Part 32 (2/2)

”Until Sir Reginald returns home I will not press my suit, but should he do so I hope I may be permitted to withdraw from the camp for a few weeks to accompany him. Even then, how can I tell that the Lady Audrey will deal favourably with me?”

”I know that she loves thee, Raymond.”

”How so, Sir John, seeing that I know not myself?”

”Raymond, I am afraid thou art more forward with the art of war than with the affairs of the heart. Would a maid have sent a messenger to me every week whilst thou wert in Hennebon to know if there were tidings of thee, if she did not love thee?”

”But how knew she that I was in Brittany?” was the amazed question.

”How? Didst thou not give me a letter to send to her?”

”Only in case I did not return.”

”Didst thou? Didst thou? Certes now I remember! But now I think on the matter, I must have forgotten that, for I did send it,” replied Sir John, with pardonable deceit and well-feigned dismay. ”But mind it not, Raymond, 'twas after all for the best, and, mark my words, she'll have thee--sure enough.”

On the morrow the march was resumed, the King having decided to lay siege to Calais, and slowly the long lines of English troops, every man heavily laden with booty, proceeded from the field of Crecy.

Edward had long looked with covetous eyes upon the port of Calais, for owing to the death of his Flemish ally, Jacques d'Artevelde, at the hands of fellow-countrymen, and the consequent estrangement with the Flemings, the King was in need of a continental port for the distribution of English wool, and, once Calais were taken, the nest of pirates who made their headquarters there, to the great annoyance of English s.h.i.+ps, would be dispersed. Also an entry for his troops would be secured within easy distance from the English coast. So, with these strong incentives, Edward hastened to reduce the town.

Within a week of Crecy, the English lay in a triple ring around the land side of the town, while a strong fleet cruised constantly between Grisnez and Gravelines to prevent any succour being sent by sea, and, without attempting to carry the defences by a.s.sault, Edward relied upon famine to bring about the downfall of Calais.

Throughout the long winter of 1346-47 the blockade was maintained, and the works of the besiegers resembled the outer walls of a city rather than temporary trenches, so that the English were in a position both to keep the citizens of Calais within their walls and to repel any attempt on the part of the French to raise the siege.

Early in the spring dysentery broke out in the ranks of the English, and amongst those who were attacked was Sir Raymond. In spite of the rough yet devoted attention of his men, the skill of the hara.s.sed physicians, and the solicitude of his friends, the young knight was, for a time, in great danger, and even when the crisis was pa.s.sed his progress towards recovery was slow and tedious.

One day as he lay alone in his tent, weak and worn, Raymond heard the well-known sound of troops marching hurriedly out of camp, and the blare of trumpets denoted that something untoward was afoot.

Feebly he called the names of the men who usually waited on him, but in vain; there was no response to his summons, and at length the tramp of feet died away, leaving the camp as silent as the grave, save for the flapping of the canvas as the keen wind whistled around the tents.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ADVENTURE AT THE RUINED MILL

IN his tent, in terrible suspense, the young knight, Raymond Revyngton, lay helpless, wondering how went the fight. In due course, through the opening of his tent, he saw a stream of wounded men returning, singly or in small parties, some with rough bandages round their limbs or their heads.

At length came one whom he knew--an archer of the Portchester company.

”Stephen! Stephen!” called Raymond, as loudly as he could.

In obedience to the knight's cry, the man entered the tent, nursing the maimed fingers of his right hand with his left, while the blood poured freely from the stumps and trickled in a crimson stream down his arm, soaking his sleeve.

Deftly and quickly, notwithstanding his weakness, Raymond bound the wounded hand, and poured out a cup of wine for the almost fainting archer. The draught revived him, and the colour began to steal back into his ashy-grey face.

”How goes the battle?” asked Raymond anxiously.

”'Tis not a battle, Sir Raymond, but a slight pa.s.sage of arms, though I perceive that as a bowman my work is done. The French King hath tried to relieve the town, but my Lord Chandos and seven thousand of our men have withstood him amid the sand-hills and marshes. Save for a few hand-to-hand blows, the French never made a stand, and already they are in full flight.”

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