St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers

CHAPTER IX.

THE SIEGE OF HENNEBON.

The besiegers of Hennebon were greatly discouraged at the success of the enterprise of the countess. They had already attempted several desperate assaults, but had each time been repulsed with very heavy loss. They now sent to Rennes for twelve of the immense machines used in battering walls, which had been left behind there on a false report of the weakness of Hennebon. Pending the arrival of these, Charles of Blois with one division of the army marched away to attack Auray, leaving Don Louis to carry on the siege with a force considered amply sufficient to compel its surrender after the arrival of the battering machines.

In a few days these arrived and were speedily set to work, and immense masses of stone were hurled at the walls.

Walter continued to act as the countess' especial squire. She had informed Sir William Caddoudal and Sir John Powis that it was at his suggestion that she had made the sudden attack upon the French camp, and he had gained great credit thereby.

The effect of the new machines was speedily visible. The walls crumbled under the tremendous blows, and although the archers harassed by their arrows the men working them, the French speedily erected screens which sheltered them from their fire. The spirits of the defenders began to sink rapidly, as they saw that in a very short time great breaches would be made in the walls, and that all the horrors and disasters of a city taken by assault awaited them. The Bishop of Quimper, who was within the walls, entered into secret negotiations with his nephew, Henry de Leon, who had gone over to the enemy after the surrender of Nantes, and was now with the besieging army. The besiegers, delighted to find an ally within the walls who might save them from the heavy losses which an assault would entail upon them, at once embraced his offers, and promised him a large recompense if he would bring over the other commanders and nobles. The wily bishop set to work, and the consequences were soon visible. Open grumbling broke forth at the hardships which were endured, and at the prospect of the wholesale slaughter which would attend a storm when all hope of a successful resistance was at an end.

"I fear, Walter," Sir John said one morning, "that the end is at hand. On all sides submission is spoken of, and all that I can say to keep up their spirits is useless. Upon our own little band we can rely, but I doubt if outside them a single determined man is to be found in the town. In vain do I speak of the arrival of Sir Walter Manny. Nearly ninety days have elapsed since we sailed, and all hope of his coming is gone. I point out to them that contrary winds have been blowing, and that at any moment he may arrive; but they will not hear me. The bishop has gained over the whole of them by his promises that none shall be molested in property or estate should they surrender."

"It is sad to see the countess," Walter replied; "she who has shown such high spirit throughout the siege now does nothing but weep, for she knows that with her and her child in the hands of the French the cause of the count is lost. If she could carry off the child by sea she would not so much care for the fall of the town, but the French ships lie thick round the port, and there is no hope of breaking through."

Two days later the conspiracy came to a head, and the people, assembling round the countess' house, clamored for surrender. The breaches were open and the enemy might pour in at any time and put all to the sword. The countess begged for a little further delay, but in vain, and withdrew to the turret where she had for so many weary weeks watched the horizon, in hopes of seeing the sails of the approaching fleet. Walter was at the time with Sir John Powis on the walls. Presently a large body of French were seen approaching headed by Henry de Leon, who summoned the town to surrender. Many standing on the walls shouted that the gates should be thrown open; but Sir John returned for answer that he must consult the countess, and that upon her answer must depend whether he and his men would defend the breach until the last.

"Come with me, Walter," he said, "we must fain persuade the countess. If she says no, we Englishmen will die in the breach; but though ready to give my life for so brave a lady, I own that it is useless to fight longer. Save our own little band not one in the town will lift a sword again. Such resistance as we can offer will but inflame them to fury, and all the horrors of a sack will be inflicted upon the inhabitants. There she is, poor lady, on the turret, gazing, as usual, seaward."

Suddenly they saw her throw up her arms, and then turning toward the city she cried as she perceived the English knight, "I see them! I see them! The English fleet are coming!"

"Run up, Walter," Sir John exclaimed, "maybe the countess is distraught with her sorrows."

Walter dashed up to the turret, and looking seaward beheld rising over the horizon a number of masts.

"Hurrah! Sir John," he shouted, "we are saved, the English fleet is in sight."

Many others heard the shout, and the tidings ran like lightning through the town. In wild excitement the people ran to the battlements and roofs, and with cheering and clapping of hands hailed the appearance of the still far-distant fleet. The church bells rang out joyfully and the whole town was wild with excitement.

The Bishop of Quimper, finding that his plans were frustrated, gathered around him some of those who had taken a leading part in the intrigue. These, leaving the city by a gate at which they had placed some of their own faction to open it to the French, issued out and made their way to the assailants' camp, to give news of the altered situation. Don Louis at once ordered an attack to be made with his whole force, in hopes of capturing the place before the arrival of the English succor. But, animated by their new hopes, those so lately despondent and ready to yield manned the breaches and repulsed with great slaughter all attempts on the part of the French to carry them. While the struggle was still going on, the countess, aided by the wives of the burghers, busied herself in preparing a sumptuous feast in honor of her deliverers who were fast approaching, their ships impelled by a strong and favorable breeze. The vessels of the French hastily drew off, and the English fleet sailed into the port hailed by the cheers of the inhabitants. The countess herself received Sir Walter Manny on his landing, and the townspeople vied with each other in offering hospitality to the men-at-arms and archers.

"Ah! Sir John Powis," Sir Walter exclaimed, "what, are you here? I had given you up for lost. We thought you had gone down in the gale the night you started."

"We were separated from the fleet, Sir Walter, but the master held on, and we arrived here four days after we put out. We took part in the siege of Rennes, and have since done our best to aid the countess here."

"And their best has been much," the countess said; "not to say how bravely they have fought upon the walls, it is to Sir John and his little band that I owe it that the town was not surrendered days ago. They alone remained steadfast when all others fell away, and it is due to them that I am still able, as mistress of this town, to greet you on your arrival. Next to Sir John himself, my thanks are due to your young esquire, Walter Somers, who has cheered and stood by me, and to whose suggestions I owe it that I was able at the first to sally out and destroy the French camp while they were attacking the walls, and so greatly hindered their measures against the town. And now, sir, will you follow me? I have prepared for you and your knights such a banquet of welcome as our poor means will allow, and my townspeople will see that good fare is set before your soldiers."

That evening there was high feasting in the town, although the crash of the heavy stones cast by the French machines against the walls never ceased. Early the next morning Sir Walter Manny made a survey of the place and of the disposition of the enemy, and proposed to his knights to sally forth at once and destroy the largest of the enemy's machines, which had been brought up close to the walls. In a few minutes the knights were armed and mounted. Three hundred knights and esquires were to take part in the sortie; they were to be followed by a strong body of men-at-arms.

As soon as the gates were opened a number of archers issued out, and taking their place at the edge of the moat, poured a rain of arrows upon the men working the machine and those guarding it. Most of these took to flight at once; the remainder were cut down by the men-at-arms, who at once proceeded to hew the machine in pieces with the axes with which they were provided. Sir Walter himself and his mounted companions dashed forward to the nearer tents of the French camps, cut down all who opposed them, and setting fire to the huts retired toward the city.

