The Defense of the Castle/Chapter 1
I
A Departing Crusader—A Threatened Attack—Hugh of Cambray—The Archery Contest—The Best Bettered—Preparing for the Siege—Arms and Provisions—Luke the Lurdane—The Enemies Consult—A Hawking-Party—Luke Lays an Ambuscade.
CHAPTER I
Among those summoned by Prince Edward of England to go with him in his expedition to the Holy Land, was the lord of a certain castle that stood upon the banks of the river Ouse in Bedfordshire. This lord had been a companion of the Prince during the civil wars against the rebellious barons, and was not only distinguished as a soldier, but was also known to the Prince as a wise counselor.
He had not wished to join the Crusade, and pleaded that he was needed at home, since his only son was not yet eighteen, and there were hardly retainers enough in the castle to make it secure in case of an attack. But the Prince insisted and laughed at the objections.
"Let your son win his spurs," said he. "I will be warrant the young cockerel will be proud to be left in charge. We must teach the young to replace the old."
There is no arguing with one who is able to enforce his will, and the only favor Francis Mortimer could gain was leave to make a short farewell visit to his castle on the Ouse, and to remain a week, making ready for an absence that might last several years.
Taking only half a dozen soldiers, Mortimer went home as speedily as his strong road horse could take him, and arrived at the great gate one evening just as the portcullis was about to be lowered.
The joy with which he was received by his wife and son, and by his young ward—the daughter of a friend who had been killed fighting for King Henry at the battle of Lewes—was succeeded by bitter disappointment when they learned that in seven days he must rejoin Prince Edward's expedition to Africa. But since the parting was inevitable, all made the best of the few days the baron was to spend at home. Lady Mortimer and the serving-women busied themselves in sewing to provide him with clothing. The armorer of the castle worked early and late that the warrior's equipment might be perfect and sound in every joint and link, and all in the castle seemed to think of nothing but the comfort and safety of the Crusader, while he, on the contrary, thought only of those whom he must leave in troublous times amid neighbors that were little better than armed robbers.
The country not far from them had been the field of many a battle and skirmish in the recent wars, and Francis Mortimer knew that there was little to be expected from the weak government of old King Henry.
The baron gave two whole days to a careful inspection of the castle and its immediate surroundings. In company with his son Edgar, and one old soldier, a veteran who had fought for years at the baron's side, he went from the highest turret to the lower vaults cut into the solid rock below. As he went, he pointed out the strength and weakness of every part of the castle, showing which towers were most important to the defense, where the strongest force could be used to most advantage, and where a weaker body of men could make good their position against even a superior force. For the first time, he confided to his son every secret of the stronghold—a hidden subterranean outlet that led to the bank of the river, fully a furlong down-stream; a well driven through the rock to the river level; a concealed staircase in the wall of the donjon, or strongest tower. He also opened the locked store-rooms, where were sheaves of arrows, beams hewn to make engines of war, bags of grain, and a variety of weapons, and supplies of whatever might be needed to withstand a long siege.
All was in order, for Lady Mortimer was a good chatelaine, and by the aid of her servitors had faithfully carried out her husband's instructions to keep the stronghold always ready for attack.
"In these times," he had said, "the attack often comes before the herald; and the only safety is in leaving nothing to be done on the arrival of the enemy. A well-ruled castle should need only to hoist its draw and drop its portcullis in the face of a besieger."
Satisfied at last that all was in good condition, Francis Mortimer one evening called into the great hall of the castle his wife, his son, his ward, and the trusted veteran soldier. Then, ordering all others to withdraw, he explained why he believed that there might be reason to expect an attack during his absence over-sea.
"Twenty miles southward, as you know," said he, "is the manor of Guy Ferrers, who claims this castle by right of descent from an ancestor who, for aught I know, may one day have owned it. As to that, it need not concern you, since the claim has been examined by his Majesty's councilors and pronounced unsound. Let it be enough for you, Edgar my son, that I hold the castle from the King and you hold this barony for me, and that you have my word that it is rightfully mine. Defend it, if it should be attacked, even at the cost of the lives of every soul within its walls; and never surrender it except on command of King Henry himself, or his rightful successor. So long as I am in England, Ferrers will make no move; but if in my absence he can get possession, he will stop at nothing to retain the castle, trusting, as many others have done, in his sword as sufficient title.
