Part 15 (1/2)

ON THE HEELS OF THE ENEMY

ALTHOUGH the two bailiffs, Walter de Brakkeleye and Robert de la Barre, had remained disgracefully inactive within their defences, the men of Winchester, Romsey, and other neighbouring towns and villages were ma.s.sing to aid the men of Southampton, and a large and well-appointed army had gathered at ready to wrest the pillaged town from the Ba.s.sett, ready to wrest the pillaged town from the invaders and drive them back to their s.h.i.+ps.

Throughout the night the defenders of St. Barbara's Tower kept anxious vigil. Of the preparations for their relief they knew nothing. But hardly had the pale dawn begun to gather in the east than the foreigners were astir, taking steps to keep the galleys afloat on the now falling tide, as if they purposed embarking once more.

Then, with a crash and a roar, the sound of fighting was heard towards the centre of the town, and from their elevated position the sorry remnant of the defenders saw the lances of the English charge down the High Street, bearing all before them. In other quarters the invaders, entangled in the narrow streets, were cut off by swarms of the infuriated inhabitants, who, knowing the peculiarities of their town, moved with consummate ease, hurling down stones and shooting arrows from the houses upon their entrapped enemy.

And now, from the Castle and the West Gate and Catchcold Towers poured the liberated garrison, eager to avenge their disgrace. Many were the encounters between the Southampton men and their foes in this quarter of the town, till, driven back by weight of numbers, the enemy, who were mostly Genoese, returned slowly past St. Barbara's Tower, contesting every inch of ground.

The little band of defenders now occupied themselves by annoying the retreating Italians with well-directed arrows, while, all danger of an a.s.sault being at an end, the barricades behind the door were removed so that the garrison could sally out and join their friends.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of conflict, till Raymond and his comrades perceived the red-crossed surcoats of the Englishmen pressing back the discomfited Genoese. At length, unable to withstand the flanking fire of arrows, the enemy fled past out of bowshot of the Tower--all save one, whom Raymond recognised as the son of the King of Sicily. Burning to achieve a further deed of honour, Raymond threw open the door and rushed out to intercept the mailclad knight, who, with sweeping strokes of his sword, kept the men-at-arms at a respectful distance. But the lad was forestalled. A huge countryman, who had lost his all in the sack of the town, had crept behind the Prince, and, with a swinging blow of a ma.s.sive club, smote the Italian behind the knees.

With a snarl of rage and pain the Prince fell to the ground, and, with a shout of triumph, his a.s.sailant stood over him with his club upraised to give the fatal blow. Finding further resistance impossible, the knight dropped his sword.

”_Je me rends!_” he exclaimed. ”_Je vous donnerai rancon!_”

”Yea, I know thou art a Francon,” thundered the Englishman, misunderstanding the Prince's appeal for mercy, ”and therefore thou shalt die!” And, notwithstanding a warning shout from Raymond and several of the Englishmen, the club descended with tremendous force, and the Italian lay dead upon the ground.

”I'll trouble thee to mind thy own business, my master!” hissed the countryman, turning fiercely on Raymond.

”But he was a gentleman of quality. He surrendered to thee, and he was worth a heavy ransom!”

”Ransom, forsooth!” rejoined the man, in a frenzy. ”What ransom can atone for a wife and five children slain? Speak not to me of ransom!”

And, shouldering his club, the man rushed off in pursuit of the fugitives as they hastened towards the Water Gate.

Beaten back at every point, the invaders crowded on board their galleys, and during the embarkation the slaughter was greater; for, from the walls, as well as from the sh.o.r.e, a heavy fire of arrows was hailed upon them by the infuriated townsmen.

At length, with the exception of a few galleys that, caught by the falling tide, were burned and their crews slaughtered, the hostile s.h.i.+ps withdrew, and, with a steady north-west breeze, bore away down Southampton Water, leaving behind them a half-burned and pillaged town--the terrible penalty of unpreparedness!

After the _melee_ Raymond returned with the remnant of the Constable's detachment to the Tower they had held so well, and, to his surprise and delight, found his father awaiting him, though Redward hardly recognised his son. Stained with his own blood and the blood of the Genoese, covered with dust and grime from head to foot, Raymond looked a very different person from the gentle youth of three months back.

”By St. Edward of Netley!” exclaimed Redward, ”wherever I go, whether Francewards or otherwise, thou shalt go too; for methinks there is as much danger in Merrie England as in the land of the Fleur-de-Lys!”

”But how camest thou here, father?” asked Raymond. ”I thought thou wert at Lepe.”

”Ah, lad! it was there I saw the foemen sail towards Southampton; so I rode hot-foot to Hythe.[1] There I took a boat--stole it, I fear--and tried to cross; but in the fog I nearly ran into the thick of the galleys. Then I knew I was too late; so back to the sh.o.r.e I rowed, and came round the head of the Water by land. 'Twas a long journey by Totton, and by the time I reached Millbrook it was daylight, and the men of Romsey were marching in upon the town.”

By this time Raymond had washed his face and hands, and had brushed most of the grime from his clothes, having removed his white surcoat and breastplate.

”We have had a hot time, father. They pressed us hard. Fourteen men lie stretched upon the straw, and nine are dead. Poor old d.i.c.k Wyatt is no more.”

”Heaven rest his soul!” exclaimed Redward, piously crossing himself.

”He was a good and true comrade to me through thick and thin, and I trow 'tis hard to be stricken down almost within sight of home.”

Together father and son ascended the winding stair that led to the upper rooms. There lay the wounded defenders, carefully tended by the Lady Audrey. As Raymond entered the room, she looked at him in a puzzled manner. Then, holding out her hand, she exclaimed: