Of each of these castles the Lord of St. Paul had some tale or anecdote; and he kindly strove to amuse the mind of his young companion by the way; but though Woodville listened with all due courtesy, ay, and admired the beauty of the land, and answered with a calm and ready mind, yet it was evident his cheerful gaiety was gone, at least for the time, and that his thoughts were pre-occupied by sadder themes, which only spared his attention for a moment, to reply to the words addressed to him, and then recalled it immediately to himself.

"You seem sad, sir knight," said the Lord of St. Paul, at length; "I trust that with the letters from the n.o.ble Count, which seemed to me full of all joyance, you received no evil tidings?"

"Tidings most strange, my redoubted lord,"[10] replied Richard of Woodville; "for while the Count speaks cheerfully of having removed all cause of difference between myself and a n.o.ble gentleman, Sir John Grey, on whom my best hopes depend, letters from that knight himself are filled with reproaches undeserved by me, and refuse all explanation or argument."

[Footnote 10: This term was greatly affected at the period we speak of, not only by kings, but by all powerful n.o.bles.]

"That is strange, indeed," said the Count; "what are the dates? One may have been written earlier than the other."

"The dates are the same," answered Richard of Woodville, "and the letters of Sir John Grey, coming by the same messenger as those of the Count, might easily have been stopped, had the explanation been given after they were written. It is a dark and misty life we lead in this world; and still, when we think all is clear and bright, as I did when I returned from Lille to Ghent, some thick vapour spreads over the whole, concealing it from our eyes, like the cloud now rolling round the brow of the castle on that high rocky steep."

"We shall have rain," remarked the Lord of St. Paul, "and when it does begin, it will prove a torrent. Here, old Carloman," he continued, turning to one of his men-at-arms, "what does that cloud mean? and where can we best wait for the n.o.ble prince, the Count of Charolois, who is to meet us at the Mill Bridge?"

"The cloud means a heavy storm, my lord," replied the old man, riding forward. "Do you not see how the earth gapes for it? But it will not be able to swallow all that will come down, I think. We have not had a drop of rain these two months, and very little dew, so that everything is as parched as pulse. Then, as to waiting for the prince, the meadows by the river would be the best place, if it were not for that cloud."

"Oh, we mind not a little rain," answered the Count of St. Paul; "'twill but make the armourers' fingers ache to take off the rust to-night."

"Ay, 'tis not the rain I am thinking of," said the old man; "but the meadows are no safe resting-place, when there are storms above there.

The water gathers in the gulleys, and comes down into the Sormonne, till the old fool can hold no more, and then the whole valley is covered."

"Oh, but if that be the case, we can easily gallop up higher," replied the Count. "There is no shame in running away from a torrent, old Carloman. 'Tis not like turning one's back on the foe."

"Faith that is a foe that gallops quicker than you can," answered the man-at-arms. "The meadow is so narrow, and the bank so high, that you cannot cut across; so you had better stop above, in what we call the Rock Castle, where you can see the country below, and the Mill Bridge and all, without getting in the way of the water. The old Sormonne is a lion, I can tell you, when he is angry; and nothing makes him so fierce as a storm in the hills."

"Well, be it so," answered his lord; "you shall be our governor, good Carloman."

"Then keep up higher, dread sir," replied the man-at-arms. "See," he added, as they pa.s.sed a little brook that was running down a narrow ravine, all troubled and red, "it has begun farther to the east already; and it is coming against the wind. That is a sign that it will be furious, though not long-lived."

The Count and his party rode on, somewhat quickening their pace; and though they heard occasionally a distant roar, showing that there was thunder somewhere, no lightning was seen, and the wind still continued blowing faintly from the south-west. The clouds, however, crept over the sky, approaching the sun with their hard leaden edges, and to the north and east, covering the whole expanse with a deep black wall, broken and rugged at its summit, as if higher hills and rocks of slate and marble were rising from the bosom of the mountain scene into the heavens above. Over the deep curtain of vapour, indeed, here and there floated detached, some small paler clouds; and others seemed hurrying up from the south, where all had been hitherto clear, as if drawn by some irresistible power towards the adamant-like ma.s.s in the north-east. From one of these as they pa.s.sed over-head, a few heavy drops fell, but then ceased; and still the sun shone out, as if in scorn of the black enemy that rose towering towards him. A deep stillness, however, fell upon the scene. There is generally in the risen day an unmarked but all pervading sound of busy life, composed of many different noises mingled in the air. According to the season of the year and hour, it varies of course. Sometimes it is full of the song of birds, the voices of the cattle, the hum of insects, the rush of streams, the whispering of the wind, the rustle of the trees, and a thousand other undistinguished sounds to which the ear pays no heed.

