove to pass us, fell down helpless among the rocks below.
But the third, running in quickly, closed with Jacques, and forcing him
back, left room for another to close with me, and by this a shout above
our heads warned us that the rest would be upon us as it were from the
sky. I dimly saw Jacques locked arm to arm and breast to breast with a
villain, his equal in strength and stature; and then, as I had seen
wrestlers in peaceful times, so each now on that narrow spot, grasping
cutlasses the while, strove with all manner of feint and twist and turn
to throw his adversary. Close to the side they were, when I saw the
thickset pirate swing as easy as a child across Jacques' back. The two
clung together for a moment. Jacques struggled to get loose. But the
villain clung too well. And so they both fell together into the deep
well below. Creux de la Mort the islanders call it to this day.
I sought rather with sword play to strike the villain in my path, and
old Simon by my side saw soon his place to strike in, and gave him a
deadly stroke. But as he did so the first two rogues dropped from above,
and the little narrow ledge of rock, with its far outlook over the
waves, and pleasant vision of white surf running over the rocks, and
still gulls seated thereon, was soon like hell itself, full of dark and
evil faces. Now Simon was attacked at back and front, as he stumbled
back over the bodies; a great knife was thrust into his back, even as he
faced a rogue before his face, and I saw the old faithful soul fall
forward, and making a kind of stagger with his arms up, ere he fell,
drop into the pool below. So, according to his prayer, he died in the
sea, and nobly, as any knight of great fame, was true to death.
Now, what of myself. The villains would not kill me, though this they
could have done many times. Yet like a young lion I fought fiercely with
my back against the rock, and I know not how many I slashed and cut with
my weapon, till, with a swift stroke, one struck it out of my hand, and
I seemed at their mercy. But my great knife was in my hand in its place,
and with that I hastened another of these evil men to his last account.
And then two, rushing at me from either side, pinioned me as I stood
with a rope, and I, seeing no hope in struggling longer, like a naughty
child, let myself be led or carried to their boat, and so taken on board
the dark ship, whither they bore me.
And once on board they took little heed of me. Only they bound me more
securely with cords that cut my ankles, and threw me in a corner of
their craft amid some baggage. One that I judged to be Mahmud the
Terrible came and gazed on me with a dark smile, but said no word.
Now, after two hours or more, I heard a voice say from the tiller,
"Straight for St. Martin's Point!" and in a short time we came to anchor
in a certain harbour. I know not of a surety, for mine eyes were
blinded, but I guess it was Moulin Huet. And presently I was partly
unbound, set upon my feet, and made to walk. So, blindfolded and
miserable, I entered again that dear island, that I had left for
Normandy but two nights before.
CHAPTER X.
How I was brought before _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of his magnificence.
How I saw _Folly_ in his chamber, and was lodged in a cavern under
earth.
It is long years ago since I was borne up the Castle Hill, the prisoner
of the Moors, but I stand not upon any high hill even to-day to look
down without remembering how I felt on that day, when the bandage was
torn from my eyes, and I looked round, dazzled at first by the daylight.
But there was that in me, in that I was young, and had all my boyhood
been taught true faith in Heaven, which even now rose up and persuaded
me that come what might a man could bear it, and that no evil man could
by any means force out of a true man's lips that which he would fain not
say.
Before me rose a bright pavilion of green and gold, and two great
sentries in rich raiment with pikes stood either side of the entrance,
letting none pass without a countersign.
Then as my captor drew me rudely onwards towards the entrance, I
guessed, as they stood speaking with the sentries ere we entered, that
this was the Pavilion of Le Grand Sarrasin.
We entered, and found ourselves in a rich antechamber, spread with
carpets of Turkey, whereon men in glossy cloaks trod to and fro in
converse or lay at ease. A fair curtain of blue silk was drawn across an
inner entrance, guarded by two negro lads in scarlet. Awhile we waited,
but at length a page came through the curtain, and with a low obeisance
to Mahmud called us to follow him, and we went into a second chamber,
wherein was no daylight, but only great lighted lamps of silver, that
swung melancholy in the gloom. As mine eyes used themselves to the dim
light, I saw it was indeed Geoffrey's presence chamber that I, poor
Nigel, stood in, with the great foe of our cloister seated before me.
Stout and thick-set as I saw him on his Arabian steed, he sat in his
golden chair, clad in black velvet, with buttons of glittering jewels. I
looked up through the dim light to see his face, but lo! I saw naught,
for a little veil of black gauze was stretched round from a small gold
cap upon his head. And I remembered how it was current talk that no man
had ever seen Le Grand Geoffroy's face in war or peace, and that a
terrible mystery lay beneath this veil of gauze, through which he gazed
on his men.
Upon my entrance, he stooped and spoke to one at his side, who it seemed
was to act as interpreter between us; and he coming forward bade Mahmud
speak, which he did in a strange tongue, pointing to me at times as
though recounting my efforts to resist at Jersey.
Upon his ceasing, the interpreter presently approached, and bade me tell
my name, and whither I went in that boat, and what my business. Now, I
was determined to answer nothing, lest ill be done to the good cause of
my friends, so I said not a word. Then at a word from the Sarrasin,
Mahmud said--
"Silence avails not, Nigel of Vale Abbey; we know thee and thy business,
and have power to know more!"
At this I forgot caution, and replied hotly--"My name thou knowest, and
it is not a name that a man need be ashamed of; more shalt thou fail to
learn, for all thy craft."
This I hurled madly at Le Grand Geoffroy on his throne, but he stirred
not.
"Thou wilt tell us," proceeded the black-bearded ruffian, "how many
there be shut up in Vale, what thou knowest of their treasuries, what
store of food they have, and the disposition of their sentinels at
nightfall."
My answer was a gaze of angry scorn.
The Grand Sarrasin bent down to the interpreter, and when he had spoken,
he came forward like a herald, and spake thus--
"Thy lord, and the lord of these isles, would have thee know that he
loves thy courage, Nigel de Bessin, but fears for thy folly in this
matter. He would have thee answer to all questions asked thee, and so
in good season enter his service as a brave man."
I smiled defiance at the cunning monster. "Yea! yea!" I said, "thou
wouldst have me add to my other woes the woe of treachery! Geoffroy, if
that be thy name, know thou my friends' matters are safe in my own
keeping."
Again the Sarrasin bent and conversed with Mahmud, and the little bag
they had robbed from my neck was taken to him, the which he opened, and
curiously handled the ring that lay therein, with its motto, "_Loyal
devoir_," and the letter "A."
Presently the interpreter again came forth, and bade them in his lord's
name remove me to safe keeping, as other matters were at hand to occupy
him. Then, with all due state, we passed out of the chamber on one side,
and I was, by a straight passage, led downward to those very caverns
under earth which the pirates had dug for their treasuries. Now, as we
passed out, I saw others in a throng enter the Sarrasin's presence
chamber, but I could scarce see them clearly, and beside this throng of
visitors leapt, I thought, that very impish ugly devil, the ape that men
called the familiar of the Lord of Rouen, that he named Folly, the which
I had set eyes on at the house at Blanchelande. Yea, it ran chattering
with many a mow and grimace, and though I saw not those that entered, I
was well assured that my Lord of Rouen had free entry to Le Grand
Sarrasin, full lot in his friendship and unholy fortunes; nay, as it
struck me at once, was working through this Moorish devil evil to our
abbot, whom he now hated, and danger to a greater than he. Now, these
thoughts ran through my mind when I saw Folly, the archbishop's ape, so
lively in the Sarrasin's presence chamber, and I exceedingly dreaded
this evil union of evil men, yet remembered I my "_Quare fremuerunt_,"
and had good faith that One more powerful than man would save me and my
good friends the Brethren from false Maugher and cruel Geoffroy.
To a sad dungeon beneath the ground was I led, exceeding dark, for the
only light entered through a narrow slit in the rocky roof; and I saw
that the walls and roof were rugged and rough, half cavern and half
cell. Alas! alas! sad moment indeed it was when I was thrust therein,
with my arms bound to my back and my wounds still undrest, my body stiff
and full of pain, and my head dizzy and heavy after so great excitement.
Helplessly enough I crawled around the rocky walls, and found a barrier
that seemed framed of wood across the entry. I felt, and found that it
hung like a great gate on a bar of iron that ran through holes cut in
the solid rock. I looked in despair up to the narrow slip above. In
agony of spirit I even for a short space threw myself as I might against
the door, against the rock.
At length I knew it was hopeless, and I crawled to a heap of plundered
goods, and lay on them passive for a season. Perchance I slept, and at
least a little space forgot my troubles, but not heavily, for a very
gentle moving of the door appalled me, and in a moment I was half on my
feet. There was no need for such alarm, for he that entered came softly
in and whispered that he was a friend. A moment I thought here was a
wile of my foes to catch me, but I looked long and sternly at my
visitor, and decided he had not come to work deceit. A man he was of
noble and knightly aspect, easy in his bearing, frank in his gaze,
exceeding handsome, so far as by the dim light I could judge. He came
close and stood by me, and spoke softly.
"Hush, lad," he said, "fear me not, for I come hither as a friend! And
if thou art to be saved from torture and death, thou must trust me as
the saint trusts his God. Wilt thou do this?"
I murmured beneath my breath that I did not doubt him, and bade him for
the sake of God not to delay.
"Thou dost not know me, Nigel de Bessin," he said, "but I know thee
already, and with many another stood this day in yonder antechamber and
heard thy words to Geoffroy. Now, those words I loved to hear, and I
have been in a struggle since I heard thee, the one part of me saying,
'Save this lad,' and the other part counselling me to let thee die. But
I am here to save thee."
"Yea! yea!" I broke in; "but how may it be done?"
"Trust me," he said, "and in an hour's space, for it is even now
evening, the château will be at rest, and our sentinels are slack of
watch. Meanwhile, refresh thyself, and prepare even now for what may be
thy hardest battle." He laid before me some eatables and a little flask
of wine, and with a slash of his poniard cut the cord from my arms,
which for long hung cramped and aching, so tight had they been bound.
With that he vanished out of the cell, and hope again sprang up in my
heart, and I thanked Heaven for sending me such aid in my woes, even
here in the womb of the earth.
CHAPTER XI.
By what means I was delivered from _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and how I found
shelter with the priest of _St. Apolline's_.
The cell had been dark before. Now it was black as night, and having
eaten my friend's goodly parcel of food, I was refreshed, and eagerly
awaited his return. Presently he was with me, and softly rolling the
great door on its hinge, let me swiftly through into the long earthy
passage that led upward. We traversed many yards, and I know not what
treasures I saw heaped hastily on this side or on that, and I saw at the
end, where the path passed forth, the form of the sentinel at his post.
Now all our hope lay in what that moment chanced. He lolled easily
against the rock, gazing forth, as I thought dreamily, into the open. My
companion drew me along on tiptoe till we were even a pace behind him.
We were so close that I think I heard him breathe. Then rapidly the man
felt a scarf round his mouth and wiry fingers at his throat, so that he
could make no sound.
"Strike, Nigel!" said my comrade. "There is little time for mercy!"
So I drew my companion's dagger from his waist and used it swiftly,
though it went sore against my nature thus to strike a sentinel at his
post by surprise.
He fell heavily backward. I drew forth the dagger, and we ran swiftly
for the cover of the side of a building. Along the wall we crept warily
and without sound, and the next moment I saw my deliverer swing himself
upon a bough that hung within his reach. In his train I followed, as he
caught wondrous craftily in the darkness now at this branch, now at
that, and more than once passed like an ape or squirrel of the woodland
from tree to tree. At last I looked down and saw the wall loom from
below, and the branch whereon I clung spread across the wall into the
open. There we dropped down right nimbly as I remember a full ten feet,
and the branch swung back from our hands noiselessly, and without sound
we passed swiftly on hands and knees for a space under the near shelter
of the forest brushwood.
