Part 9

"I have oft heard my uncle tell the story of how King Stephen besieged the castle when our ancestor Milo de Beauchamp held it for the Empress Matilda, nigh upon a hundred years ago," modestly answered Ralph. "He even contended that it was so strong that no attack could prevail, and that had it been better victualled it would never have surrendered. And then, noble knight, if I may make so bold as to remind thee, there is that sad passage in the history of our house which hath been seared into the memory of my boyhood--I mean when my uncle, Sir William, surrendered to this same Fulke, who came in the name of our late king, who was indeed the enemy of our house. Ofttimes hath my uncle gone over that tale with me, and hath showed me how he might yet have held the castle had he possessed better stores and more men."

The end of this interview was that Ralph, in consideration of the valuable information he had proved himself willing and able to bestow, was admitted to all the deliberations of the council, and was listened to with attention. Neither his uncle William de Beauchamp, nor his kinsman at Eaton Socon, had come to Northampton; the latter by reason of his age, and the former on account of his sullen despair, and perhaps also hindered by a latent distrust of the house of Plantagenet, which had dealt so ill with him. Thus it happened that Ralph represented, as it were, the De Beauchamp family.

He was given plenty to do in the way of hastening preparations, moreover, and as his heart was in the work, for Aliva's sake, he was busy both night and day.

His duties brought him into frequent communications with a personage who was much to the front when any question of a siege was on hand--namely, John de Standen, the chief of the miners. Ralph soon discovered that John had considerable knowledge of Bedford Castle and its fortifications. This puzzled him not a little at the time, and it was not till later on that he solved the mystery.

When the chief of the miners and his assistants had determined what supplies of material were necessary for the siege, royal writs were issued for their production. Timber was required for the manufacture of the bombarding engines or _petraria_, which were to fling great stones at the castle, and ox or horse hides were needed for the protection of these machines. Thousands of quarrels were ordered for the cross-bows and dart-throwing engines. Iron was ordered in great quantities, to be worked up on the spot, and pickaxes and other tools were not forgotten.

Moreover, writs were issued to the sheriffs of Hertford, Oxford, Cambridge, Huntingdon, Northampton, Warwick, Leicester, Rutland, Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Lincoln, and Middlesex, directing them to send two men from each plough-land (the usual division of land in those days) to work the aforementioned engines. Then the feeding of these men had to be attended to. One Peter Buyam, a Burgundian merchant, was ordered to purchase one hundred and eight casks of wine at St. Botolph's fair, at forty-three shillings and four-pence a cask.

From St. Briavels in Gloucestershire, the native place of John de Standen, were brought thirty assistant miners. But carpenters, saddlers, and leather-workers, to shape the shields for the engines, were found nearer at hand by the sheriffs of the counties of Northampton and Bedford, as were also the men who were to fashion the stones to be discharged from the petraria. The whole of the midlands was astir over the siege of Bedford Castle.

Neither was the Church inactive. To show their horror at the outrages of the wicked Fulke, the assembled prelates and abbots forthwith granted the king a subsidy of half a mark for each of their plough-lands, and also sent, for each hide of land held by them, two men to work the engines, taking care, however, to obtain an acknowledgment from the king that this was a special grant. The priory of Newenham, which had been founded by the De Beauchamps, furnished the stones for the bombardment, and the abbey of St. Alban's naturally took a deep interest in the proceedings, which are fully chronicled in the records of the house.

No sooner, however, was it known that a Bedfordshire maiden, the Lady Aliva de Pateshulle, was a prisoner of the foreign interloper, than all the men of the county rose to assist in the undertaking. Even our stalwart friend the Benedictine lay-brother, as soon as--thanks to the care of Lady Mabel--he had recovered at Eaton Socon from the dastardly wound inflicted by Bertram de Concours, found his way to the headquarters of preparations.

Martin de Pateshulle, also, as one of those justices whose writs had been so rudely repudiated by Fulke, was summoned to the council. This worthy ecclesiastic, who was none the worse for his overthrow by William de Breaute's horsemen, was much concerned over the fate of his niece.

