Part 20

The sun now rose out of the tumbling, restless sea, and Ralph and the two boys went below to turn in for a short sleep. In another three hours a loud cry on deck roused them suddenly out of their troubled doze.

Hastening on deck, they saw a few dark specks, and a high rock, over which the sea was dashing and leaping; beyond it a black mass loomed up like a tall hay-cock, and away over the grey sea was the dim shadow of some high land.

"Where are we? what is it?" asked Ralph.

"'Tis Alderney, and yon is the Casketts, and the Ortach; and there's a swingeing tide carrying us through," answered an old seaman.

And so it seemed, for they flew past the rocks, and staggered along before the still fresh breeze.

Ralph went below, and dozed off once more. When he awoke again the motion of the vessel had ceased, but the noise on deck was great.

"Rouse up, Ralph," called Dicky Cheke. "Here's Guernsey, and we're to wait here for those heavy-sailing tubs of ours, that haven't got as far as Alderney yet, I'll warrant."

The whole of that day they spent at anchor off Peter Port. Ralph admired the grey castle Cornet, and the picturesque outlines of Herm, Jettou, and Sark, and marvelled greatly at the wonderful maze of rocks.

About mid-day the masts of the other vessels could be seen round the south-eastern point under St Martin's, and in a short time they dropped anchor abreast of the Captain's ship. Their arrival was greeted by loud cheers from the latter vessel, and the ringing cheers which came back showed that the others had seen the captured Frenchman lying inshore of the Captain's ship, with the Cross of St George waving over the Lilies of France.

The same evening they weighed anchor again, but as the wind dropped, and the tide was on the turn, the Master thought it better to run in for Jersey and wait for morning.

The next day at early dawn, with a favouring breeze, they once more weighed anchor, and stood out of St Helier's Bay. In another two hours they sighted the high land of Cape Frehel, and with a fresh breeze and flowing tide they entered the intricate channel of St Malo.

"So, this is France, is it?" said Dicky Cheke. "Marry, 'tis a barren place enough. I thought they called it a fertile land. They must be parlous odd plants as would grow on these bare rocks. Did you ever see such a lot of stones? Why, they've so many of them, they've been forced to throw them into the sea, and so fill up their harbour; or did they place them here to frighten strangers away?"

They were scudding past the Cezembre, and all its dangerous reefs; past the Grand Jardin, and in a short time had dropped anchor in St Malo roadstead.

The arrival of such a squadron as five English ships was an event in the usually tranquil lives of the inhabitants of St Malo. The town was held for the Duke of Brittany by a force of men-at-arms and demi-lances, and a force of Swiss or Allemaynes, as the English called them, had already arrived, sent by the King of the Romans to assist his betrothed wife.

The Captain of the Wight was speedily visited by the Governor of the place, and Ralph was delighted to see, accompanying that official, his old friend the Sire de la Roche Guemene, who greeted him with frank courtesy, and welcomed him to Brittany. The capture of the French vessel was looked upon as a lucky omen.

In the course of the afternoon the vessels were able to come into the harbour and lie alongside the quay, when the Captain of the Wight landed in state, and was escorted to his quarters in the town.

Dicky Cheke was in raptures at the size of the town, there being no place at all to compare with it in the Isle of Wight. Southampton was the only port with which he could compare it; and he was astonished at the volubility of the French children.

"What scholars they be," he said. "They all talk French as easy as I talk English. But--faugh! I say, Ralph, they like it strong about here. Oh! I say, these French don't mind rank smells. Phew!"

"Humph! It is something out of the common," said Maurice.

But this was their first experience of French towns and French sanitation. Not that the towns of England were much better in those days. But the English, like most Teutonic races, had a habit of spreading their towns rather more, and the love of a plot of ground, so inherent in the English mind, kept freer currents of air in their back premises than in the narrow, cooped up streets of the French municipalities, hemmed in with lofty walls, and whose enormously tall houses shut out all daylight from the streets below.

