Suddenly the knight caught sight of the little knot of men outside the Abbey gate.

"By the Rood, 'tis my old master-bowman and his party of villagers who held the Frenchmen at bay!" he exclaimed. "When I sent them to the Abbey I little thought to see any of them out and about so soon."

In obedience to an order, the company halted and faced about. Sir John rode up to the little band, who respectfully saluted him, following Redward's example in military etiquette.

"By St. George," said the knight, "'tis hard to do justice to your bravery; for I have only now had time to ponder over your deeds. But this I know--had ye not held the rascals in check the countryside would have been laid bare far more than it is."

"But," he went on reflectively, "ye are, for the most part, homeless men; why not serve under my banner? Francewards riches and honour await you. I'll warrant ye will gain more in one campaign than in a lifetime in England. Buckland, I have heard, will rejoin my company.

He will be, as before, one of my sub-officers, and if ye come with him, in his division ye'll be placed. I am loth to lose any of you.

So who's for an archer's life?"

With one accord Redward's companions signified their eagerness to follow the yellow crescent, and Sir John's face beamed with delight at their decision. "Then get ye back to the Abbey till ye be thoroughly healed of your wounds," he said, "and join the camp as soon as possible. I thought aright that the taste of fighting would but whet your appet.i.tes."

"And you, Hubert," he added, addressing one of his squires, "take this purse and present to the Abbot as a token of my esteem for the kindly treatment of these men. Also make excuses for me, as the night draws on apace."

Then, commanding the archers who had conveyed Redward's party to the Abbey to fall in with the rest of his company, Sir John gave the order to march. The column moved onwards, leaving behind it the new recruits to the banner of the Constable of the King's Castle of Portchester.

CHAPTER VII

THE SACK OF SOUTHAMPTON

Two months have elapsed since Redward Buckland and his companions made their gallant stand against the foreign raiders; Raymond had developed into a full-fledged archer. Making a rapid recovery from his wound, the lad, with his seven companions, joined the Constable's banner at Southampton, whither Redward, having settled his affairs, had preceded them.

The badly-wounded Bevis made but slow progress; fighting, he vehemently declared, was not in his line, so one morning he limped slowly through the Abbey gateway to make his way back to Hamble, there to rebuild his cottage and again to ply his calling as a fisherman.

Lack of money compelled King Edward III. to remain inactive. A tax on wool was levied and grudgingly paid, for his subjects, finding that no great deed of arms was likely to ensue, lacked the enthusiasm that the glorious victories of later years were bound to create. Thus the greater part of the huge host was dispersed; many of the troops were moved to Rye and Winchelsea, others sent back to their own homes, and, save for a few soldiers, the town of Southampton resumed its normal appearance.

By the King's special command, however, a portion of Sir John Hacket's company was retained at Southampton to man some of the ships that were to be fitted out against the rovers who still lingered in the Channel, and thus Raymond found himself quartered in Saint Barbara's Tower, a small defensive work on the south walls.

Before dealing with the stirring events that happened in this ancient and distinguished town, it would be well to briefly describe the Southampton of the fourteenth century.

Roughly, the town formed an irregular rectangle, with the south-western corner rounded off. On the north side the walls were pierced by the Bargate, and protected by several small towers, with a larger erection, termed the Polymond Tower, at the northeastern angle. The eastern side was defended by a wall nearly 800 yards in length, further protected by twenty-seven half-round towers, and pierced by the East Gate and two posterns.

On the south the walls were in a somewhat ruinous condition, though it ought to have been clear that these were more open to attack. Here were two entrances--the G.o.d's House Tower gate at the southeastern angle and the Water Gate. Several towers added to the defensive works at this point, the chief being the G.o.d's House Tower, the Watch Tower, the Square Tower, St. Barbara's Tower, and the Bugle Tower.

The western face was by far the best protected, the arcaded walls being of great height, terminating at Catchcold Tower near the north-western angle. Two large gates--West Gate and Biddlesgate--gave access to the water-front on the western sh.o.r.e, and in addition were several posterns, one of which, the Water Gate, led to the courtyard of the Castle, whose keep, a large circular Norman tower standing on an artificial mound, dominated the whole town.

Sunday, the 14th of October, 1338, was a black day in the annals of Southampton.

A few days previously more of the troops had been withdrawn, thus leaving practically only the men of Southampton to guard the town.

Rumours of a large hostile fleet within the sheltered waters of the Solent caused bodies of men to be hastily dispatched to Lepe, Lymington, and other neighbouring sea-coast towns, while Sir John Hacket, hurriedly summoned to Portsmouth on an urgent matter of defence, had taken the greater part of his company with him.

