Part 9 (1/2)

”Ay; but 'twould take a good five hours to bring it hither.”

Sir John saw the truth of this statement, and puckered his brows in his perplexity.

”Craving thy pardon, sir,” said a grizzled man-at-arms, standing within earshot of the two officers, ”I know how the galley can be held till the morrow.”

”How so, sirrah?” demanded the Constable.

”For over thirty years I was a marshman of Poole----”

”Forbear to speak of what thou hast been,” replied Sir John Hacket curtly, ”and tell us what thou dolt propose to do.”

”As a marshman I know how to walk over this mud. Give me leave, with five of my comrades, and I'll warrant that the galley will never float again.”

”How can the man possibly reach the vessel by walking on the mud?”

demanded Lord Willoughby, who at that moment had joined the Constable in order to confer with him on a plan of action. ”Even now two score or more of the knaves lie swallowed up by the filthy slime.”

”Let him have his way, my Lord,” replied the Constable; ”and,” he added, addressing the soldier, ”get ye gone, and do your work quickly. A rose-n.o.ble apiece shall be your reward if ye succeed.”

The man-at-arms departed, and, with his chosen comrades, crossed the river and followed the bank till they came as close to the galley as they could without leaving the firm ground.

Here they divested themselves of their armour, and, clad in their leather jerkins, gripping no other weapon but a heavy hammer and a short iron spike apiece, they looked more like peaceful village smiths than soldiers setting out on a desperate venture.

From the rude huts where the Hamble fishermen kept their stores came a man bearing a dozen square boards, each having four small holes bored through it with leathern thongs attached. These the men-at-arms, with the quickness of frequent use, bound to their feet.

”Are ye ready, comrades?”

A gruff yet determined a.s.sent was given, and the men, walking with short, ungainly steps, gained the edge of the mud.

”Now, hark ye,” exclaimed their leader, turning to the master-bowman who commanded the archers, ”give the word that the bowmen keep up a dropping fire to cover our approach. And I pray thee, let no man shoot who cannot be depended upon, for, little as I reck a shaft in fair fight, I am not in a mind to be feathered in the back by an English arrow!”

The sun was now low down beyond the dark outlines of the New Forest, s.h.i.+ning straight into the eyes of the archers. Nevertheless, they shot rapidly and well, the arrows making graceful curves as they sped towards the mark. No sign of life was visible on board the Genoese s.h.i.+p, as slowly and steadily the six men-at-arms plodded, with their boards squelching in the liquid mud, towards their goal.

As they drew near, the covering volleys ceased; but, suspecting a ruse to draw them from shelter, the Genoese refused to show themselves.

Thus, without opposition, the Englishmen reached the shelter of the lofty hull of the stranded galley, so that they were protected by her bulging sides from any missile the enemy might launch overboard.

Soon the terrified crew were still more panic-stricken by hearing a succession of dull blows against their s.h.i.+p's side. l.u.s.tily swinging their mauls as well as their precarious foothold would allow, the Englishmen drove their iron spikes deep into the seams of the doomed vessel. Oaken tree-nails and iron bolts were unable to stand the wrench, and in a few moments a gaping hole four ells in length and a span in breadth proved that the boast of the man-at-arms that the galley would never again float was an accomplished fact.

But now the startled crew were lashed into active resistance. Over the side, lowered by stout ropes, came the figure of a man fully clad in plate armour--the dreaded Luigi Spinola himself. Though deprived of the sight of one eye and nearly blind in the other--thanks to Redward Buckland's reception at the attack on his house--the Genoese knight could dimly see the forms of his attackers, and that sufficed.

Before the Englishmen could realise their danger the keen blade of the Italian had cleft the skull of the nearest. Preventing himself from turning like a sack at the end of a rope, Spinola stretched out his left hand to steady himself against the side of the vessel, while he raised his right arm to repeat the deadly stroke. One of the men-at-arms seized his opportunity, and floundering in on the knight's blind side, smashed his gauntleted left hand into a shapeless ma.s.s by a blow from his maul.

With a roar of agony and fury his arm fell helpless against his side, his body swung round, and in a moment the heavy hammer again descended, this time on the visor of the knight's bascinet. With a groan the Genoese died--literally at the rope's end; and, their work accomplished, the five Englishmen began their hazardous retreat, leaving the body of their hapless companion slowly sinking in the pitiless mire.

Again the covering flight of arrows sped towards the galley; but, with the courage of despair, some of the Genoese crossbowmen sprang upon the towering forecastle and fired at the retreating men-at-arms. One of the latter fell with a heavy bolt between his shoulder-blades; another had a shaft completely transfixing his arm, while their intrepid leader was menaced by two of the best crossbowmen of the galley.

By pure chance a stray arrow pierced the brain of one of the Genoese just as he was about to pull the trigger. As he fell he struck his companion, whose aim was affected by the sudden jolt, and the quarrel flew aimlessly over the Englishmen's heads.

Unable to stand against the arrows of the English bowmen, the remainder of the Genoese again sought shelter in the waist, and, amid the cheers of their comrades, the four men-at-arms regained the sh.o.r.e.

All that night the English slept on their arms, sentinels being posted to give the alarm should any of the foemen attempt to leave their water-logged craft. It was a still, moonless night, and the time of spring tides, and as the water ran inch by inch over the waist of the doomed galley, the watchers could distinctly hear the cries and lamentations, and appeals to the saints, borne on the night air from the demoralised Crew, as they cl.u.s.tered in frightened groups upon the raised forecastle and p.o.o.p.