The next few days were occupied in drilling the expeditionary force, and the Bretons admired the tall, stalwart figures of the men of the Wight, their martial bearing, and thorough equipment.

The knights and men-at-arms gave a tourney in the level plain at the back of St Malo, in return for the jousts which the Breton knights had given in Carisbrooke Castle, and many gallant feats were done, Ralph Lisle distinguishing himself greatly. Both he and the other young men enjoyed themselves very much, and they won universal praise by their courteous bearing and gallant looks.

Hawking and hunting, and the many duties of garrison life, passed away the time pleasantly enough. But Ralph longed for a more active scene. He did not care for dances and the gaieties of the lively French society, and while Dicky Cheke was in his element talking execrable French with easy self-assurance, Ralph was moping on the ramparts, or leaning over the parapet of the harbour mole, watching the fishing-boats and the busy life of the crowded harbour. He made many expeditions up the Rance and among the numerous islands of the rocky archipelago, and was fast becoming a hardy sailor, well acquainted with the set of the tides and the intricacies of the many dangerous channels. One long expedition he made with Maurice Woodville as far as the harbour of Cancalle, through the difficult passage of La Bigne, and gazed upon the marvellous pile of Mont St Michel, rising out of the desert of sand, and he longed to visit it. But it was held by a French garrison, the most proud and enterprising in all France; for there, in the noble "Salle des Chevaliers," had been instituted in a solemn chapter the Knights of the Order of St Michel, in 1469, to commemorate the fortress never having fallen into the hands of the English, and to perpetuate the brave defence of Louis d'Estouteville in 1427.

There was some danger in this trip, not only from the sunken rocks and eddying tides, but from the chance of capture by the boats belonging to the garrison of Mont St Michel; and once they had a narrow escape from one of these latter, for as they emerged behind one great pile of granite they saw a boat drawn up on the rocks on the other side, left high and dry by the tide, and the crew were busy collecting shellfish on the rocks below. They heard one man shout out, "Voila! les Anglois," and they saw the others hasten up to look after them; but evidently they thought it hopeless to try to catch them, as before they could launch their unwieldy boat the light shallop of the two boys would be far beyond their reach. It was a narrow escape, however, and Ralph determined not to go so far away again.

There was no danger in making expeditions up the Rance, for Dinan was garrisoned for the Duke of Brittany, and all away to the west towards St Brieuc and Treguier was faithful to its native prince. One day, as Ralph returned from one of these expeditions, he was surprised to see a great stir in their camp. The Allemaynes had already marched out, and their long pikes and swaggering plumes could be seen over the hedges, on the road to Rennes. He hastened up to the Captain's quarters, and learned that orders had come to break up their camp and march at once to relieve Fougeres.

This was joyful news. The little force was by this time perfectly disciplined, and in a very short time the tents were struck. The squad was drawn up, the companies formed, and the column awaiting the order to march. The two Breton knights were directed to accompany the English and act as guides.

The Captain of the Wight, in full armour, attended by Sir John Trenchard and his esquires, put himself at the head of the main body, and ordered his banner to be unfurled. The trumpets sounded, and the order to march immediately followed. To Ralph was assigned the honourable post of accompanying Tom o' Kingston with the advanced guard.

As they left the sea, the country became more and more fertile. Sunny orchards and rich pastures, interspersed with pleasant farm-houses, bore witness to the truth of the proverbial fertility of France; but traces were also seen of the ravages of war. They were now approaching Dol, whose grey cathedral could be seen to the east of a rising bluff, conspicuous in the level landscape. Great care was requisite in passing this town. The Swiss were halted in a neighbouring field, and the whole force marched past the walls in battle order, for Dol had lately been taken by the French troops, and an attack might be made on the column as it defiled past the grey old town.

