CHAPTER XXVII."OF THE CRAWLING TIDE."What happened during the days immediately following the fatal battle of St Aubin du Cormier, Ralph Lisle never clearly knew. All he could remember was an indistinct nightmare of strange faces, rough and coarse, sometimes fierce and cruel, but amid them all he always saw a pale oval face, with large, wistful, brown eyes, and masses of wavy, dark hair, and then he felt quiet. He could recollect nothing until one night he seemed suddenly to awake, and found himself in a low, rough room, with a strong smell of burnt peat, and a fresh breeze blowing in through an opening in one side. It was nearly dark, save where the bright light of the moon fell upon the rude clay floor, all littered with straw and refuse. Through the opening, which served for window and door alike, he could see a broad gleam of glancing light which he did not trouble himself to think about. He wondered where he could be. There were no sounds in the room. He raised his head to look round. He could not do it. Was he still in a dream? he wondered. Why could he not move himself easily? He lay still again, and must have dozed off, for when he again looked round there were some figures in the room, and one--that of a girl--was softly stealing away from him towards a tall man, and he could hear her say in a low tone,--"He is sleeping gently.""That is well, my daughter, go thou to rest now. Marie will see that he is cared for."Ralph made a little movement; the girl stopped, and looked round. There was a small rushlight on a table; its light fell on her face. Where had he seen that gentle, winsome head and eyes? Ralph said,--"Where am I? What has happened? Why, what's come to my voice?""Oh, father, I am so glad!" cried the girl, and turned quickly back to the couch where Ralph lay. The tall man stepped across the room, taking the rushlight in his hand.Ralph could not recall the face or figure; he felt sure he had never seen either, and yet he had heard the voice."Thou art on the road to health, my son," said the man. "Thou hast been like to die for a week past.""Where am I?""Safe in the cottage of a hind. But thou shalt know all to-morrow an thou art in trim to hear news."So saying, the tall figure removed the light, and in a few minutes more all was quiet in the cottage.The next morning found Ralph much better. He now learnt where he was, and who had saved him."But there is great risk still," said the girl, "and I know not how we may fare. Jean is very rough, and I doubt he is not to be trusted far. His wife Marie is as true as steel, but alack! we English are not overmuch liked, and I hear there are men-at-arms beating the country side. But now thou art better, we can move," she added cheerily.Ralph saw how nobly these strangers had acted by him. He could not understand why. They had risked their lives to save him, and this, too, when the chances were very small that they could ever nurse him through the fever, which resulted from the exhaustion, heat, and wounds of that dreadful day of St Aubin. He did not yet know all."But who are you?" he asked languidly."Ah, now, who do you think?""You are not--no, you can't be. Well, I don't know who you are. But I seem to have seen you before.""Where? Can't you call it to mind?""Was it in the lists at Carisbrooke?""In sooth it was," said the girl, laughing; "and somewhere else, too.""Not at Appuldurcombe, was it?""Ay, marry was it, and elsewhere, too. At it again." But then seeing the effort of memory was too much for Ralph in his weak state, the girl added,--"There, you can't think now. Lie still, and I will tell you. Do you mind lending some poor vagrants a pony at Thruxton? Do you mind a certain night, when you were nigh going over the edge of a cliff near St Catherine's Down? You never knew who it was that spoke to you that night in the mist? And you never knew who sent you the glove? Ah, well! 'twas lucky for you you wore it, or father would have knocked you off like all the others. And why do you think I did it?" she said, with an arch smile."I can't tell," said Ralph, dreamily."Well, but you might think." Then seeing that Ralph's thoughts were far away, she added, in a pitying tone,--"Why, because thou wast so kind to father and me that day at Thruxton. You little knew who I was.""And who are you?" said Ralph absently."Oh, that is a merry conceit. Don't you know now?""No; tell me. How can I tell?""Why, I'm Aunt Yolande's niece.""Aunt Yolande's niece!" cried Ralph in amazement, utterly astounded at the unexpected answer, and not at all able to take in the truth of the remark."Yes I am, although you may find it hard to credit, and my father is Sir George Lisle, and he fled for his life from the field of Stoke, trusting to the generosity of the Captain of the Wight, who, he thought, was his greatest enemy, but whom he knew to be a very noble knight.""And he was not wrong," said Ralph, sadly but proudly."Nay he was not wrong. But he tried to give his life for the Captain's, when he found out how great an injury he had done him. Do you remember Sister Agnes that day I saw you at Appuldurcombe? Do you know who she is?""No. Who is she?""She is my mother," said Magdalen, softly and sadly."Your mother!" said Ralph in astonishment. "But she is a nun.""Yes, she is now; but she was Lady Lisle. I can't call her much to mind at that time, for she left me when I was only four years old.""Why did she leave you?" said Ralph, becoming more interested."'Tis a sad story, and I know not if I know all myself. But she was not happy, and could not bear her life. She took the veil in London, and became a Sister of St Clare.""And how did you find out she was your mother?""Do you mind that night in the snow when father and the Captain fought? You did not know it was the Hermit of St Catherine's and I who came. I only found out too late; but I could not have done anything to prevent their fighting had I known sooner. After father was so sore wounded, the Hermit, who has been a knight himself, and knew father as a boy, took him to the good Sisters of Appuldurcombe to be nursed, and for a long time father was between life and death. In his ravings, Sister Agnes--that's my mother, you know--who took her turn to nurse him with the others--but not at first, because she had been very ill herself--heard him call her by her real name, and she knew him, of course, directly she saw him. She then for the first time heard how cruelly he had mistrusted her in her flight, and that he--well, she made up her mind to tell him everything if he should get well. I don't know what happened, but father became quite altered. He was a long time getting well; and then you all went on that dolorous journey. But you never saw me passing you that evening near Wootton. Father's life was at stake if he should be discovered; and he heard that there were spies of the King's looking out for him; for a rumour had got abroad of an unknown knight, wearing a Yorkist collar, having been at a tourney at Carisbrooke--and it might have been the missing Lord Lovell. Well (but I shall never get done), we managed to get on board a Norman ship of St Vaast, come over with salt, which took us over to Barfleur; and then we heard for the first time that Eustace Bowerman had gotten over there, and was being made much of because he said he could tell the French governor of the province all about what was going on here. I also heard he had vowed to kill some one against whom he had a deadly hate, and I knew that must be you. As Master Bowerman was a likely-looking youth, and well spoken, and not wanting in a ready address and lying tongue, he got on marvellous well, and indeed he helped the French; for they, who thought the Captain of the Wight was a very powerful prince, seeing he was uncle to our Queen, and who dreaded he would bring over a very powerful meynie, were full glad to hear how small a force he could muster, and that made them right hardy and joyous; so that they fought on that bitter day with greater heart than they are wont to do when they meet with us. For they knew right well that those other seventeen hundred in red crosses were but poor weak Bretons. My father, who was a well-known Yorkist, all of which faction were welcome in France as being useful to keep our King in check, was readily allowed his freedom, and he offered his sword to the Seigneur de la Trimouille in the hope he might save some of our poor men's lives, but most of all he longed to save the Captain of the Wight, and to tell him how sad he was at the wrong he had done him. He never knew how vilely those caitiffs had set upon you until I told him, and he always hated Bowerman ever after, and Bowerman returned his hate."This account had astonished Ralph. It seemed so surprising--so like a tale told by a jongleur. That he should have helped his relative, Yolande's brother, and her own niece, in such an accidental way; that this should have led to his triumph at the tourney, and finally to the saving of his own life, seemed so like a romance, that he could not think it was all true."And so that is your father, Sir George Lisle, and you are my cousin after all," said the young man dreamily. "Well, I shall believe it all, I dare to say, some day, but now I seem more in a dream than ever.""But here is father himself," said Magdalen, as the tall figure of the knight entered the room.Ralph would have risen and done reverence due to the rank and kinship of this man who had so mysteriously interfered in his life, since he left Thruxton without his knowing it.Sir George, however, forbade his moving, and greeted his young kinsman as kindly as his somewhat austere manner would let him."So thou knowest all now, my young cousin. The next matter is to get thee safe to St Malo or Dinan, where I hear the Marechal de Rieux is holding out. Ah, the bad captainship of that old soldier! Had--but there, 'tis no use--'tis no use," broke off Sir George Lisle sadly, and almost fiercely.Magdalen tried to turn the conversation to other matters, but after several attempts she gave it up, and they all became silent.As Ralph grew stronger, his memory came back to him, and he asked for details of the battle. He knew they were defeated, but he did not know the extent of the catastrophe. Gradually the fearful nature of the defeat dawned upon him; but it was long before he could realise it. The noble Captain of the Wight, Maurice Woodville, all these strong and lusty men, Dicky Cheke, all gone! It was too much. Ralph turned away, and sobbed. The utter desolation of it all, his own physical prostration, and the dreary prospect before him, completely overwhelmed him, although he did not think of himself. He wished he had died. He did not care to live. For some days after he learnt the news, Ralph was listless and morose, and the knight seemed nearly as miserable. It was with the utmost difficulty the girl was able to get either to take any food, and she, poor child, at last was beginning to lose all interest in anything. Their life was very uncomfortable. There was nothing to divert them from their own sad thoughts. The Breton peasants with whom they had taken refuge belonged to one of the Breton nobles, who had fallen at St Aubin, and had hitherto proved themselves faithful enough. But there was nothing beyond their natural good nature to keep them so. It was true the money the fugitives had brought with them was ample payment for the services performed, but when that was gone there seemed little left to restrain the Bretons betraying them. In spite of the proud boast of the Seigneur de Rohan--"Jamais Breton ne fit trahison"--there was only too much likelihood that in a few days the three fugitives would be delivered up to their enemies.One day as they were sitting listlessly outside the cottage on a boulder of granite, gazing wistfully at the sea sparkling among the innumerable rocks which encumbered the large bay before them, the peasant woman came out, and looking about her, approached the girl. After talking earnestly for some time she went back to the house, and the girl turned to her father with a face paler than usual."Father," she said, "we must get away at once. Marie says she has heard men-at-arms are coming this evening, and we have but little time to escape. She has given us warning at the peril of her life, so she says; and there is an Englishman, she tells me, who has been asking about us all round the country. He is a one-eyed young man, she says."Ralph looked up. He had now heard of the treachery of Bowerman. He now knew that the knight who had saved him was no other but Sir George Lisle, and that the girl whose glove he had worn in the tournament was Magdalen Lisle, niece of Yolande, and heiress to all the Lisle estates, if only her father were restored to his proper position.Magdalen had taken no pains to conceal her dislike of Bowerman, and her pleasure on finding that her father no longer trusted him, and that he equally shared her dislike, was very great. In the necessity of their prompt escape from the battlefield, all examination of the dead was precluded, and neither Sir George Lisle nor his daughter knew whether Bowerman had survived. But now Marie told them of this Englishman, the girl's fears were aroused. Bowerman had urged his suit with her father during their intercourse in France, and Sir George Lisle had received his advances very coldly, and Magdalen dreaded his finding them, especially as her father's conduct in defending the wounded Captain of the Wight must have been observed.The danger was imminent. The little hut where they had taken refuge was on the edge of a rocky bay not far from St Malo, but the