by David Ker
CHAPTER XXIV
Through the Darkness
Fiercely did Lancaster chafe at the mishap by which his cherished plan,so far from bringing about the fall of the town, had re-victualled itso amply that the besiegers seemed in more peril of famine than thebesieged. He had sworn never to turn his back on the town till he hadplanted his banner on its walls; and now he seemed farther from it thanever.
As he sat gloomily in his tent that afternoon, trying vainly to devisea fresh plan, he was told that a man wished to speak with him, and twosoldiers brought in the Black Wolf.
"Ha! thou here still, fellow? They told me thou hadst fled to theFrench."
"Say rather I have fled _from_ them, your highness," said theiron-nerved bandit, meeting the stern duke's searching look without asign of fear. "My comrade and I were carried captive into the town lastnight by a scouting party of the rogues, and he (worse luck) is stillin their hands; but I brake prison and escaped, having learned somewhatthat may aid your highness to take vengeance on yon scurvy oldcommandant, who threatened to hang me like a dog."
"Say'st thou so?" cried the duke, his spirits rising as suddenly asthey had fallen. "Let us hear quickly, then, what thou hast learned."
The Wolf, carrying out with all the cunning that his wild and huntedlife had taught him the subtle scheme devised by Du Guesclin's readybrain, told, with a blunt frankness which might have deceived theshrewdest man alive, that the "rogue of a commandant" had been nervedto his stubborn defence by the hope of relief from an army which DuGuesclin and other Breton barons were raising; that this army was nowon its way, hoping to take the English by surprise; and that he wasready to guide the duke and a chosen body of his troops to surprise itin turn.
This was quite enough for the energetic general, who never thought ofdoubting so plausible a story, and had no suspicion that this seeminglyzealous ally was sent on purpose to mislead him. Ere night fell,Lancaster himself and the bulk of his army, guided by the Wolf, were ontheir march to intercept the relieving force, little thinking, in theirjoyful confidence of victory, that they were doing just what theirenemies wished.
Just before midnight they reached the narrow, wooded defile throughwhich, as their guide said, the French army must approach their camp.Here they halted, and, not daring to betray their presence by kindlingfires, officers and men shivered through two long, cold, weary hours ofvain expectation.
The night wore on, and still there was no sign of a foe; and thehalf-frozen English began to glance impatiently at the spot where,dimly visible in the faint moonlight, loomed the long grey mantle inwhich their guide had wrapped himself as he lay down. Could the Frenchhave taken another road and escaped them? Could their guide bemistaken? or was he betraying them?
The same growing suspicion disturbed their leaders, and even the dukehimself, who suddenly called out--
"Bring hither yon caitiff guide; if he hath played false, he shall feedthe crows on the highest tree of the forest."
One of his attendant knights, with two or three stout soldiers, flew tothe sleeping guide, and, bending over him, shouted--
"Up, fellow! His highness would speak with thee."
But the slumbering form never moved.
Driven beyond patience, the knight clutched at his shoulder. But, tohis utter horror, the assailant's hand found nothing to grasp; thecloak sank in at his touch, and, as it fell aside, they could all seethat there was no one beneath it.
In that superstitious age, there could be but one explanation of such aprodigy. The hardy soldiers grew pale as death, and the knight,crossing himself tremulously, said in a voice that he vainly tried tosteady--
"The Evil One himself hath been among us; let us pray God to protectus."
Just then broke into the ring the stern duke himself, furious at thedelay in obeying his orders. But his face changed as he heard the tale,and the veteran, whom no peril could shake, stood mute and motionlessbeneath the spell of a terror that was not of this world.
But that spell was suddenly and terribly broken. Through the deadsilence of the gloomy winter night came faintly a dull, far-off roar,coming from the camp that they had left; and a fierce red glare, waxingbroader and brighter every moment, broke through the gloom in the samedirection.
"We are betrayed! our camp is attacked!" roared the duke, stamping andwaving his clenched hands like a madman. "Back to it for your lives."
But with all their haste, they came too late; the mischief was done.
