"Yield thee!" said Richard, taking away his sword. "We will care for thy boat."

Loudly laughed the O'Rourke at Neville's triumph; and he smote down a man-at-arms right across the fallen De Renly.

"Hout, my Lord of Wartmont!" he shouted. "Thou art a good sword! On, Ulster and Connaught! Ireland forever! Hew them down, ye men of the fens! We have a doughty captain!"

Even in that boast it was shown that some of Richard's men—not those of Longwood—had doubted him on account of his youth, in spite of the tale of his victory over Clod the Club.

The rush of the French boarders was checked, but not repelled, so many they were and so desperate; but they met now another force. A cunning man was Ben o' Coventry, and fit to be a captain; for he had drawn away a number of Welsh and Irish and some bowmen, for whom there was no room in the waist of the ship. He led them to the prow, which was almost bare of men, save a few archers. It had swung away at first, but now it was hugging closely the high forecastle of La Belle Calaise.

"Forward, my men!" he shouted. "It is our turn to board! Slay as ye go!"

They rushed against a cluster of mere sailor-men, half armed, who had been posted there to keep them out of the way. They were hardly soldiers, although they were fierce enough; and they were mere cattle before the rush of Ben o' Coventry and his mighty followers. The Welshmen spared none of them; and soon the French in the deep waist of La Belle Calaise, pressing forward to reinforce their half-defeated boarders, were suddenly startled by a deadly shower of darts and arrows that fell upon them from their own forecastle. Then, as they turned in dismay, they shouted to their comrades upon the Golden Horn:

"Back! back! lest our own ship be lost. The English have boarded us!"

There was a moment of hesitation; and so at that critical moment no help came to the remaining Frenchmen in the waist of the Golden Horn. They were even outnumbered, since all the archers in the wooden forts fore and aft, twanging their deadly bows almost in safety, counted against the bewildered boarders. No more knights came down from La Belle Calaise. The common men were falling like corn before the reaper.

"On!" shouted Richard. "It is our fight now! Short work is good work!"

The O'Rourke yelled something in the old Erse tongue, and his giants followed him as he fought his way to the side of Richard Neville; but David Griffith summoned his remaining Welshmen, and was followed also by two score of Kentish bowmen, as he hastened forward to join Ben o' Coventry and his daring fellows on the forecastle of La Belle Calaise. It was time, for there were good French knights yet left to lead in a desperate attempt to dislodge them. It was, however, as if the deck or roof of that wooden fort, made with bulwarks and barricades to protect it against all enemies of France, had been just as well prepared to be held by an English garrison. Moreover, all manner of weapons had been put there, ready for use; and among these were pikes and lances with which the Welshmen could thrust at the men who tried to climb the ladders from the waist, while the archers shot for dear life, unerringly.

"My Lord Beaumont," shouted one of the French men-at-arms, "all of our boarders on the English ship are down or taken. Not one is left. Here come the Neville and his tigers. God and St. Denis! We are lost!"

"Courage!" returned Beaumont. "Fight on; we shall overcome them yet!"

But a heavy mace, hurled by a big Cornishman on the forecastle, at that moment smote him on the helm. He fell stunned, while his dismayed comrades shrank back from the storm of English arrows and from the mad rush of Richard and his men-at-arms and the O'Rourke and his Irish axemen.

The French were actually beaten in detail, their greater numbers at no time doing them any good.

In each part of the fight they had had fewer men at the front, and the few that now remained fit to fight seemed to be in a manner surrounded.

"Quarter, if thou wilt surrender!" cried Richard to a knight with closed visor, with whom he was crossing swords.

"Quarter!" came faintly back, "Surrender!" and then he sank upon one knee, for he was wounded by an arrow in the thigh.

"All good knights yield themselves to me!" again shouted Richard in French. "They who hold out are lost!"

More than one of them still fought on in a kind of despair, but others laid down their swords at the feet of Richard. As for any other of the defenders of La Belle Calaise, it was sad to seek them; for the Golden Horn had no man left on board of her save Jack of London at the helm, and the English pikes were everywhere plying mercilessly.

"Leave not one!" shouted the O'Rourke hoarsely to his kerns. "Not one of us had they spared if we had been taken. Let Lord Wartmont care for his gentlemen. They will all pay ransom."

So quickly all was over; and all that was left of the force which that morning had crowded the deck under the brave Monsieur de Gaines was less than half of his brave gentlemen, hardly one of them without a wound.

The Sieur de Beaumont had now recovered his senses; but as he arose and looked around him, he exclaimed:

"Lord Richard of Wartmont, I would thou wouldst show me the mercy to throw me into the sea. How shall I face my king after such a disgrace as this!"

"'Twas not thy fault, brave sir," said Richard courteously. "It is the fortune of war. Say to thy king from me, that thy ship was lost when the Comte de Gaines tumbled so many of his force into the Golden Horn. Thou mayest say that he knew not how ready were we to meet him."

"The traitorous Fleming——" began the count, but Richard interrupted him.

"Not traitor to thee," he said. "He is dead indeed; and his trap caught not us, but thee and thy commander. How art thou now, Sieur de Renly? I thank thee for slipping well, else thy good sword had done thee better service."

Like a true gentleman, the brave youth spoke kindly to them all, and their hurts were cared for. The several ransoms for each knight were agreed upon; but they had now no further need for armor, and they were soon appareled only in clothing of wool and linen, or silk and leather, as the case might be.