By this time the French were thoroughly alarmed, and numbers of knights and men-at-arms dashed after the little body of English cavalry. These could have regained the place in safety, but in the chivalrous spirit of the time they disdained to retire without striking a blow. Turning their horses, therefore, and laying their lances in rest, they charged the pursuing French.

For a few minutes the conflict was desperate and many on both sides were overthrown; then, as large reënforcements were continually arriving to the French, Sir Walter called off his men and retired slowly. On reaching the moat he halted his forces. The knights wheeled and presented a firm face to the enemy, covering the entrance of their followers into the gate. The French chivalry thundered down upon the little body, but were met by a storm of arrows from the archers lining the moat. Many knights were struck through the bars of their vizors or the joints of their mail. The horses, though defended by iron trappings, fell dead under them, or, maddened by pain, dashed wildly through the ranks, carrying confusion with them, and the French commanders, seeing how heavy were their losses, called off their men from the assault. Sir Walter Manny with his party remained without the gate until the enemy had reëntered their camp, and then rode into the town amid the acclamations of the inhabitants, the countess herself meeting her deliverers at the gate and kissing each, one after the other, in token of her gratitude and admiration.

The arrival of the reënforcements and the proof of skill and vigor given by the English leader, together with the terror caused by the terrible effect of the English arrows, shook the resolution of Don Louis and his troops. Deprived of half their force by the absence of Charles of Blois, it was thought prudent by the leaders to withdraw at once, and the third morning after the arrival of Sir Walter Manny the siege was raised, and the French marched to join Charles of Blois before the castle of Auray.

Even with the reënforcements brought by Sir Walter Manny, the forces of the Countess of Montford were still so greatly inferior to those of the divisions of the French army that they could not hope to cope with them in the field until the arrival of the main English army, which the King of England himself was to bring over shortly. Accordingly the French laid siege to and captured many small towns and castles. Charles of Blois continued the siege of Auray, and directed Don Louis with his division to attack the town of Dinan. On his way the Spaniard captured the small fortress of Conquet and put the garrison to the sword. Sir Walter Manny, in spite of the inferiority of his force, sallied out to relieve it, but it was taken before his arrival, and Don Louis had marched away to Dinan, leaving a small garrison in Conquet. It was again captured by Sir Walter, but finding it indefensible he returned with the whole of his force to Hennebon. Don Louis captured Dinan and then besieged Guerande. Here he met with a vigorous resistance, but carried it by storm, and gave it up to be pillaged by his soldiers. He now sent back to Charles of Blois the greater part of the French troops who accompanied him, and embarked with the Genoese and Spanish, 8,000 in number, and sailed to Quimperlé, a rich and populous town in Lower Brittany.

Anchoring in the River Leita he disembarked his troops, and leaving a guard to protect the vessels marched to the interior, plundering and burning, and from time to time dispatching his booty to swell the immense mass which he brought in his ships from the sack of Guerande.

Quimperlé lies but a short distance from Hennebon, and Sir Walter Manny with Almeric de Clisson, a number of English knights, and a body of English archers, in all three thousand men, embarked in the ships in the port, and entering the Leita captured the enemy's fleet and all his treasure. The English then landed, and dividing into three bodies, set out in search of the enemy.

The English columns marched at a short distance apart so as to be able to give each other assistance in case of attack. The news of the English approach soon reached the Spaniards, who were gathered in a solid body, for the enraged country people, armed with clubs and bills, hung on their flanks and cut off any stragglers who left the main body. Don Louis at once moved toward the sea-coast, and coming in sight of one of the English divisions, charged it with his whole force.

The English fought desperately, but the odds of seven to one were too great, and they would have been overpowered had not the other two divisions arrived on the spot and fallen upon the enemy's flanks. After a severe and prolonged struggle the Genoese and Spaniards were completely routed. The armed peasantry slew every fugitive they could overtake, and of the 7,000 men with whom Don Louis commenced the battle only 300 accompanied him in his flight to Rennes, the troops of Sir Walter and De Clisson pursuing him to the very gates of that city. Sir Walter marched back with his force to the ships, but finding the wind unfavorable returned to Hennebon by land, capturing by the way the castle of Goy la Forèt. Their return was joyfully welcomed, not only for the victory which they had achieved, but because the enemy was again drawing near to the town. Auray had fallen. The brave garrison, after existing for some time upon the flesh of their horses, had endeavored to cut their way through the besiegers. Most of them were killed in the attempt, but a few escaped and made their way to Hennebon.

Vannes, an important town, and Carhaix quickly surrendered, and the French force was daily receiving considerable reënforcements. This arose from the fact that large numbers of French nobles and knights had, with their followers, taken part with Alfonso, King of Castile and Leon, in his war with the Moors. This had just terminated with the expulsion of the latter from Spain, and the French knights and nobles on their way home for the most part joined at once in the war which their countrymen were waging in Bretagne.

Seeing the great force which was gathering for a fresh siege of Hennebon, Sir Walter Manny and the Countess of Montford sent an urgent message to King Edward for further support. The king was not yet ready, but at the beginning of August he dispatched a force under the command of the Earl of Northampton and Robert of Artois. It consisted of twenty-seven knights bannerets and 2,000 men-at-arms. Before, however, it could reach Hennebon the second siege of that city had begun. Charles of Blois had approached it with a far larger army than that with which he had on the first occasion sat down before it. Hennebon was, however, much better prepared than at first for resistance. The walls had been repaired, provisions and military stores laid up, and machines constructed. The garrison was very much larger, and was commanded by one of the most gallant knights of the age, and the citizens beheld undaunted the approach of the great French army.

Four days after the French had arrived before Hennebon they were joined by Don Louis, who had been severely wounded in the fight near Quimperlé, and had lain for six weeks at Rennes. Sixteen great engines at once began to cast stones against the walls, but Sir Walter caused sand-bags to be lowered, and so protected the walls from the attack that little damage was done. The garrison, confident in their powers to resist, taunted the assailants from the walls, and specially enraged the Spaniards and Don Louis by allusions to the defeat at Quimperlé.

So furious did the Spanish prince become that he took a step unprecedented in those days of chivalry. He one morning entered the tent of Charles of Blois, where a number of French nobles were gathered, and demanded a boon in requital of all his services. Charles at once assented, when, to his surprise and horror, Prince Louis demanded that two English knights, Sir John Butler and Sir Hubert Frisnoy, who had been captured in the course of the campaign and were kept prisoners at Faouet, should be delivered to him to be executed. "These English," he said, "have pursued, discomforted, and wounded me, and have killed the nephew whom I loved so well, and as I have none other mode of vengeance I will cut off their heads before their companions who lie within those walls."

Charles of Blois and his nobles were struck with amazement and horror at the demand, and used every means in their power to turn the savage prince from his purpose, but in vain. They pointed out to him that his name would be dishonored in all countries where the laws of chivalry prevailed by such a deed, and besought him to choose some other boon. Don Louis refused to yield, and Charles of Blois, finding no alternative between breaking his promise and delivering his prisoners, at last agreed to his request.

