Sir Nigel

  XIV. HOW NIGEL CHASED THE RED FERRET

  They passed a ferry, wound upward by a curving path, and then, havingsatisfied a guard of men-at-arms, were admitted through the frowningarch of the Pipewell Gate. There waiting for them, in the middle ofthe east street, the sun gleaming upon his lemon-colored beard, andpuckering his single eye, stood Chandos himself, his legs apart, hishands behind his back, and a welcoming smile upon his quaint high-nosedface. Behind him a crowd of little boys were gazing with reverent eyesat the famous soldier.

  "Welcome, Nigel!" said he, "and you also, good archer! I chanced to bewalking on the city wall, and I thought from the color of your horsethat it was indeed you upon the Udimore Road. How have you fared,young squire errant? Have you held bridges or rescued damsels or slainoppressors on your way from Tilford?"

  "Nay, my fair lord, I have accomplished nothing; but I once had hopes--"Nigel flushed at the remembrance.

  "I will give you more than hopes, Nigel. I will put you where you candip both arms to the elbow into danger and honor, where peril will sleepwith you at night and rise with you in the morning and the very air youbreathe be laden with it. Are you ready for that, young sir?"

  "I can but pray, fair lord, that my spirit will rise to it."

  Chandos smiled his approval and laid his thin brown hand on the youth'sshoulder. "Good!" said he. "It is the mute hound which bites thehardest. The babbler is ever the hang-back. Bide with me here, Nigel,and walk upon the ramparts. Archer, do you lead the horses to the 'Signof the Broom Pod' in the high street, and tell my varlets to see themaboard the cog Thomas before nightfall. We sail at the second hour aftercurfew. Come hither, Nigel, to the crest of the corner turret, for fromit I will show you what you have never seen."

  It was but a dim and distant white cloud upon the blue water seen faroff over the Dungeness Point, and yet the sight of it flushed the youngSquire's cheeks and sent the blood hot through his veins. It was thefringe of France, that land of chivalry and glory, the stage where nameand fame were to be won. With burning eyes he gazed across at it, hisheart rejoicing to think that the hour was at hand when he might treadthat sacred soil. Then his gaze crossed the immense stretch of the bluesea, dotted over with the sails of fishing-boats, until it rested uponthe double harbor beneath packed with vessels of every size and shape,from the pessoners and creyers which plied up and down the coast tothe great cogs and galleys which were used either as war-ships ormerchantmen as the occasion served. One of them was at that instantpassing out to sea, a huge galleass, with trumpets blowing and nakersbanging, the flag of Saint George flaunting over the broad purple sail,and the decks sparkling from end to end with steel. Nigel gave a cry ofpleasure at the splendor of the sight.

  "Aye, lad," said Chandos, "it is the Trinity of Rye, the very ship onwhich I fought at Sluys. Her deck ran blood from stem to stern that day.But turn your eyes this way, I beg you, and tell me if you see aughtstrange about this town."

  Nigel looked down at the noble straight street, at the Roundel Tower,at the fine church of Saint Thomas, and the other fair buildings ofWinchelsea. "It is all new," said he--"church, castle, houses, all arenew."

  "You are right, fair son. My grandfather can call to mind the time whenonly the conies lived upon this rock. The town was down yonder by thesea, until one night the waves rose upon it and not a house was left.See, yonder is Rye, huddling also on a hill, the two towns like poorsheep when the waters are out. But down there under the blue water andbelow the Camber Sand lies the true Winchelsea--tower, cathedral, wallsand all, even as my grandfather knew it, when the first Edward was youngupon the throne."

  For an hour or more Chandos paced upon the ramparts with his youngSquire at his elbow and talked to him of his duties and of the secretsand craft of warfare, Nigel drinking in and storing in his memory everyword from so revered a teacher. Many a time in after life, in stress andin danger, he strengthened himself by the memory of that slow walk withthe blue sea on one side and the fair town on the other, when the wisesoldier and noble-hearted knight poured forth his precept and advice asthe master workman to the apprentice.

  "Perhaps, fair son," said he, "you are like so many other lads who rideto the wars, and know so much already that it is waste of breath toadvise them?"

  "Nay, my fair lord, I know nothing save that I would fain do my duty andeither win honorable advancement or die worshipful on the field."

  "You are wise to be humble," said Chandos; "for indeed he who knows mostof war knows best that there is much to learn. As there is a mysteryof the rivers and a mystery of woodcraft, even so there is a mysteryof warfare by which battles may be lost and gained; for all nations arebrave, and where the brave meets the brave it is he who is crafty andwar-wise who will win the day. The best hound will run at fault if he beill laid on, and the best hawk will fly at check if he be badly loosed,and even so the bravest army may go awry if it be ill handled. There arenot in Christendom better knights and squires than those of the French,and yet we have had the better of them, for in our Scottish Wars andelsewhere we have learned more of this same mystery of which I speak."