As for the ships, they had sustained small injury in the fight. Now that it was over, the grapplings were cast off, and each rode the waves on its own account. It was hard to provide skilled crews for both, but a shift was made by dividing the seamen, and by such selections as could be had from among the soldiery. Jack of London was made the sailing master of the Golden Horn, and a seafaring man from Hull was in like manner put in charge of La Belle Calaise.

There was now no crowding of men upon either ship; but there was much care to be given to so many scores of wounded.

The fog had cleared away, and the Golden Horn, with her prize, could make a pretty straight course for La Hogue, thanks to a change in the wind.

"Art thou hurt at all?" asked Guy the Bow, when he next met his young commander.

"Nay," said Richard, "unless bruises and a sore head may count for hurts. But we have lost a third part of our force, killed or wounded."

"Well that we lost not all, and our own lives," said Guy. "'Twas close work for a while. Glad am I that our Lady of Wartmont is to hear no bad news."

"Aye," said Richard; "and now I will tell thee, thou true man, when I write to her I will bear thee witness that to thee and Ben o' Coventry is it due that she hath not lost her son."

"I would like her to think well of me," said Guy, smiling with pleasure; "but I pray thee speak well to the prince of the O'Rourke and his long-legged kerns, and of David Griffith. They deserve well of the king."

"Trust me for that," said Richard. "And now, ere the dark hour, I must read my mother's letter. Truth to tell, I could not so much as look at it while I was watching that traitor Fleming, and preparing for what I thought might come. I have already thanked all the men and visited my prisoners. Brave ransom will some of them pay."

"And the prize money for us all," added Guy, with a chuckle. "We may be rich when we return from France."

So he went forward, and Richard sat down to his letter, to read the good words his mother sent him, and to dream of Wartmont and of Longwood, and of the old days before the war.

Then there was sleeping, save for those who could not sleep for their hurts or their misfortunes. It was well on in the forenoon of the following day before the Golden Horn and her captive companion sailed gayly in among the forest of masts that had gathered at La Hogue.

Only a short hour later the young Lord of Wartmont, with some of his chosen followers and those of his prisoners that were highest in rank, stood in an open space among the camps of King Edward's army.

The king himself was there, and with him were earls and knights and captains not a few. By his side stood the brave Black Prince; but it was to the king that Richard and those who were with him bent the knee, while the young man made his report of the taking of La Belle Calaise.

He was modest enough; but the bright eyes of the prince kindled finely as he heard it, and he said in a low voice to his father:

"Did I not tell thee I was right to intrust a ship to him?"

"The boy did well," said the king dryly, for he was a man hard to please. "Thou Richard of Wartmont, honor to thee and thy merry men all! Thou and the prince are to win spurs of knighthood, side by side, ere we sail again for England. Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt will bid thee where to go."

Richard bent low, and rose to his feet. Sir Geoffrey stepped forward to speak to the Sieur de Renly and the other captured knights. The archers and men-at-arms of Richard's command stood still where they were, waiting for orders; but the Black Prince beckoned Richard aside to get from him the full particulars of a fray so gallantly fought and won.

"I envy thee," he said, "thy hand-to-hand close with De Renly. Thou hast fine war fortune with thee; and the king is ever better pleased than he will tell."

It must have been so, for at that moment King Edward was turning to a noble-looking knight who stood near him:

"Cousin John Beauchamp of Warwick," he said, "thou mayest be proud of thy young kinsman. Those of thy blood are apt to make good captains."

"Thanks, sire," responded the Earl of Warwick, flushing with pride. "I trust there may never fail thee plenty of stout Beauchamps and Nevilles to stand in the front rank of the gallant men of England. But I pray thee, mark how the boy handled his archers and his Irishmen——"

"And how he watched the traitors and trapped the treason," laughed a gray-bearded warrior at his side. "He hath his wits about him."

"Yea, Norfolk," said the king with a gloom upon his face; "the men who are to defend England and defeat her enemies must watch against treason by night and by day. 'Twas a Fleming that set the trap for the Golden Horn; and the men who are to march with us against Philip of Valois are all from our own islands. Not a man below a man-at-arms can even speak French."

So the king's wisdom spoke for itself, while Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt and the prince sent Richard Neville and his brave men to the camp where they were to pass the night; for the whole army was to march away next morning.

CHAPTER VII. THE GREAT PLAN OF THE KING.

The exact place of the landing of King Edward had been at a harbor called St. Vast, northerly from Cape La Hogue, and the King of France believed him still at sea, on his way to Gascony or Guienne, that there he might strike a blow for the sadly beset forces of the Earl of Derby. There was no need for camping long on the shore that the English forces might be put into good marching order. Even as they landed their proper divisions were assigned them. When the next morning sun arose, it was known to all that the king had named the Earl of Arundel his constable, to abide with himself; also that he had named the Earl of Warwick and Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt marshals of the army. The left wing was to be commanded on the march by Sir Geoffrey, and the right wing by the earl. All who were to be with the earl, however, were moving along the coast, southerly, in the morn. In like manner went the fleet, taking many prizes of armed ships and merchantmen.

It was the earl's first errand to take or to disable a place called Barfleur, where was a very strong castle, that from it might come forth no harm to any English force to be left at the St. Vast landing.

Side by side rode Richard and his uncle, and the earl questioned him much of his doings on the Golden Horn.

"Thou hast done well," he said, "but I like it not that thou art with me. It were better thou shouldst ride with Harcourt. Seest thou not that, as we are ordered now, he will lead the van and I the rear guard? I shall take these towns and many another, but he will be first at Caen, and that is the prize of Normandy."

