XIV. HOW NIGEL CHASED THE RED FERRET
They passed a ferry, wound upward by a curving path, and then,
having satisfied a guard of men-at-arms, were admitted through the
frowning arch of the Pipewell Gate. There waiting for them, in
the middle of the east street, the sun gleaming upon his lemon-
colored beard, and puckering his single eye, stood Chandos
himself, his legs apart, his hands behind his back, and a
welcoming smile upon hiss quaint high-nosed face. Behind him a
crowd of little boys were gazing with reverent eyes at the famous
soldier.
"Welcome, Nigel!" said he, "and you also, good archer! I chanced
to be walking on the city wall, and I thought from the color of
your horse that it was indeed you upon the Udimore Road. How have
you fared, young squire errant? Have you held bridges or rescued
damsels or slain oppressors on your way from Tilford?"
"Nay, my fair lord, I have accomplished nothing; but I once had
hopes - " Nigel flushed at the remembrance.
"I will give you more than hopes, Nigel. I will put you where you
can dip both arms to the elbow into danger and honor, where peril
will sleep with you at night and rise with you in the morning and
the very air you breathe be laden with it. Are you ready for
that, young sir?"
"I can but pray, fair lord, that my spirit will rise to it."
Chandos smiled his approval and laid his thin brown hand on the
youth's shoulder. "Good!" said he. "It is the mute hound which
bites the hardest. The babbler is ever the hang-back. Bide with
me here, Nigel, and walk upon the ramparts. Archer, do you lead
the horses to the `Sign of the Broom Pod' in the high street, and
tell my varlets to see them aboard the cog Thomas before
nightfall. We sail at the second hour after curfew. Come hither,
Nigel, to the crest of the corner turret, for from it I will show
you what you have never seen."
It was but a dim and distant white cloud upon the blue water seen
far off over the Dungeness Point, and yet the sight of it flushed
the young Squire's cheeks and sent the blood hot through his
veins. It was the fringe of France, that land of chivalry and
glory, the stage where name and fame were to be won. With burning
eyes he gazed across at it, his heart rejoicing to think that the
hour was at hand when he might tread that sacred soil. Then his
gaze crossed the immense stretch of the blue sea, dotted over with
the sails of fishing-boats, until it rested upon the double harbor
beneath packed with vessels of every size and shape, from the
pessoners and creyers which plied up and down the coast to the
great cogs and galleys which were used either as war-ships or
merchantmen as the occasion served. One of them was at that
instant passing out to sea, a huge galleass, with trumpets blowing
and nakers banging, the flag of Saint George flaunting over the
broad purple sail, and the decks sparkling from end to end with
steel. Nigel gave a cry of pleasure at the splendor of the sight.
"Aye, lad," said Chandos, "it is the Trinity of Rye, the very ship
on which I fought at Sluys. Her deck ran blood from stem to stern
that day. But turn your eyes this way, I beg you, and tell me if
you see aught strange about this town."
Nigel looked down at the noble straight street, at the Roundel
Tower, at the fine church of Saint Thomas, and the other fair
buildings of Winchelsea. "It is all new," said he - "church,
castle, houses, all are new."
"You are right, fair son. My grandfather can call to mind the
time when only the conies lived upon this rock. The town was down
yonder by the sea, until one night the waves rose upon it and not
a house was left. See, yonder is Rye, huddling also on a hill,
the two towns like poor sheep when the waters are out. But down
there under the blue water and below the Camber Sand lies the true
Winchelsea - tower, cathedral, walls and all, even as my
grandfather knew it, when the first Edward was young upon the
throne."
For an hour or more Chandos paced upon the ramparts with his young
Squire at his elbow and talked to him of his duties and of the
secrets and craft of warfare, Nigel drinking in and storing in his
memory every word from so revered a teacher. Many a time in after
life, in stress and in danger, he strengthened himself by the
memory of that slow walk with the blue sea on one side and the
fair town on the other, when the wise soldier and noble-hearted
knight poured forth his precept and advice as the master workman
to the apprentice.
"Perhaps, fair son," said he, "you are like so many other lads who
ride to the wars, and know so much already that it is waste of
breath to advise them?"
"Nay, my fair lord, I know nothing save that I would fain do my
duty and either win honorable advancement or die worshipful on the
field."
"You are wise to be humble," said Chandos; "for indeed he who
knows most of war knows best that there is much to learn. As
there is a mystery of the rivers and a mystery of woodcraft, even
so there is a mystery of warfare by which battles may be lost and
gained; for all nations are brave, and where the brave meets the
brave it is he who is crafty and war-wise who will win the day.
The best hound will run at fault if he be ill laid on, and the
best hawk will fly at check if he be badly loosed, and even so the
bravest army may go awry if it be ill handled. There are not in
Christendom better knights and squires than those of the French,
and yet we have had the better of them, for in our Scottish Wars
and elsewhere we have learned more of this same mystery of which I
speak."
