CHAPTER XXVIII   THE FATE OF MALEVEREUX

Judging by the grimly exultant expressions on the faces of the men, the expedition was a popular one. The Warblington men were well aware of the hardships their master and his son had undergone at the hands of the villainous Sir Denis, while the Portchester troops had occasion to remember that their Constable's squire had been treacherously detained by the Lord of Malevereux.

There was also the inducement held out by the presence of vast quantities of booty to be had on the taking of the fortress; while, above all, knight, squire, and common soldier realized that they were carrying out a direct command of the King.

Owing to the fact that the archers were afoot the progress of the column was necessarily slow, and when Sir Oliver called a halt for the night only four leagues separated them from their late quarters before Rouen.

The men slept in the open, wrapped in heavy cloaks. The horses, securely tethered, were placed in the centre of the camp, while sentinels were posted on all sides.

"WITH SPEAR THRUST AND SWEEP OF AXE THEY FELL UPON THE STORMERS."

Shortly after midnight the alarm was raised that the camp was attacked, and with shouts of "Stand to your arms!" the men-at-arms and archers, hastily awakened, formed up for the purpose of repelling the threatened onslaught.

Standing at his post behind his sire and the Constable, Geoffrey could make out the sharp thud of the hoofs of numerous horses, while a babel of discordant sounds, shouted in a foreign tongue, resounded on all sides of the camp.

"Archers, make ready; let no man loose till I give the word," shouted Sir Oliver, as, waiting sword in hand, he strove to detect something in the voices of his unseen antagonists that might tell him who they were!

In spite of their rude awakening the soldiers preserved a coolness only to be gained by constant training in the field. Mechanically the dismounted men-at-arms fell into line, and dropping on one knee, drove the butts of their long spears into the earth, while in the intervening gaps the archers, with arrow on string, awaited the order to let fly their deadly shafts.

Thrice the unseen cavalry galloped completely round the bristling circle of steel, though at a respectful distance, as if attempting to find a weak spot at which to deliver an attack.

"Let them keep to it," remarked Sir Oliver, with a laugh. "Methinks their horses will be blown ere they come within bow-shot."

"Pile on more wood, then," ordered Sir Thomas Carberry. "Make a rousing blaze, for 'tis in our favour, since our backs are to the light. Then perchance we may have a glimpse of our doughty foes."

"They shout in no French tongue, fair sir," exclaimed Geoffrey.

"Then, perchance, they are the German troops whom, report saith, the Dauphin hath hired."

"A truce to conjectures," said Sir Oliver. "Sound a tucket—one of our camp calls—and see what that will bring forth."

Hardly had the last notes of the trumpet died away ere the discord ceased, save for the clattering of a single horseman, who rode straight for the hedge of steel, guided by the fiercely-blazing camp-fire.

"Stand! Thy name, condition and errand," shouted Sir Oliver.

A rich rolling voice replied, "I am Sir Brian of Ennisbarry, in the county of Wexford. If ye be enemies of the King of England look to yourselves. Further, should any knight among you wish to ease his soul or seek some small advancement, I am here to help him in the furthering o'it."

"Certes, 'tis the Irish kernes," observed Sir Oliver in an undertone; then raising his voice he replied—

"Greetings, Sir Brian: two most unworthy knights of Southampton give thee welcome. I pray thee first quiet thy followers, then if it please thee join us around the camp-fire."

Amid a babel of voices the Irish horsemen formed a bivouac within a bow-shot of their English companions-in-arms, and when they had settled for the night, for they were about to encamp just before they stumbled across the outposts, Sir Brian, attended by two squires, rode up to the two Hampshire knights.

"Once again welcome, Sir Brian," exclaimed Sir Oliver. "Though I am afeared we have but sorry fare to offer thee."

"Sure, 'tis better than I've had these last two days," replied the Irishman, quaffing a horn of wine that Oswald had produced from the baggage on his master's sumpter horse.

Sir Brian was a short, slender man of about fifty years of age. He was clean-shaven, thus revealing a long upper lip and a strongly-formed cloven chin. His bluish-grey eyes were close set, and brimming with good-humour. His hair fell in long lank masses from beneath a cone-shaped steel cap. His body was unprotected by defensive armour save by a breast-plate that terminated at his waist, and was without gorget. From his belt dangled a long, cross-hilted sword in a scabbard of black leather, ornamented with Runic characters, while across his back was slung a targe of wood covered with undressed leather.

