XI
Amabel's Adventures in Disguise—The Friendly Farmer—The Second Stage of Her Journey—Alone Again—The Friar's Proverb—The Attack Renewed—Effective Archery—Preparing the Attack on the Intrenchment—Volleys at Close Range—A Blunder in Strategy—The Retreat—The Count Tries His Hand at the Crossbow—Reproaching Repulsed Soldiers—A Veteran Replies—The Attack Renewed—The "Cat" Once More—The Intrenchment Is Taken by the Besiegers.
CHAPTER XI
As soon as the Lady Amabel, now lost in the person of "Harry" the farmer-boy, had seen Edgar re-enter the mouth of the tunnel, she placed her dagger handily within her ragged frock—a loose, short-sleeved garment descending nearly to the knee. Her head was covered with a sort of hood that was drawn downward until the face appeared through an opening, and the lower edges protected her shoulders. Her legs were covered by loose hose or trousers bound tight by wrappings, and on her feet were coarse shoes of hide. The dress was of russet cloth, much patched and well worn, but warm and comfortable; and the heavy hood helped to hide her face. As all the garments were clumsy and ill-fitting, her figure was well concealed, and she might well have been taken for the rough country lad she pretended to be. When she suddenly felt that she was alone in the great darkness, her heart misgave her, and for a few moments she fell upon her knees. Then, with courage restored, she climbed up the river-bank, and advanced cautiously to the edge of the bushes that grew along the riverside. By turning her head to the right she could see the great bulk of the castle black against the sky, and she saw also by a light column of smoke arising beyond its keep that the remains of the burnt tower still smoldered. Here and there a narrow strip of light showed through a loophole, and as she looked she heard the voice of a sentry announcing that all was quiet. Almost directly in front of her were the tiny points of light that revealed the embers of the camp-fires left by the Count's soldiers.
She turned to the left, following the river-bank, but keeping well within the fringe of bushes. There was little risk, had she but known it, but she went as cautiously as if the slightest noise would bring a challenge, and hence could not make rapid progress. No disguise would avail, she was well aware, should she be found by any of the Count's soldiers, since the country folk had long ago abandoned their little settlement, giving over the region around the castle to the soldiery. She therefore crept cautiously on, not daring even to break a twig or to push her way through the small bushes. Now and then she startled birds and other woodland creatures, and each time this occurred she would catch her breath and shrink back in alarm. Slow as was her pace, she made good progress, for she never halted, and she lost no time by going astray since she had only to follow the course of the river. About eight miles eastward of the castle, Amabel knew that there was a bridge, and she intended to cross the river there.
So slow was her progress that it was three hours before she had gone these eight miles; but when she reached the bridge and was safely upon the further side, she drew a breath of relief, thinking that the most dangerous part of her journey was over. The bridge was not far from a little hamlet in which dwelt a family who were indebted to the Mortimers for many kindnesses, and Amabel meant to remain with them for the rest of the night and then to beg their assistance in continuing her journey.
She knew that there were several dogs running loose in the village, and before approaching it. she cut a stout cudgel for defense. She was in hopes that the animals would know her, since she had often spoken to them in passing; but then she had been on horseback, and it was in daylight, whereas now she was but a night wanderer whom they might suspect of evil designs. Holding her cudgel ready she went noiselessly toward the house of the farming folk she knew, walking more and more slowly as she approached. Despite her precautions, the dogs heard her, and began to bark loudly. She stopped and spoke to the one whose name she happened to remember:
"Hola, Hector!" she cried, "here, Hector!"
At the sound of her voice the dog ceased to bark and whined softly. She called him again, and then he came forward to be petted. Opening her scrip, she gave the dog a bit of meat, and then went fearlessly forward, and rapped on the low door of the cottage. After a slight delay, she saw a light, and then someone opened the door. It was the goodman of the farm, and he asked sharply:
"Who is there? Where are the dogs? What do you want, rousing honest folks at this hour of night?"
"Your dogs, goodman, knew me quicker than their master," she replied, pushing back the cape from her face.
He held the light up, shielding it from the wind, and said, not unkindly: "By the voice it should be a lass; but by the hose it seems a lad. Who are you?—for I cannot make out by the light of this flickering taper. Whence do you come?"
"I know not if you will believe me," Amabel replied, laughing, "but I am in truth the Lady Amabel Manners from Mortimer Castle, and I come to beg for shelter for the night. More shall you know when you grant me admittance, for I have come by stealth and would be glad to hide myself with you."
"In truth, you are the Lady Amabel," exclaimed the goodman, "but what masquerade or mumming"
"Have you not heard that the Count de Ferrers has come with his men to take our castle?" she asked, as he opened the door, and admitted her to the cottage. "For weeks he has been waging war against us, and he has battered down a good part of our walls, and slain some of our people."