  "And wherein lies our wisdom, honored sir?" asked Nigel. "I also wouldfain be war-wise and learn to fight with my wits as well as with mysword."

  Chandos shook his head and smiled. "It is in the forest and on the downthat you learn to fly the hawk and loose the hound," said he. "So alsoit is in camp and on the field that the mystery of war can be learned.There only has every great captain come to be its master. To start hemust have a cool head, quick to think, soft as wax before his purposeis formed, hard as steel when once he sees it before him. Ever alert hemust be, and cautious also, but with judgment to turn his caution intorashness where a large gain may be put against a small stake. An eye forcountry also, for the trend of the rivers, the slope of the hills, thecover of the woods, and the light green of the bog-land."

  Poor Nigel, who had trusted to his lance and to Pommers to break hispath to glory, stood aghast at this list of needs. "Alas!" he cried."How am I to gain all this?--I, who could scarce learn to read or writethough the good Father Matthew broke a hazel stick a day across myshoulders?"

  "You will gain it, fair son, where others have gained it before you. Youhave that which is the first thing of all, a heart of fire from whichother colder hearts may catch a spark. But you must have knowledgealso of that which warfare has taught us in olden times. We know,par exemple, that horsemen alone cannot hope to win against goodfoot-soldiers. Has it not been tried at Courtrai, at Stirling, andagain under my own eyes at Crecy, where the chivalry of France went downbefore our bowmen?"

  Nigel stared at him, with a perplexed brow. "Fair sir, my heart growsheavy as I hear you. Do you then say that our chivalry can make no headagainst archers, billmen and the like?"

  "Nay, Nigel, for it has also been very clearly shown that the bestfoot-soldiers unsupported cannot hold their own against the mailedhorsemen."

  "To whom then is the victory?" asked Nigel.

  "To him who can mix his horse and foot, using each to strengthen theother. Apart they are weak. Together they are strong. The archer whocan weaken the enemy's line, the horseman who can break it when it isweakened, as was done at Falkirk and Duplin, there is the secret of ourstrength. Now touching this same battle of Falkirk, I pray you for oneinstant to give it your attention."

  With his whip he began to trace a plan of the Scottish battle upon thedust, and Nigel with knitted brows was trying hard to muster his smallstock of brains and to profit by the lecture, when their conversationwas interrupted by a strange new arrival.

  It was a very stout little man, wheezy and purple with haste, whoscudded down the rampart as if he were blown by the wind, his grizzledhair flying and his long black gown floating behind him. He was clad inthe dress of a respectable citizen, a black jerkin trimmed with sable, ablack-velvet beaver hat and a white feather. At the sight of Chandoshe gave a cry of joy and quickened his pace so that when he did at lastreach him he could only stand gasping and w
aving his hands.

  "Give yourself time, good Master Wintersole, give yourself time!" saidChandos in a soothing voice.

  "The papers!" gasped the little man. "Oh, my Lord Chandos, the papers--"

  "What of the papers, my worthy sir?"

  "I swear by our good patron Saint Leonard, it is no fault of mine! Ihad locked them in my coffer. But the lock was forced and the cofferrifled."

  A shadow of anger passed over the soldier's keen face.

  "How now, Master Mayor? Pull your wits together and do not stand therebabbling like a three-year child. Do you say that some one hath takenthe papers?"

  "It is sooth, fair sir! Thrice I have been Mayor of the town, andfifteen years burgess and jurat, but never once has any public mattergone awry through me. Only last month there came an order from Windsoron a Tuesday for a Friday banquet, a thousand soles, four thousandplaice, two thousand mackerel, five hundred crabs, a thousand lobsters,five thousand whiting--"

  "I doubt not, Master Mayor, that you are an excellent fishmonger; butthe matter concerns the papers I gave into your keeping. Where arethey?"

  "Taken, fair sir--gone!"

  "And who hath dared to take them?"

  "Alas! I know not. It was but for as long as you would say an angelusthat I left the chamber, and when I came back there was the coffer,broken and empty, upon my table."

  "Do you suspect no one?"

  "There was a varlet who hath come with the last few days into my employ.He is not to be found, and I have sent horsemen along both the Udimoreroad and that to Rye, that they may seize him. By the help of SaintLeonard they can scarce miss him, for one can tell him a bow-shot off byhis hair."

  "Is it red?" asked Chandos eagerly. "Is it fox-red, and the man a smallman pocked with sun-spots, and very quick in his movements?"

  "It is the man himself."

  Chandos shook his clenched hand with annoyance, and then set off swiftlydown the street.

  "It is Peter the Red Ferret once more!" said he. "I knew him of old inFrance, where he has done us more harm than a company of men-at-arms. Hespeaks English as he speaks French, and he is of such daring andcunning that nothing is secret from him. In all France there is no moredangerous man, for though he is a gentleman of blood and coat-armor hetakes the part of a spy, because it hath the more danger and thereforethe more honor."

