CHAPTER IX
ON THE HEELS OF THE ENEMY
ALTHOUGH the two bailiffs, Walter de Brakkeleye and Robert de laBarre, had remained disgracefully inactive within their defences, themen of Winchester, Romsey, and other neighbouring towns and villageswere massing to aid the men of Southampton, and a large andwell-appointed army had gathered at ready to wrest the pillaged townfrom the Bassett, ready to wrest the pillaged town from the invadersand drive them back to their ships.
Throughout the night the defenders of St. Barbara's Tower keptanxious vigil. Of the preparations for their relief they knewnothing. But hardly had the pale dawn begun to gather in the eastthan the foreigners were astir, taking steps to keep the galleysafloat on the now falling tide, as if they purposed embarking oncemore.
Then, with a crash and a roar, the sound of fighting was heardtowards the centre of the town, and from their elevated position thesorry remnant of the defenders saw the lances of the English chargedown the High Street, bearing all before them. In other quarters theinvaders, entangled in the narrow streets, were cut off by swarms ofthe infuriated inhabitants, who, knowing the peculiarities of theirtown, moved with consummate ease, hurling down stones and shootingarrows from the houses upon their entrapped enemy.
And now, from the Castle and the West Gate and Catchcold Towerspoured the liberated garrison, eager to avenge their disgrace. Manywere the encounters between the Southampton men and their foes inthis quarter of the town, till, driven back by weight of numbers, theenemy, who were mostly Genoese, returned slowly past St. Barbara'sTower, contesting every inch of ground.
The little band of defenders now occupied themselves by annoying theretreating Italians with well-directed arrows, while, all danger ofan assault being at an end, the barricades behind the door wereremoved so that the garrison could sally out and join their friends.
Nearer and nearer came the sound of conflict, till Raymond and hiscomrades perceived the red-crossed surcoats of the Englishmenpressing back the discomfited Genoese. At length, unable to withstandthe flanking fire of arrows, the enemy fled past out of bowshot ofthe Tower--all save one, whom Raymond recognised as the son of theKing of Sicily. Burning to achieve a further deed of honour, Raymondthrew open the door and rushed out to intercept the mailclad knight,who, with sweeping strokes of his sword, kept the men-at-arms at arespectful distance. But the lad was forestalled. A huge countryman,who had lost his all in the sack of the town, had crept behind thePrince, and, with a swinging blow of a massive club, smote theItalian behind the knees.
With a snarl of rage and pain the Prince fell to the ground, and,with a shout of triumph, his assailant stood over him with his clubupraised to give the fatal blow. Finding further resistanceimpossible, the knight dropped his sword.
"_Je me rends!_" he exclaimed. "_Je vous donnerai rancon!_"
"Yea, I know thou art a Francon," thundered the Englishman,misunderstanding the Prince's appeal for mercy, "and therefore thoushalt die!" And, notwithstanding a warning shout from Raymond andseveral of the Englishmen, the club descended with tremendous force,and the Italian lay dead upon the ground.
"I'll trouble thee to mind thy own business, my master!" hissed thecountryman, turning fiercely on Raymond.
"But he was a gentleman of quality. He surrendered to thee, and hewas worth a heavy ransom!"
"Ransom, forsooth!" rejoined the man, in a frenzy. "What ransom canatone for a wife and five children slain? Speak not to me of ransom!"And, shouldering his club, the man rushed off in pursuit of thefugitives as they hastened towards the Water Gate.
Beaten back at every point, the invaders crowded on board theirgalleys, and during the embarkation the slaughter was greater; for,from the walls, as well as from the shore, a heavy fire of arrows washailed upon them by the infuriated townsmen.
At length, with the exception of a few galleys that, caught by thefalling tide, were burned and their crews slaughtered, the hostileships withdrew, and, with a steady north-west breeze, bore away downSouthampton Water, leaving behind them a half-burned and pillagedtown--the terrible penalty of unpreparedness!
After the _melee_ Raymond returned with the remnant of theConstable's detachment to the Tower they had held so well, and, tohis surprise and delight, found his father awaiting him, thoughRedward hardly recognised his son. Stained with his own blood and theblood of the Genoese, covered with dust and grime from head to foot,Raymond looked a very different person from the gentle youth of threemonths back.
