The Fall Of The Grand Sarrasin written by William J. Ferrar
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William J. Ferrar >> The Fall Of The Grand Sarrasin
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My heart leapt again. But I managed to ring out a laugh that sounded
careless--
"Oh yes," said I, "gentlemen galore, and heaps of little beardless monks
lie stacked in my poor house yonder. Bring them forth, good sir, and
leave more room for me."
He led the way to search, but the others seemed unwilling, having good
trust in him that I counterfeited, and all that might afford a
hiding-place in the hut was opened and turned about--nay, the very holy
rest of the chapel was disturbed as search was made, walls and wainscot
rapped, cupboards forced, and stones prised up, the while I stood at
ease peeling a light cane that I had cut from the wood.
"Now, good brothers," said I, lightly, as they stood at fault in the
midst of the chapel, "are you satisfied I am no concealer of other men's
property or persons hereabout?"
"Yea, we will press on," said one of them. "They have taken to the
caves like enough, and we shall have a week's 'rabbiting.'"
"Then I wish you good morn," said I, "with a word of thanks for turning
out in your zeal much old stuff of mine that I thought was lost and
gone."
Glad was I indeed to see my three guests break into the forest opposite.
So, with a thick staff for my luggage, I took the path that led straight
to St. Pierre Port, six miles away. Without let or hindrance I passed
on, imitating as I could the easy gait of Father Augustine, and taking
care to greet all I met, of all conditions, who were about on their
business that autumn morning, with such jests or merry speeches as I
could muster.
Now, I have said already that Le Grand Sarrasin, save for his enmity to
Abbot Michael, had as yet showed no unfriendly disposition to our
islanders, except where they thwarted or marred his designs.
Therefore no ill had happed to St Pierre Port, its fishing, or its
carriage of necessary things, or of persons. And though that heathen
fortress could be seen towering up there miles away upon the hill, the
good burghers of St. Pierre, finding their daily business not
interrupted, made but little grievance of Le Grand Sarrasin's presence.
Wary of running into trouble, they jogged an easy way. Their boats came
in and out. Their bales were landed and embarked. Nay, I have heard that
it was their wont to hush the voices in their states council that were
for craving succour of the duke, regarding one ruler, so long as he
whipped not their backs too hard, as equal to another.
So I went into St. Pierre as into no besieged town, and without
hindrance of any made my way through the winding streets to the harbour,
where I hoped to hear of passage to Normandy. And the good father had
told me of one Le Patourel, that would assist me to embark. This was a
man not too well known to him, for too close acquaintance in this case
were dangerous to me, but one doubtless ready to serve the priest if
need be.
So I sought out this Le Patourel, as it appeared an honest trader, who
took me without doubt for that I seemed. To my joy I found that a
vessel, but just finished lading, would start in a short space for St.
Malo, and the skipper was willing for certain silver pieces to take me
for his passenger. These I paid down out of a sufficient purse Des Bois
had pressed upon me, and with a light and joyous heart tarried on the
quay.
Thither came by presently a bluff priest of the town church that was
like to give me a fall.
"What, Augustine!" he shouted, so that all on the jetty heard. "Whither
art thou journeying?"
"And that thou wilt come near I will tell thee," I replied, not knowing
for the world his name.
"Whither art thou bound?" said he.
"To Coutances," said I. "My lord archbishop, you remember."
"My lord archbishop," said he, "thou shouldst know is far from Coutances
at this season--for his health."
Here I was troubled, for I had told many that my lord had sent for me on
a certain business.
"Ah, yes," said I in haste, "before he went my lord left letters for me
that I alone can fetch. But I must go aboard."
"Stay," said he, "a moment! What didst thou in that matter of Sir
Hubert? There is a like case of conscience here in St Pierre."
I hurriedly told him that it was not proper for me to disclose so nice a
case of conscience, even to my dear friend himself. Whereat he looked
strangely at me, I thought, and soon went on his way, wishing me shortly
a good voyage to Normandy.
By three o'clock we sailed away. And glad I was to see this second time
the highland of the isle grow dim and faint as we sped away with the
wind behind us.
CHAPTER XIII.
How I arrived at _St. Malo_, and, proceeding to the Abbey of _St.
Michael de Tombelaine_, found friends to set me on my road.
With a straight course that naught delayed we ran to St. Malo, that
ancient town hard by the holy Mount of St Michael, the mother-house of
our Vale Abbey, where I had good hope that I should quickly thence be
sped upon my way.
So when we had come to port, bidding the captain farewell, I chartered a
good horse to reach the holy place where, as men say, the blessed
Michael came down to bid St. Aubert build him a brave house on that
lonely rock.
