The Winning of the Golden Spurs Part 24

At the end of the pa.s.sage was another heavily-barred door, at which a spearman stood on guard. Holding his dagger firmly in his right hand and concealing it within the folds of his long sleeve, Raymond moved straight up to the man. The sentinel opened the door, and with bowed head stood aside to let the supposed monk pa.s.s. In a well-feigned highly-pitched voice the young squire gave the customary blessing; then, almost amazed at his good fortune, he gained the free air once more.

But his difficulties were not yet over. The road from the stronghold ran under the shelter of the low walls for some distance, then turned abruptly and crossed the moat by a drawbridge, at the end of which was a small postern and barbican.

All went well till Raymond was upon the bridge, and the gate-keeper was making ready to throw open the outer gate, when the sham monk dropped one sandal upon the bridge, where it lay conspicuously in the dazzling sunshine.

For a moment the guard paused, gazing in undisguised astonishment at the tell-tale object, then with a crash he closed the gate and raised a horn to his lips. But ere he could blow a blast Raymond was upon him; a glint of cold steel, and the man uttering a choking cry, threw up his arms and fell in a huddled heap.

Disguise was no longer necessary, and the squire, opening the gate and casting off his gown as he ran, sped over the open s.p.a.ce towards the sheltering forest.

He heard some one behind him shouting the alarm, but by the time the watchers on the wall could wind their cross-bows Raymond was almost out of range, though a dropping bolt, shot at a venture, hummed close to his head and buried itself in the springy turf at the foot of the nearest tree.

Though skilled in finding a course by observing the position of the sun, Raymond was but indifferently versed in woodcraft, and in the gloom of the forest all idea of direction was beyond him. Onward he plunged, crashing through the bracken and undergrowth, till to his great delight he struck a narrow path. This he followed, till at length he came upon the scene of his ambuscade. A yawning pit, partially concealed by a screen of hurdles and bracken, lay across the narrow way, while a score of paces beyond was a tree trunk, which, having been skilfully cut through close to its base, needed but little effort to fall into its present position, effectually barring the road to any but unmounted men.

With a sickening feeling of horror Raymond gazed into the pit, where lay the mangled remains of two of his men-at-arms, though it was evident that the plunderer had already been there, as the corpses were stripped of their arms and accoutrements, while the trappings of the horses had vanished.

Under the fallen trunk lay the body of the third soldier, plundered also as far as the ponderous timber would allow, while of the fourth no trace remained but a dark stain on the clayey soil.

Clambering over the last obstacle, the squire found himself on the steep path that had been so dangerous a road but a short fortnight before. On and on he hastened, till he emerged on the high road that led to the camp, which he estimated to be about four and a half leagues distant, provided a general advance had not taken place in the meantime.

He was hatless and without his surcoat, having left that garment with his late jailer, and there were no distinguishing marks to show that he belonged either to the army of the King of England or of Philip of France.

Tying his blood-stained scarf over his chin, he strode boldly forward, trusting in the role of a wounded soldier to avoid being questioned. At length he gained the summit of a hill, from which he looked down upon a lovely fertile valley, and in the distance the blue waters of the English Channel.

A spur of rising ground hid the view on his right, but a few minutes sufficed to gain its crest, and on looking down he saw a sight that filled him with joy, for below lay a large unwalled town, which he rightly guessed to be Caen, while a league off was the English host in battle array, and between him and the army was a motley array of Frenchmen issuing from the town to join battle with the invaders.

CHAPTER XVI

THE TABLES TURNED

ONLY one thing could Raymond do. He sat down on the gra.s.sy hillock and watched, knowing well that the fight could but end in one way.

A little group of Norman knights led the van of the French, whose forces were composed mostly of towns-men, desperate in their vain attempt to save their town from pillage. Eagerly the keen eyes of the squire followed their disorderly advance, till they were almost lost to view in the distance.

To him it seemed as if the white-coated lines of English archers stirred neither hand nor foot, but he knew full well that the blast of deadly arrows had sped, for as if by magic the dark ma.s.ses of the Frenchmen broke and fled, without coming to hand-grips. Already the English cavalry were in hot pursuit, and the white winding road leading to the town was outlined with clouds of dust, which almost concealed the disorderly remnants of the defeated fugitives.

Directly the advance guard of the fleeing army began to draw near, Raymond rose from the gra.s.s and ran swiftly towards the road. The Frenchmen, each intent upon his own safety, rushed past him, throwing off their armour to aid their flight, the mounted fugitives ruthlessly riding down their less fortunate countrymen.

Seated by the roadside was a man-at-arms, who, sorely wounded in the shoulder, was endeavouring to divest himself of his hauberk in order to ease the pain. Actuated both by his own requirements and a feeling of pity, Raymond helped him to unburden himself of the steel-ringed coat, and having donned the Frenchman's discarded armour, he bathed his wound, a deep lance-thrust, with water obtained from a rivulet that ran by the roadside.

After rendering this service he proceeded to complete his own equipment. A heavy sword and a light shield were soon found, and it did not require much effort on the part of the active squire to seize a riderless horse.

With difficulty curbing the restlessness of his newly-acquired steed, Raymond urged it into an adjoining field to avoid being swept away by the panic-stricken horde of fugitives, and eagerly awaited the arrival of the English host.

Soon the tide of fleeing Frenchmen slackened, and the braver spirits, maintaining a running fight, alone remained to uphold the honour of the ill-a.s.sorted army of the citizens of Caen.