intervening country was scoured by the French troops, and escape by land was next to impossible."We must go by sea," said Sir George. "There is Jean's old boat.""But the tide is out, father! look where it is!" said Magdalen, pointing in dismay to the long stretch of sand, strewn with boulders and piles of sharp rocks protruding in all directions, while away on the edge of this waste the sea was breaking on a reef of ugly points of granite, black with the weather and time, and grinning like the teeth of some wild animal, amid the foam and froth of the sea. It was too true; the tide would not come in enough to float the clumsy boat before it would be dark, and from what Marie said, the men-at-arms would be there before dusk."We must try and push the boat down," said Sir George.They went back to the hut, and searching in the shed where the few tools belonging to the labourer were kept, Ralph found some spars that would serve for rollers.Sir George had taken the precaution, when they escaped under cover of the darkness from the field of St Aubin, to bring his own armour and that of Ralph Lisle with him. He had dismissed his servants, bidding them shift for themselves, and the horses had been sold by Jean to provide money for their expenses, and also to prevent suspicion arising, if such animals were seen in the neighbourhood of his cottage.Carrying to the boat the few effects they intended taking with them, and hastily collecting such food as Marie could provide them with, the fugitives went down the beach to where the boat lay. They anxiously looked at her. It seemed utterly impossible they could move her. Ralph was still very weak, and they soon found their fears were too true. They could not possibly move it."'Twill be three hours yet before she floats," said Sir George."Any way, we can carry out the anchor as far as this warp will let us," said Ralph, "'twill give us greater help to pull her out, and here's an old sail we can set all ready for the first lift of the tide. The wind is right off the land."Anything being better than standing still doing nothing, they set up the mast, and got the old brown sail ready for hoisting. Everything was now in, when Magdalen suddenly exclaimed,--"Why, see how fast the tide is rising! It is already past that reef of rocks there! It won't be nearly as long before she floats as we thought."The tide was indeed rising fast, and the distant reef of rocks had disappeared entirely. A few jagged peaks were sticking up here and there on some of the higher patches of rock, soon to be hidden by the inrushing tide, leaving their sharp points a few feet below the surface, with nothing to show their dangerous position.The sun was setting over the low, sandy shore on the western side of the bay. The long shadows of some of the strangely-shaped rocks stretched far across the yellow sand, and the shrill cry of the sea-mew called to its mate. In a few minutes more the sun would set, and the grey mist of the sea would come creeping over the hot land from the cool ocean. The tide had now reached the boat; the anchor was already covered."Get in Magdalen," said her father; "we will stay to push her off, if may be."Sir George and Ralph had both taken off their shoes, and, bare-legged, were standing in the fast rising tide.Suddenly Magdalen saw a shadow moving over the sand--she looked round."Oh father, there they are," she cried in horror.CHAPTER XXVIII.HOW THE SEA MIST ROSE IN TERQUETE BAY.The startled cry of Magdalen called the attention of the others to the shadows flitting over the sand.There, against the red glory of the departed sun, were figures of horsemen looming up on the dark line of jagged rocks which edged the western sky."There are three, four, five--ay, a dozen or more, and they are coming apace. Up with the sail, Ralph," cried Sir George Lisle, jumping into the boat.There was already a foot or more of water all round her, and the sea spreading out over the flat sand made the boat look as if she were far out in deep water.The sail was run up the mast, and Ralph, still in the water, pushed with all his might, while Sir George Lisle hauled hard at the warp."She's moving, she's moving," cried Magdalen, in an ecstasy of excitement, jumping about, and trying to help with an oar. At the same time, a fierce cry came over the water, and the distant sparkles on the edge of the ripples told of a horseman having plunged into the sea."Push, push," cried Magdalen, "or they will be here after all."They strained and tugged, but the boat would not move. The splashes sounded nearer, the fierce cries became louder."Oh! oh! if only there were quicksands," cried Magdalen."There are," said her father. "The bay is full of them as the tide rises.""Sir George Lisle! Sir George Lisle!" called out a well-known voice. "Your life is safe, and that of Mistress Lisle, if you attempt no escape--and no escape is possible; but I cannot vouch for your safety if you persist in trying to get away."But the fugitives gave no answer."There she goes," gasped Ralph, as he strained more than ever with his shoulder against the square stern of the ill-shaped boat."Oh, Ralph, you will do yourself a mischief," said Magdalen, "and you hardly well yet from your illness."The boat was moving, however. Sir George Lisle kept pulling in the warp, and the sand was stirred up all round."Ah, what's that?" said Sir George, as something whizzed past him and stuck in the sail. "Lie down, child, they are shooting from their crossbows."The splashes of the approaching horsemen seemed very close; one especially was urging his horse to its utmost speed."'Tis Bowerman," said Magdalen despairingly.But their boat was really moving now. Hand-over-hand the warp kept coming in. The breeze off the shore came fresh and strong."Jump in, Ralph," cried Sir George.With a last push and a violent leap, Ralph clambered over the stern, and fell in a heap into the bottom of the boat."Thank the saints we are off," said the knight, as he pulled in the rude anchor over the bows of the old boat, which was now rippling through the water.Ralph had picked himself up, and was looking astern at the splashing figures of two or three men-at-arms who were still pressing on through the shallow water."Aha, my friends, you'll have work enough to scour your harness after this, but you won't--Marry, what's the matter!" he broke off in alarm, as the sail came tumbling down on their heads."'Tis a quarrel hath cut the halyards," said Sir George in a smothered voice, as he tried to disengage himself from the thick sail.A loud shout of triumph from their pursuers told how near the enemy were, and of their certainty of success."Not yet, my fine custrils," shouted Ralph, as he quickly climbed the mast to reeve the broken end of the rope through the sheaf again. A dangerous work, considering the excellence of the crossbow practice; and so it proved, for had not Ralph put on his back and breast-pieces before leaving the hut, he would have been mortally wounded, for one of the bolts rattled against the cuirass like a hammer riveting iron."'Tis done, Messieurs, thank you," said Ralph, sliding down, and quickly bending the rope on to the yard, the old sail was run up the mast again amid a defiant cheer from Ralph and Magdalen."Look at them," said Ralph, "you can see them safely through that hole in the gunwale. They are floundering along finely. Nay, my fine sir, 'tis not to your mind, I can see. Aha! 'tis best to go back. There they go; they have given it up," and Ralph bust into a roar of derisive laughter, in which Magdalene joined with her merry rippling voice.One cavalier alone seemed loth to give up the chase.The water had already risen up to the girths of his horse, but he kept spurring the reluctant animal all the time."I will have thee yet," shouted the man-at-arms, through his visor, as he shook his gauntleted hand at the boat. "Ralph Lisle, thou shall not escape me this time."What! is it thou, Bowerman?" called back Sir George Lisle. "Nay, man, get thee back before the sea swallow thee, and repent thee of thine evil deeds and treachery ere it be too late. There are quicksands, man, and the tide is rising apace. Thou gettest us not this time."The grey mist of evening was rising all around. Out to sea a livid wall of impalpable vapour was veiling the breaking crests of the waves as they surged among the countless points of rock, whose sharp peaks projected in bewildering danger on all sides. The breeze had died down, and the brown sail flapped idly against the mast. The tide was still only at half flood, and was sweeping into the bay."We must row," said Sir George. "Magdalen, do thou take the helm. Steer between yonder black rocks."[image]"WE MUST ROW," SAID SIR GEORGE.The two men took the clumsy oars, and soon the swish and gurgle under the bows told of the progress they were making. They had escaped. Their pursuers could go no further. After rowing silently for about ten minutes, Magdalen suddenly called out in perplexity,--"Where are the rocks? I don't see them."Sir George looked round. There was nothing to be seen but the bows of the boat as she lifted over a longer swell than usual, or surged down into the long trough of the heaving water. All else was grey, indistinguishable gloom."'Tis the sea mist. We must have a-care, or we shall be on some of these rocks," said Sir George.They rested on their oars. Astern they could still see the dim figure of the horseman, who was now urging his horse as hastily to land as he had spurred it towards the boat. But the creeping mist was fast pursuing him. Even now the yellow streak behind the purple shore was becoming bleared and blotted, and the harsh voices of the troopers, as they called to each other, or laughed at the struggles of their more hardy comrades, came deadened by the thickening air across the shallow water of the rock-strewn bay."I doubt if ever Bowerman will reach the land," said Sir George, after looking at the dim speck which was now all but invisible in the gloom.But their own situation called for all their wits. It was most important that they should reach the head of the western point before the horsemen, who would be sure to ride there, and perhaps get a boat from the fishermen who lived in the bay round the promontory. The great danger now lay in the innumerable rocks which lay all round. After pulling for a few minutes, Magdalen called to them to stop. She was sure there was a rock near. She had heard a sharp sound.They all listened attentively. The surging of the sea under the bows was all that they could hear."There! don't you hear it?" said Magdalen? as a sawing sound, sharp and swishing, rose over the silence of the waves."'Tis the sea grinding against a sharp rock," said Sir George, "and 'tis not far off. Can'st tell where it is, Ralph, thine ears are keener than mine?"Again they all listened. The boat had lost all way, and was lying still in the glassy sea. All round was impenetrable gloom. It was not absolutely dark. They could distinguish each other in the boat, but they could see nothing, even an oar's-length away. All was grey, impalpable, vague opacity.The sound of the sea among the points of the rocks grew fainter."The tide is setting us in shore," said Sir George; "we must row again."Just as they were about to take to their oars a shout came over the water. It was a shout of terror, a blood-curdling shriek of agony.Magdalen shivered."'Tis some of those men-at-arms; they have lost their way in the mist, and the rising tide has overtaken them," said Ralph, and he began to row, in order to deaden the noise, and distract the girl's attention.But the cries became more piercing, they seemed to be nearer."We can't have turned round?" said Sir George. "Are we rowing ashore?"They again paused. All was silent as the grave. The breeze seemed to have got up a little. Their sail began to fill, and the water rippled under the stern."This is getting parlous hazardous. I would we knew which way we are going. Put thine oar over the side and see if thou cans't feel the bottom," said Sir George Lisle.But before Ralph could do what he was told, and while he was standing up to fathom with the oar, there was a crash--a grinding, splintering sound, and Ralph was thrown over the after-thwart into Magdalen's lap, who gave a little scream and then sat still.They well knew what had happened. It did not need the water, which was fast rising in the boat, to tell them they had struck upon a rock, and were rapidly filling with water.All three were used to danger, and they did not lose their presence of mind. Ralph, as soon as he had picked himself up, went forward and looked over the side. He could just see a brown patch through the clear water. He sounded with his oar. It was not more than six inches below the surface. He called to Sir George Lisle to sound over the stern and to their dismay they found that the oar could only just touch the bottom when held at arm's length under the sea. The boat was fast filling, and would soon slip off and sink in deep water. Without a moment's hesitation Ralph jumped over on to the rock. He took out the anchor, and wading as far as he could, he threw it out on the other side of the rock, and was glad to see it sank some depth. Then going back, he pulled as hard as he could on the warp, and thus prevented the chances of the boat slipping off."If the tide doesn't rise any more, we are safe from drowning, anyway," said Ralph.In order to prevent the stern settling down any more, they placed the two oars upright on the rocks, as far out as they conveniently could, and then lashed them to the gunwale."There! we have done all we can