CHAPTER VII   HOW GEOFFREY CAME TO TAILLEMARTEL

A few leagues from the city of Rouen Geoffrey and his companions began to come across evidences of the fearful struggle 'twixt Burgundians and Orleanists.

Here would be seen a "Burgundian mitre"—the scorched and blackened gables of a partially demolished cottage; there the corpse of some unfortunate peasant dangling from the withered branch of a tree. Ever the air reeked of charcoal and of the fetid odours emanating from carcases of unburied cattle; for the marauders ruthlessly slew every four-footed creature that they were unable to drive off to their embattled retreats.

Utmost caution had to be exercised by the English travellers, since they were not strong enough to hope to successfully repel the attacks of any but the smaller bands of freebooters. Twice they were compelled to take refuge in friendly woods. Once a détour of three leagues was necessary, owing to the approach of suspicious parties of horsemen, so that the sun had set ere Geoffrey arrived at the portals of his father's Norman castle.

In the gloom the lad could distinguish the outlines of two massive circular twin towers connected by a battlemented wall, pierced by a lofty gateway concealed by the raised drawbridge. On either side of the towers the wall ran for a distance of about fifty yards till it joined another circular though smaller tower forming the angle of the fortified work. Within, the summit of a square keep was just visible above the battlements. Barbican or outwork there was none, but a deep moat surrounded the castle.

"What think ye of Taillemartel?" asked Gripwell as the cavalcade reined in their steeds at the edge of the moat.

"'Tis a noble pile, Arnold," replied Geoffrey, "though not so large as Warblington, I trow. But how——"

Geoffrey's words were interrupted by a hoarse shout from the battlements, and a sentinel demanded the names and errand of the newcomers.

"They keep good ward," remarked Oswald, as one of the English archers who was about to sound a tucket thrust his trumpet behind him.

"Ho, there! Who comes?" repeated the sentinel.

"I would have speech with the seneschal," replied Gripwell.

In a few minutes torches flickered behind the battlements, glittering on steel headpiece and breastplate; then a voice exclaimed: "Here am I, Bertrand de Vaux, seneschal to my Lord Oliver Lysle. Who would have speech with me at this unseemly hour?"

"Sir Oliver's son stands without, and would be admitted."

"I wot not that Sir Oliver's son was coming hither," replied the seneschal. "What proof have I that ye are not of Malevereux, or of Entrevilles, or of Faux?"

"A truce to thy stubbornness, Bertrand," shouted Oswald. "Dost recognize my voice? I am Oswald Steyning, Sir Oliver's squire."

"A thousand pardons, monsieur. Now I know 'tis no trick or stratagem. Nevertheless, be it known that Sir Oliver's strict injunctions allow neither the gate nor the sally-port to be opened after sunset, save by virtue of his written order."

"Doth that also apply to the drawbridge?" asked Gripwell.

"Nay," replied the seneschal. "That I will have lowered, but to what purpose?"

"Hast ever heard how the blessed St. Paul left the city of Damascus? I pray thee lower ropes from the battlements if naught else will serve, and I'll warrant that this night we'll slumber quietly within the walls of Taillemartel."

To this suggestion there was no verbal response, but almost immediately the iron chains of the drawbridge creaked and clanked as the ponderous wooden structure fell slowly on its hinges.

Meanwhile the two archers had tethered the horses of the party in a meadow hard by the moat. This done, Geoffrey and his companions crossed the drawbridge, to find three stout, noosed ropes dangling from the almost invisible heights above.

Spinning round and round like a joint on a jack, Geoffrey was drawn up, and in this somewhat undignified manner he made his entry into his father's Norman home.

Oswald and Gripwell followed, the ropes being again lowered for the two archers, and soon the travellers found themselves standing on the battlements surrounded by the eighty men-at-arms and archers comprising the garrison of Taillemartel, but it was not until the letter bearing the Lady Bertha's signature and the seal of Warblington was produced and read that the seneschal led the round of cheering that greeted Sir Oliver's son.

