CHAPTER VIII   OF THE AMBUSH LAID BY THE MEN OF TAILLEMARTEL

Slowly the months sped, yet towards taking any definite steps to secure his father's release Geoffrey could do little or nothing.

The realization of his two great hopes—the return of Sir Raoul from the French capital, and the expected invasion by King Henry—seemed too uncertain. The feast of St. Silvester—a critical time in the affairs of Sir Oliver Lysle—was now but a few days off, and, as the rapidly dwindling interval appreciably diminished, the need for action on the part of his son became more and more urgent.

Early one morning in June a horseman rode with loose rein up to the castle with the news of the approach of a strong body of mounted men from Malevereux, and that the invaders' intention was undoubtedly to sack and plunder the village of Taillemartel, that, up to the present, had escaped the unwelcome attentions of the ruthless Sir Yves. Possibly its proximity to the castle had accounted for its immunity hitherto, but with the force at his command on this occasion the Lord of Malevereux doubtless thought the opportunity had come to sack the village.

"Now is the time to gain honour and distinction, young sir," quoth Gripwell to his charge, as he hurried from the armoury with his harness but partly buckled, and a sheaf of weapons under his arm. "'Tis not for me to give orders, but saving thy presence, I would suggest that we take steps to thwart these rogues of Malevereux. Though they be the stronger party I have but little doubt that by stratagem we may worst them."

"How so, Arnold?" asked Geoffrey.

"Thus," was the reply, and the man-at-arms proceeded to unfold a carefully prepared plan of action.

Geoffrey and the seneschal expressed their unstinted admiration of Gripwell's proposal, and without a moment's hesitation the plan was put into execution.

Leaving but ten men to guard the castle Geoffrey led the rest of the garrison to the village, which lay but two bow-shots from the walls of Taillemartel. Here the soldiers proceeded to occupy the cottages on either side of the only road that passed through the little village, while outposts were placed with instructions to hasten back to the main body without being perceived, on the first sign of the approach of the enemy.

Already the terrified peasants were busily engaged in removing such of their scanty goods and chattels that were capable of being easily carried away, while the womenfolk and children were streaming in a disorderly mob along the dusty road leading to the castle.

"Bid those villeins stop, young sir," exclaimed Gripwell, pointing with his sword towards the mob of villagers. "They do but hinder our work of making good the defences."

Calmly Geoffrey walked across to where the peasants were, the seneschal accompanying him. Like the rest of their men they were unmounted, so that the risk of being seen by the enemy was considerably reduced.

"Listen, men," exclaimed Sir Oliver's son in the Norman patois, for, like most of the knights and squires of that period, he could speak the French tongue. "Listen, men, and if ye be worthy of the name, I pray you desist from this work of removing your goods. Is it not better to have a thatch over your heads than a few sorry remnants of your belongings without a cottage wherein to store them? We are here, by God's help, to protect you from the rogues of Malevereux. Were it otherwise 'twould have been more profitable to remain within the walls of Taillemartel and let the village take its chance.

"Now," he went on, "this is my pleasure; let all those who have any regard for their own skins and faith in the protecting arm of their over-lord—let these stand firm and assist in the defence of their hearths and homes. Those who are not so disposed, let them hasten behind the walls of Taillemartel—but, be it understood, not a stick of their goods must be borne hence."

Of the three-score male inhabitants only four took advantage of Geoffrey's offer to gain the shelter of the castle, and, amid the hooting and hissing of their fellows, and the rude jibes of the soldiers, they slunk sheepishly away.

Those of the peasants who stood firm were ordered to drag their wagons and ploughs to the end of the village street nearer the castle, and to pile them in a rough breastwork that was practically impassable by mounted men.

Eagerly the villagers obeyed. Fired by the ardour of their young seigneur they gained both strength and resolution, so that in a very short space of time the crowd of demoralized peasants was changed into a band of determined and comparatively disciplined men.