  "But, my fair lord," cried the Mayor, as he hurried along, keeping pacewith the long strides of the soldier, "I knew that you warned me to takeall care of the papers; but surely there was no matter of great importin it? It was but to say what stores were to be sent after you toCalais?"

  "Is that not everything?" cried Chandos impatiently. "Can you not see,oh foolish Master Wintersole, that the French suspect we are about tomake some attempt and that they have sent Peter the Red Ferret, as theyhave sent him many times before, to get tidings of whither we are bound?Now that he knows that the stores are for Calais, then the French nearCalais will take his warning, and so the King's whole plan come tonothing."

  "Then he will fly by water. We can stop him yet. He has not an hour'sstart."

  "It may be that a boat awaits him at Rye or Hythe; but it is more likethat he has all ready to depart from here. Ah, see yonder! I'll warrantthat the Red Ferret is on board!"

  Chandos had halted in front of his inn, and now he pointed down to theouter harbor, which lay two miles off across the green plain. It wasconnected by a long winding canal with the inner dock at the base of thehill, upon which the town was built. Between the two horns formed by theshort curving piers a small schooner was running out to sea, dipping andrising before a sharp southerly breeze.

  "It is no Winchelsea boat," said the Mayor. "She is longer and broaderin the beam than ours."

  "Horses! bring horses!" cried Chandos. "Come, Nigel, let us go furtherinto the matter."

  A busy crowd of varlets, archers, and men-at-arms swarmed round thegateway of the "Sign of the Broom Pod," singing, shouting, and jostlingin rough good-fellowship. The sight of the tall thin figure of Chandosbrought order amongst them, and a few minutes later the horses wereready and saddled. A breakneck ride down a steep declivity, and thena gallop of two miles over the sedgy plain carried them to the outerharbor. A dozen vessels were lying there, ready to start for Bordeaux orRochelle, and the quay was thick with sailors, laborers and townsmen andheaped with wine-barrels and wool-packs.

  "Who is warden here?" asked Chandos, springing from his horse.

  "Badding! Where is Cock Badding? Badding is warden!" shouted the crowd.

  A moment later a short swarthy man, bull-necked and deep-chested, pushedthrough the people. He was clad in rough russet wool with a scarletcloth tied round his black curly head. His sleeves were rolled up tohis shoulders, and his brown arms, all stained with grease and tar, werelike two thick gnarled branches from an oaken stump. His savage brownface was fierce and frowning, and was split from chin to temple with thelong white wale of an ill-healed wound.

  "How now, gentles, will you never wait your turn?" he rumbled in a deepangry voice. "Can you not see that we are warping the Rose of Guienneinto midstream for the ebb-tide? Is this a time to break in upon us?Your goods will go aboard in due season, I promise you; so ride backinto the town and find such pleasure as you may, while I and my mates doour work without let or hindrance."

  "It is the gentle Chandos!" cried some one in the crowd. "It is the goodSir John."

  The rough harbor-master changed his gruffness to smiles in an instant."Nay, Sir John, what would you? I pray you to hold me excused if I wasshort of speech, but we port-wardens are sore plagued with foolish younglordlings, who get betwixt us and our work and blame us because we donot turn an ebb-tide into a flood, or a south wind into a north. I prayyou to tell me how I can serve you."

  "That boat!" said Chandos, pointing to the already distant sail risingand falling on the waves. "What is it?"

  Cock Badding shaded his keen eyes with his strong brows hand. "She hasbut just gone out," said he. "She is La Pucelle, a small wine-sloop fromGascony, home-bound and laden with barrel-staves."

  "I pray you did any man join her at the very last?"

  "Nay, I know not. I saw no one."

  "But I know," cried a seaman in the crowd. "I was standing at thewharf-side and was nigh knocked into the water by a little red-headedfellow, who breathed as though he had run from the town. Ere I had timeto give him a cuff he had jumped aboard, the ropes were cast off, andher nose was seaward."

  In a few words Chandos made all clear to Badding, the crowd pressingeagerly round.

  "Aye, aye!" cried a seaman, "the good Sir John is right. See how shepoints. It is Picardy and not Gascony that she will fetch this journeyin spite of her wine-staves."

  "Then we must lay her aboard!" cried Cock Badding. "Come, lads, here ismy own Marie Rose ready to cast off. Who's for a trip with a fight atthe end of it?"

  There was a rush for the boat; but the stout little seaman picked hismen. "Go back, Jerry! Your heart is good, but you are overfat for thework. You, Luke, and you, Thomas, and the two Deedes, and William ofSandgate. You will work the boat. And now we need a few men of theirhands. Do you come, little sir?"

  "I pray you, my dear lord, to let me go!" cried Nigel.

  "Yes, Nigel, you can go, and I will bring your gear over to Calais thisnight."

