CHAPTER XXX.
HOW THE BRUSHWOOD MEN CAME TO THE CHATEAU OF VILLEFRANCHE.
It was late ere Alleyne Edricson, having carried Sir Nigel the
goblet of spiced wine which it was his custom to drink after the
curling of his hair, was able at last to seek his chamber. It
was a stone-flagged room upon the second floor, with a bed in a
recess for him, and two smaller pallets on the other side, on
which Aylward and Hordle John were already snoring. Alleyne had
knelt down to his evening orisons, when there came a tap at his
door, and Ford entered with a small lamp in his hand. His face
was deadly pale, and his hand shook until the shadows flickered
up and down the wall.
"What is it, Ford?" cried Alleyne, springing to his feet.
"I can scarce tell you, said he, sitting down on the side of the
couch, and resting his chin upon his hand. "I know not what to
say or what to think."
"Has aught befallen you, then?"
"Yes, or I have been slave to my own fancy. I tell you, lad,
that I am all undone, like a fretted bow-string. Hark hither,
Alleyne! it cannot be that you have forgotten little Tita, the
daughter of the old glass-stainer at Bordeaux?"
"I remember her well."
"She and I, Alleyne, broke the lucky groat together ere we
parted, and she wears my ring upon her finger. `Caro mio,' quoth
she when last we parted, `I shall be near thee in the wars, and
thy danger will be my danger.' Alleyne, as God is my help, as I
came up the stairs this night I saw her stand before me, her face
in tears, her hands out as though in warning--I saw it, Alleyne,
even as I see those two archers upon their couches. Our very
finger-tips seemed to meet, ere she thinned away like a mist in
the sunshine."
"I would not give overmuch thought to it," answered Alleyne. "Our
minds will play us strange pranks, and bethink you that these
words of the Lady Tiphaine Du Guesclin have wrought upon us and
shaken us."
Ford shook his head. "I saw little Tita as clearly as though I
were back at the Rue des Apotres at Bordeaux," said he.
"But the hour is late, and I must go."
"Where do you sleep, then?"
"In the chamber above you. May the saints be with us all!" He
rose from the couch and left the chamber, while Alleyne could
hear his feet sounding upon the winding stair. The young squire
walked across to the window and gazed out at the moonlit
landscape, his mind absorbed by the thought of the Lady Tiphaine,
and of the strange words that she had spoken as to what was going
forward at Castle Twynham. Leaning his elbows upon the
stonework, he was deeply plunged in reverie, when in a moment his
thoughts were brought back to Villefranche and to the scene
before him.
The window at which he stood was in the second floor of that
portion of the castle which was nearest to the keep. In front
lay the broad moat, with the moon lying upon its surface, now
clear and round, now drawn lengthwise as the breeze stirred the
waters. Beyond, the plain sloped down to a thick wood, while
further to the left a second wood shut out the view. Between the
two an open glade stretched, silvered in the moonshine, with the
river curving across the lower end of it.
As he gazed, he saw of a sudden a man steal forth from the wood
into the open clearing. He walked with his head sunk, his
shoulders curved, and his knees bent, as one who strives hard to
remain unseen. Ten paces from the fringe of trees he glanced
around, and waving his hand he crouched down, and was lost to
sight among a belt of furze-bushes. After him there came a
second man, and after him a third, a fourth, and a fifth stealing
across the narrow open space and darting into the shelter of the
brushwood. Nine-and-seventy Alleyne counted of these dark
figures flitting across the line of the moonlight. Many bore
huge burdens upon their backs, though what it was that they
carried he could not tell at the distance. Out of the one wood
and into the other they passed, all with the same crouching,
furtive gait, until the black bristle of trees had swallowed up
the last of them.
For a moment Alleyne stood in the window, still staring down at
the silent forest, uncertain as to what he should think of these
midnight walkers. Then he bethought him that there was one
beside him who was fitter to judge on such a matter. His fingers
had scarce rested upon Aylward's shoulder ere the bowman was on
his feet, with his hand outstretched to his sword.