In him Ralph, tortured by anxiety which he was striving to drown in work, found a friend and ready sympathizer.

"My son," said the archdeacon one day at the close of a long sitting of the council of war, "thou toilest in this business both as a servant of Holy Church and as a gallant knight for the rescue of fair lady."

Ralph sighed.

"Indeed, venerable father, it is only when my whole heart is busy with my work that it finds peace. I am torn with doubts and fears concerning her whom I love. Could I but have one word, one token from her! Could I but hear something of her, were it even ill news! But this silence, it ofttimes is more than I can bear."

John de Standen, still busy at the table over a rough sketch, looked up at these words.

"Sir Knight," he said, "thou meanest what thou sayest? Hast a stout heart? Canst bear ill news?"

Ralph sprang from his seat, and gripped the king's miner by the arm till he winced.

"Speak, man, I conjure thee! Thou hast heard aught?"

"Speech is just what is forbidden to me," replied John. "My lips are sealed. All the message I have for thee is: 'Haste, or it may be too late!' Ask me no more."

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

_*HEARD UNDERGROUND.*_

On the twenty-second of June 1224, the king arrived at Bedford, and the siege of the castle commenced almost immediately. Outside the town, on the Northampton road, pavilions were pitched for himself, for Hubert de Burgh the justiciary, and other great officers, while the troops and their officers, Ralph de Beauchamp among them, were quartered in rude shelters near the castle, or billeted upon the townsfolk, that they might be ready to repel any sortie which the besieged might make with a view of burning the engines of war. Close to these latter were encamped the men who worked them, together with the miners, carpenters, and other artificers ready for their respective turn of duty.

Before any hostile movement was commenced, however, the king, in due form, summoned the castle to surrender. An ecclesiastic was detailed for the purpose; for priests in those days often performed strange functions.

It was but an empty form, for no one expected that the king's command would be obeyed. Moreover, Sir Fulke de Breaute himself was not in the castle. With the astute craftiness which pervaded all his actions, he had gone away some little while before, leaving his brother in command. He took himself off into Wales, where he joined the Earl of Chester, who, though siding for some time with the king, had left him, in conjunction with some other barons, under somewhat suspicious circumstances.

As was to be expected, William de Breaute made answer to the archdeacon--for such was the office of the king's messenger--that he had received no orders from his brother to surrender the castle, and that he certainly should not do so without authority from him. So the siege was begun without delay.

The method of taking a castle in those days was much the same as that which continued in vogue till, long afterwards, stone walls gave place to earthworks. The walls were first battered by stones thrown from the petraria, and when a breach had been made a storming-party rushed in. The only change consequent upon the introduction of gunpowder was that cannon then took the place of the stone-throwing engines.

The machines were placed one or two on each side of the castle, and they must have been of considerable size and strength, as one of them projected stones right across the river. The men who worked them were protected against the quarrels, arrows, and other missiles directed at them from the walls, by screens made of ox and horse hides. Two lofty erections, which towered far above the fortifications of the castle, were manned by slingers and cross-bowmen, who thence shot down upon the garrison on the walls and in the baileys below them.

Close up against the face of the wall itself was pushed a movable screen, called the "cat," the object of which was to protect John de Standen and his men as they carried on their work of undermining the walls.

Ralph was ordered by his superior officer, a grim old baron who had been one of those assembled at Runnymede when John signed the charter, but who now supported his son, to pay special attention to the mining operations. To Ralph and John de Standen attached himself one who could hardly be called a soldier, though he exhibited all the courage and zeal which are the necessary qualities of a man of war. This was the young lay-brother from St. Alban's. He was received as a sort of volunteer, and was granted permission to serve in the mining work, for his religious vows, he said, forbade him to carry sword or spear. This young man proved, however, a valuable assistant.

