XX. HOW THE ENGLISH ATTEMPTED THE CASTLE OF LA BROHINIERE
For some minutes Nigel remained motionless upon the crest of the
hill, his heart, like lead within him, and his eyes fixed upon the
huge gray walls which contained his unhappy henchman. He was
roused by a sympathetic hand upon his shoulder and the voice of
his young prisoner in his ear.
"Peste!" said he. "They have some of your birds in their cage,
have they not? What then, my friend? Keep your heart high! Is
it not the chance of war, to-day to them, to-morrow to thee, and
death at last for us all? And yet I had rather they were in any
hands than those of Oliver the Butcher."
"By Saint Paul, we cannot suffer it!" cried Nigel distractedly.
"This man has come with me from my own home. He has stood between
me and death before now. It goes to my very heart that he should
call upon me in vain. I pray you, Raoul, to use your wits, for
mine are all curdled in my head. Tell me what I should do and how
I may bring him help."
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "As easy to get a lamb
unscathed out of a wolves' lair as a prisoner safe from La
Brohiniere. Nay, Nigel, whither do you go? Have you indeed taken
leave of your wits?"
The Squire had spurred his horse down the hillside and never
halted until he was within a bowshot of the gate. The French
prisoner followed hard behind him, with a buzz of reproaches and
expostulations.
"You are mad, Nigel!" he. cried. "What do you hope to do then?
Would you carry the castle with your own hands? Halt, man, halt,
in the name of the Virgin!"
But Nigel had no plan in his head and only obeyed the fevered
impulse to do something to ease his thoughts. He paced his horse
up and down, waving his spear, and shouting insults and challenges
to the garrison. Over the high wall a hundred jeering faces
looked down upon him. So rash and wild was his action that it
seemed to those within to mean some trap, so the drawbridge was
still held high and none ventured forth to seize him. A few
long-range arrows pattered on the rocks, and then with a deep
booming sound a huge stone, hurled from a mangonel, sang over the
head of the two Squires and crushed into splinters amongst the
boulders behind them. The Frenchman seized Nigel's bridle and
forced him farther from the gateway.
"By the dear Virgin!" he cried, "I care not to have those pebbles
about my ears, yet I cannot go back alone, so it is very clear,
my, crazy comrade, that you must come also. Now we are beyond
their reach! But see, my friend Nigel, who are those who crown
the height?"
The sun had sunk behind the western ridge, but the glowing sky was
fringed at its lower edge by a score of ruddy twinkling points. A
body of horsemen showed hard and black upon the bare hill. Then
they dipped down the slope into the valley, whilst a band of
footmen followed behind.
"They are my people," cried Nigel joyously. "Come, my friend,
hasten, that we may take counsel what we shall do."
Sir Robert Knolles rode a bowshot in front of his men, and his
brow was as black as night. Beside him, with crestfallen face,
his horse bleeding, his armor dinted and soiled, was the
hot-headed knight, Sir James Astley. A fierce discussion raged
between them.
"I have done my devoir as best I might," said Astley. "Alone I
had ten of them at my sword-point. I know not how I have lived to
tell it."
"What is your devoir to me? Where are my thirty bowmen?" cried
Knolles in bitter wrath. "Ten lie dead upon the ground and twenty
are worse than dead in yonder castle. And all because you must
needs show all men how bold you are, and ride into a bushment such
as a child could see. Alas for my own folly that ever I should
have trusted such a one as you with the handling of men!"
"By God, Sir Robert, you shall answer to me for those words!"
cried Astley with a choking voice. "Never has a man dared to
speak to me as you have done this day."
"As long as I hold the King's order I shall be master, and by the
Lord I will hang you, James, on a near tree if I have further
cause of offense! How now, Nigel? I see by yonder white horse
that you at least have not failed me. I will speak with you anon.
Percy, bring up your men, and let us gather round this castle,
for, as I hope for my soul's salvation, I win not leave it until I
have my archers, or the head of him who holds them."
That night the English lay thick round the fortress of La
Brohiniere so that none might come forth from it. But if none
could come forth it was hard to see how any could win their way
in, for it was full of men, the walls were high and strong, and a
deep dry ditch girt it round. But the hatred and fear which its
master had raised over the whole country-side could now be plainly
seen, for during the night the brushwood men and the villagers
came in from all parts with offers of such help as they could give
for the intaking of the castle. Knolles set them cutting bushes
and tying them into fagots. When morning came he rode out before
the wall and he held counsel with his knights and squires as to
how he should enter in.