"By St. Edward of Netley!" exclaimed Redward, "wherever I go, whetherFrancewards or otherwise, thou shalt go too; for methinks there is asmuch danger in Merrie England as in the land of the Fleur-de-Lys!"
"But how camest thou here, father?" asked Raymond. "I thought thouwert at Lepe."
"Ah, lad! it was there I saw the foemen sail towards Southampton; so Irode hot-foot to Hythe.[1] There I took a boat--stole it, I fear--andtried to cross; but in the fog I nearly ran into the thick of thegalleys. Then I knew I was too late; so back to the shore I rowed,and came round the head of the Water by land. 'Twas a long journey byTotton, and by the time I reached Millbrook it was daylight, and themen of Romsey were marching in upon the town."
By this time Raymond had washed his face and hands, and had brushedmost of the grime from his clothes, having removed his white surcoatand breastplate.
"We have had a hot time, father. They pressed us hard. Fourteen menlie stretched upon the straw, and nine are dead. Poor old Dick Wyattis no more."
"Heaven rest his soul!" exclaimed Redward, piously crossing himself."He was a good and true comrade to me through thick and thin, and Itrow 'tis hard to be stricken down almost within sight of home."
Together father and son ascended the winding stair that led to theupper rooms. There lay the wounded defenders, carefully tended by theLady Audrey. As Raymond entered the room, she looked at him in apuzzled manner. Then, holding out her hand, she exclaimed:
"Why, 'tis my gallant preserver! And what a difference a clean facedoth make ye are but a boy, and a handsome one at that!"
A deep flush overspread the youth's face. Redward, knowing nothing ofthe circumstances of her rescue, could but express his astonishment,and, leaving the pair engaged in eager talk, he ascended to the roof,where lay the bodies of Richard Wyatt and the other soldiers, eachgrim and stern in death.
From Will Lightfoot he learned most of the particulars of thedefence, including his son's intrepid act of rescue.
"Ay! Buckland," said Will, "'tis not every archer who hath the goodfortune to rescue a noble lady such as the Lady Audrey Scarsdale!"
"Scarsdale?" repeated Redward.
"Ay Scarsdale--daughter of Sir Reginald Scarsdale."
The master-bowman staggered as if struck by an invisible blow; then,recovering himself by an effort, asked Lightfoot if there were anytidings of Sir John Hacket.
Even Will Lightfoot could not fail to notice the change in Redward'sappearance; but, putting it down to the fearful strain of the fight,suggested adjourning to partake of refreshment.
The task of laying to rest the bodies of their comrades was nextproceeded with. Then Raymond, with two of his fellow-archers, enteredthe ill-fated house of the Lady Scarsdale, and removed the bodies ofthe three Genoese.
Placing the corpse of the Lady Hilda reverently on a bed, they lockedup the house and gave the keys into the custody of the Sheriff, who,knowing the Scarsdale family, took the necessary steps to ensure afitting burial of the knight's wife, while Lady Audrey was taken careof by some relatives who resided in another part of Hampshire.
Early the following morning Sir John Hacket, having assured himselfthat the enemy had made for the Channel and were not likely to returnto raid some other coast town, rode into Southampton from Portsmouth,attended by his squires and a troop of lances and mounted archers.
Proudly, yet sadly, the stern old knight gazed upon the sorry remnantof the detachment he had left at Southampton but a week before.
"By St. George!" he exclaimed, "ye
are a credit to me, and the onebright jewel in the sable field of incompetence and neglect! The Kingshall hear of your deeds! Ye see," he added aside to his squires,"what that ranter, Walter de Brakkeleye, and his co-bailiff, de laBarre, have done. Had they given more thought to the safe keeping ofthe town, instead of bickering, as Brakkeleye did with me respectingthe jurisdiction of his bailiwick, not a house in Southampton wouldhave been touched by foreign foemen, not one of the townsfolk harmed.Should the King think fit to hang them on the battlements 'twould bebut their deserts!"
"And now," he continued, addressing the archers, "I will take carethat bravery hath its reward. Another penny a day shall be added toyour pay, and, as for Raymond Buckland, who, I am told, undertook thedefence after my trusted Wyatt's death, from this time forth he shallbe one of my squires! Let him but acquit himself as he hath donesince he hath been in my company, and he will be on the road to win apair of gilded spurs!"
[1] Not, of course, the well-known coast town in Kent, but theancient villae of that name on the New Forest side of SouthamptonWater.