"And wherein lies our wisdom, honored sir?" asked Nigel. "I also
would fain be war-wise and learn to fight with my wits as well as
with my sword."
Chandos shook his head and smiled. "It is in the forest and on
the down that you learn to fly the hawk and loose the hound," said
he. "So also it is in camp and on the field that the mystery of
war can be learned. There only has every great captain come to be
its master. To start he must have a cool head, quick to think,
soft as wax before his purpose is formed, hard as steel when once
he sees it before him. Ever alert he must be, and cautious also,
but with judgment to turn his caution into rashness where a large
gain may be put against a small stake. An eye for country also,
for the trend of the rivers, the slope of the hills, the cover of
the woods, and the light green of the bog-land."
Poor Nigel, who had trusted to his lance and to Pommers to break
his path to glory, stood aghast at this list of needs. "Alas!" he
cried. "How am I to gain all this? - I, who could scarce learn
to read or write though the good Father Matthew broke a hazel
stick a day across my shoulders? "
"You will gain it, fair son, where others have gained it before
you. You have that which is the first thing of all, a heart of
fire from which other colder hearts may catch a spark. But you
must have knowledge also of that which warfare has taught us in
olden times. We know, par exemple, that horsemen alone cannot
hope to win against good foot-soldiers. Has it not been tried at
Courtrai, at Stirling, and again under my own eyes at Crecy, where
the chivalry of France went down before our bowmen?"
Nigel stared at him, with a perplexed brow. "Fair sir, my heart
grows heavy as I hear you. Do you then say that our chivalry can
make no head against archers, billmen and the like?"
"Nay, Nigel, for it has also been very clearly shown that the best
foot-soldiers unsupported cannot hold their own against the mailed
horsemen."
"To whom then is the victory?" asked Nigel.
"To him who can mix his horse and foot, using each to strengthen
the other. Apart they are weak. Together they are strong. The
archer who can weaken the enemy's line, the horseman who can break
it when it is weakened, as was done at Falkirk and Duplin, there
is the secret of our strength. Now touching this same battle of
Falkirk, I pray you for one instant to give it your attention."
With his whip he began to trace a plan of the Scottish battle upon
the dust, and Nigel with knitted brows was trying hard to muster
his small stock of brains and to profit by the lecture, when their
conversation was interrupted by a strange new arrival.
It was a very stout little man, wheezy and purple with haste, who
scudded down the rampart as if he were blown by the wind, his
grizzled hair flying and his long black gown floating behind him.
He was clad in the dress of a respectable citizen, a black jerkin
trimmed with sable, a black-velvet beaver hat and a white feather.
At the sight of Chandos he gave a cry of joy and quickened his
pace so that when he did at last reach him he could only stand
gasping and waving his hands.
"Give yourself time, good Master Wintersole, give yourself time!"
said Chandos in a soothing voice.
"The papers!" gasped the little man. "Oh, my Lord Chandos, the
papers - "
"What of the papers, my worthy sir?"
"I swear by our good patron Saint Leonard, it is no fault of mine!
I had locked them in my coffer. But the lock was forced and the
coffer rifled."
A shadow of anger passed over the soldier's keen face.
"How now, Master Mayor? Pull your wits together and do not stand
there babbling like a three-year child. Do you say that some one
hath taken the papers?"
"It is sooth, fair sir! Thrice I have been Mayor of the town, and
fifteen years burgess and jurat, but never once has any public
matter gone awry through me. Only last month there came an order
from Windsor on a Tuesday for a Friday banquet, a thousand soles,
four thousand plaice, two thousand mackerel, five hundred crabs, a
thousand lobsters, five thousand whiting - "
"I doubt not, Master Mayor, that you are an excellent fishmonger;
but the matter concerns the papers I gave into your keeping.
Where are they?"
"Taken, fair sir-gone!"
"And who hath dared to take them?"
"Alas! I know not. It was but for as long as you would say an
angelus that I left the chamber, and when I came back there was
the coffer, broken and empty, upon my table."
"Do you suspect no one?"
"There was a varlet who hath come with the last few days into my
employ. He is not to be found, and I have sent horsemen along
both the Udimore road and that to Rye, that they may seize him.
By the help of Saint Leonard they can scarce miss him, for one can
tell him a bow-shot off by his hair."
"Is it red?" asked Chandos eagerly. "Is it fox-red, and the man a
small man pocked with sun-spots, and very quick in his movements?"
"It is the man himself."
Chandos shook his clenched hand with annoyance, and then set off
swiftly down the street.
"It is Peter the Red Ferret once more!" said he. "I knew him of
old in France, where he has done us more harm than a company of
men-at-arms. He speaks English as he speaks French, and he is of
such daring and cunning that nothing is secret from him. In all
France there is no more dangerous man, for though he is a
gentleman of blood and coat-armor he takes the part of a spy,
because it hath the more danger and therefore the more honor."
