The Winning of the Golden Spurs

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER III

  OF THE MIDNIGHT DESCENT OF THE FRENCH INVADERS

  THE first shout was enough to rouse the old archer into activealertness, for, with his experience of camp life, he was accustomedto awaken readily at the least noise. Hastily springing up, he rushedto the window, swung aside the wooden flap and the flimsy fabric thatserved to admit the light, and looked out. The darkness was intense,save for some small tongues of dark red flame that were beginning toshoot up from one of the houses near the waterside, the fire castinga dull glare upon the neighbouring buildings and serving but tointensify the inky blackness of the night.

  "A fire," he said aloud, yet on second thoughts the ever-increasingshrieks, groans, shouts, and curses that were borne on the air beliedhis surmise. Moreover, his quick ear detected commands andejaculations in a foreign language--the tongues of Picardy, Normandy,and Spain.

  His ready brain grasped the situation--it must be a raid by theFrench and Spaniards, who at that time swarmed in the EnglishChannel.

  These inroads upon our shores by the French during the Hundred Years'War are apt to be ignored or lightly passed over by modernhistorians, yet during a time when England was busy pouring the bestof her blood and treasure into France there was hardly a town on theSouth Coast that escaped the ravages of the French and their allies,the Spaniards and Genoese.

  "Awake! awake! Raymond!" shouted his father. "The French are uponus!"

  Raymond sprang up and began to hastily don his clothes, while thearcher laid hands on every heavy article in the room, barricading thedoor and securing the windows. Then, having made ready his bow, heagain looked out towards the village.

  By this time a series of unequal combats were taking place in thenarrow streets or within the houses, where the terrified inhabitantswere being routed out like rabbits. All who came across the path ofthe ruthless invaders were cut down without mercy--men, women, andchildren--while their homes were being plundered and afterwards firedby men to whom the sacking of a town was almost a familiar task.

  To add to the din the church bell was ringing a violent tocsin, andall who were able to escape fled either to the stout Norman tower toseek shelter, or else across the open country towards the town ofSouthampton.

  Raymond, white-faced with pardonable fear and shaking in every limb,now joined his father. Flight for them was now out of the question,for already some of the foemen had passed the house, hard in pursuitof a party of fugitives, the slowest of whom fell under the weaponsof the relentless marauders. Like bloodhounds on the trail, this bandof pursuers passed by the solitary house, ignoring its existence orelse meaning to plunder it at their leisure after the chase of thefugitives was ended.

  Suddenly four or five dark figures, silhouetted against the nowbright glare of the burning village, came running up the hill andheaded straight for the house.

  "Quickly, Raymond, notch a shaft!" hissed the archer, and setting anexample, he fitted an arrow to his bow and waited, with the weaponslightly bent, the opportunity to let fly.

  "By St. George, they are our friends!" exclaimed Redward.

  "Andrew Walter! Dick!" he shouted. "This way, for your lives, and yeare safe!" And throwing his great bulk against the barricade behindthe door, he moved it sufficiently to enable the door to be opened toadmit the fugitives.

  Then the furniture was replaced against the door, and the men sankbreathless and panic-stricken on the floor. There were six in all, sothat the little garrison now amounted to eight men, whereof three hadhad experience in warfare.

  "Get ye up!" ordered Redward roughly. "Think ye that I opened mydoors to allow a set of cowardly curs to lie about my hearth? Up withye!"

  Stung by the rebuke, the men armed themselves with bow and sword,gripping their weapons with newborn resolve.

  "Ah, by Our Lady, 'tis well ye look on the right side o' things. Butif we are to see the light of another day we must stand firm," saidthe archer grimly. "And," he added, "let no man loose bow till I givethe word, and may God and St. George look favourably upon us thisnight!"

  "Ay, gossip!" replied Walter Bevis, a veteran of Falkirk. "An' if wecannot live we can at least die like Englishmen! But, who comes?"

  Another dark figure came flying up the hill, hotly pursued by half ascore of Frenchmen.