In spite of the darkness, the Wolf (having slipped away from hisEnglish companions, and left his cloak and a heap of dead leaves torepresent him) had gone straight to the spot where he was to meet DuGuesclin, who heard with stern joy the success of his plan for drawingaway half the English army to repel an imaginary attack, and lost notime in setting off to fall on the other half by surprise.
It was past midnight, and the English left to guard the camp werenearly all asleep in careless confidence, and dreaming of stormed townsand rich booty, when a drowsy sentry, leaning on his spear, heard arustle in the thicket beside him, and ere he could utter his challenge,a crushing blow smote him down, while a swarm of dark figures, burstingfrom the shadowy wood, dashed down into the unprepared camp like acataract.
So complete was the surprise, that many of the English were slain ortaken ere they were fully awake; and few had time either to spring upor seize their weapons. Instantly all was confusion. Tents wereoverthrown, horses cut loose, waggon-wheels broken, military enginesdisabled; and at last the conquerors, with a mighty shout of "NotreDame, Du Guesclin!" swept away the few who still resisted, and set thecamp on fire.
It was the blaze of this fire that had startled Lancaster and his men,and sent them hurrying back. But the same blaze had called to theramparts the defenders of Rennes, to whom it was a token ofdeliverance; and the shrewd old commandant, guessing what had happened,at once got five hundred of his best men under arms, charging theirleader, Huon de St. Yvon, to watch the fit moment for a sally on theEnglish rear, while Du Guesclin pressed them in front.
But only by the slackening of the English war-cry, and the swell of theanswering French shout, could the anxious watchers on the walls guesshow the fight was going; for of its actual progress little or nothingcould be seen. Only at times did they catch a dim and doubtful glimpseof shadowy masses of men surging up against each other, clashing,parting, meeting once more, while a keen glitter of steel ran throughthe gloom like a shower of flying sparks. Ever and anon, a whirl ofstruggling forms came rushing athwart the line of light cast by therising flames, clearly visible for one instant, and then swallowed bythe blackness once more.
But as the flames rose higher, the issue of the fray was no longerdoubtful.
Bertrand and his men had won their way through the English forcebetween them and the town, and the final battle was now raging round anumber of store-waggons just brought in by the English from thesurrounding country, with supplies which would be a priceless gift tothe starving town. The English, on the other hand, knew that if thatfood reached the town all their toil would be thrown away; and theyfought like tigers to beat the assailants back.
"Lads!" roared Du Guesclin, "within yon walls are women weeping overtheir starving children, and here is the food that can save them!"
Fired by this appeal, the Bretons rushed on again, and the English putforth all their might to bar the way. The fight was at its hottest,when Huon saw his chance, and, flinging open the gate, came like athunderbolt on the English ranks with a shout of "St. Yves forBretagne!"
Thus attacked on both sides at once, the stubborn besiegers began togive way. The Bretons pressed on--the English fell back--the precioussupplies drew nearer and nearer to the town. Already all seemed won,when from the gloom broke a hoarse roar of thousands of voices,"Lancaster! Lancaster! St. George for England!" and the duke and hismen, just returned from their fruitless quest, came charging to therescue.
And now the fight grew fierce and
terrible; for all knew that on thislast struggle hung the fate of the besieged town, and every man foughtas if the might of the whole host were in his single arm. Had notLancaster's men been spent with long marching and want of sleep, itwould have gone hard with Du Guesclin's handful of heroes; and even asit was, all their valour barely sufficed to bear up against thethreefold odds that beset them. The Wolf and his band (Bertrand'slifeguard all through that fearful night) stood like an iron wallbetween the tide of assault and the precious waggons; but, man on man,the devoted band fell before their swarming assailants, and as theirranks thinned, Du Guesclin's men began to give way in turn, while theEnglish pressed on with shouts of victory.
Driven to desperation, Bertrand plunged headlong into the living sea offierce faces and tossing weapons, dealing death at every blow. But, inthat maddening hurly-burly, few saw the movement, and fewer stillfollowed it; and in a moment he was hemmed in on every side, and notone of his own men near but Huon and the Wolf.