now," said Sir George.And they sat silent and anxious, watching if the tide were rising any more. They had been so busy with their work, that they had not noticed the cries of distress that had been growing more and more desperate. Suddenly they were startled by a gurgling sound quite close to them, a few gasps, splashings, and a voice in agony calling for help.The sudden sound, the words shrieked in English, the blood-curdling struggles, quite upset Magdalen. She screamed and clung to her father.They peered into the gloom and could see nothing. The sounds had ceased; a gurgling sound only could be heard, and then all was quite still.Ralph would have swum off in the direction of the sounds, but the knight restrained him."You can do no good, and would never find him. He has sunk by this time."The silence of the night seemed doubly oppressive. The swell of the sea rose over the sunken rock without breaking, and the old boat rose with the heave, grinding on the sharp point which had pierced her planks, and then settled down. They could not see that the tide was rising any more, and Ralph made a couch for Magdalen with the old sail, and wrapped her up under the lee of the bows, where she was well out of the night air, and away from the water."It must be past high-water by now," said Sir George. "'Tis a mercy the night is quiet. I marvel where we can be?"It was not long before Ralph, looking over the gunwale, said,--"The tide has fallen a good bit. The rock is quite dry under her bows."With the rapidity with which the sea had come in it now rushed out again, swirling round the rock and bubbling under the stern. In a very short time the boat was left high and dry, and Ralph got out to climb down the rocks. The mist had by this time lifted, and he was astonished to see how close they were to the shore. He could not yet make out where they were, but he thought he saw a light.Reaching the firm sand, he walked towards the light, and on his way stumbled over what he took to be a rock. Looking down, however, he found it was a helmet, and a little further on was a breastplate. It was clear it was the armour of the men who were caught by the tide, and who had taken it off to enable them to escape by swimming.On reaching the beach he lost sight of the light, and began to think he must have been deceived, when a gruff voice called out,--"Qui va la?"Ralph, utterly taken aback, did not know for the moment what to do. He stood quite still looking about him. The Frenchman repeated his demand, and by the sleepy accents of other voices, combined with the clank of metal, the esquire knew there were several men encamped there, and that it was the sentry who had challenged him.He did not dare to retrace his steps, lest he should draw the pursuit to the boat. He longed for the mist to grow thick again, and stooping down as low as he could, he set off running towards a dark mass of rocks on his right.The twang of a bowstring, and the whizz of a bolt past his left ear, told him what to expect. He ran at full speed along the shore, and reached the rocks in safety. He paused to take breath, and looked round to see how he could best get back to the others without being seen.The moon had now come out, and, to his chagrin Ralph could easily distinguish the mast and black hull of the boat perched on the rocks not far away.A shout from the men, who were all aroused now, told him that they also had seen the boat, and that all hope of escape was at an end.In a few minutes more he saw a party of men-at-arms, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight, ride across the sand in the direction of the boat. They halted when they came to the armour lying in the sand, and Ralph could hear one say,--"Tiens! c'est le harnois de l'Anglais!"They then rode on to the rock, and three or four dismounting, climbed over the slippery stone. In another minute Ralph saw Sir George Lisle and Magdalen climbing down the rocks amid their captors."It is all over," sighed the young esquire. "I may as well give myself up too."However, he stood still a little longer, and watched the party returning over the sand. He saw the slight form of Magdalen held in front of a man-at-arms, who was joking loudly to another trooper beside him.Sir George Lisle was disarmed, and walked between two other steel-clad figures. The whole cavalcade was chatting loudly and laughing merrily. It appeared that all had escaped from the rising tide, excepting one man-at-arms, and that one was the Englishman. No one seemed to pity him, and Ralph felt the justice of the retribution which had so swiftly cut off Bowerman in the midst of his traitorous attempt to capture his own Countrymen--a victim to his own malignant hate. Ralph was as yet undecided whether to give himself up, or keep free as long as he could, in order to avail himself of any chance of helping the others.He decided he would wait a little longer. He watched the Frenchmen, with their prisoners, join the main body, and then placing another sentry over their captives, they lay down to sleep out the rest of the night.CHAPTER XXIX.HOW THERE'S NO CLOUD WITHOUT ITS SILVER LINING.As soon as Ralph saw all was quiet, he made up his mind he would return to the boat to put on the rest of his armour and get some food.The moon was shining brightly, and away in the north-east the faint pale light above the horizon told of the coming dawn. It was an exquisite summer night. The sea mist had gone inland to refresh the orchards and meadows of the rich valleys and uplands of fair Normandy and rocky Brittany. The long, quaint shadows of the grim boulders, and weird piles of granite, stretched across the white sand of the vast bay. Their rugged clefts and fantastic fissures, in black distinctness against the gleaming light which bathed their southern slope, lifting their hoary, weather-worn summits to the full brilliancy of the moon, and in turn throwing their twice borrowed light across the beach and prostrate forms of the sleeping men-at-arms. Away on the far edge of the bay the leaping flash of tumbling water told of the sea, whose tranquil depths seemed as far removed from that sleeping shore, and those towering piles of crumbling rock, as the fullness of summer from the barrenness of winter.The only living thing seemed to be the solitary man-at-arms as he rested on his long spear, his shadow stretching behind him in grotesque distortion--the man a pair of compasses, the lance a scaffolding pole.The distant crow of a cock, and the faint moan of the ceaseless sea grinding on the rocks far out in the bay were the only sounds that broke on the perfect stillness of that exquisite harmony in silver and grey.But Ralph gave scarce a thought to the poetry of the scene, he quietly clambered down on the shady side of the rocks, and stealthily creeping over the sand under shelter of the long shadows of the pile he had left, he was able to reach the farther side of the mass of rocks which had proved fatal to their escape, without the sentry seeing him.Pausing a moment to look round before he climbed up the steep and slippery boulders, on the apex of which the old boat was perched, some thirty feet or more above his head like a miniature Noah's ark on the sunken top of another Ararat. Ralph's attention was attracted by a white patch some ten or twelve yards away to his right. He looked at it attentively, and with a growing sense of dread. Drawn irresistibly towards it by a horrible fascination, Ralph found it was the face of Bowerman, ghastly and contorted, his body being wedged in between two huge rocks, where the sweep of the tide had washed it. Hastily leaving the place, the boy climbed up to the boat, and managed to get out the things he wanted without being observed. Armed with his sword and dagger, and protected by his helmet and body armour, he descended the rocks, edging carefully away from the livid face, which gazed out from the dark mass, and reached his former post of observation without incident.The day had now begun to break, and objects were becoming visible. There was no stir as yet among the detachment on the beach, who were still sound asleep, their horses tethered and browsing on the scanty growth of herbage which cropped up here and there amid the sand and dry seaweed.The pile of rocks where Ralph was ensconced was higher than any others near, and from its summit the boy obtained a fine view over the country round.The sun had not yet risen, and a mist still hung over the land.Not far off, however, Ralph saw a horse feeding, fully equipped, but without a rider. "It must be one broken away from the rest," he thought, and the idea came into his head that he would catch the animal and make use of him.He was just going to climb down to carry out his plan when his attention was arrested by some moving object away to his right. He had now turned round, and was looking in the direction of St Malo. He could not mistake the objects. They were spear points, and the little pennants were fluttering in the light morning air."'Tis lucky I saw them before I moved. They must be the lances of another body of French men-at-arms."So thinking, Ralph lay still, not overmuch liking his position, for he was now almost certain to be descried as this new troop came near.The sun was just rising, and its first rays were glinting on each rock and tree and distant church spire, which stood out above the mist. Ralph watched the approaching spear points. He could not yet see the riders.He turned round to look at the little encampment There was already a stir. Men were up and grooming their horses; others were stretching themselves; all was noise and life. Ralph could see Magdalen sitting disconsolately by her father, and glancing round from time to time to examine their captors.The breeze blew straight from the camp to the advancing body of men, and the bustle and stir was carried down the wind."They have halted," thought Ralph, seeing the spears did not advance any nearer. "But here comes some one. How warily he comes. Why! No! Yes! Can it be? They must have put on the surcoats of some of our poor fellows. They've got red crosses!"And Ralph, with renewed interest, watched the movements of the man-at-arms or mounted archer, who was riding out of the mist with great caution, putting every bush and rock between himself and the place whence the sounds came."Why, there's another away to the left, and here's another. They are masters in their work, anyway," muttered Ralph, as he watched the picturesque figures, fully accoutred, and well mounted, pushing their small horses over the coarse grass. The boy was so intent on the motions of these men that he did not give sufficient care to cover himself, and he was suddenly startled by the nearest horseman reining in his horse and dropping the reins, while he took deliberate aim at him with the crossbow he held ready at his hip, calling at the same time,--"Come down, thou French jackanapes thou, or I'll--"Ralph needed no second bidding."They are English; they are English," he almost screamed with delight, as he scrambled over the boulders, and at length stood by the side of the archer.It took but few words to tell the scout who he was, and what was going on, and in another minute Ralph found himself amid a group of splendid knights and men-at-arms, with a strong force of archers on foot and horseback behind them."What!" said a cheery voice. "Whom have we here? As I live, 'tis my young hero of the lists at Carisbrooke. Marry, and I am right glad."Ralph had turned to the speaker, and was rejoiced to find it was no other than Sir Richard Cornwall. After the greetings were over, he explained briefly how urgent the need was for pressing on at once, and cutting off the retreat of the Frenchmen with their prisoners, and in a few minutes more the young esquire had the delight of being mounted on a stout horse, armed with a lance, and riding in the front rank of the men-at-arms between Sir Richard Cornwall and Lord Broke, who were listening to his account of the battle of St Aubin du Cormier, and all that had happened since, and learnt in his turn of how it came about that the English troops were there.It seemed that the news of the disaster which had occurred in Brittany was at first disbelieved in the Isle of Wight. The catastrophe was too awful for any one to believe. At last, as more certain news arrived, and there was no longer any room to doubt, the distress was terrible. Depopulated as the island had been previously, and just as it was now recovering its prosperity under the able rule of Sir Edward Woodville, assisted by the favourable treaties of peace with France and the Low Countries, this sudden calamity plunged the whole island into despair. There was scarcely a family, rich or poor, who had not lost some relative; and the total absence of any particulars made it all the more distressing. No one knew whether their relations were dead or not. At first it was reported that every man was killed, but a later account said that it was believed some few were alive, desperately wounded, and like to die, but as no names were mentioned, the anxiety and doubt were only rendered all the more acute.As soon as Henry VII. heard of the disaster, he despatched at once Robert Lord Broke, Sir John Cheney, Sir Richard Cornwall, and many more "lusty and courageous captaynes," with eight thousand men-at-arms. But, like many other recent English expeditions, the force arrived too late, and although the troops were of the best quality, there was not enough of them.It was a detachment of these troops that Ralph fell in with. Lord Broke having only arrived two days before at St Malo, and having taken the earliest opportunity of making a reconnaissance in force.The knowledge of the arrival of these reinforcements had spurred Bowerman on to greater activity, for he knew if he did not discover the whereabouts of the fugitives before the English arrived, he would not be able to do so afterwards.Acting on the knowledge of the country, and position of the French troops, which Ralph possessed from his survey that morning, Lord Broke kept his men out of sight of the French, and sent a detachment round in order to cut off all retreat.Ralph having dismounted, had approached cautiously, and looking round a rock, saw the enemy happily engaged in preparing their breakfast. So utterly unconscious were they of any foe near, that many of them had not put on their heavier armour."Marry, they are not worth lance thrust," said Sir Richard Cornwall in contempt. "'Twill be but an idle slaughter. 