CHAPTER XXIV.

FAMINE.

When the besiegers attacked the walls of Blauncheflour on the morning following, they found them undefended, and took possession with shouts and jubilation.

The besieged, sheltered behind the strong ramparts of the keep, felt much as shipwrecked mariners, who, from the present safety of some rocky islet, watch the rising of the tide, knowing that their lives depend upon the height to which the shining water will attain,--unless indeed some friendly vessel come to the rescue and carry them off.

The hope of the imprisoned garrison was in the coming of the earl, and as Earl Warrenne and Robert Malet rode round the keep, and saw how strong and flawless was the masonry, they had a shrewd fear that De Guader would yet bring the Danes and Bretons upon them before they had time to complete their victory, and that, after all their hard fighting and expenditure of lives and time and money, the quarry would escape them.

So they determined to call a parley, and endeavour to cajole the countess into resigning the fortress.

Needless to say, their summons was eagerly responded to by the garrison.

Emma trembled with hope that was almost pain, as she inquired what terms the envoy was empowered to grant.

'Safe-conduct to herself, her ladies, and a reasonable escort, if she would give her parole to leave the country within a month--no more.'

She realised then that her hope had been despair; that she had not had courage to hope at all.

'Safe-conduct for myself, my ladies, and every soul in the garrison,' replied the countess proudly. 'I will yield for no less.'

The envoy was not empowered to grant it.

'Dear lady, it were better to accept the terms. We cannot insure the safety even of thyself and thy ladies in the end,' advised Sir Hoël privately. 'Nought lies before us but quick starvation; the provisions are very short.'

'Desert you and all who have fought so nobly for us, and braved every peril for us, to insure our own safety? Never! Remember Stephen le Hareau! They would deal with you likewise,' cried Emma. 'I have given my answer. Convey it to thy lords!' she told the envoy.

Then the messenger said there was a further matter. It was understood that a loyal knight, Sir Aimand de Sourdeval, was in the castle, a prisoner, and, the gallant Childe Leofric Ealdredsson having fallen into their hands on the previous day, they proposed an exchange.

This was, of course, accepted, and Sir Aimand was sent for.

Eadgyth had begged to attend the countess to the council-chamber, and Emma turned to her. 'I am glad, Eadgyth. I feared a worse fate for thy kinsman.' The poor girl turned to her with a white face, well knowing that the words were spoken to cover her agitation. She tried to smile.

'It is a happy thing for him,' she said.

'Thy presence here is no longer needed,' said the countess. 'Let Sir Aimand wait upon me in my bower before he goes.'

'Poor child, thou shalt have a comfortable leave-taking at least!' she said, as Eadgyth followed to her private chamber. 'It is good for him to go, donzelle; he is eating his heart out in misery here.'

'Good for him to go that he may be free to slay my people!' cried Eadgyth bitterly. 'Ah, wretched me! that I should love my country's foe!'

Emma had no time to answer, for De Sourdeval's mailed step was clanking up the passage. A moment later he entered the bower. His eyes were shining and his cheeks flushed. He threw himself on his knee before the countess.

'Ah, noble lady,' he exclaimed, 'would that thy cause were one with that of my liege-lord William, so I might fight for thee, and show my gratitude for all thy kindness and generosity! I will seek service far from here; my sword shall not be against thee!'

'The generosity has not been all on my side, Sir Knight!' replied the countess, with moistening eyes. 'I would indeed that my cause were one with that of William of Normandy; that all this turmoil was at an end, and that no more brave lives were to be sacrificed for me and mine.' A deep, quivering sigh followed her speech.

'Lady Eadgyth,' said Sir Aimand, with a voice not quite so steady as before, as he turned to the Saxon maiden, 'I am glad thy kinsman profits by my freedom. It will comfort me that if I cannot myself labour in thy defence, my poor life has served to restore one who can to the garrison--far more valiantly and worthily than I.'

He forced out the words. He himself tried to believe that he was glad, but, in truth, the bitterest sting of parting lay for him in the thought that the man whom he regarded as his rival should be in the castle, favoured by daily and hourly intercourse under circumstances that must needs draw the hardest-hearted together. He remembered with renewed anguish all the tortures of Tantalus he had endured during his enforced inactivity; burning to distinguish himself before his lady's eyes, and forced to remain a drone in the hive, while Leofric had been free to show himself the hero he was, and would now have still fairer opportunity.

His eyes sought hers, therefore, full of a sadness which belied his words.

Eadgyth longed to tear a favour from her dress, and bid him wear it in his helm against all comers, for that no other knight, stranger or kin, should ever carry it. But she thought, 'Who knows that we shall ever meet again? Why should I bind him?' So she answered, bowing her head to hide the springing tears, 'Mary Mother have thee in her keeping!'

She gave him her hand, which he kissed reverently, and so departed, and half-an-hour later Leofric Ealdredsson was borne into the keep on a litter.

