CHAPTER VII
THE SACK OF SOUTHAMPTON
Two months have elapsed since Redward Buckland and his companionsmade their gallant stand against the foreign raiders; Raymond haddeveloped into a full-fledged archer. Making a rapid recovery fromhis wound, the lad, with his seven companions, joined the Constable'sbanner at Southampton, whither Redward, having settled his affairs,had preceded them.
The badly-wounded Bevis made but slow progress; fighting, hevehemently declared, was not in his line, so one morning he limpedslowly through the Abbey gateway to make his way back to Hamble,there to rebuild his cottage and again to ply his calling as afisherman.
Lack of money compelled King Edward III. to remain inactive. A tax onwool was levied and grudgingly paid, for his subjects, finding thatno great deed of arms was likely to ensue, lacked the enthusiasm thatthe glorious victories of later years were bound to create. Thus thegreater part of the huge host was dispersed; many of the troops weremoved to Rye and Winchelsea, others sent back to their own homes,and, save for a few soldiers, the town of Southampton resumed itsnormal appearance.
By the King's special command, however, a portion of Sir JohnHacket's company was retained at Southampton to man some of the shipsthat were to be fitted out against the rovers who still lingered inthe Channel, and thus Raymond found himself quartered in SaintBarbara's Tower, a small defensive work on the south walls.
Before dealing with the stirring events that happened in this ancientand distinguished town, it would be well to briefly describe theSouthampton of the fourteenth century.
Roughly, the town formed an irregular rectangle, with thesouth-western corner rounded off. On the north side the walls werepierced by the Bargate, and protected by several small towers, with alarger erection, termed the Polymond Tower, at the northeasternangle. The eastern side was defended by a wall nearly 800 yards inlength, further protected by twenty-seven half-round towers, andpierced by the East Gate and two posterns.
On the south the walls were in a somewhat ruinous condition, thoughit ought to have been clear that these were more open to attack. Herewere two entrances--the God's House Tower gate at the southeasternangle and the Water Gate. Several towers added to the defensive worksat this point, the chief being the God's House Tower, the WatchTower, the Square Tower, St. Barbara's Tower, and the Bugle Tower.
The western face was by far the best protected, the arcaded wallsbeing of great height, terminating at Catchcold Tower near thenorth-western angle. Two large gates--West Gate and Biddlesgate--gaveaccess to the water-front on the western shore, and in addition wereseveral posterns, one of which, the Water Gate, led to the courtyardof the Castle, whose keep, a large circular Norman tower standing onan artificial mound, dominated the whole town.
Sunday, the 14th of October, 1338, was a black day in the annals ofSouthampton.
A few days previously more of the troops had been withdrawn, thusleaving practically only the men of Southampton to guard the town.Rumours of a large hostile fleet within the sheltered waters of theSolent caused bodies of men to be hastily dispatched to Lepe,Lymington, and other neighbouring sea-coast towns, while Sir JohnHacket, hurriedly summoned to Portsmouth on an urgent matter ofdefence, had taken the greater part of his company with him.
Redward's sub-division was amongst those left at Southampton, but hehimself had crossed to Hythe, where he hired a horse and rode to thetown of Lepe to gather tidings of the foemen. Thus there remained ofhis party some two score archers and men-at-arms, under the commandof Richard Wyatt, the grizzled old warrior who had recognised his oldcomrade Redward at the passage of the Hamble River.
On this particular Sunday a white mist overspread Southampton. Sodense was the fog that even the oldest inhabitants could not recallthe like. Raymond and his comrades were busily engaged in overhaulingtheir bows and shafts, for on that afternoon a shooting match hadbeen arranged between ten men of the Constable's company and ten ofthe town guard of Southampton, for displays of archery were thenusual at the close of church service.
"A pest take the fog!" grumbled the old man-at-arms. "If it does notlift 'twill be too thick to hold the contest."
"Even this room is full of it," cried an archer, twanging hisbow-string with his thumb. "Look, this cord is as dead as the giantAscupart, whom these Southampton folk brag so much about!"
"At all events, both parties fare alike. If we but win a groat apiecethe weather can bide--that is, so long as we can see the butts!"
Just then the bells of St. Michael's and the Maison Dieu struck outto summon the townspeople to Mass, and soon the streets were teemingwith gaily dressed folk, all hastening to their respective churches,though to the men in the tower they appeared but ghostly shapesgliding in the misty air.