"I hear 'tis a great place," said Richard, "but I like it that to us it is given to strike the first blow in France."

Even as he spoke a mounted scout came galloping back to report that Barfleur was in sight, and that English war ships were sailing into the harbor.

The earl drew rein and raised his baton, uttering no word; but a hundred or so of men-at-arms who were behind him shouted loudly and dashed by, spurring toward the front.

"Thy bowmen next!" shouted the earl to Richard. "Follow the knights closely. The pikemen are already far ahead. If it be God's will, we will sweep the town in an hour."

Hotly rushed Richard's blood as he pressed on, followed by three hundred of the archers of Arden. Hardly he knew what time had passed after that until he found himself halted to watch while axemen battered at a town gate and pikemen placed ladders to mount a wall. His archers meantime were making targets of whoever might show himself among the wall battlements.

"Is this the way a town is taken?" he exclaimed. "I deemed there were more delay. There go the good knights, up the ladders and through the gate! 'Twas but badly made, to be broken in so soon. On, men of Arden! Follow me!"

Follow they did, and some good archery work befell them after they entered the town, but the English were even too many for the capture and pillage of so small a place.

"It was no battle, my Lord," Richard said to the earl two hours later, as they met in the great square in the center of the town. "But we have taken Barfleur."

"That have we," said the earl, "and that is all. Look yonder!"

Across long rows of intervening houses gazed the young captain as the earl pointed. There was a rocky height, and upon it arose the towers and the turreted walls of a great castle.

"I see," said Richard. "It hath a strong look. How shall we take it?"

"Not at all," replied the earl marshal, laughing. "He who holdeth it for the King of France refused to yield it, and well he may. We could hammer at it in vain all summer. All the need is to hem in the garrison somewhat by the taking of the town. The English army will march on and waste no time. Take thou therefore a lesson in good war craft. Thy king will make no blunder of throwing away strength upon mere stone work on a hill calling itself a castle."

"I will bear it in mind," said Richard. "I would have thought it must needs be taken."

Loud laughed the earl marshal, but already his officers were recalling the troops from the sacking of the town, that all his force might turn again to rejoin the army of the king, that had been marching northward.

Stretched out along the roads and levels, but moving steadily, were all the divisions of the forces of King Edward. The last of them, with much munition of war, was even now disembarking from the shipping at St. Vast, for it taketh care and time to transfer horses and matters of weight from a deck to a beach. When the night fell all camps were made with care, as became good generalship, although there was fair certainty that no considerable armed force of foemen could be near at hand.

Morn came, and in its first hours Richard was galloping on to the center with a writing from the Earl of Warwick to the king, but to the prince was it delivered, and he read.

"This to my father," said he heartily; "but I am glad that the earl should please to have thee with me and with Harcourt. And thou hast seen a town taken? Never the same saw I, and I know not how I am to win spurs tramping these roads without a French man-at-arms in sight!"

Nevertheless he went to the king and came again, and they twain rode on together talking of the war.

"The earl sendeth word," said the prince, "that he will waste no time nor men in vainly besieging the castle of Cherbourg. We need it not, but we shall sack Carenton before to-morrow night."

"Knoweth the king," asked Richard, "at what place mustereth the host of France?"

"Our last news," replied the prince, "putteth Philip in Aquitaine, full far away from Paris. Were the king so minded he could get there first."

"And take the capital city of France?" exclaimed Richard. "That were grand! We shall press onward, then?"

"That will we," said the prince, "but not to take a city we can not hold. Small good were it to be shut up there by half the hosts of Europe. But we can draw away the French from Derby's front, and we can win Calais."

"Win Calais by a march through Normandy?" sprang from the lips of Richard. "I see not well how that can be. What were Calais, compared with Paris?"

"It is the sorest thorn in the side of England, saith my father," replied the prince. "Even the Channel and the British seas are but half our own while that harbor is a refuge for the fleets of France and a nesting place for all manner of pirates. We must take and hold it, as we hold Dover. It hath but one strong defense."

"I have heard that its walls are strong," said Richard, "and that it can stand a long siege by sea and land."

"Long and hard it well may be," laughed the prince, "but sieges have an end, and towns are taken if the besiegers themselves be not routed in their camps. The defense of Calais against us is this army of the King of France. Until that shall be utterly beaten the town is safe. Thou wilt yet see clearly the wisdom of the king."

There was another night's camping and the Carenton town surrendered, but the castle thereof detained Earl Warwick and his power during two more days, while the main host marched on. Town after town that lay along its broad road of desolation either opened its gates without resistance or was shortly stormed and plundered. Long lines of wains were all the while traveling back to St. Vast and other seaports, that the ships might convey the captured goods and treasures to safe keeping in England.

This was the manner of all warring in those days, and sore was the distress of the people of Normandy. They were brave enough, but they had neither great captains nor any central body of an army whereunto they might rally. For their mere numbers they could have eaten up the English army, but what are numbers that are scattered vainly over a great province?

Daily did the prince and Richard draw nearer to each other, as they found occasion for meeting; but the duties of the young heir of Wartmont were now with the advance, under Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt. Small fighting had he seen, but many a deed of pillage that was sad to look upon, and he was learning how terrible a thing is war.

"God keep it from merry England!" he often thought, and yet he knew that all the messengers from home brought rumors that a Scottish host was gathering fast to take advantage of King Edward's absence.

"Evil to them!" he said angrily. "If the good archbishop be also training the men of the north counties and the middle, I trust Sir Robert Johnstone will face them with bowmen as good as are those of Longwood and Arden. We can give him no aid, but to-morrow we shall get to Caen."