"By noon," said he, "we shall have so many fagots that we may make
our way over the ditch. Then we will beat in the gates and so win
a footing."
The young Frenchman had come with Nigel to the conference, and
now, amid the silence which followed the leader's proposal, he
asked if he might be heard. He was clad in the brazen armor which
Nigel had taken from the Red Ferret.
"It may be that it is not for me to join in your counsel," said
he, "seeing that I am a prisoner and a Frenchman. But this man is
the enemy of all, and we of France owe him a debt even as you do,
since many a good Frenchman has died in his cellars. For this
reason I crave to be heard."
"We will hear you," said Knolles.
"I have come from Evran yesterday," said he. "Sir Henry
Spinnefort, Sir Peter La Roye and many other brave knights and
squires lie there, with a good company of men, all of whom would
very gladly join with you to destroy this butcher and his castle,
for it is well known amongst us that his deeds are neither good
nor fair. There are also bombards which we could drag over the
hills, and so beat down this iron gate. If you so order it I will
ride to Evran and bring my companions back with me."
"Indeed, Robert," said Percy, "it is in my mind that this
Frenchman speaks very wisely and well."
"And when we have taken the castle - what then?" asked Knolles.
"Then you could go upon your way, fair sir, and we upon ours. Or
if it please you better you could draw together on yonder hill and
we on this one, so that the valley lies between us. Then if any
cavalier wished to advance himself or to shed a vow and exalt his
lady, an opening might be found for him. Surely it would be shame
if so many brave men drew together and no small deed were to come
of it."
Nigel clasped his captive's hand to show his admiration and
esteem, but Knolles shook his head.
"Things are not ordered thus, save in the tales of the minstrels,"
said he. "I have no wish that your people at Evran should know
our numbers or our plans. I am not in this land for knight
errantry, but I am here to make head against the King's enemies.
Has no one aught else to say?"
Percy pointed to the small outlying fortalice upon the knoll, on
which also flew the flag of the bloody head. "This smaller
castle, Robert, is of no great strength and cannot hold more than
fifty men. It is built, as I conceive it, that no one should
seize the high ground and shoot down into the other. Why should
we not turn all our strength upon it, since it is the weaker of
the twain?"
But again the young leader shook his head. "If I should take it,"
said he, "I am still no nearer to my desire, nor will it avail me
in getting back my bowmen. It may cost a score of men, and what
profit shall I have from it? Had I bombards, I might place them
on yonder hill, but having none it is of little use to me."
"It may be," said Nigel, "that they have scant food or water, and
so must come forth to fight us."
"I have made inquiry of the peasants," Knolles answered, "and they
are of one mind that there is a well within the castle, and good
store of food. Nay, gentlemen, there is no way before us save to
take it by arms, and no spot where we can attempt it save through
the great gate. Soon we will have so many fagots that we can cast
them down into the ditch, and so win our way across. I have
ordered them to cut a pine-tree on the hill and shear the branches
so that we may beat down the gate with it. But what is now amiss,
and why do they run forward to the castle?"
A buzz had risen from the soldiers in the camp, and they all
crowded in one direction, rushing toward the castle wall. The
knights and squires rode after them, and when in view of the main
gate, the cause of the disturbance lay before them. On the tower
above the portal three men were standing in the garb of English
archers, ropes round their necks and their hands bound behind
them. Their comrades surged below them with cries of recognition
and of pity.
"It is Ambrose!" cried one. "Surely it is Ambrose of Ingleton."
"Yes, in truth, I see his yellow hair. And the other, him with
the beard, it is Lockwood of Skipton. Alas for his wife who keeps
the booth by the bridge-head of Ribble! I wot not who the third
may be."
"It is little Johnny Alspaye, the youngest man in the company,"
cried old Wat, with the tears running down his cheeks, "'Twas I
who brought him from his home. Alas! Alas! Foul fare the day
that ever I coaxed him from his mother's side that he might perish
in a far land."
There was a sudden flourish of a trumpet and the drawbridge fell.
Across it strode a portly man with a faded herald's coat. He
halted warily upon the farther side and his voice boomed like a
drum. "I would speak with your leader." he cried.
Knolles rode forward.
"Have I your knightly word that I may advance unscathed with all
courteous entreaty as befits a herald?"