Suddenly Bertrand's quick ear caught, amid all that infernal din, adull groan behind him, and he turned just in time to see the Wolf drophis axe and fall to the earth!
Quick as thought, Du Guesclin clutched the fainting man, and draggedhim up by main force on to his own steed; and then he turned sofiercely on his foes that for an instant his single arm checked thewhole tide of battle.
"Huon!" he shouted, "stand by me, as thou art true knight and Christianman."
Huon answered nobly to the call, striking right and left with the forceof a giant, and never once in vain. But the English closed sternlyround them, and all seemed over with the gallant pair, when the fortuneof this strange fight turned once more.
Till then old De Penhoen had warily kept the rest of his men well inhand; but now he flung caution to the winds, and, hastily musteringevery soldier within the walls, burst forth like a whirlwind on thedisordered English just as they thought the victory won!
In a moment the ring of savage faces and cruel spears that shut in DuGuesclin and Huon melted away like a dream, and a gruff voice saidbehind them--
"Cheer up, good Sir Bertrand; thou hast stood at bay like a stag often, and yon English wolves shall not have thee!"
In fact, this sudden charge of fresh men on wearied ones decided thebattle. Confounded by so many successive attacks, the English thoughtthemselves assailed by a new army, and gave way once more; and ere theycould rally again, the work was done.
Already the precious store-waggons (in one of which Bertrand had gentlylaid the helpless Wolf) were close to the open gate--and now theforemost was actually within it--and now, amid the whiz ofcrossbow-bolts from the walls and the hiss of arrows from the plain,the triumphant cheers of the garrison and the savage cries of thebaffled pursuers, the heroes of this marvellous feat struggled wearilyinto the sheltering town, and the gate clanged behind them.
"Spare our lives, noble sir! We have lost all else that we had in theworld!" cried one of the peasant waggon-drivers, as he and the othersthrew themselves at Du Guesclin's feet.
"Why, how now, lads?" cried Bertrand, with that blunt, hearty franknessthat always made him popular with the common people. "Ye are Bretons,like me, and why should I be wroth with my own folk? If, as ye say, yehave lost all, it fits me better to aid than to punish you. What haveye done amiss?"
"We drove these waggons to the English camp; but what could we do? Thespear was at our throats! Leave us our lives, noble knight; we havenought else to lose!"
"As God hears me, who hath delivered me this night," said the hero,solemnly, "not a hair of your heads shall be touched, and all ye havelost shall be made good, if it cost me my last crown. While Bertrand duGuesclin hath a coin in his purse, any man that is poor and needy iswelcome to share it!"
The poor peasants kissed his hands with broken thanks, and the roughsoldiers around set up a cheer that made the air ring.
When day dawned on that wild scene, it revealed a sight at which theoldest English veteran stood aghast. Half the camp lay in ashes,blotting the clear sky with its smoke. The military engines,constructed with so much labour and cost, were shattered and useless.Hundreds of the duke's best men had fallen, and so many horses werecarried off or disabled that half his knights were dismounted; and,worse than all, of the supplies brought in at such cost of toil andblood, not a morsel was left.
But, furious as the great general was to see the labours of monthsdestroyed in a night, and all his hopes of winning the town blasted inthe very moment of success, the uppermost feeling in his brave Englishheart was an honest, manly admiration of the gallant foe whose skilland courage had triumphed over his utmost efforts; and that admirationrose higher still when some English soldiers, who had been shut intothe town with the Bretons on the previous night, and dismissed unharmedat dawn by Bertrand himself, came back with the news of his kindness tothe peasants.
"So help me St. George!" cried the duke, "since lance was first liftedin this land, there hath been no such gentle and perfect knight as thissame Du Guesclin, and gladly would I tell him so myself. Ho there! letmy herald presently go up to the town with trumpet-sound and bannerdisplayed, and say to Messire Bertrand du Guesclin that John of Gauntprays him to grace our board with his presence this day as a rightwelcome and honoured guest."