"I had heard something of it," the farmer answered, as he threw a bundle of sticks upon the fire, and blew the embers into life. The light twigs caught, and in a moment the room was bright. Then the farmer turned and gazed curiously at his visitor, who blushed and turned away in confusion.
"We have been so busy harvesting," the farmer went on, "that we knew nothing certain of the stories that came to us. Gaffer Mead of the Mill knew the siege was threatened, for his daughter and her husband left their cottage by the castle to come dwell with him. But we farm-folk are not fond of battlefields, and are glad to remain quiet so long as the soldiery will but leave us to our work. Does the castle hold out, and will it abide the Count's attack? Shame on him—I would I were the leader of a hundred belted knights, and the siege would be raised before to-morrow eve!"
In reply Amabel told enough of the happenings to give a true idea of the progress of the fight, and then explained her mission. She begged that he would give her shelter for the night, and would then help her on her way. The farmer roused his wife, and after promising her his aid in the morning, saw that she was attended to by the women of the farm, and made comfortable. They were all glad to serve her, for Amabel was a favorite with them, and soon she was sleeping as securely as if in her own apartment at home. Her walk, and, still more her excitement had worn her out, and she did not awake until sunrise, when the unaccustomed noises of the farm roused her from visions of hand-to-hand conflicts with the Count's soldiers—who in her dreams appeared four times their natural size, and were ferocious giants, such as were sung about by the minstrels and troubadours.
She arose and put on the costume she had worn from the castle, and going into the kitchen, begged that she might assist in the housework. The good-wife was shocked at the proposal, but the young girl insisted, giving as a reason that she must act the part she had assumed for fear lest some of the neighbors should report her presence in disguise. After the morning meal was finished, Amabel explained more fully the purpose of her expedition, and asked the farmer to advise her.
The goodman sat before his fire upon a rude settle, chin in hand, and in deep reflection. At last he spoke:
"My lady," said he, "I shall go with you. With me you may travel securely; without me, you might be suspected, and be stopped. You are not one of us. The clothes are right enough, but your talk, your ways, hands, feet—everything would betray you to a keen eye. Besides, alone you might be robbed or murdered, beggar though you seem. With me, I can take you safely to the next market-town, and then get my friends there to send you forward. Lord Mortimer has done me many a good turn, and now, in his son's need, I will do what I can to serve him, and do it gladly."
Amabel was not so foolish as to reject his offer, and not long afterward they departed together riding upon a rude wagon piled high with bags of barley. The farmer met one or two upon the road, and was careful to let them know that he was going to put his wife's cousin, an orphan boy, to work with a miller. Several of these spoke kindly of the "boy," saying he looked "white, and as if he needed tanning in the sun," but none showed much curiosity. In spite of her uneasiness, Amabel soon fell asleep because of the slow jogging over the uneven road, whereupon the kind farmer covered her softly with some empty sacks, and she did not wake until he drew up at an inn, late that afternoon, in the outskirts of the market-town. So she had safely made the first stages of her journey, but now must rely upon her own resources, since the farmer had not been able to find any acquaintance trustworthy enough to assist her on her way northward. But he, at Amabel's request, changed a piece of silver for her into money more likely to be owned by one in her condition. Then the farmer said: "Good-by, Harry, my lad. I can go no further with you. But I shall hear of you, and if you should need a home, remember that the string is always on the outside of the door for you."
With these words the farmer drove off, and Amabel, not daring to linger at the inn, set out briskly along the road. She had washed her face and hands before traveling with the farmer, but now, at the first roadside brook, she once more soiled both face and hands that she might pass as a beggar. She remembered as she walked a saying of Friar Bacon's. She did not know the Latin words he had used,
"Vacuus viator cantat coram latrone."
but she recalled it in English, "the pauper may sing though he meet with a robber"; and she believed she had little to fear from the poor, if she were poor herself. So she walked bravely on, keeping a sharp lookout ahead so that she might slip into the bushes in case she should see upon the road any whom she did not care to meet. She tried not to walk too fast for fear of being wearied, but whenever she thought of the people of the castle, she would hasten her steps.