But when they all or most of them cease, it is strange how we miss the murmur of creation--what a want, what a vacancy there seems! So was it now; and, turning to Richard of Woodville, the Lord of St. Paul remarked, "How silent everything has become!"

"It is generally so before a thunderstorm," answered the young knight.

"In my country, we judge whether it will be merely rain or something more by the conduct of the cattle. If after a drought we are going to have refreshing showers, the sheep and oxen seem to hail it with their voices; but if there be lightning coming, everything is silent."

Almost immediately after he had spoken, there was a bright flash, not very near, but dazzling; and some drops fell, while the thunder followed at a long interval. Spurring on, they rode forward for about two miles farther; and as they went, every little gorge and hollow way had its minor torrent coming down thick and turbulent, though the rain, where the Count and his party were, had not become violent, pattering slowly upon their arms and housings, and spotting the sleek coats of the horses with marks like damascene work. The river, which they were now approaching nearer, might be seen swelling and foaming in its bed, its crowded waters curling in miniature whirlpools along the edge, and rising higher and higher up the bank, as the innumerable tributaries from the mountains poured down continual accessions to the flood.

At length the old man-at-arms exclaimed, "To the right, my lord," and pa.s.sing through a narrow opening between the great belt of wood, and a small detached portion that ran farther down the hill, they entered a sort of natural amphitheatre crowned with old pines, and carpeted at the bottom of the crags with soft green turf spread over the rugged and undulating surface of ground. Numerous immense ma.s.ses of rock, however, detached from the hills above, and rolled down in times long pa.s.sed, started out from the greensward bare and grey; and here and there would rise up a group of old oaks or beeches, while on the stony fragments themselves was often perched an ash or a fir, like a plume in the helmet of a knight.

In front of this amphitheatre the trees sloped away both to the right and left, leaving a wide open s.p.a.ce gradually descending the hill, so that from most parts of the Castle of Rocks, as it was called, a considerable portion of the course of the Sormonne might be seen, the nearest point being somewhat less distant than a quarter of a mile.

Directly in front was a double wooden bridge spanning over the stream, which was there divided by a low island of very small extent, which served but as a resting-place for the piles of the two bridges, and for a mill, which gave the name to that particular spot. Beyond, on the opposite side of the water, was an undulating plain of several miles in extent, bounded by hills all round, but open to the eye of St. Paul and his party as they stood in the midst of the amphitheatre.

"Is not this the best place now, my lord?" asked old Carloman. "You can not only see here, but you can find shelter, and need not get your arms rusted, or your horses wet, unless you like. There, under the cliff where it hangs over, you can post two-thirds of the men; and as the storm comes the other way, not a drop will reach them. Then, as for the rest, they can get under this rock in front, where they will be quite dry, if they keep close."

"I will stay here," replied the Count of St. Paul. "You lodge the others, Carloman."

"I will keep you company, my lord," said Richard of Woodville; "and if we dismount, we shall be better able to shelter the horses."

Such was the plan followed; and all the troop, men and horses, were under shelter before the storm became violent. Nor, indeed, did the thunder ever reach that grand and terrible height which it frequently does attain in wood-covered mountains: the rain seemed to drown it; but the deluge which soon fell from the sky was tremendous. In long lines of black and grey it poured straight down, mingled with hail and every now and then crossed by the faint glare of the lightning. The distant country was hidden by the misty veil, and even the nearer scene of the bridge and the mill, the only dwelling in the neighbourhood, grew indistinct.

The Lord of St. Paul and Richard of Woodville endeavoured in vain to descry the plain on the opposite side of the river, in expectation of seeing the train of the Count of Charolois coming from the side of Avesnes. Nothing could they distinguish beyond a hundred yards from the opposite bank; and they mutually expressed a hope that the prince might have been delayed in the more cultivated country to the west, where he would find shelter from the storm.

