What could I do but thank them, and yield myself with all despatch into their hands, to be turned by means of razor and paint, of cunning dye, still nearer like the priest of St. Apolline? In the end, as I drew the good father's cowl around my pate, and essayed to imitate his careless stride and easy gait, they both swore that the good saint himself, were he to escape from the skies and visit his earthly shrine, would be hard put to it to know which was his own priest and which the counterfeit.

But ere this the sun was up, and there were sounds of fishermen already moving in the bay below. We knew that by this time our escape must be discovered, and so with hurried counsel my friends betook themselves away—at least, they were with me at one moment, and then of a sudden, like dreams, were lost to my sight. And I, as it were to try the strength of my disguise, went down for a short space among the huts of the fisher-people.

There goodman and goodwife alike gave me friendly greeting, and I cheerily told them they must spare me for one sennight, if that might be; whereupon the children, running up, stayed further question, and in a moment I, in my long, sober cloak, was a war-horse, or a crazy bull at the least, that went ramping among their blue-eyed chivalry, carrying little affright, but rather earning peals of merry laughter.



CHAPTER XII.

Of my second setting forth for Normandy, and in what guise I took passage.

I next prepared to start on my journey to St. Pierre Port; and, before I went, I tarried for awhile in the rude chapel of St Apolline, to say a prayer for myself and those good men whom it was in my heart to succour. But, my prayers ended, I must fare forth. And lo! even as I turned to leave the chapel, I heard the sound of hasty steps and voices, and already three of the pirates were in the yard, singing out—

"Come forth, master priest, and help us find our quarry!"

How my heart rapped as I made myself seen of them at the gate, and, with a gay face, fetched out a merry inquiry—

"What seek you, early birds, so soon afield?"

Never face and attitude surely so belied the man within; for, indeed, I doubted if my legs would bear me, and my poor heart, as I spoke, went rap, rap!

"Now, hast thou seen two runaways by thy gate this morning, master priest—one a stalwart, dangerous fellow, the other a measly, monkish lad? And, prithee, see thou speak the truth."

I assured them lightly none had passed save the fishers to their boats, and they seemed satisfied, till one, looking more keenly than the rest, came near to me, and, with a suspicious gesture, cried out—

"And thou hast not got them hidden up thy wide sleeve, good priestling? Come, we will search with a good will thy parsonage."

My heart leapt again. But I managed to ring out a laugh that sounded careless—

"Oh yes," said I, "gentlemen galore, and heaps of little beardless monks lie stacked in my poor house yonder. Bring them forth, good sir, and leave more room for me."

He led the way to search, but the others seemed unwilling, having good trust in him that I counterfeited, and all that might afford a hiding-place in the hut was opened and turned about—nay, the very holy rest of the chapel was disturbed as search was made, walls and wainscot rapped, cupboards forced, and stones prised up, the while I stood at ease peeling a light cane that I had cut from the wood.

"Now, good brothers," said I, lightly, as they stood at fault in the midst of the chapel, "are you satisfied I am no concealer of other men's property or persons hereabout?"

"Yea, we will press on," said one of them. "They have taken to the caves like enough, and we shall have a week's 'rabbiting.'"

"Then I wish you good morn," said I, "with a word of thanks for turning out in your zeal much old stuff of mine that I thought was lost and gone."

Glad was I indeed to see my three guests break into the forest opposite. So, with a thick staff for my luggage, I took the path that led straight to St. Pierre Port, six miles away. Without let or hindrance I passed on, imitating as I could the easy gait of Father Augustine, and taking care to greet all I met, of all conditions, who were about on their business that autumn morning, with such jests or merry speeches as I could muster.

Now, I have said already that Le Grand Sarrasin, save for his enmity to Abbot Michael, had as yet showed no unfriendly disposition to our islanders, except where they thwarted or marred his designs.

Therefore no ill had happed to St Pierre Port, its fishing, or its carriage of necessary things, or of persons. And though that heathen fortress could be seen towering up there miles away upon the hill, the good burghers of St. Pierre, finding their daily business not interrupted, made but little grievance of Le Grand Sarrasin's presence.

Wary of running into trouble, they jogged an easy way. Their boats came in and out. Their bales were landed and embarked. Nay, I have heard that it was their wont to hush the voices in their states council that were for craving succour of the duke, regarding one ruler, so long as he whipped not their backs too hard, as equal to another.

So I went into St. Pierre as into no besieged town, and without hindrance of any made my way through the winding streets to the harbour, where I hoped to hear of passage to Normandy. And the good father had told me of one Le Patourel, that would assist me to embark. This was a man not too well known to him, for too close acquaintance in this case were dangerous to me, but one doubtless ready to serve the priest if need be.

So I sought out this Le Patourel, as it appeared an honest trader, who took me without doubt for that I seemed. To my joy I found that a vessel, but just finished lading, would start in a short space for St. Malo, and the skipper was willing for certain silver pieces to take me for his passenger. These I paid down out of a sufficient purse Des Bois had pressed upon me, and with a light and joyous heart tarried on the quay.

Thither came by presently a bluff priest of the town church that was like to give me a fall.

"What, Augustine!" he shouted, so that all on the jetty heard. "Whither art thou journeying?"

"And that thou wilt come near I will tell thee," I replied, not knowing for the world his name.

"Whither art thou bound?" said he.

"To Coutances," said I. "My lord archbishop, you remember."

"My lord archbishop," said he, "thou shouldst know is far from Coutances at this season—for his health."

Here I was troubled, for I had told many that my lord had sent for me on a certain business.

"Ah, yes," said I in haste, "before he went my lord left letters for me that I alone can fetch. But I must go aboard."

"Stay," said he, "a moment! What didst thou in that matter of Sir Hubert? There is a like case of conscience here in St Pierre."

I hurriedly told him that it was not proper for me to disclose so nice a case of conscience, even to my dear friend himself. Whereat he looked strangely at me, I thought, and soon went on his way, wishing me shortly a good voyage to Normandy.

By three o'clock we sailed away. And glad I was to see this second time the highland of the isle grow dim and faint as we sped away with the wind behind us.



CHAPTER XIII.

How I arrived at St. Malo, and, proceeding to the Abbey of St. Michael de Tombelaine, found friends to set me on my road.

With a straight course that naught delayed we ran to St. Malo, that ancient town hard by the holy Mount of St Michael, the mother-house of our Vale Abbey, where I had good hope that I should quickly thence be sped upon my way.

So when we had come to port, bidding the captain farewell, I chartered a good horse to reach the holy place where, as men say, the blessed Michael came down to bid St. Aubert build him a brave house on that lonely rock.

It was the hour of vespers when I attained the hostel of the mount, but I had been aware the last few miles of the sound of a trot behind me, whose pace was marvellous like mine own. If I stayed a moment, the rider behind likewise stayed; if I went at a gallop, he galloped also. It gave me some concern to be followed by a caitiff, watching for my purse, as I had only a sheath-knife with which to defend myself.

However, seeing the abbey lights gleam kindly through its narrow windows, I urged my beast on, though in sooth she was weary; and as I clattered at last into the yard, saw, as I waited for a space by the gateway, my follower walk his steed quietly by, peering the while as he passed.

Now, I strove as soon as was convenient to gain audience of my lord abbot. And this was not easy at that time for a simple secular priest, such as I appeared, for there was ever strife and common contempt 'twixt monk and parish priest, even as it is to-day.

"Audience of the holy father—and to-night?" repeated the seneschal, with proud disdain. "Good son, it is impossible, the abbot is engaged with knight and bishop; keep thou thy little matters till thou canst catch his rein, as he rides forth to-morrow."

"It is no little matter, good brother," I pleaded, "It is of life and death to many holy men."

"If it concerned a kingdom," returned he, "I could not send thee to the abbot now—with the little matters of thy parish to plague him withal," the fellow muttered under his breath.

As we debated thus, a most reverend monk passed through the corridor, of a strangely lofty and noble air and of a winning sweetness, who stayed his journey as he saw my evident distress.

"What ails thee, O my son?" said he.

"I bear grave and sad news to my lord abbot," I said, "and news that he should know without delay."

"What is thy name?" he said, and searched me kindly with his eyes.

I could not lie to him, so I said simply, "Nigel," as I would fain say no more.

"Then, good Father Nigel," said he, seeing my reluctance, "I will go whisper in my lord's ear, if thou wilt tell me more clearly of thy business."

"Tell him," said I, "that Abbot Michael, his good brother, has sent me with sad news of the miseries of Vale Abbey."

"So, my son," said the monk, gently, and disappeared through the stairway, whence he presently returned, and led me with him.

He led me to a certain fair chamber, wherein sat many great lords around my lord abbot.

"Who is this, brought by our brother of Bec?" said one, as I entered by the side of that great scholar, Lanfranc, the Abbot of Bec.