The prisoners were sent for, and were informed by Don Louis himself of their approaching end. At first they could not believe that he was in earnest, for such a proceeding was so utterly opposed to the spirit of the times that it seemed impossible to them. Finding that he was in earnest they warned him of the eternal stain which such a deed would bring upon his name. The Spaniard, however, was unmoved either by their words or by the entreaties of the French nobles, but told them that he would give them a few hours to prepare for death, and that they should be executed in sight of the walls after the usual dinner hour of the army.

In those days sieges were not conducted in the strict manner in which they are at present, and non-combatants passed without difficulty to and fro between town and camp. The news, therefore, of what was intended speedily reached the garrison, whom it filled with indignation and horror. A council was immediately called, and Sir Walter Manny proposed a plan, which was instantly adopted.

Without loss of time Almeric de Clisson issued forth from the great gate of Hennebon, accompanied by 300 men-at-arms and 1,000 archers. The latter took post at once along the edge of the ditches. The men-at-arms rode straight for the enemy's camp, which was undefended, the whole army being within their tents at dinner. Dashing into their midst the English and Breton men-at-arms began to overthrow the tents and to spear all that were in them. Not knowing the extent of the danger or the smallness of the attacking force, the French knights sprang up from table, mounted, and rode to encounter the assailants.

For some time these maintained their ground against all assaults until, finding that the whole army was upon them, Almeric de Clisson gave order for his troop to retire slowly upon the town. Fighting every step of the ground and resisting obstinately the repeated onslaught of the French, Clisson approached the gate. Here he was joined by the archers, who with bent bows prepared to resist the advance of the French. As it now appeared that the garrison were prepared to give battle outside the walls, the whole French army prepared to move against them.

In the mean time Sir Walter Manny, with 100 men-at-arms and 500 horse archers, issued by a sally-port on the other side of the town, and with all speed rode round to the rear of the French camp. There he found none to oppose him save servants and camp-followers, and making his way straight to the tent of Charles of Blois, where the two knights were confined, he soon freed them from their bonds. They were mounted without wasting a moment's time upon two spare horses, and turning again the whole party rode back toward Hennebon, and had reached the postern gate before the fugitives from the camp reached the French commanders and told them what had happened.

Seeing that he was now too late, because of De Clisson's sortie, Charles of Blois recalled his army from the attack, in which he could only have suffered heavily from the arrows of the archers and the missiles from the walls. The same day, he learned from some prisoners captured in the sortie, of the undiminished spirit of the garrison, and that Hennebon was amply supplied by provisions brought by sea. His own army was becoming straitened by the scarcity of supplies in the country round; he therefore determined at once to raise the siege, and to besiege some place where he would encounter less serious resistance.

Accordingly next morning he drew off his army and marched to Carhaix.

Shortly afterward the news came that the Earl of Northampton and Robert of Artois, with their force, had sailed, and Don Louis, with the Genoese and other Italian mercenaries, started to intercept them with a large fleet. The fleets met off the island of Guernsey, and a severe engagement took place, which lasted till night. During the darkness a tremendous storm burst upon them and the combatants separated. The English succeeded in making their way to Brittany and landed near Vannes. The Spaniards captured four small ships which had been separated in the storm from their consorts, but did not succeed in regaining the coast of Brittany, being driven south by the storm as far as Spain. The Earl of Northampton at once laid siege to Vannes, and Sir Walter Manny moved with every man that could be spared from Hennebon to assist him.

As it was certain that the French army would press forward with all speed to relieve the town, it was decided to lose no time in battering the walls, but to attempt to carry it at once by assault. The walls, however, were so strong that there seemed little prospect of success attending such an attempt, and a plan was therefore determined upon by which the enemy might be thrown off their guard. The assault commenced at three points in the early morning and was continued all day. No great vigor, however, was shown in these attempts, which were repulsed at all points.

At nightfall the assailants drew off to their camp, and Oliver de Clisson, who commanded the town, suffered his weary troops to quit the walls and to seek for refreshment and repose. The assailants, however, did not disarm, but after a sufficient time had elapsed to allow the garrison to lay aside their armor two strong parties attacked the principal gates of the town, while Sir Walter Manny and the Earl of Oxford moved round to the opposite side with ladders for an escalade. The plan was successful. The garrison, snatching up their arms, hurried to repel their attack upon the gates, every man hastening in that direction. Sir Walter Manny with his party were therefore enabled to mount the walls unobserved and make their way into the town; here they fell upon the defenders in the rear, and the sudden onslaught spread confusion and terror among them. The parties at the gates forced their way in and joined their friends, and the whole of the garrison were killed or taken prisoners, save a few, including Oliver Clisson, who made their escape by sally-ports. Robert of Artois, with the Earl of Stafford, was left with a garrison to hold the town. The Earl of Salisbury, with four thousand men, proceeded to lay siege to Rennes, and Sir Walter Manny hastened back to Hennebon.

Some of Sir Walter's men formed part of the garrison of Vannes, and among these was Sir John Powis with a hundred men-at-arms.

The knight had been so pleased with Walter's coolness and courage at the siege at Hennebon that he requested Sir Walter to leave him with him at Vannes. "It is possible," he said to Walter, "that we may have fighting here. Methinks that Sir Walter would have done better to leave a stronger force. The town is a large one, and the inhabitants ill-disposed toward us. Oliver Clisson and the French nobles will feel their honor wounded at the way in which we outwitted them, and will likely enough make an effort to regain the town. However, Rennes and Hennebon are not far away, and we may look for speedy aid from the Earl of Salisbury and Sir Walter should occasion arise."

Sir John's previsions were speedily verified. Oliver Clisson and his friends were determined to wipe out their defeat and scattered through the country, raising volunteers from among the soldiery in all the neighboring towns and castles, and a month after Vannes was taken they suddenly appeared before the town with an army of 12,000 men, commanded by Beaumanoir, Marshal of Bretagne for Charles of Blois. The same reasons which had induced the Earl of Northampton to decide upon a speedy assault instead of the slow process of breaching the walls, actuated the French in pursuing the same course, and, divided into a number of storming parties, the army advanced at once to the assault on the walls. The little garrison prepared for the defense.

"The outlook is bad, Walter," Sir John Powis said. "These men approach with an air of resolution which shows that they are bent upon success. They outnumber us by twelve to one, and it is likely enough that the citizens may rise and attack us in the rear. They have been ordered to bring the stones for the machines to the walls, but not one has laid his hand to the work. We must do our duty as brave men, my lad, but I doubt me if yonder is not the last sun which we shall see. Furious as the French are at our recent success here, you may be sure that little quarter will be given."

CHAPTER X.

A PLACE OF REFUGE.