The prince was with the king that night and Richard saw him not. Nor was there message for him to carry in the morn, but there came to him a summons from Marshal de Harcourt.

"Richard of Wartmont," said his captain when they met, "Sir Thomas Holland and Sir Peter Legh, with knights and men-at-arms, form the advance on Caen. With them go thou and double thy number of the archers of Arden. With thee will also be the Irish and the Welsh, for I learn that the people of this town have gone mad with conceit. They will face us outside of their walls. If we may break their front, we may enter Caen in their foolish company."

Like word went back to the king, praying him to hasten, that he might see his standard lifted over the capital of Normandy.

Good was the planning of De Harcourt, for, as the English van emerged early that day, behold a numerous but motley and ill-ordered array of armed citizens and country folk, drawn out to meet them. With them were many knights and men-at-arms, but the marshal spoke truly when he said of them:

"An army that is not an army. We will scatter them like chaff!"

"Seest thou yonder town?" asked Sir Thomas Holland of Richard, as they paused on the brow of a low hill to let the bowmen come up.

Richard looked earnestly, for the walls were wide-reaching, and they seemed to be high and strong. On one side of the great town arose a castle of surpassing splendor, and he had heard that the Governor of Caen, Sir John de Blargny, held it with three hundred Genoese crossbowmen and other forces. There were church spires also, and of these arose one higher than the rest, at which Sir Thomas pointed with his lance.

"In a crypt of that church," he said, "rest the bones of William the Conqueror. From this town did he and his host march to the overthrow of King Harold at Hastings."

Richard gazed in silence, but he heard strange words among the bowmen behind him, speaking the ancient tongue.

"'Tis good hearing," said Guy the Bow. "As he and his Normans did to England, so have the Saxons under King Edward done to Normandy. The conquest is ours this time!"

"The tables are turned," said Ben of Coventry, "and rare hath been the plundering. But we have yet fought no fight like that of Hastings. Until then we shall not be even with the French. I shall shoot closely that day when it shall come."

Deep, therefore, was the bitterness that grew from the old time. Alas, that it did not cease, and that during centuries more the old feud rankled murderously in the hearts of Englishmen, so that even their Norman kings made use of it as a power whereby to rally armies to fight the outland men beyond the sea!

Forward now dashed the English van, all shouting loudly, but no battle did await them. Mayhap they were in greater force than the men of Caen expected, or that the latter bethought them suddenly how good were stone walls to fight behind. At all events, there were few volleys of arrows sent before the French muster broke and ran back in confusion toward the open gates.

"Forward!" shouted Sir Thomas. "The middle gateway! There be good knights there, all tangled in the press. They can neither fight nor flee. Brave ransom to be won! Press on!"

Even he and his own knights could make little better speed than might the bowmen on foot, but the French men-at-arms were already jammed one against another in the narrow passage by which they had hoped to retreat into the city. There could be no closing of the gate, but over it was a small fortalice, with a broad stairway leading up to it. Down sprang the good knights, for here seemed a refuge, as if it were a place wherein they might defend themselves.

Much rather was it a trap in which they were to be taken helplessly. In vain they manned the battlements, for up the stairway after them poured Richard Neville's bowmen and axemen, with Sir Thomas Holland, Sir Peter Legh, and a dozen other knights.

"Down with them, Richard of Wartmont!" shouted Guy the Bow, and the shafts began to fly.

But in front of the Frenchmen in that tower stepped forth a knight in gorgeous armor, who shouted boldly:

"Sir Thomas Holland, dost thou not know thine old-time comrade against the Prussian heathen and the Saracens of Grenada? I am the Count of Eu and Guignes, Constable of France, and with me is the Count of Tancarville. These all be knights of note. But we are betrayed to thine hand by these cowardly townspeople."

So they surrendered all, while through the gateway below dashed Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt, his men-at-arms, and a great tide of spearmen and bowmen. At no great distance behind them rode the king and the prince, and it was but little before the Earl of Northampton raised the royal standard over that very gateway fort in token that Caen had fallen.

The walls were won, indeed, but not the whole town or the castle. On to the center and to the townhall pressed Harcourt, and with him now was Richard. Every house was a small fort, however, and all doors were closed and barred. Not for their goods only, but for their very lives, did the inhabitants of Caen believe themselves to be contending. In the upper stories and garrets of the buildings had they prepared munitions of heavy stones, beams, and the like, and these did they now rain down upon the ranks of the English soldiery. Many were slain or wounded thereby. Brave knights were stricken from their horses to lie helpless upon the pavement.

All these things were witnessed by the king himself when he and the prince and those who were with them rode through the gate of the city. An angry man was he to be stoned and to narrowly escape destruction in a street of a place which he had already taken.

Sir Geoffrey and his men were at the townhall now, and one of their first works had been to search for and to seize the official records and archives. It had been better for Normandy if all these things had perished, but none had looked for so sudden an entry of the English, so that the writings remained. These were delivered to the king on his arrival. He read from page to page, and his hot wrath burned yet more hotly. Among the captured manuscripts was one under the seal royal of France, and it was a covenant between the King and the people of Caen and of Normandy for their service against the English king. Already had there been good proof that the Normans had greatly favored an invasion of England like that of William the Conqueror. Here was fresh proof thereof, with more that was as poison.

