CHAPTER XVII

THE FALL OF THE COUNT'S STRONGHOLD

UNDER the guidance of the Norman, the company proceeded by a different route to that by which Raymond made his escape; and, as night fell, they dismounted and off-saddled in a clearing within half a league of the Count's stronghold.

Sentries were posted, and every precaution taken against surprise, but nothing untoward occurred to disturb the camp.

Day dawned, but a thick, fleecy mist prevailed, the moisture dripping from the steel caps of the soldiers, who, in spite of it being a summer's morn in fair Normandy, actually shivered with cold. No fires were allowed to be lighted for fear of giving warning of their approach, and after a hasty breakfast the company started on the last portion of the journey.

The way lay through a narrow avenue, similar to that in which Raymond's ill-fated men-at-arms met with disaster, and the Norman guide, anxious for his own and his brother's safety, used all his skill and cunning as a woodman to ensure a successful surprise.

Presently through the mist two gnarled trunks attracted his attention, and, halting, he beckoned to the Constable to dismount. In low tones he explained that he wanted a riderless horse to be driven in front of the company, and, the Constable assenting, one of the archers dismounted and urged his steed to the head of the column.

To Raymond, who knew the perils of the path, the act occasioned no surprise, but most of the soldiers watched the action with wonderment.

The horse had proceeded but a short distance when it stumbled over some invisible obstacle, and before it could recover itself, a heavy beam, furnished with a metal barb, came crashing down from the mist--hidden branches above, pinning the devoted animal to the earth.

A score of willing hands dragged the timber and its victim from the path. "I pray you send another horse on ahead," exclaimed the Constable calmly, as if unmoved by his narrow escape, for had he been in his customary place at the head of the company his fate would have been sealed.

Silently, and fully anticipating a fresh trap, the troop advanced, the successor to the ill-fated horse walking cautiously as if instinctively aware of its perilous mission. A bow-shot farther it stopped, and, in spite of the application of the point of a dagger, it refused to move another step.

"Prenez garde, messieurs, c'est un piège," whispered the Norman. "Mais sans doute c'est le dernier empêchement."

"Step forward, Lavant," exclaimed the Constable in a low tone to one of the men-at-arms. "Thrust out thy spear and see what lieth here."

The man did so, and almost without resistance the weapon sank in turf. A twist of the spear and a large piece of what looked to be green sward gave way, disclosing a yawning cavity, its length being too great to permit a horse to leap across, while its depth was sufficient to kill or maim any man or beast that had the misfortune to fall therein.

At a sign from their leader the soldiers dismounted. One man was told off to every four horses, a party set silently to work to cut a way through the dense thicket, so as to make a detour round the pitfall, and the rest of the soldiers stood where they were, resting on their arms till the path was cleared.

This done, the company, now diminished in fighting numbers by one-fourth, resumed their march, and, as the guide had foretold, were unmolested by any other obstacle till they emerged from the forest at the edge of the extensive clearing in which stood the stronghold of the Count of Tancarville.

The sun was now above the tree-tops, and slowly the mist was dispersing, so that the outlines of the fortress were just visible in the clouds of lifting vapour.

Ordering his men to lie down within the shelter of the undergrowth, Sir John called his squires, the master bowman who had taken the place of the absent Redward, and the oldest man-at-arms, and held a hasty consultation upon the plan of attack.

Though Raymond had not seen the castle from without, he found that his idea of the place did not differ greatly from the appearance of the actual building. It was a long, low structure, but one story in height, save at one corner, where a low tower commanded the rest of the stronghold. The walls were pierced with narrow loopholes for the discharge of arrows, and crowned by a battlemented breastwork. Around the walls was, as Raymond already knew, a ditch or moat. The drawbridge was raised, and the outer fortalice or barbican was furnished with a massive door.

There were no signs of the garrison, which, at the most, numbered less than two score men, but the possibility of a surprise was guarded against by the fact that the doorway of the barbican was closed.

For several hours the little English force lay in front of the stronghold, the soldiers prone on the grass, their leaders standing behind a dense thicket, so that no assailant was visible to the still unsuspecting inmates of the castle.

At length some of the archers who had remained with the horses joined the main body, dragging with them two peasants who were captured while on their way to the Count's fortress. The two men bore huge baskets full of bread on their backs, and the booty was distributed and eagerly devoured by the soldiers, while the peasants, securely bound, were detained a short distance in the forest under a guard of three archers.

Presently one of the men-at-arms approached Raymond. "I beg of thee, sir, to ask the Constable that he give me leave to force an entry into yonder fortress."

"How so, Peter? Wouldst essay the task alone?"