Nothing was said till we were a round two hundred yards within, and then
my friend pointed to a little path, for the moon was risen.
"Yonder, dear lad," he said, "lies thy way to the Vale, and I must now
be for a space a dead man in the woods, outcast even of the pirates."
"Nay, friend," said I, "I go not back to the Vale till I come with force
to release them from their woes."
"What!" said he. "Thou still art minded to journey to Normandy? Oh,
dear and knightly lad!"
"Yea," I said, "thither must lie my road, and I pray thee to help me on
my way, for indeed I fear to fall into Geoffrey's jaws again; and now
three days are lost that should have brought me nearer to William."
"If it be indeed thy will," he said, "and indeed thou couldst not will
better, since, as the case is, yonder castle could not many weeks
withstand the Sarrasin, thou must come with me, and on the road to my
good friend, to whom I journey for safety, I will ponder over this
matter, and concert a scheme, whereby the wish of thy heart may be
carried out. Meanwhile, trust me, good child, as so far thou hast nobly
done."
"One thing, good friend," I said, as we swung along southward, "what is
thy name, that I may know whom I may thank for this wonderful
deliverance."
My comrade laughed strangely at my words, and answered hastily--
"For names, lad, we are not over-ready with them in the château yonder.
Ofttimes their sound, compared with their ring in other days, bringeth
more pain than joy. You may call me, if thou wilt, Des Bois, for indeed
I love the woodland. And for thanks, lad, thank me with a kind word and
trustful look, and a good stroke of the sword, if that be needful ever
for mine honour."
So we strode on, and as the moonlight made silvery passages amid the
trees, I watched him as he knitted his brows in thought, whether on my
account or his own I knew not. I thought I saw in him all that I dreamed
of knightly spirit, and I guessed that in Des Bois lay hidden one like
Brother Hugo, who for some reason masked a great and noble name in this
poor, paltry disguise. Ay, but it was a visage that not long rested
serious. A smile broke over its furrows, making it like a field that
smiled in the sunlight, and he said right gaily in my ear--
"Ay, good lad, we will weave thee a rope to Normandy both strong and
subtle, and witty withal, and thou shalt hear its texture when we arrive
yonder; but as the night wears on, we must ride faster, or trot
ourselves, since steed are lacking, so let us not lose time."
With that indeed he broke into a nimble run, and I followed. And ere
half a mile was passed, we were out of the forest and by the shore of
the sea, hard by Cobo Bay, and keeping still close to cover, lest danger
should arise--for the pirates had their sentinels in huts in every small
harbour of the isle--we ere long were by La Perelle Bay, and I could see
on Lihou the dim outline of the monastery.
Soon Des Bois turned sharply to the left, and we were soon in a trim
wood that ran up almost from the shore. The blind, thick wall of a small
building lay in our path, and by its side a little low-roofed hut of
daub and wattle.
"The chapel of good St. Apolline!" I said in surprise, for I knew well
that little shrine by the coast, where the fisher-people made
supplication for good weather and success in their craft, and hung up
their poor offerings for the holy saint's honour.
"Ay, that it is," said Des Bois. "Now will we find its guardian at his
vigils."
He oped with ease the latch of the lowly door of the hut, and we found,
indeed, no saint at matins or prime, but only the priest of St.
Apolline, curled on his wood settle in honest slumber, and snoring
lustily withal.
Des Bois gazed at him with a merry smile, and presently tweaked him
merrily by the ear, crying out--
"Up, good hog! up, griskin-knave! up, lubber! and provide meet
entertainment for honest men."
"Ralf! Ralf!" sang out the priest in alarm, as he leapt from his poor
couch. "What make you here at this hour of night?"
"Often hast thou," answered Des Bois, "with sage reproof bid me turn to
an honest and a sober life, and now I have turned to the side of the
holy saints. Lo! I have cut my ropes this night, and am free again.
Free, that is to say, if thou wilt hide me for a season, and do thy good
offices for Nigel here, who indeed hath saved me, as I him."
The good priest grasped his hand, and I thought he wept, as though Des
Bois' words conveyed more than I could understand. The two men drew
aside together and whispered seriously for a time.
But I was glad, before they ceased, to wash away the blood from my
wounds, and all the dust and sweat of my capture and escape. And after
much washing in the brook, I felt well-nigh a new man; and sitting down
at the priest's rough board, we next refreshed ourselves with such store
as the good man had. And after we had eaten, Des Bois, whose name I now
knew was Ralf, began to explain the plan by means of which I was still
to journey safely to Normandy.
"Hark you, good Nigel," said Ralf. "I have discovered a rare likeness
betwixt you and our Father, this dear Augustine. Indeed, saving for the
marks of time, ye might be brothers of one birth. Now, it likes me not
to cast away prodigally such rare aid given by Mother Nature to our
designs. So, look you, you shall journey to Normandy as Father
Augustine, priest of St. Apolline's in Guernsey, while Father Augustine
and I, dear yoke-fellows of old, shall betake ourselves, as once or
twice before, to the nether-world for a season."
Father Augustine smiled his assent to the scheme, as I asked hastily--
"But, even so, how will the knaves yonder let me pass?"
Ralf smiled as he replied, "Ay, they will not molest thee. Augustine
hath a gift of walking warily, so that all men count him their friend,
and, earnest man, he hath full oft his own good designs, that carry him
to and fro across the seas. Thou hast but to stride with his smart step
boldly by yon château gate, and so to Pierre Port, and none will forbid
thy passage on any vessel that thou pleasest, if thou but give good word
to all thou meetest, Moor and islander alike, good man and good dame.
Pat, too, the little innocents on the head with a paternal blessing.
Answer not save in words of hearty jest. Keep a front unconcerned and
free, though thy heart rap hard against thy chest-bones, and, in good
faith, within a sennight or twain thou wilt be back in the isle, with
Duke William at thy tail."
"And it is well for thee, good lad," said Augustine, "that thou art
better suited than this rogue to figure harmlessly as a priest that men
trust. But surely it will aid thee much in carrying through this scheme
that thou wast bred amid monks, and churchmen, and art used to their
ways of act and speech. Yea, lad, with a bold step and an easy manner
thou wilt be safer beneath my cloak in the open than if by secret paths
thou essayedst never so warily to cheat the Sarrasin's sentinels."
What could I do but thank them, and yield myself with all despatch into
their hands, to be turned by means of razor and paint, of cunning dye,
still nearer like the priest of St. Apolline? In the end, as I drew the
good father's cowl around my pate, and essayed to imitate his careless
stride and easy gait, they both swore that the good saint himself, were
he to escape from the skies and visit his earthly shrine, would be hard
put to it to know which was his own priest and which the counterfeit.
But ere this the sun was up, and there were sounds of fishermen already
moving in the bay below. We knew that by this time our escape must be
discovered, and so with hurried counsel my friends betook themselves
away--at least, they were with me at one moment, and then of a sudden,
like dreams, were lost to my sight. And I, as it were to try the
strength of my disguise, went down for a short space among the huts of
the fisher-people.
There goodman and goodwife alike gave me friendly greeting, and I
cheerily told them they must spare me for one sennight, if that might
be; whereupon the children, running up, stayed further question, and in
a moment I, in my long, sober cloak, was a war-horse, or a crazy bull at
the least, that went ramping among their blue-eyed chivalry, carrying
little affright, but rather earning peals of merry laughter.
CHAPTER XII.
Of my second setting forth for _Normandy_, and in what guise I took
passage.
I next prepared to start on my journey to St. Pierre Port; and, before I
went, I tarried for awhile in the rude chapel of St Apolline, to say a
prayer for myself and those good men whom it was in my heart to succour.
But, my prayers ended, I must fare forth. And lo! even as I turned to
leave the chapel, I heard the sound of hasty steps and voices, and
already three of the pirates were in the yard, singing out--
"Come forth, master priest, and help us find our quarry!"
How my heart rapped as I made myself seen of them at the gate, and, with
a gay face, fetched out a merry inquiry--
"What seek you, early birds, so soon afield?"
Never face and attitude surely so belied the man within; for, indeed, I
doubted if my legs would bear me, and my poor heart, as I spoke, went
rap, rap!
"Now, hast thou seen two runaways by thy gate this morning, master
priest--one a stalwart, dangerous fellow, the other a measly, monkish
lad? And, prithee, see thou speak the truth."
I assured them lightly none had passed save the fishers to their boats,
and they seemed satisfied, till one, looking more keenly than the rest,
came near to me, and, with a suspicious gesture, cried out--
"And thou hast not got them hidden up thy wide sleeve, good priestling?
Come, we will search with a good will thy parsonage."
My heart leapt again. But I managed to ring out a laugh that sounded
careless--
"Oh yes," said I, "gentlemen galore, and heaps of little beardless monks
lie stacked in my poor house yonder. Bring them forth, good sir, and
leave more room for me."
He led the way to search, but the others seemed unwilling, having good
trust in him that I counterfeited, and all that might afford a
hiding-place in the hut was opened and turned about--nay, the very holy
rest of the chapel was disturbed as search was made, walls and wainscot
rapped, cupboards forced, and stones prised up, the while I stood at
ease peeling a light cane that I had cut from the wood.
"Now, good brothers," said I, lightly, as they stood at fault in the
midst of the chapel, "are you satisfied I am no concealer of other men's
property or persons hereabout?"
"Yea, we will press on," said one of them. "They have taken to the
caves like enough, and we shall have a week's 'rabbiting.'"
"Then I wish you good morn," said I, "with a word of thanks for turning
out in your zeal much old stuff of mine that I thought was lost and
gone."
Glad was I indeed to see my three guests break into the forest opposite.
So, with a thick staff for my luggage, I took the path that led straight
to St. Pierre Port, six miles away. Without let or hindrance I passed
on, imitating as I could the easy gait of Father Augustine, and taking
care to greet all I met, of all conditions, who were about on their
business that autumn morning, with such jests or merry speeches as I
could muster.
Now, I have said already that Le Grand Sarrasin, save for his enmity to
Abbot Michael, had as yet showed no unfriendly disposition to our
islanders, except where they thwarted or marred his designs.
Therefore no ill had happed to St Pierre Port, its fishing, or its
carriage of necessary things, or of persons. And though that heathen
fortress could be seen towering up there miles away upon the hill, the
good burghers of St. Pierre, finding their daily business not
interrupted, made but little grievance of Le Grand Sarrasin's presence.
Wary of running into trouble, they jogged an easy way. Their boats came
in and out. Their bales were landed and embarked. Nay, I have heard that
it was their wont to hush the voices in their states council that were
for craving succour of the duke, regarding one ruler, so long as he
whipped not their backs too hard, as equal to another.
So I went into St. Pierre as into no besieged town, and without
hindrance of any made my way through the winding streets to the harbour,
where I hoped to hear of passage to Normandy. And the good father had
told me of one Le Patourel, that would assist me to embark. This was a
man not too well known to him, for too close acquaintance in this case
were dangerous to me, but one doubtless ready to serve the priest if
need be.
So I sought out this Le Patourel, as it appeared an honest trader, who
took me without doubt for that I seemed. To my joy I found that a
vessel, but just finished lading, would start in a short space for St.
Malo, and the skipper was willing for certain silver pieces to take me
for his passenger. These I paid down out of a sufficient purse Des Bois
had pressed upon me, and with a light and joyous heart tarried on the
quay.
Thither came by presently a bluff priest of the town church that was
like to give me a fall.
"What, Augustine!" he shouted, so that all on the jetty heard. "Whither
art thou journeying?"
