"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed Sir John. "A clever trick, but, methinks, 'twill not pa.s.s another time. And Pembroke hath sent an urgent message to the King for aid, didst thou say?"

"Ay, directly our ship tied up alongside the quay at Southampton the messenger rode off at headlong speed to Windsor, although he could scarce keep his seat by reason of sea-sickness."

"Then, Raymond," exclaimed the Constable, turning to his squire, "the summons will be here anon. But, mark my word, this will be no child's-play, for, methinks, the King will be loth to let Guienne slip through his fingers. And now, bring me the tally of the bows, arrows, and spears, for no time must be lost."

Joyfully the squire hastened away to get the required information, and the castle was soon alive with excitement at the thought of active service.

The old knight was not wrong; the call to arms came, and, thanks to his sagacity and forethought, the Constable was soon ready to take the field. Ere June had arrived Sir John's company had marched into Southampton to await the King's good pleasure.

Raymond saw great changes as he gazed around the old familiar place.

The walls had been raised and strengthened; larger houses had taken the place of the charred ruins that the French invaders had left behind them, while a fleet of large ships showed that Southampton had quickly recovered from the horrors of pillage.

The fleet was typical of the resources of Hampshire, for Southampton contributed twenty-one ships manned by 476 mariners, Lymington sent nine, Portsmouth five, Leepe, Newtown, and Yarmouth two each, while the county of Dorset supplied twenty-five vessels, of which Weymouth sent twenty-one and Poole four.

Farther down the Water towards Hythe lay a larger fleet, composed of vessels from the Cinque Ports, London, Ipswich, and Great Yarmouth, while towards the Netley side were the West Country ships from Dartmouth, Sutton, Fowey, and Falmouth.

Altogether there were not far short of eight hundred sail, a.s.sembled in less than fourteen days, to bear across the Channel the huge army destined for the conquest of France.

On Midsummer Day, the Feast of St. John the Baptist, the news came that the King had left the Queen in the care of his cousin, the Earl of Kent, and was on the road to Southampton.

Instantly the work of embarking the troops, horses, and baggage began, and never before did the good townsmen of Southampton behold such a fair and martial sight. Throughout the long June day the task proceeded, and a seemingly endless procession wended through the West Gate, each division having its appointed order.

The Portsmouth ships were to form the rearguard, so that it was the duty of the Constable of Portchester to embark last of all. From his quarters, close to the West Gate, Sir John watched the embarkation, pointing out to his squires the respective devices and banners of the various contingents.

From all parts of the kingdom, save the northern counties, whose men were required to watch the restive Scots, had this army foregathered, the flower of chivalry and the stoutest of the yeomen of England.

There were the lions rampant of the Percies, Mowbrays, and d'Albini, each distinguishable by the "field," the ruddy chevrons of the de Claves, the gilded c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l of the de Malets, and the more complicated devices of de Montfichet, Quince, Fortibus, de Bohun, de.

Vere, and Fitz-Walter. Each baron had his following of men-at-arms and archers, the former having to lower the points of their long slender spears as they pa.s.sed beneath the vaulted archway. After the feudal army, numbering four thousand men-at-arms and ten thousand archers, came a horde of fierce-eyed, hairy men of short stature, each armed with a long knife and a double-bladed axe.

"Ah," exclaimed Sir John, noting the look of inquiry on Raymond's face. "Heaven help the Frenchman who falls wounded in the field, for these are the Welsh levies. I have marked their method of fighting before to-day, and, certes, I am of no mind to praise them for it."

The Welshmen were succeeded by a straggling body of tall, gaunt-looking men, armed with a small shield and short spear. They lacked the grim stolidity of the Englishmen, and marched with merry laugh and careless jest uttered in a strange tongue.

"The Irish levies from Leinster," remarked the Constable, "good-natured in peace, honest fighting-men, yet terrible when roused. I can recall a little affair before Cadsand, but 'tis too long to relate at the moment. But hark!"

Redoubled cheering echoed down the narrow sloping street, and the knight and his squires strained their ears to ascertain the cause.

The last of the troops had pa.s.sed, yet still the archers who lined the route pushed back the excited townsmen with their six-foot staves.

"The King!" exclaimed the Constable.

Attended by a number of lords and barons, Edward rode slowly through the crowded street, acknowledging the acclamations by the faintest inclination of his head. He was then in his thirty-fourth year, yet the cares of his kingdom and the claims of his Lombard and Flemish creditors had made him look considerably older. A longish dark beard partially concealed a hard, firm mouth, while his dark piercing eyes, glittering beneath his broad forehead and bushy eyebrows, betokened a war-like temperament. His coat of plate-armour, fashioned in the latest style, was covered by a surcoat, upon which were embroidered his newly-a.s.sumed arms, the fleur-de-lis of France, quartered with the silver lions of England, while a velvet cap took the place, for the time being, of his plumed bascinet.

At his right hand rode his fifteen-year-old son, Edward, afterwards known to fame as The Black Prince; while at his left rode Lord G.o.dfrey of Harcourt, the King's much-esteemed councillor.