It was the hour of vespers when I attained the hostel of the mount, but
I had been aware the last few miles of the sound of a trot behind me,
whose pace was marvellous like mine own. If I stayed a moment, the rider
behind likewise stayed; if I went at a gallop, he galloped also. It gave
me some concern to be followed by a caitiff, watching for my purse, as I
had only a sheath-knife with which to defend myself.
However, seeing the abbey lights gleam kindly through its narrow
windows, I urged my beast on, though in sooth she was weary; and as I
clattered at last into the yard, saw, as I waited for a space by the
gateway, my follower walk his steed quietly by, peering the while as he
passed.
Now, I strove as soon as was convenient to gain audience of my lord
abbot. And this was not easy at that time for a simple secular priest,
such as I appeared, for there was ever strife and common contempt 'twixt
monk and parish priest, even as it is to-day.
"Audience of the holy father--and to-night?" repeated the seneschal,
with proud disdain. "Good son, it is impossible, the abbot is engaged
with knight and bishop; keep thou thy little matters till thou canst
catch his rein, as he rides forth to-morrow."
"It is no little matter, good brother," I pleaded, "It is of life and
death to many holy men."
"If it concerned a kingdom," returned he, "I could not send thee to the
abbot now--with the little matters of thy parish to plague him withal,"
the fellow muttered under his breath.
As we debated thus, a most reverend monk passed through the corridor, of
a strangely lofty and noble air and of a winning sweetness, who stayed
his journey as he saw my evident distress.
"What ails thee, O my son?" said he.
"I bear grave and sad news to my lord abbot," I said, "and news that he
should know without delay."
"What is thy name?" he said, and searched me kindly with his eyes.
I could not lie to him, so I said simply, "Nigel," as I would fain say
no more.
"Then, good Father Nigel," said he, seeing my reluctance, "I will go
whisper in my lord's ear, if thou wilt tell me more clearly of thy
business."
"Tell him," said I, "that Abbot Michael, his good brother, has sent me
with sad news of the miseries of Vale Abbey."
"So, my son," said the monk, gently, and disappeared through the
stairway, whence he presently returned, and led me with him.
He led me to a certain fair chamber, wherein sat many great lords around
my lord abbot.
"Who is this, brought by our brother of Bec?" said one, as I entered by
the side of that great scholar, Lanfranc, the Abbot of Bec.
"This," said the abbot, an Italian also, "is an envoy from the isle of
Guernsey, who comes with greeting from our brother yonder, bearing a sad
tale with him, or I am mistaken."
I knelt to my lord, as he sat in his rich-broidered cloak, with his
plump legs cross-gartered, as befits great nobles, and, kissing his
hand, begged that I might speak on.
"Nay; first, sir priest," he said, "tell us thy name, and then thy
story."
"Indeed, father," I replied, "I am not that I seem; no priest am I,
though bred in Vale cloister in Guernsey."
"Then how darest thou," said he, hotly, "to come hither in this habit?"
"If thou but knewest the greatness of the perils of our brethren, how
they are near being murdered by savage men, thou wouldst forgive me,
father. But I bear a name none need fear to own--I am Nigel de Bessin,
and mine uncle its vicomte, would vouch for me, were he here----"
"As indeed he is," put in a pleasant voice of a gentleman that in
scarlet cloak sat by my lord's right hand. "And thou art my nephew?"
said he, as I moved forward to do him courtesy.
When we were made known he bade me proceed, assuring me that all my
wishes should be fulfilled.
"My lords," said I, "the good brothers of St. Michael of the Vale in
Guernsey are besieged and shut in this four weeks, nay, stormed and
murdered by a most pestilent villain and an innumerable horde of Moorish
devils that are settled in the isle. Men call him Le Grand Sarrasin, and
as ye have doubtless heard, he is a caitiff without mercy, that wars on
women as on men, on monks and husbandmen. This is he that calls himself
the Lord of the Norman seas, in clear treachery to our lord the duke,
and so cunning he is that he hath watchmen and spies at every harbour,
that he may establish himself more stoutly ere help come."
"And didst thou escape his hands?" said mine uncle, pondering, head upon
hand.
"Nay; he caught me and shut me in the womb of the earth, but by God's
grace I escaped him--but this matters not. Give me your good aid to the
duke, that in all haste I may return with a great host to save the
brethren."
"How old art thou, my son?" asked Lanfranc.
"Father, but sixteen years," said I, as though I feared they might smile
at me.