'Tis a pity we cannot give them warning."The knight and the esquire having made their report, Lord Broke gave orders to advance upon the enemy. The movement was executed with such precision and rapidity, that no resistance was offered by the astonished French men-at-arms. Ralph had galloped straight for Sir George Lisle and Magdalen, and stood by them until all chance of harm was over, and as soon as the prisoners were disarmed, and the column reformed, he led them to Lord Broke.This nobleman had known Sir George Lisle in former days, and was well acquainted with his history. He would much rather not have fallen in with him, for his safety was probably greater in the French army than as a Yorkist prisoner in the hands of one of Henry the Seventh's captains. But having heard from Ralph how he had tried to save the life of the Captain of the Wight at the imminent risk of his own, Lord Broke hoped he might be able to plead this service with Henry.He received Sir George Lisle therefore very courteously, but intimated that he must still consider himself a prisoner.Mistress Lisle was treated with every courtesy, and the rescued English were sent under a guard to St Malo.As Ralph Lisle was, so far as was known, the only survivor of the luckless expedition under Sir Edward Woodville, he was ordered by Lord Broke to return at once to England; and Sir George Lisle and his daughter were also sent back in the same ship.Lord Broke forwarded very favourable reports of the young esquire, and also strong recommendations to mercy on behalf of Sir George Lisle, who, seeing how hopeless were the aims of the Yorkist party, and conscious of the treachery that was going on within their ranks,--weary of the world, and sick at heart of his conduct towards his wife, as well as of his unjust suspicions of the Captain of the Wight, determined, if his life were spared, to become a monk, like an ancestor of his who had founded, and himself became the first arch-priest of, the little Oratory of Barton. Lord Broke, knowing this resolve, mentioned it as a further inducement to obtaining the royal pardon. However, on the arrival of the ship at Southampton, Sir George Lisle was taken at once to Winchester Castle, and kept there a close prisoner of state until the royal pleasure was known.Magdalen Lisle was not allowed to be with her father. Ralph promised he would take her to her grandfather at Briddlesford; and the same day that Sir George Lisle was carried off under a strong guard to Winchester, he and his cousin sailed for Wootton Creek.The news of the arrival of the only survivors of the expedition caused much stir, and Ralph found himself a greater hero than he had any wish to be.Fortunately for him it was expected he would come to Newport, and so he was enabled to reach Briddlesford unmolested.He dreaded the meeting with his relatives, as indeed he would have avoided, had it been possible, coming to the island at all. So many painful memories would be stirred by the sight of the sorrow-stricken people; but he had his duty to perform, and must go through with it.His meeting with old Sir William was easily got over. The old knight welcomed him heartily, and was evidently prepared to take to his grandchild Magdalen. Ralph was rejoiced to see this, for he had rather feared a stern reception for the poor desolate child, who had seen so much hardship in her young life, and had had so little of the pleasures of youth. However, events had occurred of which Ralph knew nothing. After the greetings were over, and Magdalen felt a little less strange, the old man said,--"Now, my son, thou must see Yolande; she is awaiting thee in the parlour yonder."Ralph passed across the hall, and paused at the door of the little room. He tapped timidly. A low voice answered "Come in," and Ralph entered.He found his cousin sitting in a deep window-seat, the last glow of the setting sun streaming in through the narrow quarries of ill-made glass. The autumn tints were already blending with the still deep green of the thick oak woods. Along the valley the evening mist was rising, and the knell of the Abbey bell came deep sounding over the hills and water between."Ralph, my brave cousin, welcome back home," said the low sweet voice of Yolande.Ralph could not speak for a moment or two. He crossed the room, and taking the hand of his cousin, which she held out to him, he bent down and pressed it to his lips. The action recalled that happiest moment of his life, when in the hall of Carisbrooke he had received the prize of the tourney amid the congratulations of that gay assembly, of which scarce a man was left alive.The recollection was too much.They neither of them spoke for some minutes.When Ralph had mastered his emotion, he began to talk to his cousin, he hardly knew what; but he felt confused, excited. Her very appearance shocked him. So much had Yolande altered since last she bid good-bye to that gallant band who had so joyously gone forth to seek name and fame and fortune in the sunny land of France.Her lovely complexion was still there. Her eyes were larger and more meltingly blue, but her cheeks were thinner, and her youthful bloom and freshness were gone. Her lips had lost their fullness, and her figure its bewitching softness. Suffering and grief were in her face and in her deep black dress.As the young moon rose over the russet oaks, and the still landscape made its subtle beauty felt, Yolande, who had hitherto said nothing, but let Ralph babble on, whispered quietly, "Tell me."Ralph knew well what she meant. He told her all, even the words he heard the Captain of the Wight say as he lay dying on the battlefield.Yolande listened. She made no sound. When he had finished, she simply said, "Where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but we are as the angels of God in heaven. Yea, I knew it could never be. How nobly he died--" and then she remained silent for a while.Ralph said nothing. Presently he said in a low, half-timid tone,--"Yolande, thou art not vexed with me? I tried to do my duty. I would willingly have died so he could have lived.""My noble boy, I know it. Art not thou the hero, the knight? I know thou foughtest as none could fight better. 'Twas God's doing. But he hath been faithful unto death--" and then she mused again.After a long pause, Ralph said,--"Cousin Yolande," but no answer came. Ralph looked round. His cousin was kneeling in the darkling room. The pale light of the young moon fell upon her crown of golden hair, which curled and waved about her face and over her shoulders. Her hands were clasped, and her eyes were shut, and behind was the dark room, and above the pale calm moon.Ralph spoke no more. He gazed upon her in wondering admiration. How very beautiful she was. How very unearthly she looked. He knew his boyish dream was over. He knew her heart was buried in the little churchyard of St Aubin beside the unknown grave of the good knight, Sir Edward Woodville, sometime Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight.As the moon rose higher, its light fell on a polished shield behind Yolande's face, and the startling brilliancy of her ethereal head against the shining metal, while all the rest of her figure was in darkness, made her look like some saint with a glowing halo round her.Presently she rose from her knees, kissed Ralph with a sisterly kiss, and said in a calm, soft voice,--"Cousin mine, I have vowed myself to God. Henceforth I belong not to this world."Ralph bowed his head over her long thin hand, and pressed it to his lips. He could say nothing.In another few minutes a step was heard outside, and old Sir William Lisle entered the room, attended by Magdalen carrying a lighted sconce. Yolande at once resumed her tranquil every-day manner, and placed her father's chair beside Ralph. The old man sat down heavily, with a little sigh."So, Ralph, thou art getting on right well, I hear. That's well. But thou must not think of parting yet. The good folks up to Thruxton can spare thee a while longer. There's Magdalen here will want thee to ride over the country side, and 'tis thou must see to her, since she's seen so well to thee. Turn and turn about, say I."And so they talked of other things, but Ralph could only think of his cousin, and wished he was lying in far St Aubin churchyard.But what Sir William Lisle had said was very true. Magdalen Lisle had seen very well to Ralph, and it was to her sharp wits and ready hands he owed his life.Hitherto they had been like brother and sister; but as Ralph grew stronger, Magdalen's manner slightly changed. She became shyer, more reserved.Yolande had taken at once to the child, and they spent much of their time at the little nunnery of Appuldurcombe, where sister Agnes was allowed to see her daughter.Ralph had been to Newport, and after seeing the relatives of nearly all who had fallen, and gone over the events of the battle until he was utterly wearied, he thought he would set off for Thruxton. While he was thinking of this, sitting listlessly at the hall door, and idling with a pretty goshawk, a figure rode up the rough road across the meadow in front of the manor. Ralph looked up. Not many strangers passed this way. The figure came nearer. Who could it be? It looked like a well-known face--and could it be? Surely that was the voice of one he ought to know?"Well, Ralph, I'm parlous sorry to claim my bird, but I didn't think I should want it again, and it was only given with an 'if,' you know."Ralph sprang to his feet."What! Dicky!" he cried in amaze."Marry, yes, that's my name, if you are very familiar, otherwise I am called Richard Cheke, Esquire, or Master Richard Cheke; but don't let us be too formal.""Why, Dicky, however did you come to life again?" cried Ralph, utterly astounded. "You're not a ghost, are you?"--for Dicky did look very ill and thin."Don't call a fellow names, Ralph Lisle; you did not use to do so. I fear you have learnt bad manners since I have been away. It's well for you I've come back. But there's no time to be lost. Let me have something to eat, for I am parlous hungry."And so Dicky Cheke really had returned. He gave an amusing account of his escape. It appeared that during the night some of the ghouls, who live by stripping the dead, took off his armour. The next morning he recovered consciousness, and when they were searching the field to bury the chief knights and lords, Dicky, thanks to his bad French, pretended to be a Breton. He was taken to a neighbouring cottage, and was carefully nursed by a kind peasant, who, believing him to be a young Breton of a noble family--for Dicky had quickness enough to pass himself off as a kinsman of poor young De Rohan--took great care of him, and he was eventually able to get to Rennes, which still held out for the Duke of Brittany, and from there his return was an easy matter. He fell in with Lord Broke, who rewarded the peasant, and sent Dicky over to the island as soon as possible.Great were the rejoicings over Dicky, and the natural self-complacency of that young gentleman was considerably increased. He became a great hero in Newport, and was a very popular character throughout the island.It was said that he paid considerable attentions to Mistress Magdalen Lisle, now not only the greatest heiress, but declared by those who admired brunettes the loveliest girl in the island.He still resented that young lady having called him a "tom-tit," but was willing to forgive her if she would consent to share his nest. But report said that Mistress Lisle was waiting for someone else.Ralph went back to Thruxton, and lived for some years with his father and mother, when the former died full of years and honour. Jasper came into the property. Ralph, now Sir Ralph Lisle, had previously been invited over to Briddlesford, and before old Sir William Lisle died, he had the satisfaction to know that the Knight, for whom his daughter waited, had arrived at last.When Yolande heard of it--for Ralph rode over to Appuldurcombe to tell her--she said,--"Ah, I told you true! Do you mind my saying--'When you reach the years of manhood, and are of an age to marry, the lady of your choice will be one who is now a girl of just that little one's age?' That little one was my niece, albeit I knew it not, and now you are of an age to marry, and she is to be your wife. So you see I was a true prophet, and you will marry the niece instead of the aunt. But why do I recall so much of the world? Go, my sweet nephew, make her as true a husband as thou hast been true knight. No more happy fate could he have wished thee than that a brave and noble man should possess the fairest lands and the fairest maid of all the fairest isle the blue seas of England gird."
CHAPTER XXVII.
"OF THE CRAWLING TIDE."