Burning with ill-concealed impatience Edward, with his suite, embarked that very evening, and ere morning dawned the fleet had left the shelter of Southampton Water, and was heading westward for the English Channel, the Portsmouth ships, with the Constable and his company, rolling sluggishly in the rear, about a league astern of the main body.

With the favouring north-easterly breeze all went well, and steadily the floating army neared the coasts of France; but on the third day came a flat calm, so that the ships were compelled to use their sweeps to prevent themselves drifting into one another.

The calm was succeeded by a strong south-westerly gale, so that all advantage of the previous favourable breeze was totally lost; and, unable to make headway, the fleet was driven back towards the English coast, taking shelter in the Cornish harbour of Fowey.

For six days the fleet lay weather-bound, till Sir G.o.dfrey of Harcourt counselled the King to give up the idea of landing in Gascony.

"Sire," he exclaimed, "Normandy is one of the plenteous countries of the world. On jeopardy of my head, if thou wouldst land there, there is none to resist thee. The people of Normandy are not used to war, and all the knights and squires of the country are now at the siege before Aiguillon."

The advice, though hardly correct, the King took, and, the wind moderating and blowing more in their favour, the fleet again put to sea, and reached La Hogue without further incident.

Arrived on the coast of Normandy, the English began to make a revengeful attack on the ports of Cherbourg and Barfleur, the ships of these ports having harried the coasts of England in times past, and with fierce shouts the soldiers pillaged the defenceless towns, burning every ship they found in the harbours.

One night, Sir John Hacket, who had been in audience with the King, returned to his quarters in high glee.

"Raymond," he exclaimed, "the King hath again done signal honour to my Company. News hath reached us that the Count of Tancarville, who is the most puissant n.o.ble in Normandy, lieth at a hunting lodge near the village of Brique, within five leagues of the camp. He hath, we are told, no knowledge of our presence. Could we but entrap him and bring him a prisoner into the camp, it will clear the way for our advance, for, bereft of the counsel of the Count of Tancarville, all Normandy would be masterless. Now, consider; I have a free hand in this small matter, and can use the whole of my Company to my advancement. What think ye? Is it better to take but a few mounted men, or adventure with them all?"

"In my humble opinion, Sir John," replied Raymond, "the matter is best undertaken by but a few. Too many would give alarm. A few would, in the case of our plans miscarrying, be but little missed, and if they do succeed, then the greater the honour!"

"Thy words do thee credit, Raymond, and, by St. George, a better leader for the enterprise than thou I cannot choose. Take your choice of mounted men, and begone. A guide is even now detained in the camp, who will lead you to Brique. Now, remember, alive or dead, bring the Count into the camp, but alive by choice."

Quickly the young squire went about preparations for his mission.

Five trusted men-at-arms were chosen, and their arms and horses carefully inspected by their young leader, who resolved to leave nothing to chance. Then, placing their guide, a heavy-limbed Norman peasant, upon a spare horse, and attaching a light chain to his wrist (one end being held by a soldier with orders to despatch the man at the first sign of treachery), the little party left the camp, pa.s.sed the outlying cordon of sentries, and plunged into the darkness.

By degrees the hors.e.m.e.n became accustomed to the gloom, and, riding closely together, with the guide in their midst, they maintained a brisk pace towards their goal, and ere long the camp-fires of their comrades were lost to sight behind them.

The night was sultry; not a leaf stirred on the branches of the trees that lined the road, and a dull oppressive feeling pervaded the atmosphere.

Suddenly the faint rumble of distant thunder was borne to their ears, and instinctively the hors.e.m.e.n glanced at one another, for a thunder-storm was looked upon by the mediaeval soldier as a harbinger of evil.

Nearer and nearer came the storm, till the lightning flashed across their path, illuminating the horizon with its sulphurous glow, but as yet not a drop of rain had fallen.

Meanwhile their guide had kept perfectly silent, answering the questions put to him with either a nod or a shake of his head. Though Raymond had acquired a smattering of the French language he was unable to understand the patois of the peasant, so one of the men-at-arms was deputed to put any necessary question to their impa.s.sive guide.

At length they reached the confines of a dense forest, and hardly had they gained the dangerous shelter of the trees than down came the rain, accompanied by almost incessant flashes of lightning.

Dazzled by the appalling light, and almost deafened by the sharp detonating rattle of the thunder, the little party rode in fear and trembling till their guide stopped them with a motion of his hand, and indicating an almost invisible avenue that forked from the road they were following, exclaimed, "V'la, m'sieurs!"

"Ask him how far it is to the Count's hunting-lodge!" exclaimed Raymond.

"He says 'not far.'"

"Certes, I am as wise as before. Ask him again." The man mumbled something unintelligible, then held up two fingers.

"A murrain on his thick-headedness; fair Sir, I cannot rightly tell what he doth mean."

"Then be cautious. Remember, directly we catch sight of the place, one man remains with the guide and the rest follow me!"

The path was too narrow for two to ride abreast, so they proceeded in single file, the guide leading, with a soldier, leaning over his crupper to give the necessary length of chain, following closely behind and through the avenue, so dense that even the lightning almost failed to illumine, Raymond's party rode on their desperate errand.

CHAPTER XV