"No doubt they are burning the huts of those rebels and outlaws in the Swamp; but, Tristam, thou art young; canst thou not run over through the woods? The hill, whereon the pine lately struck by lightning stands, will command a distant view of the Swamp; then return, and tell me all."

The boy started like a greyhound, and ran through the woods with eagerness.

"A fine stripling, that; the saints grant his arms may turn out as good as his legs," growled out old Raoul; and so he waited with such patience as he could command.

An hour pa.s.sed, and the old man was dozing, when the boy returned.

"Wake up, old man," he said, "I bring news."

"News--what news? Are they all burnt--slain--captives?"

"I know not; only the Dismal Swamp is a ma.s.s of flame, and all the reeds and flags are burning merrily; 'tis such a bonfire!"

"I believe the lad would clap his hands at a bonfire, if his own grandmother were burning therein as a witch. How dost thou know whether this is for us or against us?"

"How can I tell?" said the lad, more seriously.

"Perchance our people had not all crossed, and the English fired it to secure their own safety. But how could they have foreseen our expedition?"

His anxiety was not of long duration, for an object was seen emerging from the shadow of the woods, and making by the base of the little hill towards Aescendune.

"What cheer?" cried the old man, "hither!"

And as he spoke the stranger turned his head, hearing the familiar sounds, and ascended the hill slowly, and with pain.

He presented a dismal object; his hair and beard had been scorched in some intense fire, and his clothes blackened and burnt.

The two Normans, old man and boy, stood up aghast.

"What! is it thou, Owen of Bayeux?"

"I was that man a few hours agone. I doubt what I am now."

"What hast thou suffered, then? Where are the baron and his men?"

"Burnt in the Dismal Swamp?"

"Burnt?"

"Yes, burnt; I speak good French do I not?"

"Owen, Owen," cried the old Raoul, "do not mistake thy friends for foes! tell us what dreadful event has happened, to disturb thy reason."

"Would it were but disturbed! Oh that I should have lived to see this day!"

"Tell us," cried young Tristam, "tell us, Owen."

"A fate was on us, as on the Egyptians of old; only they perished by water, we by fire."

"But how?"

"Ordgar the guide, whom we thought we had secured so opportunely, led us into the marshes and left us therein; and while we were there, the English fired the reeds and bulrushes on all sides."

"And the baron?"

"He and all have perished; I only have escaped to tell thee. Where are the rest who were left behind?"

"Here they are," cried Tristam, as a group of old warriors approached.

"Come, Roger, Jocelyn, Jolliffe--come hear the news," cried the boy. "Oh, come and hear them; can they be true? All burnt? all dead?"

The horror-struck Normans soon learnt the fatal truth from Owen of Bayeux, and all their stoical fort.i.tude was shaken.

"I was one of the last on the track, and saved only by a mere chance, or the grace of St. Owen, my patron. I had dropped my quiver of arrows, and had gone back a few steps to fetch it; they brought me to the edge of the reedy marsh, and I was just returning, having found the quiver, when I heard a cry, followed by echoes as from a chain of sentinels all round the marsh--'Fire the reeds!' I ran back to the main land, climbed a tree which stood handy, and saw the marsh burst into fire in a hundred spots. It was lighted all round, while our men were in the midst. A chain of enemies surrounded it. I did my best to warn our lord or to die with him. I penetrated the marsh a little distance, when the flames beat me back--man can't fight fire."

"Let us go to the castle, take what we can carry, and fly," said Raoul; "they will be here soon, if they have destroyed our men; and there will be no safety nearer than Warwick for us."

"Can we abandon our post?" asked one.

"Not till we are sure all is lost," said another.

"Tristam, thou must remain here and watch, and warn us if any approach."

"But how long shall I stay?" sobbed the alarmed boy.

"Nay, he is too young," cried the fugitive from the marsh; "besides, it is needless. I know they are all coming upon us--they are thousands strong instead of hundreds, as that liar, the guide, stated. We must fly ourselves, for the time, and bid the monks, the women, and children to fly also."

"Shall we burn the castle, lest it fall into their hands as a stronghold?"

"Nay, that were to give up all; we shall return thither again, and that soon; leave it open for them. The Norman lion will prove more than a match for the English wolf in the long run."

"Onward, then--home--home."

And the dispirited men returned to the castle.

It was manifestly useless to attempt to defend the place; all that could be done was to save their lives, and such "portable property"

as could be removed on the instant.

So the old men only returned to warn their astonished comrades, and then gathering such household goods as they most valued, they loaded the horses and oxen which remained, and journeyed to bear the news to Warwick.

But before they went, Tristam was sent to warn the prior and his confreres at the priory of St. Denys that danger was at hand.

"I care not," said that valiant prior of the Church Militant, "though as many Englishmen were in the woods as leaves on the trees; they shall be excommunicated if they interfere with us; our weapons are not carnal."

So the Norman Prior and his monks shut their gates and remained, while through the forest road the men-at-arms escorted all the women and children of the village, the interlopers who had taken the place of the banished English, towards the town of Warwick, and its famous castle, where Henry de Beauchamp had recently been appointed governor by the Conqueror, the first Norman Earl of Warwick, and the ancestor of a famous line of warriors. We have already met his countess at Aescendune, on the occasion of the dedication of the new priory.

The Normans had all left the castle and village before sunset, leaving the gates open and the drawbridge down, as they expressly said that the English might be under no temptation to devastate a place which must soon be in their hands again.

The castle lay empty and deserted for an hour or two; the cattle, too many to be removed, began to low and bleat because they missed their customary attention; only in the Priory of St. Denys did things go on as usual; there the bells rang out for vespers and compline, and the foreign brethren went on their way as if the events of the day had no importance for them.