"Nay, Master Raymond, but with my comrade, Myles of Fareham, 'tis easy to attempt."

"And easier to fail? What wouldst thou do?"

"If we don the peasant's clothes and carry their baskets filled with stones on our backs, I trow 'twill be an easy business to fool those that are within. Once they open the gate two honest Englishmen can hold it against a score of Frenchmen till the main body hath time to come to our aid."

"By St. George! Thou sayest aright; I'll speak to Sir John at once."

The Constable received the project with delight, and preparations for the assault were instantly made. The two men-at-arms drew the gabardines of the peasants over their armour, so that they closely resembled the thick-set, shambling Normans, and shouldering their heavy baskets, they advanced boldly towards the outwork.

Meanwhile their comrades were eager and alert. The bowmen had chosen their arrows and strung their bows; the men-at-arms had drawn their swords and had discarded their belts and sheaths to enable them to run the quicker to the aid of the two devoted men, and with eyes intently fixed on the gate of the barbican they awaited the signal to rush headlong across the open space that lay between them and the fortress.

To the waiting soldiers it seemed hours ere their two comrades drew near to the outer work, but when within a few paces of it a sentinel stood forth on the wall and challenged them. Then, apparently suspicious of their errand, he blew a loud blast on a horn, which was immediately answered by the appearance of five or six men from within the barbican, while over a score lined the walls of the main stronghold, some of whom began to wind their cross-bows.

At the same time the door was thrown open, and a man, apparently a captain, stood on the threshold. Up to now these preparations were simply a matter of form, no matter who the newcomer might be, and fortunately the iron-nerved Englishmen understood this, for, staggering under their loads, they still advanced with bent heads to avoid recognition.

Suddenly the guardian of the gate realised that it was not a pair of ignorant peasants that he had to parley with. But the knowledge came too late. Peter of Purbrook had thrown down his load and dashed, sword in hand, at the astonished Norman. Before the latter could retreat a step he had fallen with his head cleft to the chin. His body lay athwart the threshold, and ere the others could rush to close the gate the Englishmen had pushed their baskets, filled with stones, against the door, and were awaiting the onslaught of their foes.

With hoarse shouts of encouragement the English men-at-arms rose from their ambush and rushed madly to their comrades' aid, while the archers, shooting rapidly and coolly, directed a dropping fire of arrows at the defenders on the walls. But they of the outwork had gathered to defend the gate, and already a fierce struggle was taking place, the two gallant Englishmen being hard pressed by the enraged Normans.

With axe, spear, and mace the defenders strove to thrust back the daring intruders, while the latter, regardless of their own safety, essayed to keep open the gate. Two of the Normans fell, their bodies adding to the ghastly pile at the entrance to the barbican, but directly afterwards Myles of Fareham was slain by a savage spear-thrust.

Undismayed by the fall of his comrade, Peter of Purbrook hurled an axe at the helm of the slayer of his friend, then, clearing at a bound the heap of corpses, bade fair to drive back the defenders single-handed, while his comrades, with Raymond well in the fore, were already halfway across the intervening space.

Carried away by the heat of battle, Raymond saw as in a dream the figure of the devoted man-at-arms clearing a path for his countrymen; the next instant there was a blinding flash, a deafening roar, and a thick, choking cloud of sulphurous smoke.

One of the defenders, with the fury of despair, had fired off a bombard, the huge stone ball crashing through friend and foe alike, and bounding over the springy turf till it came to a stop a few paces from the edge of the forest.

Appalled by the sound, the soldiers hesitated, but when the smoke had partially cleared away the gateway was deserted.

Then the Constable's voice was heard amid the din, "Onwards, men, the place is ours," and regaining their wits, the Englishmen rushed forward and reached the deserted barbican.

The discharge from the bombard, by which the remaining Frenchmen, save one, and four English men-at-arms, including the ill-fated Peter, had been swept away, was attended by one good result. The drawbridge had been lowered, and, after applying the linstock, the cannonier had darted back across it to take refuge in the fortress, while the heavy bombard, wrenching asunder the leather thongs that bound it to the carriage, had recoiled till its weight rested on the end of the drawbridge, effectually preventing it from being raised by the defenders.

In the meanwhile the English archers, while engaged in keeping down the fire of the cross-bowmen, had marked the fugitive cannonier as he sped back to gain the entrance. Ere he had run but half the distance he fell, transfixed by a dozen arrows, while the attacking party roared with excitement and jubilation.