"This," said the abbot, an Italian also, "is an envoy from the isle of Guernsey, who comes with greeting from our brother yonder, bearing a sad tale with him, or I am mistaken."

I knelt to my lord, as he sat in his rich-broidered cloak, with his plump legs cross-gartered, as befits great nobles, and, kissing his hand, begged that I might speak on.

"Nay; first, sir priest," he said, "tell us thy name, and then thy story."

"Indeed, father," I replied, "I am not that I seem; no priest am I, though bred in Vale cloister in Guernsey."

"Then how darest thou," said he, hotly, "to come hither in this habit?"

"If thou but knewest the greatness of the perils of our brethren, how they are near being murdered by savage men, thou wouldst forgive me, father. But I bear a name none need fear to own—I am Nigel de Bessin, and mine uncle its vicomte, would vouch for me, were he here——"

"As indeed he is," put in a pleasant voice of a gentleman that in scarlet cloak sat by my lord's right hand. "And thou art my nephew?" said he, as I moved forward to do him courtesy.

When we were made known he bade me proceed, assuring me that all my wishes should be fulfilled.

"My lords," said I, "the good brothers of St. Michael of the Vale in Guernsey are besieged and shut in this four weeks, nay, stormed and murdered by a most pestilent villain and an innumerable horde of Moorish devils that are settled in the isle. Men call him Le Grand Sarrasin, and as ye have doubtless heard, he is a caitiff without mercy, that wars on women as on men, on monks and husbandmen. This is he that calls himself the Lord of the Norman seas, in clear treachery to our lord the duke, and so cunning he is that he hath watchmen and spies at every harbour, that he may establish himself more stoutly ere help come."

"And didst thou escape his hands?" said mine uncle, pondering, head upon hand.

"Nay; he caught me and shut me in the womb of the earth, but by God's grace I escaped him—but this matters not. Give me your good aid to the duke, that in all haste I may return with a great host to save the brethren."

"How old art thou, my son?" asked Lanfranc.

"Father, but sixteen years," said I, as though I feared they might smile at me.

"And thou," said he, in admiration, "hast come through these terrors in such a spirit of courage, wisdom, and love. Verily, my lords, ye see here a child that God has led marvellously on an undoubted work of charity."

While their eyes rested on me with a wonder I loved not—for, indeed, what had I done above what any knightly youth should do for those he loves?—I spake on, telling them how few days' food remained at Vale, and how strait they were shut in, and begging them to see that I passed on to William swiftly.

"The duke is far north now," said the abbot, "gathering strength for the dangers that are looming from France. It is a sore ill time to beseech him. Yet matters will not wait. In this case," he said strangely, "thou wilt be thine own best advocate with him, for well he loves a brave and knightly deed. With all haste fit letters shall be written to win thee a ready entrance to his presence—to his heart thou must win thine own way, as thou hast with us."

"Teach him not, then," said Lanfranc, "too piteously of the sorrows of our brethren, for a few monks more or less matter not to him, but represent the arrogance of this Sarrasin, and how clearly he claims the title of Lord of the Seas. That will touch best our sovereign lord."

"Is not my Lord Maugher still in Guernsey?" asked the abbot, pondering.

"Yea, he is," I said.

"And how acts he in this trouble? Is he besieged with the brethren, or goes he free?"

"My lords," said I, "as I was led captive through the Sarrasin's castle, I saw the same evil beast that my lord calls Folly, but men his familiar demon. I saw it in the very presence of Geoffroy; therefore I think these evil men are hand and glove together."

"Nay—wilt thou swear this?" said Lanfranc.

"Ay, that I will," I said.

"Then this also must be made known the duke," said Lanfranc, darkly.

"Now, my dear son," said the abbot, "retire to our chamberlain. Cast off these poor weeds, and take from him aught in his presses that befits thy dignity, and then return to us, that we may see our vicomte's nephew in his bravery."

With a courtly bow I left them.

Now, the abbot's chamberlain found me a fair good suit, more courtly than I had ever worn, and I scarce knew myself in the glory of its rich, dyed cloth. Fair linen next my skin, fit for an abbot's wear, a long blue tunic broidered with gold, and a trim girdle, a grand surcoat of damask, and a gay red cloak over all, with an emerald brooch on my right shoulder. With bright stockings and a little ribboned hat I was no longer Nigel the scholar of the Vale, but Nigel de Bessin, gentleman and courtly soldier.

So drest and refreshed with food, I returned to my lord's chamber, where at mine uncle's footstool I heard these noble lords and churchmen speak of the circle of events from England to Italy, and through all their words the one great name of William seemed to be present as the centre of their surmisings. So deep had this son of Rollo stamped himself in the life of those rare days.

"Strange news from England, this," said one, "now that the Atheling is dead. We can guess of a truth whom the royal priest will light upon, as he grows near his end."

"He loves not Godwin's brood," said another.

"Then the prophecy that set Henry of France afire will yet be true in another way. William shall reign in London, not in Paris," said Lanfranc.

"And thou at Canterbury, good brother," said the abbot.

And, indeed, ere many years this came to pass.



CHAPTER XIV.

How, being given letters to Duke William by the Abbots of St. Michael and of Bec, I set out for Coutances, and of what befell me on my way.

"Sit down and take thy pen, good Nigel," said the abbot next morning; "this Lanfranc shall dictate thee thine epistle."

I sat down by the abbot's writing-horn, and wrote somewhat as follows, while the two great men put their wise heads together. After customary salutation, the letter ran—

"We send the bearer with news of grave moment to thee and thy rule. A Sarrasin pirate even now lords it in Guernsey, and kills very many of thy lieges. Moreover, his force grows daily to a greater height. There hath joined him Maugher, once archbishop.

"Thou wilt know how best to protect thine honour. The bearer hath for his years done wondrous chivalrously in this enterprise. Delay not, duke, to hear him."

Such was the letter that I bore, signed with the names of the two abbots. Now I had great joy in having the great Lanfranc's countenance, for all men knew William loved him, since, after his first disgrace for his sharp rebuke of William's marriage, he met him fearlessly, and with cool laughter and wise words brought him into still closer union than ever he had been before. So I knew my letter would have weight.

Now it was decided I was to ride with all speed to Coutances, near fifty miles away, and there to inquire more certainly about William's whereabouts.

My uncle chose for me a fresh horse from the abbot's stable, that he swore would bear me nobly, and seeing me suitably equipped, led me once more to the abbot, who blessed me ere I went forth.

"Child," said he, having given me his blessing, "thou hast by thy spirit made clearer to me the legend of this holy house. A fair child, men say, went with Aubert of old to lay these foundations in the rock, and wherever he trod,—that child of olden days,—the hard rock crumbled for the great bases to be laid. So, beneath thy tread, young though thou art in years, doth difficulty crumble to nothing, for it is the work of God—the saving of our brethren—thou art called to, and wilt perform!"

"What have I done, holy father," I replied, "that any knightly youth would not be proud to do?"

With all fit instructions as to where I was to go at Coutances, and the priests that would there send me onwards to the duke, I jumped upon my steed, and in all fair array, as befitted a youth of high rank, alone I left St Michael de Tombelaine, and leaving Pontorson behind me, and having the blue water all the way on my left, reached Avranches by noon.

Now, though my horse showed signs of weariness, I hoped to get forward another good stage before evening. Therefore after a short rest I pressed forward, and I soon came into a country that was well tilled, and the land was divided by hedges like our lanes in England. I was ill pleased indeed, when well forward on these desolate roads, to hear the same trot behind me that I heard before on my road from St. Malo.

It made me press on my tired steed to a canter, and the steed behind me cantered too. I thought, "I will stay, and let the knave pass," but as I stayed in the way, the horseman that followed stayed as well. We had ridden some hour and a half like this, and the road ran now through a wood that seemed dark and cheerless to the sight, yet I was forced to press on. I had not progressed far, when I heard a whistle behind me, and lo! I saw, as it were, in answer two great knights come spurring towards me from the trees ahead.

Then I feared greatly, and I knew there was an evil trap set to catch me on my way, and I ground my teeth to think that here seemed fresh delays to the work I had in hand.

The three came at me now with drawn swords.

I drew my little poniard, since I knew I must fight.

"Yield thyself up!" said one great villain. "It is useless to resist!"

My answer was an attempt to drive my horse forward, but the frightened brute refused my urging. I lunged at the first with my blade, but with a sweep of his own he drave it out of my hand.

"How now, sir page," said he, "must we teach you manners?"

I was nigh weeping for shame that he should so best me, yet I had no other weapon, and they were three men, and I but a lad.

They dismounted, and pulled me from my horse, and holding me flat on the ground with his knee, one of them began to rifle me. "The abbot's letter," I thought, and in a moment I gave tongue.

