The Fall of the Grand Sarrasin / Being a Chronicle of Sir Nigel de Bessin, Knight, of Things that Happed in Guernsey Island, in the Norman Seas, in and about the Year One Thousand and Fifty-Seven

Stout and thick-set as I saw him on his Arabian steed, he sat in his golden chair, clad in black velvet, with buttons of glittering jewels. I looked up through the dim light to see his face, but lo! I saw naught, for a little veil of black gauze was stretched round from a small gold cap upon his head. And I remembered how it was current talk that no man had ever seen Le Grand Geoffroy's face in war or peace, and that a terrible mystery lay beneath this veil of gauze, through which he gazed on his men.

Upon his ceasing, the interpreter presently approached, and bade me tell my name, and whither I went in that boat, and what my business. Now, I was determined to answer nothing, lest ill be done to the good cause of my friends, so I said not a word. Then at a word from the Sarrasin, Mahmud said—

"Silence avails not, Nigel of Vale Abbey; we know thee and thy business, and have power to know more!"

At this I forgot caution, and replied hotly—"My name thou knowest, and it is not a name that a man need be ashamed of; more shalt thou fail to learn, for all thy craft."

This I hurled madly at Le Grand Geoffroy on his throne, but he stirred not.

"Thou wilt tell us," proceeded the black-bearded ruffian, "how many there be shut up in Vale, what thou knowest of their treasuries, what store of food they have, and the disposition of their sentinels at nightfall."

My answer was a gaze of angry scorn.

The Grand Sarrasin bent down to the interpreter, and when he had spoken, he came forward like a herald, and spake thus—

I smiled defiance at the cunning monster. "Yea! yea!" I said, "thou wouldst have me add to my other woes the woe of treachery! Geoffroy, if that be thy name, know thou my friends' matters are safe in my own keeping."

Again the Sarrasin bent and conversed with Mahmud, and the little bag they had robbed from my neck was taken to him, the which he opened, and curiously handled the ring that lay therein, with its motto, "Loyal devoir," and the letter "A."

To a sad dungeon beneath the ground was I led, exceeding dark, for the only light entered through a narrow slit in the rocky roof; and I saw that the walls and roof were rugged and rough, half cavern and half cell. Alas! alas! sad moment indeed it was when I was thrust therein, with my arms bound to my back and my wounds still undrest, my body stiff and full of pain, and my head dizzy and heavy after so great excitement. Helplessly enough I crawled around the rocky walls, and found a barrier that seemed framed of wood across the entry. I felt, and found that it hung like a great gate on a bar of iron that ran through holes cut in the solid rock. I looked in despair up to the narrow slip above. In agony of spirit I even for a short space threw myself as I might against the door, against the rock.

"Hush, lad," he said, "fear me not, for I come hither as a friend! And if thou art to be saved from torture and death, thou must trust me as the saint trusts his God. Wilt thou do this?"

I murmured beneath my breath that I did not doubt him, and bade him for the sake of God not to delay.

"Thou dost not know me, Nigel de Bessin," he said, "but I know thee already, and with many another stood this day in yonder antechamber and heard thy words to Geoffroy. Now, those words I loved to hear, and I have been in a struggle since I heard thee, the one part of me saying, 'Save this lad,' and the other part counselling me to let thee die. But I am here to save thee."

"Yea! yea!" I broke in; "but how may it be done?"

With that he vanished out of the cell, and hope again sprang up in my heart, and I thanked Heaven for sending me such aid in my woes, even here in the womb of the earth.

The cell had been dark before. Now it was black as night, and having eaten my friend's goodly parcel of food, I was refreshed, and eagerly awaited his return. Presently he was with me, and softly rolling the great door on its hinge, let me swiftly through into the long earthy passage that led upward. We traversed many yards, and I know not what treasures I saw heaped hastily on this side or on that, and I saw at the end, where the path passed forth, the form of the sentinel at his post. Now all our hope lay in what that moment chanced. He lolled easily against the rock, gazing forth, as I thought dreamily, into the open. My companion drew me along on tiptoe till we were even a pace behind him. We were so close that I think I heard him breathe. Then rapidly the man felt a scarf round his mouth and wiry fingers at his throat, so that he could make no sound.

"Strike, Nigel!" said my comrade. "There is little time for mercy!"

He fell heavily backward. I drew forth the dagger, and we ran swiftly for the cover of the side of a building. Along the wall we crept warily and without sound, and the next moment I saw my deliverer swing himself upon a bough that hung within his reach. In his train I followed, as he caught wondrous craftily in the darkness now at this branch, now at that, and more than once passed like an ape or squirrel of the woodland from tree to tree. At last I looked down and saw the wall loom from below, and the branch whereon I clung spread across the wall into the open. There we dropped down right nimbly as I remember a full ten feet, and the branch swung back from our hands noiselessly, and without sound we passed swiftly on hands and knees for a space under the near shelter of the forest brushwood.