  "'Tis Will Lightfoot, of Hook!" replied one of the defenders. "Run,Will, run!"

  "Now loose!" cried Redward, and immediately five arrows flew on theirdeadly errand. It was the first time that Raymond had seen a shaftsped in anger, and the sight thrilled him strangely. The pursuers,standing out strongly against the glare, made easy marks; four ofthem fell face forwards on the ground, writhing in mortal agony; thefifth, struck in the right fore-arm, dropped his sword and yelledlustily. The others, amazed at meeting with any attempt at organisedresistance, turned and fled towards the village, two more falling asthe result of a second flight of the deadly arrows.

  Will Lightfoot, holding a dagger in his left hand and a broken swordin his right, came up to the improvised fortress with an easy stride,for his name well suited him amid the encouraging shouts of hisfriends.

  "Wait while I unbar the door," called Redward to the fugitive, at thesame time directing the others to assist him in removing thebarricade.

  "Nay, keep the door fast; the villains will be here anon," repliedLightfoot. "I'll find a way in."

  And suiting the action to the word, he sprang on a low fence, andfrom thence vaulted easily on to the thatched roof. Getting a gripwith his broken sword and dagger, he ran up the sloping roof ofthatch like a cat, and dropped through the aperture that did duty fora chimney, and alighted in the midst of the smouldering logs on thehearth.

  "Pardon, friends, for my mode of entry," he exclaimed. "But methinksthe mischief I have done to thy roof, Master Buckland, will illcompare with the damage that our attackers will do ere a few hoursare spent."

  In the lull that followed the besieged took steps to strengthen theirdefences. Redward brought out a large oaken chest filled with arrows,whereat his son wondered all the more at the reason for the journeyto Botley on the previous day. Thick boards were spiked to thewindows, dividing each opening into two oylets, or slots fordischarging arrows, while on the side where no windows existed a fewof the stones were removed so as to form an additional outlookcommanding the hitherto invisible ground on the north.

  Food they had sufficient for three or four days, but water wasscarce. This necessary they must procure, so once again the door wasopened, and Raymond crept out stealthily with two leathern jacks toprocure some of the precious fluid from the well, while the otherscrowded to the loopholes to cover his retreat if molested.

  With an indescribable feeling of fear, mingled with the dread ofbeing thought a coward by the defenders, Raymond did his worksilently and quickly. Thrice did he go to the well, till there wassufficient water stored in the house to last for a considerabletime.

  All the while the shouts, groans, and cries continued, the cracklingand roaring of the flames making a fitting accompaniment, and givingevidence that resistance was still being kept up in another quarter.

  At length the pale dawn began to show a welcome change to the anxiousmen, on whom the weary waiting told far more than the actualstruggle.

  Gradually the daylight increased, and by its aid the besieged wereable to realise more fully their hazardous position. Nearly everyhouse was in flames, some even now reduced to a heap of glowingashes. Here and there the corpse of a Spaniard or a Frenchman showedthat, in spite of the surprise, the attack had been fiercely opposed.Those villagers who had taken refuge in the church tower stillresisted, though, from the desultory arrows that came from the top ofthe structure, it was evident that their store of missiles waswell-nigh exhausted.

  The invaders, too, were aware of this, for those wearing armouradvanced also to the base of the tower, avoiding, however, the piecesof stone that the desperate men detached from the pinnacles andhurled down on their adversaries. Others, keeping further off, shottheir bolts at t
he tower, stamping and jumping as if to terrify theirquarry. Some of the foreign crossbowmen were so close to the housethat sheltered Buckland's party that they could hear the clicking oftheir moulinets and the deep bass hum of the strings as the quarrelssped towards the mark.

  Out in mid-stream, their hulls swinging to the tide, lay three long,low-lying galleys, and between them and the shore a number of smallboats were rowing to and fro, those putting off being full ofplunder; and as fast as each little craft discharged its load intothe capacious hold of its parent galley it returned to the shore toremove some of the huge heap of booty, which was still beingreplenished by parties of foragers.