"But, my fair lord," cried the Mayor, as he hurried along, keeping
pace with the long strides of the soldier, "I knew that you warned
me to take all care of the papers; but surely there was no matter
of great import in it? It was but to say what stores were to be
sent after you to Calais?"
"Is that not everything?" cried Chandos impatiently. "Can you not
see, oh foolish Master Wintersole, that the French suspect we are
about to make some attempt and that they have sent Peter the Red
Ferret, as they have sent him many times before, to get tidings of
whither we are bound? Now that he knows that the stores are for
Calais, then the French near Calais will take his warning, and so
the King's whole plan come to nothing."
"Then he will fly by water. We can stop him yet. He has not an
hour's start."
"It may be that a boat awaits him at Rye or Hythe; but it is more
like that he has all ready to depart from here. Ah, see yonder!
I'll warrant that the Red Ferret is on board!"
Chandos had halted in front of his inn, and now he pointed down to
the outer harbor, which lay two miles off across the green plain.
It was connected by a long winding canal with the inner dock at
the base of the hill, upon which the town was built. Between the
two horns formed by the short curving piers a small schooner was
running out to sea, dipping and rising before a sharp southerly
breeze.
"It is no Winchelsea boat," said the Mayor. "She is longer and
broader in the beam than ours."
"Horses! bring horses!" cried Chandos. "Come, Nigel, let us go
further into the matter."
A busy crowd of varlets, archers, and men-at-arms swarmed round
the gateway of the "Sign of the Broom Pod," singing, shouting, and
jostling in rough good-fellowship. The sight of the tall thin
figure of Chandos brought order amongst them, and a few minutes
later the horses were ready and saddled. A breakneck ride down a
steep declivity, and then a gallop of two miles over the sedgy
plain carried them to the outer harbor. A dozen vessels were
lying there, ready to start for Bordeaux or Rochelle, and the quay
was thick with sailors, laborers and townsmen and heaped with
wine-barrels and wool-packs.
"Who is warden here?" asked Chandos, springing from his horse.
"Badding! Where is Cock Badding? Badding is warden!" shouted the
crowd.
A moment later a short swarthy man, bull-necked and deep-chested,
pushed through the people. He was clad in rough russet wool with
a scarlet cloth tied round his black curly head. His sleeves were
rolled up to his shoulders, and his brown arms, all stained with
grease and tar, were like two thick gnarled branches from an oaken
stump. His savage brown face was fierce and frowning, and was
split from chin to temple with the long white wale of an
ill-healed wound.
"How now, gentles, will you never wait your turn?" he rumbled in a
deep angry voice. "Can you not see that we are warping the Rose
of Guienne into midstream for the ebb-tide? Is this a time to
break in upon us? Your goods will go aboard in due season, I
promise you; so ride back into the town and find such pleasure as
you may, while I and my mates do our work without let or
hindrance."
"It is the gentle Chandos!" cried some one in the crowd. "It is
the good Sir John."
The rough harbor-master changed his gruffness to smiles in an
instant. "Nay, Sir John, what would you? I pray you to hold me
excused if I was short of speech, but we port-wardens are sore
plagued with foolish young lordlings, who get betwixt us and our
work and blame us because we do not turn an ebb-tide into a flood,
or a south wind into a north. I pray you to tell me how I can
serve you."
"That boat!" said Chandos, pointing to the already distant sail
rising and falling on the waves. "What is it?"
Cock Badding shaded his keen eyes with his strong brows hand.
"She has but just gone out," said he. "She is La Pucelle, a small
wine-sloop from Gascony, home-bound and laden with barrel-staves."
"I pray you did any man join her at the very last?"
"Nay, I know not. I saw no one."
"But I know," cried a seaman in the crowd. "I was standing at the
wharf-side and was nigh knocked into the water by a little
redheaded fellow, who breathed as though he had run from the town.
Ere I had time to give him a cuff he had jumped aboard, the ropes
were cast off, and her nose was seaward."
In a few words Chandos made all clear to Badding, the crowd
pressing eagerly round.
"Aye, aye!" cried a seaman, "the good Sir John is right. See how
she points. It is Picardy and not Gascony that she will fetch
this journey in spite of her wine-staves."
"Then we must lay her aboard!" cried Cock Badding. "Come, lads,
here is my own Marie Rose ready to cast off. Who's for a trip
with a fight at the end of it?"
There was a rush for the boat; but the stout little seaman picked
his men. "Go back, Jerry! Your heart is good, but you are
overfat for the work. You, Luke, and you, Thomas, and the two
Deedes, and William of Sandgate. You will work the boat. And now
we need a few men of their hands. Do you come, little sir?"
"I pray you, my dear lord, to let me go!" cried Nigel.
"Yes, Nigel, you can go, and I will bring your gear over to Calais
this night."
"I will join you there, fair sir, and with the help of Saint Paul
I will bring this Red Ferret with me."