As it was, Ralph saw for the first time in his life a shot fired with murderous intent. The garrison of Dol, more from defiance than with hope of doing any execution, trained a coleuvrine upon the head of the column which was marching past with banners displayed, drums beating, and trumpets sounding, in all the insolent pomp and bravery of war. But the shot fell short, and a derisive shout was set up by the Switzers and English archers. The rest of the march to Rennes was performed without further adventure. They encamped the first night at the Chateau de Combourg, near the little stream of the Dore, which belonged to the Comte de Chateaubriand, who was then marching upon Rennes with the Duke of Orleans, and the rest of the army of the Duke of Brittany.

The hearts of all beat high as they approached Rennes, and heard the sounds of martial music, and saw the glint of spears, and flash of steel helmet and polished cuirass. Ralph felt very proud as he rode in front of the English division, beside Tom o' Kingston, clad in complete armour, and carrying his lance erect, while he entered the streets of Rennes, the capital of Brittany. The populace had all turned out to see the redoubted English and Swiss march through their streets, as allies and friends, and they were greeted cordially. A very splendid appearance they presented. The uniform of the men of the Wight, their complete equipment, and their soldierly bearing, were loudly admired, while the swash-bucklering air of the Swiss pikemen, with their huge puffed leathern jerkins, great bonnets lined with steel, and ornamented with feathers, their long swords and stout pikes, excited much astonishment, for this formidable mercenary force was as yet only just beginning to be appreciated, and had never been seen before in Brittany.

There were eight hundred of the Swiss, all wearing the black imperial two-headed eagle on their padded and slashed buff jerkins. They marched through the city, and were encamped outside the walls, on the north.

Fresh troops were continually arriving, and in three days afterwards the main body, under the Duke of Orleans, the Prince of Orange, and the Lord d'Albret, marched into the city. Ralph attended upon the Captain of the Wight, who was sometimes called Lord Rivers by the Bretons, and enjoyed the spectacle of all this fine body of men and so many well-known nobles and knights defiling before him. There was the ducal ermine of Brittany; the golden lilies of France, with the silver label of Orleans--the lilies quartering the purple of Albret, the silver bend sinister abating the regal lilies of Dunois; and the red cross, with its silver escallops, blazing in a golden shield, with its azure eagles, for Laval. Ducal, princely, noble banners passed in gay procession before the eyes of the delighted page, while the splendidly armed cavaliers, attended by their esquires and varlets, rode past at the head of their squadrons. There were four hundred steel-clad men-at-arms, and eight thousand foot, with a large train of artillery, the first that Ralph had ever seen for use in the field, for the English still trusted to their own peculiar weapon, the famed long bow of England, for winning victories in the open field.

In addition to the great names of the feudal chiefs, there were other Breton lords. The Marechal de Rieux, lately returned to his allegiance to his lawful Duke; the Lords of Chateaubriand, Leon, Crenettes, Pont l'Abbe, Plessis, Balines, and Montigny Montuet, and Ralph was astonished at the gallant show and numbers of the Breton force.

He little knew what fatal jealousies were burning in the hearts of those baronial figures as they proudly rode past to the great square before the Parliament House of Rennes.

There was a great council of war held in the ancient steep-roofed building. The Captain of the Wight attended, and received a flattering greeting, as uncle of the Queen of England, and son of the Lady of Luxemburg. But it was at once apparent to his observant eye how many difficulties were to be surmounted in handling this heterogeneous band of high-spirited, proud, and impracticable men. There were present representatives of five languages--the German, the French, the Breton, the Basque, and the English; while the guttural speech of the Gascon nearly made a sixth. And the aims and objects of their leaders were as diverse as their tongues. Two suitors for the hand of the Duchess Anne were present in person; the troops of a third were there to enforce his claims; while opposed to them all were the armies of the fourth candidate. The jealousies of personal rivalry were increased by the prejudice of race. The Bretons disliked and mistrusted the French. The French, with their _amour propre_ and personal conceit, were disgusted at the braggadocio and pugnacity of the Gascons; and the English and Germans did nothing to disguise their natural antipathy and contempt for the Latin races; while the stubborn Breton opposed with national and hereditary obstinacy every plan he did not himself see the use of, or which would bear directly upon the interests of his land.