The French, excited to the utmost by the exhortations of their commanders, and by their desire to wipe out the disgrace of the easy capture of Vannes by the English, advanced with ardor to the assault, and officers and men vied with each other in the valor which they displayed. In vain did the garrison shower arrows and cross-bow bolts among them, and pour down boiling oil and quicklime upon them as they thronged at the foot of the wall. In vain were the ladders, time after time, hurled back loaded with men upon the mass below. The efforts of the men-at-arms to scale the defenses were seconded by their archers and cross-bowmen, who shot such a storm of bolts that great numbers of the defenders were killed. The assault was made at a score of different points, and the garrison was too weak to defend all with success. Sir John Powis and his party repulsed over and over again the efforts of the assailants against that part of the wall intrusted to them, but at other points the French gained a footing, and swarming up rushed along the walls, slaying all whom they encountered.

"All is lost," Sir John exclaimed; "let us fall back to the castle and die fighting there."

Descending from the wall the party made their way through the streets. The French were already in the town; every house was closed and barred, and from the upper windows the burghers hurled down stones and bricks upon the fugitives, while parties of the French soldiers fell upon them fiercely. Many threw down their arms and cried for quarter, but were instantly slain.

For awhile the streets were a scene of wild confusion; here and there little knots of Englishmen stood together and defended themselves until the last, others ran through the streets chased by their exulting foes, some tried in vain to gain shelter in the houses. Sir John Powis' band was soon broken and scattered, and their leader slain by a heavy stone from a housetop. Walter fought his way blindly forward toward the castle, although he well knew that no refuge would be found there. Ralph Smith kept close beside him, leveling many of his assailants with the tremendous blows of a huge mace. Somehow, Walter hardly knew how, they made their way through their assailants and dashed in at the castle gate. A crowd of their assailants were close upon their heels. Walter glanced round; dashing across the court-yard he ran through some passages into an inner yard, in which, as he knew, was the well. The bucket hung at the windlass.

"Catch hold, Ralph!" he exclaimed; "there is just a chance, and we may as well be drowned as killed." They grasped the rope and jumped off. The bucket began to descend with frightful velocity. Faster and faster it went and yet it seemed a long time before they plunged into the water, which was nigh a hundred feet below the surface. Fortunately the rope was considerably longer than was necessary, and they sank many feet into the water, still retaining their hold. Then clinging to the rope they hauled themselves to the surface.

"We cannot hold on here five minutes," Ralph exclaimed; "my armor is dragging me down."

"We will soon get rid of that," Walter said. "There go our helmets; now I will hold on with one hand and help you to unbuckle your breast and back pieces; you do the same for me."

With great efforts they managed to rid themselves of their armor, and then held on with ease to the rope. They hauled the bucket to the surface and tied a knot in the slack of the rope, so that the bucket hung four feet below the level of the water. Putting their feet in this, they were able to stand with their heads above the surface without difficulty.

"This is a nice fix," Ralph exclaimed. "I think it would have been just as well to have been killed at once. They are sure to find us here, and if they don't we shall die of cold before to-morrow morning."

"I don't think they will find us," Walter said cheerfully. "When they have searched the castle thoroughly it may occur to some of them that we have jumped down the well, but it will be no particular business of any one to look for us, and they will all be too anxious to get at the wine butts to trouble their heads about the matter; besides, it must be a heavy job to wind up this bucket, and it is not likely there will be such urgent need of water that any one will undertake the task."

"But we are no better off if they don't," Ralph remarked, "for we must die here if we are not hauled out. I suppose you don't intend to try and climb that rope. I might do twenty feet or so on a pinch, but I could no more get up to the top there than I could fly."

"We must think it over," Walter rejoined; "where there is a will there's a way, you know. We will take it by turns to watch that little patch of light overhead; if we see any one looking down we must leave the bucket and swim to the side without making the least noise. They may give a few turns of the windlass to see if any one has hold of the rope below; be sure you do not make the slightest splashing or noise, for the sound would be heard above to a certainty."

Ten minutes later they saw two heads appear above, and instantly withdrew their feet from the bucket and made a stroke to the side, which was but four feet distant, being careful as they did so that no motion was imparted to the rope. Then, though it was too dark to see anything, they heard the bucket lifted from the water. A minute later it fell back again with a splash, then all was quiet.

"We are safe now, and can take our place in the bucket. They are satisfied that if we did jump down here we are drowned. And now we must think about climbing up."

"Ay, that will require a good deal of thinking," Ralph grumbled.

For some time there was silence; then Walter said, "The first thing to do is to cut off the slack of the rope; there are some twelve feet of it. Then we will unwind the strands of that. There are five or six large strands as far as I can feel; we will cut them up into lengths of about a couple of feet, and we ought to be able to tie these to the rope in such a way as not to slip down with our weight. If we tie them four feet apart we can go up step by step; I don't see much difficulty about that."

"No," Ralph said much more cheerfully, "I should think that we could manage that."

They at once set to work. The rope was cut up and unraveled, and the strands cut into pieces about two feet long. They then both set to work trying to discover some way of fastening it by which it would not slip down the rope. They made many fruitless attempts; each time that a strand was fastened with a loop large enough for them to pass a leg through, it slid down the rope when their weight was applied to it. At last they succeeded in finding out a knot which would hold. This was done by tying a knot close to one end of a piece of the strand, then sufficient was left to form the loop, and the remainder was wound round the rope in such away that the weight only served to tighten its hold.

"Shall we begin at once?" Ralph said, when success was achieved.

"No, we had better wait until nightfall. The vibration of the rope when our weight once gets on it might be noticed by any one crossing the court-yard."

"Do you think we have sufficient bits of rope?" Ralph asked.

"Just enough, I think," Walter replied; "there were six strands, and each has made six pieces, so we have thirty-six. I know the well is about a hundred feet deep, for the other day I heard some of the soldiers who were drawing water grumbling over the labor required. So if we put them three feet apart it will take thirty-three of them, which will leave three over; but we had better place them a little over a yard so as to make sure."

In a short time the fading brightness of the circle of light far overhead told them that twilight had commenced, and shortly afterward they attached the first strand to the rope some three feet above the water.

"Now," Walter said, "I will go first, at any rate for a time. I must put one leg through the loop, and sit, as it were, while I fasten the one above, as I shall want both hands for the work. You will find it a good deal easier to stand with your foot in the loop. If I get tired I will fasten another loop by the side of that on which I am resting, so you can come up and pass me. There is no hurry. It ought not to take up above an hour, and it will not do for us to get to the top until the place becomes a little quiet. To-night they are sure to be drinking and feasting over their victory until late."

They now set to work, and step by step mounted the rope. They found the work less arduous than they had expected. The rope was dry, and the strands held tightly to it. Two or three times they changed places, resting in turn from their work; but in less than two hours from the time they made the first loop Walter's head and shoulders appeared above the level of the court-yard. He could hear sounds of shouting and singing within the castle, and knew that a great feast was going on. Descending a step or two he held parley with Ralph.

