Part 10 (1/2)

A huge stone, thrown from the highest part of the after-castle, came cras.h.i.+ng through the bottom of the first boat, which instantly sank.

Those of her crew who were unable to maintain their foothold on the submerged boat perished miserably in the mud and water, for those in the other boats, filled with the mad desire of fight, paid slight heed to their misfortunes, being only intent on gaining a foothold on their enemy's decks.

In a short s.p.a.ce the after-part of the galley was surrounded by nine large boats, while the remaining ten headed for the forecastle, and with shouts of fury the English strove to effect an entrance.

The lofty sides and stern rendered their task very difficult and hazardous, the Genoese striking l.u.s.tily with sword, axe, and mace whenever a foeman's head appeared, and it was not until, by Sir John Hacket's order, a portion of the amids.h.i.+p bulwarks were cut through and some of the boats floated over the submerged waist, that a living Englishman stood on the decks of the Genoese.

Headed by the Constable, a party of men-at-arms carried the p.o.o.p ladder by a determined rush and gained the p.o.o.p. Here they were met by Guido and Andrea Spinola and some of the best swordsmen amongst the Genoese, and for a while a fierce struggle ensued, though, profiting by the diversion, another party of Englishmen secured a foothold on the stern of the galley.

Unable to withstand the sweeping blows of the Constable's sword, the Genoese gave back, two of their number going down with their headpieces shattered and their skulls cleft to the chin, and Guido and Andrea alone remained in the van to bar the Englishman's pa.s.sage.

With lightning rapidity their blades met, Sir John warding off the double attack with marvellous skill. Suddenly the elder brother, putting all his strength into the blow, delivered a mighty stroke with his heavy sword at the Constable's head.

Stepping nimbly aside, the knight avoided the deadly sweep of the weapon, and ere the Italian could recover himself Sir John cut him through the gorget till the blade met the top of his enemy's breastplate.

Guido fell forward, and the Constable, unable to withdraw his weapon from the corpse, was obliged to relinquish his sword and take to his mace. With this ponderous instrument of offence Sir John pressed his antagonist so strongly that the latter could but attempt to guard himself. At last, with a cras.h.i.+ng blow, the Englishman beat down the defence of the Genoese, shattering his sword and crus.h.i.+ng his helmet like an egg-sh.e.l.l.

Disheartened by the fall of both their leaders, and pressed before and behind by increasing numbers, the Genoese retreated till they gathered in a small ring of steel, surrounded by their incensed attackers. Fighting to the last, they fell, till none but those wearing the surcoat of St. George stood upon the after-castle, and close on five score bodies littered the narrow blood-stained p.o.o.p.

By the Constable's order one of his squires displayed his banner, and this was the signal for a hearty cheer from the crews of the two Southampton s.h.i.+ps and the crowd of armed men on sh.o.r.e.

But the combat was not yet over. Those of the forecastle still stoutly resisted, and as yet none of the Southampton men, headed by the brave and impetuous Walter de Brakkeleye, had gained any advantage, though, by the Bailiff's order, some of the archers had rowed a short distance off, firing anew on the Genoese whenever they attempted to show themselves above the side.

With the fall of the after-castle, the Genoese were additionally a.s.sailed by the English bowmen, who now held the captured part of the galley; and, on the arrival of a fresh supply of arrows, the deadly hail smote the scanty remnant, who strove in vain to seek shelter.

At length, when no one was left standing upon the forecastle, the English men-at-arms rushed the hardwon stronghold, mercilessly killing those who yet remained alive, and casting their bodies overboard, and the shattered galley was given to the flames.

Then, with shouts and rejoicings, the soldiers returned to the sh.o.r.e.

The countrymen dispersed to their homes, the two English s.h.i.+ps hoisted sail and made for Southampton, whither Lord Willoughby's lances had already gone. The Constable of Portchester and the Bailiff of Southampton marshalled their followers, and marched through the devastated village towards their camp at Woolston.

All that was left to mark the raid were the charred remains of what had been a prosperous hamlet and the blazing timbers of the once-dreaded galley of Luigi Spinola.

CHAPTER VI

AT THE ABBEY

CALM and peaceful appeared the grey Abbey to the war-worn defenders, as, carried in litters or supported by the men of the Constable of Portchester's company, the nine archers pa.s.sed through the great gateway.

The vesper bell had just ceased its tuneful tolling, and in its place rose the deep, l.u.s.ty voices of the monks, who, having completed yet another day of hard manual labour, were uniting once more in prayer and thanksgiving.

For awhile, save for the porter, a lay brother of gigantic size and jovial mien, the secular portions of the Abbey were deserted, but the arrival of this host of rough soldiers and their wounded charges contrasted ill with the pious solitude of the place.

The Cistercian Abbey, founded as the Priory of Saints Mary and Edward in 1237, was at that time in the zenith of its prosperity. Favoured by royal charters, the natural zeal of the monks exerted itself to such an extent that within a few years of its birth the Abbey bade fair to outs.h.i.+ne its parent foundation at Beaulieu, and a large triple-aisled church, a sumptuous Abbot's house, lofty dormitories, architecturally perfect cloisters, a number of extensive outbuildings, and two artificial fish-ponds testified to the work of these pioneers of civilisation.

Awed by the solemnity of their surroundings, the soldiers cl.u.s.tered in small, silent knots, looking around with open-mouthed astonishment at the unaccustomed beauty of the delicate architecture and listening to the distant chanting of the monks.

If an archer dared even to whisper his comrades silenced him by a look, while, when a man-at-arms dropped his short spear on the tiled floor, the culprit stooped, picked up the weapon guiltily, and crossed himself for very shame.