"Aboard, aboard! Time passes!" cried Badding impatiently, while
already his seamen were hauling on the line and raising the
mainsail. "Now then, sirrah! who are you? It was Aylward, who
had followed Nigel and was pushing his way aboard.
"Where my master goes I go also," cried Aylward, "so stand clear,
master-shipman, or you may come by a hurt."
"By Saint Leonard! archer," said Cock Badding, "had I more time I
would give you a lesson ere I leave land. Stand back and give
place to others!"
"Nay, stand back and give place to me!" cried Aylward, and seizing
Badding round the waist he slung him into the dock.
There was a cry of anger from the crowd, for Badding was the hero
of all the Cinque Ports and had never yet met his match in
manhood. The epitaph still lingers in which it was said that he
"could never rest until he had foughten his fill." When,
therefore, swimming like a duck, he reached a rope and pulled
himself hand over hand up to the quay, all stood aghast to see
what fell fate would befall this bold stranger. But Badding
laughed loudly, dashing the saltwater from his eyes and hair.
"You have fairly won your place, archer," said he. "You are the
very man for our work. Where is Black Simon of Norwich?"
A tall dark young man with a long, stern, lean face came forward.
"I am with you, Cock," said he, "and I thank you for my place."
"You can come, Hugh Baddlesmere, and you, Hal Masters, and you,
Dicon of Rye. That is enough. Now off, in God's name, or it will
be night ere we can come up with them!"
Already the head-sails and the main-sail had been raised, while a
hundred willing hands poled her off from the wharf. Now the wind
caught her; heeling over, and quivering with eagerness like an
unleashed hound she flew through the opening and out into the
Channel. She was a famous little schooner, the Marie Rose of
Winchelsea, and under her daring owner Cock Badding, half trader
and half pirate, had brought back into port many a rich cargo
taken in mid-Channel, and paid for in blood rather than money.
Small as she was, her great speed and the fierce character of her
master had made her a name of terror along the French coast, and
many a bulky Eastlander or Fleming as he passed the narrow seas
had scanned the distant Kentish shore, fearing lest that
ill-omened purple sail with a gold Christopher upon it should
shoot out suddenly from the dim gray cliffs. Now she was clear of
the land, with the wind on her larboard quarter, every inch of
canvas set, and her high sharp bows smothered in foam, as she dug
through the waves.
Cock Badding trod the deck with head erect and jaunty bearing,
glancing up at the swelling sails and then ahead at the little
tilted white triangle, which stood out clear and hard against the
bright blue sky. Behind was the lowland of the Camber marshes,
with the bluffs of Rye and Winchelsea, and the line of cliffs
behind them. On the larboard bow rose the great white walls of
Folkestone and of Dover, and far on the distant sky-line the gray
shimmer of those French cliffs for which the fugitives were
making.
"By Saint Paul!" cried Nigel, looking with eager eyes over the
tossing waters, "it seems to me, Master Badding, that already we
draw in upon them."
The master measured the distance with his keen steady gaze, and
then looked up at the sinking sun. " We have still four hours of
daylight," said he; "but if we do not lay her aboard ere darkness
falls she will save herself, for the nights are as black as a
wolf's mouth, and if she alter her course I know not how we may
follow her."
"Unless, indeed, you might guess to which port she was bound and
reach it before her."
"Well thought of, little master!" cried Badding. "If the news be
for the French outside Calais, then Ambleteuse would be nearest to
Saint Omer. But my sweeting sails three paces to that lubber's
two, and if the wind holds we shall have time and to spare. How
now, archer? You do not seem so eager as when you made your way
aboard this boat by slinging me into the sea."
Aylward sat on the upturned keel of a skiff which lay upon the
deck. He groaned sadly and held his, green face between his two
hands. "I would gladly sling you into the sea once more,
mastershipman," said he, "if by so doing I could get off this most
accursed vessel of thine. Or if you would wish to have your turn,
then I would thank you if you would lend me a hand over the side,
for indeed I am but a useless weight upon your deck. Little did I
think that Samkin Aylward could be turned into a weakling by an
hour of salt water. Alas the day that ever my foot wandered from
the good red heather of Crooksbury!"
Cock Badding laughed loud and long. "Nay, take it not to heart,
archer," he cried; "for better men than you or I have groaned upon
this deck. The Prince himself with ten of his chosen knights
crossed with me once, and eleven sadder faces I never saw. Yet
within a month they had shown at Crecy that they were no
weaklings, as you will do also, I dare swear, when the time comes.
Keep that thick head of thine down upon the planks, and all will
be well anon. But we raise her, we raise her with every blast of
the wind!"