"And that thou wilt come near I will tell thee," I replied, not knowing
for the world his name.
"Whither art thou bound?" said he.
"To Coutances," said I. "My lord archbishop, you remember."
"My lord archbishop," said he, "thou shouldst know is far from Coutances
at this season--for his health."
Here I was troubled, for I had told many that my lord had sent for me on
a certain business.
"Ah, yes," said I in haste, "before he went my lord left letters for me
that I alone can fetch. But I must go aboard."
"Stay," said he, "a moment! What didst thou in that matter of Sir
Hubert? There is a like case of conscience here in St Pierre."
I hurriedly told him that it was not proper for me to disclose so nice a
case of conscience, even to my dear friend himself. Whereat he looked
strangely at me, I thought, and soon went on his way, wishing me shortly
a good voyage to Normandy.
By three o'clock we sailed away. And glad I was to see this second time
the highland of the isle grow dim and faint as we sped away with the
wind behind us.
CHAPTER XIII.
How I arrived at _St. Malo_, and, proceeding to the Abbey of _St.
Michael de Tombelaine_, found friends to set me on my road.
With a straight course that naught delayed we ran to St. Malo, that
ancient town hard by the holy Mount of St Michael, the mother-house of
our Vale Abbey, where I had good hope that I should quickly thence be
sped upon my way.
So when we had come to port, bidding the captain farewell, I chartered a
good horse to reach the holy place where, as men say, the blessed
Michael came down to bid St. Aubert build him a brave house on that
lonely rock.
It was the hour of vespers when I attained the hostel of the mount, but
I had been aware the last few miles of the sound of a trot behind me,
whose pace was marvellous like mine own. If I stayed a moment, the rider
behind likewise stayed; if I went at a gallop, he galloped also. It gave
me some concern to be followed by a caitiff, watching for my purse, as I
had only a sheath-knife with which to defend myself.
However, seeing the abbey lights gleam kindly through its narrow
windows, I urged my beast on, though in sooth she was weary; and as I
clattered at last into the yard, saw, as I waited for a space by the
gateway, my follower walk his steed quietly by, peering the while as he
passed.
Now, I strove as soon as was convenient to gain audience of my lord
abbot. And this was not easy at that time for a simple secular priest,
such as I appeared, for there was ever strife and common contempt 'twixt
monk and parish priest, even as it is to-day.
"Audience of the holy father--and to-night?" repeated the seneschal,
with proud disdain. "Good son, it is impossible, the abbot is engaged
with knight and bishop; keep thou thy little matters till thou canst
catch his rein, as he rides forth to-morrow."
"It is no little matter, good brother," I pleaded, "It is of life and
death to many holy men."
"If it concerned a kingdom," returned he, "I could not send thee to the
abbot now--with the little matters of thy parish to plague him withal,"
the fellow muttered under his breath.
As we debated thus, a most reverend monk passed through the corridor, of
a strangely lofty and noble air and of a winning sweetness, who stayed
his journey as he saw my evident distress.
"What ails thee, O my son?" said he.
"I bear grave and sad news to my lord abbot," I said, "and news that he
should know without delay."
"What is thy name?" he said, and searched me kindly with his eyes.
I could not lie to him, so I said simply, "Nigel," as I would fain say
no more.
"Then, good Father Nigel," said he, seeing my reluctance, "I will go
whisper in my lord's ear, if thou wilt tell me more clearly of thy
business."
"Tell him," said I, "that Abbot Michael, his good brother, has sent me
with sad news of the miseries of Vale Abbey."
"So, my son," said the monk, gently, and disappeared through the
stairway, whence he presently returned, and led me with him.
He led me to a certain fair chamber, wherein sat many great lords around
my lord abbot.
"Who is this, brought by our brother of Bec?" said one, as I entered by
the side of that great scholar, Lanfranc, the Abbot of Bec.
"This," said the abbot, an Italian also, "is an envoy from the isle of
Guernsey, who comes with greeting from our brother yonder, bearing a sad
tale with him, or I am mistaken."
I knelt to my lord, as he sat in his rich-broidered cloak, with his
plump legs cross-gartered, as befits great nobles, and, kissing his
hand, begged that I might speak on.
"Nay; first, sir priest," he said, "tell us thy name, and then thy
story."
"Indeed, father," I replied, "I am not that I seem; no priest am I,
though bred in Vale cloister in Guernsey."
"Then how darest thou," said he, hotly, "to come hither in this habit?"
"If thou but knewest the greatness of the perils of our brethren, how
they are near being murdered by savage men, thou wouldst forgive me,
father. But I bear a name none need fear to own--I am Nigel de Bessin,
and mine uncle its vicomte, would vouch for me, were he here----"
"As indeed he is," put in a pleasant voice of a gentleman that in
scarlet cloak sat by my lord's right hand. "And thou art my nephew?"
said he, as I moved forward to do him courtesy.
When we were made known he bade me proceed, assuring me that all my
wishes should be fulfilled.
"My lords," said I, "the good brothers of St. Michael of the Vale in
Guernsey are besieged and shut in this four weeks, nay, stormed and
murdered by a most pestilent villain and an innumerable horde of Moorish
devils that are settled in the isle. Men call him Le Grand Sarrasin, and
as ye have doubtless heard, he is a caitiff without mercy, that wars on
women as on men, on monks and husbandmen. This is he that calls himself
the Lord of the Norman seas, in clear treachery to our lord the duke,
and so cunning he is that he hath watchmen and spies at every harbour,
that he may establish himself more stoutly ere help come."
"And didst thou escape his hands?" said mine uncle, pondering, head upon
hand.
"Nay; he caught me and shut me in the womb of the earth, but by God's
grace I escaped him--but this matters not. Give me your good aid to the
duke, that in all haste I may return with a great host to save the
brethren."
"How old art thou, my son?" asked Lanfranc.
"Father, but sixteen years," said I, as though I feared they might smile
at me.
"And thou," said he, in admiration, "hast come through these terrors in
such a spirit of courage, wisdom, and love. Verily, my lords, ye see
here a child that God has led marvellously on an undoubted work of
charity."
While their eyes rested on me with a wonder I loved not--for, indeed,
what had I done above what any knightly youth should do for those he
loves?--I spake on, telling them how few days' food remained at Vale,
and how strait they were shut in, and begging them to see that I passed
on to William swiftly.
"The duke is far north now," said the abbot, "gathering strength for the
dangers that are looming from France. It is a sore ill time to beseech
him. Yet matters will not wait. In this case," he said strangely, "thou
wilt be thine own best advocate with him, for well he loves a brave and
knightly deed. With all haste fit letters shall be written to win thee a
ready entrance to his presence--to his heart thou must win thine own
way, as thou hast with us."
"Teach him not, then," said Lanfranc, "too piteously of the sorrows of
our brethren, for a few monks more or less matter not to him, but
represent the arrogance of this Sarrasin, and how clearly he claims the
title of Lord of the Seas. That will touch best our sovereign lord."
"Is not my Lord Maugher still in Guernsey?" asked the abbot, pondering.
"Yea, he is," I said.
"And how acts he in this trouble? Is he besieged with the brethren, or
goes he free?"
"My lords," said I, "as I was led captive through the Sarrasin's castle,
I saw the same evil beast that my lord calls Folly, but men his familiar
demon. I saw it in the very presence of Geoffroy; therefore I think
these evil men are hand and glove together."
"Nay--wilt thou swear this?" said Lanfranc.
"Ay, that I will," I said.
"Then this also must be made known the duke," said Lanfranc, darkly.
"Now, my dear son," said the abbot, "retire to our chamberlain. Cast off
these poor weeds, and take from him aught in his presses that befits
thy dignity, and then return to us, that we may see our vicomte's nephew
in his bravery."
With a courtly bow I left them.
Now, the abbot's chamberlain found me a fair good suit, more courtly
than I had ever worn, and I scarce knew myself in the glory of its rich,
dyed cloth. Fair linen next my skin, fit for an abbot's wear, a long
blue tunic broidered with gold, and a trim girdle, a grand surcoat of
damask, and a gay red cloak over all, with an emerald brooch on my right
shoulder. With bright stockings and a little ribboned hat I was no
longer Nigel the scholar of the Vale, but Nigel de Bessin, gentleman and
courtly soldier.
So drest and refreshed with food, I returned to my lord's chamber, where
at mine uncle's footstool I heard these noble lords and churchmen speak
of the circle of events from England to Italy, and through all their
words the one great name of William seemed to be present as the centre
of their surmisings. So deep had this son of Rollo stamped himself in
the life of those rare days.
"Strange news from England, this," said one, "now that the Atheling is
dead. We can guess of a truth whom the royal priest will light upon, as
he grows near his end."
"He loves not Godwin's brood," said another.
"Then the prophecy that set Henry of France afire will yet be true in
another way. William shall reign in London, not in Paris," said
Lanfranc.
"And thou at Canterbury, good brother," said the abbot.
And, indeed, ere many years this came to pass.
CHAPTER XIV.
How, being given letters to _Duke William_ by the Abbots of _St.
Michael_ and of _Bec_, I set out for _Coutances_, and of what befell me
on my way.
"Sit down and take thy pen, good Nigel," said the abbot next morning;
"this Lanfranc shall dictate thee thine epistle."
I sat down by the abbot's writing-horn, and wrote somewhat as follows,
while the two great men put their wise heads together. After customary
salutation, the letter ran--
"We send the bearer with news of grave moment to thee and thy
rule. A Sarrasin pirate even now lords it in Guernsey, and kills
very many of thy lieges. Moreover, his force grows daily to a
greater height. There hath joined him Maugher, once archbishop.
"Thou wilt know how best to protect thine honour. The bearer hath
for his years done wondrous chivalrously in this enterprise.
Delay not, duke, to hear him."
Such was the letter that I bore, signed with the names of the two
abbots. Now I had great joy in having the great Lanfranc's countenance,
for all men knew William loved him, since, after his first disgrace for
his sharp rebuke of William's marriage, he met him fearlessly, and with
cool laughter and wise words brought him into still closer union than
ever he had been before. So I knew my letter would have weight.
Now it was decided I was to ride with all speed to Coutances, near fifty
miles away, and there to inquire more certainly about William's
whereabouts.
My uncle chose for me a fresh horse from the abbot's stable, that he
swore would bear me nobly, and seeing me suitably equipped, led me once
more to the abbot, who blessed me ere I went forth.
"Child," said he, having given me his blessing, "thou hast by thy spirit
made clearer to me the legend of this holy house. A fair child, men say,
went with Aubert of old to lay these foundations in the rock, and
wherever he trod,--that child of olden days,--the hard rock crumbled for
the great bases to be laid. So, beneath thy tread, young though thou art
in years, doth difficulty crumble to nothing, for it is the work of
God--the saving of our brethren--thou art called to, and wilt perform!"
"What have I done, holy father," I replied, "that any knightly youth
would not be proud to do?"
With all fit instructions as to where I was to go at Coutances, and the
priests that would there send me onwards to the duke, I jumped upon my
steed, and in all fair array, as befitted a youth of high rank, alone I
left St Michael de Tombelaine, and leaving Pontorson behind me, and
having the blue water all the way on my left, reached Avranches by noon.
Now, though my horse showed signs of weariness, I hoped to get forward
another good stage before evening. Therefore after a short rest I
pressed forward, and I soon came into a country that was well tilled,
and the land was divided by hedges like our lanes in England. I was ill
pleased indeed, when well forward on these desolate roads, to hear the
same trot behind me that I heard before on my road from St. Malo.