  Loud and long were the maledictions of the men in Redward's house, asthey saw their homes given to the flames and their kinsfolk andfriends either cruelly murdered or else houseless fugitives; but soontheir attention was riveted on the final scene in the resistance ofthose on the church tower.

  The crossbowmen redoubled their fire, and, covered by the heavy rainof missiles, a party of men-at-arms advanced with their shields heldover their heads. A shower of blows with their heavy battle-axes soonsplintered the oaken door, and when at length only a few fragmentsof wood and the bent and battered remains of the massive hingesremained, the men retreated in the same order, though two were leftlying crushed beneath a ponderous piece of coping that the assailedhad toppled over.

  Already the church was sacked. Crucifixes, candlesticks,altar-cloths, rich vestments, and tapestries had been ruthlesslytaken off to the galleys; while the priest, with a score of persons,men, women and children, who had vainly sought sanctuary, lay deadwithin the altar rails.

  And now a body of lightly-armed men--Spaniards, judging by theirswarthy complexions--advanced, bearing bundles of straw and faggots,almost unmolested, for the arrows of the besieged had long given out,and the hail of bolts from the crossbows skimmed across the top ofthe parapet like hail. The men reached the base of the tower, wherethey heaped their burdens within the doorway.

  A lighted torch was applied to the fuel, and a tongue of flame,darting from amid the thick cloud of suffocating smoke, licked thegrim stone walls, while the spiral staircase, acting like a loftychimney, fanned the fire till it glowed like a potter's furnace.

  A ring of armed men surrounded the tower. The crossbowmen, their workdone, ceased their firing, discharging only an occasional bolt as thetormented wretches on the tower, unable to bear the choking heat,showed themselves above the protection of the parapet. Some of thedefenders, maddened by their agony, threw themselves headlong;others, sword in hand, attempted to descend the stairs, and hurlthemselves upon their enemies, though they perished in the flameslong before they reached the ground; others, defying and cursing theinvaders, shook their weapons in impotent rage, till a well-directedquarrel or the rapidly-increasing flames claimed the last of thegallant band of forgotten heroes.

  When resistance in this quarter was at an end, the invaders were freeto direct their energies against the solitary stone house that hadalready wrought great mischief upon them; and, led by two knights incomplete armour, the men-at-arms began to fall in in close order at adistance of two hundred paces from where Redward Buckland and hisdevoted companions awaited the onslaught.

  "With yonder ruin to serve as an example," said the master-bowman,pointing to the flaming tower, "we must fight to the death. Whilethere is yet time it would be well that each man doth confess hissins for the betterment of his soul."

  So saying, all the defenders knelt down reverently, though Redward,trained soldier that he was, kept an eye on their gathering foes. Theprayers _in extremis_ were hurriedly said; then, in the absence of afriar, they confessed to each other, according to the Roman customwhen in peril of death. One of the villagers produced a slip of theHoly Thorn, brought from the miraculous tree of Glastonbury, and thisthey all kissed devoutly in the hope of obtaining spiritualconsolation.

  This done, they arose from their knees, embraced each other, andhurried to their posts.

  All preparations for the attack having apparently been completed, theleaders advanced to the head of their men and harangued them, thoughthe distance was too great for the Englishmen to hear what was said.This done, one of the knights closed his visor, and the other triedto follow his example, but the calque, dented from the effects of ablow, refused to allow the visor to descend. A couple of squiressprang forward to aid their lord, and the group, standing well infront of the rest, made a tempting mark.

  Redward was quick to act.

  "Quickly, Dick; nine score paces, and no windage!"

  Dick, a lusty yet experienced archer, had already notched his bow andfitted an arrow. Leaning slightly forward, and throwing all hisweight into the act of drawing the six-foot bow, the man loosed theshaft. Even as it sped Buckland also let fly, and the defendersanxiously awaited the result of their comrades' skill.

