CHAPTER XXIII
THE ADVENTURE AT THE RUINED MILL
IN his tent, in terrible suspense, the young knight, RaymondRevyngton, lay helpless, wondering how went the fight. In due course,through the opening of his tent, he saw a stream of wounded menreturning, singly or in small parties, some with rough bandages roundtheir limbs or their heads.
At length came one whom he knew--an archer of the Portchestercompany.
"Stephen! Stephen!" called Raymond, as loudly as he could.
In obedience to the knight's cry, the man entered the tent, nursingthe maimed fingers of his right hand with his left, while the bloodpoured freely from the stumps and trickled in a crimson stream downhis arm, soaking his sleeve.
Deftly and quickly, notwithstanding his weakness, Raymond bound thewounded hand, and poured out a cup of wine for the almost faintingarcher. The draught revived him, and the colour began to steal backinto his ashy-grey face.
"How goes the battle?" asked Raymond anxiously.
"'Tis not a battle, Sir Raymond, but a slight passage of arms, thoughI perceive that as a bowman my work is done. The French King hathtried to relieve the town, but my Lord Chandos and seven thousand ofour men have withstood him amid the sand-hills and marshes. Save fora few hand-to-hand blows, the French never made a stand, and alreadythey are in full flight."
"Dost feel well enough to walk?" the young knight asked, after a longpause.
"Yea, Sir Raymond."
"Then get thee outside the camp, and bring me fresh tidings."
The man obeyed, but ere long he returned, exclaiming: "'Tis all over.The enemy are nowhere in sight and our men are even now returning."
"Then do not tarry longer, but go to thine own tent, for thou needestbetter care for thy hurts than I can give thee. This flask of wine Igive thee, for, by St. Thomas, thou hast need of it. Nay, do notthank me, but away!"
Once more the camp was alive with men, for the threatened attack ofthe huge army that Philip had gathered together for the relief ofCalais had been ignominiously repelled, and it was known that thefate of the town was sealed. Raymond gathered a fairly true accountof the fight from the conversation and joyous exclamations of theelated soldiery, and presently Sir John Hacket, covered with dust andshowing signs of the conflict, entered the tent.
"Art feeling better, Raymond?"
"Ay, Sir John. But how goes it with us?"
"Passably well but ever I seem to be a messenger of momentous tidingsto thee, whether of good or evil."
"Then there is something amiss?" questioned the young man eagerly,instinctively surmising that the news was unfavourable.
"Yea, Raymond. My speech was ever blunt, and methinks the sooner Iunburden myself of a message of ill-tidings the easier 'tis for bothof us. Briefly, Sir Maurice hath fallen like the true and gallantknight he was, and thou art the last of the Revyngtons of Churston."
"Alack-a-me that it should be so! For though I knew but little ofhim, I esteemed him a gallant, gentle, and honourable knight evenbefore I wot he was my kinsman. And Sir Reginald Scarsdale--what ofhim?"
"His heart is stronger than his body. In the first impact he wasswept from his saddle by a mere stripling."
"And he is killed, wounded, or taken?"
"Neither, save that he is shaken by the fall, and the King vows thatsince he cannot hold his own against a youth he will send him home,seeing that his fighting days are over."
"And does Sir Reginald know of this?"
"Ay, and if the King will not relent--and he is hard to turn from hispurpose--'twill be the first Scarsdale since the Conquest whose feeton his altar-tomb rest not upon a lion."
"Alas! the King's decision will hit him hard! Do you, Sir John,convey my expressions of regret to the gentle knight, and say that itwill give me great pleasure should he deign to visit me."
For several days more Raymond lay weak and ill in his tent, but asApril drew on and the weather became warmer his strength began slowlyto return. At length, pale and wan, the young knight was able to walkslowly about the camp, supported by two of his archers.
Still the siege continued, a long-drawn, tedious task, with littlechance of knightly deeds of daring to earn advancement. Theclose-drawn lines of the besiegers still kept tenacious grip upon thetown, and, though famine and disease wrought havoc amongst itsgallant defenders, the end seemed as far off as ever.
The return of summer found Sir Raymond Revyngton completely restoredin health, though still chafing with impatience at the life ofinactivity, for the younger knights looked with disfavour upon theKing's methods of conducting the siege, and would rather have had theopportunity of leading their men to the assault than sit down beforethe town waiting for famine to do its fell work.
Friendly tilting-matches, hawking, and sports of a similar naturewere indulged in, and Raymond, with an exuberance of energy, took aleading part in the pastimes. Many a pleasant afternoon was spent inthe open country around the English lines, hunting or making sportwith hounds and falcons, for not an armed Frenchman was to be seenwithin twenty leagues of Calais, save the starving wretches withinits gates.