As for his two squires, they were unable to speak a word of English, and since Geoffrey and Oswald were ignorant of Irish their attempts to entertain their visitors were limited to dumb show.

It was a strange story that Sir Brian related a part of. His light cavalry had been surprised earlier in the day by the soldiers of Sir Denis, and after a fierce engagement the former were compelled to retreat, leaving four of their number in the hands of the Lord of Malevereux, by whose orders they were hanged on the battlements of the castle.

When the Irish knight heard that Sir Oliver was about to assault the stronghold of Sir Denis, his excitement knew no bounds. He would, he declared, join his men with those of the Hampshire knights. There would be booty enough and to spare for all, but he chiefly desired vengeance upon the Lord of Malevereux for the execution of his four men.

"As thou wilt, Sir Brian," quoth Sir Oliver. "The more the merrier; but, since we start at daybreak, thou hadst best seek repose."

When the march was resumed a strange sight met Geoffrey's eyes. He had often heard of the King's Irish kernes, but since they were employed almost exclusively in scouring the country around Rouen, he had never before had the opportunity of seeing them.

They were for the most part only partially clad. Many were barefooted, others boasted of one stocking and one shoe only. They rode barebacked upon wiry mountain horses, so small that the riders' feet came within a few inches of the ground.

All except their leader were quite without armour, their offensive weapons consisting of stout spears and long double-edged knives, while a few carried round targes provided with a steel spike in the place of a boss. Though they were ill-disciplined they were excellent scouts, while in a hand-to-hand conflict they made up for their lack of mail by a wild impetuosity that struck terror into the hearts of the well-accoutred French men-at-arms.

It was late in the afternoon when the expeditionary force came in sight of the Castle of Malevereux. The appearance of the gloomy pile, rendered even more forbidding by the presence of four gibbets and their ghastly burdens standing clearly against the sky, aroused many burning thoughts in Geoffrey's mind.

As it was too late that day to open the assault Sir Oliver ordered his men to rest themselves, and having constructed hasty entrenchments the Englishmen and their Hibernian allies lay around the castle, so that none might leave or enter.

The night passed without interruption, and shortly after daybreak preparations were made to deliver an assault upon the frowning walls. From the neighbouring woods the besiegers obtained timber, out of which rough ladders were constructed, while the Irish levies, who had tethered their horses at a safe distance from the castle, were kept busily employed in gathering and carrying bundles of straw and faggots to fill the moat.

Clad in complete mail, Sir Oliver, accompanied by his squire and a mounted man-at-arms, rode towards the gateway, while a strong body of archers occupied a position half a bow-shot in the rear.

To all outward appearances the castle seemed deserted, save by the dangling corpses of the unfortunate Irish prisoners, but on Sir Oliver ordering a rousing blast to be sounded, a burly figure, whom Geoffrey recognized from a distance as Sir Denis, appeared on the battlements, wearing a white scarf.

"In the name of the most puissant sovereign Henry King of England and France, I, Oliver, knight of Warblington, summon thee, Denis de Valadour, Lord of Malevereux, to give up the said castle immediately and unconditionally," shouted the English knight.

For an answer, Sir Denis raised his right arm, and pointed derisively at the swaying bodies that hung from the gibbets. This action was the signal for a sudden discharge of cross-bow bolts from the oyelets, while a huge stone hurled by a mangonel cunningly concealed behind a projecting spur of masonry, flew but a few inches above Sir Oliver's head. As for the bolts, one glanced from Oswald's shield, another struck the horse of the man-at-arms to the earth, but the rest either fell short or wide.

Standing in his stirrups the Lord of Warblington shook his fist at the treacherous and recreant Norman, while a flight of arrows, well and truly sped, rattled against the corslet and visor of Sir Denis. Whether any of the missiles took effect or not the Englishmen were unable to see, but the knight quickly disappeared behind the parapet.

Scorning to turn his face from the foe, Sir Oliver, regardless of the bolts that still came from the castle, slowly backed his horse till out of range.