Knolles nodded his head.
The man came slowly and pompously forward. "I am the messenger
and liege servant," said he, "of the high baron, Oliver de St.
Yvon, Lord of La Brohiniere. He bids me to say that if you
continue your journey and molest him no further he will engage
upon his part to make no further attack upon you. As to the men
whom he holds, he will enroll them in his own honorable service,
for he has need of longbowmen, and has heard much of their skill.
But if you constrain him or cause him further displeasure by
remaining before his castle he hereby gives you warning that he
will hang these three men over his gateway and every morning
another three until all have been slain. This he has sworn upon
the rood of Calvery, and as he has said so he will do upon
jeopardy of his soul."
Robert Knolles looked grimly at the messenger. "You may thank the
saints that you have had my promise," said he, "else would I have
stripped that lying tabard from thy back and the skin beneath it
from thy bones, that thy master might have a fitting answer to his
message. Tell him that I hold him and all that are within his
castle as hostage for the lives of my men, and that should he dare
to do them scathe he and every man that is with him shall hang
upon his battlements. Go, and go quickly, less my patience fail.
There was that in Knolles' cold gray eyes and in his manner of
speaking those last words which sent the portly envoy back at a
quicker gait than he had come. As he vanished into the gloomy
arch of the gateway the drawbridge swung up with creak and rattle
behind him.
A few minutes later a rough-bearded fellow stepped out over the
portal where the condemned archers stood and seizing the first by
the shoulders he thrust him over the wall. A cry burst from the
man's lips and a deep groan from those of his comrades below as he
fell with a jerk which sent him half-way up to the parapet again,
and then after dancing like a child's toy swung slowly backward
and forward with limp limbs and twisted neck.
The hangman turned and bowed in mock reverence to the spectators
beneath him. He had not yet learned in a land of puny archers how
sure and how strong is the English bow. Half a dozen men, old Wat
amongst them, had run forward toward the wall. They were too late
to save their comrades, but at least their deaths were speedily
avenged.
The man was in the act of pushing off the second prisoner when an
arrow crashed through his head, and he fell stone dead upon the
parapet. But even in falling he had given the fatal thrust and a
second russet figure swung beside the first against the dark
background of the castle wall.
There only remained the young lad, Johnny Alspaye, who stood
shaking with fear, an abyss below him, and the voices of those who
would hurl him over it behind. There was a long pause before
anyone would come forth to dare those deadly arrows. Then a
fellow, crouching double, ran forward from the shelter, keeping
the young archer's body as a shield between him and danger.
"Aside, John! Aside!" cried his comrades from below.
The youth sprang as far as the rope would allow him, and slipped
it half over his face in the effort. Three arrows flashed past
his side, and two of them buried themselves in the body of the man
behind. A howl of delight burst from the spectators as he dropped
first upon his knees and then upon his face. A life for a life
was no bad bargain.
But it was only a short respite which the skill of his comrades
had given to the young archer. Over the parapet there appeared a
ball of brass, then a pair of great brazen shoulders, and lastly
the full figure of an armored man. He walked to the edge and they
heard his hoarse guffaw of laughter as the arrows clanged and
clattered against his impenetrable mail. He slapped his
breast-plate, as he jeered at them. Well he knew that at the
distance no dart ever sped by mortal hands could cleave through
his plates of metal. So he stood, the great burly Butcher of La
Brohiniere, with head uptossed, laughing insolently at his foes.
Then with slow and ponderous tread he walked toward his boy
victim, seized him by the ear, and dragged him across so that the
rope might be straight. Seeing that the noose had slipped across
the face, he tried to push it down, but the mail glove hampering
him he pulled it off, and grasped the rope above the lad's head
with his naked hand.
Quick as a flash old Wat's arrow had sped, and the Butcher sprang
back with a howl of pain, his hand skewered by a cloth-yard shaft.
As he shook it furiously at his enemies a second grazed his
knuckles. With a brutal kick of his metal-shod feet he hurled
young Alspaye over the edge, looked down for a few moments at his
death agonies, and then walked slowly from the parapet, nursing
his dripping hand, the arrows still ringing loudly upon his
back-piece as he went.
The archers below, enraged at the death of their comrades, leaped
and howled like a pack of ravening wolves.
"By Saint Dunstan," said Percy, looking round at their flushed
faces, "if ever we are to carry it now is the moment, for these
men will not be stopped if hate can take them forward."
