Part 27 (1/2)

Seeing Sir John and his squires gazing intently at the abandoned stronghold the men did likewise. They saw the grim and gaunt pile standing clearly out against the dark background of the forest, and from the black flag-staff fluttered the blue banner of the company, with its well-known device of the golden crescent.

Even as they watched, the figure of a man made its appearance on the battlements; the banner was slowly lowered, and the man disappeared.

A few moments later the same man, mounted on a swift steed, emerged from the gateway and thundered across the turf. Reining in his horse before Sir John, the rider handed the banner to the guidon-bearer, saluted, and fell in with his comrades; but still the Constable kept his eyes steadfastly on the fortress.

What could it mean?

Slowly the moments sped. To the perplexity of the soldiers, the castle had an irresistible fascination for their leaders, and, following their example, they, too, looked in silent wonderment at the gaunt ma.s.ses of masonry.

Suddenly, with a flash, a roar, and a cloud of smoke and dust, the castle appeared to split asunder; huge ma.s.ses of stone flew skyward, then with an appalling crash the walls subsided, and in place of the ma.s.sive outlines of the fortress there was nothing to be seen save a pile of blackened stones, over which floated a heavy pall of dense vapour.

The remainder of the powder had been fired, and the sylvan stronghold of the Count of Tancarville was no more!

”'Tis well done,” was Sir John's only comment, then, on receiving the word of command, the company resumed its march, and plunged into the sombre shadows of the forest.

Almost unnoticed, the little force reached the camp, for in the excitement of the sack of the rich town of Caen the absence of the company on their successful raid was of small moment to the rest of the army intent as they were on the gain of booty.

There were two exceptions at least. One was Redward Buckland, who, being apprised of his son's safety, had left the Suss.e.x company, only to find to his great disappointment that his comrades had departed on their raid.

The other was the great Chandos, who, recognising more than most Englishmen of his day the possibilities of artillery, showed the greatest interest in Sir John Hacket's report of the expedition, promising at the first available opportunity to inform the King of the great service rendered by the Constable of Portchester and his favourite squire.

But other events were taking place that effectually eclipsed for the time being the glory of the brilliant raid. Edward, having plundered Caen, described by Froissart as ”large, strong, full of draperies and all sorts of merchandise; rich citizens, n.o.ble dames, damsels, and fine churches,” had reserved for his own share all the plate, jewels, and choice cloths. The plunder, together with three hundred of the more opulent citizens, was placed on board the English s.h.i.+ps and sent over the Channel; then, hoping to sack Rouen in a similar manner, the King advanced with his army up the fertile valley of the Seine.

Foiled in this attempt, he continued his march towards Paris, only to find the bridges broken down, with a strong hostile force on the nether bank, and Philip with a large army rapidly approaching from Guienne.

A desolate track, dotted with the ashes of countless towns and villages, marked the ruthless advance of the English, till at the very gates of Paris the flood-tide of invasion became the ebb of retreat, and Edward, hard pressed, was in danger of being cut off by overwhelming numbers.

One night, when lying near the village of Poissy, the camp was aroused, and orders given to prepare to march.

”Whither are we bound?” asked Raymond of his father as they met in the semi-darkness.

Redward shook his head. ”'Tis not a soldier's part to question orders,” quoth he. ”I did hear that the King would try to reach Flanders, but methinks this way leadeth to Paris.”

There was no occasion for silence, and, talking freely amongst themselves, the soldiers struck their tents, and at daybreak were well on the road to Paris, while the light-armed hors.e.m.e.n attached to the French army, who hovered around the flanks, wheeled about and galloped off to inform the French King of the advance of the invaders.

Hardly had the cavalry disappeared than a halt was ordered; then, with great celerity, the whole English army turned and retraced its footsteps.

The Hamps.h.i.+re companies, which at the outset formed the rearguard, now found themselves in the van, and great was their delight when it was rumoured that the King had entrusted to them the task of forcing the pa.s.sage of the Seine.

”'Tis Sir John Chandos' own doing,” remarked Redward, ”and as clever a feint as ever I met with. While the French are ma.s.sing to prevent our supposed march on Paris, we are quietly slipping away towards Flanders.”

As they came in sight of the turbid river a horseman spurred madly towards them. ”The bridge! The bridge is broken down!” he shouted, then without slackening his speed he rode onwards towards the main body which the King had under his own command.

”The bridge!” growled Redward, ”what of the bridge? 'Tis easily repaired, provided the enemy do not line the farther bank.”

”Then show all men what we can do,” exclaimed the Constable. ”Pull down that house for me, and I'll warrant there will be a goodly stock of timber sufficient to build a bridge, let alone patch one up.”

The men worked with a will, and soon the house was a shapeless ma.s.s of wood and plaster, while the soldiers, selecting the largest and strongest beams, dragged them to the spot where the jagged ends of the riven bridge gaped a good ten yards apart.

Meanwhile Redward and two score of his comrades had thrown off their armour and quilted jackets, and, with ropes fastened to their waists, plunged into the swift-flowing river.