Seeing Sir John and his squires gazing intently at the abandoned stronghold the men did likewise. They saw the grim and gaunt pile standing clearly out against the dark background of the forest, and from the black flag-staff fluttered the blue banner of the company, with its well-known device of the golden crescent.

Even as they watched, the figure of a man made its appearance on the battlements; the banner was slowly lowered, and the man disappeared.

A few moments later the same man, mounted on a swift steed, emerged from the gateway and thundered across the turf. Reining in his horse before Sir John, the rider handed the banner to the guidon-bearer, saluted, and fell in with his comrades; but still the Constable kept his eyes steadfastly on the fortress.

What could it mean?

Slowly the moments sped. To the perplexity of the soldiers, the castle had an irresistible fascination for their leaders, and, following their example, they, too, looked in silent wonderment at the gaunt ma.s.ses of masonry.

Suddenly, with a flash, a roar, and a cloud of smoke and dust, the castle appeared to split asunder; huge ma.s.ses of stone flew skyward, then with an appalling crash the walls subsided, and in place of the ma.s.sive outlines of the fortress there was nothing to be seen save a pile of blackened stones, over which floated a heavy pall of dense vapour.

The remainder of the powder had been fired, and the sylvan stronghold of the Count of Tancarville was no more!

"'Tis well done," was Sir John's only comment, then, on receiving the word of command, the company resumed its march, and plunged into the sombre shadows of the forest.

Almost unnoticed, the little force reached the camp, for in the excitement of the sack of the rich town of Caen the absence of the company on their successful raid was of small moment to the rest of the army intent as they were on the gain of booty.

There were two exceptions at least. One was Redward Buckland, who, being apprised of his son's safety, had left the Suss.e.x company, only to find to his great disappointment that his comrades had departed on their raid.

The other was the great Chandos, who, recognising more than most Englishmen of his day the possibilities of artillery, showed the greatest interest in Sir John Hacket's report of the expedition, promising at the first available opportunity to inform the King of the great service rendered by the Constable of Portchester and his favourite squire.

But other events were taking place that effectually eclipsed for the time being the glory of the brilliant raid. Edward, having plundered Caen, described by Froissart as "large, strong, full of draperies and all sorts of merchandise; rich citizens, n.o.ble dames, damsels, and fine churches," had reserved for his own share all the plate, jewels, and choice cloths. The plunder, together with three hundred of the more opulent citizens, was placed on board the English ships and sent over the Channel; then, hoping to sack Rouen in a similar manner, the King advanced with his army up the fertile valley of the Seine.

Foiled in this attempt, he continued his march towards Paris, only to find the bridges broken down, with a strong hostile force on the nether bank, and Philip with a large army rapidly approaching from Guienne.

A desolate track, dotted with the ashes of countless towns and villages, marked the ruthless advance of the English, till at the very gates of Paris the flood-tide of invasion became the ebb of retreat, and Edward, hard pressed, was in danger of being cut off by overwhelming numbers.

One night, when lying near the village of Poissy, the camp was aroused, and orders given to prepare to march.

"Whither are we bound?" asked Raymond of his father as they met in the semi-darkness.

Redward shook his head. "'Tis not a soldier's part to question orders," quoth he. "I did hear that the King would try to reach Flanders, but methinks this way leadeth to Paris."

There was no occasion for silence, and, talking freely amongst themselves, the soldiers struck their tents, and at daybreak were well on the road to Paris, while the light-armed hors.e.m.e.n attached to the French army, who hovered around the flanks, wheeled about and galloped off to inform the French King of the advance of the invaders.

Hardly had the cavalry disappeared than a halt was ordered; then, with great celerity, the whole English army turned and retraced its footsteps.

The Hampshire companies, which at the outset formed the rearguard, now found themselves in the van, and great was their delight when it was rumoured that the King had entrusted to them the task of forcing the pa.s.sage of the Seine.

"'Tis Sir John Chandos' own doing," remarked Redward, "and as clever a feint as ever I met with. While the French are ma.s.sing to prevent our supposed march on Paris, we are quietly slipping away towards Flanders."

As they came in sight of the turbid river a horseman spurred madly towards them. "The bridge! The bridge is broken down!" he shouted, then without slackening his speed he rode onwards towards the main body which the King had under his own command.

"The bridge!" growled Redward, "what of the bridge? 'Tis easily repaired, provided the enemy do not line the farther bank."

"Then show all men what we can do," exclaimed the Constable. "Pull down that house for me, and I'll warrant there will be a goodly stock of timber sufficient to build a bridge, let alone patch one up."

The men worked with a will, and soon the house was a shapeless ma.s.s of wood and plaster, while the soldiers, selecting the largest and strongest beams, dragged them to the spot where the jagged ends of the riven bridge gaped a good ten yards apart.

Meanwhile Redward and two score of his comrades had thrown off their armour and quilted jackets, and, with ropes fastened to their waists, plunged into the swift-flowing river.

To clamber up the woodwork of the broken arch was the work of a few minutes; then, hauling at the ropes with a will, they dragged two of the largest beams across the chasm, and after this was done the work of completing the temporary bridge was a comparatively easy matter.

