What a plight!
"Give soft words," said the old huntsman, who rode on the right hand of our friend Ralph, "or we shall be stuck with quills like porcupines."
But Ralph was hot headed, and threw a lance at the old outlaw, giving, at the same time, the order:
"Charge up the banks, and clear the woods of the vermin."
The dart missed Grimbeard, and immediately the deadly shower which the old man had so keenly apprehended descended upon the exposed and ill-fated group, who, for their sins, were commanded by so mad a leader.
A terrific scene ensued. The horses, stung by the arrows, reared, pranced, and rushed away in headlong flight down the stony entangled road; throwing their riders in most eases, or dashing their heads against the low overhanging branches of the oaks. Half the Normans were soon on the ground. The outlaws charged: the lane became a shambles, a slaughter house.
Ralph and two or three more still fought desperately, but with little hope, when there appeared the sudden vision of a grey friar, who thrust himself between the knight and Grimbeard, who were fighting with their axes.
"Hold, for the love of G.o.d! Accursed be he who strikes another blow."
"Thou hast saved the old villain"s life, grey friar," said mad Ralph, parrying a stroke of Grimbeard"s axe, but this was but a bootless boast, for the conflict was not one with knightly weapons, but with those of the forest. The train of Herstmonceux were but equipped for the hunt and in such weapons as they possessed the outlaws were far better versed than they, for with boar spear or hunting knife they often faced the rush of wolf or boar.
"Martin! Boy, thou hast saved the young fop.
"Dost thou yield, Norman, to ransom?"
"Yea, for I can do no better, but if this reverend young father will but stand by and see fair play, I would sooner fight it out."
"Dead men pay no ransom, and they are not good to eat, or I might gratify thee. As it is I prefer thee alive."
Then he cried aloud:
"Secure the prisoners. Blindfold them, then take them to the camp."
The fight was over. The prisoners, five in number, were blindfolded, and in that condition led into the camp of the outlaws; Martin keeping close by their side, intent upon preventing any further violence from being offered, if he could avert it.
Arrived at the camp, the captives were consigned to a rough cabin of logs. Their bandages were removed; a guard was placed before the door, and they were left to their meditations.
They were only, as we have said, five in number. Six had escaped.
The others lay dead on the scene of the conflict.
Meanwhile, Ralph was puzzling his brains as to where he had seen the grey friar before, who had so opportunely arrived at the scene of conflict. He inquired of his companions, but their wits were so discomposed by their circ.u.mstances and by apprehensions, too well founded, for their own throats, that they were in no wise able to a.s.sist his memory. Nor indeed could they have done so under any circ.u.mstances.
It was but a brief suspense. The outlaws had but tended their own wounded, washed off the stains of the conflict, refreshed themselves with copious draughts of ale or mead, ere they placed a seat of judgment for Grimbeard under a great spreading beech which grew in the centre of the camp, and all the population of the place turned out to see the tragedy or comedy which was about to be enacted. Just as, in our own recollection, the mob crowded together to see an execution.
Grimbeard was fond of a.s.suming a certain state on these occasions.
He dressed himself in all his rustic finery, and seated himself with the air of a king on his rude chair of honour. By his side stood Martin, pale and composed, but determined to prevent further bloodshed if it were in mortal power to do so.
"Bring forth the prisoners."
They were led forth; Ralph looking as saucy and careless as ever.
"What is thy name?" asked Grimbeard.
"Ralph, son of Waleran de Monceux."
"And what has brought thee into my woods?"
"Thy woods, are they? Well, thou couldst see I came to hunt."
"And thou must pay for thy sport."
"Willingly, since I must. Only do not fix the price too high."
"Thy ransom shall be a hundred marks, and till then thou must be content with the hospitality of the woods. Now for thy followers--three weeks ago the sheriff hung two of my best men as deer slayers, and I have sworn in such cases to have life for life. If they hang, we hang too.
If they are merciful, so are we. Now I am loth to slay an Englishman.
Hast thou not any outlanders here?"
"If I had, dost think I should tell thee? Why not take me for one?"
"Thou art worth a hundred marks, and they not a hundred pence,"
laughed Grimbeard. "It is not that I respect n.o.ble blood. I have scant cause. A wandering priest who came to say ma.s.s for us told us the story of Jephthah and the Gileadites; I will try the effect of a Shibboleth, too.
"So bring the prisoners forward, one by one, my merrie men."
The first was evidently an Englishman.
"Say, what food dost thou see on that table yonder?"
"Bread and cheese."
"It is well; thou shalt be Sir Ralph"s messenger, and shall be set free, upon a solemn promise to do our behests.
"Now set forth the next in order, and let him say, "Shibboleth.""
It was an olive-skinned rogue, fresh from Southern France, who stepped forward this time, impelled by his captors. Asked the same question, he replied:
"Dis bread and dat sheese {26}."
"Hang him," said Grimbeard, and hanged he would doubtless have been, for a dozen hands were busy at once in their cruel glee; some seizing upon the victim, some mocking his p.r.o.nunciation, some preparing the rope, two or three boys climbing the tree like monkeys, to a.s.sist in drawing it over a sufficiently stout branch to bear the human weight, while the poor Gaul stood shivering below; when Martin threw his left arm around the victim, and raised his crucifix on high with the other.
"Ye shall not harm him, unless ye trample under foot the sign of your redemption."
"Who forbids?" said Grimbeard.
"I, the representative by birth of your ancestral leaders, and one who might now claim the allegiance you have paid to my fathers for generations. But I rest not on that," and here he pleaded so eloquently in the name of Christ, that even Grimbeard was moved; he could not resist a certain ascendency which Martin was gaining over him.
"Let them go, all of them. Blindfold them and lead them out in the road. Only they must swear not to come into our haunts again, either with hawk and hound or with deadlier weapons.
"There! I hope it may be put to my account in purgatory, my Martin.
You are spoiling a good outlaw. Have your way, only this gay popinjay of a knight must stay until his ransom be paid. We can"t afford to lose that. But no harm shall befall him. Beside, we may want him as hostage in case this morning"s work bring a hornets"
nest about our ears."