"You are right, Thomas!" cried Knolles. "Gather together twenty
men-at-arms each with his shield to cover him. Astley, do you
place the bowmen so that no head may show at window or parapet.
Nigel, I pray you to order the countryfolk forward with their
fardels of fagots. Let the others bring up the lopped pine-tree
which lies yonder behind the horse lines. Ten men-at-arms can
bear it on the right, and ten on the left, having shields over
their heads. The gate once down, let every man rush in. And God
help the better cause!"
Swiftly and yet quietly the dispositions were made, for these were
old soldiers whose daily trade was war. In little groups the
archers formed in front of each slit or crevice in the walls,
whilst others scanned the battlements with wary eyes, and sped an
arrow at every face which gleamed for an instant above them. The
garrison shot forth a shower of crossbow bolts and an occasional
stone from their engine, but so deadly was the hail which rained
upon them that they had no time to dwell upon their aim, and their
discharges were wild and harmless. Under cover of the shafts of
the bowmen a line of peasants ran unscathed to the edge of the
ditch, each hurling in the bundle which he bore in his arms, and
then hurrying back for another one. In twenty minutes a broad
pathway of fagots lay level with the ground upon one side and the
gate upon the other. With the loss of two peasants slain by bolts
and one archer crushed by a stone, the ditch had been filled up.
All was ready for the battering-ram.
With a shout, twenty picked men rushed forward with the pine-tree
under their arms, the heavy end turned toward the gate. The
arbalesters on the tower leaned over and shot into the midst of
them, but could not stop their advance. Two dropped, but the
others raising their shields ran onward still shouting, crossed
the bridge of fagots, and came with a thundering crash against the
door. It splintered from base to arch, but kept its place.
Swinging their mighty weapon, the storming party thudded and
crashed upon the gate, every blow loosening and widening the
cracks which rent it from end to end. The three knights, with
Nigel, the Frenchman Raoul and the other squires, stood beside the
ram, cheering on the men, and chanting to the rhythm of the swing
with a loud "Ha!" at every blow. A great stone loosened from the
parapet roared through the air and struck Sir James Astley and
another of the attackers, but Nigel and the Frenchman had taken
their places in an instant, and the ram thudded and smashed with
greater energy than ever. Another blow and another! the lower
part was staving inward, but the great central bar still held
firm. Surely another minute would beat it from its sockets.
But suddenly from above there came a great deluge of liquid. A
hogshead of it had been tilted from the battlement until soldiers,
bridge, and ram were equally drenched in yellow slime. Knolles
rubbed his gauntlet in it, held it to his visor, and smelled it.
"Back, back!" he cried. " Back before it is too late!"
There was a small barred window above their heads at the side of
the gate. A ruddy glare shone through it, and then a blazing
torch was tossed down upon them. In a moment the oil had caught
and the whole place was a sheet of flame. The fir-tree that they
carried, the fagots beneath them, their very weapons, were all in
a blaze.
To right and left the men sprang down into the dry ditch, rolling
with screams upon the ground in their endeavor to extinguish the
flames. The knights and squires protected by their armor strove
hard, stamping and slapping, to help those who had but leather
jacks to shield their bodies. From above a ceaseless shower of
darts and of stones were poured down upon them, while on the other
hand the archers, seeing the greatness of the danger, ran up to
the edge of the ditch, and shot fast and true at every face which
showed above the wall.
Scorched, wearied and bedraggled, the remains of the storming
party clambered out of the ditch as best they could, clutching at
the friendly hands held down to them, and so limped their way back
amid the taunts and howls of their enemies. A long pile of
smoldering cinders was all that remained of their bridge, and on
it lay Astley and six other red-hot men glowing in their armor.
Knolles clinched his hands as he looked back at the ruin that was
wrought, and then surveyed the group of men who stood or lay
around him nursing their burned limbs and scowling up at the
exultant figures who waved on the castle wall. Badly scorched
himself, the young leader had no thought for his own injuries in
the rage and grief which racked his soul. "We will build another
bridge," he cried. "Set the peasants binding fagots once more."
But a thought had flashed through Nigel's mind. "See, fair sir,"
said he. "The nails of yonder door are red-hot and the wood as
white as ashes. Surely we can break our way through it."