Bertrand de Vaux was a short, broad-shouldered, bull-necked Norman, of about forty years of age. Muscular strength was evinced by his frame, while his deep-set eyes and heavy square-cut chin denoted resolution and determination akin to obstinacy.

He was soberly attired in a close-fitting suit of green cloth slashed with red, while a silver belt, ornamented with the arms of the Lysles, encircled his waist. On his head he wore a velvet cap of maintenance ornamented by a silver clasp, also stamped with the turbot and the stars, while his feet were encased in untanned leather shoes, the toes of which terminated in long points that for convenience' sake were turned upwards and fastened to the wearer's calves by means of silver buckles.

"I pray you bear me company to the banqueting-hall," said the seneschal addressing Geoffrey and Oswald. "I doubt not that Taillemartel can still provide a repast fitting for Sir Oliver's son, e'en though Sir Oliver himself be not here to have the ordering of it."

So saying, he led the way to the hall where the men-servants had already prepared a plentiful repast of cold venison, pheasants, long rolls of bread, and a copious supply of mead and wine.

Arnold Gripwell had partaken himself to the quarters of the sous-officiers, while the archers had to content themselves with company of the Norman soldiery, but their slight knowledge of the foreign tongue was sufficient to enable them to carry on a conversation with their new comrades.

"Hast heard or seen aught of Sir Yves of Malevereux?" asked Geoffrey, as they were doing full duty towards the viands.

"Of Sir Yves nothing; of his following overmuch. Thrice within the last fortnight have his men appeared within sight of Taillemartel. Yet though they did us no scath, they did not hesitate to mock at us. Ma foi, when they mentioned the name of Sir Oliver, and taunted us that we were children not to stir on his behalf 'twas as much as I could do to keep my men in hand. Yet seeing that they of Malevereux were thrice as many, and that little or no good was to come of adventuring ourselves 'gainst them in the open, I kept our men within walls."

"I trust that they have done no harm to the tenantry?"

"Only to Pierre, the wood-cutter," replied Bertram carelessly. "Poor fool, he would not take shelter within the castle as the rest have done, so they slew him on his own threshold—not before he had killed two of the villains."

"Now that is good cheer," continued the seneschal, when Geoffrey had told him of the proposed alliance with Sir Raoul d'Aulx. "By St. Denis, with three hundred men-at-arms, archers, and cross-bowmen 'gainst it, Malevereux will assuredly fall. And then——Ah, with Sir Oliver set free, and the plunder of two score years within our grasp, life will be worth living."

On the morning following the arrival of the Englishmen at Taillemartel, Oswald Steyning set out to deliver the letter from the Lady Bertha to Sir Yves de Malevereux.

In spite of the young squire's forebodings, he persevered in his determination of bearding the Tyrant in his den. Refusing to take any of the garrison as an escort, he bade farewell to Geoffrey and his friends, both English and Norman; then, trusting to chance to avoid straggling parties of raiders (though the fact that he bore a letter addressed to the Tyrant might afford him safe conduct), he rode forth from the sheltering walls of Taillemartel.

From that moment it seemed as if the earth had opened and swallowed up the bold and devoted squire of Sir Oliver Lysle. Day after day passed, yet Oswald did not return. Reluctantly Geoffrey had to admit that, unless some misadventure had befallen his friend on the way, Sir Yves had been guilty of a gross breach of faith, and had made the young squire captive in the gloomy castle of Malevereux.

For the next fifteen days following Oswald's departure nothing of interest occurred to break the ordinary routine observed at Taillemartel. Occasionally parties of horsemen, bearing Sir Yves' livery, would appear before the castle, but they wisely forbore from approaching within bow-shot. Nevertheless, Geoffrey had not been idle. Under Gripwell's tutorage he studiously practised the use of the lance, sword and mace, or engaged in tourneys with blunted lances. Hard knocks were given and received with good grace, and day by day the heir of Warblington made rapid progress in the art of war.