"And thou," said he, in admiration, "hast come through these terrors in
such a spirit of courage, wisdom, and love. Verily, my lords, ye see
here a child that God has led marvellously on an undoubted work of
charity."
While their eyes rested on me with a wonder I loved not--for, indeed,
what had I done above what any knightly youth should do for those he
loves?--I spake on, telling them how few days' food remained at Vale,
and how strait they were shut in, and begging them to see that I passed
on to William swiftly.
"The duke is far north now," said the abbot, "gathering strength for the
dangers that are looming from France. It is a sore ill time to beseech
him. Yet matters will not wait. In this case," he said strangely, "thou
wilt be thine own best advocate with him, for well he loves a brave and
knightly deed. With all haste fit letters shall be written to win thee a
ready entrance to his presence--to his heart thou must win thine own
way, as thou hast with us."
"Teach him not, then," said Lanfranc, "too piteously of the sorrows of
our brethren, for a few monks more or less matter not to him, but
represent the arrogance of this Sarrasin, and how clearly he claims the
title of Lord of the Seas. That will touch best our sovereign lord."
"Is not my Lord Maugher still in Guernsey?" asked the abbot, pondering.
"Yea, he is," I said.
"And how acts he in this trouble? Is he besieged with the brethren, or
goes he free?"
"My lords," said I, "as I was led captive through the Sarrasin's castle,
I saw the same evil beast that my lord calls Folly, but men his familiar
demon. I saw it in the very presence of Geoffroy; therefore I think
these evil men are hand and glove together."
"Nay--wilt thou swear this?" said Lanfranc.
"Ay, that I will," I said.
"Then this also must be made known the duke," said Lanfranc, darkly.
"Now, my dear son," said the abbot, "retire to our chamberlain. Cast off
these poor weeds, and take from him aught in his presses that befits
thy dignity, and then return to us, that we may see our vicomte's nephew
in his bravery."
With a courtly bow I left them.
Now, the abbot's chamberlain found me a fair good suit, more courtly
than I had ever worn, and I scarce knew myself in the glory of its rich,
dyed cloth. Fair linen next my skin, fit for an abbot's wear, a long
blue tunic broidered with gold, and a trim girdle, a grand surcoat of
damask, and a gay red cloak over all, with an emerald brooch on my right
shoulder. With bright stockings and a little ribboned hat I was no
longer Nigel the scholar of the Vale, but Nigel de Bessin, gentleman and
courtly soldier.
So drest and refreshed with food, I returned to my lord's chamber, where
at mine uncle's footstool I heard these noble lords and churchmen speak
of the circle of events from England to Italy, and through all their
words the one great name of William seemed to be present as the centre
of their surmisings. So deep had this son of Rollo stamped himself in
the life of those rare days.
"Strange news from England, this," said one, "now that the Atheling is
dead. We can guess of a truth whom the royal priest will light upon, as
he grows near his end."
"He loves not Godwin's brood," said another.
"Then the prophecy that set Henry of France afire will yet be true in
another way. William shall reign in London, not in Paris," said
Lanfranc.
"And thou at Canterbury, good brother," said the abbot.
And, indeed, ere many years this came to pass.
CHAPTER XIV.
How, being given letters to _Duke William_ by the Abbots of _St.
Michael_ and of _Bec_, I set out for _Coutances_, and of what befell me
on my way.
"Sit down and take thy pen, good Nigel," said the abbot next morning;
"this Lanfranc shall dictate thee thine epistle."
I sat down by the abbot's writing-horn, and wrote somewhat as follows,
while the two great men put their wise heads together. After customary
salutation, the letter ran--
"We send the bearer with news of grave moment to thee and thy
rule. A Sarrasin pirate even now lords it in Guernsey, and kills
very many of thy lieges. Moreover, his force grows daily to a
greater height. There hath joined him Maugher, once archbishop.
"Thou wilt know how best to protect thine honour. The bearer hath
for his years done wondrous chivalrously in this enterprise.
Delay not, duke, to hear him."
Such was the letter that I bore, signed with the names of the two
abbots. Now I had great joy in having the great Lanfranc's countenance,
for all men knew William loved him, since, after his first disgrace for
his sharp rebuke of William's marriage, he met him fearlessly, and with
cool laughter and wise words brought him into still closer union than
ever he had been before. So I knew my letter would have weight.
Now it was decided I was to ride with all speed to Coutances, near fifty
miles away, and there to inquire more certainly about William's
whereabouts.
My uncle chose for me a fresh horse from the abbot's stable, that he
swore would bear me nobly, and seeing me suitably equipped, led me once
more to the abbot, who blessed me ere I went forth.