  The first arrow struck and shivered itself against the uplifted visorof the French knight; but Redward's fared better, for, hitting themail-clad figure under the raised arm, it sank deeply into theleader's body. Amid a roar of execrations on the invaders' side, anda hearty English cheer on the part of the bowmen, the knightstaggered and fell on his face. The two squires stood their groundbravely, and with difficulty raised the ponderous armour-clad body oftheir master and bore it to the rear.

  "Here they come!" shouted the master-bowman. "See, they shoot! Onyour faces, men!"

  Crouching down behind the friendly shelter of the stone walls, theeight defenders awaited the onslaught, Redward alone watching theadvance through a loophole, his head protected by an iron cap, whilehe held a stout buckler over the aperture as an additional protectionagainst the deadly hail of arrows and bolts.

  Raymond, crouching close to his father, felt that the bitterness ofdeath had passed; his terror had vanished, and he was as ready as therest to strike a blow in self-defence, though against tremendousodds. The unfamiliar sound of the arrows striking the woodwork andquivering with an indescribable _ping_, or shattering themselvesagainst the stonework, the invaders' war cry of "St. Denis," and themetallic clanging of the advancing men-at-arms were signs of aninvisible enemy whom he was on the point of meeting in mortal combat,and when, after a seemingly long and weary wait, the hail of arrowsslackened and he heard his father cry, "To arms!" he actuallywelcomed what might prove to be his death-summons.

  At the word of command the defenders sprang to their feet, rushed tothe loopholes, and fired as fast as they were able into the densemasses of the advancing enemy. At that short range neither leatherncoat nor iron hauberk was proof against the deadly arrows, and manafter man fell writhing on the ground, their fall serving to dismaytheir comrades and to cheer their antagonists.

  Clambering over the low fencing, the men-at-arms still advanced; theair was thick with the groans of the wounded and the shouts of "St.Denis!" "Tuez les miserables!" "A bas les poltrons!" To which thedefenders answered not a word, but in grim silence discharged theirarrows into the disorderly press before them.

  By sheer weight of numbers the French men-at-arms gained the front ofthe house, and with reckless bravery attempted to tear away theimprovised defences. Bows were cast aside, and the defenders, seizingswords and spears, made vicious thrusts through the loopholes as theshadows of the enemy were thrown across them.

  At length the planks across one of the windows gave way, and a crowdof mail-clad warriors essayed to clamber through. Thereupon thedefenders retreated to the opposite wall, and resuming their bows,volleyed their deadly shafts against the rash intruders, who,overwhelmed by the concentration of arrows in the narrow space, gaveback in disorder.

  Suddenly a figure clad from head to foot in plate armour--a form ofdefensive mail only just coming into use--appeared in the window. Invain the arrows rattled on the thrice-welded plate, and for a momentit seemed certain that the intaking was accomplished. But Redward,dropping his weapon, sprang forward, and before the mail-clad warriorcould swing his long and heavy sword, the archer had thrown himselfbodily
upon the Frenchman.

  Realising the danger, the man tried to return, but Redward, seizinghim in his powerful grip, strove to drag him into the house. Lyingacross the window ledge, his bulk filling the whole aperture, theFrenchman effectually prevented any of his comrades from coming tohis assistance, his mail-clad legs, kicking and sprawling without,keeping his would-be helpers at a discreet distance.

  Then came a terrific struggle, Redward heaving and hauling on hisenemy's bascinet, while the other tried his utmost to shake off therelentless grip. Nothing short of the breaking of the laces of theFrenchman's calque would release the man, and even then hisunprotected head would be pierced by a ready arrow.

  The knight's resistance grew feebler, till at length a hollow voiceexclaimed, "Je me rends!"

  "No quarter to base ravagers!" was the stern reply, and with a finalmighty heave Redward dragged the steel-clad warrior through thewindow, and cast him with a sickening clang upon the stone floor.Then, drawing the knight's own _misericorde_, he cut the laces of hisbascinet and plunged the dagger into his Adversary's throat.