Fierce and hasty was the next speech of the angry king, for he commanded that the city should be given up to sack and pillage, without mercy to man or woman. It had been a terrible deed to do, for the soldiery were greatly enraged already, and some of their deeds had been cruel. Well was it then for all that Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt was a wise man and humane as well as a good war captain, for he spoke plainly to King Edward.

"Dear sire," he said, "restrain thy courage a little, I pray thee, and be satisfied with what thou hast done. Thou hast a long journey before thou shalt get to Calais, where thou intendest to go."

Much more he said and argued, and all the while the king grew calmer.

"Sir Geoffrey," he replied at last, "thou art our marshal; therefore order as thou shalt please, for this time we wish not to interfere."

Nevertheless, in the speech of the marshal had been published the secret counsel of the king and the real purpose of the campaign from before the army left England. There were those even in later days who maintained that Edward had sailed at a venture, and had marched at random, without set plan or purpose, but they knew him not very well, nor did they hear his chief captain answer him at Caen thus early in the campaign.

Out rode then Sir Geoffrey from street to street, with banners displayed, declaring full mercy to the townsfolk if they would cease fighting, and commanding, on pain of death, that no English soldier should harm or insult either man or woman.

So the massacre was stayed, but for all that there was vast plunder taken.

Richard was with the prince once more for a little while, and to him he spoke of the purpose of the Normans to invade England.

"They thought to do as in Harold's time," he said. "There had been great mischief, truly, if they could have landed."

"Not so," replied the prince. "I heard Sir Geoffrey and the king on that head. No other battle of Hastings could have come, for the Archbishop of York hath force enough to face the Scots. King Harold had to fight and beat the Welsh first, and then the Northmen under Hardrada, before he turned, with what army he had left, to meet William of Normandy. An invasion now would meet the whole array of England at one field, with Welsh and Irish many thousands. Moreover, in England there were neither forts nor castles in Harold's day, while now there are too many for the peace of the realm. So said my royal father, for the castles can be well held even against the power of the king."

"The Saxons fought well," said Richard.

"Aye, that did they," replied the prince, "and well do we know that thou and thine are of them. Wilt thou tell me, Richard of Wartmont, why thou and thy Saxons all are so strong for the Crown? Are we not of Norman blood?"

"Yea, that ye are," said Richard, "but of Saxon royalty of descent as well. We all do know that truth. But above all do the people of every kindred look to see the king stand between them and the barons. So are we his lithsmen, nor can any take us out of his hand. He is our king!"

"Stay where thou art!" exclaimed the prince; "I will bear that word to the king ere it is cold in my thought."

Away he rode, and he had to dismount and enter the townhall before he could have speech with his father. That which he said was heard by no other ears, but the face of the king grew red with pleasure.

"Truly," he said low-voiced, "the youth and his people are wiser than I knew! Herein is a point of statecraft fit to be an heirloom of the British kings. I will wear it. The king of the people hath no need to fear the power of his barons. I have seen it long. There shall be more and larger parliaments henceforth, and the Commons may speak their will freely. I am less at the bidding of my proud earls. I have henceforth no fear of Philip of France, but I must win Calais, if only for the good of my merchantmen. We will march thither speedily, as soon as I shall have smitten hard this huge mustering of Philip the unwise."

The prince came not back, nor did he afterward give to Richard the words of the king; but the writers who in due season recorded the history of those times had many things to write concerning the kindly relations that grew up between Edward and the Commons, especially all merchants and artisans and seafaring men.

There were days of seeming rest for the army, but these were largely spent in good training, lest discipline should have been injured on the march. On one of these days came a summons from Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt to Richard Neville, and when he obeyed it he found the two marshals together. Earl Warwick was the first to speak.

"Good news for thee, Richard," he said. "Thy gateway fort was a fine trap for thy fortune. The king hath purchased of Sir Thomas Holland, Sir Peter Legh, and the knights and thee, the ransom of the Constable of France and Lord Tancarville. He payeth twenty thousand rose nobles of gold, and thy share will be made good. All thy other prizes will be sure to thee in my own hand, for I send all to thy mother at Warwick. Thou wilt be richer than was ever thy father, if thou shalt hold on as thou hast begun."

Great was the joy of Richard, and earnest were his thanks to the kindly earl; but he had now to hear from his commander.

"Hearken thou well," he said. "Take thou thine own companies and such as shall be named to thee by Sir Peter Legh. March out at the northern gate and follow the road he will name to thee. Speak not to any concerning thy errand, and thou thyself hast need to know no more. But if any stranger shall attempt to march with thee, slay thou him on the spot."

"See that thou obey in silence," added the earl. "I trust in God that I shall see thee again, but do thou thy duty utterly caring not for thy blood or thy life."

Richard bowed low, for his heart was dancing within him at the prospect of new adventure, and he did but say:

"God save the king! And I pray thee, tell my mother I did my duty utterly."

"Go thou," said the earl.

"Haste thee also," came from Sir Geoffrey, "for thine is the vanguard."

O what pride for one so young—to be ordered to the front of a secret foray!

Nevertheless, in the very street, as Richard rode to the camp of his bowmen, he was met and halted by the prince.

"Richard of Wartmont," he said, but not loudly, "thou hast thy orders?"

Richard bowed low.

"So have I mine!" exclaimed the prince. "Not all the fortune of this campaign is to be thine alone. Thou shalt see me with my sword out before thou art older. There are blows to strike, and I am to be in the mêlée, as becomes me. Haste thee now, and fare thee well until I see thee again."

It had been ill to answer in words, but Richard bowed again and rode onward.

