Part 16 (1/2)

But, though low, the fortunes of the Montforts were destined to recover. The cause was taken up by the Countess Joan of Montfort, the heroic wife of the imprisoned Earl, and being loyally supported by the Bretons, she withdrew her forces to the town of Hennebon, where she awaited the onslaught of the French, trusting in the expected aid from England.

But to return to Raymond Buckland and his adventures. As squire to Sir John Hacket, the Constable of the King's Castle of Portchester, he was now a member of the knight's household, spending the greater part of his time within the grey walls of the fortress.

Four years had made a great change in Raymond's appearance. He was now a youth of twenty, tall and well built. Thanks to his surroundings, he was skilled in the arts of warfare, and few could withstand him at the jousts and spear-runnings that were frequently held in the extensive gra.s.s-grown square that formed the outer bailey of the castle. Moreover, his monkish training admirably fitted him for the more clerkly duties that fell to him, and by his diligence, intelligence, and courage he was held in high esteem by the fiery old knight.

Redward, too, for his tried devotion and experience was made head master-bowman of the Constable's company, and, when occasion served, Sir John was not above asking his advice in the ordering of the castle and its defences.

But over Raymond hung a dark cloud of perplexity. The image of the fair Lady Audrey was ever present in his mind, and, encouraged by the Constable's prediction that in due course he might be ent.i.tled to wear the gilded spurs of knighthood, his hopes ran high of one day being in a position to win the maiden's heart and hand. But to his unbounded surprise, Raymond found that his father was tacitly opposed to this, his dearest wish. With difficulty Redward had been persuaded to allow the young squire to wait upon Sir Reginald Scarsdale, when that knight wished to thank him for his services. Any mention of the name of Scarsdale served to plunge the master-bow-man into moodiness and silence, and any question that the lad put to his sire on the subject was turned in a way that puzzled Raymond in no small degree.

One day an event happened that was to transfer the lad from the pleasant life of ease at the castle to a far more active and dangerous sphere.

How well Raymond remembered it in after years. That morning he and another squire had mounted the four-storeyed Norman keep, and from the battlements looked down upon the scene below. It was a striking picture; the keep stood at the north-west-angle of the huge fortified enclosure. Immediately beneath the east and south faces of the donjon lay the inner bailey. In the far corner of the outer bailey stood the church, and close by was the water-gate, at which lay the Constable's state barge. Away to the south stretched the wide expanse of Portsmouth Harbour, its waters dotted with the sails of highsided cogs and other merchant vessels, as they threaded their way up the sinuous deep-water channels that led to the castle.

Immediately opposite the water-gate was the landport, or gateway giving access to the castle from the land. The lads could follow the line of the dusty road as it pa.s.sed through the little village, swept round the head of the harbour, and eventually was lost in the distance as it ran towards the City of London.

”Look, Raymond,” exclaimed his companion, a Hamps.h.i.+re lad named Oswald Mant. ”A horseman approaches, and, my faith, he does not spare his steed!”

”'Tis not one of the company?”

”Nay, look at the livery--murrey slashed with green--he is of the household of Sir John Chandos.”

”Then something of importance hath taken place. I would 'twere good tidings from France!”

Leaving a dense white cloud of chalky dust behind him, the messenger clattered down the road, pulled up for a moment at the outer gateway to reply to the challenge of the guard, then spurred madly across the courtyard to the foot of the steps leading to the keep. Here a page ran forward to hold his horse, and, throwing himself wearily from the saddle, the rider staggered up the steps and disappeared under a low archway that gave access to the Constable's quarters.

An hour pa.s.sed ere the messenger reappeared, and, after draining a cup of wine, he remounted and spurred his horse on his homeward journey.

While the two squires were debating over the matter, a page sought them, summoning Raymond to instantly repair to Sir John's apartment.

With beating heart, as if antic.i.p.ating some good fortune, Raymond followed the page, and was ushered into the Constable's presence, where he found that Redward was already before him. It was a long, narrow room, lighted with lancet windows and hung with rich arras. At one end was a heavy table littered with papers and plans, and, for the nonce, unmindful of the dignity of his position, Sir John was sitting on its edge, swinging one leg, with the air of a man who is occupied by a perplexing problem.

Directly the page had retired, the Constable signed to Redward to draw a thick hanging over the door.

”Raymond,” quoth he, ”the King hath done us a signal honour. A messenger hath arrived with orders for me to send a trusty squire to the Countess of Montfort, who, as ye know, is beleaguere in Hennebon.

'Twill be a grave and hazardous task, yet withal one of great honour.

To my mind, I cannot name a more promising messenger than thee. Art willing to take the risk?”

”To have a chance to distinguish myself in the King's service is my ardent desire, sir!”

”'Tis well. Now listen. Hennebon is on the sea coast of Brittany, betwixt the great River Loire and the town of Brest. As the foemen lie thick around it, and have also, I doubt not, a strong water-guard, 'tis a matter of stratagem rather than open work. But, in any case, this packet must be delivered into the hands of the Countess at all costs--at all costs, I repeat. I give thee a free hand in the matter. Take what men thou dost deem fit--though, methinks, the smaller the party the more chance of success.”

”Methinks my father will be sufficient company for me, sir.”

”Ah! as I thought. Thou hast chosen wisely. Now take this map and mark it well--'tis by the hand of the King's own guide--and get you gone to prepare for thy journey, for to-morrow morn a stout little craft will lie off the water-gate ready to bear thee over the sea.”

Overjoyed at the prospects of such an adventure Raymond withdrew, and consulted with his father on the best means of getting through the cordon that was drawn round the beleaguered town.