"Now get you gone to your houses," continued Geoffrey, speaking according to Gripwell's suggestions. "Arm yourselves with scythes, flails, clubs, or any other weapon ye may have to hand. Moreover, lay in a supply of stones, but, on pain of severe punishment, let no man stir or show himself until he hears a trumpet blown."

In a wonderfully short time the village street was almost deserted, for the men-at-arms, archers and cross-bowmen had already taken up their quarters within the houses. Only Geoffrey, Gripwell, the seneschal, and a few archers remained without. Venturing to the furthermost end of the village they awaited the arrival of the outposts with news of the approach of the men of Malevereux.

They had not long to wait. Wellnigh breathless, with his arms pressed closely to his sides, a lightly-clad archer ran towards the village, taking advantage of every depression in the ground that might serve to hide him from the foe. Close behind him ran another, and, a bow-shot in the rear, a third. All bore the same tidings. A body of mounted men, estimated at nearly two hundred, and led by Sir Yves in person, was even now within a league of the village.

"Sir Yves, himself!" ejaculated Gripwell. "Certes, if we cannot bring him to earth, may I never see Warblington again. Pass the word, Florestan," he continued, addressing an archer, "that one cross-bowman in each house reserve his quarrel especially for the Tyrant of Malevereux. A crown for the man who brings him down."

As the archer ran to communicate the order the man-at-arms turned to Geoffrey: "Tis time that we took cover, young sir. Be of good heart, for I'll warrant that these wolves will turn tail and make off faster than they came. My place is by the side of my master's son. But above all things take heed that not a bow be loosed nor a stone thrown till the tucket sounds."

Barely had the defenders retired to their rude defences ere the followers of Sir Yves appeared; for, deeming the village an easy prey, they had ridden furiously upon it to plunder and kill.

Fortunately for Gripwell's plan the cottages standing more remote from the castle were meaner than those in the middle of the village. This fact was evidently known to the men of Malevereux, for, without waiting to despoil the poorer houses, they passed on towards that part of the hamlet where most plunder was likely to be obtained.

In the van, composed of mounted men-at-arms, clad in quilted coats, breastplates and iron caps, rode a person of quality, for he was armed cap-à-pied in steel, and bore a shield with the device the red axe. Previous to entering the village he had closed his visor, so that his features were not visible.

"Is yon knight the Tyrant Sir Yves?"

"Without a doubt," replied Gripwell in an undertone. "But 'tis ill that such a gap divides two companies; the van will have reached the barricade ere the rear-guard rides fairly into the trap."

"Who, then, is this?" continued the lad, as a short, broad-shouldered man passed at the head of the rear-guard.

The leader of the second company was clad in a complete suit of chain armour, similar to that in vogue two centuries before, but with the addition of a steel breastplate, gorget, tassets, and sollerets. His hands were encased with brazen gauntlets, the backs of which were composed of thin overlapping plates studded with knots of steel. On his head he wore a steel bascinet with a beaklike visor, but the latter had been thrown back, disclosing a dark, cruel-looking face, partially hidden by a heavy beard and moustache.

Geoffrey repeated the question, for this knight's device was very similar to the first's.

"It can be none other than Sir Yves' brother, Sir Denis. I see that his shield shows that he is his brother's cadet. But stand to it; the time is at hand. Peter, sound a rousing tucket, I pray thee!"

Thus ordered, one of the English archers blew a shrill blast upon his horn, and the next moment volleys of arrows, bolts and stones whistled through the air. The close array of mounted men was transformed into a shouting, panic-stricken, struggling mob. Many fell, dead or wounded, the plunging, terrified horses adding to the tumult. Here and there, men braver and cooler than their fellows stood at bay or attempted to force their way into the houses that sheltered their assailants.

Three cross-bowmen had made Sir Denis their particular mark, but, doubtless carried away by their excitement, their aim was faulty. One bolt shattered itself against the knight's steel breastplate, another glanced from his helmet, while the third missed entirely.