"I think, perhaps, it will be better to sally out at once. Everyone is intent on his own pleasure, and we shall have no difficulty in slipping out of the castle unnoticed. All will be feasting and rioting in the town, and so long as we do not brush against any one so that they may feel our wet garments we are little likely to be noticed; besides, the gates of the town will stand open late, for people from the villages round will have come in to join in the revels."

"I am ready to try it, Master Walter," Ralph replied, "for I ache from head to foot with holding on to this rope. The sooner the better, say I."

In another minute both stood in the court-yard. It was a retired spot, and none were passing. Going along the passage they issued into the main yard. Here great fires were blazing, and groups of men sat round them drinking and shouting. Many lay about in drunken sleep.

"Stay where you are in the shade, Ralph. You had best lie down by the foot of the wall. Any one who passes will think that you are in a drunken sleep. I will creep forward and possess myself of the steel caps of two of these drunkards, and if I can get a couple of cloaks so much the better."

There was no difficulty about the caps, and by dint of unbuckling the cloaks and rolling their wearers gently over, Walter succeeded at last in obtaining two of them. He also picked up a sword for Ralph—his own still hung in its sheath—and then he joined his companion, and the two putting on the steel caps and cloaks walked quietly to the gate. There were none on guard, and they issued unmolested into the town. Here all was revelry. Bonfires blazed in the streets. Hogsheads of wine, with the heads knocked out, stood before many of the houses for all to help themselves who wished. Drunken soldiers reeled along shouting snatches of songs, and the burghers in the highest state of hilarity thronged the ways.

"First of all, Ralph, we will have a drink of wine, for I am chilled to the bone."

"Ay, and so am I," Ralph replied. "I got hot enough climbing that rope, but now the cold has got hold of me again, and my teeth are chattering in my head."

Picking up one of the fallen vessels by a cask they dipped it in and took a long draught of wine; then, turning off from the principal streets, they made their way by quiet lanes down to one of the gates. To their dismay they found that this was closed. The French commanders knew that Sir Walter Manny or Salisbury might ere this be pressing forward to relieve the town, and that, finding that it had fallen, they might attempt to recapture it by a sudden attack. While permitting, therefore, the usual license, after a successful assault, to the main body of their forces, they had placed a certain number of their best troops on the walls, giving them a handsome largess to make up for their loss of the festivities.

At first Walter and his friend feared that their retreat was cut off for the night, but several other people presently arrived, and the officer on guard said, coming out, "You must wait awhile; the last batch have only just gone, and I cannot keep opening and closing the gate; in half an hour I will let you out."

Before that time elapsed some fifty or sixty people, anxious to return to their villages, gathered round the gate.

"Best lay aside your steel cap, Ralph, before we join them," Walter said. "In the dim light of that lamp none will notice that we have no head gear, but if it were to glint upon the steel cap the officer might take us for deserters and question us as to who we are."

Presently the officer came out from the guard-room again. There was a forward movement of the little crowd, and Walter and Ralph closed in to their midst. The gates were opened, and without any question the villagers passed out, and the gates were shut instantly behind them.

Walter and his comrade at once started at a brisk pace and walked all night in the direction of Hennebon. Their clothes soon dried, and elated at their escape from danger they struggled on briskly. When morning broke they entered a wood, and lay there till evening, as they feared to continue their journey lest they might fall into the hands of some roving band of French horse. They were, too, dog-tired, and were asleep a few minutes after they lay down. The sun was setting when they awoke, and as soon as it was dark they resumed their journey.

"I don't know what you feel, Master Walter, but I am well-nigh famished. It is thirty-six hours since I swallowed a bit of food, just as the French were moving to the attack. Hard blows I don't mind—I have been used to it; but what with fighting, and being in the water for five or six hours, and climbing up that endless rope, and walking all night on an empty stomach, it does not suit me at all."

"I feel ravenous too, Ralph, but there is no help for it. We shall eat nothing till we are within the walls of Hennebon, and that will be by daylight to-morrow if all goes well. Draw your belt an inch or two tighter, it will help to keep out the wolf."

They kept on all night, and in the morning saw to their delight the towers of Hennebon in the distance. It was well that it was no further, for both were so exhausted from want of food that they could with difficulty drag their legs along.

Upon entering the town Walter made his way at once to the quarters of the leader. Sir Walter had just risen, and was delighted at the sight of his esquire.

"I had given you up for dead," he exclaimed. "By what miracle could you have escaped? Are you alone?"

"I have with me only my faithful follower, Ralph Smith, who is below; but, Sir Walter, for mercy's sake order that some food be placed before us, or we shall have escaped from the French only to die of hunger here. We have tasted naught since the attack on Vannes began. Have any besides us escaped?"

"Lord Stafford contrived, with two or three others, to cut their way out by a postern-gate, bringing with them Robert of Artois, who is grievously wounded. None others, save you and your man-at-arms, have made their way here."

In a few minutes a cold capon, several manchets of bread, and a stoop of wine were placed before Walter, while Ralph's wants were attended to below. When he had satisfied his hunger the young esquire related his adventures to Sir Walter and several other knights and nobles, who had by this time gathered in the room.

"In faith, Master Somers, you have got well out of your scrape," Sir Walter exclaimed. "Had I been in your place I should assuredly have perished, for I would a thousand times rather meet death sword in hand than drop down into the deep hole of that well. And your brains served you shrewdly in devising a method of escape. What say you, gentlemen?"

All present joined in expressions of praise at the lad's coolness and presence of mind.

"You are doing well, young sir," the English leader went on, "and have distinguished yourself on each occasion on which we have been engaged. I shall be proud when the time comes to bestow upon you myself the order of knighthood if our king does not take the matter off my hands."

A little later Robert of Artois died of his wounds and disappointment at the failure of his hopes.

In October King Edward himself set sail with a great army, and landing in Brittany early in November, marched forward through the country and soon reduced Ploermel, Malestrail, Redon, and the rest of the province in the vicinity of Vannes, and then laid siege to that town. As his force was far more than sufficient for the siege, the Earls of Norfolk and Warwick were dispatched in the direction of Nantes to reconnoiter the country and clear it of any small bodies of the enemy they might encounter. In the mean time Edward opened negotiations with many of the Breton lords, who, seeing that such powerful aid had arrived for the cause of the Countess of Montford, were easily persuaded to change sides. Among them were the Lords of Clisson, Moheac, Machecoul, Retz, and many others of less importance.

The Count of Valentinois, who commanded the garrison of Vannes, supported the siege with great courage and fortitude, knowing that Charles of Blois and the King of France were collecting a great army for his relief. Uniting their forces, they advanced toward the town. Before the force of the French, 40,000 strong, the Earl of Norfolk had fallen back and rejoined the king; but even after this junction the French forces exceeded those of Edward fourfold. They advanced toward Vannes and formed a large intrenched camp near that of the English, who thus, while still besieging Vannes, were themselves inclosed by a vastly superior force. The King of France himself arrived at the French camp. The French, although so greatly superior, made no motion toward attacking the English, but appeared bent upon either starving them out or forcing them to attack the strongly intrenched position occupied by the French.