It made me press on my tired steed to a canter, and the steed behind me
cantered too. I thought, "I will stay, and let the knave pass," but as I
stayed in the way, the horseman that followed stayed as well. We had
ridden some hour and a half like this, and the road ran now through a
wood that seemed dark and cheerless to the sight, yet I was forced to
press on. I had not progressed far, when I heard a whistle behind me,
and lo! I saw, as it were, in answer two great knights come spurring
towards me from the trees ahead.
Then I feared greatly, and I knew there was an evil trap set to catch me
on my way, and I ground my teeth to think that here seemed fresh delays
to the work I had in hand.
The three came at me now with drawn swords.
I drew my little poniard, since I knew I must fight.
"Yield thyself up!" said one great villain. "It is useless to resist!"
My answer was an attempt to drive my horse forward, but the frightened
brute refused my urging. I lunged at the first with my blade, but with a
sweep of his own he drave it out of my hand.
"How now, sir page," said he, "must we teach you manners?"
I was nigh weeping for shame that he should so best me, yet I had no
other weapon, and they were three men, and I but a lad.
They dismounted, and pulled me from my horse, and holding me flat on the
ground with his knee, one of them began to rifle me. "The abbot's
letter," I thought, and in a moment I gave tongue.
"Look you, good sirs," I said, "take my money. You are welcome to it,
but let me go forward on my road."
"Wherefore such haste?" said one. "Thy money we will take, and thy
sorrel hack, but there is a letter still on thee we require to be found
yet!"
It was plain they were no highwaymen, but in some sort the Sarrasin's
men, even here in Normandy, and a great terror took me of his power. In
a frenzy I escaped from them a moment, and stood clutching madly my
breast, where the letter lay hid.
They made a rush for me together, and though like a young tiger I
struggled with scratch and bite and kick, they had me down again.
"Alas!" I thought, "die then of famine, poor brethren of the Vale."
One of them thrust his hand under my riding-tunic, and had the parchment
in his very palm. And all seemed over with me and my mission, when
suddenly I heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming nearer, and I
shrieked out "Help!" My enemy stuffed his cap into my throat to stop my
cries.
But they had been heard, and they came closer at a gallop. "More
villains," I thought, "to make certain of my capture."
But it was no villain's voice that rang out next. It was my uncle's, and
with him were men-at-arms. And as he shouted my assailants left me, and,
jumping into their saddles, fled into the wood.
So I was free, and my letter safe, and my uncle raised me up, and most
tenderly handled me to find my injuries.
"Curse the day," he said, "that I sent thee forth alone! How did I not
suspect ill!"
"But how camest thou in such good hour?" I asked, still trembling.
"My heart smote me," said he, "to send thee thus alone. And, indeed, I
felt a presage of ill. So I got my men-at-arms, and swore that I would
be thy convoy to the duke himself."
"Uncle," said I, "these were no highwaymen."
"What then, lad?"
"They were searching me for the abbot's letter, my passport to William,"
I said.
"Then traitors grow like mulberries down yonder," he said, pointing back
to the Marvel. "But now, if we press on, we shall reach ere nightfall
the house of a good knight, where we shall lie safe till morning."
So we trotted forward, and in two hours' time we were at the gateway of
the castle of the Sieur de la Haye, who received my uncle with all
courtesy, and refreshed us and our steeds; and next morning we rode to
Coutances.
CHAPTER XV.
How I saw an evil face at a casement, and how, at my uncle's house of
_St. Sauveur_, I heard tell of my father. And of what happed on our
setting forth for _Valognes_.
Now, as we rode into Coutances that day, I saw a sight that made me
again fearful. The street was full narrow, and the houses leaned forward
from either side, so as to leave but scant vision of the blue sky above,
and there were plenty of windows in each story.
Now, as I rode by, I was level with the first story of the houses. And,
suddenly, before one window, my eyes were held captive, and I could not
turn them away. A man in a fisher's tunic was gazing out on us, and I
had not even to ask myself where I had seen his face before, for I knew
that it was Maugher. My eyes fell before his, and I blushed and trembled
at his sight.
"Uncle, uncle! my lord vicomte!" I said when we were passed, "dost know
who stood at yon window in a sailor's dress?"
"What meanest thou?" said he, as he saw me tremble.
"It was my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, the Sarrasin's accomplice," I
whispered in his ear.
We reined in our horses and looked back, but the man was gone.
"It was a fancy, child," said the vicomte; "there was no man there."
I said naught; but I knew it was no fancy, and I guessed whence these
villains that lately attacked me got their commission.
Now, at Coutances we learned of the canon, that knew the duke's
whereabouts, that he was near Barfleur, seeing both to his navy of ships
in the harbour there, and having care also to the exercise of archers on
the land.
"As I think," said the canon, "you will find my lord duke either in the
shipyard of Barfleur, or the shooting-ground of archers at Valognes hard
by."
It was then to Valognes, beyond the river Douve, that we were next to
ride, and we would pass on the way my uncle's castle of St Sauveur,
where mine ancestors had been settled since they were lords of the
Bessin. And the whole distance to Valognes was near fifty miles. It was
then mine uncle's wish that we should rest again at his house, and
prepare to approach Duke William with due state on the morrow; and this,
though I was unwilling to delay, I was forced to agree to.
So before evening we came in sight of St. Sauveur, a high and fair
castle, round whose walls the Douve makes a circuit.
Across a bridge raised on pillars over the moat we rode, and through the
wide-open gate we came into the courtyard, where there was great
greeting of my lord vicomte by my cousins, from whom he had been some
weeks absent.
"And here," said he, to young Alain and Rainauld, his sons, "is Nigel,
your cousin, a good scholar of Guernsey, that bids fair to be a better
soldier still."
So with fair greetings was I led in to the chamber of my lady the
vicomtesse, where with plenty demure damsels she plied her needle. Much
surprised was she to see me, and heard with a grave face my story.
"And thou art but sixteen," she said, "and art about so noble an
enterprise? My Alain has barely left his governor. Indeed, thy good
monks know how to teach chivalry."
Then I asked her the meaning of this fair tapestry that, stretched on a
long frame, she and her maidens toiled at round the chamber, for it
caught my eyes as showing, I thought, great exploits of arms. And she
told me that it was the exploits of Duke Rollo that she wrought there in
many colours, and that the Lady Matilda herself, who loved such
needlework, had made choice of the panels. In one I saw the ships being
made in far Norway; in another, in a goodly company they rode upon the
sea; in another, Rollo ate and drank with his fellows; and some
pictures told of battles, wherein I saw them in their close hauberks and
narrow shields, waving swords and driving their deadly spears.
"And in every picture," she said, "I love to work in one like my dear
lord in figure and knightly person, and to work the name of this great
family above."
"Ay, good aunt," cried I; "in sooth thou art like myself in pride of the
Norman race, that even now, in the glory of William, is worthy of its
forbears."
She smiled kindly as mine eyes sparkled, and said I was indeed a
knightly youth. Then, as we were left alone by the vicomte, she dropped
her voice, and gazing at me most tenderly, inquired if I had ever seen
my father.
"Nay, dear lady," said I, sadly but proudly, "I know not, from aught
that has been told me by any, whether he be alive or dead. Save that he
is my lord vicomte's brother, I know naught."
"Poor lad!" she murmured tenderly, "'tis time thou shouldst know more.
Yet it is a sad story. Know, then, thy father was a wild and untameable
youth, that was courteous and brave withal, but brooked not government
overmuch. He was, too, of a wondrous merry disposition, that loved a
jest at men in great places, and this made him not beloved. Against his
father's command he stole away thy mother, who perished in a raid of her
kinsmen upon his house, and in the minority of the duke he was found on
the side of violent men--and then he disappeared. Thou in thy baby
innocence wert the only charge he left us, and as soon as times were fit
thou wert sent to the Abbey of the Vale, which is indeed a good school
of gentle manners and sound learning."
I had listened sadly enough to the story of my father's fall, and its
recital grieved me.
"And has my lord vicomte seen my father since? Has he inquired of me?" I
asked.
"Nay, I must tell thee no more," she said. "Maybe I have told thee too
much already."
"At least, tell me of my mother," said I.
"Poor child," said she, "thou hast never known mother's love! Thy mother
was most fair and gentle, and indeed thine eyes and smile are hers."
"Of what race came she, lady?"
"Child," said she, sadly, "I will not tell thee that to-day. Know only
her name was of the noblest."
Thus, in the chamber of the vicomtesse, that afternoon I learned
something of the secrets that I had wondered over in my boyhood. Sadly I
kissed her hand, when I knew she would tell me no more, and thanked her
courteously for her tender words.
"Indeed," said she, "I long to number thee soon among mine own sons,
when thou leavest the monks thy tutors."
"And I," said I, right gallantly, "will strive to be worthy of honours
so high, of a race so noble."
Now, next morning we rode forth gaily, on our last stage, as we hoped,
to Valognes, and a company of grooms and men-at-arms rode with us, such
as beseemed my uncle's rank. And for many miles we rode along the
western bank of the river Douve, that runs by my uncle's castle, but at
length the stream took a great bend to the west, and we had to cross
within some twelve miles of Valognes.
Here was a stout timber bridge on four piers, over which our road ran;
and it was on the west side of the bridge that my lord stayed, it being
a convenient place to send fit messengers to my lord duke to tell of our
approach. Therefore a courtly gentleman of my lord's retinue--by name De
Norrey--with a groom were sent forward in advance.
Their horses' hoofs clattered on the wooden way as they sped forth. But
lo! great was our wonder and terror to see a sore disaster befall them
there in the midst of the passage over the stream. We saw suddenly the
road give way beneath them, as though it were clean sawn asunder, and
both horsemen in a moment cast down suddenly into the stream below.
Then, too, we heard a loud thunder of the beams falling, and there was a
great mass of woodwork in the river, that dammed up for a while the
flood.
The gentleman, the vicomte's envoy, was alas! killed, thrown headlong by
his horse against a pier ere he struck the water. The groom that rode
with him marvellously escaped death, but was sore wounded by his fall.
"What villain hath done this?" cried the vicomte, in hot anger. "With my
men will I scour the land till I track him."
"Ah, my lord vicomte," I said, "this is the work of Maugher, that I saw
lurking in Coutances. And I grieve that thy good Sieur de Norrey should
thus die by a stroke that was aimed at me."
"If it be as thou sayest," said my uncle, "this venomous man, kinsman
though he be of the duke himself, shall no longer trouble men."
Then, with all sadness, the body of De Norrey was recovered and borne
back to St Sauveur, and we, riding down the stream a mile or more to
where there was a safe ford, crossed safely, and riding sorrowfully and
warily, though we were so near to the duke's presence, came presently in
sight of Valognes.
CHAPTER XVI.
How at length I was brought before _William, Conquestor Invictissimus_,
of all soldiers the greatest, and most invincible of dukes. Of the
manner he received my mission, and of the expedition of _Samson
d'Anville_.
And now, children of my house here in England, I bid you con eagerly
what I write in these next leaves, for, if God will, I will record how I
first met, in that land of the Cotentin, him who was my star of glory
while he lived, being indeed the greatest prince of our day, and, as I
think, as great a soldier as any that ever lived of our race or of any
other. And, following his conquering arms, we came to this haven in our
own fair country, as ye know.
My uncle had with great ease overcome, as a high noble may, all
obstacles in our path; and assuring all who questioned, that indeed we
came on business that could not wait, he won his way in an hour where I
alone might have wasted days, such walls of state there are around the
great ones of the earth.
But with a smile and a good word to one, a meaning whisper of secret
import to another, a high hand and a proud look to a third, he passed
through all barriers with me at his heels; and at length we were led by
a high noble through sundry gates into a broad level mead, all green and
close-shaven by the scythe, where many targets stood, and amid a bevy of
noble gentlemen Duke William himself saw to the training of his archers.