"Look you, good sirs," I said, "take my money. You are welcome to it, but let me go forward on my road."

"Wherefore such haste?" said one. "Thy money we will take, and thy sorrel hack, but there is a letter still on thee we require to be found yet!"

It was plain they were no highwaymen, but in some sort the Sarrasin's men, even here in Normandy, and a great terror took me of his power. In a frenzy I escaped from them a moment, and stood clutching madly my breast, where the letter lay hid.

They made a rush for me together, and though like a young tiger I struggled with scratch and bite and kick, they had me down again.

"Alas!" I thought, "die then of famine, poor brethren of the Vale."

One of them thrust his hand under my riding-tunic, and had the parchment in his very palm. And all seemed over with me and my mission, when suddenly I heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming nearer, and I shrieked out "Help!" My enemy stuffed his cap into my throat to stop my cries.

But they had been heard, and they came closer at a gallop. "More villains," I thought, "to make certain of my capture."

But it was no villain's voice that rang out next. It was my uncle's, and with him were men-at-arms. And as he shouted my assailants left me, and, jumping into their saddles, fled into the wood.

So I was free, and my letter safe, and my uncle raised me up, and most tenderly handled me to find my injuries.

"Curse the day," he said, "that I sent thee forth alone! How did I not suspect ill!"

"But how camest thou in such good hour?" I asked, still trembling.

"My heart smote me," said he, "to send thee thus alone. And, indeed, I felt a presage of ill. So I got my men-at-arms, and swore that I would be thy convoy to the duke himself."

"Uncle," said I, "these were no highwaymen."

"What then, lad?"

"They were searching me for the abbot's letter, my passport to William," I said.

"Then traitors grow like mulberries down yonder," he said, pointing back to the Marvel. "But now, if we press on, we shall reach ere nightfall the house of a good knight, where we shall lie safe till morning."

So we trotted forward, and in two hours' time we were at the gateway of the castle of the Sieur de la Haye, who received my uncle with all courtesy, and refreshed us and our steeds; and next morning we rode to Coutances.



CHAPTER XV.

How I saw an evil face at a casement, and how, at my uncle's house of St. Sauveur, I heard tell of my father. And of what happed on our setting forth for Valognes.

Now, as we rode into Coutances that day, I saw a sight that made me again fearful. The street was full narrow, and the houses leaned forward from either side, so as to leave but scant vision of the blue sky above, and there were plenty of windows in each story.

Now, as I rode by, I was level with the first story of the houses. And, suddenly, before one window, my eyes were held captive, and I could not turn them away. A man in a fisher's tunic was gazing out on us, and I had not even to ask myself where I had seen his face before, for I knew that it was Maugher. My eyes fell before his, and I blushed and trembled at his sight.

"Uncle, uncle! my lord vicomte!" I said when we were passed, "dost know who stood at yon window in a sailor's dress?"

"What meanest thou?" said he, as he saw me tremble.

"It was my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, the Sarrasin's accomplice," I whispered in his ear.

We reined in our horses and looked back, but the man was gone.

"It was a fancy, child," said the vicomte; "there was no man there."

I said naught; but I knew it was no fancy, and I guessed whence these villains that lately attacked me got their commission.

Now, at Coutances we learned of the canon, that knew the duke's whereabouts, that he was near Barfleur, seeing both to his navy of ships in the harbour there, and having care also to the exercise of archers on the land.

"As I think," said the canon, "you will find my lord duke either in the shipyard of Barfleur, or the shooting-ground of archers at Valognes hard by."

It was then to Valognes, beyond the river Douve, that we were next to ride, and we would pass on the way my uncle's castle of St Sauveur, where mine ancestors had been settled since they were lords of the Bessin. And the whole distance to Valognes was near fifty miles. It was then mine uncle's wish that we should rest again at his house, and prepare to approach Duke William with due state on the morrow; and this, though I was unwilling to delay, I was forced to agree to.

So before evening we came in sight of St. Sauveur, a high and fair castle, round whose walls the Douve makes a circuit.

Across a bridge raised on pillars over the moat we rode, and through the wide-open gate we came into the courtyard, where there was great greeting of my lord vicomte by my cousins, from whom he had been some weeks absent.

"And here," said he, to young Alain and Rainauld, his sons, "is Nigel, your cousin, a good scholar of Guernsey, that bids fair to be a better soldier still."

So with fair greetings was I led in to the chamber of my lady the vicomtesse, where with plenty demure damsels she plied her needle. Much surprised was she to see me, and heard with a grave face my story.

"And thou art but sixteen," she said, "and art about so noble an enterprise? My Alain has barely left his governor. Indeed, thy good monks know how to teach chivalry."

Then I asked her the meaning of this fair tapestry that, stretched on a long frame, she and her maidens toiled at round the chamber, for it caught my eyes as showing, I thought, great exploits of arms. And she told me that it was the exploits of Duke Rollo that she wrought there in many colours, and that the Lady Matilda herself, who loved such needlework, had made choice of the panels. In one I saw the ships being made in far Norway; in another, in a goodly company they rode upon the sea; in another, Rollo ate and drank with his fellows; and some pictures told of battles, wherein I saw them in their close hauberks and narrow shields, waving swords and driving their deadly spears.

"And in every picture," she said, "I love to work in one like my dear lord in figure and knightly person, and to work the name of this great family above."

"Ay, good aunt," cried I; "in sooth thou art like myself in pride of the Norman race, that even now, in the glory of William, is worthy of its forbears."

She smiled kindly as mine eyes sparkled, and said I was indeed a knightly youth. Then, as we were left alone by the vicomte, she dropped her voice, and gazing at me most tenderly, inquired if I had ever seen my father.

"Nay, dear lady," said I, sadly but proudly, "I know not, from aught that has been told me by any, whether he be alive or dead. Save that he is my lord vicomte's brother, I know naught."

"Poor lad!" she murmured tenderly, "'tis time thou shouldst know more. Yet it is a sad story. Know, then, thy father was a wild and untameable youth, that was courteous and brave withal, but brooked not government overmuch. He was, too, of a wondrous merry disposition, that loved a jest at men in great places, and this made him not beloved. Against his father's command he stole away thy mother, who perished in a raid of her kinsmen upon his house, and in the minority of the duke he was found on the side of violent men—and then he disappeared. Thou in thy baby innocence wert the only charge he left us, and as soon as times were fit thou wert sent to the Abbey of the Vale, which is indeed a good school of gentle manners and sound learning."

I had listened sadly enough to the story of my father's fall, and its recital grieved me.

"And has my lord vicomte seen my father since? Has he inquired of me?" I asked.

"Nay, I must tell thee no more," she said. "Maybe I have told thee too much already."

"At least, tell me of my mother," said I.

"Poor child," said she, "thou hast never known mother's love! Thy mother was most fair and gentle, and indeed thine eyes and smile are hers."

"Of what race came she, lady?"

"Child," said she, sadly, "I will not tell thee that to-day. Know only her name was of the noblest."

Thus, in the chamber of the vicomtesse, that afternoon I learned something of the secrets that I had wondered over in my boyhood. Sadly I kissed her hand, when I knew she would tell me no more, and thanked her courteously for her tender words.

"Indeed," said she, "I long to number thee soon among mine own sons, when thou leavest the monks thy tutors."

"And I," said I, right gallantly, "will strive to be worthy of honours so high, of a race so noble."

Now, next morning we rode forth gaily, on our last stage, as we hoped, to Valognes, and a company of grooms and men-at-arms rode with us, such as beseemed my uncle's rank. And for many miles we rode along the western bank of the river Douve, that runs by my uncle's castle, but at length the stream took a great bend to the west, and we had to cross within some twelve miles of Valognes.

Here was a stout timber bridge on four piers, over which our road ran; and it was on the west side of the bridge that my lord stayed, it being a convenient place to send fit messengers to my lord duke to tell of our approach. Therefore a courtly gentleman of my lord's retinue—by name De Norrey—with a groom were sent forward in advance.

Their horses' hoofs clattered on the wooden way as they sped forth. But lo! great was our wonder and terror to see a sore disaster befall them there in the midst of the passage over the stream. We saw suddenly the road give way beneath them, as though it were clean sawn asunder, and both horsemen in a moment cast down suddenly into the stream below. Then, too, we heard a loud thunder of the beams falling, and there was a great mass of woodwork in the river, that dammed up for a while the flood.

The gentleman, the vicomte's envoy, was alas! killed, thrown headlong by his horse against a pier ere he struck the water. The groom that rode with him marvellously escaped death, but was sore wounded by his fall.

"What villain hath done this?" cried the vicomte, in hot anger. "With my men will I scour the land till I track him."

"Ah, my lord vicomte," I said, "this is the work of Maugher, that I saw lurking in Coutances. And I grieve that thy good Sieur de Norrey should thus die by a stroke that was aimed at me."