"Qui va?" he cried. "Hola! mon petit. By my hilt! I thought
there had been a camisade. What then, mon gar.?"
"Come hither by the window, Aylward," said Alleyne. "I have seen
four-score men pass from yonder shaw across the glade, and nigh
every man of them had a great burden on his back. What think you
of it?"
"I think nothing of it, mon camarade! There are as many
masterless folk in this country as there are rabbits on Cowdray
Down, and there are many who show their faces by night but would
dance in a hempen collar if they stirred forth in the day. On all
the French marches are droves of outcasts, reivers, spoilers, and
draw-latches, of whom I judge that these are some, though I
marvel that they should dare to come so nigh to the castle of the
seneschal. All seems very quiet now," he added, peering out of
the window.
"They are in the further wood," said Alleyne.
"And there they may bide. Back to rest, mon petit; for, by my
hilt! each day now will bring its own work. Yet it would be well
to shoot the bolt in yonder door when one is in strange quarters.
So!" He threw himself down upon his pallet and in an instant was
fast asleep.
It might have been about three o'clock in the morning when
Alleyne was aroused from a troubled sleep by a low cry or
exclamation. He listened, but, as he heard no more, he set it
down as the challenge of the guard upon the walls, and dropped
off to sleep once more. A few minutes later he was disturbed by
a gentle creaking of his own door, as though some one were
pushing cautiously against it, and immediately afterwards he
heard the soft thud of cautious footsteps upon the stair which
led to the room above, followed by a confused noise and a muffled
groan. Alleyne sat up on his couch with all his nerves in a
tingle, uncertain whether these sounds might come from a simple
cause--some sick archer and visiting leech perhaps--or whether
they might have a more sinister meaning, But what danger could
threaten them here in this strong castle, under the care of
famous warriors, with high walls and a broad moat around them?
Who was there that could injure them? He had well-nigh persuaded
himself that his fears were a foolish fancy, when his eyes fell
upon that which sent the blood cold to his heart and left him
gasping, with hands clutching at the counterpane.
Right in front of him was the broad window of the chamber, with
the moon shining brightly through it. For an instant something
had obscured the light, and now a head was bobbing up and down
outside, the face looking in at him, and swinging slowly from one
side of the window to the other. Even in that dim light there
could be no mistaking those features. Drawn, distorted and
blood-stained, they were still those of the young fellow-squire
who had sat so recently upon his own couch. With a cry of horror
Alleyne sprang from his bed and rushed to the casement, while the
two archers, aroused by the sound, seized their weapons and
stared about them in bewilderment. One glance was enough to show
Edricson that his fears were but too true. Foully murdered,
with a score of wounds upon him and a rope round his neck, his
poor friend had been cast from the upper window and swung slowly
in the night wind, his body rasping against the wall and his
disfigured face upon a level with the casement.
"My God!" cried Alleyne, shaking in every limb. "What has come
upon us? What devil's deed is this?"
"Here is flint and steel," said John stolidly. "The lamp,
Aylward! This moonshine softens a man's heart. Now we may use
the eyes which God hath given us."
"By my hilt!" cried Aylward, as the yellow flame flickered up,
"it is indeed young master Ford, and I think that this seneschal
is a black villain, who dare not face us in the day but would
murther us in our sleep. By the twang of string I if I do not
soak a goose's feather with his heart's blood, it will be no
fault of Samkin Aylward of the White Company."
"But, Aylward, think of the men whom I saw yesternight," said
Alleyne. "It may not be the seneschal. It may be that others
have come into the castle. I must to Sir Nigel ere it be too
late. Let me go, Aylward, for my place is by his side."
"One moment, mon gar. Put that steel head-piece on the end of my
yew-stave. So! I will put it first through the door; for it is
ill to come out when you can neither see nor guard yourself.
Now, camarades, out swords and stand ready! Hola, by my hilt! it
is time that we were stirring!"
