ON THE HEELS OF THE ENEMY

ALTHOUGH the two bailiffs, Walter de Brakkeleye and Robert de la Barre, had remained disgracefully inactive within their defences, the men of Winchester, Romsey, and other neighbouring towns and villages were ma.s.sing to aid the men of Southampton, and a large and well-appointed army had gathered at ready to wrest the pillaged town from the Ba.s.sett, ready to wrest the pillaged town from the invaders and drive them back to their ships.

Throughout the night the defenders of St. Barbara's Tower kept anxious vigil. Of the preparations for their relief they knew nothing. But hardly had the pale dawn begun to gather in the east than the foreigners were astir, taking steps to keep the galleys afloat on the now falling tide, as if they purposed embarking once more.

Then, with a crash and a roar, the sound of fighting was heard towards the centre of the town, and from their elevated position the sorry remnant of the defenders saw the lances of the English charge down the High Street, bearing all before them. In other quarters the invaders, entangled in the narrow streets, were cut off by swarms of the infuriated inhabitants, who, knowing the peculiarities of their town, moved with consummate ease, hurling down stones and shooting arrows from the houses upon their entrapped enemy.

And now, from the Castle and the West Gate and Catchcold Towers poured the liberated garrison, eager to avenge their disgrace. Many were the encounters between the Southampton men and their foes in this quarter of the town, till, driven back by weight of numbers, the enemy, who were mostly Genoese, returned slowly past St. Barbara's Tower, contesting every inch of ground.

The little band of defenders now occupied themselves by annoying the retreating Italians with well-directed arrows, while, all danger of an a.s.sault being at an end, the barricades behind the door were removed so that the garrison could sally out and join their friends.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of conflict, till Raymond and his comrades perceived the red-crossed surcoats of the Englishmen pressing back the discomfited Genoese. At length, unable to withstand the flanking fire of arrows, the enemy fled past out of bowshot of the Tower--all save one, whom Raymond recognised as the son of the King of Sicily. Burning to achieve a further deed of honour, Raymond threw open the door and rushed out to intercept the mailclad knight, who, with sweeping strokes of his sword, kept the men-at-arms at a respectful distance. But the lad was forestalled. A huge countryman, who had lost his all in the sack of the town, had crept behind the Prince, and, with a swinging blow of a ma.s.sive club, smote the Italian behind the knees.

With a snarl of rage and pain the Prince fell to the ground, and, with a shout of triumph, his a.s.sailant stood over him with his club upraised to give the fatal blow. Finding further resistance impossible, the knight dropped his sword.

"_Je me rends!_" he exclaimed. "_Je vous donnerai rancon!_"

"Yea, I know thou art a Francon," thundered the Englishman, misunderstanding the Prince's appeal for mercy, "and therefore thou shalt die!" And, notwithstanding a warning shout from Raymond and several of the Englishmen, the club descended with tremendous force, and the Italian lay dead upon the ground.

"I'll trouble thee to mind thy own business, my master!" hissed the countryman, turning fiercely on Raymond.

"But he was a gentleman of quality. He surrendered to thee, and he was worth a heavy ransom!"

"Ransom, forsooth!" rejoined the man, in a frenzy. "What ransom can atone for a wife and five children slain? Speak not to me of ransom!"

And, shouldering his club, the man rushed off in pursuit of the fugitives as they hastened towards the Water Gate.

Beaten back at every point, the invaders crowded on board their galleys, and during the embarkation the slaughter was greater; for, from the walls, as well as from the sh.o.r.e, a heavy fire of arrows was hailed upon them by the infuriated townsmen.

At length, with the exception of a few galleys that, caught by the falling tide, were burned and their crews slaughtered, the hostile ships withdrew, and, with a steady north-west breeze, bore away down Southampton Water, leaving behind them a half-burned and pillaged town--the terrible penalty of unpreparedness!

After the _melee_ Raymond returned with the remnant of the Constable's detachment to the Tower they had held so well, and, to his surprise and delight, found his father awaiting him, though Redward hardly recognised his son. Stained with his own blood and the blood of the Genoese, covered with dust and grime from head to foot, Raymond looked a very different person from the gentle youth of three months back.

"By St. Edward of Netley!" exclaimed Redward, "wherever I go, whether Francewards or otherwise, thou shalt go too; for methinks there is as much danger in Merrie England as in the land of the Fleur-de-Lys!"

"But how camest thou here, father?" asked Raymond. "I thought thou wert at Lepe."

"Ah, lad! it was there I saw the foemen sail towards Southampton; so I rode hot-foot to Hythe.[1] There I took a boat--stole it, I fear--and tried to cross; but in the fog I nearly ran into the thick of the galleys. Then I knew I was too late; so back to the sh.o.r.e I rowed, and came round the head of the Water by land. 'Twas a long journey by Totton, and by the time I reached Millbrook it was daylight, and the men of Romsey were marching in upon the town."

By this time Raymond had washed his face and hands, and had brushed most of the grime from his clothes, having removed his white surcoat and breastplate.

"We have had a hot time, father. They pressed us hard. Fourteen men lie stretched upon the straw, and nine are dead. Poor old d.i.c.k Wyatt is no more."