It was at the gate that he met Sir Peter Legh with further instructions. A good knight was Sir Peter and broad in the shoulders, but he stood a fathom and half a handbreadth in his stature—a sore antagonist for any man to face in field or tourney, and having experience of many a hard-fought field.

"Thou of Wartmont," he said dryly, "since I am to have company of thee and thine, well. It is De Harcourt's word to me. He is my commander. Thou mayest lead older and better men fairly enough. I will tell thee what to do."

"I was ahead of all but thee in the gate of Caen," responded Richard a little freely, for he was but young in temper. "Thou wilt not find me a pace behind thee if so be there is fighting or climbing to be done."

"That there will be," growled Sir Peter. "Thou art nimble enough, but other men are bigger in the bones. But it is said of thee that thou hast good fortune, and that is a grand thing in a fray. I will go to thy men with thee and learn what timber I am to build with."

So strong in the minds of all men was the belief that even more than lance or sword or counsel was the thing they called fortune. But better for the army and for the taking of Calais were the long preparation and the subtle wisdom of Edward the Third.

Few were the words of Sir Peter as they twain rode onward, save to give his youthful comrade full and clear directions as to the road by which he was to march. He knew, however, that the burly knight eyed him keenly from time to time, as if he were trying to read what value he might have as a soldier.

Then came they to the camp, and Sir Peter turned his eyes in like manner upon Guy the Bow and the men of Longwood.

"I ask the marshal's pardon," he grumbled testily. "If their chief be only a boy, his clansmen are long in the legs. Every man a pardoned outlaw, I am told, and half of kin to the Neville. Look you!" he spoke loudly to Guy the Bow, "ye all are to march with Richard of Wartmont."

"Aye, Sir Peter," said Guy. "He is our captain. We have fought for him ere this, shoulder to shoulder."

"Thou art malapert!" exclaimed Sir Peter. "Guard thou thy tongue, lest I teach thee a lesson thou needest. The lash is near thee!"

Hot as fire glowed the brown cheeks of Guy the Bow, and he strode one pace nearer.

"I know thee, Sir Peter Legh," he said. "Thou art a good lance enough, but who gave thee the ill wisdom to speak of the lash to the free archers of Arden?"

Right well astonished was Sir Peter, for at every side, as he looked beyond Guy, did the tall foresters spring to their feet, and full a score of them had arrows on the string. He heard rough speaking in a tongue which he did not fully understand, but one voice that was louder than the rest was of ordinary English.

"We are not dogs, nor serfs, nor villains," it declared, "that we should be whipped for free speech. We are free men. If yonder man-at-arms layeth but a finger upon Guy the Bow or upon my Lord of Wartmont, I will send this shaft through his midriff."

"Richard Neville, what meaneth this?" exclaimed Sir Peter Legh. "Whose men are these?"

"We belong to the Wartmont, under the Earl of Warwick," spoke out Ben of Coventry, "and through the earl we are the king's men. Look thou well to that."

"Sir Peter," said Richard sturdily, "there was no cause of offense to thee."

"These, then, are yeomen?" asked Sir Peter, with a grim smile that meant much.

"Never was collar of serf upon the neck of an archer of Arden," replied Richard. "Free they were born, and free they will die. And I swear to thee that my father's son will die here with them ere they are harmed."

The knight was wiser than he had seemed, for he did but laugh loudly.

"I have no quarrel to pick with Earl Warwick or with thee, or with thy deerstealers," he said. "Bring them along. These were with thee when thou didst take La Belle Calaise? Pirates every man. But they are what thou wilt need to have with thee if thou art to follow Sir Thomas Holland and me. The old one-eyed Saracen fighter will lead where none but brave hearts may go."

All the men heard him, and bows were promptly lowered. Said Guy the Bow:

"My speech was not malapert for such as I am, Sir Knight. Thou didst ill to threaten freemen. But it may be, if thou art in a press, thou wilt be pleased to hear at thy side the twanging of the good bows of Longwood and Wartmont."

"That will I, merry men all," said Sir Peter heartily. "Well do I know now why ye were chosen by Harcourt. Ye are of the old midland breed of wolves that die silent but biting. 'Tis your proverb."

More did he say as he walked among them; but he inspected their weapons, as became a captain, and there came also pack beasts laden with sheaves of arrows, that every quiver might be full.

"Richard of Wartmont," he said at parting, "there is naught but good will between me and thee. English am I, and greatly do I like thy men. We were but a lost people if our yeomanry were no higher spirited than are the slavish rabble that will swarm behind the nobles of France and their unwise, cunning king. As for him, he will find that the double tongue fitted to cheat by an embassage is of small value in the right handling of an army. He may learn something yet from our Edward of England. Unless Geoffrey of Harcourt is a false witness, and unless the king's plan goeth too far astray, Calais will ere long be but an English port. Meet thou me as I bade thee, for I must go."

Even so he did, but Richard remained to complete the right ordering of his command. Anxious indeed was he, and he brought to mind every lesson of war that he had learned in England or on the march. Who could tell, he thought darkly, what desperate venture might be at hand? Careless captains do but throw away what heedful men might win. Above all was it heavy upon his mind that on this occasion he and his had been chosen to guard the prince himself, as being such as the king could rely upon to the very death.

"So, if he dieth," said he, "I and mine will not return to face the king. Where lieth his body, there will mine be found, and all the men of Arden and Longwood with me."

Also in like manner responded the archers themselves when he arrayed them and told them, passing the word from man to man:

"We are the Black Prince's comrades, this day and night. It is the king's trust."

"We will keep trust," they said.