Now it was easy, even in that noble throng, to see who was the duke and
master of the company, not by rich apparel or device of royalty, but by
simple glory of manhood. He stood well above the tallest there, gentle
or simple. His great bulk had not yet hid his fair proportions, though
in girth and weight he outstripped the rest. On a strong neck like a
broad column his full round head rested, and frank and straight his
wide-open eyes gazed forth on men, masterful and proud.
Here was a man that hid not his passion or his feeling--one that could
hide naught. Afterwards the very force of mastery and passion left their
impress on William's face, but when I first saw him there, in the full
glory of a man's honour and strength, I gave him my boyhood's worship,
for that I knew he was a king of men.
He was busy with his archers, and minded not our approach.
"Blind dolt!" he cried. "Such a flight would harm none! See here!" He
drew the great wooden bow he carried right back to the breast, and the
arrow sped sharp and clean from the twanging cord, and hit the mark
plain in the middle with a mighty force. "Now--hard and straight!" he
said, as the archer essayed his shot again. Then seeing us approach,
"Vicomte, good morrow."
"My lord duke," said mine uncle, "with pain I disturb thee; but thou
wilt agree that our matter would not wait."
"Then tell it quickly," said William.
"My lord of Bee sends forth my nephew with this letter," said the
Vicomte.
"Then let him ope and read it."
With a great awe I read Lanfranc's sage words to the duke. Careless and
moody he stood when I began with his high titles, but he let me read.
But he awoke as he heard of the Sarrasin, and hot anger filled his face.
I read on steady and slow till I came to the name of Maugher, and at
that there was a very storm in his eyes.
"Give me the letter!" said he; and he snatched it, gazed an instant on
it, and ground it the next moment into the sod with his iron heel.
He raged up and down in a passion, heedless of us and of his archers.
Then he recovered himself.
"And the monks are shut in by the Moors?" he said to me.
"My lord duke," I said, "they and all thy loyal people of Guernsey are
near starving, and this vile Moor calls himself lord and master of the
Norman seas."
"Does he?" said William. "Tell me more of Maugher."
"He speeds on the treachery. His devils are seen in the Sarrasin's
castle. He hath twice sought my life on my way to thee. I have seen by
our abbot's grace treacherous letters of his to King Henry, that your
highness wots of. And yesterday I saw him at Coutances in disguise."
"At Coutances?" said the duke, near as I feared another blast of anger.
And then, turning to a burly lord hard by, that I guessed soon, not from
his bearing, but from Duke William's words, was his brother and
councillor, Odo of Bayeux, he said, "Here, my lord, what thinkest thou
of these letters?"
He gave him to read the parchment that I picked up from the turf. Odo
read it slowly.
"It would seem," said he, "that this Sarrasin is grander than we
thought."
"At this juncture he is dangerous," said William.
"Maugher is the danger," said Odo.
"Shall we strike at once?" said William.
"'Tis but a week's work," said Odo, "and it would seem by one stroke you
will clear the seas for years."
He turned to me and inquired very exactly all that I knew of the
strength of the pirates by sea and land, of the building and position of
the Château du Grand Sarrasin, of the Vale Castle, and the defence of
it by the monks and islanders.
He learned (for how could I keep back even my own doings, so peremptory
he was?) of my being taken captive, and bursting into a huge laughter at
the tale of my escape, swore I was a wondrous fellow for my years. Then,
as he had a map in his mind of all that I knew, he turned and said to
the Vicomte--
"'Tis a brave boy, this thy nephew. Tell me, whose son is he?"
At this the Vicomte hesitated a moment, and I coloured and looked down.
"He is the son," he said at length, "of my younger brother, who this
fourteen years has been reckoned unworthy of his place among knights."
The duke looked on me again, and I met his gaze.
"See, then, lad," said he, "that thou redeem thy father's good name! And
now for thy mission hither. It is my will to do all that thou askest up
to thy desires--yea, and beyond thy desires. This pirate-swarm have
massed themselves together, and lo! I will sever their many heads at one
blow, and they shall know rightly who is lord and master of the Norman
seas and isles. I will bring all my ships----"
He was proceeding, when Odo plucked him by the arm, and, whispering in
his ear, as I thought, dissuaded him from coming in person. He frowned
and chafed, but at last gave way, and after further words, called to
him a little man of wondrous heavy build, yet muscular withal, that
stood among the greatest of his lords.
"Hither, Samson d'Anville," said he; "here is brave work for thee, that
I was near taking for mine own. Thou shalt be admiral and captain of an
expedition that I send with all speed to sweep out with all force the
pirates that infest our Norman seas. In great pride they are gathered in
Guernsey to defy my power. Take men, take ships, all that thou wilt
need, and delay not thy journey, for certain monks and islanders are
hard set with famine. See me again to-morrow. Vicomte, good youth,
farewell."
So Duke William returned to his archers.
* * * * *
We had but just left the duke's presence, and were even considering
whether I should return with mine uncle to St. Sauveur or tarry there at
Valognes, if I could find a lodging, when none other than Samson
d'Anville, that had been placed in command of the expedition, came after
us, and would have me to be his guest until, all preparations having
been made in a week's time, we should sail from Barfleur.
"Come now, little soldier," said he, "and we on this expedition will be
true brothers-in-arms."
With that he wound his arm into mine, and I noted that, though he called
me "little soldier," I was almost a head taller than he.
So at his bidding, for he would take no denial, I took a hearty and
reverent leave of the vicomte, who assured me that when this matter were
over he would welcome me in his retinue for the French war, and linked
arm-in-arm with Samson, returned to the camp.
Now I had time to see more closely what manner of man this d'Anville
was. I have said he was short and stout, but I should have said that in
so small a frame one seldom saw such activity and strength. Like some
pollard oak, he seemed all knotted with muscle and vigour. He went
bearded and wore his hair unshaven, and thus amid those Norman lords,
shorn back and front, he looked wild and unkempt.
But the merry easy smile that lived in his black eyes was enough to show
me that, though a great warrior, and terrible in battle, he would be a
sweet comrade in time of peace. This was that Samson d'Anville that so
swiftly broke down the arrogance of Geoffroy, and for this and other
noble deeds was given that estate hard by the Vale, which his sons hold
yet.
And so it came to pass that within a week of my arriving, by great good
luck and marvellous dispatch in preparation, the order was given that we
should sail for Guernsey.
CHAPTER XVII.
Of the journey of our ships to relieve the Brethren of the Vale, and how
we fought a great battle with the _Moors_ outside the _Bay of
L'Ancresse_.
As I remember, children, our armament made an exceeding fair show as we
sailed with a fair wind out of Barfleur Harbour, and great joy I had
that such good fortune had attended my embassage to our great governor.
And indeed, though I remember not exactly after these many years the
number of the ships, I think there were at least five score, and in each
ship close on five-and-thirty men-at-arms, besides the sailors who had
the management of the sailing. Duke William, when thus aroused, did not
things by halves. And as we rounded Pointe de Barfleur, and saw on the
one side Cape de la Hague looming through the morning air, our fleet
rode in a fair line forward, making a semicircle as they sat gaily on
the sparkling waves.
And in the ship that was at the northern horn of this great bow was
Samson, and I by his favour with him, and the man on the look-out in
this great ship, that was called _Le Saint Michel_, saw more clearly
than any other of the mariners of what lay ahead. Now, _Le Saint Michel_
was the ship Duke William loved, and indeed it was both stout and
strong, and made for swiftness rather than great burthen. And being the
favourite ship of the duke, it was gloriously dight with gold and
colour, so that it looked right noble as the sun glinted on its golden
vanes, and lit up the splendour of its close-woven sails of crimson,
whereon two lions were curiously blazoned. And before upon the prow, as
it cleaved the waves, sat St. Michael with wings outspread, white as the
gulls that circled around our fleet, as though he were indeed bearing us
forward with good hope upon our journey.
"Look you!" said Samson, shading his eyes with his hand as he leant with
his arm on the gunwale; "we take our track neatly betwixt Auremen and
the Hague, and in so fair a day as this have no fear to run close by
yonder cursed Casquettes, where many a good ship hath met its doom. Dost
thou see them yet?"
"Yea," I said. "There, like a rough, jagged set of teeth, they spring
yonder from the calm waves and a long track they make where thou seest
the foam on either side."
"Then we will have no risk of our good men," said Samson, presently.
"Port helm, man, and keep a clear mile from yonder hungry rocks."
Soon the north coast of Guernsey hove in sight, and earnestly I gazed
forth for signs of any pirate ships that might intend to do battle with
us on the sea. And, indeed, it was well to look, for around from the
Grand Havre as we approached swept a great straight column of their
low-decked, lean, swift-sailing vessels, and we seemed to see another
such column lying-to behind.
"See you them?" I hastily cried to Samson.
"Ay, it means battle," said he.
But this good soldier, well used to fighting by sea, as well as by land,
was even now as cool and undismayed as though he but went about his
proper work.
Samson gave his orders with words sharp and few. And indeed it seemed
that all was arranged for us to meet such a defence of the coast by our
foes. For, like living beings, our great ships sailed swiftly into two
lines, strong and steady, with our vessel at the end of the second rank.
And all this was done without disorder or confusion, as men-at-arms will
form square on parade, and still we rode on the while, and Samson stood
watching the pirates' fleet that lay now in a long line in front of
L'Ancresse Bay awaiting our attack, as was meet for them to do.
The wind sprang up now, I remember, from the east, and I heard Samson
say in a glad tone----
"Thank Heaven for this breeze! It will prove the very messenger of
victory from God."
"Ay, in good truth," I said. "See, even now before we attack them, they
drift, though they would stay steady."
We were now well past Les Casquettes, and I could see clear the great
rocky headland of the Guet, and others as high and deadly, that I
remember not the names of, loom sharp and clear behind the pirates'
fleet.
The good breeze bore us on, and it was evident that, without feint or
device of any kind, we should face our foes fairly, and do battle
hand-to-hand with the pirates chiefly by boarding their craft.
And I was glad at this, for I had no fear of the result of the day's
fight if William's trained men-at-arms, suppled by a hundred battles,
met their foes face to face on a few square feet of wood. The pirates,
in their self-deceiving folly, that led them to a swift doom, had the
like thought of their own prowess, and indeed they had need be proud of
their wild fighting, being men who so fought as caring not for life or
escape.
The ships of our front rank sailed swiftly down on their foe, and each
crashed heavily into a pirate vessel. And with the loud crack of wood
against wood, and shattered prows, and rocking masts, uprose over the
clear water the hideous din of battle. High above all the cry of "Rou,"
and the shouting "Dieu aide," "God and St. Michael," "Duke William and
St. George." Then the wild diabolic cries from the Moors in their harsh
ugly tongue, "Le Grand Sarrasin," or "Le Grand Geoffroy," echoing among
their uncouth war-cries.
I cannot tell what happened that first part of the fight; but I saw a
confused sight of our men with a strong rush of might, their bright
swords gleaming o'er their heads, leaping into this vessel or that, and
blazing with the onrush of their attack upon the Moors, that met them
with mad ferocity. There was a scene on each deck in which I could
distinguish not which way the matter went, except that the war-cries of
our men sounded ever more triumphant. Two vessels at the least were so
disabled by the shock that they drifted away southward on the jagged
rocks with their crews still in them. I know not whether the rogues in
them were saved or lost.
