The Winning of the Golden Spurs Part 35

"That I cannot do. This letter, which I doubt not is of great moment, I will take charge of, and hand over to my Lord Chandos. 'Tis now daylight, and we must needs return to the camp. I am loth to let thee walk, but as there is but one horse between two knights, 'tis better that neither ride."

Walking side by side, and followed by Thompson leading the captive's horse, Raymond and the French knight arrived at the camp without further incident, and, after handing his prisoner over to the camp-martial, the young knight repaired with all despatch to find Sir John Hacket.

On hearing Raymond's story the Constable accompanied him to the tent of Sir John Chandos, whose banner floated close to the royal pavilion.

Lord Chandos opened the letter which Raymond had gained possession of, and found that its contents were practically undamaged in the struggle.

"Canst read?" he asked of the Constable. "For this crabbed fist doth sorely try my one eye."

"Nay," replied Sir John Hacket with a grim smile. "Only enough for mine own use, for from my seventh year the sword ever proved a more pleasing companion than a scrawling, musty parchment."

"And canst thou, Sir Raymond?"

"I will try my best, fair sir."

Raymond took the missive and began to read the superscription, written in French: "To the very puissant knight, Sir John de Vienne, seneschal of our town of Calais, greeting."

The body of the letter began by thanking the Governor for his brave resistance, and expressing hopes of being able to speedily succour the besieged. It then confirmed the arrangements, previously made through the Gascon traitor, for a sally, in conjunction with an attempt on the part of the French forces to break the English lines from without. Should the French be unable to carry out their part and attack the English camp, three white lights were to be shown from the ruins of an old mill near Sangatte, and the besieged would then be at liberty to make the best terms they could for the surrender of Calais. The epistle was signed by no less a personage than King Philip of France.

"By St. George, we have them," exclaimed Chandos, striking his fist heavily upon an oaken chest. "Though I would rather that Rene de Caux were swinging from a gallows in view of the town than lying dead at thy hands in the ruined mill. No matter; this letter must reach the Governor of Calais. Five hundred lances and two thousand archers will suffice to keep the Frenchmen from advancing upon us; and tomorrow night will see three white lights from the old mill at Sangatte."

At nightfall a squire of the Captal de Buche crept cautiously to the postern of the Boulogne Gate, and, representing himself as an emissary of the false Rene de Caux, handed the fatal letter to the Governor, Sir John de Vienne. The presence of a strong force of Englishmen beyond the dunes of Sangatte prevented the expected French army from occupying the mill and signalling to their friends in the beleaguered city, and the following night three white lights flashed their message of despair to the hitherto undaunted garrison.

Thus the fall of Calais was hastened, but Raymond saw nothing of the final act in the drama, when the heroic Eustace de St. Pierre and his five companions were nearly sacrificed to appease the anger of the English King (Queen Philippa's intercession alone saved their lives), for the young knight was with the five hundred lances that guarded the approach from Boulogne; and on the 6th of August, two days after Edward had taken possession of the town, the Hamps.h.i.+re companies, with whom was Sir Reginald Scarsdale, embarked for the sh.o.r.es of England.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HOMECOMING

AFTER four days of light but favourable winds the little fleet, consisting of seven vessels, that bore the Hamps.h.i.+re men homewards arrived off the Isle of Wight. Battle and disease had thinned their ranks, but the survivors returned in high spirits, flushed with victory and rich with the loads of spoil that lay in the holds.

At Spithead the flotilla separated, Sir John Hacket's two s.h.i.+ps making for Portsmouth Harbour, three heading for Southampton, and the remaining two setting a course down the Solent for Lepe and Lymington respectively. Amid a fanfare of trumpets and the farewell shouts of the troops to their former companions in arms, the Constable's vessels pointed to the north-west in the direction of the even lines of Portsdown, under the shadow of which lay the Castle of Portchester.

The s.h.i.+elds of the three knights were displayed over the side of the leading s.h.i.+p, while from her truck floated the blue banner with the device of the crescent and star, and on the p.o.o.p were gathered Sir John Hacket, Sir Reginald Scarsdale, and Sir Raymond Revyngton, engaged in joyous conversation at the prospect of a speedy landing on their native soil.

"And what dost thou purpose to do, Raymond?" inquired the Constable.

"Surely there is little need to hasten westwards to thy newly-gained estates; 'twould be better far to wait the return of the Devons.h.i.+re men. Tarry awhile at Portchester, for methinks there is much to be done here before setting out on thy travels. And thou, Sir Reginald?

Wilt accept such hospitality that my poor castle can offer?"