Provisions were indeed running short in the English camp, and the arrival of supplies from England was cut off by a strong fleet under Don Louis, which cruised off the coast and captured all vessels arriving with stores. At this moment two legates, the Cardinal Bishop of Preneste and the Cardinal Bishop of Tusculum, arrived from the pope and strove to mediate between the two sovereigns and to bring about a cessation of hostilities, pointing out to them the scandal and desolation which their rivalry caused in Christendom, the waste of noble lives, the devastation of once happy provinces, and the effusion of innocent blood. Going from camp to camp they exhorted, prayed, and reproached the rival sovereigns, urging that while Christians were shedding each other's blood in vain, the infidels were daily waxing bolder and more insolent. Their arguments would have been but of little use had either of the monarchs felt sure of victory. King Edward, however, felt that his position was growing desperate, for starvation was staring him in the face, and only by a victory over an immensely superior force in a strongly intrenched position could he extricate himself. Upon the part of the French, however, circumstances were occurring which rendered them anxious for a release from their position, for they were not without their share of suffering. While the English army lay on a hill the French camp was pitched on low ground. An unusually wet season had set in with bitterly cold wind. The rain was incessant, a pestilence had destroyed a vast number of their horses, and their encampment was flooded. Their forces were therefore obliged to spread themselves over the neighboring fields, and a sudden attack by the English might have been fatal.

Thus distress pressed upon both commanders, and the pope's legates found their exertions at last crowned with success. A suspension of hostilities was agreed to, and the Dukes of Burgundy and Bourbon on the one side and the Earls of Lancaster, Northampton, and Salisbury on the other met as commissioners and agreed to a convention by which a general truce was to be made from the date of the treaty to the following Michaelmas, and to be prolonged from that day for the full term of three years. It was agreed that the truce should embrace not only the sovereigns, but all the adherents of each of them. The truce was to hold good in Brittany between all parties, and the city of Vannes was to be given into the hand of the cardinals to dispose of as they chose. It was specially provided that in the case of any of the adherents of either party in the duchies of Gascony and Brittany waging war against each other, neither of the monarchs should either directly or indirectly meddle therewith, nor should the truce be at all broken thereby.

Immediately the treaty was signed, on the 19th of January, 1343, the King of France dismissed his army, and Edward sailed for England with the greater part of his troops. The Countess of Montford and her son accompanied him, and the possessions of her husband in Brittany were left to the guardianship of her partisans, with a small but choice body of English troops.

The towns which had fallen into their hands and still remained were Brest, Quimper-Corentin, Quimperlé, Redon, and Guerande; Vannes was handed over to them by the cardinals, and Hennebon, of course, remained in their possession.

Walter returned to England with Sir Walter Manny, and on reaching London was received with delight by his old friends Geoffrey Ward and Giles Fletcher, who were never tired of listening to his tales of the wars. Dame Vernon also received him with great kindness, and congratulated him warmly upon the very favorable account which Sir Walter Manny had given of his zeal and gallantry.

The time now for awhile passed very quietly. Walter and the other young squires practiced diligently, under the instructions of Sir Walter, at knightly exercises. Walter learned to bear himself well on horseback and to tilt in the ring. He was already a skillful swordsman, but he spared no pains to improve himself with his weapons. The court was a gay one, and Walter, as a favored esquire of one of the foremost knights there, was admitted to all that took place. His courtly education, of course, included dancing, and when he went down, as he often did, for a long chat with his old friends, Geoffrey often said, laughing, that he was growing such a fine gentleman that he hardly liked to sit in his presence; but although changed in manner, Walter continued to be, as before, a frank, manly young fellow, and free from the affectations which were so general among the young men of the court.

CHAPTER XI.

A STORMY INTERVIEW.

Soon after Walter's return from France Dame Vernon returned to her country estate, and a year passed before he again saw her. During this time the truce which had been established between England and France had remained unbroken. It was certain, however, that ere long the two powers would again come to blows. The King of England had honorably observed the terms of the treaty. Upon his return home he had entirely disbanded his army and had devoted his whole attention to increasing the trade and prosperity of the country. The measures which he took to do this were not always popular with the people of England, for seeing how greatly they excelled the English manufacturers Edward encouraged large numbers of Flemings and other foreign workmen to settle in London, and gave them many privileges to induce them to do so; this the populace strongly resented. There was a strong ill-feeling against the Flemings and serious popular riots took place, for the English traders and workmen considered that these foreigners were taking the bread from their mouths. The king, however, was wiser than his people, he saw that although the English weavers were able to produce coarse cloths, yet that all of the finer sort had to be imported from the Continent. He deemed that in time the Flemings would teach their art to his subjects, and that England would come to vie with the Low Countries in the quality of her produce. Such was indeed afterward the case, and England gained greatly by the importation of the industrious Flemings, just as she afterward profited from the expulsion from France of tens of thousands of Protestant workmen who brought here many of the manufactures of which France had before the monopoly. The relations between England and the Flemings were at this time very close, for the latter regarded England as her protector against the ambition of the King of France.

But while King Edward had laid aside all thought of war, such was not the case with Philip of Valois. He had retired after the signature of the treaty full of rage and humiliation; for hitherto in all their struggles his English rival had had the better of him, and against vastly superior forces had foiled all his efforts and had gained alike glory and military advantage. King Edward had hardly set sail when Philip began to break the terms of truce by inciting the adherents of Charles of Blois to attack those of De Montford, and by rendering assistance to them with money and men. He also left no means untried to detach Flanders from its alliance with England. Several castles and towns in Brittany were wrested from the partisans of De Montford, and King Edward, after many remonstrances at the breaches of the conditions of the truce, began again to make preparations for taking the field. Several brilliant tournaments were held and every means were taken to stir up the warlike spirit of the people.

One day Walter had attended his lord to the palace and was waiting in the anteroom with many other squires and gentlemen, while Sir Walter, with some other noblemen, was closeted with the king, discussing the means to be adopted for raising funds for a renewal of the war with France, when a knight entered whom Walter had not previously seen at court.

"Who is that?" he asked one of his acquaintances; "methinks I know his face, though it passes my memory to say where I have seen it."

"He has been away from England for some two years," his friend answered. "That is Sir James Carnegie; he is a cousin of the late Sir Jasper Vernon; he left somewhat suddenly a short time after Dame Vernon had that narrow escape from drowning that you wot of; he betook himself then to Spain, where he has been fighting the Moors; he is said to be a valiant knight, but otherwise he bears but an indifferent good reputation."

Walter remembered the face now; it was that of the knight he had seen enter the hut of the river pirate on the Lambeth marshes. When released from duty he at once made his way to the lodging of Dame Vernon. Walter was now nineteen, for a year had elapsed since the termination of the French war, and he was in stature and strength the match of most men, while his skill at knightly exercises, as well as with the sword, was recognized as preeminent among all the young esquires of the court.