The men of _La Belle Mathilde_, straight in front of us, had good
success, for already, ere we came into action, they had cleared the deck
of the vessel they had attacked, and leaving it to drift away were about
to run down its neighbour, into whose side some of the crew had climbed,
having leapt into the water from the battle with the Normans. We cast
our eyes along the fighting-line and saw the like going on; and then
came up their second line, in two curves, east and west, to their
friends' assistance. Now, this was our signal to ride forward and engage
them. So we swept round to keep them off on either side, and ere I knew
what was afoot there ran a great tremble through the ship, and a crack
like thunder sent my heart into my mouth, and in a moment I saw the
Moors hacking eagerly at the wrists of our soldiers, that clung lustily
to the rigging of their craft, that was called _La Reine d'enfer_.
With a shout that rang like a great trumpet, our little Samson had his
foot in a moment on the gunwale. "Stick on lads, tight!" he cried, as
with half a score of whom I was one, he landed on the pirate's deck.
Three of them rushed at each of us, and well it was we had good hauberks
and good blades, for "slash, slash" came down on us the strokes from
either hand. But swift in our tail came a score more of our Normans,
some of the readiest and stoutest of Samson's own men that followed his
standard, and like lions zealous for his honour, and eagles careful for
his life, they fought their way to their little leader's side, who was
well-nigh bested, contending with three or more, who knew his place and
station and attacked him at all points. But the rush of the boarding
party swept all our foes before us, and in a short space the remnant of
them, now far below our numbers, collected by the stern of the ship in a
thick mass. It was no light matter to dislodge them, thrice we essayed
it, and thrice from their sharp blades we recoiled. And, indeed, I could
not but honour these men now engaged so hopelessly in their last
conflict, and never crying out for quarter--nay, even stricken down on
the deck still crawling with bent and broken sword, to slash once more
at us, if it were but at our hose of mail.
In the hot fray we recked not of our moorings, and we saw already we had
lost hold of _Le Saint Michel_ and drifted some yards astern, and a
great shock of the ship showed us we were broadside on with another of
their ships, _L'Aiglon_. Now we were soon involved in sore danger, for
the pirates on board this latter, lost no time in coming up to their
friends' assistance, and like a crew of black kites they swept over the
side, with curved cutlasses brandished in their hands. I know not how it
would have chanced had not _La Blanche Nef_ boarded their ship, and
attacking them in the rear, swept through them to our relief. So they
were between two attacks, and enough of us were left to engage in our
last deadly hand-to-hand struggle with the pirates in the stern. I
followed a great Norman soldier that led this last attack, and closing
with a sinewy Moor that strove cunningly to slap my sword from my grasp
with an upsweep, we were ere long rolling on the deck amid the dead and
the slippery streams of blood, each guarding the other's sword-hand from
his breast; and since the Moor was a strong villain of full man's
strength, I was in evil case. For with me, thus striving on the deck,
the swing and rush of my youthful strength availed me naught against his
tempered muscles, that seemed pressing my arms back with a grasp of
iron. Yea, I was as near cold steel in my heart as ever in my life,
when suddenly I felt his grasp tighten and then grow loose, and a sharp
blade that had already been run through his back, came out below the
breast-bone, and gave my arm a graze that drew blood.
"God, save you, good lad!" rang out Samson's voice, and I knew that he
had found time in his control of the whole battle to think of me--and in
good season, for I have small doubt that, though the point of his sword
grazed my arm, yet it saved my life.
When I arose up, the ships that were named _L'Aiglon_ and _La Reine
d'enfer_ were both cleared of the Moors, and our men were steering the
shattered vessel as well as could be done towards _Le Saint Michel_,
which we presently boarded, letting the pirate ship with a hole in its
bottom run away towards La Jaonneuse, a rock on the north-west that
broke her up.
Now I saw that the victory in this sharp sea-battle was already won. For
to right and left the second line, or those vessels that still remained,
had retired, and were bearing away southward. Some five or six of the
first line, that we afterwards overhauled had run aground for safety in
L'Ancresse Bay; and the remnant, about twenty ships in all, drifted with
shattered and broken masts and rigging on to the rocks, on which some
lay foundered already.
So it was with a cheery voice I sang out to Samson d'Anville--
"Lo! the way lies open to the Vale."
And he pointing to the stiff dead bodies floating in the water, and
wiping his sword-blade carefully, cried back--
"So die all pirates, and enemies of the duke in the Norman Seas!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
The story of the relief of _Vale Castle_.
Now, by the ending of our battle before L'Ancresse Bay, the sun was
setting, and for fear of some attack on us as we disembarked, Samson
d'Anville thought it better that, though well in sight of Vale Castle,
that already had lit beacons of joy upon its towers, we should drop
anchor for the night in L'Ancresse Bay.
This we did, and there was much business in our fleet in the repairing
of the damage of the fight. When the tale was made up, but forty
men-at-arms had been lost with some sixty more who had sore damage, and
two of our ships were so disabled that we left them to float upon the
rocks.
From the prow, where I lay down to sleep, I thought of the joy in the
hearts of our brethren and the abbot, and "Oh, Brother Hugo!" I thought,
"now, by God's grace, have I well-nigh fulfilled the task thou gavest
me;" and then sleep drew my eyelids tight, and with no alarm of sea or
enemy, I slept until the morning.
Now, the day that followed has ever been the brightest and the gladdest
of my memories as I have trodden the path of my life. For on that day by
Samson's side I entered Vale gate in very sooth the deliverer of my
friends.
I remember not in what manner that goodly army was disembarked, but well
I know, through the long space it took, my heart burned to be away. But
all was done in the due order of war, for Samson greatly feared an
ambush of the Sarrasins in rocky spaces betwixt us and the Castle. And
good companies of men were left in a little camp, hastily thrown up by
the shore, lest there should be a mishap upon our march.
But at length the men-at-arms were drawn up in order of march, and every
man sent forward gave word that no sign of Sarrasin could be seen in the
Vale. So, steadily, with the great standard of the two lions unrolled,
we marched across the common, and soon the great mass of Vale Castle, on
its seat of rock, towered up before us, and along the rampart we saw
gathered the defenders, like saints of heaven, welcoming us as we came.
And the women, so long pent up with anxious minds therein, waved their
light kerchiefs, and wept for very joy at the sound of the soldier's
tramp shaking the plain. And along the wall, as at a set signal, when we
passed the black ruin of the old cloister and church, uprose the deep
sound of men's singing, and we heard the goodly round Latin tongue roll
its heavy cadence o'er our heads--"Magnificat anima mea Dominum"--ay,
magnificat of praise and glory, as greeting this deliverance wrought by
the most Holy One, and the downfall of Satan's power. And ever, when
they sing that hymn of blessed Mary, I seem again to be a-marching with
all the triumph of a noble lad in the successful doings of his first
great enterprise over the wind-swept grass of the Vale up to the Castle
gate--marching with a great army, that knows naught of sin and guile,
full-stedfast and full-faithful through all its sunny ranks.
Then, without let or hindrance, we stood before the gate, and once more
the great bolts shot back, the mighty bars clanged as they moved, and
the huge gate swung heavily on its massy hinges, and the advance guard
sweeping on one side, left the way free for Samson and myself to enter.
Could I enter in such stately wise with trumpet-blare and step of
dignity into that place on that day as a young prince or saviour from
afar? Nay, here were the very stones I had played upon through all my
boyhood, and around me stood the good nurses and governors of my early
years. It was no place for me to enter in this pomp. Nor were these
simple monks the men for me to come back to so ceremoniously.
I stood for a moment by Samson's side in hesitation. Then, seeing Hugo
and the abbot, I forgot the army and Samson and my place, and ran
straight forward, like a babe to his mother, and in a moment had mine
arms around the neck of my father-in-arms, Brother Hugo of the Vale.
Then, when he stayed me, and unclasped my hands, that were like to choke
him, so joyously they hugged, down went I on one knee and kissed the
hand of Abbot Michael, that stood by his side. He, courteously raising
me, said simply--
"Thou hast done well, good child. And glad are we that our woes are
over. But who is yonder gentleman?"
Then I led up Samson to him, and made them known, and a fair scene of
courtesy it was to see Samson in his chain-mail kneel and take the
abbot's hand so thin and delicate in his own rough palm.
"Ye come like angels from above, good gentlemen," said Michael; "for,
with all sparing and restraint, our cruse is now full low, our store
consumed, and, with diminished strength, there was small hope to rebut
the next attack."
"No angels, holy Father," answered Samson, smiling; "but stalwart
fellows in plenty, with a strong stroke and a high spirit. Normans, in
brief, that know well how to carry through a matter such as this. But
how oft have they attempted an attack?"
"Our general shall inform thee best," said the abbot, "this good
brother, whose clear head and strong courage have saved us not once nor
twice; and, indeed, most good it is that two such men as thou and he
should meet."
With that he led Brother Hugo to Samson, and the two brave warriors did
embrace with all due show of courtesy.
"Thrice, now, have they engaged to storm our wall," said Hugo, "and,
while strength remained, we feared not to throw back to their sore
damage such attacks. But three nights back we were in extremer case, for
the rogues entered by a cunning mine the citadel itself, and but for
swift action on our part they had got through in force, and overpowered
the garrison. But, by God's favour, we were aroused in time, and with a
great scuffle drave them back, and with small loss to ourselves slew a
score or more, and so at morn destroyed and blocked the mine; and even
this night we feared a like attack, had you not brought this great army
from my lord the duke to destroy for ever the Sarrasin's arrogance."
Then they took counsel of the resources of their arms; and, indeed, with
the islanders that were with us already, and that now came flocking,
being afeared to come before (as there are such in every cause), we
mustered an exceeding great host, and after the ravages the Sarrasin had
made, we had even now fear of famine till corn could come in by sea. And
the Normans, since the Castle was too strait for all already, lay
encamped in a fair camp by the waterside by St. Sampson's Bay, till
their leader should ordain the order of attack.
Now all was changed in Vale and hill country, for the Moors that so long
had roamed at will, setting their watches and their sentinels on every
headland and navigable inlet, and claiming to be of right the liege
lords of all from Blanchelande to Torteval, from Torteval to Vale, were
now shut up in their great château, and their fleets lying in Grand
Havre and Moulin Huet Bay. No longer able to be besiegers, they had
become besieged, and indeed, if they knew all, were already in extreme
case. We saw none of their vile faces in lane or forest-path. The narrow
street of St. Pierre Port was cleared of the swaggerers, with their
clanking metal and heady brawls; while our Normans lay by St. Sampson's
shrine waiting the order to attack, they sat quiet and sullen in their
hold.
And in this sullen calm there was much to fear.
CHAPTER XIX.
How we set forth to attack _Le Château du Grand Sarrasin_. Of the
_Normans_' valour, and of the flight of our foes.
Now, for the next two days Samson had under review our islanders, and
the brethren, who in martial accoutrements, and restored moreover
already by good store of food, would fain take part in the great matter
of executing Heaven's vengeance on Le Grand Sarrasin and his troop.
These were bound together in a second regiment auxiliary to the
men-at-arms, and set by Samson of his deep wisdom under Hugo's leading.
Now, all this time the Sarrasin sat still awaiting our assault, like a
sick lion in his cave, and the only sign of life up at his castle was
the green flag on the pole that fluttered in the wind.
And on the third day all was in preparation for the attack. And Samson
had it in mind that he and his Normans would bear the brunt of the
assault, and have our contingent in reserve to fight on the level when
entrance had been made. Now he determined not to attack the Castle on
the side towards Vale, but from the south, where the height was not
great, and there was good cover of brushwood to hide our strength, and
to protect from arrows and balls. We, in a close body, were to lie quiet
to the east within a run, and we were told to await his signal to enter
in the breach to do our share, or, if need were, to swoop on the pirate
swarms unexpectedly, if they essayed to escape to their ships.
And thus once more I found myself by Hugo's side, prepared for sharp
fighting.