Suddenly Raymond's attention was drawn to a knot of mailed figures, who, surrounded by a press of Englishmen, fought savagely with the courage of despair. One by one the French mounted men-at-arms and squires fell, till only two knights remained.

The pair, keeping side by side, held their enemies at bay by a shower of blows from sword and mace, till one, his horse slain by a Welshman, who paid for his act by having his head cleft by a back-handed sweep, was dashed to the ground and made prisoner.

On seeing his comrade's fate, the other knight urged his horse through the crowd of a.s.sailants and made a dash for the open field, where Raymond awaited the chance to join his friends.

Directly the squire caught sight of his emblazoned surcoat and shield he recognised the Frenchman--it was none other than the Count of Tancarville!

Shaking off his pursuers, who preferred to return to squabble over their rights to the ransom of the captive knight, the Count rode straight for the place where Raymond was concealed. When he was twenty paces off the squire rode forward and barred his way.

"Yield thyself, Sir Knight!" exclaimed Raymond.

For a moment the Count gazed with undisguised astonishment at the man whom he had last seen as a prisoner in his stronghold, then, recovering himself, he put spur to his horse and rode furiously at the squire.

The combatants were evenly matched, for the advantage of the Frenchman's complete coat of mail was balanced by the comparative freshness of his opponent and his steed. The knight had lost his lance, so that the fight was with swords.

Reining back his horse, Raymond skilfully avoided the first rush, the Count's sword-point missing his unguarded face by a hand's breadth, while the squire's return blow fell harmlessly on his adversary's shield. Instantly Raymond closed in, and before the knight could turn his steed to meet the counter-attack, the squire's sword had bit deeply into his enemy's thigh. Then their blades met, and amid a shower of sparks and the clicking and rasping of steel, Raymond found himself at pains to defend his unvisored face, and it was not long before the blood was flowing freely from a cut on his cheek. But the Count's previous exertions and the loss of blood from several deep wounds were beginning to tell. His blows did not fall with the same strength that marked his first rush, though the squire could not break down his guard.

Long they fought, their horses prancing and curveting as if realising that their efforts would materially aid their masters' sword-play, till Raymond's untried blade snapped off close to the hilt, and, with the exception of a short knife, he was left weaponless.

A quick pull at the reins, and the squire's horse ranged alongside that of the Norman. The next instant Raymond had grasped his opponent round the body, and with a mighty heave sought to tear him from the saddle.

Between the two plunging steeds the combatants fell, locked in a close embrace, Raymond uppermost; but before he could make good his advantage and demand his enemy's surrender a stunning kick from the Count's horse left its master at the Englishman's mercy.

Raymond rose to his feet bruised and breathless, and at that moment a band of soldiers came hurrying towards them. The newcomers were the wild-looking Welsh mercenaries, intent on plunder; and, unable to make them understand who he was, the squire was for a while in danger of being set upon by these lawless booty-seeking warriors. Standing over the body of the prostrate knight, he beckoned, shouted, and threatened, till a highly-pitched voice behind him demanded who and what he was.

Raymond turned and saw a gigantic, swarthy, and black-bearded man, clad in a bronze-coloured suit of armour, having a green dragon emblazoned on his surcoat and shield.

"Squire to Sir John Hacket of Hamptonshire," he replied breathlessly.

"I pray thee bid these rascals desist."

A word from the stranger in an unknown tongue, and the Welshmen retired.

"Rascals, iss what ye call tem?" asked the new arrival, laughing boisterously. "I would haf yes know, poy, tat tey are from Glamorgan--from Glamorgan, I tell you! And tey are the best men in the Army, I tell ye, poy, for tey are my men, I, David Evans, knight off Glamorgan. I pray ye pear tat in mind. I myself tought ye wa.s.s a Norman, or at pest a Gascon, seeing ye wa.s.s to wear a Frenchman's hauberk."

The Welsh leader rode off, leaving Raymond to wonder how he could escape molestation from his friends and still stand by his captive.

Most of the pursuers kept to the highway, and only a few came close to where he stood. In vain he begged and entreated the pa.s.sing soldiers to give a hand to carry off the unconscious Count. Even the promise of a silver penny had no effect, for the English, intent on plunder, were already streaming into Caen with the last of their foes, and the comparatively bountiful offer of payment was invariably rejected with contempt.

At length, despairing of obtaining a.s.sistance, Raymond left his prisoner and made his way back to the road, hoping to see a familiar face amongst the victorious soldiers who were hurrying forward to join in the sack of the town, but there were none of the Hampshire companies.

Picking up another sword to replace his broken weapon, the squire preferred to go back to guard his captive, consoling himself with the thought that on the Count's return to consciousness he could lead him into the camp; then, suddenly bethinking himself of the rivulet higher up the road, he hastened towards it to slake his burning thirst.

This he did, and thereupon made his way back by a different route to where the Count lay. Barely had he gone half the distance than he came to a dry ditch, where, to his surprise, he found two fugitives cowering in the long gra.s.s that grew in the trench.

"Je me rends!" they both exclaimed, grovelling at his feet in fear of instant death, for, being but peasants, they knew that scant mercy was shown to those who were unable to offer ransom.

In a moment Raymond saw and seized his chalice. "Vous etes mes prisonniers," he exclaimed, brandishing his weapon. "Venez avec moi."

Driving them before him, the squire soon reached the place where he had left the Count of Tancarville, and indicated by signs that they should carry him. This they did, panting with their exertions, for the knight in his complete armour was a heavy burden. Their progress was slow, till on arriving on the highway Raymond made them take two broken lances, and forming a rough litter, they were able to make a better pace.