"No more of that. Leave the priests and clerks to talk of paper-titles, and you keep the stronghold until I return. I ask no pledge or oath from you, Edgar; I leave your mother and Amabel to your guardianship, and I know you will lay down life in their defense if it be necessary.
"As to the command of the castle, I leave it in your hands also, my son, but I counsel you to consult with your mother, who, as you know, has had some experience of warfare; and I leave you also another adviser"
Edgar looked up in surprise, as his father laid his hand upon the veteran's shoulder.
"But, my lord," the old soldier began, "am I not"
"Hugh," said the baron kindly, "it shall be as you shall say. We have been comrades in arms for many years since you first strung your bow in my service. Twice I have had to thank you for saving my life on the battlefield, and if you ask it, I shall take you with me against the infidels across the sea. But all that life holds for me I must leave in this little stone fortress,—my wife, my son, my dearest friend's daughter,—and hard as it is to lose you, I would go with a light heart if I knew you were with them. I know the wisdom that is thatched by that grizzled wig of yours, and I know the skill in warfare long years have brought you. My wife is worthy to be the lady of an English baron; my son also is brave and worthy, if unskilled; my ward Amabel has in her veins the blood of a brave soldier; but all these avail nothing without knowledge. I do not command you, but I ask of you, as a comrade in arms, to remain with them."
Hugh of Cambray was a Welshman, and all of his actions were deliberate. He sat in silence for a few moments before answering. Then he sighed and said:
"I will stay, my lord: but only on condition that you come back safe from Palestine."
All smiled, but seeing that the old soldier had spoken entirely in earnest, no one laughed.
"I give you my word," said the baron, holding out his hand. "For I know what you would say. I will not be reckless. You forget, old Hugh, that I am no longer the headstrong young soldier of years ago. I go with the young Prince because it is his command, not that I love adventure or believe that we English should risk our lives to redeem the Holy Sepulcher. Seven crusades have shown that there can be no lasting conquest of that land, and there is enough work for all our soldiers here at home, so long as we have not come to a settlement with your countrymen on the west, and the wild Highlanders of the north."
"And, uncle," said Amabel, "would it not be better if I were to seek shelter with some of my kindred? I can be of no use in case of a siege, and what would fill my trencher might feed a stout serving-man."
"No," said the baron, "it would not be better, nor even as well. I have ever believed that the brain and the heart often serve better than mere strength. I hope there will be no trouble, and, save for prudence, I would not make so much talk. But your father's daughter will never be one to cower shrinking behind stone walls so long as there is a wounded soldier to be cared for, or a dangerous post that needs keen eyes to keep a lookout. There! All is said. Now we will speak no more of battles, sieges, or feats of arms. Let us have a song, Amabel, and then all to bed."
Hugh of Cambray withdrew to where the men-at-arms were lodged, and the young girl sang to the music of a harp. The ballad she chose told of the joyful return of a crusader from the wars with the Saracens, and her three friends listened with pleasure to a song where the words were not drowned amid jangling notes, and where they told one of the romantic stories of which the annals of the times were full. Only the young esquire remained lost in his own thoughts, for he could not shake off the sense of responsibility his father's words had awakened in him. When the song was done, and the harp replaced in its leather case, the party separated, and soon after the castle was silent, except for the steps of a spearsman here and there upon some lonely turret.
After that evening nothing more was said upon the subject of a possible attack upon the stronghold, but the last day or two of the baron's stay was given to enjoyment of the home-life. The baron and his son went riding in the morning, and in the afternoon they sat in the courtyard watching the contests in wrestling, racing, or archery among the men-at-arms. The baron himself awarded the prizes, and never failed to say a word of kindly praise to the victors, or to encourage the losers to a new trial; for he desired in every way to gain the good will of the men on whom so much might depend.