As he spoke, a sudden shouting broke forth in the castle, with
the scream of a woman and the rush of many feet. Then came the
sharp clink of clashing steel, and a roar like that of an angry
lion--"Notre Dame Du Guesclin! St. Ives! St. Ives!" The bow-man
pulled back the bolt of the door, and thrust out the headpiece at
the end of the bow. A clash, the clatter of the steel-cap upon
the ground, and, ere the man who struck could heave up for
another blow, the archer had passed his sword through his body.
"On, camarades, on!" he cried; and, breaking fiercely past two
men who threw themselves in his way, he sped down the broad
corridor in the direction of the shouting.
A sharp turning, and then a second one, brought them to the head
of a short stair, from which they looked straight down upon the
scene of the uproar. A square oak-floored hall lay beneath them,
from which opened the doors of the principal guest-chambers.
This hall was as light as day, for torches burned in numerous
sconces upon the walls, throwing strange shadows from the tusked
or antlered heads which ornamented them. At the very foot of the
stair, close to the open door of their chamber, lay the seneschal
and his wife: she with her head shorn from her shoulders, he
thrust through with a sharpened stake, which still protruded from
either side of his body. Three servants of the castle lay dead
beside them, all torn and draggled, as though a pack of wolves
had been upon them. In front of the central guest-chamber stood
Du Guesclin and Sir Nigel, half-clad and unarmored, with the mad
joy of battle gleaming in their eyes. Their heads were thrown
back, their lips compressed, their blood-stained swords poised
over their right shoulders, and their left feet thrown out.
Three dead men lay huddled together in front of them: while a
fourth, with the blood squirting from a severed vessel, lay back
with updrawn knees, breathing in wheezy gasps. Further back--all
panting together, like the wind in a tree--there stood a group of
fierce, wild creatures, bare-armed and bare-legged, gaunt,
unshaven, with deep-set murderous eyes and wild beast faces.
With their flashing teeth, their bristling hair, their mad
leapings and screamings, they seemed to Alleyne more like fiends
from the pit than men of flesh and blood. Even as he looked,
they broke into a hoarse yell and dashed once more upon the two
knights, hurling themselves madly upon their sword-points;
clutching, scrambling, biting, tearing, careless of wounds if
they could but drag the two soldiers to earth. Sir Nigel was
thrown down by the sheer weight of them, and Sir Bertrand with
his thunderous war-cry was swinging round his heavy sword to
clear a space for him to rise, when the whistle of two long
English arrows, and the rush of the squire and the two English
archers down the stairs, turned the tide of the combat. The
assailants gave back, the knights rushed forward, and in a very
few moments the hall was cleared, and Hordle John had hurled the
last of the wild men down the steep steps which led from the end
of it.
"Do not follow them," cried Du Guesclin. "We are lost if we
scatter. For myself I care not a denier, though it is a poor
thing to meet one's end at the hands of such scum; but I have my
dear lady here, who must by no means be risked. We have
breathing-space now, and I would ask you, Sir Nigel, what it is
that you would counsel?"
"By St. Paul!" answered Sir Nigel, "I can by no means understand
what hath befallen us, save that I have been woken up by your
battle-cry, and, rushing forth, found myself in the midst of this
small bickering. Harrow and alas for the lady and the seneschal!
What dogs are they who have done this bloody deed?"
"They are the Jacks, the men of the brushwood. They have the
castle, though I know not how it hath come to pass, Look from
this window into the bailey."
"By heaven!" cried Sir Nigel, "it is as bright as day with the
torches. The gates stand open, and there are three thousand of
them within the walls. See how they rush and scream and wave!
What is it that they thrust out through the postern door? My
God! it is a man-at-arms, and they pluck him limb from limb like
hounds on a wolf. Now another, and yet another. They hold the
whole castle, for I see their faces at the windows. See, there
are some with great bundles on their backs."