One afternoon in July Raymond and a score of young knights rodesouth-eastwards along the sand-dunes, each knight accompanied by amounted serving-man and a number of hounds. The country was not of anature to yield much sport, yet, eager to while away the time, thelittle cavalcade rode carelessly on over the low sandhills.
On their right spread the blue waters of the English Channel, infront towered the chalky heights of Gris-nez, while behind lay thered-tiled houses and grey walls of Calais, with the semicircle oftents that marked the English lines.
At length they reached the summit of a low hill, and here they reinedin their steeds.
"No sign of a living creature," remarked one of the party, "thoughthe land away on our left seemeth well wooded. How call you yonderforest, Armand?" he inquired, addressing one of the attendants, aGascon who had spent the greater part of his life in theneighbourhood of Calais.
"'Tis the forest of Ambleteuse, sir," replied the man; "there thewild boar is to be found."
"Ah There is good sport, fair sirs Let us ride forward."
Half-an-hour's sharp canter brought them to the edge of the wood, andin a long, straggling line the gay-hearted Englishmen, with loudshouts and many a blast upon their horns, plunged into the gloom ofthe forest glades.
For a while no signs of animal life appeared, then suddenly therecame from one of the rearmost horsemen shouts of "A boar!"
Instantly the party turned, and crashing through the underwood, madetowards the sound. Raymond, who had been in the van, now foundhimself in the rear, and, spurring his steed and calling to hisattendant to follow, he strove to overtake his companions, while theloud grunts of the hunted boar could be distinctly heard amid thesnapping of the brushwood.
At length the glade descended towards a babbling brook, and here thepress of horsemen became so thick that many were riding hip to hip.Suddenly Raymond's horse trod in a rabbit-hole, and before he couldrealise what had happened he found himself hurtling through the airand striking the soft earth with a heavy thud. Fortunately, the youngknight was lightly clad, and fell without injury, but on leaping tohis feet he saw his body-servant lying, senseless on the ground,while the two steeds, entangled in their fall, were madly kickingeach other with their iron-shod hoofs.
In the excitement of the chase the rest of the cavalcade had rushedonwards, heedless of their companions' misfortunes, and the sound offeet was already dying away.
With a bound Raymond sprang to the side of his attendant and draggedhim out of the reach of the perilous hoofs. Then he sought for hishorn to summon assistance, but the instrument was crushed andrendered useless by the fall. Baffled in his purpose, he applied hisenergies to the task of restoring the unconscious man, bathing hisforehead with water obtained from the brook.
His efforts at length were rewarded, for the servant sat up and gazedaround in a dazed way.
"Art hurt, Thompson?"
asked Raymond anxiously.
"Can scarcely tell, Sir Raymond, save that my head is swimming roundlike a roasting joint, and my shoulder-blades seem growing out of myneck."
"'Tis of small moment. But stand up if thou canst." Thompsonstaggered to his feet, and to the knight's satisfaction he found thatnone of the man's limbs were broken.
"'Tis a sorry pass, for we must needs find our way back afoot. Pullthyself together, man, for 'tis a goodly step betwixt us and thecamp."
Drawing his hunting-knife, Raymond put the two strugglinghorses--each of whom had a leg broken--out of their misery, then thetwain set out on their homeward way. By the time they emerged fromthe forest their shadows fell far athwart the path, for the sun wassinking in the west; but Thompson was rapidly recovering, and theirpace was well maintained.
"There is the hill from whence we first saw the wood," remarked theknight. "But methinks we can leave that well on our left, for thecamp lies yonder."
"I deem thee to be right, fair sir. But, mark ye! Look at yonderclouds."
Raymond looked in the direction indicated, and saw that a storm wasrapidly driving towards them.
"Night cometh on apace, and with it a tempest," quoth he. "Hasten, orwe shall be benighted in this dreary plain."
Hardly had they traversed a distance of three arrow-flights than thewind, hitherto a faint westerly breeze, sprang up with terrificviolence. The sand rose in thick clouds, shutting out everythingexcept in their immediate vicinity, and the sun, in a mist of paleyellow sky, sank beneath the indigo-coloured clouds.
Onward they steadily plodded through the heavy yielding sand, theswiftly-falling darkness bringing with it a heavy storm of rain andhail. Wondering whether his comrades were faring as badly, the youngknight stumbled and plunged resolutely onwards, his serving-manfollowing closely at his heels, the whistling of the wind makingconversation impossible.
For over two hours the twain pursued their uncomfortable walk, tillat length a dark object blocked their path. It was a ruined windmill.Making their way round its massive base, the weary travellers foundsome slight shelter from the force of the wind, and, panting fromtheir exertions, they leaned against the stonework to recover theirbreath.