"He cannot surely be already in the mill?" said the Count: "there seem a great many people at that cas.e.m.e.nt looking up the stream. How many men did he say he would bring, Sir Richard?"

"Two hundred horse," replied Richard of Woodville; "he cannot be there, my good lord; yet there seems a number of heads too. Good heaven! how the stream is rising! 'Tis nearly up to the road-way of the bridge."

"It will be higher than that before it is done, sir knight," observed one of the men-at-arms. "I have seen the bridge carried away twice since I was a boy."

"Here comes a boat down the stream," said Richard of Woodville.

"Ay, we pa.s.sed one a little way further up," replied the same man who had spoken before; "it has broken away, I dare say."

"That is not a boat," exclaimed the Lord of St. Paul, after gazing for a moment; "it is the thatch of a cottage. Heaven have mercy upon the poor people!" and lifting the cross of his sword to his lips, he kissed it, and muttered a prayer.

At the same moment a number of men, some evidently of inferior rank, and some in garbs which betokened higher station, ran out of the mill; and Woodville could then perceive that, almost close to the door, between the building and the bridge, the water had risen over the low sh.o.r.e of the islet, so as to be up to the knees of those who came forth. He fancied at first that they were about to make their escape over the bridge; but he saw that several of them were armed with long poles; and turning to the man-at arms, who seemed well acquainted with the country, he inquired what they were about to do.

"To draw the broken cottage-roof to the sh.o.r.e, sir knight, I suppose,"

replied the other, "lest it should damage the bridge."

"See, there comes down a bull!" cried the Count; "how furiously he struggles with the stream.--Ha! they have caught the roof with their hooks. They have got it--no!"

They had indeed obtained for a moment some hold upon the heavy ma.s.s of timber and straw that came rushing down, and were dragging it towards the little island; but the stream was increasing so rapidly, and pouring such a body of water upon the land where they stood, that one of the men slipped, and let go his pole, glad enough to be dragged out of the eddy by those behind.

The roof at the same moment sw.a.n.g round and disengaged itself. The bull, still struggling with the torrent, was dashed against the bridge and recoiled. The heavy ma.s.s of thatch and wood-work was borne forward upon him with the full force of the stream, and crushed him between itself and the piers. A shrill and horrible cry--something between a roar and a scream, burst from amidst the fierce rushing sound of the overwhelming waters; the whole ma.s.s of the floating roof was cast furiously upon the weaker part of the bridge in the centre, already shaken by the torrent; and with an awful crash the whole structure gave way, and was borne in fragments down the stream.

"The flood has reached the mill," said the Count of St. Paul, turning to the man-at-arms; "is there no danger of its being carried away, too?"

"The miller would tell you, none, my dreaded lord," replied the soldier; "but every day is not like to-day; and what has happened once may happen again. He always says there is no danger, since he put up an image of the blessed Virgin over the door; but I recollect when I was a little boy, and lived at Givet, that island was six feet under water, and where there was a mill in the morning, you could row over in a boat at night. They were all drowned, this man's uncle and all."

"Why are you stripping off your casque and camail, Sir Richard?" asked the Count.

"Because I imagine they may soon want help, my good lord," replied the young knight.

"Madness!" cried the Lord of St. Paul; "no man could swim such a torrent as that."

"I do not know that, n.o.ble sir," answered Richard of Woodville; "we are great swimmers in my country, and accustomed to buffet with the waves. But there is a boat higher up. I will first try that, and if that sinks, swimming must serve me."

"I will not suffer it!" exclaimed the Count; "neither boat nor man could live in such a rushing torrent as that."

"Indeed, my good lord, you must," replied the young knight, gravely.

"My life is of no great value to myself, or any one, now; and, though I know not who these good folks are, they shall not be lost before my eyes, without an effort on my part to deliver them. See, see!" he cried, "some one waves to us from the window!" and, casting off his corslet, and all his heavy armour, he was hurrying down. But the Count caught him by the arm with a glowing cheek, saying, "Stay, stay, yet a little. They are in no danger yet. The stream may not rise higher."

"But if it does, they are lost," answered Woodville, gently disengaging his arm.