The Winning of the Golden Spurs

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XVIII

  REDWARD'S CONFESSION

  IT was close on nightfall ere the two scouts sent out by Sir JohnHacket returned to the captured fortress. They reported that therewas a fairly wide road which joined the highway to Caen about threeleagues from that town, and that there were no signs of any hostileforce in the district they had explored.

  So that night the company made merry in the stronghold of the Countof Tancarville, wine and food being found in abundance, although SirJohn did not for one moment relax the vigilance so necessary in astrange country.

  At daybreak preparations were made for the evacuation of thefortress, and, headed by the two scouts, the little force set out onits march to the camp.

  First came a strong party of men-at-arms, ready for instant action incase of attack. Then followed the Constable and his squires,accompanied by the two peasants and the Norman guide, and surroundedby a body of dismounted archers, who marched with their bows strungand their quivers swinging from the hip.

  The carts came next, drawn by the horses of the dismounted archers,and piled high with the spoils of the fortress, including thecaptured bombards and as much powder as they could possibly hold.

  Next came a small troop of men-at-arms, followed by some more carts,in which the wounded, including the rescued soldier, lay on heaps ofhay and straw; while the rear was composed of the rest of themen-at-arms and mounted archers.

  In this order they issued under the great gateway, passed over thedrawbridge, and crossed the wide belt of open ground. When the headof the column reached the edge of the gloomy forest a tucket soundedand the soldiers came to a halt.

  Seeing Sir John and his squires gazing intently at the abandonedstronghold the men did likewise. They saw the grim and gaunt pilestanding clearly out against the dark background of the forest, andfrom 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 thebattlements; the banner was slowly lowered, and the man disappeared.

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

  What could it mean?

  Slowly the moments sped. To the perplexity of the soldiers, thecastle had an irresistible fascination for their leaders, and,following their example, they, too, looked in silent wonderment atthe gaunt masses of masonry.

  Suddenly, with a flash, a roar, and a cloud of smoke and dust, thecastle appeared to split asunder; huge masses of stone flew skyward,then with an appalling crash the walls subsided, and in place of themassive outlines of the fortress there was nothing to be seen save apile of blackened stones, over which floated a heavy pall of densevapour.

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

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

  Almost unnoticed, the little force reached the camp, for in theexcitement of the sack of the rich town of Caen the absence of thecompany on their successful raid was of small moment to the rest ofthe 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 Sussex company, onlyto find to his great disappointment that his comrades had departed ontheir raid.

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

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

  Foiled in this attempt, he continued his march towards Paris, only tofind the bridges broken down, with a strong hostile force on thenether bank, and Philip with a large army rapidly approaching fromGuienne.

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

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

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

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

  There was no occasion for silence, and, talking freely amongstthemselves, the soldiers struck their tents, and at daybreak werewell on the road to Paris, while the light-armed horsemen attached tothe French army, who hovered around the flanks, wheeled about andgalloped off to inform the French King of the advance of theinvaders.

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

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

  "'Tis Sir John Chandos' own doing," remarked Redward, "and as clevera feint as ever I met with. While the French are massing to preventour supposed march on Paris, we are quietly slipping away towardsFlanders."

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

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

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

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

  Meanwhile Redward and two score of his comrades had thrown off theirarmour 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 fewminutes; then, hauling at the ropes with a will, they dragged two ofthe largest beams across the chasm, and after this was done the workof 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 fromwhich the French attack was expected, but to every one's relief noenemy appeared till the last waggon of the retreating host hadrumbled over the swaying structure. Then, as the van of the Frencharmy came in sight, the temporary span, together with two additionalarches, crashed into the river, effectually preventing all pursuitfor a considerable period.

  The retreat continued, the King making towards Fl
anders, yet at thesame time gradually approaching the shores of the English Channel, soas to be able to re-embark should he find himself hemmed in by thehordes of infuriated Frenchmen.

  As the English came on swiftly and in good order, a considerableforce, under Godemar de Faye, fell back before them, seeking afavourable chance to hinder their advance, while in their rear camethe hundred thousand armed men of King Philip, who had meantime foundmeans of crossing the Seine and were swiftly pursuing.