"If it be as thou sayest," said my uncle, "this venomous man, kinsman though he be of the duke himself, shall no longer trouble men."

Then, with all sadness, the body of De Norrey was recovered and borne back to St Sauveur, and we, riding down the stream a mile or more to where there was a safe ford, crossed safely, and riding sorrowfully and warily, though we were so near to the duke's presence, came presently in sight of Valognes.



CHAPTER XVI.

How at length I was brought before William, Conquestor Invictissimus, of all soldiers the greatest, and most invincible of dukes. Of the manner he received my mission, and of the expedition of Samson d'Anville.

And now, children of my house here in England, I bid you con eagerly what I write in these next leaves, for, if God will, I will record how I first met, in that land of the Cotentin, him who was my star of glory while he lived, being indeed the greatest prince of our day, and, as I think, as great a soldier as any that ever lived of our race or of any other. And, following his conquering arms, we came to this haven in our own fair country, as ye know.

My uncle had with great ease overcome, as a high noble may, all obstacles in our path; and assuring all who questioned, that indeed we came on business that could not wait, he won his way in an hour where I alone might have wasted days, such walls of state there are around the great ones of the earth.

But with a smile and a good word to one, a meaning whisper of secret import to another, a high hand and a proud look to a third, he passed through all barriers with me at his heels; and at length we were led by a high noble through sundry gates into a broad level mead, all green and close-shaven by the scythe, where many targets stood, and amid a bevy of noble gentlemen Duke William himself saw to the training of his archers.

Now it was easy, even in that noble throng, to see who was the duke and master of the company, not by rich apparel or device of royalty, but by simple glory of manhood. He stood well above the tallest there, gentle or simple. His great bulk had not yet hid his fair proportions, though in girth and weight he outstripped the rest. On a strong neck like a broad column his full round head rested, and frank and straight his wide-open eyes gazed forth on men, masterful and proud.

Here was a man that hid not his passion or his feeling—one that could hide naught. Afterwards the very force of mastery and passion left their impress on William's face, but when I first saw him there, in the full glory of a man's honour and strength, I gave him my boyhood's worship, for that I knew he was a king of men.

He was busy with his archers, and minded not our approach.

"Blind dolt!" he cried. "Such a flight would harm none! See here!" He drew the great wooden bow he carried right back to the breast, and the arrow sped sharp and clean from the twanging cord, and hit the mark plain in the middle with a mighty force. "Now—hard and straight!" he said, as the archer essayed his shot again. Then seeing us approach, "Vicomte, good morrow."

"My lord duke," said mine uncle, "with pain I disturb thee; but thou wilt agree that our matter would not wait."

"Then tell it quickly," said William.

"My lord of Bee sends forth my nephew with this letter," said the Vicomte.

"Then let him ope and read it."

With a great awe I read Lanfranc's sage words to the duke. Careless and moody he stood when I began with his high titles, but he let me read. But he awoke as he heard of the Sarrasin, and hot anger filled his face. I read on steady and slow till I came to the name of Maugher, and at that there was a very storm in his eyes.

"Give me the letter!" said he; and he snatched it, gazed an instant on it, and ground it the next moment into the sod with his iron heel.

He raged up and down in a passion, heedless of us and of his archers. Then he recovered himself.

"And the monks are shut in by the Moors?" he said to me.

"My lord duke," I said, "they and all thy loyal people of Guernsey are near starving, and this vile Moor calls himself lord and master of the Norman seas."

"Does he?" said William. "Tell me more of Maugher."

"He speeds on the treachery. His devils are seen in the Sarrasin's castle. He hath twice sought my life on my way to thee. I have seen by our abbot's grace treacherous letters of his to King Henry, that your highness wots of. And yesterday I saw him at Coutances in disguise."

"At Coutances?" said the duke, near as I feared another blast of anger. And then, turning to a burly lord hard by, that I guessed soon, not from his bearing, but from Duke William's words, was his brother and councillor, Odo of Bayeux, he said, "Here, my lord, what thinkest thou of these letters?"

He gave him to read the parchment that I picked up from the turf. Odo read it slowly.

"It would seem," said he, "that this Sarrasin is grander than we thought."

"At this juncture he is dangerous," said William.

"Maugher is the danger," said Odo.

"Shall we strike at once?" said William.

"'Tis but a week's work," said Odo, "and it would seem by one stroke you will clear the seas for years."

He turned to me and inquired very exactly all that I knew of the strength of the pirates by sea and land, of the building and position of the Chateau du Grand Sarrasin, of the Vale Castle, and the defence of it by the monks and islanders.

He learned (for how could I keep back even my own doings, so peremptory he was?) of my being taken captive, and bursting into a huge laughter at the tale of my escape, swore I was a wondrous fellow for my years. Then, as he had a map in his mind of all that I knew, he turned and said to the Vicomte—

"'Tis a brave boy, this thy nephew. Tell me, whose son is he?"

At this the Vicomte hesitated a moment, and I coloured and looked down.

"He is the son," he said at length, "of my younger brother, who this fourteen years has been reckoned unworthy of his place among knights."

The duke looked on me again, and I met his gaze.

"See, then, lad," said he, "that thou redeem thy father's good name! And now for thy mission hither. It is my will to do all that thou askest up to thy desires—yea, and beyond thy desires. This pirate-swarm have massed themselves together, and lo! I will sever their many heads at one blow, and they shall know rightly who is lord and master of the Norman seas and isles. I will bring all my ships——"

He was proceeding, when Odo plucked him by the arm, and, whispering in his ear, as I thought, dissuaded him from coming in person. He frowned and chafed, but at last gave way, and after further words, called to him a little man of wondrous heavy build, yet muscular withal, that stood among the greatest of his lords.

"Hither, Samson d'Anville," said he; "here is brave work for thee, that I was near taking for mine own. Thou shalt be admiral and captain of an expedition that I send with all speed to sweep out with all force the pirates that infest our Norman seas. In great pride they are gathered in Guernsey to defy my power. Take men, take ships, all that thou wilt need, and delay not thy journey, for certain monks and islanders are hard set with famine. See me again to-morrow. Vicomte, good youth, farewell."

So Duke William returned to his archers.

* * * * *

We had but just left the duke's presence, and were even considering whether I should return with mine uncle to St. Sauveur or tarry there at Valognes, if I could find a lodging, when none other than Samson d'Anville, that had been placed in command of the expedition, came after us, and would have me to be his guest until, all preparations having been made in a week's time, we should sail from Barfleur.

"Come now, little soldier," said he, "and we on this expedition will be true brothers-in-arms."

With that he wound his arm into mine, and I noted that, though he called me "little soldier," I was almost a head taller than he.

So at his bidding, for he would take no denial, I took a hearty and reverent leave of the vicomte, who assured me that when this matter were over he would welcome me in his retinue for the French war, and linked arm-in-arm with Samson, returned to the camp.

Now I had time to see more closely what manner of man this d'Anville was. I have said he was short and stout, but I should have said that in so small a frame one seldom saw such activity and strength. Like some pollard oak, he seemed all knotted with muscle and vigour. He went bearded and wore his hair unshaven, and thus amid those Norman lords, shorn back and front, he looked wild and unkempt.

But the merry easy smile that lived in his black eyes was enough to show me that, though a great warrior, and terrible in battle, he would be a sweet comrade in time of peace. This was that Samson d'Anville that so swiftly broke down the arrogance of Geoffroy, and for this and other noble deeds was given that estate hard by the Vale, which his sons hold yet.

And so it came to pass that within a week of my arriving, by great good luck and marvellous dispatch in preparation, the order was given that we should sail for Guernsey.



CHAPTER XVII.

Of the journey of our ships to relieve the Brethren of the Vale, and how we fought a great battle with the Moors outside the Bay of L'Ancresse.

As I remember, children, our armament made an exceeding fair show as we sailed with a fair wind out of Barfleur Harbour, and great joy I had that such good fortune had attended my embassage to our great governor.

And indeed, though I remember not exactly after these many years the number of the ships, I think there were at least five score, and in each ship close on five-and-thirty men-at-arms, besides the sailors who had the management of the sailing. Duke William, when thus aroused, did not things by halves. And as we rounded Pointe de Barfleur, and saw on the one side Cape de la Hague looming through the morning air, our fleet rode in a fair line forward, making a semicircle as they sat gaily on the sparkling waves.

And in the ship that was at the northern horn of this great bow was Samson, and I by his favour with him, and the man on the look-out in this great ship, that was called Le Saint Michel, saw more clearly than any other of the mariners of what lay ahead. Now, Le Saint Michel was the ship Duke William loved, and indeed it was both stout and strong, and made for swiftness rather than great burthen. And being the favourite ship of the duke, it was gloriously dight with gold and colour, so that it looked right noble as the sun glinted on its golden vanes, and lit up the splendour of its close-woven sails of crimson, whereon two lions were curiously blazoned. And before upon the prow, as it cleaved the waves, sat St. Michael with wings outspread, white as the gulls that circled around our fleet, as though he were indeed bearing us forward with good hope upon our journey.