"Who will come with me on to the top of the tower?" asked one of thearchers. "I'd as lief get wet through in the open as perish with coldin this fog-laden room."
"I am with thee," replied Raymond.
"And I--and I," said several voices.
Ascending a narrow spiral flight of stone steps, the comrades gainedthe summit of St. Barbara's Tower. Rearing itself sixty feet abovethe ground and thirty feet above the line of battlemented walls, thisbuilding was crowned by a low breastwork, and roofed with large slabsof stone sufficiently sloping to carry off the rainwater, but at thesame time capable of being walked upon without difficulty.
"Ha! The mist rises a little!" exclaimed one. "Though 'twill be onlyfor a time."
"I can perceive the watch-fire," remarked another, indicating thedull glow of the burning wood in an open brazier that at night or inthick weather was always fired on the summit of the Water Gate.
"Ho! Peterkin--Simon!" shouted a hoarse voice immediately below them."Out on ye for scurvy knaves! Hasten and bring oars, or I'll lay mystaff athwart your backs!"
"'Tis old John Draper, the water-bailiff," remarked one of thearchers. "Some vessel hath found her way up the Water, and he's goingto board her."
They heard the oars tossed into the boat, and the rasping voice ofthe water-bailiff as he descended the stone steps of the quay andstepped into the boat. Then the sound of oars straining against thetholepins grew fainter and fainter, till the little craft was lost tosight and sound in the dense fog.
Suddenly a piercing shriek, followed by the dull noise of a heavysplash, fell upon the ears of the archers in the tower.
"What's that?" inquired one, his indifference changed into alertactivity.
"Nothing, thick head--except, perhaps, that old Draper hath missedhis foothold and received a ducking!"
"I like it not," replied the first archer. "There's black devilmentafoot."
"Thou art ever looking for trouble, Hal. Didst ever----"
"Nay, methinks he's right," interrupted Will Lightfoot. "Hearken!"
Leaning over the edge of the parapet the archers strove to ascertainthe meaning of a subdued splashing that every moment grew louder.
"Oars, comrades, oars! And not a score not two score, either. Thewater's _alive_ with them!"
And now through the mist loomed scores of great indistinct shapesthat only too soon resolved themselves into the outlines of longgalleys, their size magnified by the thick veil of vapour. Before theastonished archers could realise their danger the huge craft ranalongside the quay or beached themselves with a grinding crunch onthe gravel of the foreshore abreast the Water Gate, and from themleaped hordes of armed men, shouting and giving orders in half thetongues of Southern Europe.
The surprise was complete. The Water Gate was rushed ere the massivegates could be closed, and the foe, with the quickness of martialexperience, wedged the grooves of the double portcullis to preventthe lowering of the heavy iron slides. Into the town they poured,slaying all who crossed their path, and before the startledinhabitants, most of whom were still at Mass, could grasp thesituation, close upon five thousand French and Genoese soldiers hadgained possession of the greater part of the town.
To add to the tumult, the bell over the watchtower b
egan a dismaltocsin, and continued till a party of soldiers, climbing to thesummit, hurled the devoted bellman crashing down upon the stonesbeneath. But other bells took up the warning note, till the Bar Gate,at the northern end of Southampton, gave a more timely alarm to thedwellers about the upper part of the town.
In the meantime the archers of St. Barbara's Tower, lashed intoactivity by the orders and example of Dick Wyatt, had closed, barred,and bolted the great oaken door, and hastily arming themselves,ascended the tower, where they crouched, arrow on string, behind thelow, battlemented parapet.
"Methinks 'tis all up with Southampton," exclaimed the grizzledwarrior. "But lie close, and do not loose string till they find usout."
"But what can we do?"
"Very little till the fog lifts. Then it will be seen, which of thetowers still hold out."
"Have they carried the Castle, think you?"
"Not if the garrison have had the least warning, and, thank Heaven,there's enough noise to waken the Seven Sleepers. Hearken!"
Above the noise of the still disembarking foreign soldiery could beheard pitiful screams and cries for mercy, as men, women, andchildren were cut down indiscriminately by the ruthless foe, while adistant clash of arms showed that in some quarters of the town theinvaders were meeting with some amount of resistance.