  "I will join you there, fair sir, and with the help of Saint Paul I willbring this Red Ferret with me."

  "Aboard, aboard! Time passes!" cried Badding impatiently, while alreadyhis seamen were hauling on the line and raising the mainsail. "Now then,sirrah! who are you?" It was Aylward, who had followed Nigel and waspushing his way aboard.

  "Where my master goes I go also," cried Aylward, "so stand clear,master-shipman, or you may come by a hurt."

  "By Saint Leonard! archer," said Cock Badding, "had I more time Iwould give you a lesson ere I leave land. Stand back and give place toothers!"

  "Nay, stand back and give place to me!" cried Aylward, and seizingBadding round
the waist he slung him into the dock.

  There was a cry of anger from the crowd, for Badding was the hero of allthe Cinque Ports and had never yet met his match in manhood. The epitaphstill lingers in which it was said that he "could never rest untilhe had foughten his fill." When, therefore, swimming like a duck, hereached a rope and pulled himself hand over hand up to the quay, allstood aghast to see what fell fate would befall this bold stranger. ButBadding laughed loudly, dashing the saltwater from his eyes and hair.

  "You have fairly won your place, archer," said he. "You are the very manfor our work. Where is Black Simon of Norwich?"

  A tall dark young man with a long, stern, lean face came forward. "I amwith you, Cock," said he, "and I thank you for my place."

  "You can come, Hugh Baddlesmere, and you, Hal Masters, and you, Dicon ofRye. That is enough. Now off, in God's name, or it will be night ere wecan come up with them!"

  Already the head-sails and the main-sail had been raised, while ahundred willing hands poled her off from the wharf. Now the wind caughther; heeling over, and quivering with eagerness like an unleashed houndshe flew through the opening and out into the Channel. She was a famouslittle schooner, the Marie Rose of Winchelsea, and under her daringowner Cock Badding, half trader and half pirate, had brought back intoport many a rich cargo taken in mid-Channel, and paid for in bloodrather than money. Small as she was, her great speed and the fiercecharacter of her master had made her a name of terror along the Frenchcoast, and many a bulky Eastlander or Fleming as he passed the narrowseas had scanned the distant Kentish shore, fearing lest that ill-omenedpurple sail with a gold Christopher upon it should shoot out suddenlyfrom the dim gray cliffs. Now she was clear of the land, with the windon her larboard quarter, every inch of canvas set, and her high sharpbows smothered in foam, as she dug through the waves.

  Cock Badding trod the deck with head erect and jaunty bearing, glancingup at the swelling sails and then ahead at the little tilted whitetriangle, which stood out clear and hard against the bright blue sky.Behind was the lowland of the Camber marshes, with the bluffs of Rye andWinchelsea, and the line of cliffs behind them. On the larboard bow rosethe great white walls of Folkestone and of Dover, and far on the distantsky-line the gray shimmer of those French cliffs for which the fugitiveswere making.

  "By Saint Paul!" cried Nigel, looking with eager eyes over the tossingwaters, "it seems to me, Master Badding, that already we draw in uponthem."

  The master measured the distance with his keen steady gaze, and thenlooked up at the sinking sun. "We have still four hours of daylight,"said he; "but if we do not lay her aboard ere darkness falls she willsave herself, for the nights are as black as a wolf's mouth, and if shealter her course I know not how we may follow her."

  "Unless, indeed, you might guess to which port she was bound and reachit before her."

  "Well thought of, little master!" cried Badding. "If the news be for theFrench outside Calais, then Ambleteuse would be nearest to Saint Omer.But my sweeting sails three paces to that lubber's two, and if the windholds we shall have time and to spare. How now, archer? You do not seemso eager as when you made your way aboard this boat by slinging me intothe sea."

  Aylward sat on the upturned keel of a skiff which lay upon the deck. Hegroaned sadly and held his green face between his two hands. "I wouldgladly sling you into the sea once more, master-shipman," said he, "ifby so doing I could get off this most accursed vessel of thine. Or ifyou would wish to have your turn, then I would thank you if you wouldlend me a hand over the side, for indeed I am but a useless weight uponyour deck. Little did I think that Samkin Aylward could be turned intoa weakling by an hour of salt water. Alas the day that ever my footwandered from the good red heather of Crooksbury!"

  Cock Badding laughed loud and long. "Nay, take it not to heart, archer,"he cried; "for better men than you or I have groaned upon this deck. ThePrince himself with ten of his chosen knights crossed with me once, andeleven sadder faces I never saw. Yet within a month they had shown atCrecy that they were no weaklings, as you will do also, I dare swear,when the time comes. Keep that thick head of thine down upon the planks,and all will be well anon. But we raise her, we raise her with everyblast of the wind!"