"Look you!" said Samson, shading his eyes with his hand as he leant with his arm on the gunwale; "we take our track neatly betwixt Auremen and the Hague, and in so fair a day as this have no fear to run close by yonder cursed Casquettes, where many a good ship hath met its doom. Dost thou see them yet?"

"Yea," I said. "There, like a rough, jagged set of teeth, they spring yonder from the calm waves and a long track they make where thou seest the foam on either side."

"Then we will have no risk of our good men," said Samson, presently. "Port helm, man, and keep a clear mile from yonder hungry rocks."

Soon the north coast of Guernsey hove in sight, and earnestly I gazed forth for signs of any pirate ships that might intend to do battle with us on the sea. And, indeed, it was well to look, for around from the Grand Havre as we approached swept a great straight column of their low-decked, lean, swift-sailing vessels, and we seemed to see another such column lying-to behind.

"See you them?" I hastily cried to Samson.

"Ay, it means battle," said he.

But this good soldier, well used to fighting by sea, as well as by land, was even now as cool and undismayed as though he but went about his proper work.

Samson gave his orders with words sharp and few. And indeed it seemed that all was arranged for us to meet such a defence of the coast by our foes. For, like living beings, our great ships sailed swiftly into two lines, strong and steady, with our vessel at the end of the second rank. And all this was done without disorder or confusion, as men-at-arms will form square on parade, and still we rode on the while, and Samson stood watching the pirates' fleet that lay now in a long line in front of L'Ancresse Bay awaiting our attack, as was meet for them to do.

The wind sprang up now, I remember, from the east, and I heard Samson say in a glad tone——

"Thank Heaven for this breeze! It will prove the very messenger of victory from God."

"Ay, in good truth," I said. "See, even now before we attack them, they drift, though they would stay steady."

We were now well past Les Casquettes, and I could see clear the great rocky headland of the Guet, and others as high and deadly, that I remember not the names of, loom sharp and clear behind the pirates' fleet.

The good breeze bore us on, and it was evident that, without feint or device of any kind, we should face our foes fairly, and do battle hand-to-hand with the pirates chiefly by boarding their craft.

And I was glad at this, for I had no fear of the result of the day's fight if William's trained men-at-arms, suppled by a hundred battles, met their foes face to face on a few square feet of wood. The pirates, in their self-deceiving folly, that led them to a swift doom, had the like thought of their own prowess, and indeed they had need be proud of their wild fighting, being men who so fought as caring not for life or escape.

The ships of our front rank sailed swiftly down on their foe, and each crashed heavily into a pirate vessel. And with the loud crack of wood against wood, and shattered prows, and rocking masts, uprose over the clear water the hideous din of battle. High above all the cry of "Rou," and the shouting "Dieu aide," "God and St. Michael," "Duke William and St. George." Then the wild diabolic cries from the Moors in their harsh ugly tongue, "Le Grand Sarrasin," or "Le Grand Geoffroy," echoing among their uncouth war-cries.

I cannot tell what happened that first part of the fight; but I saw a confused sight of our men with a strong rush of might, their bright swords gleaming o'er their heads, leaping into this vessel or that, and blazing with the onrush of their attack upon the Moors, that met them with mad ferocity. There was a scene on each deck in which I could distinguish not which way the matter went, except that the war-cries of our men sounded ever more triumphant. Two vessels at the least were so disabled by the shock that they drifted away southward on the jagged rocks with their crews still in them. I know not whether the rogues in them were saved or lost.

The men of La Belle Mathilde, straight in front of us, had good success, for already, ere we came into action, they had cleared the deck of the vessel they had attacked, and leaving it to drift away were about to run down its neighbour, into whose side some of the crew had climbed, having leapt into the water from the battle with the Normans. We cast our eyes along the fighting-line and saw the like going on; and then came up their second line, in two curves, east and west, to their friends' assistance. Now, this was our signal to ride forward and engage them. So we swept round to keep them off on either side, and ere I knew what was afoot there ran a great tremble through the ship, and a crack like thunder sent my heart into my mouth, and in a moment I saw the Moors hacking eagerly at the wrists of our soldiers, that clung lustily to the rigging of their craft, that was called La Reine d'enfer.

With a shout that rang like a great trumpet, our little Samson had his foot in a moment on the gunwale. "Stick on lads, tight!" he cried, as with half a score of whom I was one, he landed on the pirate's deck. Three of them rushed at each of us, and well it was we had good hauberks and good blades, for "slash, slash" came down on us the strokes from either hand. But swift in our tail came a score more of our Normans, some of the readiest and stoutest of Samson's own men that followed his standard, and like lions zealous for his honour, and eagles careful for his life, they fought their way to their little leader's side, who was well-nigh bested, contending with three or more, who knew his place and station and attacked him at all points. But the rush of the boarding party swept all our foes before us, and in a short space the remnant of them, now far below our numbers, collected by the stern of the ship in a thick mass. It was no light matter to dislodge them, thrice we essayed it, and thrice from their sharp blades we recoiled. And, indeed, I could not but honour these men now engaged so hopelessly in their last conflict, and never crying out for quarter—nay, even stricken down on the deck still crawling with bent and broken sword, to slash once more at us, if it were but at our hose of mail.

In the hot fray we recked not of our moorings, and we saw already we had lost hold of Le Saint Michel and drifted some yards astern, and a great shock of the ship showed us we were broadside on with another of their ships, L'Aiglon. Now we were soon involved in sore danger, for the pirates on board this latter, lost no time in coming up to their friends' assistance, and like a crew of black kites they swept over the side, with curved cutlasses brandished in their hands. I know not how it would have chanced had not La Blanche Nef boarded their ship, and attacking them in the rear, swept through them to our relief. So they were between two attacks, and enough of us were left to engage in our last deadly hand-to-hand struggle with the pirates in the stern. I followed a great Norman soldier that led this last attack, and closing with a sinewy Moor that strove cunningly to slap my sword from my grasp with an upsweep, we were ere long rolling on the deck amid the dead and the slippery streams of blood, each guarding the other's sword-hand from his breast; and since the Moor was a strong villain of full man's strength, I was in evil case. For with me, thus striving on the deck, the swing and rush of my youthful strength availed me naught against his tempered muscles, that seemed pressing my arms back with a grasp of iron. Yea, I was as near cold steel in my heart as ever in my life, when suddenly I felt his grasp tighten and then grow loose, and a sharp blade that had already been run through his back, came out below the breast-bone, and gave my arm a graze that drew blood.

"God, save you, good lad!" rang out Samson's voice, and I knew that he had found time in his control of the whole battle to think of me—and in good season, for I have small doubt that, though the point of his sword grazed my arm, yet it saved my life.

When I arose up, the ships that were named L'Aiglon and La Reine d'enfer were both cleared of the Moors, and our men were steering the shattered vessel as well as could be done towards Le Saint Michel, which we presently boarded, letting the pirate ship with a hole in its bottom run away towards La Jaonneuse, a rock on the north-west that broke her up.

Now I saw that the victory in this sharp sea-battle was already won. For to right and left the second line, or those vessels that still remained, had retired, and were bearing away southward. Some five or six of the first line, that we afterwards overhauled had run aground for safety in L'Ancresse Bay; and the remnant, about twenty ships in all, drifted with shattered and broken masts and rigging on to the rocks, on which some lay foundered already.

So it was with a cheery voice I sang out to Samson d'Anville—

"Lo! the way lies open to the Vale."

And he pointing to the stiff dead bodies floating in the water, and wiping his sword-blade carefully, cried back—

"So die all pirates, and enemies of the duke in the Norman Seas!"



CHAPTER XVIII.

The story of the relief of Vale Castle.

Now, by the ending of our battle before L'Ancresse Bay, the sun was setting, and for fear of some attack on us as we disembarked, Samson d'Anville thought it better that, though well in sight of Vale Castle, that already had lit beacons of joy upon its towers, we should drop anchor for the night in L'Ancresse Bay.

This we did, and there was much business in our fleet in the repairing of the damage of the fight. When the tale was made up, but forty men-at-arms had been lost with some sixty more who had sore damage, and two of our ships were so disabled that we left them to float upon the rocks.

From the prow, where I lay down to sleep, I thought of the joy in the hearts of our brethren and the abbot, and "Oh, Brother Hugo!" I thought, "now, by God's grace, have I well-nigh fulfilled the task thou gavest me;" and then sleep drew my eyelids tight, and with no alarm of sea or enemy, I slept until the morning.