About the same hour that saw Amabel's departure from the farmhouse, saw also a renewal of the attack upon the remaining defenses of the castle. The Count's forces came on in much the same battle formation they had adopted upon the first day of their appearance; but this time they advanced more cautiously, having learned that the garrison was bold and ready to take advantage of every slip made by their enemies. They did not know what had been prepared for them during the night; and so this attack was preceded by a light skirmish-line, which carefully examined the ground for evidence of an ambush or a pitfall. The garrison was warned of the attack by the sentries, who wound their horns as soon as the. line appeared at the edge of the woods. The defenders were drawn up along the remaining walls, the larger part of their force being ranged along the new rampart Hugh had constructed, against which the attack was sure to be delivered. For the defense of this intrenchment, Hugh relied mainly upon his archers and crossbowmen, of whom he had between thirty and forty, though some had been lost in the previous attacks. These men Hugh himself had trained carefully, and they were under strict discipline, making the volleys they delivered exceedingly effective. They seldom fired at will, but could loose their shafts all together at the word of command, either firing at a single mark or each at his own. It can be understood that thirty stout bowmen, all of whom were fair marksmen, when all sent their arrows against a single part of an advancing line could do great execution.
The Count's little army came steadily on, crossed the moat by means of the causeway, clambered through the breach in the outer wall, and then, sheltered behind the remains of the south wall, were re-formed and received their orders for the assault upon the intrenchment—which, besides being guarded by a deep ditch in front, was an earthwork strengthened with heavy timbers, and surmounted by a thickly set palisade, behind which the archers and pikemen were sheltered. The work would not have long resisted stones flung from powerful machines, but offered a strong barrier against a storming-party. It was not so high as the castle walls, but since it was guarded at each end by the yet uncaptured towers, the enemy, in advancing against it, would receive a galling flank fire from the loopholes. All the strength of the position was evident to Luke at a glance, and he advised the Count once more against an open attack. The Count, with his usual impatience, refused to be guided by Luke, and busied himself in ordering the line of battle, and directing his petty officers as to disposition of their men. Before delivering the final attack the men were sheltered behind the main south wall, and in order to reach the intrenchment, they would have to divide into two columns—one entering through the gap on their right, where the mine opened a wide breach, and the other clambering over the ruins of the fallen tower.
The Count decided to lead one of these wings, while to Luke was given command of the other. While maturing these plans the forces of the besiegers were not left entirely unmolested, for they were within range from the southeast tower, and now and then an arrow was sent to prove that the garrison was on the alert. But by keeping close to the wall and protecting themselves behind their shields, the Count's soldiers escaped serious injury. The Count himself was hit several times, but though the arrows stung him through his mail, they did not penetrate, having hit at an angle and glanced. These narrow escapes were a warning against unnecessary delay, and so, as soon as he was sure all was in readiness, and his commands were understood, the Count gave the order for the assault.
At once the men sprang to their feet, grasped their weapons, and dividing into two columns poured through the breaks of the wall upon the open courtyard. The Count had made a serious mistake. He had not reflected that while Luke's men would, on passing through the eastern breach, find themselves right against the intrenchment. his own column would have to charge across the whole length of the courtyard.
Hugh seeing the men under Luke emerge from shelter and run toward the earthwork, at once commanded his archers to send a volley against them. At such close range the arrows could not miss their mark, and more than ten or a dozen of Luke's soldiers were struck down. Again, adjusting a second arrow to the string, the archers fired at the word; and again with great loss to their enemy. The men who were carrying beams to bridge the ditch, and those who had ladders to scale the earthwork, dropped them and took refuge behind the ruin of the south wall. The men were brave enough, but even the steadiest soldiers might well have retreated before those two deadly volleys fired with such good aim, and with all the archers shooting so precisely at command. The Count's men, although coming at a run, were not yet close to the ditch when Luke's party had been repulsed; and before they could cross the ditch and fix their hooked ladders to the walls, the whole force of the archers was directed against them. Like the soldiers Luke had led, these also stood two volleys; but as they saw how many had been hit, some turned to run, others followed, and in a few moments they were in full retreat. The Count stood his ground, trying to rally his men; but they would not listen to his reproaches, and he was left almost alone. Seeing this, Edgar, who stood upon the earthwork not far away, called out to him: "Shall we renew our combat, Count? Wait but a moment and I will be with you!" There was a shout of laughter from the garrison, and the Count, snatching a crossbow from one of the few soldiers who remained with him, took a hasty aim and sent the bolt whisking close to Edgar's ear. The young lord jumped behind the earthwork again, for he saw no glory in being slain by a chance shot. The Count then sullenly retired from before the intrenchment, where he found Luke trying to bring his men into the frame of mind for a second assault. The Count went to him at once, and speaking loud enough for all to hear said: "You were right, Luke. With such as these soldiers we cannot take the least of the defenses by assault. At the first twang of the bowstrings all fly like hares! So let us bring forward your gimcracks and jiggermarees, your see-saws and go-carts, and batter us down the earthwork."