It was indeed evident, even to the inexperienced eyes of Nigel,
that the Marie Rose was closing in swiftly upon the stranger. She
was a heavy, bluff-bowed, broad-sterned vessel which labored
clumsily through the seas. The swift, fierce little Winchelsea
boat swooping and hissing through the waters behind her was like
some keen hawk whizzing down wind at the back of a flapping
heavy-bodied duck. Half an hour before La Pucelle had been a
distant patch of canvas. Now they could see the black hull, and
soon the cut of her sails and the lines of her bulwarks. There
were at least a dozen men upon her deck, and the twinkle of
weapons from amongst them showed that they were preparing to
resist. Cock Badding began to muster his own forces.
He had a crew of seven rough, hardy mariners, who had been at his
back in many a skirmish. They were armed with short swords, but
Cock Badding carried a weapon peculiar to himself, a twenty-pound
blacksmith's hammer, the memory of which, as "Badding's cracker,"
still lingers in the Cinque Ports. Then there were the eager
Nigel, the melancholy Aylward, Black Simon who was a tried
swordsman, and three archers, Baddlesmere, Masters and Dicon of
Rye, all veterans of the French War. The numbers in the two
vessels might be about equal; but Badding as he glanced at the
bold harsh faces which looked to him for orders had little fear
for the result.
Glancing round, however, he saw something which was more dangerous
to his plans than the resistance of the enemy. The wind, which
had become more fitful and feebler, now fell suddenly away, until
the sails hung limp and straight above them. A belt of calm lay
along the horizon, and the waves around had smoothed down into a
long oily swell on which the two little vessels rose and fell.
The great boom of the Marie Rose rattled and jarred with every
lurch, and the high thin prow pointed skyward one instant and
seaward the next in a way that drew fresh groans from the unhappy
Aylward. In vain Cock Badding pulled on his sheets and tried hard
to husband every little wandering gust which ruffled for an
instant the sleek rollers. The French master was as adroit a
sailor, and his boom swung round also as each breath of wind came
up from astern.
At last even these fitful puffs died finally away, and a cloudless
sky overhung a glassy sea. The sun was almost upon the horizon
behind Dungeness Point, and the whole western heaven was bright
with the glory of the sunset, which blended sea and sky in one
blaze of ruddy light. Like rollers of molten gold, the long swell
heaved up Channel from the great ocean beyond. In the midst of
the immense beauty and peace of nature the two little dark specks
with the white sail and the purple rose and fell, so small upon
the vast shining bosom of the waters, and yet so charged with all
the unrest and the passion of life..
The experienced eye of the seaman told him that it was hopeless to
expect a breeze before nightfall. He looked across at the
Frenchman, which lay less than a quarter of a mile ahead, and
shook his gnarled list at the line of heads which could be seen
looking back over her stern. One of them waved a white kerchief
in derision, and Cock Badding swore a bitter oath at the sight.
"By Saint Leonard of Winchelsea," he cried, "I will rub my side up
against her yet! Out with the skiff, lads, and two of you to the
oars. Make fast the line to the mast, Will. Do you go in the
boat, Hugh, and I'll make the second. Now if we bend our backs to
it we may have them yet ere night cover them."
The little skiff was swiftly lowered over the side and the slack
end of the cable fastened to the after thwart. Cock Badding and
his comrades pulled as if they would snap their oars, and the
little vessel began slowly to lurch forward over the rollers. But
the next moment a larger skiff had splashed over the side of the
Frenchman, and no less than four seamen were hard at work under
her bows. If the Marie Rose advanced a yard the Frenchman was
going two. Again Cock Badding raved and shook his fist. He
clambered aboard, his face wet with sweat and dark with anger.
"Curse them! they have had the best of us!" he cried. "I can do
no more. Sir John has lost his papers, for indeed now that night
is at hand I can see no way in which we can gain them."
Nigel had leaned against the bulwark during these events, watching
with keen attention the doings of the sailors, and praying
alternately to Saint Paul, Saint George, and Saint Thomas for a
slant of wind which would put them along side their enemy. He was
silent; but his hot heart was simmering within him. His spirit
had risen even above the discomfort of the sea, and his mind was
too absorbed in his mission to have a thought for that which had
laid Aylward flat upon the deck. He had never doubted that Cock
Badding in one way or another would accomplish his end, but when
he heard his speech of despair he bounded off the bulwark and
stood before the seaman with his face flushed and all his soul
afire.
"By Saint Paul! master-shipman," he cried, "we should never hold
up our heads in honor if we did not go further into the matter!
Let us do some small deed this night upon the water, or let us
never see land again, for indeed we could not wish fairer prospect
of winning honorable advancement."
"With your leave, little master, you speak like a fool," said the
gruff seaman. "You and all your kind are as children when once
the blue water is beneath you. Can you not see that there is no
wind, and that the Frenchman can warp her as swiftly as we? What
then would you do?"
Nigel pointed to the boat which towed astern. "Let us venture
forth in her," said he, "and let us take this ship or die
worshipful in the attempt."
His bold and fiery words found their echo in the brave rough
hearts around him. There was a deep-chested shout from both
archers and seamen. Even Aylward sat up, with a wan smile upon
his green face.