Now, the day that followed has ever been the brightest and the gladdest of my memories as I have trodden the path of my life. For on that day by Samson's side I entered Vale gate in very sooth the deliverer of my friends.

I remember not in what manner that goodly army was disembarked, but well I know, through the long space it took, my heart burned to be away. But all was done in the due order of war, for Samson greatly feared an ambush of the Sarrasins in rocky spaces betwixt us and the Castle. And good companies of men were left in a little camp, hastily thrown up by the shore, lest there should be a mishap upon our march.

But at length the men-at-arms were drawn up in order of march, and every man sent forward gave word that no sign of Sarrasin could be seen in the Vale. So, steadily, with the great standard of the two lions unrolled, we marched across the common, and soon the great mass of Vale Castle, on its seat of rock, towered up before us, and along the rampart we saw gathered the defenders, like saints of heaven, welcoming us as we came. And the women, so long pent up with anxious minds therein, waved their light kerchiefs, and wept for very joy at the sound of the soldier's tramp shaking the plain. And along the wall, as at a set signal, when we passed the black ruin of the old cloister and church, uprose the deep sound of men's singing, and we heard the goodly round Latin tongue roll its heavy cadence o'er our heads—"Magnificat anima mea Dominum"—ay, magnificat of praise and glory, as greeting this deliverance wrought by the most Holy One, and the downfall of Satan's power. And ever, when they sing that hymn of blessed Mary, I seem again to be a-marching with all the triumph of a noble lad in the successful doings of his first great enterprise over the wind-swept grass of the Vale up to the Castle gate—marching with a great army, that knows naught of sin and guile, full-stedfast and full-faithful through all its sunny ranks.

Then, without let or hindrance, we stood before the gate, and once more the great bolts shot back, the mighty bars clanged as they moved, and the huge gate swung heavily on its massy hinges, and the advance guard sweeping on one side, left the way free for Samson and myself to enter.

Could I enter in such stately wise with trumpet-blare and step of dignity into that place on that day as a young prince or saviour from afar? Nay, here were the very stones I had played upon through all my boyhood, and around me stood the good nurses and governors of my early years. It was no place for me to enter in this pomp. Nor were these simple monks the men for me to come back to so ceremoniously.

I stood for a moment by Samson's side in hesitation. Then, seeing Hugo and the abbot, I forgot the army and Samson and my place, and ran straight forward, like a babe to his mother, and in a moment had mine arms around the neck of my father-in-arms, Brother Hugo of the Vale. Then, when he stayed me, and unclasped my hands, that were like to choke him, so joyously they hugged, down went I on one knee and kissed the hand of Abbot Michael, that stood by his side. He, courteously raising me, said simply—

"Thou hast done well, good child. And glad are we that our woes are over. But who is yonder gentleman?"

Then I led up Samson to him, and made them known, and a fair scene of courtesy it was to see Samson in his chain-mail kneel and take the abbot's hand so thin and delicate in his own rough palm.

"Ye come like angels from above, good gentlemen," said Michael; "for, with all sparing and restraint, our cruse is now full low, our store consumed, and, with diminished strength, there was small hope to rebut the next attack."

"No angels, holy Father," answered Samson, smiling; "but stalwart fellows in plenty, with a strong stroke and a high spirit. Normans, in brief, that know well how to carry through a matter such as this. But how oft have they attempted an attack?"

"Our general shall inform thee best," said the abbot, "this good brother, whose clear head and strong courage have saved us not once nor twice; and, indeed, most good it is that two such men as thou and he should meet."

With that he led Brother Hugo to Samson, and the two brave warriors did embrace with all due show of courtesy.

"Thrice, now, have they engaged to storm our wall," said Hugo, "and, while strength remained, we feared not to throw back to their sore damage such attacks. But three nights back we were in extremer case, for the rogues entered by a cunning mine the citadel itself, and but for swift action on our part they had got through in force, and overpowered the garrison. But, by God's favour, we were aroused in time, and with a great scuffle drave them back, and with small loss to ourselves slew a score or more, and so at morn destroyed and blocked the mine; and even this night we feared a like attack, had you not brought this great army from my lord the duke to destroy for ever the Sarrasin's arrogance."

Then they took counsel of the resources of their arms; and, indeed, with the islanders that were with us already, and that now came flocking, being afeared to come before (as there are such in every cause), we mustered an exceeding great host, and after the ravages the Sarrasin had made, we had even now fear of famine till corn could come in by sea. And the Normans, since the Castle was too strait for all already, lay encamped in a fair camp by the waterside by St. Sampson's Bay, till their leader should ordain the order of attack.

Now all was changed in Vale and hill country, for the Moors that so long had roamed at will, setting their watches and their sentinels on every headland and navigable inlet, and claiming to be of right the liege lords of all from Blanchelande to Torteval, from Torteval to Vale, were now shut up in their great chateau, and their fleets lying in Grand Havre and Moulin Huet Bay. No longer able to be besiegers, they had become besieged, and indeed, if they knew all, were already in extreme case. We saw none of their vile faces in lane or forest-path. The narrow street of St. Pierre Port was cleared of the swaggerers, with their clanking metal and heady brawls; while our Normans lay by St. Sampson's shrine waiting the order to attack, they sat quiet and sullen in their hold.

And in this sullen calm there was much to fear.



CHAPTER XIX.

How we set forth to attack Le Chateau du Grand Sarrasin. Of the Normans' valour, and of the flight of our foes.

Now, for the next two days Samson had under review our islanders, and the brethren, who in martial accoutrements, and restored moreover already by good store of food, would fain take part in the great matter of executing Heaven's vengeance on Le Grand Sarrasin and his troop. These were bound together in a second regiment auxiliary to the men-at-arms, and set by Samson of his deep wisdom under Hugo's leading.

Now, all this time the Sarrasin sat still awaiting our assault, like a sick lion in his cave, and the only sign of life up at his castle was the green flag on the pole that fluttered in the wind.

And on the third day all was in preparation for the attack. And Samson had it in mind that he and his Normans would bear the brunt of the assault, and have our contingent in reserve to fight on the level when entrance had been made. Now he determined not to attack the Castle on the side towards Vale, but from the south, where the height was not great, and there was good cover of brushwood to hide our strength, and to protect from arrows and balls. We, in a close body, were to lie quiet to the east within a run, and we were told to await his signal to enter in the breach to do our share, or, if need were, to swoop on the pirate swarms unexpectedly, if they essayed to escape to their ships.

And thus once more I found myself by Hugo's side, prepared for sharp fighting.

"See, Nigel," whispered he, as he stood fuming and craving to be himself in the thick of the fighting that soon must chance. "Yonder tree shoots up clean and straight, and, as I fancy, there is clear vision downward to the Castle, and an easy drop and scamper hither again at the signal."

"Let us mount," I said.

So, careless of rules of war and obedience, like two school-lads we swarmed up the smooth trunk, and sat soon in the joinings of the branches. Thence could we see, so far as leaves allowed, the Sarrasin camp within the walls of the chateau.

They were not to be taken by surprise. For a great array—far greater, I thought, than came down to the Vale Castle—was collected on the green, and being divided into companies, had charge of the engines of defence, or tried the temper of their blades. And I saw others on the wall ready to roll stones and hot pitch upon their assailants, as is the manner of defending castles. And amid the companies stalked heavily the Grand Geoffroy himself in full armour. Could any mistake that great form, and not feel his presence amid those wild men of so many nations, that his spirit alone united into one.

"Heigho!" thought I. "Ill knight that seest without being seen; now without being seen we see thy camp and thee."

As I thought that, his great helm turned our way, and a strange shudder took my limbs, as he seemed to look upward to our roost, and know us to be there.

"He sees us," I said to Hugo.

"That were not possible with mortal eyes," said Hugo; "but even evil beasts are oft aware of the near presence of their foes."

But he had soon to turn his eyes elsewhere, for the Norman assault came sharp and swift, like the rush of great wild creatures through the forest. Indeed it was a rare sight—that sweeping mass of chivalry that seemed to reck naught of the walls, or the arrows, or the balls, or the pitch that a hundred hands rained down on them. Over the wall they went, and through the gate that withstood not their charge. O Heaven! they were not men those Normans, they were storms and floods, they were fire and mad waves of ocean, that scorn with wild gleefulness the granite rock and scarped boulder!

I have seen the sea, swept in by a fierce north wind, so triumph over man's poor defences. I have seen the mad fire catch hold of mart and dwelling in a blazing town that met Duke William's anger. I saw in the north the great eygre rush through Lindis' bed, and swamp the peaceful plain with doom and ruin. Not less resistless, not less vehement was the first assault of Samson's Normans. And I knew now, as I looked, how, by fire and spirit more than by numbers, William won the famous day of Val-es-dunes, and I might have guessed, had I known what was to hap ere ten years had run away, what would come to pass below Hastings in England on the crown of Senlac.