CHAPTER VIII. THE CASTLE OF BRUYERRE.

Splendid to look upon was the advance of King Edward's army from Caen, with its banners, its mailclad horsemen, its winding rivers of shields, and the flashing of the sunlight on the helmets and on the points of polished steel.

The roads were dusty, but their dryness gave good footing, and all wagon wheels rolled well. There was a hindrance in the narrowness of all the Normandy highways and byways, for it compelled Edward to divide his forces and send them forward by several lines of march. His being there could now be known to Philip of France at once, but the great French army was still in Gascony, beleaguering the stout Earl of Derby and his forces. There was therefore no power to block the progress of the English invaders, although each of their divisions had somewhat to contend with. There were walled towns and there were fortresses. In some of these were not only garrisons, but much plunder, and their taking would be required by the military plans of the king. His generalship was greatly exhibited in this, that by landing so unexpectedly in Normandy, and by then marching straight across country, as if his aim were to take Paris, he compelled Philip to loosen his grip upon the army of the Earl of Derby, and to march his mighty host with all speed to the saving of his own capital.

Town after town had surrendered to Edward, and many castles had opened their gates without a fight, yet not all. The country people had suffered sorely, for the army required much in the way of provisions, but the scourge of war fell most heavily upon the rich, and on such as made resistance.

Richard Neville was now honored with the command of a goodly detachment. With him, as before on the Golden Horn, were men-at-arms and footmen of every kind, for so had the king ordered for all parts of his advance.

The heir of Wartmont was this day so far separated from the main body of the king's army that it was almost as if he were invading that part of Normandy by himself, in command of a small army of his own.

"My Lord," said a man-at-arms who rode at his side, "if thou wilt permit the question, art thou sure of thy direction? Were we to stray too far, we might meet with reproof, or worse."

"This is the road that Sir Geoffrey Harcourt bade me take," replied Richard. "But I would we had a guide."

They were well in advance of their little column, and they rode out over the brow of a low hill and from under the shadow of overarching trees.

"My Lord of Wartmont," loudly exclaimed the man-at-arms, "look yonder! Shall we not push forward?"

Before them lay a deep, narrow valley, with many cots and vineyards scattered up and down the stream which wandered through it. Directly across the hollow, however, there was a sight worth seeing. High and rock-bordered was that northward hillside, but on its crown was a fortress that was half a church, with a walled town beyond the foot of the castle. High and precipitous were the granite cliffs, high were the towers of the castle, but into the sunset light above them all arose the cross-tipped steeple of the church.

On this side of the outer wall of the town on the hill was a great gate, and over it floated, as also on the donjon keep of the castle, near the town gate, the golden lilies of the royal standard of France, streaming out against the sky.

"We will not go forward," said Richard. "We will halt, rather. No force like ours can do aught with a fort like that. Nor shall we now surprise them. Some captain of high rank is in command, for there is the fleur-de-lis flag."

"My Lord, there was the blast of a horn!" said Ben o' Coventry, from the archer ranks.

"Thou hast keen hearing," Richard replied, as again the mellow music came faintly up the road; "that horn calleth us to wait for the force that followeth."

At the word of command, the horsemen drew rein and the footmen stood at rest. They had not long to wait.

A splendid black horse, and on him a rider in black armor, came spurring along the narrow highway accompanied only by a page.

"It is the prince!" exclaimed Richard. "What doeth he here alone?"

So loudly was it spoken, and so near was the young royal hero of England, that the answer came from his own lips.

"Not alone am I, Richard Neville, but I have outridden Wakeham to speed on and warn thee not to show thyself beyond the ridge, lest thou warn the warders of Bruyerre that we are at hand. Halt, thou and thine!"

"My Lord Prince Edward, we are halted, with that very thought in mind," respectfully answered Richard. "But is yonder place Bruyerre?"

"It is, indeed," said the prince. "'Tis a stronghold since the days of Norman Rollo. Duke Robert also was besieged there once."

"How, then, shall we take it?" came regretfully from Richard's lips. "It were not well to leave it untaken."

"That will we not," said the Prince, "and glad am I have to thee with me. For that end we sent thee ahead. Sir Henry and I had few enough of men, and they are mostly men-at-arms. We need thy Irish kerns,[A] and thy Welsh, and thy bowmen."

"Here they come, my Lord!" Guy the Bow announced from among the archers. "They all are riding hard as if for a charge."

A brave array of knights and gentlemen in full armor came fast through the dust clouds of their own raising. Beside the foremost horseman rode one who carried no arms at all. On his head was the plain cap of a tradesman, and from under it long white hair came down to his shoulders. He rode firmly despite his years, however, and there was a kind of eager light upon his deeply wrinkled face.

"All is well!" he exclaimed. "My Lord of Wakeham, the prince reached them in time, and they are halted."

"Aye, and I would there were more of them," replied Sir Henry. "Our own footmen are long miles behind, and the day is waning."

"We need night, not day, for the taking of Bruyerre," said the old man gloomily. "Even now we were wise to get into some safe hiding. There is a forest glen to the right of where the prince is waiting."

In a few minutes more Sir Henry rode to the side of the prince and held out a hand to Richard.

"Thy men are in good condition," he said; "and that is as it should be, for they have sharp work before them."

"Ready are we," said Richard, but his eyes were upon the face of the white-haired man.

He sat in silence, gazing across the valley at the towers and walls of the fortress, and he seemed moved by strong emotions.

"What sayest thou, Giles Monson?" asked the prince. "Are there changes?"