"Heaven rest his soul!" exclaimed Redward, piously crossing himself.

"He was a good and true comrade to me through thick and thin, and I trow 'tis hard to be stricken down almost within sight of home."

Together father and son ascended the winding stair that led to the upper rooms. There lay the wounded defenders, carefully tended by the Lady Audrey. As Raymond entered the room, she looked at him in a puzzled manner. Then, holding out her hand, she exclaimed:

"Why, 'tis my gallant preserver! And what a difference a clean face doth make ye are but a boy, and a handsome one at that!"

A deep flush overspread the youth's face. Redward, knowing nothing of the circ.u.mstances of her rescue, could but express his astonishment, and, leaving the pair engaged in eager talk, he ascended to the roof, where lay the bodies of Richard Wyatt and the other soldiers, each grim and stern in death.

From Will Lightfoot he learned most of the particulars of the defence, including his son's intrepid act of rescue.

"Ay! Buckland," said Will, "'tis not every archer who hath the good fortune to rescue a n.o.ble lady such as the Lady Audrey Scarsdale!"

"Scarsdale?" repeated Redward.

"Ay Scarsdale--daughter of Sir Reginald Scarsdale."

The master-bowman staggered as if struck by an invisible blow; then, recovering himself by an effort, asked Lightfoot if there were any tidings of Sir John Hacket.

Even Will Lightfoot could not fail to notice the change in Redward's appearance; but, putting it down to the fearful strain of the fight, suggested adjourning to partake of refreshment.

The task of laying to rest the bodies of their comrades was next proceeded with. Then Raymond, with two of his fellow-archers, entered the ill-fated house of the Lady Scarsdale, and removed the bodies of the three Genoese.

Placing the corpse of the Lady Hilda reverently on a bed, they locked up the house and gave the keys into the custody of the Sheriff, who, knowing the Scarsdale family, took the necessary steps to ensure a fitting burial of the knight's wife, while Lady Audrey was taken care of by some relatives who resided in another part of Hampshire.

Early the following morning Sir John Hacket, having a.s.sured himself that the enemy had made for the Channel and were not likely to return to raid some other coast town, rode into Southampton from Portsmouth, attended by his squires and a troop of lances and mounted archers.

Proudly, yet sadly, the stern old knight gazed upon the sorry remnant of the detachment he had left at Southampton but a week before.

"By St. George!" he exclaimed, "ye are a credit to me, and the one bright jewel in the sable field of incompetence and neglect! The King shall hear of your deeds! Ye see," he added aside to his squires, "what that ranter, Walter de Brakkeleye, and his co-bailiff, de la Barre, have done. Had they given more thought to the safe keeping of the town, instead of bickering, as Brakkeleye did with me respecting the jurisdiction of his bailiwick, not a house in Southampton would have been touched by foreign foemen, not one of the townsfolk harmed.

Should the King think fit to hang them on the battlements 'twould be but their deserts!"

"And now," he continued, addressing the archers, "I will take care that bravery hath its reward. Another penny a day shall be added to your pay, and, as for Raymond Buckland, who, I am told, undertook the defence after my trusted Wyatt's death, from this time forth he shall be one of my squires! Let him but acquit himself as he hath done since he hath been in my company, and he will be on the road to win a pair of gilded spurs!"

[1] Not, of course, the well-known coast town in Kent, but the ancient villae of that name on the New Forest side of Southampton Water.

CHAPTER X

FATHER AND SON SET OUT FOR HENNEBON

NEARLY four years have elapsed since the events recorded in the last chapter--years full of national interest. The naval battle of Sluy's had been fought and won, and for the time the English fleet ruled the Channel, so that scarce a French or Spanish vessel dared to show itself betwixt Ushant and Cape Grisnez.

After the siege of Tournay, a treaty had been concluded between King Edward III. and Philip of France, but the former was ever on the alert to seize a favourable opportunity of renewing hostilities, and late in 1341 an incident occurred that gave the King the excuse to prosecute the war once more--a step that led to the glorious victory at Crecy and the overrunning of nearly the whole of France by the victorious arms of England.

The Duchy of Brittany was disputed between John of Montfort and Charles of Blois, and, while the latter was pressing his claims at the French Court, Montfort, by force or intrigue, had acquired the fortresses of Rennes, Nantes, Brest, and Hennebon; and in order to obtain a powerful supporter he had journeyed to England and concluded an offensive and defensive alliance with King Edward, at the same time offering to do him homage for the Duchy of Brittany.

Keeping this treaty a deep secret, Montfort did not hesitate to return to Paris to defend his case, but realising that the French King did not favour him, and fearing violence at his hands, the Earl retired to Brittany and declared war against the Count of Blois.

Philip sent his son, the Duke of Normandy, with a powerful force to aid Charles of Blois, and Montfort, after sending urgent requests for a.s.sistance to the King of England, shut himself up in Nantes, which was immediately besieged by the French.

By the treachery of the inhabitants Nantes fell, and Montfort, taken prisoner, was hurried to Paris, where he was loaded with chains and thrown into a loathsome dungeon in the Louvre.