A kind of friendly rivalry went on between the two branches of warfare into which the besiegers were divided. Those who had charge of the engines favoured the notion of pounding the walls till they battered them down. The sappers and miners, however, built their hopes of reducing the fortress upon their methods of burrowing underneath it. But before these latter were able to push on far with their works, the besiegers above ground gained two important advantages. They carried by assault the barbican or outer defence of the gate, and with but a loss of four or five men. By this means they were able to rush the gate itself, and in a second assault forced their way into the outer bailey or yard, the first one on the west side.

Here were the store-houses, and here also were kept the horses and live stock which the besieged took care to have always within the castle walls. Forage, grain, and such like bulky articles as could not be removed into the keep were likewise stored in the yard. All these fell into the hands of the besiegers, who removed the arms, the horses, and the pigs, and burned the buildings which contained the corn and hay. The besieged retreated within the inner wall, which defended the lesser bailey.

But between the upper and lower bailey there stood--a rather unusual feature in a Norman castle--a strong building known by the name of the "old tower." It had probably something to do with fortifications which at an earlier date protected the bridge across the Ouse, before the castle precincts were prolonged westwards. Here the besieged gathered in strength and made an obstinate stand.

The assistance of John de Standen and his men was now necessary. The other defences, the barbican and the wall of the outer bailey, had been carried by assault, the soldiers climbing the walls and forcing their way within. But the wall which separated the two baileys, protected as it was by the old tower, proved a more formidable obstacle. The king's troops intrenched themselves in the outer bailey, and the cat was wheeled into position ready for the operations of the miners.

These latter worked with a will. Ere long they were able to report to Ralph de Beauchamp, as their superior officer, that the foundations of the old tower were undermined, and that the building would fall directly the stays and struts with which they had propped it up should be removed.

So Ralph went down into the mine with John de Standen, that he in his turn might report to his superiors that the underground work was indeed finished, and that the soldiers might be held in readiness to storm the inner bailey.

With some professional pride the king's miner conducted the knight through the dark passages he had burrowed, explaining as he went the manner in which the supports should be removed directly he received the signal to do so.

They were just beneath the old tower, and John de Standen was enlarging on the excellent arrangements which he had made for the overthrow of the building, when, to their intense astonishment, a woman's voice was heard speaking in the vault overhead.

"By my faith," cried John de Standen, "but I wot not that we had dug so close to the lower vault of the tower. Methinks I must be out of my reckoning, Sir Knight, or mayhap your recollection of the place plays you false."

"In good sooth we are close beneath the tower," replied Ralph. "How thinkest thou, good John? Has the enemy countermined, or are they about to break in upon our works?"

Before John de Standen could vouchsafe an opinion, the voice again was heard from above.

"Ho, royal miners, are ye below?"

"We be miners sure enow," called John de Standen in reply. "But who be ye above there?--They cannot be for Sir Fulke," he added in a lower tone to Ralph, "or they would not let us hear them. Methinks, too, the voice is that of a woman or a boy."

"I am for the king and his miners," spoke the voice again. "But tell me, prithee, is your master, John de Standen, with thee?"

"I, John de Standen, myself am here, and speak; and with me is no one save Sir Ralph de Beauchamp," replied the miner. "But speak; who art thou? Woman or boy; no man, I trow?"

"Now fie upon thee, John de Standen," said the unseen speaker, "that thou knowest not the voice of Beatrice Mertoun."

"Beshrew me, Beatrice, if I can know thy voice, an it _be_ thou, if it come to me through these plaguy paving-stones," cried De Standen. "Moreover, why askest _thou_, hearing me speak, if I am John de Standen?"

"Marry," exclaimed Beatrice, "in the night all cats are gray. All men's voices sound the same. But mind thee, John, how oft thou hast sworn that thou wouldest know my voice anywhere."

John de Standen felt he was getting the worst of the argument. He changed the subject.

"And prithee, fair Beatrice, what art doing above us?"