After long debate nothing was decided; only the differences of the Duke of Orleans and the Lord d'Albret were rendered more conspicuous, and the nobles dispersed to their respective quarters.

The following week was spent in inaction, much to the disgust of the Captain of the Wight. The French army, under the celebrated young commander, Louis de la Tremouille, Vicomte de Thouars, was pressing hard upon Fougeres, and all men longed to march to its relief. At last all differences appeared to be accommodated, and the Duke of Orleans, who was appointed Commander-in-Chief, gave the order for the army to march. The following night the whole force encamped at Andouille, a small village half-way between Combourg and Fougeres. Here another two days were wasted in settling a somewhat serious quarrel that had broken out at night between the Gascon followers of the Lord d'Albret and the French followers of the Duke of Orleans. In the midst of these bickerings, a dusty and heated messenger arrived to say Fougeres had fallen, and that the victorious French army was marching to attack them.

Instantly all was confusion. But the startling news had this good effect--all, with one consent, agreed they must march at once on Orange, with a view to occupying St Aubin du Cormier, which lay on the direct road from Fougeres to Rennes.

They also hoped to be able to effect a junction with the garrison of Fougeres, who had surrendered upon terms that they might march out with bag and baggage.

But on reaching Orange, which was a small hamlet some six miles from St Aubin, they heard that the French army was close upon them. They therefore halted, and spent the night there, prepared to fight a decisive battle the next day.

"Well, Ralph, we shall see some fun to-morrow," said Dicky Cheke. "'Tis Sunday, too; our good folks at Mottestone will be in church."

"Ay, and where shall we be?" said Ralph thoughtfully.

*CHAPTER XXV.*

*OF ST AUBIN DU CORMIER.[*]*

[*] So called from the Service Tree, or Serb Apple Tree, which grows in profusion all round the village, and to distinguish it from St Aubin d'Audigne nearer Rennes.

The grey mists of early morn were clinging to the dank earth when Ralph awoke after such snatches of sleep as he could get amid the noise of that large body of ill-assorted men.

It was Sunday morning, the 27th of July--a day Ralph well remembered, for it was this very day a year ago he had left his father's house to seek his fortune in the household of the Captain of the Wight. What events had taken place since then! He thought of it all, and his heart beat as he turned to look over the leafy woods, the steep slopes of the hilly country, with its fresh valleys, whence, amid the rich foliage of orchard and copse and wide-reaching forest, the spires of the village churches and the steep gables of nestling farm-houses rose above the steaming verdure, or peeped out in shy suggestion. The birds were warbling blithely all around. There was a tinkle of distant bells, a hum of awakening life, and the soft, warm fragrance of a midsummer night still floated in the balmy morning air.

Ralph could not believe that in another few hours he and all that host of lusty, careless men would be fighting for fame and name, and very life itself. He had only twice had experience of the fierce struggle of deadly fight. But his whole training had accustomed him to it, and he gave little thought to the battle. But the deep bells from a neighbouring monastery stirred softer thoughts. He thought of his mother and father, of Thruxton Manor away over the sea, and then of his cousin Yolande and his promise.

But the trumpets sounding the _reveille_ interrupted all softer thoughts. The reality of life had begun.

"Well, Ralph, my boy," said the cheerful voice of Dicky Cheke, "'tis a fine morning for our sport. Marry, I trust you and I will win our spurs to-day. But come to breakfast. There's a right pleasant smell of fried eggs and bacon over yonder, and thy man Humphrey hath gotten a rare fat capon out of some farm hard by. I've asked young De Rohan to come and share with us, 'twill improve thy French; only he talks it with such a sad Breton accent I fear me he will mar my fine tongue. But come along--there he is."

Ralph sauntered back with Dicky. The four boys were soon laughing and talking over their breakfast. The young Seigneur de Rohan was a merry addition to their party, and kept them in constant laughter by his attempts to talk English.