  At length the English reached the valley of the Somme. Here the samedifficulty awaited them. The bridges were broken down by theredoubtable Godemar, after he had crossed and drawn up his troops onthe right bank to oppose the passage 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 beforehim. Not by threats, but by promises of rich reward, was thisunworthy Frenchman induced to betray his country; and, on hisinforming the King of a certain ford, the order for a general advancewas at once given.

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

  On the opposite bank lay the troops of Godemar; but not for onemoment did the King hesitate. Commanding the archers to pour a heavycovering fire into the masses of Frenchmen, he drew his sword, andsetting himself at the head of his knights and mounted troops, Edwarddashed across the river. Short and fierce was the conflict, butunable to withstand the fierce onslaught, the Frenchmen gave way, andwere soon in headlong flight.

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

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

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

  As Raymond stood with his men watching the advancing Frenchmen, theirinnumerable banners waving like a reed-covered pond, the archers hadslipped 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 waveof foaming water rushed up in the opposite direction, and almostinstantly the river became a mass of broken water, impassable to manor beast. The floodtide had begun, and for six hours at least KingPhilip was doomed to rave in fruitless anger on the wrong side of theSomme.

  "We are safe enough for the present," remarked Redward to his son,"but methinks before daybreak there will be few of us left, for thebest we can do is to hold them in check for an hour after the tidehas 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 toSir John Hacket with an urgent order from the King. With anirrepressible shout of delight, the fiery old knight summoned hissturdy 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 intendsto give battle with the enemy, and hath already ordered his forces ina strong position but three leagues hence. Thither we are to repairwith all haste. Forward, then, and ere night we shall be with themain body!"

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

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

  Raymond assented, and in silence they rode onwards towards theirdestination, a journey which was to many the last they would evermake on earth.

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

  As the Constable's company moved towards the quarters assigned them,Raymond noticed that the archers were already hard at work diggingtrenches and cutting stakes for palisades, for the King had givenorders that everything should be ready ere night, so as to allow histroops a well-earned rest.

  After a good repast, for provisions were plentiful in that fertilevalley, Raymond sought his father, and together they walked throughthe camp towards the solitude of the neighbouring wood. On the waythey passed the royal pavilion, where, with his chief lords, KingEdward sat at supper, and, judging by the cheerful voices of thecompany, it was evident that few doubts were entertained as to theissue 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 hisfather's mind. At length they reached the dark shadows of the wood,and here Redward halted.

  "Raymond, my beloved son," he exclaimed in a voice broken withemotion, "'tis hard that I should have to tell thee what I am aboutto utter, but, before Heaven, I must do it, both for mine own peaceof mind and for thine own. Two score and three years ago this veryday I slew a man. The quarrel was of his own seeking, 'tis true, but,nevertheless, the law was set against me, and I was made outlaw!"

  The master-bowman paused to note the effect of this announcement,but, beyond a tightening of his lips, Redward betrayed no sign ofdismay at this astounding confession.

  "Then I fled from the country, and assumed a name to which I have noright," resumed Redward. "In this I did thee a great injustice, forthe ban falls on the outlaw's children equally with himself; and onthis account I ought never to have taken a wife or to have had ason."

  "I care not for myself, father. But what if, even now, thou artrecognised?"

  "It matters not, my son. A secret kept for over two score years maywell remain a secret; but I have a misgiving that I shall never seethe sun set to-morrow."

  "Father!"

  "Nay, Raymond, 'tis but a small matter. I cannot live much longer,and to fall in battle is a worthy end. But the worst is to be told.Thou wouldst marry the Lady Audrey!"

  The young squire shuddered at the altered prospect.

  "Alack a day!" he groaned.

  "Ay, Raymond. I fear thou wilt curse the day thou camest into theworld, for to my sorrow I must tell thee--the brother of that lady'sfather was the man I slew!"