"Hush! not so loud," she answered. "I have but a few moments. The guard watch closely the vault ever since that machine of thine was dragged up against the tower. I marvel much that they have not heard the noise of thy workers, and broken in upon thee. But for many days have I too watched, hoping to get a word with thee, for I have a message to send to a knight. But stay--didst not say one Sir Ralph de Beauchamp was with thee?"

"In good sooth I am here," replied Sir Ralph, both amused and puzzled by this unexpected and remarkable meeting between the king's miner and a lady who seemed an old acquaintance, if nothing nearer. "I am here, lady fair, whosoever thou art, for methinks a fair face must e'en suit so sweet a voice."

"She is the waiting-woman of the Lady Margaret de Ripariis, and a mighty comely damsel withal," explained the bold miner.

"Now a truce to fair speeches! I have somewhat to say to Sir Ralph that ill brooks delay. The Lady Aliva, who is prisoner here--

"The Lady Aliva! I know it well!" shouted Ralph, forgetful of the caution to speak softly. "But tell me quick, I pray thee, is she safe? is she well?"

"Safe as yet," replied Beatrice. "But there is mischief brewing against her. Say, did I not see thee carried away wounded from before the castle gate not many weeks since? They brought thy helmet into the castle. I showed it to the Lady Aliva, and she knew it for thine by the crest. And then darkness seized her mind, for not long after came Fulke de Breaute to her, and told her that thou wast slain!"

"The lying scoundrel!" cried Ralph hotly. "Could I but meet him, he would see I am yet alive!"

"Ere he quitted the castle he came oft to her with suit of marriage for his brother," Beatrice went on, lying down upon the stone floor above and speaking with her mouth to an open joint she had discovered between two of the paving slabs. "Canst hear me, Sir Knight? The guards approach; I must tell thee in few words, for I hear the warders relieved not many posts away. William de Breaute came himself to the lady to plead his suit. But she hates him. She told him so to his face."

"She told him so on his face!" muttered Ralph.

"But the chapel hath been prepared," continued the waiting-woman, "and that traitor priest, Bertram de Concours, was ready. They dragged the lady thither by force. Sir Fulke and William de Breaute were waiting. What might have happened I know not, but my Lady Margaret stepped forward, and shamed the shameless man into respect for a lady."

"And all this while she was faithful to me, though believing me dead!" exclaimed Ralph, half to himself.

"But Sir Fulke, ere he left for the marches of Wales, swore a great oath he would find her wedded ere he return, or else--And William de Breaute, he apeth the fine French gentleman. He maketh sweet speeches, and vows that when the king's troops be driven back, and the care of the castle be passed from him, he will return to bask once more in the sunlight of his lady's eyes! Faugh! the smooth-tongued villain! He has sung the same song to me, but not to my honour. But hist! they come!"

A sound, as of the trampling of armed men, penetrated to those below. Then the eager listeners there caught some words in a rough man's voice.

"Pardie! pretty maiden, what doest here? Must pay forfeit with a kiss ere thou depart!"

Then there was the sound of a struggle and a scream, and John de Standen shook his fist in mute rage at the floor above him.

*CHAPTER XIX.*

_*FEARS AND HOPES.*_

William de Beauchamp, the taciturn and melancholy, had not attended the council at Northampton. But he could not well absent himself when an attack was made upon the castle which once had been his; and for his own benefit, for the king had promised to reinstate him as soon as the Robber Baron should have been driven out. He had been given a command in the royal force, and found himself in the anomalous position of besieging his own castle.

But the march of events did not, as might well have been imagined, raise his drooping spirits. He was, indeed, more dismal than ever, having got a fixed idea in his head that he should never come to his own again. Though he had escaped unhurt from the two first assaults, by which the barbican and the outer bailey had been won, he was well aware that yet more serious struggles were before the besiegers ere they might hope to win the inner bailey and the keep. These assaults, he had made up his mind, he should not survive, and in his gloomiest, most funereal manner, called Ralph to him at the close of a summer's evening, when they were resting from duty in the house of Gilbert the Clothier, where they were quartered, and prepared to deliver to him what he supposed to be his last wishes and dispositions.

