XXII. HOW ROBERT OF BEAUMANOIR CAME TO PLOERMEL
Sir Robert Knolles and his men passed onward that day, looking
back many a time to see the two dark columns of smoke, one thicker
and one more slender, which arose from the castle and from the
fort of La Brohiniere. There was not an archer nor a man-at-arms
who did not bear a great bundle of spoil upon his back, and
Knolles frowned darkly as he looked upon them. Gladly would he
hove thrown it all down by the roadside, but he had tried such
matters before, and he knew that it was as safe to tear a
half-gnawed bone from a bear as their blood-won plunder from such
men as these. In any case it was but two days' march to Ploermel,
where he hoped to bring his journey to an end.
That night they camped at Mauron, where a small English and Breton
garrison held the castle. Right glad were the bowmen to see some
of their own countrymen once more, and they spent the night over
wine and dice, a crowd of Breton girls assisting, so that next
morning their bundles were much lighter, and most of the plunder
of La Brohiniere was left with the men and women of Mauron. Next
day their march lay with a fair sluggish river upon their right,
and a great rolling forest upon their left which covered the whole
country. At last toward evening the towers of Ploermel rose
before them and they saw against a darkening sky the Red Cross of
England waving in the wind. So blue was the river Duc which
skirted the road, and so green its banks, that they might indeed
have been back beside their own homely streams, the Oxford Thames
or the Midland Trent, but ever as the darkness deepened there came
in wild gusts the howling of wolves from the forest to remind them
that they were in a land of war. So busy had men been for many
years in hunting one another that the beasts of the chase had
grown to a monstrous degree, until the streets of the towns were
no longer safe from the wild inroads of the fierce creatures, the
wolves and the bears, who swarmed around them.
It was nightfall when the little army entered the outer gate of
the Castle of Ploermel and encamped in the broad Bailey yard.
Ploermel was at that time the center of British power in Mid-
Brittany, as Hennebon was in the West, and it was held by a
garrison of five hundred men under an old soldier, Richard of
Bambro'', a rugged Northumbrian, trained in that great school of
warriors, the border wars. He who had ridden the marches of the
most troubled frontier in Europe, and served his time against the
Liddlesdale and Nithsdale raiders was hardened for a life in the
field.
Of late, however, Bambro' had been unable to undertake any
enterprise, for his reinforcements had failed him, and amid his
following he had but three English knights and seventy men. The
rest were a mixed crew of Bretons, Hainaulters and a few German
mercenary soldiers, brave men individually, as those of that stock
have ever been, but lacking interest in the cause, and bound
together by no common tie of blood or tradition.
On the other hand, the surrounding castles, and especially that of
Josselin, were held by strong forces of enthusiastic Bretons,
inflamed by a common patriotism, and full of warlike ardor.
Robert of Beaumanoir, the fierce seneschal of the house of Rohan,
pushed constant forays and excursions against Ploermel so that
town and castle were both in daily dread of being surrounded and
besieged. Several small parties of the English faction had been
cut off and slain to a man, and so straitened were the others that
it was difficult for them to gather provisions from the country
round.
Such was the state of Bambro's garrison when on that March evening
Knolles and his men streamed into the bailey-yard of his Castle.
In the glare of the torches at the inner gate Bambro' was waiting
to receive them, a dry, hard, wizened man, small and fierce, with
beady black eyes and quick furtive ways.
Beside him, a strange contrast, stood his Squire, Croquart, a
German, whose name and fame as a man-at-arms were widespread,
though like Robert Knolles himself he had begun as a humble page.
He was a very tall man, with an enormous spread of shoulders, and
a pair of huge hands with which he could crack a horse-shoe. He
was slow and lethargic, save in moments of excitement, and his
calm blond face, his dreamy blue eyes and his long fair hair gave
him so gentle an appearance that none save those who had seen him
in his berserk mood, raging, an iron giant, in the forefront of
the battle, could ever guess how terrible a warrior he might be.
Little knight and huge squire stood together under the arch of the
donjon and gave welcome to the newcomers, whilst a swarm of
soldiers crowded round to embrace their comrades and to lead them
off where they might feed and make merry together.
Supper had been set in the hall of Ploermel wherein the knights
and squires assembled. Bambro' and Croquart were there with Sir
Hugh Calverly, an old friend of Knolles and a fellow-townsman, for
both were men of Chester. Sir Hugh was a middle-sized flaxen man,
with hard gray eyes and fierce large-nosed face sliced across with
the scar of a sword-cut. There too were Geoffrey D'Ardaine, a
young Breton seigneur, Sir Thomas Belford, a burly thick-set
Midland Englishman, Sir Thomas Walton, whose surcoat of scarlet
martlets showed that he was of the Surrey Waltons, James Marshall
and John Russell, young English squires, and the two brothers,
Richard and Hugh Le Galliard, who were of Gascon blood. Besides
these were several squires, unknown to fame, and of the
new-comers, Sir Robert Knolles, Sir Thomas Percy, Nigel Loring and
two other squires, Allington and Parsons. These were the company
who gathered in the torch-light round the table of the Seneschal
of Ploermel, and kept high revel with joyous hearts because they
thought that much honor and noble deeds lay before them.