At length Richard Ratclyffe arrived at the castle, his crestfallen face forewarning the garrison of the failure of his mission. Sir Raoul had been summoned to Paris to attend upon the Dauphin, and for an apparently indefinite time the Castle of Maissons was to be shorn of its numerous soldiery, a bare thirty men-at-arms and cross-bowmen being left to hold the fortress during its lord's absence.

"I can only return to my master, Sir Thomas Carberry, with assurances of Sir Raoul's condolence," exclaimed Ratclyffe ruefully. "That is but cold comfort, yet 'tis better than nothing at all. But on the other hand, Geoffrey, there are great doings afoot. I heard, on the authority of one of the French king's attendants, that our King Harry hath formally presented his claim to the throne of France. Failing an immediate compliance he vows that he will submit his claim to the arbitrament of the sword."

"'Tis good news," replied Geoffrey enthusiastically, but the brow of the Norman seneschal clouded ominously.

"France for the Frenchmen," said he. "So long as Sir Oliver holds Taillemartel as a fief of King Charles I am content. With Burgundian fighting Orleanist I am likewise content to side with the Duke of Burgundy. Should he think fit to make alliance with your King Henry 'tis well; but failing that, how can I, Bertrand de Vaux, stand aloof when English armies tread on French soil?"

"Have a care, sir, lest you fall betwixt two stools," exclaimed Ratclyffe. "'Tis said that Burgundy favours King Henry's claim."

"If that be so, I, too, am with him; yet at heart I am a Frenchman."

"Time will prove, good Bertrand. Meanwhile, concerning the matter in hand; it is my purpose to journey homewards to-morrow, Geoffrey, so if thou hast a message to send to Warblington I will be the bearer."

"Since so little has been done towards setting free my father, I am at a loss what to say," replied Geoffrey, sadly. "But this: bear my mother my most dutiful expressions of regard, and tell her that by the blessing of God I am in good health. Also that I am striving to do my devoirs as a true Lysle."

Late in the afternoon of the day following Ratclyffe's departure, a small cavalcade was observed to be rapidly approaching the castle. The battlements were immediately manned, the gates shut, and the drawbridge raised, while speculation was rife as to the object of the new-comers.

Without hesitation the little band rode fearlessly up to the edge of the moat. There were but seven, all most magnificently mounted and accoutred, while their leader bore the French Royal arms upon his surcoat—the silver lilies upon an azure field. A horn was sounded, and admittance was demanded for a herald of King Charles of France. Upon this the drawbridge was lowered, and the gates thrown open.

"Welcome, Sir Jacques d'Erquai," exclaimed the seneschal, recognizing the new arrival as a distinguished knight of the French Court. "What is thy pleasure?"

"I ask entertainment for me and mine this night, Bertrand. To-morrow we hasten towards Harfleur, for my royal master hath deigned to favour me. In sooth, I am ambassador-extraordinary to the King of England."

That evening Sir Jacques was the guest at Taillemartel. During his stay he spoke but little concerning the nature of his mission. When, however, he had taken his departure, Arnold Gripwell approached the English lad, his face working with excitement.

"Yesternight I lay low and said but little, though mine ears were as busy as a housewife's fingers. Certes, though I understand that this Sir Jacques d'Erquai kept a proper curb on his tongue, his varlets lacked common discretion. What, think ye, is the Dauphin's answer to our Sovereign Lord's demands?"

"Surely the Dauphin will not submit tamely?" suggested Geoffrey.

"Of a surety he will not," continued the man-at-arms. "Not only hath he refused the king's conditions, but he hath gone further; by the hand of Sir Jacques he hath sent an insulting message, together with a present."

"The message?" asked Geoffrey eagerly.

"To fully understand the message 'tis necessary to know the nature of the present, young sir. In short, the Dauphin has sent a box of tennis balls with the message that King Harry would do better to find amusement with them rather than present a claim to the crown of France."

"After that there can be but one issue," remarked Geoffrey.

"Ay—war," was Gripwell's curt response.