  For a moment the squire was incapable of speech, then, recoveringhimself with an effort, he exclaimed, "Nay, father, I blame you not.It is rather the fate of circumstances and my own foolish pride thatmade me look so high. I cannot for one moment continue my suit forthe hand of the Lady Audrey, neither can I ever hope to wear thespurs of knighthood; but I am still thy son."

  "And wouldst thou know thy true name?"

  "Not unless it please thee, father; 'Raymond Buckland' hath served mewell these four-and-twenty years; but," he added with pardonablecuriosity, "if I may I would desire to know."

  "Dost call to mind Sir Edmund Revyngton?"

  "Indifferently so; I wot he is a knight of Devon."

  "He is also my brother, and, being without issue, his heir would be,but for the bar of outlawry, Redward Revyngton, now known to all menas Redward Buckland."

  It was a long story, that narrative of life marred by an actcommitted in a moment of anger, but breathlessly Raymond listenedtill the master-bowman had finished.

  "And if so
be thou comest scatheless from the wars," he added, "theabbot of Netley will deliver into thy hands certain documentspertaining to thy welfare, and, should Heaven grant that this decreeof outlawry be rescinded (though I shall never live to see the day),I pray that thou wilt ever acquit thyself as an honourable gentlemanof Devon."

  Slowly father and son returned towards the camp, and as they passedbetween the long lines of tents, Redward paused before a lodging infront of which was a shield displaying a mailed hand argent on afield azure.

  Leaving Raymond standing in the gloom, the master-bowman went up andspoke to a man-at-arms who stood outside the tent.

  "My master cannot hold converse with any one this night, especiallyan archer," exclaimed the man roughly.

  "Convey my message to thy master and leave him to decide the point,sirrah!" replied Redward in a tone of authority, and, on seeing thata squire had joined him, the soldier obeyed.

  Soon he reappeared, and holding open the flap of the tent, signed forthe visitors to enter.

  Following his father, Raymond saw a tall, well-built man, who inspite of his grey hairs and carefully-trimmed white beard, carriedhis years with ease. He had laid aside his armour, and, judging bythe still lighted candles in front of a prie-dieu, he had but justrisen from his orisons.

  With a knightly courtesy he waited for the master-bowman to speak,thinking that one of his followers had come to ask a boon, when tohis surprise Redward addressed him by name.

  "Sir Maurice," he exclaimed. "Dost thou not know me? I am thy brotherRedward!"

  "Redward? Back from the dead after all these years? Nay, it cannotbe! But yet----"

  Drawing nearer he looked closely into the master-bowman's rugged andbronzed face, then, "Thank Heaven! I have found thee!" he exclaimed,and Raymond beheld the extraordinary sight of a belted knight and asurcoated archer falling on one another's necks in a transport ofjoy.

  Then the squire had to be presented to his uncle. "A fine and gallantyouth, and a credit to the old stock of Revyngtons," declared theknight. "But, tell me, Redward, why didst thou not seek me out erenow, knowing I was in the camp?"

  "But for one thing, Maurice, I had as lief let it be thought thatRedward Revyngton was no longer in this world. It is Raymond of whomI think, for I know that to-morrow's battle will count me amongst theslain. How think ye, Maurice? Is there hope that the King will setaside the outlawry, and free my son from its curse?"

  The knight shook his head sorrowfully. "Sir Reginald Scarsdale isever with the King, and his wrath against his brother's slayer diesnot."

  "And to make matters worse Raymond, ignorant of my past, seeks hisdaughter's hand in marriage."

  Sir Maurice smiled grimly.

  "I'll do my best, even if it be to beg a favour of Scarsdale himself!But sit down, Redward, and let us talk at ease, for the hours ofdarkness fly quickly, and there is much to be said."

  It was after midnight before the brothers bade each other farewell,and Redward and Raymond returned to their tents.

  On gaining the lines of the Hampshire companies, father and sonparted, the former to compose his mind for his anticipated death, thelatter to ponder over the astounding revelations he had just heard.Sleep was banished from Raymond's eyes, and long he tossed uneasilyon his hard pallet, till the dawn grew ruddy in the east and thetrumpets heralded the advent of the eventful day.