After the first greeting he said to Dame Vernon: "I think it right to tell you, lady, that I have but now, in the king's anteroom, seen the man who plotted against your life in the hut at Lambeth. His face is a marked one and I could not mistake it. I hear that he is a cousin of yours, one Sir James Carnegie, as you doubtless recognized from my description of him. I came to tell you in order that you might decide what my conduct should be. If you wish it so I will keep the secret in my breast; but if you fear aught from him I will openly accuse him before the king of the crime he attempted, and shall be ready to meet him in the ordeal of battle should he claim it."

"I have seen Sir James," Lady Vernon said. "I had a letter writ in a feigned hand telling him that his handiwork in the plot against my life was known, and warning him that, unless he left England, the proofs thereof would be laid before justice. He at once sailed for Spain, whence he has returned but a few days since. He does not know for certain that I am aware of his plottings against us; but he must have seen by my reception of him when he called that I no longer regard him with the friendship which I formerly entertained. I have received a message from him that he will call upon me this evening, and that he trusts he will find me alone, as he would fain confer with me on private matters. When I have learned his intentions I shall be the better able to judge what course I had best adopt. I would fain, if it may be, let the matter rest. Sir James has powerful interest, and I would not have him for an open enemy if I can avoid it; besides, all the talk and publicity which so grave an accusation against a knight, and he of mine own family, would entail, would be very distasteful to me; but should I find it necessary for the sake of my child, I shall not shrink from it. I trust, however, that it will not come to that; but I shall not hesitate, if need be, to let him know that I am acquainted with his evil designs toward us. I will inform you of as much of our interview as it is necessary that you should know."

That evening Sir James Carnegie called upon Dame Vernon. "I would not notice it the other day, fair cousin," he said, in return for her stiff and ceremonious greeting; "but methinks that you are mightily changed in your bearing toward me. I had looked on my return from my long journeying for something of the sisterly warmth with which you once greeted me, but I find you as cold and hard as if I had been altogether a stranger to you. I would fain know in what way I have forfeited your esteem."

"I do not wish to enter into bygones, Sir James," the lady said, "and would fain let the past sleep if you will let me. Let us, then, turn without more ado to the private matters concerning which you wished to speak with me."

"If such is your mood, fair dame, I must needs fall in with it, though in no way able to understand your allusion to the past, wherein my conscience holds me guiltless of aught which could draw upon me your disfavor. I am your nearest male relative, and as such would fain confer with you touching the future of young Mistress Edith, your daughter. She is now nigh thirteen years of age, and is the heiress of broad lands; is it not time that she were betrothed to one capable of taking care of them for her, and leading your vassals to battle in these troubled times?"

"Thanks, Sir James, for your anxiety about my child," Dame Vernon said coldly. "She is a ward of the king. I am in no way anxious that an early choice should be made for her; but our good Queen Philippa has promised that, when the time shall come, his majesty shall not dispose of her hand without my wishes being in some way consulted; and I have no doubt that when the time shall come that she is of marriageable age—and I would not that this should be before she has gained eighteen years, for I like not the over young marriages which are now in fashion—a knight may be found for her husband capable of taking care of her and her possessions; but may I ask if, in so speaking to me, you have any one in your mind's eye as a suitor for her hand?"

"Your manner is not encouraging, certes; but I had my plan, which would, I hoped, have met with your approval. I am the young lady's cousin, and her nearest male relative; and although we are within the limited degrees, there will be no difficulty in obtaining a dispensation from Rome. I am myself passably well off, and some of the mortgages which I had been forced to lay upon my estates have been cleared off during my absence. I have returned home with some reputation, and with a goodly sum gained in the wars with the Moors. I am older than my cousin, certainly; but as I am still but thirty-two, this would not, I hope, be deemed an obstacle, and methought that you would rather intrust her to your affectionate cousin than to a stranger. The king has received me very graciously, and would, I trust, offer no opposition to my suit were it backed by your good-will."

"I suppose, Sir James," Dame Vernon said, "that I should thank you for the offer which you have made; but I can only reply, that while duly conscious of the high honor you have done my daughter by your offer, I would rather see her in her grave than wedded to you."

The knight leaped from his seat with a fierce exclamation. "This is too much," he exclaimed, "and I have a right to know why such an offer on my part should be answered by disdain, and even insolence."

Dame Alice Reveals Sir James' Villainy.—Page 187.

"You have a right to know," Dame Vernon answered quietly, "and I will tell you. I repeat that I would rather see my child in her grave than wedded to a man who attempted to compass the murder of her and her mother."

"What wild words are these?" Sir James asked sternly. "What accusation is this that you dare to bring against me?"

"I repeat what I said, Sir James," Dame Alice replied quietly. "I know that you plotted with the water pirates of Lambeth to upset our boat as we came down the Thames; that you treacherously delayed us at Richmond in order that we might not reach London before dark; and that by enveloping me in a white cloak you gave a signal by which I might be known to your creatures."

The knight stood for a moment astounded. He was aware that the fact that he had had some share in the outrage was known, and was not surprised that his cousin was acquainted with the secret; but that she should know all the details with which but one besides himself was, as he believed, acquainted, completely stupefied him. He rapidly, however, recovered himself.

"I recall now," he said scornfully, "the evidence which was given before the justices by some ragged city boy, to the effect that he had overheard a few words of a conversation between some ruffian over in the Lambeth marshes and an unknown person; but it is new to me indeed that there was any suspicion that I was the person alluded to, still less that a lady of my own family, in whose affection I believed, should credit so monstrous an accusation."

"I would that I could discredit it, Sir James," Dame Vernon said sadly; "but the proofs were too strong for me. Much more of your conversation than was narrated in court was overheard, and it was at my request that the ragged boy, as you call him, kept silence."

"And is it possible," the knight asked indignantly, "that you believed the word of a fellow like this to the detriment of your kinsman? Why, in any court of law the word of such a one as opposed to that of a knight and gentleman of honor would not be taken for a moment."

"You are mistaken, sir," Dame Vernon said haughtily. "You may remember, in the first place, that the lad who overheard this conversation risked his life to save me and my daughter from the consequences of the attack which he heard planned; in the second place, he was no ragged lad, but the apprentice of a well-known citizen; thirdly—and this is of importance, since he has recognized you since your return, and is ready, should I give him the word, to denounce you—he is no mere apprentice boy, but is of gentle blood, seeing that he is the son of Sir Roland Somers, the former possessor of the lands which I hold, and that he is in high favor with the good knight Sir Walter Manny, whose esquire he now is, and under whom he distinguished himself in the wars in France, and is, as Sir Walter assures me, certain to win his spurs ere long. Thus you see his bare word would be of equal value to your own, besides the fact that his evidence does not rest upon mere assertion; but that the man in the hut promised to do what you actually performed, namely, to delay me at Richmond, and to wrap me in a white cloak in order that I might be recognized by the river pirates."