"In me, my Prince," responded Giles, "but not in yonder town. A Christian man am I this day, and it is not given me to judge, but I am a true Englishman. With an honest heart and in good faith did I bring steel wares from Sheffield to the wicked Lord of Bruyerre. False and cruel was he, a robber and a villain. He laughed at me when once I was in his power. Fourteen years was I a prisoner in yonder keep, and I grew old before my time. Behold the scars of fetters on my wrists. Then was I a beggar and a starveling in the town for three years more, watched always and beaten oft. But I learned every inch of yonder hill, and at last I made my escape. By the path along which I left Bruyerre can I guide this army in. But there must be ladders stronger than the cord I came down upon."

"A dozen are with our own foot soldiers," said Sir Henry. "But haste now, lest we be discovered from the castle."

All riders were dismounting, and Richard went into the woods with his forest men to seek the glen spoken of by Giles. It was not far to find, and it led on down into the valley.

The forest growth was old and dense, and, once the soldiery marched well in, they were completely hidden. Only a strong guard waited at the wayside to intercept all passengers, and here at last came Richard, just as the sun went down.

"The prince's foot soldiers will arrive soon," said the young leader to Guy the Bow. Ben o' Coventry was peering over the ridge of the hill, and he came back hastily.

"Men from the castle, my Captain!" he exclaimed. "A knight, I should say by his crest, and four esquires, with, mounted serving men a half dozen. The knight, I noted, rideth with visor up."

"Thinking not of any foe," Richard answered. "We will hide under the trees and let them go by. Then will we close behind them."

"We could smite them as they come," said Guy.

"Nay," replied Richard, "lest even so much as one on horseback escape to warn the town."

Word was sent to the prince, and soon he was there, having posted his troops in the glen, and with him came Sir Henry of Wakeham. It was no moment for speech, for the French cavalcade came gayly over the hill.

Silent and motionless, the English in their ambush almost held their breath until the party from Bruyerre was a bowshot past them. Then out into the road they poured as silently, and the trap was set.

"They will meet our foot right soon," said Sir Henry, "but they will not risk a charge upon five hundred men. They will come back."

"Sir Thomas Gifford will render a good account of them, if they do not," replied the prince.

Not more than half a mile down the road and around a bend of it, at that hour, pressed on the English foot. At their head rode one knight only, with a few men-at-arms, and not far behind him strode a brawny, red-haired man, who shouted back to those behind him, in Irish:

"Forward now, ye men of the fens, of Connaught and of Ulster! Yet a little, and we shall be with our brave boy of the Golden Horn and of La Belle Calaise, and with the prince and Sir Henry."

It was the O'Rourke himself, promoted to a better command, with full leave to arm his giants with axes, in honor of his feats in the sea fight. In like manner the rear guard was led by David Griffith, and the weapons of the Welshmen were such as those with which their ancestors had fought the Roman legions of Cæsar and the Saxons of Harold the King.

"Who cometh?" exclaimed Sir Thomas, for at that moment the party of French from Bruyerre had seen his banner and his ranks, and they had promptly turned round to speed back to the castle.

"The English!" they shouted. "The pirates of Albion! Back to the town!"

They had no dreams of aught but a swift, unhindered escape; and the greater was their astonishment to find their way blocked below the hill ridge by a dense mass of pikemen and bowmen, in front of whom stood a dozen armored knights. There was no use in either flight or fighting; and their leader reversed his lance and rode forward.

"Yield thee!" rang out in English. "I am Sir Henry of Wakeham."

"Needs must!" responded the knight in Norman French. "I am Guilbert, Sieur de Cluse. I had visited with Raoul de Bruyerre, my kinsman, and I was but riding homeward. Alas, the day!"

He and his party dismounted and were disarmed. They were doubly astonished at meeting the prince himself with what seemed so small a force, and the Sieur de Cluse remarked with something of bitterness:

"Little ye know of the nut ye think to crack. De Bruyerre hath gathered three thousand men, and he is provisioned for a siege."

"Not more than that?" exclaimed the prince. "Glad am I of thy news. I had feared he had greater force. We have almost half that number of our own. The castle and the town are ours!"

The prisoners were led under the trees, and now the night came on, and it was fairly sure that there would be no more wayfarers. Little more could be learned, except that all the townspeople were as well armed and ready as the garrison.

Every plan had been well laid beforehand. Only an hour after sunset dense clouds covered the sky, insuring perfect darkness. Out, down the glen, swept David Griffith and his Welshmen, to seize all roads leading to the castle gate. Along the highway itself rode the prince and his mounted force—a hundred and thirty steel-clad horsemen. Behind them marched the greater part of the English foot; but by another path went Sir Henry of Wakeham, Richard Neville, and Sir Thomas Gifford. With them were the O'Rourke and two hundred Irish, and two hundred bowmen of Warwick and Kent. The scaling ladders were with these.

Away to the right, across fields and through vineyards, Giles Monson led the way. He was still unarmed, save for a stout "Sheffield whittle," a foot long, sheathed, in his belt. Hardly a word he spoke until his companions found themselves at the foot of a perpendicular crag.

"There is a break twenty feet up," he said, "and a flat place. From that point our peril beginneth. Silence, all!"

A ladder was placed, and up he went like a squirrel. A low whistle was heard as he reached the top of the ladder; the signal came from Richard, just behind him. Next came a clang of steel, for the heir of Wartmont had smitten down a half-slumbering sentinel.

Up poured the English, headed by Sir Henry; they brought a second ladder with them and others were placing it at the foot of the crag.