But Cock Badding shook his head. "I have never met the man who
could lead where I would not follow," said he; "but by Saint
Leonard! this is a mad business, and I should be a fool if I were
to risk my men and my ship. Bethink you, little master, that the
skiff can hold only five, though you load her to the water's edge.
If there is a man yonder, there are fourteen, and you have to
climb their side from the boat. What chance would you have? Your
boat stove and you in the water - there is the end of it. No man
of mine goes on such a fool's errand, and so I swear!"
"Then, Master Badding, I must crave the loan of your skiff, for by
Saint Paul! the good Lord Chandos' papers are not to be so
lightly lost. If no one else will come, then I will go alone."
The shipman smiled at the words; but the smile died away from his
lips when Nigel, with features set like ivory and eyes as hard as
steel, pulled on the rope so as to bring the skiff under the
counter. It was very clear that he would do even as he said. At
the same time Aylward raised his bulky form from the deck, leaned
for a moment against the bulwarks, and then tottered aft to his
master's side.
"Here is one that will go with you," said he, "or he would never
dare show his face to the girls of Tilford again. Come, archers,
let us leave these salt herrings in their pickle tub and try our
luck out on the water."
The three archers at once ranged themselves on the same side as
their comrade. They were bronzed, bearded men, short in stature,
as were most Englishmen of that day, but hardy, strong and skilled
with their weapons. Each drew his string from its waterproof case
and bent the huge arc of his war-bow as he fitted it into the
nocks.
"Now, master, we are at your back," said they as they pulled and
tightened their sword-belts.
But already Cock Badding had been carried away by the hot lust of
battle and had thrown aside every fear and doubt which had clouded
him. To see a fight and not to be in it was more than he could
bear.
"Nay, have it your own way!" he cried, "and may Saint Leonard help
us, for a madder venture I have never seen! And yet it may be
worth the trial. But if it be done let me have the handling of
it, little master, for you know no more of a boat than I do of a
war-horse. The skiff can bear five and not a man more. Now, who
will come?"
They had all caught fire, and there was not one who would be left
out.
Badding picked up his hammer. "I will come myself," said he, "and
you also, little master, since it is your hot head that has
planned it. Then there is Black Simon, the best sword of the
Cinque Ports. Two archers can pull on the oars, and it may be
that they can pick off two or three of these Frenchmen before we
close with them. Hugh Baddlesmere, and you, Dicon of Rye - into
the boat with you!"
"What? " cried Aylward. "Am I to be left behind? I, who am the
Squire's own man? Ill fare the bowman who comes betwixt me and
yonder boat!"
"Nay, Aylward," said his master, "I order that you stay, for
indeed you are a sick man."
"But now that the waves have sunk I am myself again. Nay, fair
sir, I pray that you will not leave me behind."
"You must needs take the space of a better man; for what do you
know of the handling of a boat?" said Badding shortly. "No more
fool's talk, I pray you, for the night will soon fall. Stand
aside!"
Aylward looked hard at the French boat. "I could swim ten times
up and down Frensham pond," said he, "and it will be strange if I
cannot go as far as that. By these finger-bones, Samkin Aylward
may be there as soon as you!"
The little boat with its five occupants pushed off from the side
of the schooner, and dipping and rising, made its slow way toward
the Frenchman. Badding and one archer had single oars, the second
archer was in the prow, while Black Simon and Nigel huddled into
the stern with the water lapping and hissing at their very elbows.
A shout of defiance rose from the Frenchmen, and they stood in a
line along the side of their vessel shaking their fists and waving
their weapons. Already the sun was level with Dungeness, and the
gray of evening was blurring sky and water into one dim haze. A
great silence hung over the broad expanse of nature, and no sound
broke it save the dip and splash of the oars and the slow deep
surge of the boat upon the swell. Behind them their comrades of
the Marie Rose stood motionless and silent, watching their
progress with eager eyes.
They were near enough now to have a good look at the Frenchmen.
One was a big swarthy man with a long black beard. He had a red
cap and an ax over his shoulder. There were ten other
hardy-looking fellows, all of them well armed, and there were
three who seemed to be boys.
"Shall we try a shaft upon them?" asked Hugh Baddlesmere. "They
are well within our bowshot."
"Only one of you can shoot at a time, for you have no footing,"
said Badding. "With one foot in the prow and one over the thwart
you will get your stance. Do what you may, and then we will close
in upon them."
The archer balanced himself in the rolling boat with the deftness
of a man who has been trained upon the sea, for he was born and
bred in the Cinque Ports. Carefully he nocked his arrow, strongly
he drew it, steadily he loosed it, but the boat swooped at the
instant, and it buried itself in the waves. The second passed
over the little ship, and the third struck in her black side.
Then in quick succession so quick that two shafts were often in
the air at the same instant - he discharged a dozen arrows, most
of which just cleared the bulwarks and dropped upon the deck.