Sir James was silent. In truth, as he saw, the evidence was overwhelmingly strong against him. After awhile he stammered out, "I cannot deny that I was the man in question; but I swear to you that this boy was mistaken, and that the scoundrel acted altogether beyond my instructions, which were simply that he should board the boat and carry you and your daughter away to a safe place."

"And with what object, sir," Dame Vernon said contemptuously, "was I to be thus taken away?"

"I do not seek to excuse myself," the knight replied calmly, having now recovered his self-possession, "for I own I acted wrongly and basely; but in truth I loved you, and would fain have made you my wife. I knew that you regarded me with only the calm affection of a kinswoman; but I thought that were you in my power you would consent to purchase your freedom with your hand. I know now that I erred greatly. I acknowledge my fault, and that my conduct was base and unknightly, and my only excuse is the great love I bore you."

"And which," the lady said sarcastically, "you have now transferred to my daughter. I congratulate you, Sir James, upon the possession of a ready wit and an invention which does not fail you at a pinch, and of a tongue which repeats unfalteringly any fable which your mind may dictate. You do not, I suppose, expect me to believe the tale. Still, I own that it is a well-devised one, and might, at a pinch, pass muster; but fear not, Sir James. As hitherto I have kept silence as to the author of the outrage committed upon me, so I have no intention of proclaiming the truth now unless you force me to do so. Suffice that both for myself and for my daughter I disclaim the honor of your hand. So long as you offer no molestation to us, and abstain from troubling us in any way, so long will my mouth be sealed; and I would fain bury in my breast the memory of your offense. I will not give the world's tongue occasion to wag by any open breach between kinsfolk, and shall therefore in public salute you as an acquaintance, but under no pretense whatever will I admit you to any future private interview. Now leave me, sir, and I trust that your future life will show that you deeply regret the outrage which in your greed for my husband's lands you were tempted to commit."

Without a word Sir James turned and left the room, white with shame and anger, but with an inward sense of congratulation at the romance which he had, on the spur of the moment, invented, and which would, he felt sure, be accepted by the world as probable, in the event of the share he had in the matter being made public, either upon the denunciation of Dame Vernon or in any other manner.

One determination, however, he made, and swore, to himself, that he would bitterly avenge himself upon the youth whose interference had thwarted his plans, and whose report to his kinswoman had turned her mind against him. He, at any rate, should be put out of the way at the first opportunity, and thus the only witness against himself be removed; for Lady Vernon's own unsupported story would be merely her word against his, and could be treated as the malicious fiction of an angry woman.

The following day Dame Vernon sent for Walter, and informed him exactly what had taken place.

"Between Sir James and me," she said, "there is, you see, a truce. We are enemies, but we agree to lay aside our arms for the time. But, Walter, you must be on your guard. You know as well as I do how dangerous this man is, and how good a cause he has to hate you. I would not have divulged your name had I not known that the frequency of your visits here and the encouragement which I openly give you as the future suitor of my daughter, would be sure to come to his ears, and he would speedily discover that it was you who saved our lives on the Thames and gave your testimony before the justices as to the conversation in the hut on the marshes. Thus I forestalled what he would in a few days have learned."

"I fear him not, lady," Walter said calmly. "I can hold mine own, I hope, against him in arms, and having the patronage and friendship of Sir Walter Manny I am above any petty malice. Nevertheless, I will hold myself on my guard. I will, so far as possible, avoid any snare which he may, as 'tis not unlikely, set for my life, and will, so far as I honorably can, avoid any quarrel with which he may seek to saddle me."

A few days later Walter again met Sir James Carnegie in the king's anteroom, and saw at once, by the fixed look of hate with which he had regarded him, that he had already satisfied himself of his identity. He returned the knight's stare with a cold look of contempt. The knight moved toward him and in a low tone said, "Beware, young sir, I have a heavy reckoning against you, and James Carnegie never forgets debts of that kind!"

"I am warned, Sir James," Walter said calmly, but in the same low tone, "and, believe me, I hold but very lightly the threats of one who does not succeed even when he conspires against the lives of women and children."

Sir James started as if he had been struck. Then with a great effort he recovered his composure, and, repeating the word "Beware!" walked across to the other side of the chamber.

The next day Walter went down the river and had a talk with his friend Geoffrey.

"You must beware, lad," the armorer said when he told him of the return of Sir James Carnegie and the conversation which had taken place between them. "This man is capable of anything, and careth not where he chooseth his instruments. The man of the hut at Lambeth has never been caught since his escape from Richmond Jail—thanks, doubtless, to the gold of his employer—and, for aught we know, may still be lurking in the marshes there, or in the purlieus of the city. He will have a grudge against you as well as his employer, and in him Sir James would find a ready instrument. He is no doubt connected, as before, with a gang of water pirates and robbers, and it is not one sword alone that you would have to encounter. I think not that you are in danger just at present, for he would know that, in case of your murder, the suspicions of Dame Vernon and of any others who may know the motive which he has in getting rid of you would be excited, and he might be accused in having had a share in your death. Still, it would be so hard to prove aught against him that he may be ready to run the risk in order to rid himself of you. Look here, Walter. What think you of this?" and the smith drew out from a coffer a shirt of mail of finer work than Walter had ever before seen.

"Ay, lad, I knew you would be pleased," he said in answer to Walter's exclamation at the fineness of the workmanship. "I bought this a month ago from a Jew merchant who had recently come from Italy. How he got it I know not, but I doubt if it were honestly, or he would have demanded a higher price than I paid him. He told me that it was made by the first armorer in Milan, and was constructed especially for a cardinal of the church, who had made many enemies by his evil deeds and could not sleep for fear of assassination. At his death it came, the Jew said, into his possession. I suppose some rascally attendant took it as a perquisite, and, knowing not of its value, sold it for a few ducats to the Jew. However, it is of the finest workmanship. It is, as you see, double, and each link is made of steel so tough that no dagger or sword point will pierce it. I put it on a block and tried the metal myself, and broke one of my best daggers on it without a single link giving. Take it, lad. You are welcome to it. I bought it with a special eye to you, thinking that you might wear it under your armor in battle without greatly adding to the weight; but for such dangers as threaten you now it is invaluable. It is so light and soft that none will dream that you have it under your doublet, and I warrant me it will hold you safe against the daggers of Sir James' ruffians."

Walter did not like taking a gift so valuable, for his apprenticeship as an armorer had taught him the extreme rarity and costliness of so fine a piece of work. Geoffrey, however, would not hear of his refusal, and insisted on his then and there taking off his doublet and putting it on. It fitted closely to the body, descending just below the hips, and coming well up on the neck, while the arms extended to the wrists.

"There!" the smith said with delight. "Now you are safe against sword or dagger, save for a sweeping blow at the head, and that your sword can be trusted to guard. Never take it off, Walter, save when you sleep; and except when in your own bed, at Sir Walter Manny's, I should advise you to wear it even at night. The weight is nothing, and it will not incommode you. So long as this caitiff knight lives, your life will not be safe. When he is dead you may hang up the shirt of mail with a light heart."