Nothing was said till we were a round two hundred yards within, and then my friend pointed to a little path, for the moon was risen.

"Yonder, dear lad," he said, "lies thy way to the Vale, and I must now be for a space a dead man in the woods, outcast even of the pirates."

"Nay, friend," said I, "I go not back to the Vale till I come with force to release them from their woes."

"Yea," I said, "thither must lie my road, and I pray thee to help me on my way, for indeed I fear to fall into Geoffrey's jaws again; and now three days are lost that should have brought me nearer to William."

"If it be indeed thy will," he said, "and indeed thou couldst not will better, since, as the case is, yonder castle could not many weeks withstand the Sarrasin, thou must come with me, and on the road to my good friend, to whom I journey for safety, I will ponder over this matter, and concert a scheme, whereby the wish of thy heart may be carried out. Meanwhile, trust me, good child, as so far thou hast nobly done."

"One thing, good friend," I said, as we swung along southward, "what is thy name, that I may know whom I may thank for this wonderful deliverance."

My comrade laughed strangely at my words, and answered hastily—

"For names, lad, we are not over-ready with them in the château yonder. Ofttimes their sound, compared with their ring in other days, bringeth more pain than joy. You may call me, if thou wilt, Des Bois, for indeed I love the woodland. And for thanks, lad, thank me with a kind word and trustful look, and a good stroke of the sword, if that be needful ever for mine honour."

"Ay, good lad, we will weave thee a rope to Normandy both strong and subtle, and witty withal, and thou shalt hear its texture when we arrive yonder; but as the night wears on, we must ride faster, or trot ourselves, since steed are lacking, so let us not lose time."

With that indeed he broke into a nimble run, and I followed. And ere half a mile was passed, we were out of the forest and by the shore of the sea, hard by Cobo Bay, and keeping still close to cover, lest danger should arise—for the pirates had their sentinels in huts in every small harbour of the isle—we ere long were by La Perelle Bay, and I could see on Lihou the dim outline of the monastery.

"The chapel of good St. Apolline!" I said in surprise, for I knew well that little shrine by the coast, where the fisher-people made supplication for good weather and success in their craft, and hung up their poor offerings for the holy saint's honour.

"Ay, that it is," said Des Bois. "Now will we find its guardian at his vigils."

He oped with ease the latch of the lowly door of the hut, and we found, indeed, no saint at matins or prime, but only the priest of St. Apolline, curled on his wood settle in honest slumber, and snoring lustily withal.

Des Bois gazed at him with a merry smile, and presently tweaked him merrily by the ear, crying out—

"Up, good hog! up, griskin-knave! up, lubber! and provide meet entertainment for honest men."

"Ralf! Ralf!" sang out the priest in alarm, as he leapt from his poor couch. "What make you here at this hour of night?"

"Often hast thou," answered Des Bois, "with sage reproof bid me turn to an honest and a sober life, and now I have turned to the side of the holy saints. Lo! I have cut my ropes this night, and am free again. Free, that is to say, if thou wilt hide me for a season, and do thy good offices for Nigel here, who indeed hath saved me, as I him."

But I was glad, before they ceased, to wash away the blood from my wounds, and all the dust and sweat of my capture and escape. And after much washing in the brook, I felt well-nigh a new man; and sitting down at the priest's rough board, we next refreshed ourselves with such store as the good man had. And after we had eaten, Des Bois, whose name I now knew was Ralf, began to explain the plan by means of which I was still to journey safely to Normandy.

"Hark you, good Nigel," said Ralf. "I have discovered a rare likeness betwixt you and our Father, this dear Augustine. Indeed, saving for the marks of time, ye might be brothers of one birth. Now, it likes me not to cast away prodigally such rare aid given by Mother Nature to our designs. So, look you, you shall journey to Normandy as Father Augustine, priest of St. Apolline's in Guernsey, while Father Augustine and I, dear yoke-fellows of old, shall betake ourselves, as once or twice before, to the nether-world for a season."

Father Augustine smiled his assent to the scheme, as I asked hastily—

"But, even so, how will the knaves yonder let me pass?"

"And it is well for thee, good lad," said Augustine, "that thou art better suited than this rogue to figure harmlessly as a priest that men trust. But surely it will aid thee much in carrying through this scheme that thou wast bred amid monks, and churchmen, and art used to their ways of act and speech. Yea, lad, with a bold step and an easy manner thou wilt be safer beneath my cloak in the open than if by secret paths thou essayedst never so warily to cheat the Sarrasin's sentinels."

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.

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!

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?"

"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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

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.

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

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

"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—

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?"

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.

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.

"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."

"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.

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.

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.

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."

"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."

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."

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.

"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.