"Dost know where we are?" shouted Raymond, his voice almost inaudiblein the howling wind.
"No, sir," replied the man.
"But a short distance from where we left the wood, I marked thistower on our left, and, certes, we have been walking round and roundfor half the night."
"Then we must needs set out once more?"
"Nay. This will suffice for the present, and here we'll rest tilldaylight comes and the storm spends itself. The door is not barred, Ihope."
Walking slowly round the mill, the knight felt for the opening, tillhe stumbled over a low stone step. Cautiously ascending, he found atthe fourth step a flat ledge, protected by a broken rail, and herewas the door hanging by a solitary rusted hinge.
TREACHERY AFOOT]
Yielding to the pressure of his shoulder, the door flew open, and theknight and his companion carefully groped their way in, closing thedoor after them. Here, in absolute blackness, they found shelter, thestorm howling wildly outside, yet scarcely to be heard within themassive stone walls. They had no means of procuring a light, but bycontinuing their investigations they felt a pile of broken hurdlesand the lower-most rungs of a ladder.
Raymond was about to ascend, when his servant laid a detaining handupon his arm. "Hist!" he exclaimed. "Some one moves in the roomabove."
"Nay, thou dreamest! . . . Ay, thou art right! Hide here, quickly. Artarmed?"
"Nought but a knife."
"'Twill suffice. Now, hold thyself in readiness, but act not till Igive the word."
Crouching behind the pile of hurdles, knight and servant waited inbreathless silence. There was the sound of a heavy trap-door beingraised, and a voice exclaimed in French: "Is it thou, Jehan?"
Receiving no reply, the questioner slowly descended a few steps ofthe ladder, and drawing a horn lantern from underneath a cloak, swungit around him, peering about the room.
Then, perceiving no one, he muttered: "Mon Dieu! It is but fancy, yetwhy doth he tarry?" And again concealing the light, he ascended tothe upper story and dropped the trap-hatch with a resounding thud.
"There's fell treachery afoot," whispered Raymond. "Dost know who itis?"
"'Tis Rene de Caux, of the following of the Captal de Buche, ourKing's trusted favourite. Wait patiently, for ere long no littleadvancement will be gained."
Silently the Englishmen waited, every fiercer blast of the stormcausing them to imagine that the expected visitor had arrived. Atlast they heard the door pushed open, and a dark form made its wayinto the room with a confidence gained by long practice. A lowwhistle, like the cry of a night-bird, and the trapdoor was againremoved.
"Ah, Jehan! 'Tis thou at last! Close the door ere I show a light."
"A thousand pests take the weather. This storm hath all but been myundoing."
The light of the lantern shone upon the face of the new arrival. Hewas a tall, slender man, with light hair and refined features, and onremoving his sodden cloak a garment of slashed velvet was revealed,betokening that the wearer was a gentleman of quality. Armour he worenone, but a light sword hung from his belt, balanced by a largeleather bag.
"And how fares Sir John de Vienne?"
"Strong in courage when last I saw him."
"And that was----?"
"But yesternight."
"And he agreed to allow you to poison the wells?"
"Nay, by Our Lady, he would not."
"Well spoken, like a brave and gallant knight, for, by St. Denis, theplan is not to my liking even though these insolent islanders deserveall that is evil. But, see here! This letter must be given to theGovernor of the town by to-morrow, though, alas! it is cold comfortto Sir John. Canst arrange to deliver it?"
"They will admit me by the postern of the Boulogne Gate at midnight.'Twill be done."
"Then take thy reward. Hold the light closer while I count, for Iknow a Gascon of old! See to it: all bright crowns, of good weight."
The Frenchman addressed as Jehan handed a sealed document to theGascon, who placed it in his doublet; then, setting the lantern onthe ground and extending his hand, the latter counted the coins asJehan took them from his wallet.
Loosening his poignard and motioning to Thompson to draw his knife,Raymond prepared to spring from his hiding-place.
Ere the two conspirators could recover from their astonishment theyoung knight had leapt upon them, and with one thrust of his weaponlaid the traitorous Gascon dead at his feet. Instinctively theFrenchman sprang backwards and whipped out his sword.
"Yield thee!" thundered Raymond.
"To no man!"
In an instant their blades met, the dull light of the lanternflashing on the glittering steel. Though Jehan had the longer weapon,he possessed neither the strength nor the skill of his antagonist,and in less than half a minute's swordplay the Frenchman's bladecaught in the notch that the hilt of most poignards possess, and witha quick, powerful turn of the wrist Raymond snapped the sword offclose to the guard.
"Now wilt yield?"
"If thou art a gentleman I will; if not, pass the dagger through merather than let me disgrace myself."