By eight o'clock orders came from the Duke of Orleans for their division to prepare to march. There had been a very stormy council of war, and the suspicions of the Breton infantry were so strong, that to quiet them it was arranged that the Duke of Orleans and the Prince of Orange should dismount and fight on foot among the pikemen, a very dangerous service, and one which showed their courage in the highest degree. But the jealousies between the infantry and cavalry had reached such a high pitch, that it required very strenuous exertions to prevent the former marching off the ground; the Bretons affirming that the French princes only used them to make cat's-paws of them.

Young De Rohan astonished the pages by saying that seventeen hundred of the Breton infantry were going to wear the same uniform as the men of the Wight, in order to make the French think there were more English than there were. This was a great compliment, and rejoiced Dicky's heart, for he knew how much more important the Captain of the Wight would be if he commanded two thousand instead of four hundred men.

In another hour the whole army was equipped and marching to its position to the right of a vast forest, the Foret de la Seve, and there was already promise of the great heat the coming noon would bring. The bells of Orange were sounding for morning service, and the faint tinkle of the other village bells could be heard over the forest and hills. A deep blue sky spread overhead, and a mellow haze floated over the horizon. There was scarcely a breath of air, and the banner of the Captain of the Wight hung in white and crimson folds down its gilded shaft.

The men of the Wight were now drawn up--the men-at-arms on the right, the infantry in the centre, and the mounted archers on the left. All were completely armed, and they had now become a thoroughly well-disciplined, splendid body of men, typical of the British army--"The best in the world, if only there were more of them." The Captain of the Wight, mounted on his black charger, armed like himself in full plate-armour, rode in front of the line, and glanced down it with martial pride. Only a few words he said, but they were fiery, knightly, encouraging words, such as a brave leader and chivalrous knight knew how to say. He told them of the compliment the Duke of Orleans was paying them in reinforcing them with seventeen hundred Breton foot all clad to look like Englishmen. He reminded them of Crecy, Poictiers, and Agincourt. He bid them think that the eyes of England, of France, and of their own dear island home were upon them; and he bid them fight as became the ancient valour of their name and race. Their quarrel was a just one, and their foe the natural enemy of their hearths and homes.

"Men of Yaverland and Brading, remember Sir Theobold Russel, and how he died for you. Men of Newport, remember Deadman's Lane and Neddie's Hill. Men of Yarmouth and Newtown, remember your burning homes and ruined boroughs. Men of the Wight, you are here to show your manhood, your skill, and your hardihood; that Frenchmen may see and feel how vain are their vapourings, how keen are our swords. And here before you all, in the glorious light of that splendid sun, I draw my blade, vowing never more to sheath it till the victory is won, or my hand can hold it no more."

As the Captain of the Wight spoke, his sword-blade flashed in the sun, while he held it aloft over his crested helm.

A ringing cheer answered these stirring words, and Dicky Cheke murmured to Ralph,--

"In sooth, he is a hero, this Captain of ours, and I am sorry for the French. We won't be too hard on them, Ralph. I sha'n't ask for more than a couple of thousand crowns for my prisoners, unless I take the Sire de la Trimouille himself, and then, as it won't do to spoil the market, I must make him pay a good round sum--perchance fifty thousand pistoles, or so; only I will let him off the last ten if he pays up well;" and Dicky Cheke became quite pensive as he thought how he would spend his money, and bumped against Sir John Trenchard, who had ridden down the line with the Captain to inspect the men.

And now the Breton infantry marched up, all clad alike, and the eye of their commander kindled as he welcomed them to his battalion.

"They are sturdy little fellows," said Dicky, surveying them with a critical air. "But they want beef; they haven't got our breadth of chest and length of limb."

"You atom, you imp, you," said Maurice Woodville, "when will you be done with your coxcombery? Why, they are all big enough to eat you, boots and all."

"Now, Maurice, none o' your sauce. You've never been the same varlet since you fell into the mud at St Malo, when you were so frightened by the old cherry woman from whom you filched those cherries."

Maurice was going to give Dicky a cuff, only Sir John Trenchard happened to look round, and he drew in his hand again, muttering, "I'll give it you afterwards; you look out this evening."