"This will be a right joyous encounter, Thomas," he exclaimed to his companion knight, at the same time dismounting and handing his steed over to the care of an archer. "Is all prepared?"

"Ay," replied Carberry. "The men are like hounds in leash. Look also, I pray thee, at those Irish."

"Sir Brian hath a strange following, yet, methinks they are not lacking in courage e'en though they may err through rashness. But bid the archers shoot."

Under a fire so straight and true that none of the enemy dared show himself, the Irish kernes ran up to the dry moat and threw down their burdens, till a swaying yet passable causeway took the place of the raised drawbridge.

"Men-at-arms! In the name of St. George and for Merrie England—forward!" shouted Sir Oliver, and with one accord squires and common soldiers ran steadily towards the walls, keeping decorously behind the two mail-clad knights, whose armour greatly retarded their speed.

Mingled with the men-at-arms were several archers, whose special duty it was to carry the scaling ladders up to the walls, while in the rear their comrades maintained their steady fire.

The mass of panting, shouting, and excited men gained the edge of the moat, and, with swords and axes brandished above their heads, prepared to follow Sir Oliver and Sir John across the temporary bridge, when a cross-bowman more daring than his fellows showed himself for an instant above the battlements and shot his bolt.

The next instant he toppled over the parapet, pierced by half-a-score of arrows; but the mischief was already done, for the quarrel transfixed Sir Oliver's leg just above the left genouillère, or metal knee-cap.

With a crash the knight fell to the ground, but as two men-at-arms rushed to his assistance he waved them off.

"To the walls," he exclaimed. "Ye can do much service there. As for me, I will tarry here till we gain the castle."

In spite of this momentary check the stormers pressed forward, and scaling ladders were reared, and, led by Sir Thomas Carberry, the men-at-arms clambered impetuously up the swaying and creaking timber.

Hitherto the English archers had kept the garrison well in check, but now, fearful of harming friend as well as foe, they desisted. In a moment the battlements were thronged by the desperate defenders, foremost of whom was Sir Denis.

With spear thrust and sweep of axe they fell upon the stormers ere the latter could gain a footing on the walls. Many an Englishman and Norman, clasped in a deadly embrace, were tumbled from the battlements; to the hoarse shouts of the combatants were added the shrieks of the maimed and wounded, while the steady stream of ascending men continued without any appreciable sign of a lodgement being obtained upon the fiercely-defended wall.

Geoffrey, sword in hand, found himself half-way up the creaking ladder, when a loud shout of warning rose high above the din. The enemy had loosened a huge mass of masonry, and toppling it over, swept the ladders of their human burden.

From the mingled crush of dead and wounded the survivors contrived to extricate themselves, and, hopelessly repulsed, began to give back, with cries of rage and alarm.

Shaken and bruised from head to foot, but otherwise unhurt, Geoffrey found himself lying on the brushwood that had broken his fall. With an effort he regained his feet, stung with the bitterness of defeat.

"Stand!" he shouted to the wavering men-at-arms. "Stand! E'en though we have not yet won the day we cannot leave our comrades here."

Encouraged by his words, and by the fact that the English archers were again able to deliver a death-dealing flight of arrows, the discomfited men-at-arms stood their ground, and began to remove the bodies of their unfortunate comrades from the floor of the moat, and with some semblance of order they retired to the rear of the bowmen.

The losses in the repulse had been great. In addition to Sir Oliver, the Constable of Portchester had been stunned through being hurled from the ladder, while eleven dead and fifteen badly wounded men-at-arms testified to the stubbornness of the defence.

"Geoffrey, my son," exclaimed Sir Oliver, as Gripwell and another man-at-arms were preparing to withdraw the quarrel from his leg, "on thee has fallen the command. Thou must needs turn this check into victory, and that soon, otherwise 'tis better to perish to a man than to return to our King beaten and dishonoured."

Then overcome by the anguish of his wound the knight swooned.

The squire realized the responsibility that had been forced upon him. Undoubtedly he must act, and that quickly; yet he was adverse to making another attempt without adopting some other and better plan of attack.