What happened during the days immediately following the fatal battle of St Aubin du Cormier, Ralph Lisle never clearly knew. All he could remember was an indistinct nightmare of strange faces, rough and coarse, sometimes fierce and cruel, but amid them all he always saw a pale oval face, with large, wistful, brown eyes, and masses of wavy, dark hair, and then he felt quiet. He could recollect nothing until one night he seemed suddenly to awake, and found himself in a low, rough room, with a strong smell of burnt peat, and a fresh breeze blowing in through an opening in one side. It was nearly dark, save where the bright light of the moon fell upon the rude clay floor, all littered with straw and refuse. Through the opening, which served for window and door alike, he could see a broad gleam of glancing light which he did not trouble himself to think about. He wondered where he could be. There were no sounds in the room. He raised his head to look round. He could not do it. Was he still in a dream? he wondered. Why could he not move himself easily? He lay still again, and must have dozed off, for when he again looked round there were some figures in the room, and one--that of a girl--was softly stealing away from him towards a tall man, and he could hear her say in a low tone,--
"He is sleeping gently."
"That is well, my daughter, go thou to rest now. Marie will see that he is cared for."
Ralph made a little movement; the girl stopped, and looked round. There was a small rushlight on a table; its light fell on her face. Where had he seen that gentle, winsome head and eyes? Ralph said,--
"Where am I? What has happened? Why, what's come to my voice?"
"Oh, father, I am so glad!" cried the girl, and turned quickly back to the couch where Ralph lay. The tall man stepped across the room, taking the rushlight in his hand.
Ralph could not recall the face or figure; he felt sure he had never seen either, and yet he had heard the voice.
"Thou art on the road to health, my son," said the man. "Thou hast been like to die for a week past."
"Where am I?"
"Safe in the cottage of a hind. But thou shalt know all to-morrow an thou art in trim to hear news."
So saying, the tall figure removed the light, and in a few minutes more all was quiet in the cottage.
The next morning found Ralph much better. He now learnt where he was, and who had saved him.
"But there is great risk still," said the girl, "and I know not how we may fare. Jean is very rough, and I doubt he is not to be trusted far. His wife Marie is as true as steel, but alack! we English are not overmuch liked, and I hear there are men-at-arms beating the country side. But now thou art better, we can move," she added cheerily.
Ralph saw how nobly these strangers had acted by him. He could not understand why. They had risked their lives to save him, and this, too, when the chances were very small that they could ever nurse him through the fever, which resulted from the exhaustion, heat, and wounds of that dreadful day of St Aubin. He did not yet know all.
"But who are you?" he asked languidly.
"Ah, now, who do you think?"
"You are not--no, you can't be. Well, I don't know who you are. But I seem to have seen you before."
"Where? Can't you call it to mind?"
"Was it in the lists at Carisbrooke?"
"In sooth it was," said the girl, laughing; "and somewhere else, too."
"Not at Appuldurcombe, was it?"
"Ay, marry was it, and elsewhere, too. At it again." But then seeing the effort of memory was too much for Ralph in his weak state, the girl added,--"There, you can't think now. Lie still, and I will tell you. Do you mind lending some poor vagrants a pony at Thruxton? Do you mind a certain night, when you were nigh going over the edge of a cliff near St Catherine's Down? You never knew who it was that spoke to you that night in the mist? And you never knew who sent you the glove? Ah, well! 'twas lucky for you you wore it, or father would have knocked you off like all the others. And why do you think I did it?" she said, with an arch smile.
"I can't tell," said Ralph, dreamily.
"Well, but you might think." Then seeing that Ralph's thoughts were far away, she added, in a pitying tone,--"Why, because thou wast so kind to father and me that day at Thruxton. You little knew who I was."
"And who are you?" said Ralph absently.
"Oh, that is a merry conceit. Don't you know now?"
"No; tell me. How can I tell?"
"Why, I'm Aunt Yolande's niece."
"Aunt Yolande's niece!" cried Ralph in amazement, utterly astounded at the unexpected answer, and not at all able to take in the truth of the remark.
"Yes I am, although you may find it hard to credit, and my father is Sir George Lisle, and he fled for his life from the field of Stoke, trusting to the generosity of the Captain of the Wight, who, he thought, was his greatest enemy, but whom he knew to be a very noble knight."
"And he was not wrong," said Ralph, sadly but proudly.
"Nay he was not wrong. But he tried to give his life for the Captain's, when he found out how great an injury he had done him. Do you remember Sister Agnes that day I saw you at Appuldurcombe? Do you know who she is?"
"No. Who is she?"
"She is my mother," said Magdalen, softly and sadly.
"Your mother!" said Ralph in astonishment. "But she is a nun."
"Yes, she is now; but she was Lady Lisle. I can't call her much to mind at that time, for she left me when I was only four years old."
"Why did she leave you?" said Ralph, becoming more interested.
"'Tis a sad story, and I know not if I know all myself. But she was not happy, and could not bear her life. She took the veil in London, and became a Sister of St Clare."
"And how did you find out she was your mother?"
"Do you mind that night in the snow when father and the Captain fought? You did not know it was the Hermit of St Catherine's and I who came. I only found out too late; but I could not have done anything to prevent their fighting had I known sooner. After father was so sore wounded, the Hermit, who has been a knight himself, and knew father as a boy, took him to the good Sisters of Appuldurcombe to be nursed, and for a long time father was between life and death. In his ravings, Sister Agnes--that's my mother, you know--who took her turn to nurse him with the others--but not at first, because she had been very ill herself--heard him call her by her real name, and she knew him, of course, directly she saw him. She then for the first time heard how cruelly he had mistrusted her in her flight, and that he--well, she made up her mind to tell him everything if he should get well. I don't know what happened, but father became quite altered. He was a long time getting well; and then you all went on that dolorous journey. But you never saw me passing you that evening near Wootton. Father's life was at stake if he should be discovered; and he heard that there were spies of the King's looking out for him; for a rumour had got abroad of an unknown knight, wearing a Yorkist collar, having been at a tourney at Carisbrooke--and it might have been the missing Lord Lovell. Well (but I shall never get done), we managed to get on board a Norman ship of St Vaast, come over with salt, which took us over to Barfleur; and then we heard for the first time that Eustace Bowerman had gotten over there, and was being made much of because he said he could tell the French governor of the province all about what was going on here. I also heard he had vowed to kill some one against whom he had a deadly hate, and I knew that must be you. As Master Bowerman was a likely-looking youth, and well spoken, and not wanting in a ready address and lying tongue, he got on marvellous well, and indeed he helped the French; for they, who thought the Captain of the Wight was a very powerful prince, seeing he was uncle to our Queen, and who dreaded he would bring over a very powerful meynie, were full glad to hear how small a force he could muster, and that made them right hardy and joyous; so that they fought on that bitter day with greater heart than they are wont to do when they meet with us. For they knew right well that those other seventeen hundred in red crosses were but poor weak Bretons. My father, who was a well-known Yorkist, all of which faction were welcome in France as being useful to keep our King in check, was readily allowed his freedom, and he offered his sword to the Seigneur de la Trimouille in the hope he might save some of our poor men's lives, but most of all he longed to save the Captain of the Wight, and to tell him how sad he was at the wrong he had done him. He never knew how vilely those caitiffs had set upon you until I told him, and he always hated Bowerman ever after, and Bowerman returned his hate."
This account had astonished Ralph. It seemed so surprising--so like a tale told by a jongleur. That he should have helped his relative, Yolande's brother, and her own niece, in such an accidental way; that this should have led to his triumph at the tourney, and finally to the saving of his own life, seemed so like a romance, that he could not think it was all true.
"And so that is your father, Sir George Lisle, and you are my cousin after all," said the young man dreamily. "Well, I shall believe it all, I dare to say, some day, but now I seem more in a dream than ever."
"But here is father himself," said Magdalen, as the tall figure of the knight entered the room.
Ralph would have risen and done reverence due to the rank and kinship of this man who had so mysteriously interfered in his life, since he left Thruxton without his knowing it.
Sir George, however, forbade his moving, and greeted his young kinsman as kindly as his somewhat austere manner would let him.
"So thou knowest all now, my young cousin. The next matter is to get thee safe to St Malo or Dinan, where I hear the Marechal de Rieux is holding out. Ah, the bad captainship of that old soldier! Had--but there, 'tis no use--'tis no use," broke off Sir George Lisle sadly, and almost fiercely.
Magdalen tried to turn the conversation to other matters, but after several attempts she gave it up, and they all became silent.
As Ralph grew stronger, his memory came back to him, and he asked for details of the battle. He knew they were defeated, but he did not know the extent of the catastrophe. Gradually the fearful nature of the defeat dawned upon him; but it was long before he could realise it. The noble Captain of the Wight, Maurice Woodville, all these strong and lusty men, Dicky Cheke, all gone! It was too much. Ralph turned away, and sobbed. The utter desolation of it all, his own physical prostration, and the dreary prospect before him, completely overwhelmed him, although he did not think of himself. He wished he had died. He did not care to live. For some days after he learnt the news, Ralph was listless and morose, and the knight seemed nearly as miserable. It was with the utmost difficulty the girl was able to get either to take any food, and she, poor child, at last was beginning to lose all interest in anything. Their life was very uncomfortable. There was nothing to divert them from their own sad thoughts. The Breton peasants with whom they had taken refuge belonged to one of the Breton nobles, who had fallen at St Aubin, and had hitherto proved themselves faithful enough. But there was nothing beyond their natural good nature to keep them so. It was true the money the fugitives had brought with them was ample payment for the services performed, but when that was gone there seemed little left to restrain the Bretons betraying them. In spite of the proud boast of the Seigneur de Rohan--"Jamais Breton ne fit trahison"--there was only too much likelihood that in a few days the three fugitives would be delivered up to their enemies.
One day as they were sitting listlessly outside the cottage on a boulder of granite, gazing wistfully at the sea sparkling among the innumerable rocks which encumbered the large bay before them, the peasant woman came out, and looking about her, approached the girl. After talking earnestly for some time she went back to the house, and the girl turned to her father with a face paler than usual.
"Father," she said, "we must get away at once. Marie says she has heard men-at-arms are coming this evening, and we have but little time to escape. She has given us warning at the peril of her life, so she says; and there is an Englishman, she tells me, who has been asking about us all round the country. He is a one-eyed young man, she says."
Ralph looked up. He had now heard of the treachery of Bowerman. He now knew that the knight who had saved him was no other but Sir George Lisle, and that the girl whose glove he had worn in the tournament was Magdalen Lisle, niece of Yolande, and heiress to all the Lisle estates, if only her father were restored to his proper position.
Magdalen had taken no pains to conceal her dislike of Bowerman, and her pleasure on finding that her father no longer trusted him, and that he equally shared her dislike, was very great. In the necessity of their prompt escape from the battlefield, all examination of the dead was precluded, and neither Sir George Lisle nor his daughter knew whether Bowerman had survived. But now Marie told them of this Englishman, the girl's fears were aroused. Bowerman had urged his suit with her father during their intercourse in France, and Sir George Lisle had received his advances very coldly, and Magdalen dreaded his finding them, especially as her father's conduct in defending the wounded Captain of the Wight must have been observed.
The danger was imminent. The little hut where they had taken refuge was on the edge of a rocky bay not far from St Malo, but the intervening country was scoured by the French troops, and escape by land was next to impossible.
"We must go by sea," said Sir George. "There is Jean's old boat."