"See, Nigel," whispered he, as he stood fuming and craving to be himself
in the thick of the fighting that soon must chance. "Yonder tree shoots
up clean and straight, and, as I fancy, there is clear vision downward
to the Castle, and an easy drop and scamper hither again at the signal."
"Let us mount," I said.
So, careless of rules of war and obedience, like two school-lads we
swarmed up the smooth trunk, and sat soon in the joinings of the
branches. Thence could we see, so far as leaves allowed, the Sarrasin
camp within the walls of the château.
They were not to be taken by surprise. For a great array--far greater, I
thought, than came down to the Vale Castle--was collected on the green,
and being divided into companies, had charge of the engines of defence,
or tried the temper of their blades. And I saw others on the wall ready
to roll stones and hot pitch upon their assailants, as is the manner of
defending castles. And amid the companies stalked heavily the Grand
Geoffroy himself in full armour. Could any mistake that great form, and
not feel his presence amid those wild men of so many nations, that his
spirit alone united into one.
"Heigho!" thought I. "Ill knight that seest without being seen; now
without being seen we see thy camp and thee."
As I thought that, his great helm turned our way, and a strange shudder
took my limbs, as he seemed to look upward to our roost, and know us to
be there.
"He sees us," I said to Hugo.
"That were not possible with mortal eyes," said Hugo; "but even evil
beasts are oft aware of the near presence of their foes."
But he had soon to turn his eyes elsewhere, for the Norman assault came
sharp and swift, like the rush of great wild creatures through the
forest. Indeed it was a rare sight--that sweeping mass of chivalry that
seemed to reck naught of the walls, or the arrows, or the balls, or the
pitch that a hundred hands rained down on them. Over the wall they went,
and through the gate that withstood not their charge. O Heaven! they
were not men those Normans, they were storms and floods, they were fire
and mad waves of ocean, that scorn with wild gleefulness the granite
rock and scarped boulder!
I have seen the sea, swept in by a fierce north wind, so triumph over
man's poor defences. I have seen the mad fire catch hold of mart and
dwelling in a blazing town that met Duke William's anger. I saw in the
north the great eygre rush through Lindis' bed, and swamp the peaceful
plain with doom and ruin. Not less resistless, not less vehement was the
first assault of Samson's Normans. And I knew now, as I looked, how, by
fire and spirit more than by numbers, William won the famous day of
Val-ès-dunes, and I might have guessed, had I known what was to hap ere
ten years had run away, what would come to pass below Hastings in
England on the crown of Senlac.
They recked not of death or wounds--where one line fell, another took
its place. Like a river that ceaselessly flows, they swarmed into the
Castle, and closed with the Moors. So it seemed that, overcome by the
ferocity of the onslaught, the Moors soon gave up all effort to defend
the wall, but reinforced the troop that held the crest of the hill, that
contended in a mighty struggle with the invading Normans. This way and
that way the battle surged. Now it seemed they would drive them back
after all, now they themselves were carried backward. Norman and pirate
were mixed strangely together in this fierce conflict. We expected each
moment that the signal for us to join the fray would ring out, but it
came not. It seemed to us that Samson, greedy of honour for his men,
desired to claim the total glory of the victory. But we knew not his
great sagacity, nor what a strength we were to him lying there in
ambush.
But what of Le Grand Geoffroy? We saw him bear the first brunt of the
onset. He rushed then like a flame from line to line. And where he was,
the Moors seemed to rush on to victory. Once Samson and he had met, but
supported by two smart swordsmen, the Sarrasin had retired and left
Samson to them. And now we espied him not, and hoped some hand had
struck him that we saw not. Meanwhile, the Normans made great way, and
drave the enemy back step by step, killing as they went.
Le Grand Geoffroy was neither wounded nor dead! With a great shout he
came forth from the very womb of the earth with another swarm of
warriors at his heels, and we saw that this last reserve had been kept
back to surprise us in the rear. Then, as the great monster rushed in
upon the Normans, while still they poured into the Castle, rang out the
signal on the trumpet, and from our ward of trees we lusty islanders and
zealous monks sprang in to do our share. Here was Hugo, and I his
esquire, in the front rank of them all; here was poor distraught Ralf
clutching his hilt like a man frenzied. Monk, gentleman, farmer, miller,
serf--we all rushed with gladness, that the time at last had come for us
to join the battle, in a great wave of fury on the contingent of relief
that was headed by Geoffroy himself. And well we did our part. For we,
who knew so well the cruelties of the man we fought with, were lifted
up by a great spirit of vengeance that seemed not our own, but Heaven's.
His men reeled at our charge, and left their attack to face us. We
charged, recoiled, and charged again. And this time Hugo and I together
swung grandly face to face with the great monster Geoffroy; and Hugo
slashed nobly at him, and for the space of full four minutes there was
sharp sword-play between them, and I hoped each moment that Hugo would
best him.
But the duel was not fought out, for (as I heard after) so well had the
Normans fought, and so many pirates lay in heaps on the green, that a
great panic at this moment fell upon the pirates, and already, like kine
affrighted by a wild beast, they were rushing headlong through the
northern gate, that some one had unfastened, and pouring down full-tilt
to the Grand Havre, where their ships were, and the Normans were after
them like hounds on the scent, slaying as they went.
Now, this Geoffroy saw, and rushing in strove manfully to stay the
flight. But they were too frantic to hear him or obey. In a moment he
made up his mind.
"Follow my lead, then," I heard him cry to his own reserve; "we will not
stay to be cut down here. To the sea! To the sea!"
He jumped into the saddle of his steed, that stood ready caparisoned,
and was through the southern gate with the pirates on his heels, and we
on theirs, before we were well aware what had happed.
Le Grand Sarrasin was making for his other fleet in Moulin Huet.
And of the Normans and of many of us the pirates had the advantage, for
they wore not much armour. With the wings of desperation they fled
before us seaward over mile on mile of forest and lane. And like a
terrible storm we sped behind. Never again may such a storm rage in
Guernsey lanes and hills.
Some that were ill runners were smitten down by us as they lagged
behind; some that had been wounded before, and were weak from loss of
blood, dropped heavily into the brake on this side or on that; the more
part, as they neared the sea, pressed on faster, cheered now and again
by the voice of their leader far ahead on his horse, as he shouted, "To
the ships! to the ships!"
CHAPTER XX.
Of the sore slaughter in the glen of _Moulin Huet_ and on the shore; and
how _Le Grand Sarrasin_ was slain, and of his secret.
At last we reached the head of the glen, and far down below us we saw
the blue water of the bay, enclosed on either side with its great rocky
bulwarks. And a great portion of the Sarrasin ships were there at anchor
as near shore as they might safely lie. And there were many little boats
pulling in to take the runaways aboard.
Helter-skelter they went down the rugged, winding path, jostling their
fellows with knee and shoulder, hand and heel, as they slammed on their
way. Le Grand Sarrasin we saw not, and guessed for the moment that he
was already aboard. But when we came in sight of the bay, not long we
stood in hesitation, but with a shout and a cry that rang terribly as it
echoed from rock to rock, we rushed madly after, spreading our force
along the side of the cliff as our fellows pressed on us behind.
We too were carried on like a mad torrent that could not stay itself,
and in the front we cut furiously with our swords at the tail of their
long line whenever chance was afforded. Not many so we slew, but a
number tripped over in the rush were trampled underfoot, or threw
themselves in the streamlet's bed, wherein afterwards they were speedily
slain.
But an end came at last to that mad descent, and all-quivering and
furious, we landed on the shore. We stayed a moment till a great troop
was round us, every moment swelling as the laggards came up, thirsting
to have a lot in so great a matter, and then with a mighty charge, that
our foes scarce essayed to meet, we drove them before us into the sea.
Ay! in that deadly rush, with swinging steel and echoing cry like angels
of great Heaven's power, we swept them like some unclean stuff off our
island's face into the water. There was great slaughter all along the
bay. Some climbing into boats were knifed behind; some half-drowned in
the water we cut to pieces; some, but poor swimmers, never reached their
ships; and more than one boat capsized, being overfull of raging and
infuriated men.
A little remnant speedily entrenched themselves amid the rugged
boulders, and smarting as they were with wild and bitter rage, we left
them in their fortress, till one of the ships espying them, a boat was
sent amid the rocks that they climbed towards and entered safely without
hindrance from us. These and the few that swam, and the few that escaped
in boats, and some that hid themselves in cave or brake, and afterwards
escaped, were the scanty sum of that bodyguard of Le Grand Geoffroy that
got to their ships.
The rest lay on the road, or in the water-way, or here where the shore
met the white roll of the surf, in great heaps that the waves played
with, as they rolled up and ran back dyed with blood. So we islanders of
Guernsey and Brethren of the Vale dealt with one-half of the pirates'
force, while good Samson d'Anville did likewise with the other half as
they fled to the Grand Havre.
It was when we at last rested from this sad work of slaughter that I
looked up to the clear sky, since earth and sea seemed all defiled with
blood, and lo! there on the spur of land that divideth the Bay of Moulin
Huet from the Bay of All Saints, high up on the top, with his form
outlined against the sky, sat Le Grand Sarrasin on his Arabian steed. I
showed him in a moment to Hugo.
"Fools that we be," cried he, "that stain our hands in this foul work
upon these paltry runaways, while he, the chief cause of these men's
offending, still goes free!"
"See," I said, "the monster gazes down on the downfall of his lieges,
and sees them die without a care!"
"Ay, for he knows," said Hugo, "there is plenty of evil men in the world
for him still to lead."
With that Hugo picked out some twenty of his most trusted men and bade
us follow him.
So we started up the cliff side by a little path that wound upward amid
the gorse. And still all the time as we toiled with foot and hand at
climbing, upon the summit sat the Sarrasin, as though with a proud air
deriding our attack.
"Whom seek you, good gentlemen?" he cried to us as we climbed below.
"A vile knave and caitiff!" Hugo cried back.
"He hath not passed this way," shouted the Sarrasin, "so lose not your
labour, good sirs, at this boys' play of climbing."
"It is not boys' play down yonder!" returned Hugo. "Oh, villain, cursed
villain, we will mete you the same measure!"
"Then you must rival my Pearl of Seville!" he cried, just galloping
lightly away as we landed on the summit.
So he had got away to some secret place, of which there were so many on
the coast, had he not met full-tilt a strong band of the Normans that
were even now on the road, being sent down by Samson to see that we were
not worsted.
These he met tramping to Moulin Huet Bay, and, wheeling hastily at the
sight of them, found us behind him. Like a spent hare that runs into a
hole, he spurred to the house at Blanchelande that lay at the head of
All Saints' Bay, and we that followed at a run heard his beast clatter
over the drawbridge of the moat. We rolled a great stone on to the
bridge that none could draw it up, and, with the Normans following
behind, pursued him into his cover. The good steed stood riderless
before the gate. With all our weight we burst the door, and ran in a
great body into the hall wherein I had visited my Lord of Rouen.
No man was to be seen therein, and for a while we stood at fault,
Normans and islanders alike, and then went through the house, battering
with lusty strokes, that echoed again, every part of wall or wainscot
that might afford concealment.
Had all our struggle been for naught, and would the arch-villain escape
us thus? We came back to the great hall, and stood therein while our
followers ran riot in the house. I took up, as we stood by my lord's
table, that very curious box or optic-glass, wherein he showed me far
things brought close, and curiously raised it to my eyes, and gazed down
upon the bay. It was brought wondrous clear, and the waves seemed
dancing before mine eyes. Suddenly I saw what made me drop the glass,
and hastily drag Hugo with me out of the house. The glass showed me the
Sarrasin stealing along the shadows of the glen downwards to where a
little boat lay moored by the rocks.