Closing his visor, Sir Denis slipped from his horse and, mace in hand, strode towards the door of the nearest cottage. In vain quarrels and stones rattled against his armour of proof, and, like a man bearing a charmed life, he continued his advance.

"Make good the door 'gainst him," shouted Gripwell to the two English archers. As he spoke a thunderous blow of the Norman's mace burst in the upper part of the door.

Peter, the archer who had given the signal for the onslaught, immediately delivered a spear-thrust; but the knight, with a sweep of his ponderous weapon, shattered the head of the spear from the haft. Quick to take advantage, the archer grasped the end of the mace, and a fierce struggle ensued.

Sir Denis' mace was secured to his wrist by a chain, so that even had he quitted his hold the weapon would still be attached to his person, yet he had no intention of so doing.

Swaying to and fro on either side of the partially demolished door, archer and knight strove for mastery. Both were powerful men, and both equally determined to gain possession of the mace. At one time the mailed casque and shoulders of the Norman would be dragged through the irregular aperture; at another the Englishman was sore put to prevent himself being hauled from his retreat. Nor could his comrades give him assistance by laying hold of the knight's weapon; all they could do was to rain powerful, yet futile, blows upon the armour of the struggling foeman.

Meanwhile Gripwell, after giving the archer instructions to hold the doorway, had darted to the inner room, where a pail of charcoal, intended by its late owner for cooking purposes, glowered darkly on the floor.

Seizing the portable fire with his gauntleted hands, the man-at-arms bore it into the other room, where, awaiting his opportunity, he dashed its contents into the visored face of the Norman knight.

Some of the particles of the red-hot charcoal passed through the narrow slits in Sir Denis' bascinet. Nearly blinded by the pain the knight relinquished his hold on the mace and involuntarily attempted to raise his arms to protect his face. The sudden release of the object of their contentions caused the archer to reel backwards, till the strain on the chain pulled the knight's arm towards the doorway.

With a shout of triumph, Gripwell also seized the mace, and archer and man-at-arms united their efforts to pin their formidable antagonist to the woodwork by the strain upon the chain.

"Yield thee, Sir Knight," thundered Arnold. "Methinks thou art a good bond for the safety of my master, Sir Oliver."

As he spoke Sir Denis gave a powerful heave, the chain snapped asunder, and the two Englishmen fell heavily on the floor. The Frenchman reeled backwards a good five paces ere he, too, came to earth.

Unable to rise, by reason of the weight of his armour, he lay helpless, groaning with the effect of the red-hot embers.

"We'll have him anon," cried the man-at-arms, struggling to his feet. "Look to yon window."

The warning came barely in time. During the struggle at the doorway a score of men from Malevereux had assailed the window, which Geoffrey, sword in hand, was defending by the aid of two archers of the garrison of Taillemartel and three peasants.

Already one of the latter was down, slain by a quarrel shot at close range, while one of the archers was severely wounded by a blow from a "morning star."

The arrival of Gripwell and the two English archers soon turned the scale. While the man-at-arms dealt irresistible blows with his heavy axe, the archers shot fast and true, and in a short space the band of assailants seemed to melt away.

"We hold our own everywhere," said Arnold, leaning out of the window during the brief respite.

The man-at-arms spoke truly. With one exception every house had made good its defence, and already the demoralized men of Malevereux—those who had not been slain or grievously wounded—were seeking safety in flight.

At one place, almost in the centre of the village, the noise of conflict was still to be heard. Ordering the cross-bowmen from the houses, Geoffrey gave instructions to form up at the furthermost end of the village, so as to repel the enemy should they return to the attack, and also to cut off the retreat of any of the remaining men of Malevereux should they attempt to escape.

This done, Geoffrey, accompanied by Gripwell and several archers and men-at-arms, made his way through the corpse-encumbered street to where the struggle was still maintained.