"Child," said he, having given me his blessing, "thou hast by thy spirit
made clearer to me the legend of this holy house. A fair child, men say,
went with Aubert of old to lay these foundations in the rock, and
wherever he trod,--that child of olden days,--the hard rock crumbled for
the great bases to be laid. So, beneath thy tread, young though thou art
in years, doth difficulty crumble to nothing, for it is the work of
God--the saving of our brethren--thou art called to, and wilt perform!"
"What have I done, holy father," I replied, "that any knightly youth
would not be proud to do?"
With all fit instructions as to where I was to go at Coutances, and the
priests that would there send me onwards to the duke, I jumped upon my
steed, and in all fair array, as befitted a youth of high rank, alone I
left St Michael de Tombelaine, and leaving Pontorson behind me, and
having the blue water all the way on my left, reached Avranches by noon.
Now, though my horse showed signs of weariness, I hoped to get forward
another good stage before evening. Therefore after a short rest I
pressed forward, and I soon came into a country that was well tilled,
and the land was divided by hedges like our lanes in England. I was ill
pleased indeed, when well forward on these desolate roads, to hear the
same trot behind me that I heard before on my road from St. Malo.
It made me press on my tired steed to a canter, and the steed behind me
cantered too. I thought, "I will stay, and let the knave pass," but as I
stayed in the way, the horseman that followed stayed as well. We had
ridden some hour and a half like this, and the road ran now through a
wood that seemed dark and cheerless to the sight, yet I was forced to
press on. I had not progressed far, when I heard a whistle behind me,
and lo! I saw, as it were, in answer two great knights come spurring
towards me from the trees ahead.
Then I feared greatly, and I knew there was an evil trap set to catch me
on my way, and I ground my teeth to think that here seemed fresh delays
to the work I had in hand.
The three came at me now with drawn swords.
I drew my little poniard, since I knew I must fight.
"Yield thyself up!" said one great villain. "It is useless to resist!"
My answer was an attempt to drive my horse forward, but the frightened
brute refused my urging. I lunged at the first with my blade, but with a
sweep of his own he drave it out of my hand.
"How now, sir page," said he, "must we teach you manners?"
I was nigh weeping for shame that he should so best me, yet I had no
other weapon, and they were three men, and I but a lad.
They dismounted, and pulled me from my horse, and holding me flat on the
ground with his knee, one of them began to rifle me. "The abbot's
letter," I thought, and in a moment I gave tongue.
"Look you, good sirs," I said, "take my money. You are welcome to it,
but let me go forward on my road."
"Wherefore such haste?" said one. "Thy money we will take, and thy
sorrel hack, but there is a letter still on thee we require to be found
yet!"
It was plain they were no highwaymen, but in some sort the Sarrasin's
men, even here in Normandy, and a great terror took me of his power. In
a frenzy I escaped from them a moment, and stood clutching madly my
breast, where the letter lay hid.
They made a rush for me together, and though like a young tiger I
struggled with scratch and bite and kick, they had me down again.
"Alas!" I thought, "die then of famine, poor brethren of the Vale."
One of them thrust his hand under my riding-tunic, and had the parchment
in his very palm. And all seemed over with me and my mission, when
suddenly I heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming nearer, and I
shrieked out "Help!" My enemy stuffed his cap into my throat to stop my
cries.
But they had been heard, and they came closer at a gallop. "More
villains," I thought, "to make certain of my capture."
But it was no villain's voice that rang out next. It was my uncle's, and
with him were men-at-arms. And as he shouted my assailants left me, and,
jumping into their saddles, fled into the wood.
So I was free, and my letter safe, and my uncle raised me up, and most
tenderly handled me to find my injuries.
"Curse the day," he said, "that I sent thee forth alone! How did I not
suspect ill!"
"But how camest thou in such good hour?" I asked, still trembling.
"My heart smote me," said he, "to send thee thus alone. And, indeed, I
felt a presage of ill. So I got my men-at-arms, and swore that I would
be thy convoy to the duke himself."
"Uncle," said I, "these were no highwaymen."
"What then, lad?"
"They were searching me for the abbot's letter, my passport to William,"
I said.
"Then traitors grow like mulberries down yonder," he said, pointing back
to the Marvel. "But now, if we press on, we shall reach ere nightfall
the house of a good knight, where we shall lie safe till morning."
So we trotted forward, and in two hours' time we were at the gateway of
the castle of the Sieur de la Haye, who received my uncle with all
courtesy, and refreshed us and our steeds; and next morning we rode to
Coutances.
CHAPTER XV.