"I must first seek out my daughter Audrey," quoth Sir Reginald. "And I have but little doubt that Raymond will bear me company."

"Doth she know of thy return?"

"Nay, and I'll warrant the maid will be taken aback when we arrive at the town of Farnham."

A strange smile flitted over Sir John's face.

"Well, Raymond, what are thy plans?"

"I bear Sir Reginald company; then, having won or lost my suit, I will return to the castle, Sir John. For there are several small matters I must give attention to at Hamble and at the Abbey of Netley, without which I cannot go to Churston."

The vessel was now slipping through the water with a fair wind and favouring tide, and already the low-lying island of Portsca lay abeam, and the Castle of Portchester was momentarily growing more distinct.

"By St. George, they expect us!" exclaimed Raymond excitedly. "See, thy banner floats above the keep, and the walls are thick with people. And the garlands over the water-gate! Of a surety they were not placed there at an hour's notice."

"Now that I bethink me," remarked Sir John drily, "I did send a messenger to Winchelsea, so perchance he hath taken a horse and ridden hot-foot to Portchester."

For awhile they watched in silence the grey outlines of the castle topped with its living fringe. The master-s.h.i.+pman gave an order, and the long yard, with its bellying sail, sank from the masthead; and the vessel, carried onward by its momentum and the rush of the tide, came abreast of the fortress. Another order, and the anchor with its hempen cable fell with a sudden plunge into the water; the s.h.i.+p snubbed at the tautened rope, swung round and brought up, riding easily to wind and tide. The voyage was over.

"See, Raymond," suddenly exclaimed Sir Reginald, "thine eyes are younger than mine, yet if I mistake not . . . There, to the right of the water-gate!"

"Ay, the saints be praised. 'Tis the Lady Audrey!"

A small boat, manned by men wearing the Constable's livery, was quickly alongside, and Sir John and Sir Reginald stepped aboard, Raymond following with unknightly haste. Amidst the shouts of the excited throng of soldiers and villagers the boat's fore-foot grated on the s.h.i.+ngle, and the three distinguished warriors again set foot on their native land.

"See, Audrey," said her father, after the paternal salute had been given and returned, "I bring thee an old acquaintance--not the squire, Raymond Buckland, who saved they life at Southampton, but the gallant and worthy knight, Sir Raymond Revyngton."

Within a week a wedding was celebrated in the little chapel of St.

Mary within the castle walls, and Sir Raymond Revyngton and the Lady Audrey Scarsdale were made man and wife. After the ceremony the kindly Constable congratulated the bride, and it must be confessed that the bridegroom's eyes were opened by Lady Audrey Revyngton's reply.

"To thee, Sir John, I owe much of my happiness, for Raymond was ever a bashful lover. An he were but a simple squire I would have married him, but when thou toldest me that he had been made a knight I was filled with joy. And for thy kindly thought in sending a special messenger to bring me hither to await your arrival I deem myself ever indebted to thee!"

"Nay, thank me not, fair lady," replied the gallant old warrior. "Is it not the bounden duty of a true knight to help another? For Raymond, though ever first in the field of war, hath been a laggard in the lists of love. Yet I am but a feeble instrument in this case, for against thy charms he would be powerless but in my heart I thank G.o.d for the part I played in bringing together two n.o.ble families estranged by a fatal feud."

Little remains to be told. Sir Reginald Scarsdale, in spite of his old age and infirmities, died as he wished, falling in defence of the Border against a band of Scottish raiders, and in a quiet Yorks.h.i.+re church he rests, his altar-tomb showing his effigy with the lions at his feet, making a fitting addition to the four crossed-legged images of his crusading ancestors.

Sir John Hacket, after seeing further service in France, acquiring additional glory and renown at Poictiers, died peacefully at a great age within sight of the castle whose Constables.h.i.+p he had held so worthily.

And as for Sir Raymond and the fair Lady Audrey, they lived a life of unalloyed happiness in their manor of Churston, in the midst of the hills of Devon. Yet when the call to arms sounded, the redoubtable Sir Raymond did not shrink from its summons, and at Poictiers and at the slaughter of Najera in the wilds of Spain he added to his laurels. And does not the prowess of the head of the Revyngtons at the repulse of the French descent upon Dartmouth in 1377 still linger amongst the annals of the sons of Devon?

From the union of the rival Revyngton and Scarsdale families descended the successors of a n.o.ble heritage--men courageous and generous in war, n.o.ble and law-abiding in peace, men whose names have helped to make the British Empire what it is to-day, and whose motto has been, and let us hope will ever be--

"Non sibi, sed patriae."

THE END