  It was indeed evident, even to the inexperienced eyes of Nigel, that theMarie Rose was closing in swiftly upon the stranger. She was a heavy,bluff-bowed, broad-sterned vessel which labored clumsily through theseas. The swift, fierce little Winchelsea boat swooping and hissingthrough the waters behind her was like some keen hawk whizzing downwind at the back of a flapping heavy-bodied duck. Half an hour before LaPucelle had been a distant patch of canvas. Now they could see the blackhull, and soon the cut of her sails and the lines of her bulwarks. Therewere at least a dozen men upon her deck, and the twinkle of weapons fromamongst them showed that they were preparing to resist. Cock Baddingbegan to muster his own forces.

  He had a crew of seven rough, hardy mariners, who had been at his backin many a skirmish. They were armed with short swords, but Cock Baddingcarried a weapon peculiar to himself, a twenty-pound blacksmith'shammer, the memory of which, as "Badding's cracker," still lingersin the Cinque Ports. Then there were the eager Nigel, the melancholyAylward, Black Simon who was a tried swordsman, and three archers,Baddlesmere, Masters and Dicon of Rye, all veterans of the French War.The numbers in the two vessels might be about equal; but Badding ashe glanced at the bold harsh faces which looked to him for orders hadlittle fear for the result.

  Glancing round, however, he saw something which was more dangerous tohis plans than the resistance of the enemy. The wind, which had becomemore fitful and feebler, now fell suddenly away, until the sails hunglimp and straight above them. A belt of calm lay along the horizon, andthe waves around had smoothed down into a long oily swell on whichthe two little vessels rose and fell. The great boom of the Marie Roserattled and jarred with every lurch, and the high thin prow pointedskyward one instant and seaward the next in a way that drew fresh groansfrom the unhappy Aylward. In vain Cock Badding pulled on his sheets andtried hard to husband every little wandering gust which ruffled for aninstant the sleek rollers. The French master was as adroit a sailor, andhis boom swung round also as each breath of wind came up from astern.

  At last even these fitful puffs died finally away, and a cloudlesssky overhung a glassy sea. The sun was almost upon the horizon behindDungeness Point, and the whole western heaven was bright with the gloryof the sunset, which blended sea and sky in one blaze of ruddy light.Like rollers of molten gold, the long swell heaved up Channel from thegreat ocean beyond. In the midst of the immense beauty and peace ofnature the two little dark specks with the white sail and the purplerose and fell, so small upon the vast shining bosom of the waters, andyet so charged with all the unrest and the passion of life.

  The experienced eye of the seaman told him that it was hopeless toexpect a breeze before nightfall. He looked across at the Frenchman,which lay less than a quarter of a mile ahead, and shook his gnarledfist at the line of heads which could be seen looking back over herstern. One of them waved a white kerchief in derision, and Cock Baddingswore a bitter oath at the sight.

  "By Saint Leonard of Winchelsea," he cried, "I will rub my side upagainst her yet! Out with the skiff, lads, and two of you to the oars.Make fast the line to the mast, Will. Do you go in the boat, Hugh, andI'll make the second. Now if we bend our backs to it we may have themyet ere night cover them."

  The little skiff was swiftly lowered over the side and the slack end ofthe cable fastened to the after thwart. Cock Badding and his comradespulled as if they would snap their oars, and the little vessel beganslowly to lurch forward over the rollers. But the next moment a largerskiff had splashed over the side of the Frenchman, and no less than fourseamen were hard at work under her bows. If the Marie Rose advanced ayard the Frenchman was going two. Again Cock Badding raved and shook hisfist. He clambered aboard, his face wet with sweat and dark with anger.

  "Curse them! they have had the best of us!" he
cried. "I can do no more.Sir John has lost his papers, for indeed now that night is at hand I cansee no way in which we can gain them."

  Nigel had leaned against the bulwark during these events, watching withkeen attention the doings of the sailors, and praying alternately toSaint Paul, Saint George, and Saint Thomas for a slant of wind whichwould put them along side their enemy. He was silent; but his hot heartwas simmering within him. His spirit had risen even above the discomfortof the sea, and his mind was too absorbed in his mission to have athought for that which had laid Aylward flat upon the deck. He had neverdoubted that Cock Badding in one way or another would accomplish hisend, but when he heard his speech of despair he bounded off the bulwarkand stood before the seaman with his face flushed and all his soulafire.

  "By Saint Paul! master-shipman," he cried, "we should never hold up ourheads in honor if we did not go further into the matter! Let us do somesmall deed this night upon the water, or let us never see land again,for indeed we could not wish fairer prospect of winning honorableadvancement."

  "With your leave, little master, you speak like a fool," said the gruffseaman. "You and all your kind are as children when once the blue wateris beneath you. Can you not see that there is no wind, and that theFrenchman can warp her as swiftly as we? What then would you do?"

  Nigel pointed to the boat which towed astern. "Let us venture forthin her," said he, "and let us take this ship or die worshipful in theattempt."

  His bold and fiery words found their echo in the brave rough heartsaround him. There was a deep-chested shout from both archers and seamen.Even Aylward sat up, with a wan smile upon his green face.