When Eadgyth saw her kinsman, her heart smote her that his fate had moved her so little; for his brow was damp with pain, and his brawny arms dropped feebly by his side, and all his strength was fled from him. She pansed and bound his wounds with tender care, and washed the clotted blood from his long yellow curls, wondering if indeed it were true that he was Sir Aimand's rival, or if it were only a figment of love's self-torturing jealousy.

From time to time Leofric moaned as she ministered to him, but scarcely opened his eyes. Did he know who it was, she wondered, or, if he knew, did he care?

When the last bandage was fastened, and she stood for a moment to see if aught more could be done for her patient, Leofric raised his weary head and looked in her face.

He did not speak, he had scarce strength for that; his eyes were full of gratitude, and spoke his thanks, but they told her something more.

Then Eadgyth knew that Sir Aimand had said sooth, and her heart smote her, and her breath caught with an inward sob.

Leofric lifted his hand feebly and held it for hers. Had she given it, he would have pressed it to his lips; she could not,--but an hour before Aimand de Sourdeval had kissed it!

Leofric let his great nerveless hand fall listlessly beside him again.

'Thou art the best leech in the world, cousin,' he murmured, and closed his eyes again.

Eadgyth hurried away to the bower.

The days that followed were like an evil dream for all in the castle. The deadly monotony let them note clearly how, hour by hour, death was creeping nearer.

The mangonels and warrewolves were busy at their work, and the din of their projectiles was ever in the ears of the besieged. But these were not what they feared. These could but splinter a fragment off a stone here and there, but could make no dangerous breach in walls thirteen feet thick; besides, wooden galleries had been projected from the battlements, through which the defenders poured scalding rain of boiling water and molten lead upon the engineers, and so prevented any lengthened attack upon a given spot.

No; the enemy they feared was _Famine_! She stared them in the face. Day by day more nearly her awful ghoulish eyes came nearer, and the grip of her bony hands was at their throats.

And still the warders scanned the horizon vainly, in hope to see the glimmer of friendly armour, still vainly watched the river for the flash of friendly oars.

Day after day dragged its slow length along, and yet the position remained unchanged, save that the assailants had almost given up effort, and quietly surrounded them, biding their time, knowing well that it must come if only no relief appeared.

The garrison had long been reduced to the barest rations on which it was possible to sustain life, and the few poor horses which had been taken into the keep, in the hope of some happy chance making their services available, had shared the fate of their brethren.

Gaunt faces and spectre forms dragged wearily from post to post, and strange thoughts flitted across hungry brains when slain men had to be buried in the donjon vaults. If one were to eat a body now, what would happen at the last day? Would it be more difficult for the soul that needed it again than for those whose flesh had been food for worms in the usual way? Would the men who had partaken of the flesh, and incorporated it into their own bodies, have to give it up again when the time of resurrection had arrived, and go scant themselves? Then they shuddered and crossed themselves, and muttered an ave or a paternoster, shunning the hungry eyes of their neighbour, lest he should guess their thoughts, or be thinking like horribleness himself, while they buckled their belts tighter to stay their pangs.

The countess, worn to a shadow, with her arm still bandaged,--for the worry and care she had undergone had hurt her health and kept her wound from healing,--was ever among them, consoling, entreating, commanding, inventing all manner of comforts for their souls and their bodies. She it was who prompted the cooks to make dainty dishes out of most unlikely materials; who sang the song of Rollo as she passed on her way, and kept up their hearts with gay jests.

One day an archer had the good fortune to shoot a heron that was flapping with evenly beating wings across the sky, so that it fell fluttering upon the roof of the keep, and was soon killed and presented by the lucky marksman to the countess, as a fit tribute to her private table, the fare on which, as all knew, had been poor enough for some time past.

She thanked the stout bowman heartily, but bade him follow her, and led the way to the great kitchen. Then she bade the scullions pluck the noble bird; and, after that was done, put it with her own white hands into the great cauldron which was cooking for the men.

'Share and share alike,' she said; and the soldiers cheered her, so that the king's men heard it outside the walls, and wondered what good luck could have come to their prisoners.

One morning Eadgyth met her kinsman, Leofric Ealdredsson, who had so far recovered from his wounds as to be able to keep watch and ward, and to see that the sentinels did their duty. His face bore traces of violent agitation.

'Well met, coosine,' cried he; 'I wanted to see thee. Keep thy lady off the battlements to-day, and go not thither thyself.'

Eadgyth looked in his face, and trembled. 'Thou hast bad news. I will heed thy warning. But wherefore? Is aught more terrible than we daily witness to be seen?'

'By Odin and Thor, yes! It bears not the telling.'

'Oh, Leofric, invoke not those dreadful pagan names in such an hour! Pray rather to the holy saints.'

'If thou wouldst take me in hand, a good man might perchance be made of me, coosine,' said the wild Leofric, with a laugh half tender and half bitter.

Eadgyth shook her head.

'But thou hast sorely alarmed me, Leofric. I would rather know the worst.'

'Well, the countess must know some time; perhaps it were better told through thee. This, then, is the sight to be seen from the battlements, and it is ugly as sin.' The veins on his forehead swelled, and his strong throat gathered into knots, while his fingers clenched on the hilt of his dagger. 'A tall gallows, right close under our noses, and three men hanged thereon; with an inscription over them, "The traitor Breton's traitor messengers."'