They recked not of death or wounds—where one line fell, another took its place. Like a river that ceaselessly flows, they swarmed into the Castle, and closed with the Moors. So it seemed that, overcome by the ferocity of the onslaught, the Moors soon gave up all effort to defend the wall, but reinforced the troop that held the crest of the hill, that contended in a mighty struggle with the invading Normans. This way and that way the battle surged. Now it seemed they would drive them back after all, now they themselves were carried backward. Norman and pirate were mixed strangely together in this fierce conflict. We expected each moment that the signal for us to join the fray would ring out, but it came not. It seemed to us that Samson, greedy of honour for his men, desired to claim the total glory of the victory. But we knew not his great sagacity, nor what a strength we were to him lying there in ambush.

But what of Le Grand Geoffroy? We saw him bear the first brunt of the onset. He rushed then like a flame from line to line. And where he was, the Moors seemed to rush on to victory. Once Samson and he had met, but supported by two smart swordsmen, the Sarrasin had retired and left Samson to them. And now we espied him not, and hoped some hand had struck him that we saw not. Meanwhile, the Normans made great way, and drave the enemy back step by step, killing as they went.

Le Grand Geoffroy was neither wounded nor dead! With a great shout he came forth from the very womb of the earth with another swarm of warriors at his heels, and we saw that this last reserve had been kept back to surprise us in the rear. Then, as the great monster rushed in upon the Normans, while still they poured into the Castle, rang out the signal on the trumpet, and from our ward of trees we lusty islanders and zealous monks sprang in to do our share. Here was Hugo, and I his esquire, in the front rank of them all; here was poor distraught Ralf clutching his hilt like a man frenzied. Monk, gentleman, farmer, miller, serf—we all rushed with gladness, that the time at last had come for us to join the battle, in a great wave of fury on the contingent of relief that was headed by Geoffroy himself. And well we did our part. For we, who knew so well the cruelties of the man we fought with, were lifted up by a great spirit of vengeance that seemed not our own, but Heaven's. His men reeled at our charge, and left their attack to face us. We charged, recoiled, and charged again. And this time Hugo and I together swung grandly face to face with the great monster Geoffroy; and Hugo slashed nobly at him, and for the space of full four minutes there was sharp sword-play between them, and I hoped each moment that Hugo would best him.

But the duel was not fought out, for (as I heard after) so well had the Normans fought, and so many pirates lay in heaps on the green, that a great panic at this moment fell upon the pirates, and already, like kine affrighted by a wild beast, they were rushing headlong through the northern gate, that some one had unfastened, and pouring down full-tilt to the Grand Havre, where their ships were, and the Normans were after them like hounds on the scent, slaying as they went.

Now, this Geoffroy saw, and rushing in strove manfully to stay the flight. But they were too frantic to hear him or obey. In a moment he made up his mind.

"Follow my lead, then," I heard him cry to his own reserve; "we will not stay to be cut down here. To the sea! To the sea!"

He jumped into the saddle of his steed, that stood ready caparisoned, and was through the southern gate with the pirates on his heels, and we on theirs, before we were well aware what had happed.

Le Grand Sarrasin was making for his other fleet in Moulin Huet.

And of the Normans and of many of us the pirates had the advantage, for they wore not much armour. With the wings of desperation they fled before us seaward over mile on mile of forest and lane. And like a terrible storm we sped behind. Never again may such a storm rage in Guernsey lanes and hills.

Some that were ill runners were smitten down by us as they lagged behind; some that had been wounded before, and were weak from loss of blood, dropped heavily into the brake on this side or on that; the more part, as they neared the sea, pressed on faster, cheered now and again by the voice of their leader far ahead on his horse, as he shouted, "To the ships! to the ships!"



CHAPTER XX.

Of the sore slaughter in the glen of Moulin Huet and on the shore; and how Le Grand Sarrasin was slain, and of his secret.

At last we reached the head of the glen, and far down below us we saw the blue water of the bay, enclosed on either side with its great rocky bulwarks. And a great portion of the Sarrasin ships were there at anchor as near shore as they might safely lie. And there were many little boats pulling in to take the runaways aboard.

Helter-skelter they went down the rugged, winding path, jostling their fellows with knee and shoulder, hand and heel, as they slammed on their way. Le Grand Sarrasin we saw not, and guessed for the moment that he was already aboard. But when we came in sight of the bay, not long we stood in hesitation, but with a shout and a cry that rang terribly as it echoed from rock to rock, we rushed madly after, spreading our force along the side of the cliff as our fellows pressed on us behind.

We too were carried on like a mad torrent that could not stay itself, and in the front we cut furiously with our swords at the tail of their long line whenever chance was afforded. Not many so we slew, but a number tripped over in the rush were trampled underfoot, or threw themselves in the streamlet's bed, wherein afterwards they were speedily slain.

But an end came at last to that mad descent, and all-quivering and furious, we landed on the shore. We stayed a moment till a great troop was round us, every moment swelling as the laggards came up, thirsting to have a lot in so great a matter, and then with a mighty charge, that our foes scarce essayed to meet, we drove them before us into the sea. Ay! in that deadly rush, with swinging steel and echoing cry like angels of great Heaven's power, we swept them like some unclean stuff off our island's face into the water. There was great slaughter all along the bay. Some climbing into boats were knifed behind; some half-drowned in the water we cut to pieces; some, but poor swimmers, never reached their ships; and more than one boat capsized, being overfull of raging and infuriated men.

A little remnant speedily entrenched themselves amid the rugged boulders, and smarting as they were with wild and bitter rage, we left them in their fortress, till one of the ships espying them, a boat was sent amid the rocks that they climbed towards and entered safely without hindrance from us. These and the few that swam, and the few that escaped in boats, and some that hid themselves in cave or brake, and afterwards escaped, were the scanty sum of that bodyguard of Le Grand Geoffroy that got to their ships.

The rest lay on the road, or in the water-way, or here where the shore met the white roll of the surf, in great heaps that the waves played with, as they rolled up and ran back dyed with blood. So we islanders of Guernsey and Brethren of the Vale dealt with one-half of the pirates' force, while good Samson d'Anville did likewise with the other half as they fled to the Grand Havre.

It was when we at last rested from this sad work of slaughter that I looked up to the clear sky, since earth and sea seemed all defiled with blood, and lo! there on the spur of land that divideth the Bay of Moulin Huet from the Bay of All Saints, high up on the top, with his form outlined against the sky, sat Le Grand Sarrasin on his Arabian steed. I showed him in a moment to Hugo.

"Fools that we be," cried he, "that stain our hands in this foul work upon these paltry runaways, while he, the chief cause of these men's offending, still goes free!"

"See," I said, "the monster gazes down on the downfall of his lieges, and sees them die without a care!"

"Ay, for he knows," said Hugo, "there is plenty of evil men in the world for him still to lead."

With that Hugo picked out some twenty of his most trusted men and bade us follow him.

So we started up the cliff side by a little path that wound upward amid the gorse. And still all the time as we toiled with foot and hand at climbing, upon the summit sat the Sarrasin, as though with a proud air deriding our attack.

"Whom seek you, good gentlemen?" he cried to us as we climbed below.

"A vile knave and caitiff!" Hugo cried back.

"He hath not passed this way," shouted the Sarrasin, "so lose not your labour, good sirs, at this boys' play of climbing."

"It is not boys' play down yonder!" returned Hugo. "Oh, villain, cursed villain, we will mete you the same measure!"

"Then you must rival my Pearl of Seville!" he cried, just galloping lightly away as we landed on the summit.

So he had got away to some secret place, of which there were so many on the coast, had he not met full-tilt a strong band of the Normans that were even now on the road, being sent down by Samson to see that we were not worsted.

These he met tramping to Moulin Huet Bay, and, wheeling hastily at the sight of them, found us behind him. Like a spent hare that runs into a hole, he spurred to the house at Blanchelande that lay at the head of All Saints' Bay, and we that followed at a run heard his beast clatter over the drawbridge of the moat. We rolled a great stone on to the bridge that none could draw it up, and, with the Normans following behind, pursued him into his cover. The good steed stood riderless before the gate. With all our weight we burst the door, and ran in a great body into the hall wherein I had visited my Lord of Rouen.

No man was to be seen therein, and for a while we stood at fault, Normans and islanders alike, and then went through the house, battering with lusty strokes, that echoed again, every part of wall or wainscot that might afford concealment.

Had all our struggle been for naught, and would the arch-villain escape us thus? We came back to the great hall, and stood therein while our followers ran riot in the house. I took up, as we stood by my lord's table, that very curious box or optic-glass, wherein he showed me far things brought close, and curiously raised it to my eyes, and gazed down upon the bay. It was brought wondrous clear, and the waves seemed dancing before mine eyes. Suddenly I saw what made me drop the glass, and hastily drag Hugo with me out of the house. The glass showed me the Sarrasin stealing along the shadows of the glen downwards to where a little boat lay moored by the rocks.