"But the tide is out, father! look where it is!" said Magdalen, pointing in dismay to the long stretch of sand, strewn with boulders and piles of sharp rocks protruding in all directions, while away on the edge of this waste the sea was breaking on a reef of ugly points of granite, black with the weather and time, and grinning like the teeth of some wild animal, amid the foam and froth of the sea. It was too true; the tide would not come in enough to float the clumsy boat before it would be dark, and from what Marie said, the men-at-arms would be there before dusk.
"We must try and push the boat down," said Sir George.
They went back to the hut, and searching in the shed where the few tools belonging to the labourer were kept, Ralph found some spars that would serve for rollers.
Sir George had taken the precaution, when they escaped under cover of the darkness from the field of St Aubin, to bring his own armour and that of Ralph Lisle with him. He had dismissed his servants, bidding them shift for themselves, and the horses had been sold by Jean to provide money for their expenses, and also to prevent suspicion arising, if such animals were seen in the neighbourhood of his cottage.
Carrying to the boat the few effects they intended taking with them, and hastily collecting such food as Marie could provide them with, the fugitives went down the beach to where the boat lay. They anxiously looked at her. It seemed utterly impossible they could move her. Ralph was still very weak, and they soon found their fears were too true. They could not possibly move it.
"'Twill be three hours yet before she floats," said Sir George.
"Any way, we can carry out the anchor as far as this warp will let us," said Ralph, "'twill give us greater help to pull her out, and here's an old sail we can set all ready for the first lift of the tide. The wind is right off the land."
Anything being better than standing still doing nothing, they set up the mast, and got the old brown sail ready for hoisting. Everything was now in, when Magdalen suddenly exclaimed,--
"Why, see how fast the tide is rising! It is already past that reef of rocks there! It won't be nearly as long before she floats as we thought."
The tide was indeed rising fast, and the distant reef of rocks had disappeared entirely. A few jagged peaks were sticking up here and there on some of the higher patches of rock, soon to be hidden by the inrushing tide, leaving their sharp points a few feet below the surface, with nothing to show their dangerous position.
The sun was setting over the low, sandy shore on the western side of the bay. The long shadows of some of the strangely-shaped rocks stretched far across the yellow sand, and the shrill cry of the sea-mew called to its mate. In a few minutes more the sun would set, and the grey mist of the sea would come creeping over the hot land from the cool ocean. The tide had now reached the boat; the anchor was already covered.
"Get in Magdalen," said her father; "we will stay to push her off, if may be."
Sir George and Ralph had both taken off their shoes, and, bare-legged, were standing in the fast rising tide.
Suddenly Magdalen saw a shadow moving over the sand--she looked round.
"Oh father, there they are," she cried in horror.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HOW THE SEA MIST ROSE IN TERQUETE BAY.
The startled cry of Magdalen called the attention of the others to the shadows flitting over the sand.
There, against the red glory of the departed sun, were figures of horsemen looming up on the dark line of jagged rocks which edged the western sky.
"There are three, four, five--ay, a dozen or more, and they are coming apace. Up with the sail, Ralph," cried Sir George Lisle, jumping into the boat.
There was already a foot or more of water all round her, and the sea spreading out over the flat sand made the boat look as if she were far out in deep water.
The sail was run up the mast, and Ralph, still in the water, pushed with all his might, while Sir George Lisle hauled hard at the warp.
"She's moving, she's moving," cried Magdalen, in an ecstasy of excitement, jumping about, and trying to help with an oar. At the same time, a fierce cry came over the water, and the distant sparkles on the edge of the ripples told of a horseman having plunged into the sea.
"Push, push," cried Magdalen, "or they will be here after all."
They strained and tugged, but the boat would not move. The splashes sounded nearer, the fierce cries became louder.
"Oh! oh! if only there were quicksands," cried Magdalen.
"There are," said her father. "The bay is full of them as the tide rises."
"Sir George Lisle! Sir George Lisle!" called out a well-known voice. "Your life is safe, and that of Mistress Lisle, if you attempt no escape--and no escape is possible; but I cannot vouch for your safety if you persist in trying to get away."
But the fugitives gave no answer.
"There she goes," gasped Ralph, as he strained more than ever with his shoulder against the square stern of the ill-shaped boat.
"Oh, Ralph, you will do yourself a mischief," said Magdalen, "and you hardly well yet from your illness."
The boat was moving, however. Sir George Lisle kept pulling in the warp, and the sand was stirred up all round.
"Ah, what's that?" said Sir George, as something whizzed past him and stuck in the sail. "Lie down, child, they are shooting from their crossbows."
The splashes of the approaching horsemen seemed very close; one especially was urging his horse to its utmost speed.
"'Tis Bowerman," said Magdalen despairingly.
But their boat was really moving now. Hand-over-hand the warp kept coming in. The breeze off the shore came fresh and strong.
"Jump in, Ralph," cried Sir George.
With a last push and a violent leap, Ralph clambered over the stern, and fell in a heap into the bottom of the boat.
"Thank the saints we are off," said the knight, as he pulled in the rude anchor over the bows of the old boat, which was now rippling through the water.
Ralph had picked himself up, and was looking astern at the splashing figures of two or three men-at-arms who were still pressing on through the shallow water.
"Aha, my friends, you'll have work enough to scour your harness after this, but you won't--Marry, what's the matter!" he broke off in alarm, as the sail came tumbling down on their heads.
"'Tis a quarrel hath cut the halyards," said Sir George in a smothered voice, as he tried to disengage himself from the thick sail.
A loud shout of triumph from their pursuers told how near the enemy were, and of their certainty of success.
"Not yet, my fine custrils," shouted Ralph, as he quickly climbed the mast to reeve the broken end of the rope through the sheaf again. A dangerous work, considering the excellence of the crossbow practice; and so it proved, for had not Ralph put on his back and breast-pieces before leaving the hut, he would have been mortally wounded, for one of the bolts rattled against the cuirass like a hammer riveting iron.
"'Tis done, Messieurs, thank you," said Ralph, sliding down, and quickly bending the rope on to the yard, the old sail was run up the mast again amid a defiant cheer from Ralph and Magdalen.
"Look at them," said Ralph, "you can see them safely through that hole in the gunwale. They are floundering along finely. Nay, my fine sir, 'tis not to your mind, I can see. Aha! 'tis best to go back. There they go; they have given it up," and Ralph bust into a roar of derisive laughter, in which Magdalene joined with her merry rippling voice.
One cavalier alone seemed loth to give up the chase.
The water had already risen up to the girths of his horse, but he kept spurring the reluctant animal all the time.
"I will have thee yet," shouted the man-at-arms, through his visor, as he shook his gauntleted hand at the boat. "Ralph Lisle, thou shall not escape me this time.
"What! is it thou, Bowerman?" called back Sir George Lisle. "Nay, man, get thee back before the sea swallow thee, and repent thee of thine evil deeds and treachery ere it be too late. There are quicksands, man, and the tide is rising apace. Thou gettest us not this time."
The grey mist of evening was rising all around. Out to sea a livid wall of impalpable vapour was veiling the breaking crests of the waves as they surged among the countless points of rock, whose sharp peaks projected in bewildering danger on all sides. The breeze had died down, and the brown sail flapped idly against the mast. The tide was still only at half flood, and was sweeping into the bay.
"We must row," said Sir George. "Magdalen, do thou take the helm. Steer between yonder black rocks."
[image]"WE MUST ROW," SAID SIR GEORGE.
[image]
[image]
"WE MUST ROW," SAID SIR GEORGE.
The two men took the clumsy oars, and soon the swish and gurgle under the bows told of the progress they were making. They had escaped. Their pursuers could go no further. After rowing silently for about ten minutes, Magdalen suddenly called out in perplexity,--
"Where are the rocks? I don't see them."
Sir George looked round. There was nothing to be seen but the bows of the boat as she lifted over a longer swell than usual, or surged down into the long trough of the heaving water. All else was grey, indistinguishable gloom.
"'Tis the sea mist. We must have a-care, or we shall be on some of these rocks," said Sir George.
They rested on their oars. Astern they could still see the dim figure of the horseman, who was now urging his horse as hastily to land as he had spurred it towards the boat. But the creeping mist was fast pursuing him. Even now the yellow streak behind the purple shore was becoming bleared and blotted, and the harsh voices of the troopers, as they called to each other, or laughed at the struggles of their more hardy comrades, came deadened by the thickening air across the shallow water of the rock-strewn bay.
"I doubt if ever Bowerman will reach the land," said Sir George, after looking at the dim speck which was now all but invisible in the gloom.
But their own situation called for all their wits. It was most important that they should reach the head of the western point before the horsemen, who would be sure to ride there, and perhaps get a boat from the fishermen who lived in the bay round the promontory. The great danger now lay in the innumerable rocks which lay all round. After pulling for a few minutes, Magdalen called to them to stop. She was sure there was a rock near. She had heard a sharp sound.
They all listened attentively. The surging of the sea under the bows was all that they could hear.
"There! don't you hear it?" said Magdalen? as a sawing sound, sharp and swishing, rose over the silence of the waves.
"'Tis the sea grinding against a sharp rock," said Sir George, "and 'tis not far off. Can'st tell where it is, Ralph, thine ears are keener than mine?"
Again they all listened. The boat had lost all way, and was lying still in the glassy sea. All round was impenetrable gloom. It was not absolutely dark. They could distinguish each other in the boat, but they could see nothing, even an oar's-length away. All was grey, impalpable, vague opacity.
The sound of the sea among the points of the rocks grew fainter.
"The tide is setting us in shore," said Sir George; "we must row again."
Just as they were about to take to their oars a shout came over the water. It was a shout of terror, a blood-curdling shriek of agony.
Magdalen shivered.
"'Tis some of those men-at-arms; they have lost their way in the mist, and the rising tide has overtaken them," said Ralph, and he began to row, in order to deaden the noise, and distract the girl's attention.
But the cries became more piercing, they seemed to be nearer.
"We can't have turned round?" said Sir George. "Are we rowing ashore?"
They again paused. All was silent as the grave. The breeze seemed to have got up a little. Their sail began to fill, and the water rippled under the stern.
"This is getting parlous hazardous. I would we knew which way we are going. Put thine oar over the side and see if thou cans't feel the bottom," said Sir George Lisle.
But before Ralph could do what he was told, and while he was standing up to fathom with the oar, there was a crash--a grinding, splintering sound, and Ralph was thrown over the after-thwart into Magdalen's lap, who gave a little scream and then sat still.
They well knew what had happened. It did not need the water, which was fast rising in the boat, to tell them they had struck upon a rock, and were rapidly filling with water.
All three were used to danger, and they did not lose their presence of mind. Ralph, as soon as he had picked himself up, went forward and looked over the side. He could just see a brown patch through the clear water. He sounded with his oar. It was not more than six inches below the surface. He called to Sir George Lisle to sound over the stern and to their dismay they found that the oar could only just touch the bottom when held at arm's length under the sea. The boat was fast filling, and would soon slip off and sink in deep water. Without a moment's hesitation Ralph jumped over on to the rock. He took out the anchor, and wading as far as he could, he threw it out on the other side of the rock, and was glad to see it sank some depth. Then going back, he pulled as hard as he could on the warp, and thus prevented the chances of the boat slipping off.
"If the tide doesn't rise any more, we are safe from drowning, anyway," said Ralph.
In order to prevent the stern settling down any more, they placed the two oars upright on the rocks, as far out as they conveniently could, and then lashed them to the gunwale.