Even if the defenders had had another bombard available they would have been prevented by the hail of shafts from training it on their adversaries; and, led by the Constable and his squires, the men-at-arms crossed the drawbridge and thundered at the main gate with their axes, while the archers, advancing in close order, kept up a hot fire against every point where a Norman dared show the crest of his steel cap.

Under the furious blows the door was splintered; then with a united effort the shattered woodwork gave way, and the victorious Englishmen rushed headlong into the castle, only to find that not a man of the garrison was to be seen.

With his own hands the Constable tore down the scarlet wolves' heads of the banner of the Count of Tancarville, and the blue guidon with the demi-lune floated in its place, amidst a fanfare of trumpets and the cheers of the victors.

Then a systematic search of the stronghold was undertaken, but no trace of the Normans was found till an archer stumbled over a heavy trap-door, which, on being raised, disclosed a flight of dank stone steps leading to a subterranean passage. Listening intently, the Constable and his squires heard the faint sounds of retreating footsteps echoing along the stone walls of the tunnel.

"It matters not," quoth Sir John. "I doubt whether there be any person of quality amongst them. Their burrow doubtless leads to some spot in the forest, and I can ill-afford to risk more lives in a needless undertaking."

To close the entrance, pieces of heavy timber weighted with stone were thrown down the yawning pit, and having made all chance of a return by this outlet impossible, the soldiers devoted their energies to the exploration of the building.

It was more of a fortified arsenal than a castle, the Count's principal fortress being ten leagues off, but the spoils of war were both numerous and useful.

In all, including the bombard in the barbican, there were eleven pieces of ordnance, a score barrels of powder, steel caps, hauberks, and weapons of all descriptions. Unwilling to leave the booty where it might again fall into the hands of the Normans, the Constable made preparations to carry off the whole of the munitions of war.

Dragging long planks across the open ground, a party of archers returned to where the horses had been left. By bridging the pitfall, the steeds were led safely across the fatal trap, and in less than an hour were within the stronghold, where rough carts in abundance were ready to be loaded up with the spoil.

Meanwhile Raymond had not forgotten the unfortunate man-at-arms who had been captured with him in the first attempt to seize the Count. Aided by a couple of archers, he searched vainly for the secret oubliette, till at length he bethought him of the two peasants who had been taken earlier in the day.

These were brought before him, and without much difficulty were compelled to lead the way. In the floor of the lowest apartment the peasants pointed out a small door, almost invisible in the deep gloom. Procuring a torch, Raymond and the archers shot back the bolts, and on lifting the trapdoor, a dark, evil-smelling dungeon was disclosed, unlighted and almost unventilated. Mingled with the noise of scores of rats a low moaning was heard, and in the fitful glare of the torchlight a narrow circular hole could be distinguished in the centre of the dungeon, its mouth unprotected by a barrier of any kind.

"Art there, Robert?" asked the squire, his voice shaking with pity and emotion.

The only reply was another low moan, as of a human being in direst distress. Sending one of the archers back for assistance, Raymond impatiently waited by the yawning pit. The man soon returned, and with him four lusty men-at-arms, one of whom carried a coil of stout rope and two more torches.

Directing the men to lower him slowly and carefully, Raymond knotted one end of the rope under his arms and boldly descended, holding a flaming torch above his head. The light flickered on the slimy walls of the pit, which, as he descended, began to increase in size, till at length he reached the bottom of a deep, bottle-shaped cavity, the only approach to which being the narrow neck through which he had been lowered.

The floor was ankle-deep in filth and slime; and, by the aid of the torch, the squire saw, crouched in the corner, apparently heedless of the presence of his rescuer, the figure of a man.

Bending over him, Raymond failed at first to recognise his ill-fated companion-in-arms, for the soldier's face, instead of being the deep-bronzed, healthy colour that comes of a life in the open air, was of a ghastly greenish hue, and his eyes, dazzled by the glimmer of the torch, blinked with a peculiar vacant expression that suggested madness.

Finding that the man was too weak to stand the strain of the rope round his chest, Raymond, placing the torch on the ground, lifted him to his feet, and taking him in his arms, called out to those above to haul up. Shielding the soldier as well as he could from the rough sides of the shaft, the squire with his pitiful burden came slowly to the surface, where rough but kindly hands took charge of the rescued prisoner, who was little more than a corpse.

On rejoining the Constable, Raymond found that a discovery had been made of another score of barrels filled with powder, and the question of transport was troubling Sir John sorely. For not only was the quantity too great for the numbers of men and waggons at their disposal, but the difficulty arose how to reach the highway, the path by which they had come being quite unsuitable for the carts.

Two scouts were therefore sent out with instructions to follow the cart-tracks, and to find out whether any of the late garrison still remained in the neighbourhood.