  But Cock Badding shook his head. "I have never met the man who couldlead where I would not follow," said he; "but by Saint Leonard! this isa mad business, and I should be a fool if I were to risk my men and myship. Bethink you, little master, that the skiff can hold only five,though you load her to the water's edge. If there is a man yonder,there are fourteen, and you have to climb their side from the boat. Whatchance would you have? Your boat stove and you in the water--there isthe end of it. No man of mine goes on such a fool's errand, and so Iswear!"

  "Then, Master Badding, I must crave the loan of your skiff, for by SaintPaul! the good Lord Chandos' papers are not to be so lightly lost. If noone else will come, then I will go alone."

  The shipman smiled at the words; but the smile died away from his lipswhen Nigel, with features set like ivory and eyes as hard as steel,pulled on the rope so as to bring the skiff under the counter. It wasvery clear that he would do even as he said. At the same time Aylwardraised his bulky form from the deck, leaned for a moment against thebulwarks, and then tottered aft to his master's side.

  "Here is one that will go with you," said he, "or he would never dareshow his face to the girls of Tilford again. Come, archers, let us leavethese salt herrings in their pickle tub and try our luck out on thewater."

  The three archers at once ranged themselves on the same side as theircomrade. They were bronzed, bearded men, short in stature, as weremost Englishmen of that day, but hardy, strong and skilled with theirweapons. Each drew his string from its waterproof case and bent the hugearc of his war-bow as he fitted it into the nocks.

  "Now, master, we are at your back," said they as they pulled andtightened their sword-belts.

  But already Cock Badding had been carried away by the hot lust of battleand had thrown aside every fear and doubt which had clouded him. To seea fight and not to be in it was more than he could bear.

  "Nay, have it your own way!" he cried, "and may Saint Leonard help us,for a madder venture I have never seen! And yet it may be worth thetrial. But if it be done let me have the handling of it, little master,for you know no more of a boat than I do of a war-horse. The skiff canbear five and not a man more. Now, who will come?"

  They had all caught fire, and there was not one who would be left out.

  Badding picked up his hammer. "I will come myself," said he, "and youalso, little master, since it is your hot head that has planned it. Thenthere is Black Simon, the best sword of the Cinque Ports. Two archerscan pull on the oars, and it may be that they can pick off two or threeof these Frenchmen before we close with them. Hugh Baddlesmere, and you,Dicon of Rye--into the boat with you!"

  "What?" cried Aylward. "Am I to be left behind? I, who am the Squire'sown man? Ill fare the bowman who comes betwixt me and yonder boat!"

  "Nay, Aylward," said his master, "I order that you stay, for indeed youare a sick man."

  "But now that the waves have sunk I am myself again. Nay, fair sir, Ipray that you will not leave me behind."

  "You must needs take the space of a better man; for what do you know ofthe handling of a boat?" said Badding shortly. "No more fool's talk, Ipray you, for the night will soon fall. Stand aside!"

  Aylward looked hard at the French boat. "I could swim ten times up anddown Frensham pond," said he, "and it will be strange if I cannot go asfar as that. By these finger-bones, Samkin Aylward may be there as soonas you!"

  The little boat with its five occupants pushed off from the side ofthe schooner, and dipping and rising, made its slow way toward theFrenchman. Badding and one archer had single oars, the second archer wasin the prow, while Black Simon and Nigel huddled into the stern with thewater lapping and hissing at their very elbows. A shout of defiance rosefrom the Frenchmen, and they stood in a line along the side of theirvessel shaking their fists and waving their weapons. Already the sun waslevel with Dungeness, and the gray of evening was blurring sky andwater into one dim haze. A great silence hung over the broad expanse ofnature, and no sound broke it save the dip and splash of the oarsand the slow deep surge of the boat upon the swell. Behind them theircomrades of the Marie Rose stood motionless and silent, watching theirprogress with eager eyes.

  They were near enough now to have a good look at the Frenchmen. One wasa big swarthy man with a long black beard. He had a red cap and an axover his shoulder. There were ten other hardy-looking fellows, all ofthem well armed, and there were three who seemed to be boys.

  "Shall we try a shaft upon them?" asked Hugh Baddlesmere. "They are wellwithin our bowshot."

  "Only one of you can shoot at a time, for you have no footing," saidBadding. "With one foot in the prow and one over the thwart you will getyour stance. Do what you may, and then we will close in upon them."

  The archer balanced himself in the rolling boat with the deftness of aman who has been trained upon the sea, for he was born and bred inthe Cinque Ports. Carefully he nocked his arrow, strongly he drew it,steadily he loosed it, but the boat swooped at the instant, and itburied itself in the waves. The second passed over the little ship, andthe third struck in her black side. Then in quick succession so quickthat two shafts were often in the air at the same instant--he dischargeda dozen arrows, most of which just cleared the bulwarks and dropped uponthe deck. There was a cry on the Frenchman, and the heads vanished fromthe side.