There was a cry on the Frenchman, and the heads vanished from the
side.
"Enough!" cried Badding. "One is down, and it may be two. Close
in, close in, in God's name, before they rally!"
He and the other bent to their oars; but at the same instant there
was a sharp zip in the air and a hard clear sound like a stone
striking a wall. Baddlesmere clapped his hand to his head,
groaned and fell forward out of the boat, leaving a swirl of blood
upon the surface. A moment later the same fierce hiss ended in a
loud wooden crash, and a short, thick crossbow-bolt was buried
deep in the side of their boat.
"Close in, close in!" roared Badding, tugging at his oar. "Saint
George for England! Saint Leonard for Winchelsea! Close in!"
But again that fatal crossbow twanged. Dicon of Rye fell back
with a shaft through his shoulder. "God help me, I can no more!"
said he.
Badding seized the oar from his hand; but it was only to sweep the
boat's head round and pull her back to the Marie Rose. The attack
had failed.
"What now, master-shipman?" cried Nigel. "What has befallen to
stop us? Surely the matter does not end here?"
"Two down out of five," said Badding, "and twelve at the least
against us. The odds are too long, little master. Let us at
least go back, fill up once more, and raise a mantelet against the
bolts, for they have an arbalist which shoots both straight and
hard. But what we do we must do quickly, for the darkness falls
apace."
Their repulse had been hailed by wild yells of delight from the
Frenchmen, who danced with joy and waved their weapons madly over
their heads. But before their rejoicings had finished they saw
the little boat creeping out once more from the shadow of the
Marie Rose, a great wooden screen in her bows to protect her from
the arrows. Without a pause she came straight and fast for her
enemy. The wounded archer had been put on board, and Aylward
would have had his place had Nigel been able to see him upon the
deck. The third archer, Hal Masters, had sprung in, and one of
the seamen, Wat Finnis of Hythe. With their hearts hardened to
conquer or to die, the five ran alongside the Frenchman and sprang
upon her deck. At the same instant a great iron weight crashed
through the bottom of their skiff, and their feet had hardly left
her before she was gone. There was no hope and no escape save
victory.
The crossbowman stood under the mast, his terrible weapon at his
shoulder, the steel string stretched taut, the heavy bolt shining
upon the nut. One life at least he would claim out of this little
band. Just for one instant too long did he dwell upon his aim,
shifting from the seaman to Cock Badding, whose formidable
appearance showed him to be the better prize. In that second of
time Hal Masters' string twanged and his long arrow sped through
the arbalister's throat. He dropped on the deck, with blood and
curses pouring from his mouth.
A moment later Nigel's sword and Badding's hammer had each claimed
a victim and driven back the rush of assailants. The five were
safe upon the deck, but it was hard for them to keep a footing
there. The French seamen, Bretons and Normans, were stout,
powerful fellows, armed with axes and swords, fierce fighters and
brave men. They swarmed round the little band, attacking them
from all sides. Black Simon felled the black-bearded French
Captain, and at the same instant was cut over the head and lay
with his scalp open upon the deck. The seaman Wat of Hythe was
killed by a crashing blow from an ax. Nigel was struck down, but
was up again like a flash, and drove his sword through the man who
had felled him.
But Badding, Masters the archer and he had been hustled back to
the bulwark and were barely holding their own from minute to
minute against the fierce crowd who assailed them, when an arrow
coming apparently from the sea struck the foremost Frenchman to
the heart. A moment later a boat dashed up alongside and four
more men from the Marie Rose scrambled on to the blood-stained
deck. With one fierce rush the remaining Frenchmen were struck
down or were seized by their assailants. Nine prostrate men upon
the deck showed how fierce had been the attack, how desperate the
resistance.
Badding leaned panting upon his blood-clotted hammer. "By Saint
Leonard!" he cried, " I thought that this little master had been
the death of us all. God wot you were but just in time, and how
you came I know not. This archer has had a hand in it, by the
look of him."
Aylward, still pale from his seasickness and dripping from head to
foot with water, had been the first man in the rescue party.
Nigel looked at him in amazement. "I sought you aboard the ship,
Aylward, but I could not lay eyes on you," said he.
"It was because I was in the water, fair sir, and by my hilt! it
suits my stomach better than being on it," he answered. "When you
first set forth I swam behind you, for I saw that the Frenchman's
boat hung by a rope, and I thought that while you kept him in play
I might gain it. I had reached it when you were driven back, so I
hid behind it in the water and said my prayers as I have not said
them for many a day. Then you came again, and no one had an eye
for me, so I clambered into it, cut the rope, took the oars which
I found there and brought her back for more men."
"By Saint Paul! you have acted very wisely and well," said Nigel,
"and I think that of all of us it is you who have won most honor
this day. But of all these men dead and alive I see none who
resembles that Red Ferret whom my Lord Chandos has described and
who has worked such despite upon us in the past: It would indeed
be an evil chance if he has in spite of all our pains made his way
to France in some other boat."