Hastily conferring with Oswald, Gripwell, and Sir Brian, he expounded his proposals for the renewed assault. The Irish, who had hitherto been held in reserve, were to set fire to the heap of faggots and straw that lay in the moat before the gateway. Should the latter be sufficiently charred to enable it to be splintered with axes, the kernes were to dash through the smouldering embers and force an entrance; while the men-at-arms, led by Geoffrey, were to assail the postern through which the two squires had effected their escape on the occasion of their captivity.

The main entrance and this portion being on opposite sides of the castle gave the attackers an advantage, inasmuch as the besieged would be compelled to divide their numbers instead of concentrating the whole of their forces in one spot.

"Bravely thought of, young sir," exclaimed Sir Brian. "Give my fellows but a footing in the gateway, and they'll serve yon villains as did the blessed St. Patrick the serpents in ould Ireland."

"Saving thy presence, sir," quoth the master bowman. "Our stock of arrows is but scanty. Already many of the archers have empty quivers."

"Then I pray thee bid them husband their shafts," replied Geoffrey. "Without a covering flight the escalade will assuredly be a doubly-hard task. Art ready, Sir Brian?"

Supported by a steady discharge of arrows a body of the Irish levies, bearing flaming torches, rushed to the edge of the moat, and in a few moments a crackling column of flame ascended.

While the fire was in progress, Geoffrey, profiting by the confusion, led his men-at-arms to the opposite side of the castle, where, lying in ambush in the depression formed by a brook, they waited the signal for the combined assault.

As soon as the fire had burned itself out, Sir Brian placed himself at the head of his men, and with a wild shout the Irish rushed at the charred door. Though numbers fell as they crossed the moat the advance was irresistible. With a ponderous crash the timbered door was shattered, and the ill-armed swarm of Irishmen flung themselves upon their better accoutred yet demoralized foes.

Meanwhile the English men-at-arms had crossed the pike-studded moat, and, ere the defenders were aware of the assault, fifty mail-clad warriors had forced the wicket gate at the end of the disused postern-gallery.

With shouts of triumph the assailants threaded their way through the narrow tortuous passages and emerged at the inner bailey. Here they found themselves in the rear of the survivors of the garrison, who were being hard pressed by the Irish kernes.

Caught betwixt two bodies of their attackers the Normans fought with the fury of despair, scorning to ask the quarter that they knew would be denied them.

Sir Denis was almost the last to fall. In spite of his cruel and treacherous character he was no coward in the fight, and wielding his axe with ferocious skill and strength, he kept at bay the circle of steel that surrounded him.

At length, mindful of Geoffrey's shouts to take him alive, three of the men-at-arms using a stout plank as a means of offence, brought him to his knees. Even then the knight continued to lay about him, till he was finally over-borne by a rush of the infuriated Irish, who were with the utmost difficulty prevented from plunging their knives into his body.

"I pray thee make an end and that quickly," exclaimed Sir Denis dauntlessly, when, at the end of the combat, he was brought before Geoffrey.

"That I must do," replied the squire. "Yet e'en though thou hast dealt foully with me and mine, 'tis not by my will that thou must die. By the orders of my sovereign lord—and thine, though thou art a rebel—thou must be hanged on thine own battlements."

"Hanged!" exclaimed Sir Denis, his face turning an ashen grey. "Hanged! 'Tis impossible. A knight to die a villein's death?"

"Such are mine orders," replied Geoffrey curtly. "If there is aught on thy mind thou mayest have an hour's respite."

The sun was sinking low in the west as the doomed prisoner, accompanied by a strong guard of men-at arms and archers, was led to the battlements, where Sir Brian, Geoffrey, Oswald and Walter Talbot were present to execute the King's commands. Already some of the Irish troops had removed the bodies of their comrades from the gallows, and the rope of one was in readiness to receive its victim.

With a firm step Sir Denis walked to the place assigned for him, his arms bound behind his back, and his neck bared for the fatal noose.

"Young sir," said he, "cannot this be put aside? I do not beg for life, yet of thy charity, give me the axe rather than the cord."

"Nay," replied Geoffrey shortly, for he could not trust himself to say more. Then turning to the archers he signed to them to proceed with their work.

As one of the men bent to secure the knight's ankles, Sir Denis leapt backwards, sprang on to the parapet, and with a hoarse roar of defiance, dropped to his death upon the rocks fifty feet below.