But one sad face there was at the board, and that belonged to him
at the head of it. Sir Robert Bambro' sat with his chin leaning
upon his hand and his eyes downcast upon the cloth, whilst all
round him rose the merry clatter of voices, everyone planning some
fresh enterprise which might now be attempted. Sir Robert Knolles
was for an immediate advance upon Josselin. Calverly thought that
a raid might be made into the South where the main French power
lay. Others spoke of an attack upon Vannes.
To all these eager opinions Bambro'' listened in a moody silence,
which he broke at last by a fierce execration which drew a hushed
attention from the company. "Say no more, fair sirs," he cried;
"for indeed your words are like so many stabs in my heart. All
this and more we might indeed have done. But of a truth you are
too late."
"Too late?'" cried Knolles. "What mean you, Richard?"
"Alas; that I should have to say it, but you and all these fair
soldiers might be back in England once more for all the profit
that I am like to have from your coming. Saw you a rider on a
white horse ere you reached the Castle?"
"Nay, I saw him not?"
"He came by the western road from Hennebon. Would that he had
broken his neck ere he came here. Not an hour ago he left his
message and now hath ridden on to warn the garrison of Malestroit.
A truce has been proclaimed for a year betwixt the French King and
the English, and he who breaks it forfeits life and estate."
"A truce!" Here was an end to all their fine dreams. They looked
blankly at each other all round the table, whilst Croquart brought
his great fist down upon the board until the glasses rattled
again. Knolles sat with clenched hands as if he were a figure of
stone, while Nigel's heart turned cold and heavy within him. A
truce! Where then was his third deed, and how might he return
without it?
Even as they sat in moody silence there was the call of a bugle
from somewhere out in the darkness.
Sir Richard looked up with surprise. "We are not wont to be
summoned after once the portcullis is up," said he. "Truce or no
truce, we must let no man within our walls until we have proved
him. Croquart, see to it!"
The huge German left the room. The company were still seated in
despondent silence when he returned.
"Sir Richard," said he, "the brave knight Robert of Beaumanoir and
his Squire William de Montaubon are without the gate, and would
fain have speech with you."
Bambro' started in his chair. What could the fierce leader of the
Bretons, a man who was red to the elbow with English blood, have
to say to them? On what errand had he left his castle of Josselin
to pay this visit to his deadly enemies?
"Are they armed?" he asked.
"They are unarmed."
"Then admit them and bring them hither, but double the guards and
take all heed against surprise."
Places were set at the farther end of the table for these most
unexpected guests. Presently the door was swung open, and
Croquart with all form and courtesy announced the two Bretons, who
entered with the proud and lofty air of gallant warriors and
high-bred gentlemen.
Beaumanoir was a tall dark man with raven hair and long swarthy
beard. He was strong and straight as a young oak, with fiery
black eyes, and no flaw in his comely features save that his front
teeth had been dashed from their sockets. His Squire, William of
Montaubon, was also tall, with a thin hatchet face, and two small
gray eyes set very close upon either side of a long fierce nose.
In Beaumanoir's expression one read only gallantry and frankness;
in Montaubon's there was gallantry also, but it was mixed with the
cruelty and cunning of the wolf. They bowed as they entered, and
the little English seneschal advanced with outstretched hand to
meet them.
"Welcome, Robert, so long as you are beneath this roof," said he.
"Perhaps the time may come in another place when we may speak to
each other in another fashion."
"So I hope, Richard," said Beaumanoir; "but indeed we of Josselin
bear you in high esteem and are much beholden to you and to your
men for all that you have done for us. We could not wish better
neighbors nor any from whom more honor is to be gained. I learn
that Sir Robert Knolles and others have joined you, and we are
heavy-hearted to think that the orders of our Kings should debar
us from attempting a venture." He and his squire sat down at the
places set for them, and filling their glasses drank to the
company.
"What you say is true, Robert," said Bambro', "and before you came
we were discussing the matter among ourselves and grieving that it
should be so. When heard you of the truce?"
"Yester-evening a messenger rode from Nantes."
"Our news came to-night from Hennebon. The King's own seal was on
the order. So I fear that for a year at least you will bide at
Josselin and we at Ploermel, and kill time as we may. Perchance
we may hunt the wolf together in the great forest, or fly our
hawks on the banks of the Duc."
"Doubtless we shall do all this, Richard," said Beaumanoir; "but
by Saint Cadoc it is in my mind that with good-will upon both
sides we may please ourselves and yet stand excused before our
Kings."