Edgar was proud of his skill as an archer, and easily won every contest in which he took part, until the baron persuaded old Hugh to join in the sport. The veteran was unwilling at first, for he pretended to be too lazy.
"I am growing old, and my joints are stiffening." he said, as he came forward and leaned down with pretended difficulty to choose a bow. "Still, if it gives you pleasure to make sport of an old soldier's weakness, I can but let fly an arrow, and trust to fortune!"
He tried one bow after another, and then dropped them all, with a shake of his gray head.
"These are but baby toys," said he. "If I were to draw sharply there would be splinters flying. Give me but a moment's grace, and I will bring such a bow as a man may depend upon in a quarrel!"
"The old soldier's weakness finds the bows too weak," remarked the baroness playfully, as the old man turned away. He threw back a grim smile over his shoulder, but made no reply as he strode away to the quarters where he lodged. He reappeared with the long bow he had brought with him to the castle, and drawing it from its case examined it critically. Then setting the end against his foot he strung it, snapping the cord over the horn so that it rang with a musical twang.
"This," he said, "is more suited to the nerveless hand of a worn-out warrior, my lady."
At a sign from his father, Edgar stepped forward and shooting carefully, lodged an arrow in the center of the target. Edgar lowered his bow with a smile he could not repress, and the baron clapped his hands.
"Aha, old Hugh!" he cried, "the youngsters too have found out the use of a piece of yew, a clothyard stick and the gray-goose feather!"
"No archer can do more than make a center shot," said the old soldier, good-humoredly. "But if a young archer fixes a center, an old one should be able to put the ring around it!" And selecting four arrows, Hugh discharged them so rapidly that they struck the target like four quick blows from a hammer. Then after a pause, the spectators shouted applause, for all four had been so skillfully aimed that they formed a cross, of which Edgar's arrow was the center, and the four were at almost the same distance, above, below, and on each side.
"What say you, my son?" asked the baron, who was delighted with the victory of his old comrade in arms. "Will you claim the prize? or shall we reckon four good shots better than one best shot?"
"I never saw such shooting," Edgar exclaimed, looking admiringly at the old bowman, "and I say, give him the prize on condition he shall show me how to deliver true arrows on each other's heels! What is the secret, Hugh?" he asked, smiling.
"The secret," the old man replied as he carefully straightened his bow and replaced it in its case, "is to face another archer who draws his bow with the hope of planting his arrow in your breast before yours comes. I know nothing else that gives one so quick a hand and eye. You need only practice, my young lord. Your draw is sure and steady. Your eye and hand are true. The rest will come."
The baron presented the prize to the old soldier, who took it with keen pleasure, for it was a fine hunting-knife, serviceable and strong; and Edgar's delight in the praise given to his shooting was no less than if he had won in the contest. Afterward the veteran sat down among the men-at-arms, and watched the younger men trying their skill.
The next day was given to preparations for the baron's journey southward. He took with him only his own esquire and two soldiers,—leaving four of the men to increase the little garrison,—and rode over the drawbridge and down the hill early the next morning when the inmates of the castle stood upon the threshold of the great gate, and waved to him as long as he was in sight.
Hugh of Cambray had parted with his master in the great hall, and had then gone away to his own room. He had been so many years with the baron that his grief over the parting overcame him. He was too old to form new attachments easily, and had been so long a campaigner that he preferred the open fields and the sky to life indoors. Therefore he closed the door of his little room, and betook himself to a vigorous overhauling of his arms and his armor. Every piece was polished until it shone like a mirror, and then all was replaced in military order. When this labor of love was finished, Hugh reluctantly left his room, and wandered out into the courtyard at a loss for something to do. He began to speculate on the chances for a stirring struggle, and even found himself wondering how it would do to organize an expedition against this Guy de Ferrers, in order to show him that taking castles was a game at which others than himself could play.