As if by magic, the mist suddenly rolled away, and the pale Octobersun streamed down upon a sight that was but too common in those days.Two score and ten galleys lay along the sea-front, their prowstouching the shore just as the first high water was beginning to ebb,while in mid-stream fifty-five heavier vessels rode at anchor. Fromthis powerful fleet close on twelve thousand Normans, Picards,Genoese, and Spaniards had landed.
Already the southern portion of the town, with the exception of St.Barbara's and God's House Towers, was in their hands. Robert de laBarre, one of the bailiffs, held the Castle and the West Gate; Walterde Brakkeleye, the other, lay within Catchcold Tower; while throughthe Bar Gate poured a mob of terrified citizens, some of whom fledhot-foot even as far as Winchester.
Having made sure of the lower part of the town, the invaders begantheir accustomed excesses, plundering and burning in all directions.
A strong body of Genoese could be seen coming down the road thatfollowed the inner side of the South Wall.
"Stand fast, if ye would see to-morrow's sun!" cried the oldman-at-arms warningly. "And do not give any sign till they discoverus: then an arrow for each black heart!"
On the opposite side of the street, which, for military reasons, waswider than those away from the walls, was a house of superior qualityto its neighbours. It was a two-storeyed, half-timbered building,standing in a large extent of ground. Attracted by its more imposingappearance, three of the marauders stopped and began to batter on theouter gate with their short, heavy axes.
"'Tis the house of Sir Reginald Scarsdale," quoth one of the archers,a Southampton man. "'Tis out of the frying-pan into the fire, I trow,with him."
"What dost thou mean?" asked Raymond.
"Why, this: twice his castle in the county of Yorks hath been burnedby the Scots; so, to keep his womenfolk out of harm's way, he sendsthem down here, while he keeps watch and ward at Berwick."
"His womenfolk?"
"Ay! His wife, the Lady Hilda, and his daughter, the Lady Audrey.Pray Heaven they be not in the house!"
"But they are!" exclaimed another. "I heard from one of theirservants but a few hours back that the old lady was seized with anague. And the younger, a sweet little lass, left to the mercies ofthose wretches! Alas! And we can do nothing!"
Raymond's only reply was to compress his lips tightly and clutch thehilt of his short sword. Carefully he peered over the edge of theparapet, and looked down on the scene below.
Already the gate was giving way before the lusty blows of the axes.Then, throwing his ponderous body against the shattered woodwork, aburly Genoese burst the remaining fragments with a resounding crash,and, with wild shouts of triumph, the three plunderers rushed acrossthe grounds and attacked the door of the house, while the screams ofterrified women rent the air.
Without a moment's hesitation Raymond seized a coil of rope which wasused for hauling up materials to the top of the tower, and hastilyknotted one end round his body. He looked down. The street was nowclear of any wandering soldiers. Taking his bow and quiver, as wellas his sword, the youth persuaded his comrades to lower him with alldespatch.
Round and round he spun in his hazardous descent, till, with bleedinghands and a swimming sensation in his head, Raymond found himself onthe ground. Instantly he unloosed the rope, darted quickly across theroad and gained the outer gateway.
By this time the inner door had been wrenched open, and the threeGenoese were holding a debate amongst themselves, gesticulating andtalking volubly till it seemed as if a quarrel was likely to ensue.Finally two entered the house, the third keeping guard outside,possibly to prevent any fugitive from leaving, or to keep others oftheir comrades from sharing in what promised to be a rich haul.
Raymond saw and seized his chance. The man's back was turned towardshim, yet--the raiders being mere pirates and deserving of nomercy--without hesitation, the youth drew string, and the nextinstant the soldier was lying on his face, his back pierced by anarrow.
Guided by the redoubled sound of shrieks, the lad sped across theground, grasping his drawn sword in his hand, and ascended the stairswith quick yet noiseless footsteps.
At the head of the stairs lay the corpse of an old man, evidently aservitor, the blood welling in a crimson flood from a gaping wound inhis throat. Without stopping, Raymond sprang over the body and burstinto a room whence the shrieks came with terrifying shrillness.
There a sight met his gaze that transformed him into a terribleavenging spirit rather than a human being. On the floor lay anelderly lady, her eyes rolling in semi-stupor, while the two ruffianswere maltreating a young and beautiful girl, whose age could not havebeen more than sixteen. In spite of her furious struggles andpiercing cries the two Genoese were dragging her out of the room, andher strength was well-nigh exhausted.