Eadgyth clasped her hands. 'The earl has sent, and they have caught his men!'

'That's it;' and Leofric murmured a few wishes regarding the king's men that at the least were uncharitable. 'Further, one of the men is the poor fool Grillonne--a quick-witted rascal as ever was called wise--he who saved his master so cleverly after the battle.'

'Grillonne! What! Grillonne so entreated?' exclaimed Eadgyth, with a shudder. 'But that will be a sore blow to the earl when he comes to know it. Art thou sure?'

'Ay; the knave's face was one not easily mistaken,' said Leofric.

Eadgyth hurried to the bower, and told the countess what she had heard.

'But it is good news, it is great news!' cried Emma, with sparkling eyes. 'Ralph is alive, and trying to help us! Alacke! I grieve for the poor envoys and Grillonne. Ah, 'tis sad such a fate has befallen him, the poor honest fool! his quick wits have not saved him after all.'

Emma was right, it proved to be good news, for Earl Warrenne and his colleagues, before hanging the messengers, had extracted from them the intelligence that Ralph de Guader had collected a great force in Bretagne and amongst the Danes, and that he was coming to the relief of his beleaguered castle. A day or two later they called a parley, and offered safe-conduct to the whole garrison, without exception, on condition that they left England within forty days, counting from the day on which they surrendered the castle.

Emma would fain have held out still, hoping that the earl was on his way to relieve them; but she had no certain knowledge of his movements, and the famine was so direful that even the fire-eating Leofric was obliged to counsel her to accept the terms.

'It is a victory!' exclaimed Sir Hoël, moved almost to tears; 'and we owe it to thy haught spirit and determined courage, noble countess. Thy name shall be famous in days to come.'

So the garrison were called together into the great hall, and told how that their lives were saved, and that they were to march out of Castle Blauncheflour with banners flying, and all the honours of war, instead of having their feet cut off like poor Stephen le Hareau and the other prisoners the king's men had taken; and the men, who had looked forward to certain ill-fortune for themselves, whatever might betide their superiors, thought it a victory also.

How the hall rang with cheers, and congratulations, and praise of the countess! Norman and Breton, Saxon and Dane, raised what voices hunger had left them, and verily they shouted lustily, notwithstanding a light breakfast.

The countess stood amongst them, sobbing like a child.

'No praise is due to me; it is all to you, my gallant defenders.'

So the answer went back to Earl William de Warrenne that the keys of Castle Blauncheflour should be surrendered on the morrow.

Then all the garrison attended a 'Te Deum' in the chapel of St. Nicholas.

Afterwards, when the knights had again assembled in the great hall, the countess said,--

'Leofric Ealdredsson, these gentlemen, thy comrades in arms, shame themselves that they should wear the belt and spurs while one who has fought so knightly should not claim them. We well know thou hast them not solely because thou wert too careless to claim them, but I would not have thee leave Blauncheflour undubbed.'

Leofric's pale hunger-eaten cheeks turned red with pleasure.

'If the men who have fought with me here esteem me peer, I will not reject the honour,' he answered; at which the hall rang with cheers.

Then said the countess, smiling, 'Wilt thou have thine accolade in our Norman fashion, from the hands of a knight, and take Sir Hoël de St. Brice for thy sponsor, or, in the way of thine own people, at the hands of Father Pierre?'

'Nay,' quoth the turbulent hero, 'there is a better way than either. Many a good man has taken his knighthood from the hands of a maiden. Let my fair kinswoman, thy bower-maiden, stand sponsor to me;' and he turned appealingly to Eadgyth.

'A truce to thy jests, Leofric Ealdredsson, this is no time for them!' answered Eadgyth sharply, fingering the bracelet she always wore upon her arm.

'By the Rood, I mean no jest, coosine! Jourdain took his knighthood from the hands of his lady; why not I from thee?'

'Keep to the old Saxon custom, Leofric; take it from the hands of Father Pierre.'

And so he did; and his last night within the walls of Blauncheflour was spent in vigil and prayer before the altar of the chapel, whereon lay his armour.

On the morrow, the brave defenders of Norwich Castle marched forth from its sheltering walls, with all the honours of war; carrying their arms, and fully equipped, with flags flying and banners waving.

The leaders of the royal forces sent palfreys for the countess and her ladies, and came in state to meet the woman who had held them all at bay so long, armed _cap-à-pie_, their horses prancing and curveting, and plumes dancing in the breeze. Many a courtly compliment they paid to their fair foe, and Earl Warrenne took the keys himself from her white hands.

Then Bishop Geoffrey, and Earl Warrenne, and Robert Malet took possession of Castle Blauncheflour formally, and threw into it a garrison of three hundred men-at-arms, and a body of balistarii and other engineers.

And Archbishop Lanfranc wrote to King William, in terms more forcible than polite, 'Glory be to God on high! your kingdom is at last purged from the filth of these Bretons.'