The Fall of the Grand Sarrasin Part 2

Of the coming of the Sarrasins in force, and of the building of their chateau. Of _Brother Hugo's_ confidence in G.o.d, and how I rang the alarm-bell at _St. Pierre Port_.

Through that journey to Blanchelande I was able to give the first warning to the abbot, and Brother Hugo, our _tete d'armee_, of the presence of new pirates in the very midst of the isle, through the ugly sight I had seen on my way by what men called the chateau.

And, indeed, all looked grave at my account, and Hugo shook his head, and he and the abbot and Martin and Richard had long and anxious converse in the Castle, and already we were bid to move very many of our holy things that bedecked the Church, or were used in G.o.d's service, within the Castle wall, and the builders had set up among the ramparts long sheds of wood, wherein began to be stored all manner of com, brought in from all the granaries around.

For the abbot had received from St. Michael's Mount and other places on the Breton coast most portentous accounts of a gathering together of the pirates of the sea and marauders of the land, and that some devil's bond had been forged between them, and that the wildest and most daring of these villains of every race and land had elected as their chief captain one whom they named "the Grand Sarrasin," one born of that black race, the deadliest enemy of Christendom. Others called him "Le Grand Geoffroy" as though they would save him at least from the black stamp of Paynim birth; but for us he was ever the Grand Sarrasin, and still the Grand Sarrasin, cursed a hundred times a day by every tongue in our cloister and island.

Now, as I saw Brother Hugo on the ramparts and knew, though full of matters now, he grudged not a word to us lads whom he loved full well, I spake to him thus--

"What news to-day, brother, of 'Le Grand Sarrasin'?" I spake half in jest indeed, for long ere this, this very brother had made great sport of pirates and their dark deeds, and especially, ere this name I spake had risen to such a sound of evil omen, had he delighted to tease the children of the cloister therewith. As on some dangerous path he would whisper, "Go not that way for fear of Le Grand Sarrasin!" or out in the fis.h.i.+ng-smack, he would point to some cosy, full-bottomed trading s.h.i.+p with a "Hist, lads, the great Geoffroy there astern!" But now Brother Hugo liked not the jest, but looked sternly at me from beneath his great brows.

"Le Grand Sarrasin!" said he, "if so thou lovest to call the vilest foam of filth on these Norman seas, this day last week rode into St.

Brieuc by night with eighteen s.h.i.+ps, climbed into the fort, none letting him, slit the throat of a sentinel and warder, barred the garrison into its own quarters, and poured like a midnight pestilence through the streets, bidding his Paynim hounds of slaughter, without pity and without fear, enter where they listed, and that they did. And there by night in St. Brieuc, good men and good wives, who never harmed man or beast were knifed as they lay, the young maids led captive, and the babes flung like useless baggage through windows into the gutter, and that is the last I have heard of Le Grand Sarrasin!" said Brother Hugo, sadly enough.

I stood beside him silently, and the salt tears burst painfully under my eyelids as I heard the fate of that poor town by the Breton coast.

"Ay, weep, lad, weep!" he said. "And G.o.d give strength to our arms to show him better than tears, if he come our way, this fiend that fears not G.o.d nor man."

"But the monks, brother, are they not safe? The worst pirates ofttimes fear to touch holy men and holy places," I interposed.

"The monks of St Brieuc," he said solemnly and sadly, "holy men and servants of the poor, lie cold and still in their dormitories, brother by brother, saint by saint. And the sun looks in on them and sees their faces agonized in death, and the blind eyes staring with horror at the fate that woke them but for death. In such wise the Sarrasin's devils fear holy men and holy places."

I saw Brother Hugo as he looked far out to sea in his turn dash the drops of salt from his eyes, and strive to master his sorrow.

"Should they come our way?" I asked, in bitter questioning.

"Surely, ere long!" he answered, "and we shall be prepared. I pray to G.o.d, and--smile not at it, lad--some sort of vision in a dream has come to me that the downfall of 'the Grand Sarrasin' shall be through us, brethren of the Vale, and perhaps through me."

A kind of holy look floated into his face as he said this and looked seaward; an upward look as of seraphs close to G.o.d, not seraphs frail and delicate, but full of l.u.s.ty strength and goodly spirit of war, such as went forth with Michael, when there was war in Heaven.

"Be strong, and of good courage!" he murmured to himself; and, pausing awhile, strode with me across the fort, showing me this or that, that was fresh provided for safety, and the goodly stores of food, and the watchmen even now out on the towers, and the alarms all ready to call in the defenceless. Indeed all was there that a great captain could devise for safety in time of border warfare.

"Thou knowest," he said presently, pointing towards the chateau, "that it is forbid to travel thither. Nigel, it is a very castle they are building, and beside it this fortress of ours is weak and small."

"It will be then," I said, "maybe a strife of castle with castle," said I.

"Ay, so it will," he said, "and that ere long."

"Then, Brother Hugo, I need not voyage to Normandy to taste battle under Duke William."

"The battle," said Hugo, "will be hot enough before these very walls.

Therefore thou shalt be my esquire and learn to taste blood under my command."

Indeed I had no higher desire than this, and so I said.

Now, it was not many days after these words, one afternoon about evensong, a summons came to Hugo from the watchman on the wall at Vale Castle. He called me to go with him. We swiftly reached the rampart, the watchman saying nothing, simply pointed to the northward, and then we saw a very fleet of s.h.i.+ps--pirate s.h.i.+ps, we felt sure--bearing steadily towards Grand Havre. And one that seemed longer and heavier than the rest ran far ahead.

"They are making for their anchorage in Moulin Huet," said Hugo, "and it were well for our islanders to be prepared this night. Light the beacon, honest Bertrand, let it carry its bright word from Vale to Ivy Castle, from Ivy to St. Pierre, from St. Pierre to Jerbourg, though they lie at anchor below, to Torteval and far Lihou, and thou, son, shalt take a kindly message to the men of St. Pierre."