This speech of course made the soldiers no more anxious to risk their lives for the speaker, and besides helped to make enemies for Luke, since the men saw no reason to doubt that he had been complaining of them for cowardice. They considered it unjust, and one grizzled old fellow whose hair had whitened during many a hard campaign was not afraid to answer. Rising from his crouching position behind a fragment of the wall, he said: "My lord Count, I have seen service with knights that could claim at least as much knowledge of war and battles as either yourself or your esquire; and I have seen men with weapons in their hands since you and he were boys in school. But though I know the respect due my betters, I think that we are no cowards. I have no wish to face such a flight of arrows again, and I can see no good in it."
The old man crouched down again, and the Count, advancing toward him for a moment, was tempted to strike the soldier who had thus rebuked him; but upon seeing the rest grasping their swords and axes, the Count thought it wiser to say nothing, but gave the order to retreat.
There was then a short breathing space for the defenders, but when the attack was renewed, it was made both with more caution and with more skill. This time the Count posted his archers upon the ruined wall, where they could shelter themselves behind the blocks of stone, and he also detailed a portion of them to return the shots directed at them from the tower. Upon the top of the middle wall they also erected one of their mangonels, and with this were able to fling stones to the top of the tower, clearing it of the marksmen. The mangonel soon destroyed a portion of the battlement, leaving little shelter on top of the tower, and preventing the flank attack. Although some arrows were still shot from the loopholes, these were comparatively few, and did little harm. The Count's archers were a little higher than those upon the intrenchment, and by keeping up a brisk discharge were able to keep in check the fire of the garrison. Under cover of this exchange of missiles, the rest of the Count's soldiers were able to move forward the covered shed—the "cat" that had already served them to breach the outer wall, and to push it slowly through the courtyard until it rested, extending across the narrow ditch, against the front of the earthwork. The cat was followed by the wheeled battering-ram, which, though its beak was somewhat bent and twisted, was yet effective enough. Protected by the roof of the cat, the soldiers were able to ply the ram without serious interference, and upon the earthwork the effect of its blows was tremendous. It splintered the logs, pushed them from their places, and soon drove its way right through the earth and stonework. But the defenders were ready to take advantage of this opening, and they flung blazing faggots through, pushing them with long poles, and thus succeeded in filling the cat with smoke. In order to extinguish these blazing bundles, the soldiers were forced to stop the ram, and then the defenders shot bolts and arrows through the holes left by the destruction of their intrenchment. Soon, however, the besiegers found that they could still operate the ram from the back part of the cat, and by moving it about they increased the size of the opening they had already made.
At last five or ten feet of the earthwork caved in, and then, while the cat was slowly retired, the Count advanced to carry this breach by assault. He had been waiting with a picked body of men behind the remainder of the southern wall, and by charging at a run, he was able to reach the spot before the garrison could close the opening. The ditch was neither deep nor wide, and as it was dry it offered little obstacle to the assaulting party. By means of their long-handled axes, hooked at the end, they crossed the ditch, and then climbed upon the top of the earthwork, finding themselves then close to the palisades. Every moment the assaulting party was re-enforced by new arrivals, and it was not long before they far outnumbered the defenders.
Palisades were pushed over or pulled up by main force, and the Count's men having broken through found themselves engaged in a fierce fight at close quarters, for the soldiers of the garrison made a brave stand against their foes.
Among the foremost to break through the palisade were the Count and Luke—the former wielding his great sword, the latter carrying a long poleax. Each fought according to his character—the Count advancing boldly, clearing the way before him with broad sweeps of his long sword, wielded with strength and quickness; Luke winning his way by skill of fence, risking as little as possible, taking shrewd advantage of every opening and going around rather than through his enemies. He gained ground as quickly as did the Count, but with less fighting, and the men-at-arms followed them stoutly. Though outnumbered, the garrison retired in good order and with discipline, keeping together and managing to protect their flanks. In fact, so sturdy was their resistance that the besiegers rested content with gaining the intrenchment; the Count and a few of his bravest men being the only ones who pressed the attack. Seeing themselves unsupported by the mass of the soldiers, these gave up the pursuit, retiring to the intrenchment, while the defenders were received into the keep, the door of which was barricaded behind them.
The intrenchment now became a defense for the besiegers who established themselves behind it in the dry ditch, after having pulled down enough of the palisades to prevent the garrison from again holding it against them.
The Count was dissatisfied with his men, and was with difficulty restrained by Luke from berating them soundly. The truth is, they had been discouraged by the stout resistance offered to every step of the advance; and particularly by the explosion under their very feet that had warned them to beware of pressing the garrison too closely. Still they were gradually reducing the castle, and now held all except the three towers and the two walls that connected them, and hoped soon to drive the garrison into their last stronghold—the great square keep.