"There! we have done all we can now," said Sir George.
And they sat silent and anxious, watching if the tide were rising any more. They had been so busy with their work, that they had not noticed the cries of distress that had been growing more and more desperate. Suddenly they were startled by a gurgling sound quite close to them, a few gasps, splashings, and a voice in agony calling for help.
The sudden sound, the words shrieked in English, the blood-curdling struggles, quite upset Magdalen. She screamed and clung to her father.
They peered into the gloom and could see nothing. The sounds had ceased; a gurgling sound only could be heard, and then all was quite still.
Ralph would have swum off in the direction of the sounds, but the knight restrained him.
"You can do no good, and would never find him. He has sunk by this time."
The silence of the night seemed doubly oppressive. The swell of the sea rose over the sunken rock without breaking, and the old boat rose with the heave, grinding on the sharp point which had pierced her planks, and then settled down. They could not see that the tide was rising any more, and Ralph made a couch for Magdalen with the old sail, and wrapped her up under the lee of the bows, where she was well out of the night air, and away from the water.
"It must be past high-water by now," said Sir George. "'Tis a mercy the night is quiet. I marvel where we can be?"
It was not long before Ralph, looking over the gunwale, said,--
"The tide has fallen a good bit. The rock is quite dry under her bows."
With the rapidity with which the sea had come in it now rushed out again, swirling round the rock and bubbling under the stern. In a very short time the boat was left high and dry, and Ralph got out to climb down the rocks. The mist had by this time lifted, and he was astonished to see how close they were to the shore. He could not yet make out where they were, but he thought he saw a light.
Reaching the firm sand, he walked towards the light, and on his way stumbled over what he took to be a rock. Looking down, however, he found it was a helmet, and a little further on was a breastplate. It was clear it was the armour of the men who were caught by the tide, and who had taken it off to enable them to escape by swimming.
On reaching the beach he lost sight of the light, and began to think he must have been deceived, when a gruff voice called out,--"Qui va la?"
Ralph, utterly taken aback, did not know for the moment what to do. He stood quite still looking about him. The Frenchman repeated his demand, and by the sleepy accents of other voices, combined with the clank of metal, the esquire knew there were several men encamped there, and that it was the sentry who had challenged him.
He did not dare to retrace his steps, lest he should draw the pursuit to the boat. He longed for the mist to grow thick again, and stooping down as low as he could, he set off running towards a dark mass of rocks on his right.
The twang of a bowstring, and the whizz of a bolt past his left ear, told him what to expect. He ran at full speed along the shore, and reached the rocks in safety. He paused to take breath, and looked round to see how he could best get back to the others without being seen.
The moon had now come out, and, to his chagrin Ralph could easily distinguish the mast and black hull of the boat perched on the rocks not far away.
A shout from the men, who were all aroused now, told him that they also had seen the boat, and that all hope of escape was at an end.
In a few minutes more he saw a party of men-at-arms, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight, ride across the sand in the direction of the boat. They halted when they came to the armour lying in the sand, and Ralph could hear one say,--
"Tiens! c'est le harnois de l'Anglais!"
They then rode on to the rock, and three or four dismounting, climbed over the slippery stone. In another minute Ralph saw Sir George Lisle and Magdalen climbing down the rocks amid their captors.
"It is all over," sighed the young esquire. "I may as well give myself up too."
However, he stood still a little longer, and watched the party returning over the sand. He saw the slight form of Magdalen held in front of a man-at-arms, who was joking loudly to another trooper beside him.
Sir George Lisle was disarmed, and walked between two other steel-clad figures. The whole cavalcade was chatting loudly and laughing merrily. It appeared that all had escaped from the rising tide, excepting one man-at-arms, and that one was the Englishman. No one seemed to pity him, and Ralph felt the justice of the retribution which had so swiftly cut off Bowerman in the midst of his traitorous attempt to capture his own Countrymen--a victim to his own malignant hate. Ralph was as yet undecided whether to give himself up, or keep free as long as he could, in order to avail himself of any chance of helping the others.
He decided he would wait a little longer. He watched the Frenchmen, with their prisoners, join the main body, and then placing another sentry over their captives, they lay down to sleep out the rest of the night.
CHAPTER XXIX.
HOW THERE'S NO CLOUD WITHOUT ITS SILVER LINING.
As soon as Ralph saw all was quiet, he made up his mind he would return to the boat to put on the rest of his armour and get some food.
The moon was shining brightly, and away in the north-east the faint pale light above the horizon told of the coming dawn. It was an exquisite summer night. The sea mist had gone inland to refresh the orchards and meadows of the rich valleys and uplands of fair Normandy and rocky Brittany. The long, quaint shadows of the grim boulders, and weird piles of granite, stretched across the white sand of the vast bay. Their rugged clefts and fantastic fissures, in black distinctness against the gleaming light which bathed their southern slope, lifting their hoary, weather-worn summits to the full brilliancy of the moon, and in turn throwing their twice borrowed light across the beach and prostrate forms of the sleeping men-at-arms. Away on the far edge of the bay the leaping flash of tumbling water told of the sea, whose tranquil depths seemed as far removed from that sleeping shore, and those towering piles of crumbling rock, as the fullness of summer from the barrenness of winter.
The only living thing seemed to be the solitary man-at-arms as he rested on his long spear, his shadow stretching behind him in grotesque distortion--the man a pair of compasses, the lance a scaffolding pole.
The distant crow of a cock, and the faint moan of the ceaseless sea grinding on the rocks far out in the bay were the only sounds that broke on the perfect stillness of that exquisite harmony in silver and grey.
But Ralph gave scarce a thought to the poetry of the scene, he quietly clambered down on the shady side of the rocks, and stealthily creeping over the sand under shelter of the long shadows of the pile he had left, he was able to reach the farther side of the mass of rocks which had proved fatal to their escape, without the sentry seeing him.
Pausing a moment to look round before he climbed up the steep and slippery boulders, on the apex of which the old boat was perched, some thirty feet or more above his head like a miniature Noah's ark on the sunken top of another Ararat. Ralph's attention was attracted by a white patch some ten or twelve yards away to his right. He looked at it attentively, and with a growing sense of dread. Drawn irresistibly towards it by a horrible fascination, Ralph found it was the face of Bowerman, ghastly and contorted, his body being wedged in between two huge rocks, where the sweep of the tide had washed it. Hastily leaving the place, the boy climbed up to the boat, and managed to get out the things he wanted without being observed. Armed with his sword and dagger, and protected by his helmet and body armour, he descended the rocks, edging carefully away from the livid face, which gazed out from the dark mass, and reached his former post of observation without incident.
The day had now begun to break, and objects were becoming visible. There was no stir as yet among the detachment on the beach, who were still sound asleep, their horses tethered and browsing on the scanty growth of herbage which cropped up here and there amid the sand and dry seaweed.
The pile of rocks where Ralph was ensconced was higher than any others near, and from its summit the boy obtained a fine view over the country round.
The sun had not yet risen, and a mist still hung over the land.
Not far off, however, Ralph saw a horse feeding, fully equipped, but without a rider. "It must be one broken away from the rest," he thought, and the idea came into his head that he would catch the animal and make use of him.
He was just going to climb down to carry out his plan when his attention was arrested by some moving object away to his right. He had now turned round, and was looking in the direction of St Malo. He could not mistake the objects. They were spear points, and the little pennants were fluttering in the light morning air.
"'Tis lucky I saw them before I moved. They must be the lances of another body of French men-at-arms."
So thinking, Ralph lay still, not overmuch liking his position, for he was now almost certain to be descried as this new troop came near.
The sun was just rising, and its first rays were glinting on each rock and tree and distant church spire, which stood out above the mist. Ralph watched the approaching spear points. He could not yet see the riders.
He turned round to look at the little encampment There was already a stir. Men were up and grooming their horses; others were stretching themselves; all was noise and life. Ralph could see Magdalen sitting disconsolately by her father, and glancing round from time to time to examine their captors.
The breeze blew straight from the camp to the advancing body of men, and the bustle and stir was carried down the wind.
"They have halted," thought Ralph, seeing the spears did not advance any nearer. "But here comes some one. How warily he comes. Why! No! Yes! Can it be? They must have put on the surcoats of some of our poor fellows. They've got red crosses!"
And Ralph, with renewed interest, watched the movements of the man-at-arms or mounted archer, who was riding out of the mist with great caution, putting every bush and rock between himself and the place whence the sounds came.
"Why, there's another away to the left, and here's another. They are masters in their work, anyway," muttered Ralph, as he watched the picturesque figures, fully accoutred, and well mounted, pushing their small horses over the coarse grass. The boy was so intent on the motions of these men that he did not give sufficient care to cover himself, and he was suddenly startled by the nearest horseman reining in his horse and dropping the reins, while he took deliberate aim at him with the crossbow he held ready at his hip, calling at the same time,--
"Come down, thou French jackanapes thou, or I'll--"
Ralph needed no second bidding.
"They are English; they are English," he almost screamed with delight, as he scrambled over the boulders, and at length stood by the side of the archer.
It took but few words to tell the scout who he was, and what was going on, and in another minute Ralph found himself amid a group of splendid knights and men-at-arms, with a strong force of archers on foot and horseback behind them.
"What!" said a cheery voice. "Whom have we here? As I live, 'tis my young hero of the lists at Carisbrooke. Marry, and I am right glad."
Ralph had turned to the speaker, and was rejoiced to find it was no other than Sir Richard Cornwall. After the greetings were over, he explained briefly how urgent the need was for pressing on at once, and cutting off the retreat of the Frenchmen with their prisoners, and in a few minutes more the young esquire had the delight of being mounted on a stout horse, armed with a lance, and riding in the front rank of the men-at-arms between Sir Richard Cornwall and Lord Broke, who were listening to his account of the battle of St Aubin du Cormier, and all that had happened since, and learnt in his turn of how it came about that the English troops were there.
It seemed that the news of the disaster which had occurred in Brittany was at first disbelieved in the Isle of Wight. The catastrophe was too awful for any one to believe. At last, as more certain news arrived, and there was no longer any room to doubt, the distress was terrible. Depopulated as the island had been previously, and just as it was now recovering its prosperity under the able rule of Sir Edward Woodville, assisted by the favourable treaties of peace with France and the Low Countries, this sudden calamity plunged the whole island into despair. There was scarcely a family, rich or poor, who had not lost some relative; and the total absence of any particulars made it all the more distressing. No one knew whether their relations were dead or not. At first it was reported that every man was killed, but a later account said that it was believed some few were alive, desperately wounded, and like to die, but as no names were mentioned, the anxiety and doubt were only rendered all the more acute.
As soon as Henry VII. heard of the disaster, he despatched at once Robert Lord Broke, Sir John Cheney, Sir Richard Cornwall, and many more "lusty and courageous captaynes," with eight thousand men-at-arms. But, like many other recent English expeditions, the force arrived too late, and although the troops were of the best quality, there was not enough of them.
It was a detachment of these troops that Ralph fell in with. Lord Broke having only arrived two days before at St Malo, and having taken the earliest opportunity of making a reconnaissance in force.
The knowledge of the arrival of these reinforcements had spurred Bowerman on to greater activity, for he knew if he did not discover the whereabouts of the fugitives before the English arrived, he would not be able to do so afterwards.