"It is dried wood from the forest. They pile them against the
walls and set them in a blaze. Who is this who tries to check
them? By St. Ives! it is the good priest who spake for them in
the hall. He kneels, he prays, he implores! What! villains,
would ye raise hands against those who have befriended you? Ah,
the butcher has struck him! He is down! They stamp him under
their feet! They tear off his gown and wave it in the air! See
now, how the flames lick up the walls! Are there none left to
rally round us? With a hundred men we might hold our own."
"Oh, for my Company!" cried Sir Nigel. "But where is Ford,
Alleyne?"
"He is foully murdered, my fair lord."
"The saints receive him! May he rest in peace! But here come
some at last who may give us counsel, for amid these passages it
is ill to stir without a guide."
As he spoke, a French squire and the Bohemian knight came rushing
down the steps, the latter bleeding from a slash across his
forehead.
"All is lost!" he cried. "The castle is taken and on fire, the
seneschal is slain, and there is nought left for us."
"On the contrary," quoth Sir Nigel, "there is much left to us,
for there is a very honorable contention before us, and a fair
lady for whom to give our lives. There are many ways in which a
man might die, but none better than this."
"You can tell us, Godfrey," said Du Guesclin to the French
squire: "how came these men into the castle, and what succors can
we count upon? By St. Ives! if we come not quickly to some
counsel we shall be burned like young rooks in a nest."
The squire, a dark, slender stripling, spoke firmly and quickly,
as one who was trained to swift action. "There is a passage
under the earth into the castle," said he, "and through it some
of the Jacks made their way, casting open the gates for the
others. They have had help from within the walls, and the
men-at-arms were heavy with wine: they must have been slain in
their beds, for these devils crept from room to room with soft
step and ready knife. Sir Amory the Hospitaller was struck down
with an axe as he rushed before us from his sleeping-chamber.
Save only ourselves, I do not think that there are any left
alive."
"What, then, would you counsel?"
"That we make for the keep. It is unused, save in time of war,
and the key hangs from my poor lord and master's belt."
"There are two keys there."
"It is the larger. Once there, we might hold the narrow stair;
and at least, as the walls are of a greater thickness, it would
be longer ere they could burn them. Could we but carry the lady
across the bailey, all might be well with us."
"Nay; the lady hath seen something of the work of war," said
Tiphaine coming forth, as white, as grave, and as unmoved as
ever. "I would not be a hamper to you, my dear spouse and
gallant friend. Rest assured of this, that if all else fail I
have always a safeguard here"--drawing a small silver-hilted
poniard from her bosom--"which sets me beyond the fear of these
vile and blood-stained wretches."
"Tiphaine," cried Du Guesclin, "I have always loved you; and now,
by Our Lady of Rennes! I love you more than ever. Did I not know
that your hand will be as ready as your words I would myself turn
my last blow upon you, ere you should fall into their hands.
Lead on, Godfrey! A new golden pyx will shine in the minster of
Dinan if we come safely through with it."
The attention of the insurgents had been drawn away from murder
to plunder, and all over the castle might be heard their cries
and whoops of delight as they dragged forth the rich tapestries,
the silver flagons, and the carved furniture. Down in the
courtyard half-clad wretches, their bare limbs all mottled with
blood-stains, strutted about with plumed helmets upon their
heads, or with the Lady Rochefort's silken gowns girt round their
loins and trailing on the ground behind them. Casks of choice
wine had been rolled out from the cellars, and starving peasants
squatted, goblet in hand, draining off vintages which De
Rochefort had set aside for noble and royal guests. Others, with
slabs of bacon and joints of dried meat upon the ends of their
pikes, held them up to the blaze or tore at them ravenously with
their teeth. Yet all order had not been lost amongst them, for
some hundreds of the better armed stood together in a silent
group, leaning upon their rude weapons and looking up at the
fire, which had spread so rapidly as to involve one whole side of
the castle. Already Alleyne could hear the crackling and roaring
of the flames, while the air was heavy with heat and full of the
pungent whiff of burning wood.
