Chapter 35

How I saw an evil face at a casement, and how, at my uncle's house of _St. Sauveur_, I heard tell of my father. And of what happed on our setting forth for _Valognes_.

Now, as we rode into Coutances that day, I saw a sight that made me again fearful. The street was full narrow, and the houses leaned forward from either side, so as to leave but scant vision of the blue sky above, and there were plenty of windows in each story.

Now, as I rode by, I was level with the first story of the houses. And, suddenly, before one window, my eyes were held captive, and I could not turn them away. A man in a fisher's tunic was gazing out on us, and I had not even to ask myself where I had seen his face before, for I knew that it was Maugher. My eyes fell before his, and I blushed and trembled at his sight.

"Uncle, uncle! my lord vicomte!" I said when we were passed, "dost know who stood at yon window in a sailor's dress?"

"What meanest thou?" said he, as he saw me tremble.

"It was my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, the Sarrasin's accomplice," I whispered in his ear.

We reined in our horses and looked back, but the man was gone.

"It was a fancy, child," said the vicomte; "there was no man there."

I said naught; but I knew it was no fancy, and I guessed whence these villains that lately attacked me got their commission.

Now, at Coutances we learned of the canon, that knew the duke's whereabouts, that he was near Barfleur, seeing both to his navy of ships in the harbour there, and having care also to the exercise of archers on the land.

"As I think," said the canon, "you will find my lord duke either in the shipyard of Barfleur, or the shooting-ground of archers at Valognes hard by."

It was then to Valognes, beyond the river Douve, that we were next to ride, and we would pass on the way my uncle's castle of St Sauveur, where mine ancestors had been settled since they were lords of the Bessin. And the whole distance to Valognes was near fifty miles. It was then mine uncle's wish that we should rest again at his house, and prepare to approach Duke William with due state on the morrow; and this, though I was unwilling to delay, I was forced to agree to.

So before evening we came in sight of St. Sauveur, a high and fair castle, round whose walls the Douve makes a circuit.

Across a bridge raised on pillars over the moat we rode, and through the wide-open gate we came into the courtyard, where there was great greeting of my lord vicomte by my cousins, from whom he had been some weeks absent.

"And here," said he, to young Alain and Rainauld, his sons, "is Nigel, your cousin, a good scholar of Guernsey, that bids fair to be a better soldier still."

So with fair greetings was I led in to the chamber of my lady the vicomtesse, where with plenty demure damsels she plied her needle. Much surprised was she to see me, and heard with a grave face my story.

"And thou art but sixteen," she said, "and art about so noble an enterprise? My Alain has barely left his governor. Indeed, thy good monks know how to teach chivalry."

Then I asked her the meaning of this fair tapestry that, stretched on a long frame, she and her maidens toiled at round the chamber, for it caught my eyes as showing, I thought, great exploits of arms. And she told me that it was the exploits of Duke Rollo that she wrought there in many colours, and that the Lady Matilda herself, who loved such needlework, had made choice of the panels. In one I saw the ships being made in far Norway; in another, in a goodly company they rode upon the sea; in another, Rollo ate and drank with his fellows; and some pictures told of battles, wherein I saw them in their close hauberks and narrow shields, waving swords and driving their deadly spears.

"And in every picture," she said, "I love to work in one like my dear lord in figure and knightly person, and to work the name of this great family above."

"Ay, good aunt," cried I; "in sooth thou art like myself in pride of the Norman race, that even now, in the glory of William, is worthy of its forbears."

She smiled kindly as mine eyes sparkled, and said I was indeed a knightly youth. Then, as we were left alone by the vicomte, she dropped her voice, and gazing at me most tenderly, inquired if I had ever seen my father.

"Nay, dear lady," said I, sadly but proudly, "I know not, from aught that has been told me by any, whether he be alive or dead. Save that he is my lord vicomte's brother, I know naught."

"Poor lad!" she murmured tenderly, "'tis time thou shouldst know more. Yet it is a sad story. Know, then, thy father was a wild and untameable youth, that was courteous and brave withal, but brooked not government overmuch. He was, too, of a wondrous merry disposition, that loved a jest at men in great places, and this made him not beloved. Against his father's command he stole away thy mother, who perished in a raid of her kinsmen upon his house, and in the minority of the duke he was found on the side of violent men--and then he disappeared. Thou in thy baby innocence wert the only charge he left us, and as soon as times were fit thou wert sent to the Abbey of the Vale, which is indeed a good school of gentle manners and sound learning."

I had listened sadly enough to the story of my father's fall, and its recital grieved me.

"And has my lord vicomte seen my father since? Has he inquired of me?" I asked.

"Nay, I must tell thee no more," she said. "Maybe I have told thee too much already."

"At least, tell me of my mother," said I.

"Poor child," said she, "thou hast never known mother's love! Thy mother was most fair and gentle, and indeed thine eyes and smile are hers."

"Of what race came she, lady?"

"Child," said she, sadly, "I will not tell thee that to-day. Know only her name was of the noblest."

Thus, in the chamber of the vicomtesse, that afternoon I learned something of the secrets that I had wondered over in my boyhood. Sadly I kissed her hand, when I knew she would tell me no more, and thanked her courteously for her tender words.

"Indeed," said she, "I long to number thee soon among mine own sons, when thou leavest the monks thy tutors."

"And I," said I, right gallantly, "will strive to be worthy of honours so high, of a race so noble."

Now, next morning we rode forth gaily, on our last stage, as we hoped, to Valognes, and a company of grooms and men-at-arms rode with us, such as beseemed my uncle's rank. And for many miles we rode along the western bank of the river Douve, that runs by my uncle's castle, but at length the stream took a great bend to the west, and we had to cross within some twelve miles of Valognes.

Here was a stout timber bridge on four piers, over which our road ran; and it was on the west side of the bridge that my lord stayed, it being a convenient place to send fit messengers to my lord duke to tell of our approach. Therefore a courtly gentleman of my lord's retinue--by name De Norrey--with a groom were sent forward in advance.

Their horses' hoofs clattered on the wooden way as they sped forth. But lo! great was our wonder and terror to see a sore disaster befall them there in the midst of the passage over the stream. We saw suddenly the road give way beneath them, as though it were clean sawn asunder, and both horsemen in a moment cast down suddenly into the stream below. Then, too, we heard a loud thunder of the beams falling, and there was a great mass of woodwork in the river, that dammed up for a while the flood.

The gentleman, the vicomte's envoy, was alas! killed, thrown headlong by his horse against a pier ere he struck the water. The groom that rode with him marvellously escaped death, but was sore wounded by his fall.

"What villain hath done this?" cried the vicomte, in hot anger. "With my men will I scour the land till I track him."

"Ah, my lord vicomte," I said, "this is the work of Maugher, that I saw lurking in Coutances. And I grieve that thy good Sieur de Norrey should thus die by a stroke that was aimed at me."

"If it be as thou sayest," said my uncle, "this venomous man, kinsman though he be of the duke himself, shall no longer trouble men."

Then, with all sadness, the body of De Norrey was recovered and borne back to St Sauveur, and we, riding down the stream a mile or more to where there was a safe ford, crossed safely, and riding sorrowfully and warily, though we were so near to the duke's presence, came presently in sight of Valognes.