Knights and squires leaned forward in their chairs, their eager
eyes, fixed upon him. He broke into a gap-toothed smile as he
looked round at the circle, the wizened seneschal, the blond
giant, Nigel's fresh young face, the grim features of Knolles, and
the yellow hawk-like Calverly, all burning with the same desire.
"I see that I need not doubt the good-will," said he, "and of that
I was very certain before I came upon this errand. Bethink you
then that this order applies to war but not to challenges,
spear-runnings, knightly exchanges or the like. King Edward is
too good a knight, and so is King John, that either of them should
stand in the way of a gentleman who desires to advance himself or
to venture his body for the exaltation of his lady. Is this not
so?"
A murmur of eager assent rose from the table.
"If you as the garrison of Ploermel march upon the garrison of
Josselin, then it is very plain that we have broken the truce and
upon our heads be it. But if there be a private bickering betwixt
me, for example, and this young squire whose eyes show that he is
very eager for honor, and if thereafter others on each side join
in and fight upon the quarrel, it is in no sense war, but rather
our own private business which no king can alter."
"Indeed, Robert," said Bambro', " all that you say is very good
and fair."
Beaumanoir leaned forward toward Nigel, his brimming glass in his
hand. "Your name, squire?" said he.
"My name is Nigel Loring."
"I see that you are young and eager, so I choose you as I would
fain have been chosen when I was of your age."
"I thank you, fair sir," said Nigel. "It is great honor that one
so famous as yourself should condescend to do some small deed upon
me."
"But we must have cause for quarrel, Nigel. Now here I drink to
the ladies of Brittany, who of all ladies upon this earth are the
most fair and the most virtuous, so that the least worthy-amongst
them is far above the best of England. What say you to that,
young sir?"
Nigel dipped his finger in his glass and leaning over he placed
its wet impress on the Breton's hand. "This in your face!" said
he.
Beaumanoir swept off the red drop of moisture and smiled his
approval. "It could not have been better done," said he. "Why
spoil my velvet paltock as many a hot-headed fool would have done.
It is in my mind, young sir, that you will go far. And now, who
follows up this quarrel?"
A growl ran round the table.
Beaumanoir ran his eye round and shook his head. "Alas!" said he,
"there are but twenty of you here, and I have thirty at Josselin
who are so eager to advance themselves that if I return without
hope for all of them there will be sore hearts amongst them. I
pray you, Richard, since we have been at these pains to arrange
matters, that you in turn will do what you may. Can you not find
ten more men?"
"But not of gentle blood."
"Nay, it matters not, if they will only fight."
"Of that there can be no doubt, for the castle is full of archers
and men-at-arms who would gladly play a part in the matter."
"Then choose ten," said Beaumanoir.
But for the first time the wolf-like squire opened his thin lips.
"Surely, my lord, you will not allow archers," said he.
"I fear not any man."
"Nay, fair sir, consider that this is a trial of weapons betwixt
us where man faces man. You have seen these English archers, and
you know how fast and bow strong are their shafts. Bethink you
that if ten of them were against us it is likely that half of us
would be down before ever we came to handstrokes."
"By Saint Cadoc, William, I think that you are right," cried the
Breton. "If we are to have such a fight as will remain in the
memories of men, you will bring no archers and we no crossbows.
Let it be steel upon steel. How say you then?"
"Surely we can bring ten men-at-arms to make up the thirty that
you desire, Robert. It is agreed then that we fight on no quarrel
of England and France, but over this matter of the ladies in which
you and Squire Loring have fallen out. And now the time?"
"At once."
"Surely at once, or perchance a second messenger may come and this
also be forbidden. We will be ready with to-morrow's sunrise."
"Nay, a day later," cried the Breton Squire. "Bethink you, my
lord, that the three lances of Radenac would take time to come
over."
"They are not of our garrison, and they shall not have a place."
"But, fair sir, of all the lances of Brittany - "
"Nay, William, I will not have it an hour later. Tomorrow it
shall be, Richard."
"And where?"
"I marked a fitting place even as I rode here this evening. If
you cross the river and take the bridle-path through the fields
which leads to Josselin you come midway upon a mighty oak standing
at the corner of a fair and level meadow. There let us meet at
midday to-morrow."
"Agreed!" cried Bambro'. "But I pray you not to rise, Robert!
The night is still young and the spices and hippocras will soon be
served. Bide with us, I pray you, for if you would fain hear the
latest songs from England, these gentlemen have doubtless brought
them. To some of us perchance it is the last night, so we would
make it a full one."
But the gallant Breton shook his head. "It may indeed be the last
night for many," said he, "and it is but right that my comrades
should know it. I have no need of monk or friar, for I cannot
think that harm will ever come beyond the grave to one who has
borne himself as a knight should, but others have other thoughts
upon these matters and would fain have time for prayer and
penitence. Adieu, fair sirs, and I drink a last glass to a happy
meeting at the midway oak."