"By the Virgin, you speak truly!" cried the French Squire. "If we
can cross the ditch the gate will not stop us. Come, Nigel, for
our fair ladies' sakes, I will race you who will reach it first,
England or France."
Alas for all the wise words of the good Chandos! Alas for all the
lessons in order and discipline learned from the wary Knolles. In
an instant, forgetful of all things but this noble challenge,
Nigel was running at the top of his speed for the burning gate.
Close at his heels was the Frenchman, blowing and gasping, as he
rushed along in his brazen armor. Behind came a stream of howling
archers and men-at-arms, like a flood which has broken its dam.
Down they slipped into the ditch, rushed across it, and clambered
on each other's backs up the opposite side. Nigel, Raoul and two
archers gained a foothold in front of the burning gate at the same
moment. With blows and kicks they burst it to pieces, and dashed
with a yell of triumph through the dark archway beyond. For a
moment they thought with mad rapture that the castle was carried.
A dark tunnel lay before them, down which they rushed. But alas!
at the farther end it was blocked by a second gateway as strong as
that which had been burned. In vain they beat upon it with their
swords and axes. On each side the tunnel was pierced with slits,
and the crossbow bolts discharged at only a few yards' distance
crashed through armor as if it were cloth and laid man after man
upon the stones. They raged and leaped before the great
iron-clamped barrier, but the ;wall itself was as easy to tear
down.
It was bitter to draw back; but it was madness to remain. Nigel
looked round and saw that half his men were down. At the same
moment Raoul sank with a gasp at his feet, a bolt driven to its
socket through the links of the camail which guarded his neck.
Some of the archers, seeing that certain death awaited them, were
already running back to escape from the fatal passage.
"By Saint Paul!" cried Nigel hotly. "Would you leave our wounded
where this butcher may lay his hands upon them? Let the archers
shoot inwards and hold them back from the slits. Now let each man
raise one of our comrades, lest we leave our honor in the gate of
this castle."
With a mighty effort he had raised Raoul upon his shoulders and
staggered with him to the edge of the ditch. Several men were
waiting below where the steep bank shield them from the arrows,
and to them Nigel handed down his wounded friend, and each archer
in turn did the same. Again and again Nigel went back until no
one lay in the tunnel save seven who had died there. Thirteen
wounded were laid in the shelter of the ditch, and there they must
remain until night came to cover them. Meanwhile the bowmen on
the farther side protected them from attack, and also prevented
the enemy from all attempts to build up the outer gate. The
gaping smoke-blackened arch was all that they could show for a
loss of thirty men, but that at least Knolles was determined to
keep.
Burned and bruised, but unconscious of either pain or fatigue for
the turmoil of his spirit within him, Nigel knelt by the Frenchman
and loosened his helmet. The girlish face of the young Squire was
white as chalk, and the haze of death was gathering over his
violet eyes, but a faint smile played round his lips as he looked
up at his English comrade.
"I shall never see Beatrice again," he whispered. "I pray you,
Nigel, that when there is a truce you will journey as far as my
father's chateau and tell him how his son died. Young Gaston will
rejoice, for to him come the land and the coat, the war-cry and
the profit. See them, Nigel, and tell them that I was as forward
as the others."
"Indeed Raoul, no man could have carried himself with more honor
or won more worship than you have done this day. I will do your
behest when the time comes."
"Surely you are happy, Nigel," the dying Squire murmured, "for
this day has given you one more deed which you may lay at the feet
of your lady-love."
"It might have been so had we carried the gate," Nigel answered
sadly; "but by Saint Paul! I cannot count it a deed where I have
come back with my purpose unfulfilled. But this is no time,
Raoul, to talk of my small affairs. If we take the castle and I
bear a good part in it, then perchance all this may indeed avail."
The Frenchman sat up with that strange energy which comes often as
the harbinger of death. "You will win your Lady Mary, Nigel, and
your great deeds will be not three but a score, so that in all
Christendom there shall be no man of blood and coat-armor who has
not heard your name and your fame. This I tell you - I, Raoul de
la Roche Pierre de Bras, dying upon the field of honor. And now
kiss me, sweet friend, and lay me back, for the mists close round
me and I am gone!"
With tender hands the Squire lowered his comrade's head, but even
as he did so there came a choking rush of blood, and the soul had
passed. So died a gallant cavalier of France, and Nigel as he
knelt in the ditch beside him prayed that his own end might be as
noble and as debonair.