  "Enough!" cried Badding. "One is down, and it may be two. Close in,close in, in God's name, before they rally!"

  He and the other bent to their oars; but at the same instant there wasa sharp zip in the air and a hard clear sound like a stone striking awall. Baddlesmere clapped his hand to his head, groaned and fell forwardout of the boat, leaving a swirl of blood upon the surface. A momentlater the same fierce hiss ended in a loud wooden crash, and a short,thick crossbow-bolt was buried deep in the side of their boat.

  "Close in, close in!" roared Badding, tugging at his oar. "Saint Georgefor England! Saint Leonard for Winchelsea! Close in!"

  But again that fatal crossbow twanged. Dicon of Rye fell back with ashaft through his shoulder. "God help me, I can no more!" said he.

  Badding seized the oar from his hand; but it was only to sweep theboat's head round and pull her back to the Marie Rose. The attack hadfailed.

  "What now, master-shipman?" cried Nigel. "What has befallen to stop us?Surely the matter does not end here?"

  "Two down out of five," s
aid Badding, "and twelve at the least againstus. The odds are too long, little master. Let us at least go back, fillup once more, and raise a mantelet against the bolts, for they have anarbalist which shoots both straight and hard. But what we do we must doquickly, for the darkness falls apace."

  Their repulse had been hailed by wild yells of delight from theFrenchmen, who danced with joy and waved their weapons madly over theirheads. But before their rejoicings had finished they saw the little boatcreeping out once more from the shadow of the Marie Rose, a great woodenscreen in her bows to protect her from the arrows. Without a pause shecame straight and fast for her enemy. The wounded archer had been put onboard, and Aylward would have had his place had Nigel been able to seehim upon the deck. The third archer, Hal Masters, had sprung in, andone of the seamen, Wat Finnis of Hythe. With their hearts hardened toconquer or to die, the five ran alongside the Frenchman and sprang uponher deck. At the same instant a great iron weight crashed through thebottom of their skiff, and their feet had hardly left her before she wasgone. There was no hope and no escape save victory.

  The crossbowman stood under the mast, his terrible weapon at hisshoulder, the steel string stretched taut, the heavy bolt shining uponthe nut. One life at least he would claim out of this little band. Justfor one instant too long did he dwell upon his aim, shifting from theseaman to Cock Badding, whose formidable appearance showed him to be thebetter prize. In that second of time Hal Masters' string twanged and hislong arrow sped through the arbalister's throat. He dropped on the deck,with blood and curses pouring from his mouth.

  A moment later Nigel's sword and Badding's hammer had each claimed avictim and driven back the rush of assailants. The five were safe uponthe deck, but it was hard for them to keep a footing there. The Frenchseamen, Bretons and Normans, were stout, powerful fellows, armed withaxes and swords, fierce fighters and brave men. They swarmed roundthe little band, attacking them from all sides. Black Simon felled theblack-bearded French Captain, and at the same instant was cut over thehead and lay with his scalp open upon the deck. The seaman Wat of Hythewas killed by a crashing blow from an ax. Nigel was struck down, butwas up again like a flash, and drove his sword through the man who hadfelled him.

  But Badding, Masters the archer and he had been hustled back to thebulwark and were barely holding their own from minute to minute againstthe fierce crowd who assailed them, when an arrow coming apparently fromthe sea struck the foremost Frenchman to the heart. A moment later aboat dashed up alongside and four more men from the Marie Rose scrambledon to the blood-stained deck. With one fierce rush the remainingFrenchmen were struck down or were seized by their assailants. Nineprostrate men upon the deck showed how fierce had been the attack, howdesperate the resistance.

  Badding leaned panting upon his blood-clotted hammer. "By SaintLeonard!" he cried, "I thought that this little master had been thedeath of us all. God wot you were but just in time, and how you came Iknow not. This archer has had a hand in it, by the look of him."

  Aylward, still pale from his seasickness and dripping from head to footwith water, had been the first man in the rescue party.

  Nigel looked at him in amazement. "I sought you aboard the ship,Aylward, but I could not lay eyes on you," said he.

  "It was because I was in the water, fair sir, and by my hilt! it suitsmy stomach better than being on it," he answered. "When you first setforth I swam behind you, for I saw that the Frenchman's boat hung by arope, and I thought that while you kept him in play I might gain it.I had reached it when you were driven back, so I hid behind it in thewater and said my prayers as I have not said them for many a day. Thenyou came again, and no one had an eye for me, so I clambered into it,cut the rope, took the oars which I found there and brought her back formore men."

  "By Saint Paul! you have acted very wisely and well," said Nigel, "and Ithink that of all of us it is you who have won most honor this day. Butof all these men dead and alive I see none who resembles that Red Ferretwhom my Lord Chandos has described and who has worked such despite uponus in the past: It would indeed be an evil chance if he has in spite ofall our pains made his way to France in some other boat."