In a few moments the bright flame burst out on the rampart tower, like a red tongue of fire telling forth a deadly message. And lo! I saw, as I went, other tongues leap forth along the coast from tower and castle, all singing out in direful glee the same word "War."

And once within the market-place I ran as I was bid to the Church of St.

Pierre, and great man I felt myself, as I pushed open the church door and took the bell-rope in my hand. "Ding-dong!" rang out the alarm bell from the tower hasty and quick, and ere twenty pulls at the rope, the townsmen were all around, and I was drawn into the market-place, and there at the head of the Rue des Vaches I sang out l.u.s.tily--

"Good men, good citizens and sons of St Pierre, make fast your defences, and man your walls this night; the fleet of Le Grand Sarrasin is anch.o.r.ed in Moulin Huet."

CHAPTER V.

Of what befell the abbot's envoys to _Duke William_, our liege lord, and more particularly _Brother Ralf_, and how we were hemmed in by our foes.

There was no attack of the pirates upon St. Pierre that night, and no a.s.sault on our castles or cloister. And those who had taken refuge within our walls, ladies and children for the most part, whose lords were at the wars, spake as though they would return home having nought to fear. But this our abbot did prevent, except the very nearest living souls. Others from afar, as Dame Maude de Torteval, and the Lady Marie de la Mahie with those that they brought with them he sternly bade to stay in their safe haven.

Now, the pirates touched nor harmed naught in Guernsey through those first days, save some few beasts they drave up to their chateau with its high bastions amidst the trees, and its great flagstaff bearing a green flag with a white curve like a sickle moon broidered on it.

And it would seem that the fleet that lay in Moulin Huet had chiefly come to disenc.u.mber itself of all manner of goods for the furnis.h.i.+ng and defence of the castle up yonder. For some four days the train of rough-bearded men in long seamen's boots toiled to and fro from bay to castle, from castle to bay, with horse and a.s.s, waggon and cart, till men said all the spoil of Brittany and Spain, with all manner of treasures of Moorish lands were stored in the deep caverns under the chateau. And it was even said that since Le Grand Sarrasin would be lord of Guernsey, he would treat well and justly them that dwelt therein, and that if the islanders touched not him he would smite not them, and so forth. But we of the cloister knew our abbot was no man to close his eyes, when ill was afoot around him, and that though the pirate-swarm had none other hand thrust into their comb, his at least would go there, or send others that were mightier.

And messengers to Normandy had been sent week by week, but none had of late returned. Day by day our hearts grew more anxious as we saw the number of Moorish s.h.i.+ps in our waters, and we began to fear that they and their letters had fallen into those evil hands.

And then our worst fears were realized. It was late one evening, I stood at the cloister gate, and on the white road that led to the chateau I saw a figure I seemed to know; but kind heavens, what a figure I It was good Brother Ralf indeed! But his white skirts were slit in rags, his ankles bleeding with sore wounds; he stooped and tottered as he walked, and, horror! that women's sons should do such deeds, his ears had been hacked and hewn away, and his head hung b.l.o.o.d.y on his breast whereon a strip of parchment said--

The envoy of Michael to William returns from Geoffroy to Michael.

More such will follow, and Geoffroy himself ere long cometh to do unto Michael likewise for his courtesies. Salut.

In a horror I summoned up the brothers, as they trooped out from compline-prayer, and two of the stoutest bore Ralf gently to the refectory. There, drugs and good care brought the life back to his eyes, and he smiled on us as though half in fear that we were foes.

We would have had him speak; but he spake not. And the abbot came, calm and unmoved yet, but a glitter of keen light kept glancing lightning-like from his eyes, and he said, as he stood by the settle whereon he lay--

"Speak, dear son--speak to us thy brethren."

Ralf struggled, and raised his heavy hand, and but babbled without meaning.

A quick burst of colour rushed into the abbot's face. Calm, stately, still, with a very blaze of anger hidden in his eyes, that we trembled again, he stood with that red glow in his cheeks.

"He speaks not--for he is distraught," he said. "What shall G.o.d do to men that rob their brothers of His n.o.blest gift--the gift of reason?"

For a moment he stood in prayer, and then raised his shapely hand and blessed him thrice, and then bid us bear him to the sick-house, where sisters nursed him tenderly to life, and won him back much of strength and health--but never the gift, the abbot called G.o.d's n.o.blest gift--for he had left that for ever behind in the chateau on the hill.

Now, this Brother Ralf had set out three weeks before in a trader's bark that sailed for Granville Harbour in Normandy. And he had borne most urgent missives from our abbot to Duke William. In them was writ how that a castle of ill-fame was already built, in them that the arch-foe himself, that so harried St. Brieuc with a very fleet of s.h.i.+ps, either lay in the harbour, or in the new chateau.

But thus three things we knew. First, that as yet Duke William had had no word of the evil presumption of this foul settler in the isle, and could therefore send none to destroy him, and that therefore we had for the time naught but our own hands and walls to succour us. And next, we understood, that there was indeed between Le Grand Geoffroy and ourselves war that none could stay with prayer or supplication to men or to G.o.d. For whereas he knew we had sent to the duke, the sternest sweeper from land or sea of robber and marauder, to deliver us--so we knew, as we thought of Ralf, that life and life's joy would have for us neither sweetness nor endurance, if he went free, who had been to our brother without mercy and without pity. And, lastly, it was clear that Geoffroy's Moors were yet more deadly than we thought, and more numerous. They were stationed, we dreaded to believe, off every point, at all four quarters. They ringed the Norman Sea with their cursed hulks. They lay like a moving line of forts 'twixt us and William.