"I am Sir Raymond Revyngton, knight."
"Then, Sir Raymond, I yield myself to thee; though I pray thee,certify my master that I fought well ere I yielded."
"And thy name and quality?"
"I am Jehan de Sous-Cahors, seneschal de Vimereux, and of thehousehold of King Philip."
"Then I have had great honour in taking thee!" said Raymond with duecourtesy. "And now have I thy promise that there shallbe no attempt at escape? Otherwise, though it grieve me to mishandlea knight, thou must be brought bound into the camp."
"I swear, by St. Denis."
The grey dawn was beginning to break, and the storm was dying away.Raymond looked out of the door, and saw with grea
t satisfaction theknight's horse stabled in a small adjoining hut that had beeninvisible on the previous night. There in the distance the smoke ofthe English camp-fires showed distinctly in the now clear air, whileless than a bowshot from the mill lay the wood that had been thecause of their misfortune.
Suddenly the young knight heard the sound of scuffling and Thompson'svoice shouting "Help, master, help!"
Darting back to the room, he found his servant engaged in a desperatestruggle with the captive, who was endeavouring to destroy the letterhe had entrusted to the double-dealing Gascon, a portion of which hehad attempted to swallow.
With no gentle hand Raymond aided his man to throw the prisoner onhis back and wrench the missive from him.
"Thy parole, Sir Knight!" he exclaimed.
"----has been kept," gasped the captive, "but I trow thou wilt admitthat no farther compact was made. I am foiled in this matter, but Ipray thee, of thy courtesy, give me leave to finish my work anddestroy this missive."
"That I cannot do. This letter, which I doubt not is of great moment,I will take charge of, and hand over to my Lord Chandos. 'Tis nowdaylight, and we must needs return to the camp. I am loth to let theewalk, but as there is but one horse between two knights, 'tis betterthat neither ride."
Walking side by side, and followed by Thompson leading the captive'shorse, Raymond and the French knight arrived at the camp withoutfurther incident, and, after handing his prisoner over to thecamp-martial, the young knight repaired with all despatch to find SirJohn Hacket.
On hearing Raymond's story the Constable accompanied him to the tentof Sir John Chandos, whose banner floated close to the royalpavilion.
Lord Chandos opened the letter which Raymond had gained possessionof, and found that its contents were practically undamaged in thestruggle.
"Canst read?" he asked of the Constable. "For this crabbed fist dothsorely try my one eye."
"Nay," replied Sir John Hacket with a grim smile. "Only enough formine own use, for from my seventh year the sword ever proved a morepleasing companion than a scrawling, musty parchment."
"And canst thou, Sir Raymond?"
"I will try my best, fair sir."
Raymond took the missive and began to read the superscription,written in French: "To the very puissant knight, Sir John de Vienne,seneschal of our town of Calais, greeting."
The body of the letter began by thanking the Governor for his braveresistance, and expressing hopes of being able to speedily succourthe besieged. It then confirmed the arrangements, previously madethrough the Gascon traitor, for a sally, in conjunction with anattempt on the part of the French forces to break the English linesfrom without. Should the French be unable to carry out their part andattack the English camp, three white lights were to be shown from theruins of an old mill near Sangatte, and the besieged would then be atliberty to make the best terms they could for the surrender ofCalais. The epistle was signed by no less a personage than KingPhilip of France.
"By St. George, we have them," exclaimed Chandos, striking his fistheavily upon an oaken chest. "Though I would rather that Rene de Cauxwere swinging from a gallows in view of the town than lying dead atthy hands in the ruined mill. No matter; this letter must reach theGovernor of Calais. Five hundred lances and two thousand archers willsuffice to keep the Frenchmen from advancing upon us; and tomorrownight will see three white lights from the old mill at Sangatte."
At nightfall a squire of the Captal de Buche crept cautiously to thepostern of the Boulogne Gate, and, representing himself as anemissary of the false Rene de Caux, handed the fatal letter to theGovernor, Sir John de Vienne. The presence of a strong force ofEnglishmen beyond the dunes of Sangatte prevented the expected Frencharmy from occupying the mill and signalling to their friends in thebeleaguered city, and the following night three white lights flashedtheir message of despair to the hitherto undaunted garrison.
Thus the fall of Calais was hastened, but Raymond saw nothing of thefinal act in the drama, when the heroic Eustace de St. Pierre and hisfive companions were nearly sacrificed to appease the anger of theEnglish King (Queen Philippa's intercession alone saved their lives),for the young knight was with the five hundred lances that guardedthe approach from Boulogne; and on the 6th of August, two days afterEdward had taken possession of the town, the Hampshire companies,with whom was Sir Reginald Scarsdale, embarked for the shores ofEngland.