While he was thus attacking castles in the air, the young lord, Edgar Mortimer, came out of the door of the keep where the baron's family had their apartments. Seeing the old soldier, and guessing that he was lonely and restless, Edgar walked toward him. Hugh was sitting upon a stone bench, and rose as Edgar approached; but Edgar sat down, and begging Hugh to be seated, began the conversation by saying:
"Hugh, it will be hard for an old campaigner to pass his time inside the castle walls unless he has plenty to occupy him. So I am going to ask you to take charge at once of the garrison here, and to train them in all the duties of soldiers. They are clever and willing, but, except for the men my father brought, are wholly ignorant of warfare. I believe my father did not like to tell us the full extent of the danger of an attack. Perhaps he did not know so much about it as I myself know. But I believe the attempt will be made, and that we shall have no more time to make ready for it than we need. Guy de Ferrers has sent men to examine our defenses very recently. I am sure of it. Hunting parties from his own castle have been about here more than once in the last month, and there is no game to be had here that he could not readily find within half the distance. So soon as he hears that my father is on his way to the East, he will begin his preparations. He has plenty of money, for he is little better than a robber-baron. Merchants go miles about rather than come within his reach, but nevertheless he now and then falls upon a pack-train, and he has become wealthy."
"How many men can he get together?" Hugh asked,—"given a few months for gathering them?"
"But few decent men," Edgar replied, "but many rogues. Hope of plunder will bring together hundreds of the fighting-men now out of employment. He has about him perhaps two hundred, and should be able to get enough to raise his force to at least five hundred, if he can wait long enough."
Edgar saw that his purpose was accomplished. The soldier's face had lost its listless expression, and he was listening eagerly. In this, Edgar was following the baron's advice. "After I am gone," he had said, "you will find old Hugh like an old hunting-dog kept indoors when the horn is blown. I wish you to go to him and interest him in talk about the castle. He is a valuable man, and it is important to gain his good-will; not that he is not thoroughly faithful and sure to do his duty in any event, but because I wish him to give his whole heart to your service." The young man hastened to put this counsel to practice, and with such good effect that Hugh forgot to regret the departure of his old master in eagerly discussing the needs of the castle and its garrison.
After that first day, Edgar and Hugh were accustomed to make a round of the whole inclosure every twenty-four hours, and then to meet for a talk, in which they compared notes. As a result, the garrison was kept up to its highest state of efficiency. The men were drilled in the use of their weapons; archery was practiced; arrows were made, bowstrings twisted, and pieces of timber were cut and fitted for the frames of the engines of war that then served as artillery. Hugh's love for his bow had given him a keen interest in all weapons of precision, and he had made a special study of different forms of catapults—the great bows for sending enormous arrows, and of balistæ and mangonels for hurling other missiles.
There were several skillful joiners among the craftsmen in the castle, and there was no lack of materials in the woods round about. The river bank supplied plenty of the round stones for missiles, and for the next two or three months, the men all worked as busily as if an attack was to be expected at any moment. As each new engine of war was completed, it was set up in the courtyard and tested. When it had passed inspection, all the pieces were carefully numbered so it could be put together again quickly, and then it was stored away in the vaults of the castle.
Lady Mortimer and Amabel Manners were equally busy at the household affairs. Seeing the men all at work, they decided to be equally industrious in their own vocations. They cooked meat, made cakes of bread, smoked bacon, dried beef and preserved it in sugar, and saw that all stores of herbs, balsams, and spices were renewed. Then, too, bales of cloth were woven or bought, and made into the long loose robes, and tight hose that were universally worn. The children of the castle—for there were quite a troop of boys and girls belonging to the servants and retainers—were put to making torches, picking lint, gathering firewood, and helped their elders wherever it was possible.
This industry gave an air of cheerfulness to all in the castle walls. Every hour had its task, and so the time passed quickly, and the autumn came without sign that they were to be called upon to make use of all the arms and munitions they had prepared.
But by this time even the far-sighted veteran Hugh of Cambray could suggest no further work, and the danger of attack had passed from the minds of the people of the household. They returned to their old occupations. There was a small village at the foot of the hill and many of the soldiers had families who lived in its little huts. Harvest time had come, and the grain was so abundant that every hand was employed in getting it into the barns, and there were many merry-makings because the crop was so plentiful.