We tracked him like a quarry; and ere long he knew we were behind him, and hasted, sore hindered with his great bulky body, to the shore. There we overtook him, and at once he faced us, and made with his sword a great lunge at Hugo that well-nigh took his life. But even so, Hugo was quick with his parry, and kept him at fence.

"This is no fair fight 'twixt man and man, false monk!" cried the Sarrasin, as I had a stroke at his undefended side, so hot was I for his blood.

"Stand off, good Nigel," sang out Hugo. "None shall say I beat him by foul means."

With this, after sundry passes that came to naught, he drove his good sword straight into his enemy's side; for, indeed, Geoffroy was wild in his swordplay, and left openings clear to a cool man.

Le Grand Sarrasin rolled heavily on the sand, and we knew that never again would the pirates gather head to harm our island.

"Had I but gained the ship," he howled, "I would have been duke yet."

Now this was the last he said, for a great spurt of blood coming from his side, he raised himself a moment on his arm, and then fell back upon the sand.

We knew not what face of horror we should gaze upon as we essayed to pull the helm from the head of Le Grand Sarrasin, that never showed his face to men.

The helm came off in our hands. It was no hideous countenance that it had masked, nor did we fear to gaze on it in death.

It was the face of my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, whom I had visited in his house hard by, and whom I had seen disguised in Normandy, that I now plainly saw.

Where, then, was Le Grand Sarrasin? Le Grand Sarrasin had been none other than this exiled man, that among the most evil of mankind had sought to raise a power that might one day overthrow William himself.

And in this ruin of his glory, achieved by grace of Heaven through our hands, Le Grand Sarrasin was brought to naught.

"Thou knowest who this was?" said Hugo, calmly.

"Ay, well I know," I said.

"Thou and I alone know this dark thing," he said. "Is it well that it should enter into men's mouths and minds?"

"Thou knowest best, Hugo," I said.

"Then," said he, "I say it were well for the Church of God, and for men's love of honour, and for truth and righteousness, that none know but ourselves this dead man's secret. Let him die Le Grand Sarrasin, a heathen Moor and no baptized Norman."

"But Maugher will be missed," I said.

"Yea; and a meeter tale than this will serve," said Hugo. "A false step, a squall at sea—anything but this." He pointed to the body. "Wilt thou keep silence?"

"If it be thy will," I said.

"Assist me, then," said Hugo.

So we dragged the body of the exile a short way over some rocks, whose black bases the deep water washed upon, and weighting it with some great stones, pushed it into the dark deeps. Thence none would raise him again to discover what manner of face wore Le Grand Sarrasin; and none would guess it was no dark visage of the south, but the face of an evil traitor, so much the more evil that he was called by the two high names Norman and Christian. There shall he lie till the great blare of Heaven's trump call good and ill to judgment.



CHAPTER XXI.

Conclusion. How, the above matters being finished, I was made known to my father.

Thus fell Le Grand Sarrasin, and I would fain finish this chronicle here, for all matters at the Vale most quickly returned to their old order, the next year being chiefly occupied with the rebuilding of the cloister and the planning of that great church that took so many years to build, which at last is so magnifical, that the old church wherein we used to sing with our boyish trebles seems in our memories but a poor place.

To the laying of these noble stones much of the stores of treasure found in the caverns at the chateau was justly devoted, and the holy things of many a plundered House of God are to be found in the stately church of the cloister.

And in my time, at least, no pirates ever landed on that island. Like a rock of doom they shun the place, for indeed many hundred of them perished there, as I have told, and they lost in one day the gathered treasure of years of crime.

And their captain being destroyed, their spirit seemed fled out of them, to the joy of all good and honest men.

But I must close up this chronicle of his fall with an event that concerned myself, which, as it were, flowed straight out of it. For if I had not journeyed to Normandy, and been caught on my way first by Le Grand Sarrasin, I suppose I should never have been made known unto my father.

And it is of my father, Ralf de Bessin, that I must therefore tell.

Now, the next day after, when we had rested ourselves of our great toils in the battle and pursuit, I and Brother Hugo purposed to go to the Chapel of St Apolline to offer our thanks to the priest and him that had saved me from all the unknown horrors of the prison in which I was pent. Or at least we would hear whether yet they had appeared again.

The fall of the Moor had brought them back to earth, and they sat together in the small hut beside the fishers' chapel, whence I had set out on my second journey. All the time they had lived in a cave hard by, fed daily by some fisher folk that knew their hiding-place; and indeed they looked as men that had fared exceeding roughly, and all the plumpness of the good Father had fled away.

I told them my story as I have told it to you in these leaves, and he whom I knew as Des Bois inquired again and again of all my dealings with the vicomte. Then, when I had finished, he said—

"Full bravely done. I regret not that I saved thee as I did, for thou hast some great deeds yet to do. And now, wouldst thou know, Nigel de Bessin, why I was led to save thee?"

I looked straight at him tenderly, for I guessed the truth.

"It was because thou wast indeed my son." He clasped both my hands in his, and looked down into my eyes. And I said "Father" for the first time thus, knowing that this was he of whom the vicomtesse told me.

"Thy father indeed," he said, "but ruined these many years by follies more than by crimes, as this Augustine, mine old schoolfellow, will tell."

"Father," said I, "Duke William and the vicomte will feel kindly to thee for thy lot in this matter."

"It matters not," he answered; "I have long ago done with courts, and now I have done with fighting. A quiet resting-place is all I want. And in those solitary days Augustine and I have made our determination. Have many brethren died in the siege?" he asked of Hugo, who nodded sadly.

"Then here is one to fill an empty hood," said my father. And I knew that the priest of St. Apolline's had persuaded him to become a monk.

"Thou wilt go forth," he said to me, "to wars, and courts, and princes, and may God shield thee still from all evil, as He hath so marvellously done these perilous days. From Vale Cloister will I look out on thee in pride of thy knightly fame, if such a small taint of earth as pride in thee be there permitted."

In such a manner were we made known to one another, the son and the father, and ere long Ralf de Bessin became Brother Francis of the Vale.

But I, ere that, had left my pupilage behind, and was numbered in the retinue of my uncle the vicomte as he followed the ever-conquering banner of William.

THE END.



HISTORICAL NOTES.

The chief authorities for the history and antiquities of Guernsey are:—

Du Moulin: "History of Normandy." [1631]. Thomas Dicey: "Historical Account of Guernsey." William Berry: "History of the Island of Guernsey." F.B. Tupper: "History of Guernsey."

Extracts bearing on the foregoing pages are quoted in these notes from the above, but Du Moulin seems to be the writer on whom the later authors have depended.

NOTE A.

Archbishop Maugher.—"William succeeded Robert A.D. 1035. One of his most powerful opponents was his uncle Maugher, Archbishop of Rouen, who, after William was settled in his Duchy of Normandy, excommunicated him on pretence that his wife Matilda was too nearly related. William, in 1055, deposed and banished Maugher in consequence to the Isle of Guernsey.... Insular tradition has fixed his residence near Saints Bay.

"Du Moulin says: 'Maugher, thus justly deposed, was banished to the island of Guernsey, near Coutances, where, says Walsingham, he fell into a state of madness, and had a miserable end. Others affirm that during his exile he gave his mind to the black arts (sciences noires) and that he had a familiar spirit, which warned him of his death, while he was taking his recreation in a boat, on which he said to the boatman: "Let us land, for a certainty one of us two will be drowned to-day," which happened, for as they embarked at the port of Winchant he fell into the sea and was drowned, and his body being found a few days afterwards was interred in the church of Cherbourg'" (F.B. Tupper, "History of Guernsey," p. 40).

NOTE B.

Vale Abbey.—"The Abbey of Mont St. Michael was reduced in its revenues by Duke Richard of Normandy. The number of Benedictines was reduced in proportion to the reduction of the revenue, and those who were driven from thence, retiring to Guernsey, founded in the year 962 an abbey in that part of the island now called the Close of the Vale. This they called the Abbey of St. Michael" (Wm. Berry, "History of Guernsey," p. 52).

NOTE C.

Vale Castle.—"Towards the end of the tenth century the Danes, or other piratical nations of Scandinavia, who had long been quiet, commenced their depredations. They did not attempt to attack Normandy, but the new settlement of the Benedictines in Guernsey did not escape their cruelty, but was greatly injured by them. They frequently visited the island, and, according to the insular MSS., plundered the defenceless inhabitants, carrying off their corn and cattle. In order to shelter them, a fair and stately castle was built on an eminence in the vale, calculated to receive, even three centuries later, not only the inhabitants of the island but also their cattle and effects. It was called St. Michael's Castle" (Ibid., p. 56).

THE END