"We have him safe enough, fair sir," exclaimed a bowman, pausing in the act of replenishing his quiver with arrows that were everywhere 'feathering the ground. "The Tyrant is cornered in yonder house."

The Knight of the Blood-red Axe had had his horse shot under him early in the fight. Basely deserted by his panic-stricken followers, he found his retreat cut off by the infuriated defenders. For a space he kept his foes at bay, a ring of dead and wounded men surrounding him as he fought. Wounded in several places till the blood oozed from the joints of his armour, the knight made a sudden rush towards a deserted cottage.

Here he made a stand, bringing down the seneschal of Taillemartel by a sweeping cut with his sword, till, borne back by weight of numbers, he took shelter in one of the rooms.

"Leave him to me," shouted Geoffrey authoritatively, as he forced his way 'twixt the crowd of soldiery.

"Nay, thou'rt foolhardy," objected Gripwell, laying a detaining hand on the shoulder of his charge. "Let the men have their way with the rogue; he is unworthy to be treated as a gentleman of coat-armour."

"Forbear to hinder me; my purpose is fixed," replied Geoffrey stoutly, and, sword in hand, he rushed into the room where the knight stood, back to the wall, three writhing bodies on the floor testifying to his prowess as a swordsman.

"Yield thee, Sir Knight," exclaimed Geoffrey. "I promise thee quarter."

"Give quarter to those who ask it," was the reply. "I surrender to no man."

The next instant their blades crossed. Both combatants were equally matched. The English lad lacked the size and weight of his antagonist; but, with the exception of a slight wound received earlier in the fight, Geoffrey was comparatively fresh, while the knight had already borne the brunt of a prolonged encounter against enormous odds.

On his part Geoffrey strove, by means of a succession of rapid passes, to find a joint of his antagonist's armour; while the Frenchman, mustering all the strength at his command, relied mainly upon his powerful sweeping cuts to disable his youthful and active foe.

At length the Englishman wounded his enemy by a lightning-like thrust that took effect 'twixt the flexible plates of the Frenchman's gauntlet. But Geoffrey had to pay for his advantage. With a roar like the bellowing of a bull the knight shortened his sword, and ere the lad could recover his blade the steel was snapped asunder a span's length from the hilt.

The Frenchman was not slow to take advantage of his enemy's misfortune. Swish! came his heavy weapon. Geoffrey's fragment of steel could not stop the cut, though it deflected the sword-cut, and, receiving the blade full in his gorget, the lad was sent staggering across the room.

The knight could not forbear from following up his stroke. Unwisely he left his point of vantage by the wall, and, whirling his sword, prepared to deal a coup de grâce.

In his excitement he forgot the low beam that ran athwart the ceiling, and ere the stroke could be completed his sword encountered the rafter, sinking in so deeply that he was unable to extricate his weapon.

Already a dozen men-at-arms were about to intervene, when Geoffrey threw himself boldly upon his antagonist.

With a resounding crash the two mail-clad bodies fell upon the floor, the English lad uppermost. The point of his dagger was at the slit of his antagonist's visor, and the knight was at Geoffrey's mercy.

"Yield thee, Sir Knight."

This time the Frenchman thought ere he declined the proffered condition.

"Thou art of noble blood?" he asked. "If not, slay me."

"I am the son of Sir Oliver Lysle, whom thou——"

"Then I surrender myself," replied the knight, without waiting for further explanation.

Breathlessly Geoffrey leaned upon the shoulder of one of the archers, while Gripwell and one or two others proceeded to cut the laces of the Frenchman's bascinet.

When at length the vanquished man was unhelmed a cry of astonishment arose from the onlookers.

Instead of the cruel, debased features of Sir Yves of Malevereux the face of a young man of about twenty years of age greeted the eyes of the men of Taillemartel.

"Who art thou, young sir?" demanded Geoffrey. "Methought I had captured the Tyrant of Malevereux."

"I am Henri, son of him whom thou hast named the Tyrant," was the reply.