"Nephew Ralph," he began, in his most lugubrious tones, "thou hast been as a son to me, since my only son was cut off in early childhood."

"True, uncle much revered by me," replied Ralph, puzzled at this solemn address. "I know not quite if I have been a good son to thee, but thou hast, in good sooth, given me all the father's care I have ever known."

"And now, Nephew Ralph," William de Beauchamp continued, "I am about to confide to thee a very precious and holy message. Thou hast heard tell of the Lady Margaret de Ripariis?"

"Ay, certes," replied Ralph.

"And now that my time is at hand, and that the sands of my life are--"

"Thy time is at hand! By my faith, uncle, what mean these words?"

"Thou wottest that ere long we attack the old tower and the inner bailey," the uncle proceeded, in a tragic manner.

"I have but just come from the old tower, where John de Standen hath showed me how nigh is its overthrow."

"Hark ye, nephew. I shall fall then; I know it of a certainty. I have seen in a dream that I shall not survive the assault. I shall ne'er again set eyes on the Lady Margaret, now for many years the unhappy wife of Fulke de Breaute. Once, when we were young and she was fair, we plighted our troth, and I have never forgotten it, though a cruel fate tore us asunder. My wife, who was ne'er to me as the first love of my youth the Lady Margaret, hath been dead these many years; and had the time come for the end of the miserable Fulke, I would fain have offered myself again to my once affianced bride. But I die before him. I feel it. For us there is no hope."

Ralph began to perceive the gloomy forebodings that had seized his uncle, and tried, but in vain, to reassure him, pointing out how much danger he had already escaped, and bidding him hope for the best.

"For eight long years thou hast pined an exile from the halls of thine ancestors, uncle. But to-day our star is again in the ascendant, and fortune smiles once more upon the De Beauchamps."

William shook his head sadly.

"It may not be, nephew. But bear thou to the Lady Margaret my last words of unalterable affection for the love of my youth."

"Nay, uncle, thou shalt bear them thyself, when Fulke shall have gone to the perdition reserved for him! But cease these dark meditations, and list awhile to a sprightly wooing I overheard 'twixt one of those within the castle, and no less a person than the king's miner, in the old tower, this very noontide."

And to turn his uncle's thoughts, Ralph proceeded to relate the strange meeting between John de Standen and Beatrice.

But at the very hour these two talked thus together in Master Gilbert's guest-chamber, the subject of their conversation, the Lady Margaret, sat with her waiting-woman in the deep window of the lady's bower.

The latter was brimming over with eagerness to impart to Aliva the good news she had just ascertained as to Ralph's safety, but deemed it prudent to confide it first to her mistress.

"By'r Lady, mistress mine, I vow I heard him, though I cannot say I saw him, and he is whole and in good heart."

"The saints be praised!" ejaculated Lady Margaret. "It hath grieved me sore that this sweet maiden should be thus held prisoner by my evil-disposed brother, and yet sadder am I to think that she should have been told her knight was slain."

"And such a knight, lady! Fair spoken, and of good courage. I heard it in the ring of his voice, as he hasted to ask after her welfare, how much he loveth her."

"Thou knewest that he was the Lady Aliva's knight, then, Beatrice?"

"Ever since the affair of the helmet, lady. My Lady Aliva could not contain herself then, when she knew him wounded, and told me all. She is as true to him as the pole-star to the north, or as I to--"

"I know it, Beatrice, and it would be a deadly sin, and one I will stand out against as long as I draw breath, were she to be forced to wed William. The lying wretch! he will stick at naught to gain his end. To tell Aliva Sir Ralph was dead! Alas, alas! But peace, Beatrice; here she comes. I will tell her the news."

Inwardly chafing at being deprived of the pleasure of imparting such delightful information, Beatrice retreated behind the chair of her mistress as Aliva entered.