"That we shall soon find out," said Badding. "Come with me and we
will search the ship from truck to keel ere he escapes us."
There was a scuttle at the base of the mast which led down into
the body of the vessel, and the Englishmen were approaching this
when a strange sight brought them to a stand. A round brazen head
had appeared in the square dark opening. An instant afterward a
pair of shining shoulders followed. Then slowly the whole figure
of a man in complete plate-armor emerged on the deck. In his
gauntleted hand he carried a heavy steel mace. With this uplifted
he moved toward his enemies, silent save for the ponderous clank
of his footfall. It was an inhuman, machine-like figure, menacing
and terrible, devoid of all expression, slow-moving, inexorable
and awesome.
A sudden wave of terror passed over the English seamen. One of
them tried to pass and get behind the brazen man, but he was
pinned against the side by a quick movement and his brains dashed
out by a smashing blow from the heavy mace. Wild panic seized the
others, and they rushed back to the boat. Aylward strung an
arrow, but his bowstring was damp and the shaft rang loudly upon
the shining breast-plate and glanced off into the sea. Masters
struck the brazen head with a sword, but the blade snapped without
injuring the helmet, and an instant later the bowman was stretched
senseless on the deck. The seamen shrank from this terrible
silent creature and huddled in the stern, all the fight gone out
of them.
Again he raised his mace and was advancing on the helpless crowd
where the brave were encumbered and hampered by the weaklings,
when Nigel shook himself clear and bounded forward into the open,
his sword in his hand and a smile of welcome upon his lips.
The sun had set, and one long mauve gash across the western
Channel was closing swiftly into the dull grays of early night.
Above, a few stars began to faintly twinkle; yet the twilight was
still bright enough for an observer to see every detail of the
scene: the Marie Rose, dipping and rising on the long rollers
astern; the broad French boat with its white deck blotched with
blood and littered with bodies; the group of men in the stern,
some trying to advance and some seeking to escape - all a
confused, disorderly, struggling rabble.
Then betwixt them and the mast the two figures: the armed shining
man of metal, with hand upraised, watchful, silent, motionless,
and Nigel, bareheaded and crouching, with quick foot, eager eyes
and fearless happy face, moving this way and that, in and out, his
sword flashing like a gleam of light as he sought at all points
for some opening in the brazen shell before him.
It was clear to the man in armor that if he could but pen his
antagonist in a corner he would beat him down without fail. But
it was not to be done. The unhampered man had the advantage of
speed. With a few quick steps he could always glide to either
side and escape the clumsy rush. Aylward and Badding had sprung
out to Nigel's assistance; but he shouted to them to stand back,
with such authority and anger in his voice that their weapons
dropped to their sides. With staring eyes and set features they
stood watching that unequal fight.
Once it seemed that all was over with the Squire, for in springing
back from his enemy he tripped over one of the bodies which
strewed the deck and fell flat upon his back, but with a swift
wriggle he escaped the heavy blow which thundered down upon him,
and springing to his feet he bit deeply into the Frenchman's
helmet with a sweeping cut in return. Again the mace fell, and
this time Nigel had not quite cleared himself. His sword was
beaten down and the blow fell partly upon his left shoulder. He
staggered, and once more the iron club whirled upward to dash him
to the ground.
Quick as a flash it passed through his mind that he could not leap
beyond its reach. But he might get within it. In an instant he
had dropped his sword, and springing in he had seized the brazen
man round the waist. The mace was shortened and the handle jobbed
down once upon the bare flaxen head. 'Then, with a sonorous
clang, and a yell of delight from the spectators, Nigel with one
mighty wrench tore his enemy from the deck and hurled him down
upon his back. His own head was whirling and he felt that his
senses were slipping away, but already his hunting-knife was out
and pointing through the slit in the brazen helmet.
"Give yourself up, fair sir!" said he.
" Never to fishermen and to archers! I am a gentleman of coat-
armor. Kill me!"
"I also am a gentleman of coat-armor. I promise you quarter."
"Then, sir, I surrender myself to you."
The dagger tinkled down upon the deck. Seamen and archers ran
forward, to find Nigel half senseless upon his face. They drew
him off, and a few deft blows struck off the helmet of his enemy.
A head, sharp-featured, freckled and foxy-red, disclosed itself
beneath it. Nigel raised himself on his elbow for an instant.
"You are the Red Ferret?" said he.
"So my enemies call me," said the Frenchman, with a smile. "I
rejoice, sir, that I have fallen to so valiant and honorable a
gentleman."
" I thank you, fair sir," said Nigel feebly. " I also rejoice
that I have encountered so debonair a person, and I shall ever
bear in mind the pleasure which I have had from our meeting."
So saying, he laid his bleeding head upon his enemy's brazen front
and sank into a dead faint.