With a loud shout of anger Raymond rushed upon the two men, who weretotally unprepared for any onslaught while engaged in their work ofcruelty and rapine. A strong sweeping blow with his sword and one ofthe villains fell lifeless to the ground, but, before the youngarcher could strike again, the second turned upon him, and in amoment both were struggling on the floor in a deadly embrace, theGenoese, a great lusty fellow, being uppermost. Raymond stillretained his sword, though unable to shorten it, while his enemystrove to draw a dagger that he wore at his belt. Seeing this the laddropped his sword and grasped the other's wrist, while, in turn,Raymond's arm was gripped to prevent him from drawing his own knife.
At length the weight of his foeman's body began to tell, and slowlythe breath was forced out of the lad's lungs by the relentlesspressure. Raymond thought that the end was near, his face was turningblack, red lights flashed across his eyes, and, as in a dream, he sawthe Genoese wrench his hand free from the retaining grasp and seizethe hilt of his dagger.
"Flee!" gasped Raymond, glancing towards the maiden, and he hadsteeled himself to receive the expected _coup de grace_, suddenly hefelt his enemy's body grow limp and a flood of hot blood rained uponhis face.
Struggling to his feet, faint, dazed, and unable for the moment torealise that it was not his own life's blood, Raymond gazed vacantlyupon the body of his foeman. Then, as his scattered senses began toreturn, the youth realised that his miraculous deliverance was due tothe prompt action of the girl to whose aid he had flown; for seeinghow matters were turning, and desperate for her own and her rescuer'ssafety, she had possessed herself of the dagger of the slain ruffianand had plunged it up to the hilt in the neck of the other.
For the first time Raymond could take notice of the girl. Looking ather white face, he could see that she was a maiden of quality andunquestionable beauty. As she stood there, with flashing eyes and thereeking dagger i
n her hand, she seemed in the eyes of the youngarcher like one of the mythological heroines of whom he had read inthe library of the Abbey. But with the sense of safety came theinevitable reaction. She dropped the knife, and, falling beside hermother, burst into tears.
Raymond, in spite of his inexperience, saw only too clearly that theelder lady was beyond pain and suffering.
"Come," he said gently. "We must needs go quickly. Thy mother is--"He was unable to finish the sentence, but the girl understood.
"I am ready," she said, in a far-away voice, "but whither shall wego?"
Pausing to throw a coverlet over the still form of the lady, Raymondgave a final glance at the bodies of his late adversaries; then,taking the girl by the hand, he drew her gently from the room.
The cool, fresh air revived his scattered wits considerably, so thathe was able to take the necessary precautions to regain St. Barbara'sTower. Bidding the girl wait behind a thick shrubbery, Raymond lookedcautiously out of the gate. The street seemed to be clear, while hiscomrades were alert and waiting his return.
Calling the girl, he led her quickly across the street; the end of arope was thrown down, and hastily the lad looped it round her suppleform. Then at a signal the little garrison pulled up the rope, andits precious burden was safe within the shelter of St. Barbara'sTower!
"Haste thee, boy!" shouted old Dicky Wyatt, the grizzled man-at-arms."The French be upon thee!"
There was not a moment to be lost. The lad seized the end of the ropeas it descended, and hanging on like a jackanapes, was soon danglingin the air. A party of the enemy were running down the street, andalready a few quarrels and arrows were whistling past his ears orsplintering themselves against the stonework of the tower. Then awell-directed flight of cloth-yard shafts held the enemy in check,and aided by willing hands, Raymond was helped over the parapet.
"A plucky deed," growled Wyatt, "but thou hast sold us, my lad. See,they have gone to bring re-inforcements to carry the tower byescalade!"
"Certes, Raymond," exclaimed an archer, "thou dost look like abutcher What hast thou been about?"
"Never mind that: the tale will keep," interrupted the man-at-arms."I'll warrant we'll all look worse than that ere long! Here,Lightfoot! Away with Ye to the kitchen, and see that plenty of wateris put to boil. And you, Ned, fetch an axe and hew off some of thislead and melt it. Methinks the townsmen of Southampton will notamerce us with the damage, whether we hold the tower or not!"
While the preparations for defence were in progress a loud shout fromone of the archers gave warning that the enemy were returning to theattack, and the two score Englishmen from the height of the towerlooked down upon ten times their number of Picards, Normans, andSpaniards, to whom the assault on a fortress or the sack of adefenceless town were looked upon as ordinary occurrences.
The Winning of the Golden Spurs Page 8