It was a fortunate circumstance that the preparations for the siege had been made early, for by the time that Guy de Ferrers had learned of the departure of Francis Mortimer, and had sent some of his people to spy out the land, the bulk of the preparations had been finished, and there was no sign of vigorous work about the "Castle of the Red Lion," as Mortimer's stronghold was called by the country people.
So these spies reported that the Mortimers seemed to have no suspicion any attack was contemplated, and were engaged in harvesting the crops of grain, and in hawking, fishing, and out-door sports.
Misled by these reports, Ferrers concluded that the castle would not be able to support a long siege, or at least that it would not be well supplied with means of defense. Indeed, he thought that a sudden attack might succeed without a regular siege, and he was more than once tempted to call together his men-at-arms to try the effect of a dash upon the Mortimers. Probably he would have risked this enterprise except for the advice of a very shrewd fellow in his employ. This man, named "Luke the Lurdane," or "Luke the Fool," was not what this nickname would indicate. The name had been given to him not for lack of brains, but because of his playful ways and mocking-tongue. Luke was clever and skillful, and had much influence over Ferrers, who valued his opinion even more than he would have confessed.
One afternoon the two rode out upon the hilly road that was the way between the two castles, and only drew rein when they were in sight of the Mortimer towers from which the red-lion flag was fluttering in the autumn breeze. Guy de Ferrers remained on horseback gazing at the distant castle, while Luke dismounted, sat down upon a stone by the roadside, and began idly to throw pebbles at a nodding thistle-head. At last, since Ferrers said nothing Luke began to speak:
"My lord," said he, "if eyes were soldiers, you would have two castles by now; for with your envious glances you have taken the Mortimer keep half a dozen times this month. But I'm afraid there will be many a long week before you will see more than the outside of those gray walls."
"And yet," Ferrers said, still without taking his eyes from the fluttering banner, "I believe that it might be had for the taking. We have two hundred stout fellows within call, and in two days they might be gathered, armed, and sent forward before the stripling knew that anything was afoot. I have half a mind to try it."
"You will need a whole mind and more," Luke replied, throwing another pebble that set the thistle nodding. "If we had to deal only with young Edgar, I would march against the old pile of stones without waiting to strap on my mail. But the old fox has been there, as I have told you, and they will not be taken unawares. If you will take my advice, my lord, I have a plan in which without risk you may gain much."
"Come, mount," said Lord Ferrers; "it is time to return, and we will talk over your plan upon our way."
Luke rose lazily, climbed slowly into the saddle, and rode after. When they were side by side Luke explained the plan that he believed might be executed without risk. The other listened attentively, giving an occasional nod of satisfaction. When Luke had finished, Guy de Ferrers exclaimed:
"Luke, we will try it; and you shall have a double handful of good gold pieces if the enterprise succeeds. Then, if I take the castle, you shall be cared for so long as you live. If it fails, we can go back to the other method without loss."
Edgar and Amabel were both fond of hawking, and they each owned birds of which they were especially proud. During the recent busy times at the castle the hawks had been neglected, but now their owners began taking them out again. The expeditions were made on horseback, often taking the hunters miles from home, and Guy de Ferrers knew of these outings through his spies. Luke had suggested that it would not be at all difficult to send a few horsemen into the woods near one of the quarry-grounds where the young people went to hunt, and capture them. With Edgar and Amabel in their hands, it might be possible to treat with Lady Mortimer, demanding a surrender of the castle as the price of safety for these hostages. So far there had been nothing to excite suspicion, and the young hawkers might easily be taken unawares, provided timely notice of their setting out was obtained. For this purpose Luke the Lurdane hired a bright young country boy, telling him that he must conceal himself in the woods near Mortimer Castle, and keep an eye upon the gate. So soon as the hawking-party appeared, he was to report to certain soldiers posted in a little tavern a few miles away. Of these men Luke himself took command, joining them every morning about sunrise.