Redward's sub-division was amongst those left at Southampton, but he himself had crossed to Hythe, where he hired a horse and rode to the town of Lepe to gather tidings of the foemen. Thus there remained of his party some two score archers and men-at-arms, under the command of Richard Wyatt, the grizzled old warrior who had recognised his old comrade Redward at the pa.s.sage of the Hamble River.

On this particular Sunday a white mist overspread Southampton. So dense was the fog that even the oldest inhabitants could not recall the like. Raymond and his comrades were busily engaged in overhauling their bows and shafts, for on that afternoon a shooting match had been arranged between ten men of the Constable's company and ten of the town guard of Southampton, for displays of archery were then usual at the close of church service.

"A pest take the fog!" grumbled the old man-at-arms. "If it does not lift 'twill be too thick to hold the contest."

"Even this room is full of it," cried an archer, tw.a.n.ging his bow-string with his thumb. "Look, this cord is as dead as the giant Ascupart, whom these Southampton folk brag so much about!"

"At all events, both parties fare alike. If we but win a groat apiece the weather can bide--that is, so long as we can see the b.u.t.ts!"

Just then the bells of St. Michael's and the Maison Dieu struck out to summon the townspeople to Ma.s.s, and soon the streets were teeming with gaily dressed folk, all hastening to their respective churches, though to the men in the tower they appeared but ghostly shapes gliding in the misty air.

"Who will come with me on to the top of the tower?" asked one of the archers. "I'd as lief get wet through in the open as perish with cold in this fog-laden room."

"I am with thee," replied Raymond.

"And I--and I," said several voices.

Ascending a narrow spiral flight of stone steps, the comrades gained the summit of St. Barbara's Tower. Rearing itself sixty feet above the ground and thirty feet above the line of battlemented walls, this building was crowned by a low breastwork, and roofed with large slabs of stone sufficiently sloping to carry off the rainwater, but at the same time capable of being walked upon without difficulty.

"Ha! The mist rises a little!" exclaimed one. "Though 'twill be only for a time."

"I can perceive the watch-fire," remarked another, indicating the dull glow of the burning wood in an open brazier that at night or in thick weather was always fired on the summit of the Water Gate.

"Ho! Peterkin--Simon!" shouted a hoa.r.s.e voice immediately below them.

"Out on ye for scurvy knaves! Hasten and bring oars, or I'll lay my staff athwart your backs!"

"'Tis old John Draper, the water-bailiff," remarked one of the archers. "Some vessel hath found her way up the Water, and he's going to board her."

They heard the oars tossed into the boat, and the rasping voice of the water-bailiff as he descended the stone steps of the quay and stepped into the boat. Then the sound of oars straining against the tholepins grew fainter and fainter, till the little craft was lost to sight and sound in the dense fog.

Suddenly a piercing shriek, followed by the dull noise of a heavy splash, fell upon the ears of the archers in the tower.

"What's that?" inquired one, his indifference changed into alert activity.

"Nothing, thick head--except, perhaps, that old Draper hath missed his foothold and received a ducking!"

"I like it not," replied the first archer. "There's black devilment afoot."

"Thou art ever looking for trouble, Hal. Didst ever----"

"Nay, methinks he's right," interrupted Will Lightfoot. "Hearken!"

Leaning over the edge of the parapet the archers strove to ascertain the meaning of a subdued splashing that every moment grew louder.

"Oars, comrades, oars! And not a score not two score, either. The water's _alive_ with them!"

And now through the mist loomed scores of great indistinct shapes that only too soon resolved themselves into the outlines of long galleys, their size magnified by the thick veil of vapour. Before the astonished archers could realise their danger the huge craft ran alongside the quay or beached themselves with a grinding crunch on the gravel of the foresh.o.r.e abreast the Water Gate, and from them leaped hordes of armed men, shouting and giving orders in half the tongues of Southern Europe.

The surprise was complete. The Water Gate was rushed ere the ma.s.sive gates could be closed, and the foe, with the quickness of martial experience, wedged the grooves of the double portcullis to prevent the lowering of the heavy iron slides. Into the town they poured, slaying all who crossed their path, and before the startled inhabitants, most of whom were still at Ma.s.s, could grasp the situation, close upon five thousand French and Genoese soldiers had gained possession of the greater part of the town.

To add to the tumult, the bell over the watchtower began a dismal tocsin, and continued till a party of soldiers, climbing to the summit, hurled the devoted bellman crashing down upon the stones beneath. But other bells took up the warning note, till the Bar Gate, at the northern end of Southampton, gave a more timely alarm to the dwellers about the upper part of the town.