Acting on the knowledge of the country, and position of the French troops, which Ralph possessed from his survey that morning, Lord Broke kept his men out of sight of the French, and sent a detachment round in order to cut off all retreat.
Ralph having dismounted, had approached cautiously, and looking round a rock, saw the enemy happily engaged in preparing their breakfast. So utterly unconscious were they of any foe near, that many of them had not put on their heavier armour.
"Marry, they are not worth lance thrust," said Sir Richard Cornwall in contempt. "'Twill be but an idle slaughter. 'Tis a pity we cannot give them warning."
The knight and the esquire having made their report, Lord Broke gave orders to advance upon the enemy. The movement was executed with such precision and rapidity, that no resistance was offered by the astonished French men-at-arms. Ralph had galloped straight for Sir George Lisle and Magdalen, and stood by them until all chance of harm was over, and as soon as the prisoners were disarmed, and the column reformed, he led them to Lord Broke.
This nobleman had known Sir George Lisle in former days, and was well acquainted with his history. He would much rather not have fallen in with him, for his safety was probably greater in the French army than as a Yorkist prisoner in the hands of one of Henry the Seventh's captains. But having heard from Ralph how he had tried to save the life of the Captain of the Wight at the imminent risk of his own, Lord Broke hoped he might be able to plead this service with Henry.
He received Sir George Lisle therefore very courteously, but intimated that he must still consider himself a prisoner.
Mistress Lisle was treated with every courtesy, and the rescued English were sent under a guard to St Malo.
As Ralph Lisle was, so far as was known, the only survivor of the luckless expedition under Sir Edward Woodville, he was ordered by Lord Broke to return at once to England; and Sir George Lisle and his daughter were also sent back in the same ship.
Lord Broke forwarded very favourable reports of the young esquire, and also strong recommendations to mercy on behalf of Sir George Lisle, who, seeing how hopeless were the aims of the Yorkist party, and conscious of the treachery that was going on within their ranks,--weary of the world, and sick at heart of his conduct towards his wife, as well as of his unjust suspicions of the Captain of the Wight, determined, if his life were spared, to become a monk, like an ancestor of his who had founded, and himself became the first arch-priest of, the little Oratory of Barton. Lord Broke, knowing this resolve, mentioned it as a further inducement to obtaining the royal pardon. However, on the arrival of the ship at Southampton, Sir George Lisle was taken at once to Winchester Castle, and kept there a close prisoner of state until the royal pleasure was known.
Magdalen Lisle was not allowed to be with her father. Ralph promised he would take her to her grandfather at Briddlesford; and the same day that Sir George Lisle was carried off under a strong guard to Winchester, he and his cousin sailed for Wootton Creek.
The news of the arrival of the only survivors of the expedition caused much stir, and Ralph found himself a greater hero than he had any wish to be.
Fortunately for him it was expected he would come to Newport, and so he was enabled to reach Briddlesford unmolested.
He dreaded the meeting with his relatives, as indeed he would have avoided, had it been possible, coming to the island at all. So many painful memories would be stirred by the sight of the sorrow-stricken people; but he had his duty to perform, and must go through with it.
His meeting with old Sir William was easily got over. The old knight welcomed him heartily, and was evidently prepared to take to his grandchild Magdalen. Ralph was rejoiced to see this, for he had rather feared a stern reception for the poor desolate child, who had seen so much hardship in her young life, and had had so little of the pleasures of youth. However, events had occurred of which Ralph knew nothing. After the greetings were over, and Magdalen felt a little less strange, the old man said,--
"Now, my son, thou must see Yolande; she is awaiting thee in the parlour yonder."
Ralph passed across the hall, and paused at the door of the little room. He tapped timidly. A low voice answered "Come in," and Ralph entered.
He found his cousin sitting in a deep window-seat, the last glow of the setting sun streaming in through the narrow quarries of ill-made glass. The autumn tints were already blending with the still deep green of the thick oak woods. Along the valley the evening mist was rising, and the knell of the Abbey bell came deep sounding over the hills and water between.
"Ralph, my brave cousin, welcome back home," said the low sweet voice of Yolande.
Ralph could not speak for a moment or two. He crossed the room, and taking the hand of his cousin, which she held out to him, he bent down and pressed it to his lips. The action recalled that happiest moment of his life, when in the hall of Carisbrooke he had received the prize of the tourney amid the congratulations of that gay assembly, of which scarce a man was left alive.
The recollection was too much.
They neither of them spoke for some minutes.
When Ralph had mastered his emotion, he began to talk to his cousin, he hardly knew what; but he felt confused, excited. Her very appearance shocked him. So much had Yolande altered since last she bid good-bye to that gallant band who had so joyously gone forth to seek name and fame and fortune in the sunny land of France.
Her lovely complexion was still there. Her eyes were larger and more meltingly blue, but her cheeks were thinner, and her youthful bloom and freshness were gone. Her lips had lost their fullness, and her figure its bewitching softness. Suffering and grief were in her face and in her deep black dress.
As the young moon rose over the russet oaks, and the still landscape made its subtle beauty felt, Yolande, who had hitherto said nothing, but let Ralph babble on, whispered quietly, "Tell me."
Ralph knew well what she meant. He told her all, even the words he heard the Captain of the Wight say as he lay dying on the battlefield.
Yolande listened. She made no sound. When he had finished, she simply said, "Where there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, but we are as the angels of God in heaven. Yea, I knew it could never be. How nobly he died--" and then she remained silent for a while.
Ralph said nothing. Presently he said in a low, half-timid tone,--
"Yolande, thou art not vexed with me? I tried to do my duty. I would willingly have died so he could have lived."
"My noble boy, I know it. Art not thou the hero, the knight? I know thou foughtest as none could fight better. 'Twas God's doing. But he hath been faithful unto death--" and then she mused again.
After a long pause, Ralph said,--
"Cousin Yolande," but no answer came. Ralph looked round. His cousin was kneeling in the darkling room. The pale light of the young moon fell upon her crown of golden hair, which curled and waved about her face and over her shoulders. Her hands were clasped, and her eyes were shut, and behind was the dark room, and above the pale calm moon.
Ralph spoke no more. He gazed upon her in wondering admiration. How very beautiful she was. How very unearthly she looked. He knew his boyish dream was over. He knew her heart was buried in the little churchyard of St Aubin beside the unknown grave of the good knight, Sir Edward Woodville, sometime Lord and Captain of the Isle of Wight.
As the moon rose higher, its light fell on a polished shield behind Yolande's face, and the startling brilliancy of her ethereal head against the shining metal, while all the rest of her figure was in darkness, made her look like some saint with a glowing halo round her.
Presently she rose from her knees, kissed Ralph with a sisterly kiss, and said in a calm, soft voice,--
"Cousin mine, I have vowed myself to God. Henceforth I belong not to this world."
Ralph bowed his head over her long thin hand, and pressed it to his lips. He could say nothing.
In another few minutes a step was heard outside, and old Sir William Lisle entered the room, attended by Magdalen carrying a lighted sconce. Yolande at once resumed her tranquil every-day manner, and placed her father's chair beside Ralph. The old man sat down heavily, with a little sigh.
"So, Ralph, thou art getting on right well, I hear. That's well. But thou must not think of parting yet. The good folks up to Thruxton can spare thee a while longer. There's Magdalen here will want thee to ride over the country side, and 'tis thou must see to her, since she's seen so well to thee. Turn and turn about, say I."
And so they talked of other things, but Ralph could only think of his cousin, and wished he was lying in far St Aubin churchyard.
But what Sir William Lisle had said was very true. Magdalen Lisle had seen very well to Ralph, and it was to her sharp wits and ready hands he owed his life.
Hitherto they had been like brother and sister; but as Ralph grew stronger, Magdalen's manner slightly changed. She became shyer, more reserved.
Yolande had taken at once to the child, and they spent much of their time at the little nunnery of Appuldurcombe, where sister Agnes was allowed to see her daughter.
Ralph had been to Newport, and after seeing the relatives of nearly all who had fallen, and gone over the events of the battle until he was utterly wearied, he thought he would set off for Thruxton. While he was thinking of this, sitting listlessly at the hall door, and idling with a pretty goshawk, a figure rode up the rough road across the meadow in front of the manor. Ralph looked up. Not many strangers passed this way. The figure came nearer. Who could it be? It looked like a well-known face--and could it be? Surely that was the voice of one he ought to know?
"Well, Ralph, I'm parlous sorry to claim my bird, but I didn't think I should want it again, and it was only given with an 'if,' you know."
Ralph sprang to his feet.
"What! Dicky!" he cried in amaze.
"Marry, yes, that's my name, if you are very familiar, otherwise I am called Richard Cheke, Esquire, or Master Richard Cheke; but don't let us be too formal."
"Why, Dicky, however did you come to life again?" cried Ralph, utterly astounded. "You're not a ghost, are you?"--for Dicky did look very ill and thin.
"Don't call a fellow names, Ralph Lisle; you did not use to do so. I fear you have learnt bad manners since I have been away. It's well for you I've come back. But there's no time to be lost. Let me have something to eat, for I am parlous hungry."
And so Dicky Cheke really had returned. He gave an amusing account of his escape. It appeared that during the night some of the ghouls, who live by stripping the dead, took off his armour. The next morning he recovered consciousness, and when they were searching the field to bury the chief knights and lords, Dicky, thanks to his bad French, pretended to be a Breton. He was taken to a neighbouring cottage, and was carefully nursed by a kind peasant, who, believing him to be a young Breton of a noble family--for Dicky had quickness enough to pass himself off as a kinsman of poor young De Rohan--took great care of him, and he was eventually able to get to Rennes, which still held out for the Duke of Brittany, and from there his return was an easy matter. He fell in with Lord Broke, who rewarded the peasant, and sent Dicky over to the island as soon as possible.
Great were the rejoicings over Dicky, and the natural self-complacency of that young gentleman was considerably increased. He became a great hero in Newport, and was a very popular character throughout the island.
It was said that he paid considerable attentions to Mistress Magdalen Lisle, now not only the greatest heiress, but declared by those who admired brunettes the loveliest girl in the island.
He still resented that young lady having called him a "tom-tit," but was willing to forgive her if she would consent to share his nest. But report said that Mistress Lisle was waiting for someone else.
Ralph went back to Thruxton, and lived for some years with his father and mother, when the former died full of years and honour. Jasper came into the property. Ralph, now Sir Ralph Lisle, had previously been invited over to Briddlesford, and before old Sir William Lisle died, he had the satisfaction to know that the Knight, for whom his daughter waited, had arrived at last.
When Yolande heard of it--for Ralph rode over to Appuldurcombe to tell her--she said,--
"Ah, I told you true! Do you mind my saying--'When you reach the years of manhood, and are of an age to marry, the lady of your choice will be one who is now a girl of just that little one's age?' That little one was my niece, albeit I knew it not, and now you are of an age to marry, and she is to be your wife. So you see I was a true prophet, and you will marry the niece instead of the aunt. But why do I recall so much of the world? Go, my sweet nephew, make her as true a husband as thou hast been true knight. No more happy fate could he have wished thee than that a brave and noble man should possess the fairest lands and the fairest maid of all the fairest isle the blue seas of England gird."