By this time the whole English army had crowded on its advance guard, and many anxious glances were thrown backwards in the direction from which the French attack was expected, but to every one's relief no enemy appeared till the last waggon of the retreating host had rumbled over the swaying structure. Then, as the van of the French army came in sight, the temporary span, together with two additional arches, crashed into the river, effectually preventing all pursuit for a considerable period.

The retreat continued, the King making towards Flanders, yet at the same time gradually approaching the sh.o.r.es of the English Channel, so as to be able to re-embark should he find himself hemmed in by the hordes of infuriated Frenchmen.

As the English came on swiftly and in good order, a considerable force, under G.o.demar de Faye, fell back before them, seeking a favourable chance to hinder their advance, while in their rear came the hundred thousand armed men of King Philip, who had meantime found means of crossing the Seine and were swiftly pursuing.

At length the English reached the valley of the Somme. Here the same difficulty awaited them. The bridges were broken down by the redoubtable G.o.demar, after he had crossed and drawn up his troops on the right bank to oppose the pa.s.sage of the retreating army.

Edward was sore puzzled with the problem of how to effect a crossing, till a miserable Norman peasant, one Gobin Agace, was brought before him. Not by threats, but by promises of rich reward, was this unworthy Frenchman induced to betray his country; and, on his informing the King of a certain ford, the order for a general advance was at once given.

Led by the peasant, the English rushed towards the ford. In front flowed the river, lapping over the white stones and shingle as it babbled along, an apparently peaceful stream, towards the sea.

On the opposite bank lay the troops of G.o.demar; but not for one moment did the King hesitate. Commanding the archers to pour a heavy covering fire into the ma.s.ses of Frenchmen, he drew his sword, and setting himself at the head of his knights and mounted troops, Edward dashed across the river. Short and fierce was the conflict, but unable to withstand the fierce onslaught, the Frenchmen gave way, and were soon in headlong flight.

"Haste, sir," exclaimed Sir John Chandos; "command the main body to cross." And even as he spoke the dark outlines of the pursuing army appeared on the crest of a distant hill.

Never was a ford crossed with such celerity. The waggons were dragged or lifted by the united efforts of crowds of archers, and though waist-deep in water, the whole army crossed in safety.

Then the order was given to resume the march, the Hampshire companies being given the post of honour--the task of covering the retreat.

As Raymond stood with his men watching the advancing Frenchmen, their innumerable banners waving like a reed-covered pond, the archers had slipped into a long, extended line, and quietly, yet resolutely, awaited the oncoming enemy.

Suddenly the squire noticed a change in the appearance of the river.

Instead of a silently-flowing stream that ran towards the sea, a wave of foaming water rushed up in the opposite direction, and almost instantly the river became a ma.s.s of broken water, impa.s.sable to man or beast. The floodtide had begun, and for six hours at least King Philip was doomed to rave in fruitless anger on the wrong side of the Somme.

"We are safe enough for the present," remarked Redward to his son, "but methinks before daybreak there will be few of us left, for the best we can do is to hold them in check for an hour after the tide has run out. Many a tight corner have we been in ere now, but, certes, this is the worst."

But the master-bowman was wrong, for presently a messenger came to Sir John Hacket with an urgent order from the King. With an irrepressible shout of delight, the fiery old knight summoned his st.u.r.dy little band around him.

"It is not fated that our bones bleach on the banks of this river, _mes enfans_," he exclaimed. "News hath arrived that the King intends to give battle with the enemy, and hath already ordered his forces in a strong position but three leagues hence. Thither we are to repair with all haste. Forward, then, and ere night we shall be with the main body!"

Eagerly the company fell in, and with hope renewed they set out for the camp.

"Mark my word, Raymond," said his father, "'tis but putting off the evil day. A great fight is before us, and, by the rood, 'tis hard to say how it will end. But I have a small matter on my mind of which I would speak anon. As soon, therefore, as we arrive in camp, come aside with me for one brief hour."

Raymond a.s.sented, and in silence they rode onwards towards their destination, a journey which was to many the last they would ever make on earth.

The sun was sinking low ere they heard the trumpets of the English host. The place Edward had chosen to make a stand was one of great natural strength. The army was encamped on the edge of a low plateau, the right wing being additionally protected by a narrow stream, while in the rear was a small wood. On the summit of the hill a wooden windmill stood out clearly against the sky, while but a bowshot away was the little village of Crecy, its houses, though ransacked by the invaders, still standing--a contrast to those which had previously stood in the path of the ruthless army.

As the Constable's company moved towards the quarters a.s.signed them, Raymond noticed that the archers were already hard at work digging trenches and cutting stakes for palisades, for the King had given orders that everything should be ready ere night, so as to allow his troops a well-earned rest.

After a good repast, for provisions were plentiful in that fertile valley, Raymond sought his father, and together they walked through the camp towards the solitude of the neighbouring wood. On the way they pa.s.sed the royal pavilion, where, with his chief lords, King Edward sat at supper, and, judging by the cheerful voices of the company, it was evident that few doubts were entertained as to the issue of to-morrow's conflict.

But, silent and sad, the master-bowman and his son went on their way, for Raymond knew instinctively that there was a great burden on his father's mind. At length they reached the dark shadows of the wood, and here Redward halted.