  "That we shall soon find out," said Badding. "Come with me and we willsearch the ship from truck to keel ere he escapes us."

  There was a scuttle at the base of the mast which led down into the bodyof the vessel, and the Englishmen were approaching this when a strangesight brought them to a stand. A round brazen head had appeared in thesquare dark opening. An instant afterward a pair of shining shouldersfollowed. Then slowly the whole figure of a man in complete plate-armoremerged on the deck. In his gauntleted hand he carried a heavy steelmace. With this uplifted he moved toward his enemies, silent save forthe ponderous clank of his footfall. It was an inhuman, machine-likefigure, menacing and terrible, devoid of all expression, slow-moving,inexorable and awesome.

  A sudden wave of terror passed over the English seamen. One of themtried to pass and get behind the brazen man, but he was pinned againstthe side by a quick movement and his brains dashed out by a smashingblow from the heavy mace. Wild panic seized the others, and they rushedback to the boat. Aylward strung an arrow, but his bowstring was dampand the shaft rang loudly upon the shining breast-plate and glanced offinto the sea. Masters struck the brazen head with a sword, but the bladesnapped without injuring the helmet, and an instant later the bowman wasstretched senseless on the deck. The seamen shrank from this terriblesilent creature and huddled in the stern, all the fight gone out ofthem.

  Again he raised his mace and was advancing on the helpless crowd wherethe brave were encumbered and hampered by the weaklings, when Nigelshook himself clear and bounded forward into the open, his sword in hishand and a smile of welcome upon his lips.

  The sun had set, and one long mauve gash across the western Channel wasclosing swiftly into the dull grays of early night. Above, a few starsbegan to faintly twinkle; yet the twilight was still bright enough foran observer to see every detail of the scene: the Marie Rose, dippingand rising on the long rollers astern; the broad French boat with itswhite deck blotched with blood and littered with bodies; the group ofmen in the stern, some trying to advance and some seeking to escape--alla confused, disorderly, struggling rabble.

  Then betwixt them and the mast the two figures: the armed shining manof metal, with hand upraised, watchful, silent, motionless, and Nigel,bareheaded and crouching, with quick foot, eager eyes and fearless happyface, moving this way and that, in and out, his sword flashing like agleam of light as he sought at all points for some opening in the brazenshell before him.

  It was clear to the man in armor that if he could but pen his antagonistin a corner he would beat him down without fail. But it was not to bedone. The unhampered man had the advantage of speed. With a few quicksteps he could always glide to either side and escape the clumsy rush.Aylward and Badding had sprung out to Nigel's assistance; but he shoutedto them to stand back, with such authority and anger in his voice thattheir weapons dropped to their sides. With staring eyes and set featuresthey stood watching that unequal fight.

  Once it seemed that all was over with the Squire, for in springing backfrom his enemy he tripped over one of the bodies which strewed the deckand fell flat upon his back, but with a swift wriggle he escaped theheavy blow which thundered down upon him, and springing to his feet hebit deeply into the Frenchman's helmet with a sweeping cut in return.Again the mace fell, and this time Nigel had not quite cleared himself.His sword was beaten down and the blow fell partly upon his leftshoulder. He staggered, and once more the iron club whirled upward todash him to the ground.

  Quick as a flash it passed through his mind that he could not leapbeyond its reach. But he might get within it. In an instant he haddropped his sword, and springing in he had seized the brazen man roundthe waist. The mace was shortened and the handle jobbed down once uponthe bare flaxen head. Then, with a sonorous clang, and a yell of delightfrom the spectators, Nigel with one mighty wrench tore his enemy fromthe dec
k and hurled him down upon his back. His own head was whirlingand he felt that his senses were slipping away, but already hishunting-knife was out and pointing through the slit in the brazenhelmet.

  "Give yourself up, fair sir!" said he.

  "Never to fishermen and to archers! I am a gentleman of coat-armor. Killme!"

  "I also am a gentleman of coat-armor. I promise you quarter."

  "Then, sir, I surrender myself to you."

  The dagger tinkled down upon the deck. Seamen and archers ran forward,to find Nigel half senseless upon his face. They drew him off, and a fewdeft blows struck off the helmet of his enemy. A head, sharp-featured,freckled and foxy-red, disclosed itself beneath it. Nigel raised himselfon his elbow for an instant.

  "You are the Red Ferret?" said he.

  "So my enemies call me," said the Frenchman, with a smile. "I rejoice,sir, that I have fallen to so valiant and honorable a gentleman."

  "I thank you, fair sir," said Nigel feebly. "I also rejoice that I haveencountered so debonair a person, and I shall ever bear in mind thepleasure which I have had from our meeting."

  So saying, he laid his bleeding head upon his enemy's brazen front andsank into a dead faint.