We tracked him like a quarry; and ere long he knew we were behind him,
and hasted, sore hindered with his great bulky body, to the shore. There
we overtook him, and at once he faced us, and made with his sword a
great lunge at Hugo that well-nigh took his life. But even so, Hugo was
quick with his parry, and kept him at fence.
"This is no fair fight 'twixt man and man, false monk!" cried the
Sarrasin, as I had a stroke at his undefended side, so hot was I for his
blood.
"Stand off, good Nigel," sang out Hugo. "None shall say I beat him by
foul means."
With this, after sundry passes that came to naught, he drove his good
sword straight into his enemy's side; for, indeed, Geoffroy was wild in
his swordplay, and left openings clear to a cool man.
Le Grand Sarrasin rolled heavily on the sand, and we knew that never
again would the pirates gather head to harm our island.
"Had I but gained the ship," he howled, "I would have been duke yet."
Now this was the last he said, for a great spurt of blood coming from
his side, he raised himself a moment on his arm, and then fell back upon
the sand.
We knew not what face of horror we should gaze upon as we essayed to
pull the helm from the head of Le Grand Sarrasin, that never showed his
face to men.
The helm came off in our hands. It was no hideous countenance that it
had masked, nor did we fear to gaze on it in death.
It was the face of my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, whom I had visited in
his house hard by, and whom I had seen disguised in Normandy, that I now
plainly saw.
Where, then, was Le Grand Sarrasin? Le Grand Sarrasin had been none
other than this exiled man, that among the most evil of mankind had
sought to raise a power that might one day overthrow William himself.
And in this ruin of his glory, achieved by grace of Heaven through our
hands, Le Grand Sarrasin was brought to naught.
"Thou knowest who this was?" said Hugo, calmly.
"Ay, well I know," I said.
"Thou and I alone know this dark thing," he said. "Is it well that it
should enter into men's mouths and minds?"
"Thou knowest best, Hugo," I said.
"Then," said he, "I say it were well for the Church of God, and for
men's love of honour, and for truth and righteousness, that none know
but ourselves this dead man's secret. Let him die Le Grand Sarrasin, a
heathen Moor and no baptized Norman."
"But Maugher will be missed," I said.
"Yea; and a meeter tale than this will serve," said Hugo. "A false step,
a squall at sea--anything but _this_." He pointed to the body. "Wilt
thou keep silence?"
"If it be thy will," I said.
"Assist me, then," said Hugo.
So we dragged the body of the exile a short way over some rocks, whose
black bases the deep water washed upon, and weighting it with some great
stones, pushed it into the dark deeps. Thence none would raise him again
to discover what manner of face wore Le Grand Sarrasin; and none would
guess it was no dark visage of the south, but the face of an evil
traitor, so much the more evil that he was called by the two high names
Norman and Christian. There shall he lie till the great blare of
Heaven's trump call good and ill to judgment.
CHAPTER XXI.
Conclusion. How, the above matters being finished, I was made known to
my father.
Thus fell Le Grand Sarrasin, and I would fain finish this chronicle
here, for all matters at the Vale most quickly returned to their old
order, the next year being chiefly occupied with the rebuilding of the
cloister and the planning of that great church that took so many years
to build, which at last is so magnifical, that the old church wherein we
used to sing with our boyish trebles seems in our memories but a poor
place.
To the laying of these noble stones much of the stores of treasure found
in the caverns at the château was justly devoted, and the holy things of
many a plundered House of God are to be found in the stately church of
the cloister.
And in my time, at least, no pirates ever landed on that island. Like a
rock of doom they shun the place, for indeed many hundred of them
perished there, as I have told, and they lost in one day the gathered
treasure of years of crime.
And their captain being destroyed, their spirit seemed fled out of
them, to the joy of all good and honest men.
But I must close up this chronicle of his fall with an event that
concerned myself, which, as it were, flowed straight out of it. For if I
had not journeyed to Normandy, and been caught on my way first by Le
Grand Sarrasin, I suppose I should never have been made known unto my
father.
And it is of my father, Ralf de Bessin, that I must therefore tell.
Now, the next day after, when we had rested ourselves of our great toils
in the battle and pursuit, I and Brother Hugo purposed to go to the
Chapel of St Apolline to offer our thanks to the priest and him that had
saved me from all the unknown horrors of the prison in which I was pent.
Or at least we would hear whether yet they had appeared again.
The fall of the Moor had brought them back to earth, and they sat
together in the small hut beside the fishers' chapel, whence I had set
out on my second journey. All the time they had lived in a cave hard by,
fed daily by some fisher folk that knew their hiding-place; and indeed
they looked as men that had fared exceeding roughly, and all the
plumpness of the good Father had fled away.
I told them my story as I have told it to you in these leaves, and he
whom I knew as Des Bois inquired again and again of all my dealings with
the vicomte. Then, when I had finished, he said--
"Full bravely done. I regret not that I saved thee as I did, for thou
hast some great deeds yet to do. And now, wouldst thou know, Nigel de
Bessin, why I was led to save thee?"
I looked straight at him tenderly, for I guessed the truth.
"It was because thou wast indeed my son." He clasped both my hands in
his, and looked down into my eyes. And I said "Father" for the first
time thus, knowing that this was he of whom the vicomtesse told me.
"Thy father indeed," he said, "but ruined these many years by follies
more than by crimes, as this Augustine, mine old schoolfellow, will
tell."
"Father," said I, "Duke William and the vicomte will feel kindly to thee
for thy lot in this matter."
"It matters not," he answered; "I have long ago done with courts, and
now I have done with fighting. A quiet resting-place is all I want. And
in those solitary days Augustine and I have made our determination. Have
many brethren died in the siege?" he asked of Hugo, who nodded sadly.
"Then here is one to fill an empty hood," said my father. And I knew
that the priest of St. Apolline's had persuaded him to become a monk.
"Thou wilt go forth," he said to me, "to wars, and courts, and princes,
and may God shield thee still from all evil, as He hath so marvellously
done these perilous days. From Vale Cloister will I look out on thee in
pride of thy knightly fame, if such a small taint of earth as pride in
thee be there permitted."
In such a manner were we made known to one another, the son and the
father, and ere long Ralf de Bessin became Brother Francis of the Vale.
But I, ere that, had left my pupilage behind, and was numbered in the
retinue of my uncle the vicomte as he followed the ever-conquering
banner of William.
THE END.
HISTORICAL NOTES.
The chief authorities for the history and antiquities of Guernsey are:--
Du Moulin: "History of Normandy." [1631].
Thomas Dicey: "Historical Account of Guernsey."
William Berry: "History of the Island of Guernsey."
F.B. Tupper: "History of Guernsey."
Extracts bearing on the foregoing pages are quoted in these notes from
the above, but Du Moulin seems to be the writer on whom the later
authors have depended.
NOTE A.
_Archbishop Maugher_.--"William succeeded Robert A.D. 1035. One of his
most powerful opponents was his uncle Maugher, Archbishop of Rouen, who,
after William was settled in his Duchy of Normandy, excommunicated him
on pretence that his wife Matilda was too nearly related. William, in
1055, deposed and banished Maugher in consequence to the Isle of
Guernsey.... Insular tradition has fixed his residence near Saints Bay.
"Du Moulin says: 'Maugher, thus justly deposed, was banished to the
island of Guernsey, near Coutances, where, says Walsingham, he fell into
a state of madness, and had a miserable end. Others affirm that during
his exile he gave his mind to the black arts (_sciences noires_) and
that he had a familiar spirit, which warned him of his death, while he
was taking his recreation in a boat, on which he said to the boatman:
"Let us land, for a certainty one of us two will be drownèd to-day,"
which happened, for as they embarked at the port of Winchant he fell
into the sea and was drowned, and his body being found a few days
afterwards was interred in the church of Cherbourg'" (F.B. Tupper,
"History of Guernsey," p. 40).
NOTE B.
_Vale Abbey_.--"The Abbey of Mont St. Michael was reduced in its
revenues by Duke Richard of Normandy. The number of Benedictines was
reduced in proportion to the reduction of the revenue, and those who
were driven from thence, retiring to Guernsey, founded in the year 962
an abbey in that part of the island now called the Close of the Vale.
This they called the Abbey of St. Michael" (Wm. Berry, "History of
Guernsey," p. 52).
NOTE C.
_Vale Castle_.--"Towards the end of the tenth century the Danes, or
other piratical nations of Scandinavia, who had long been quiet,
commenced their depredations. They did not attempt to attack Normandy,
but the new settlement of the Benedictines in Guernsey did not escape
their cruelty, but was greatly injured by them. They frequently visited
the island, and, according to the insular MSS., plundered the
defenceless inhabitants, carrying off their corn and cattle. In order to
shelter them, a fair and stately castle was built on an eminence in the
vale, calculated to receive, even three centuries later, not only the
inhabitants of the island but also their cattle and effects. It was
called St. Michael's Castle" (_Ibid._, p. 56).
NOTE D.
_Visit of Duke Robert_.--"In 1028 Robert Duke of Normandy espoused the
cause of his two cousins Alfred and Edward, claiming the throne of
England. On Canute's refusal to make restitution, Robert fitted out a
powerful armament, and embarked at the head of a numerous army,
intending to land on the coast of Sussex. A great storm arose the day
after leaving Fécamp, his whole fleet was dispersed, and many ships
totally lost. Robert's vessel and about twenty others were forced down
the channel as far as Guernsey, and would have been dashed to pieces on
the rocky coast of the island had not the fishermen, seeing them in
distress, ventured out in boats to their assistance, and piloted them
into a bay on the north side of the Vale, where they rode in safety. The
Duke was brought ashore and lodged at the Abbey of St. Michael.... To
reward the Abbot for his hospitality and attention, he gave them all the
lands within the Close of the Vale in fee to him and his successors,
Abbots of St. Michael, by the title of Fief or Manor of St. Michael,
with leave to extend the same without the Close of the Vale towards the
north-west.... And to recompense the islanders for saving him and his
fleet, upon their representing to him how they had been plundered by
pirates, he determined to leave behind him two of his most able
engineers with a sufficient number of skilled workmen under them, who
had embarked with him for the intended descent upon England, to finish
the Castle of St. Michael in the Vale, and to build such other
fortresses as might be found necessary for protecting the inhabitants.
The Duke left a fortnight after his arrival, and the place where his
fleet lay has been ever since called L'Ancresse" (Wm. Berry, "History of
Guernsey," p. 58).
NOTE E.
_The Sarrazins in Guernsey_.--"According to tradition the northern
freebooters, who were termed by the old French historians Sarrazins,
Anglicé Saracens, established themselves in Guernsey, where they erected
a stronghold, which was named, probably after their leader, _Le Chastel
du Grand Jeffroi,_ and it appears also to have borne the name of the
Chastel of the Grand Sarrazin. This castle was situated on an eminence
nearly in the centre of the island, and commanded an extensive view of
the ocean, and of many of the landing-places as well as of the coast of
Normandy" (F.B. Tupper, "History of Guernsey," p. 21).
NOTE F.
_The Expedition of Samson d'Anville_.--"[Guernsey], in the year 1061, is
stated to have been attacked by a new race of pirates, who, according to
Berry (p. 63), issued from the southern ports of France bordering on
the Bay of Biscay. Duke William was at Valognes when he received
information of this attack, and he immediately sent troops under the
command of his squire, Sampson d'Anville, who landed at the harbour of
St. Samson. Being joined by the islanders who had sought refuge at the
Castle of the Vale and other retreats, he defeated the invaders with
much slaughter. Duke William is also said to have made large concessions
of land in Guernsey to d'Anville" (F.B. Tupper, "History of Guernsey,"
p. 41).
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