How I saw an evil face at a casement, and how, at my uncle's house of
_St. Sauveur_, I heard tell of my father. And of what happed on our
setting forth for _Valognes_.
Now, as we rode into Coutances that day, I saw a sight that made me
again fearful. The street was full narrow, and the houses leaned forward
from either side, so as to leave but scant vision of the blue sky above,
and there were plenty of windows in each story.
Now, as I rode by, I was level with the first story of the houses. And,
suddenly, before one window, my eyes were held captive, and I could not
turn them away. A man in a fisher's tunic was gazing out on us, and I
had not even to ask myself where I had seen his face before, for I knew
that it was Maugher. My eyes fell before his, and I blushed and trembled
at his sight.
"Uncle, uncle! my lord vicomte!" I said when we were passed, "dost know
who stood at yon window in a sailor's dress?"
"What meanest thou?" said he, as he saw me tremble.
"It was my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, the Sarrasin's accomplice," I
whispered in his ear.
We reined in our horses and looked back, but the man was gone.
"It was a fancy, child," said the vicomte; "there was no man there."
I said naught; but I knew it was no fancy, and I guessed whence these
villains that lately attacked me got their commission.
Now, at Coutances we learned of the canon, that knew the duke's
whereabouts, that he was near Barfleur, seeing both to his navy of ships
in the harbour there, and having care also to the exercise of archers on
the land.
"As I think," said the canon, "you will find my lord duke either in the
shipyard of Barfleur, or the shooting-ground of archers at Valognes hard
by."
It was then to Valognes, beyond the river Douve, that we were next to
ride, and we would pass on the way my uncle's castle of St Sauveur,
where mine ancestors had been settled since they were lords of the
Bessin. And the whole distance to Valognes was near fifty miles. It was
then mine uncle's wish that we should rest again at his house, and
prepare to approach Duke William with due state on the morrow; and this,
though I was unwilling to delay, I was forced to agree to.
So before evening we came in sight of St. Sauveur, a high and fair
castle, round whose walls the Douve makes a circuit.
Across a bridge raised on pillars over the moat we rode, and through the
wide-open gate we came into the courtyard, where there was great
greeting of my lord vicomte by my cousins, from whom he had been some
weeks absent.
"And here," said he, to young Alain and Rainauld, his sons, "is Nigel,
your cousin, a good scholar of Guernsey, that bids fair to be a better
soldier still."
So with fair greetings was I led in to the chamber of my lady the
vicomtesse, where with plenty demure damsels she plied her needle. Much
surprised was she to see me, and heard with a grave face my story.
"And thou art but sixteen," she said, "and art about so noble an
enterprise? My Alain has barely left his governor. Indeed, thy good
monks know how to teach chivalry."
Then I asked her the meaning of this fair tapestry that, stretched on a
long frame, she and her maidens toiled at round the chamber, for it
caught my eyes as showing, I thought, great exploits of arms. And she
told me that it was the exploits of Duke Rollo that she wrought there in
many colours, and that the Lady Matilda herself, who loved such
needlework, had made choice of the panels. In one I saw the ships being
made in far Norway; in another, in a goodly company they rode upon the
sea; in another, Rollo ate and drank with his fellows; and some
pictures told of battles, wherein I saw them in their close hauberks and
narrow shields, waving swords and driving their deadly spears.
"And in every picture," she said, "I love to work in one like my dear
lord in figure and knightly person, and to work the name of this great
family above."
"Ay, good aunt," cried I; "in sooth thou art like myself in pride of the
Norman race, that even now, in the glory of William, is worthy of its
forbears."
She smiled kindly as mine eyes sparkled, and said I was indeed a
knightly youth. Then, as we were left alone by the vicomte, she dropped
her voice, and gazing at me most tenderly, inquired if I had ever seen
my father.
"Nay, dear lady," said I, sadly but proudly, "I know not, from aught
that has been told me by any, whether he be alive or dead. Save that he
is my lord vicomte's brother, I know naught."
"Poor lad!" she murmured tenderly, "'tis time thou shouldst know more.
Yet it is a sad story. Know, then, thy father was a wild and untameable
youth, that was courteous and brave withal, but brooked not government
overmuch. He was, too, of a wondrous merry disposition, that loved a
jest at men in great places, and this made him not beloved. Against his
father's command he stole away thy mother, who perished in a raid of her
kinsmen upon his house, and in the minority of the duke he was found on
the side of violent men--and then he disappeared. Thou in thy baby
innocence wert the only charge he left us, and as soon as times were fit
thou wert sent to the Abbey of the Vale, which is indeed a good school
of gentle manners and sound learning."
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