So the king"s men had made their way within the walls of Blauncheflour, after two months of strong endeavour; and the sight of Warrenne"s chequered banner inside the defences they had held so manfully brought terror into the hearts of the besieged. Their unnerved arms struck feeble blows; and the king"s knights rode them down, driving them to the very stairway of the great entrance to the donjon keep.
All at once, from above their heads came a clear voice like a clarion,--
"St. Nicholas for Guader! A Guader! a Guader! Shall your lord come back, and find his castle lost?"
There, on the platform before the grand entrance, stood a white-robed figure, with uplifted arms and a wildly shining face, which set the half-pagan Anglo-Danes thinking of Valkyries and Norns, and the Bretons and Normans of angels and saints; but when they recognised the face of Emma the countess, they shouted a mighty shout, and the blood came back into their hearts with a great glow of determination, and they rushed once more fiercely against their a.s.sailants.
"I am here to see how bravely you maintain his cause in his absence!"
cried Emma from the portal.
Then the knights mixed in the wild _melee_ at her feet; while the king"s archers shot their whizzing shafts from the wooden towers, and the king"s slingers hurled their leaden b.a.l.l.s and stones, fighting the men who upheld the East Anglian banners on the walls. Whether or no every arrow had its billet, as it is said every bullet has in modern days, many an arrow flew far beyond the men at whom it was aimed, and whistled down into the courtyard.
As the besieged knights looked for inspiration to their beloved Chatelaine, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with the strong desire to distinguish themselves before her eyes, they saw a cloth-yard shaft fly straight to her white figure, and strike the tender form they were burning to protect, marring it with a crimson streak. A great howl of rage rose up against the sky, and the pa.s.sion of vengeance nerved their arms with furious force.
They sprang at the foe, who had also seen the arrow strike its mark, and had paused a moment in chivalrous horror, and so were unprepared to meet the onslaught. Thus the tide of battle turned once more, and Earl Warrenne and his followers were driven out through the breach by which they had entered.
Then, when the knights of the garrison rode back in grievous haste to satisfy their anxiety for their lord"s bride, the countess still stood before the portal, laughing, though the arrow stuck in her arm.
"See!" she said, "it is nothing! Only a flesh-wound. I have leeched a hundred worse."
The Normans and the Bretons and the Saxons all joined in tumultuous cheers, and vowed to save their countess and their castle if they died to the last man.
"_Merci!_ brave hearts!" cried the countess. "That was well spoken!
Holy Mary grant my lord may relieve us ere many days are past!"
Then they entreated her to have her wound looked to; and she swept away to the spital, and there had the arrow cut out of her white arm, so all her wounded warriors might see; and the legend of her unflinching courage spread like wildfire through the garrison, and even into the camp of the besiegers without.
"By St. Michael!" cried Robert Malet, "these rebels seem to have the knack of coining heroines. Thou and my father, Earl Warrenne, had shrewd experience of Hereward"s witch of a wife in the Fenlands by Ely,--how she wound up the wild galliards her husband got to follow him with her sorceries and incantations till they were at the point of madness! Sooth, methinks we have to deal with such another."
Then Leofric Ealdredsson, who had been carried into the camp, and lay within earshot, raised himself up and swore mightily.
"No witch was Torfrida," he cried in anger, "but as true and n.o.ble a woman as ever G.o.d made! So truly is De Guader"s countess, Norman though she be!"
At which the king"s captains laughed, and turned to Leofric.
"Ay! thou wast one of that pestilent Hereward"s most saucy upholders, I well remember; and now thou art leader in this hornet"s nest also, I trow!" said Earl William. "Dost thou know the mark we are bid to set on all our prisoners in this affair, to the end that we may recognise them again when we meet them?"
"Do your worst, usurping cowards!" answered the furious Anglo-Dane.
"When Sweyn Ulfsson follows De Guader home, and claims his own, and drives the tanner"s grandson from the throne he has stolen, he will put _his_ mark on _you_ in return, I warrant me!"
Malet"s face grew dark; for William himself and William"s followers resented no insult so deeply as any allusion to the honest fell-monger of Falaise.
But Earl Warrenne was too wise to quarrel with a wounded man, and said good-humouredly,--
""Twould be a pity to lop a limb from so fine a warrior as thyself, n.o.ble Leofric. Perhaps some exception can be made in this case. We are told that Sir Aimand de Sourdeval is detained in Blauncheflour against his will, and that he is faithful to the king. If that be so, an exchange might be effected."
Leofric, who did not relish the prospect of having his right foot hewed off, courageous as he was, gasped for joy at this proposition. It meant even more to him than escape from cripplehood for life; it meant that he would regain entrance into Blauncheflour, and be near the fair cousin who had become dear to his heart, and that his rival would be parted from her.
"That is true," he said eagerly. "The knight is there, and has refused to strike a blow against the king"s troops."
Meanwhile the sun was sinking in the sky, and with night came partial cessation of hostilities. The besieged were holding council as to what step should next be taken, but the counsellors had dwindled in number.
Sir Alain de Gourin was no longer there with his purple face and blatant ways, but he could be better spared than Leofric, and than several others who had fallen during the month.
"We cannot hold the walls another day," said Sir Hoel sadly; "there is nothing for it but to retire into the keep. It will take them some time to dislodge us from thence; the masonry is solid as the earth."
"And time is all we need!" exclaimed the countess eagerly. She was very pale, and had her arm in bandages, but her eyes were bright with fever and determination, and she insisted on taking her part in the discussion. "My lord must soon be here."
"We may hold the keep for months," said a knight.
"Yes, if manna would fall from heaven," suggested another jestingly; "else I fear we must needs eat each other ere many moons had waned."
"Gentlemen," said Sir Hoel gravely, "there is a means by which we may increase our supplies a shade less desperate than that."
The countess turned to him with anxious curiosity. Sir Hoel continued,--
"We cannot stable all our horses in the keep, some must be sacrificed; better we kill them with our own good swords, and salt their flesh, than let the king"s men have them. Horse-flesh may not be palatable, but at least it would be better fare than picking each other"s bones.
Relief may come before we need fall back on such provender. Still, it will be there."
A sick shudder of horror pa.s.sed through Emma"s heart. Was famine indeed so near?
The faces of the knights grew serious. No man stood forward to proffer his own steed for the sacrifice. More than one gave evidence, by trembling lip and quickened breathing, of the hardness of the trial.
For those mailed warriors were a centaur race. Their steeds were almost a part of themselves. Their lives were constantly hanging on the qualities of their mounts. A hard mouth or a nervous temper might bring them their death any day, and docility and nimble limbs be their safeguard. The horse became a trusted friend, and a champion"s destrier was often as celebrated as himself.
The countess"s lip trembled also, and her cheeks grew even paler than before, while her heart throbbed in cruel doubt.
For was not Oliver, the earl"s n.o.ble Spanish warhorse, in the castle?
Had she not visited him morning and night, and seen with her own eyes that he had his due ration of corn, and that his satin skin was sleek as grooming could make it? Had she not patted his splendid neck morn and night, and plaited his thick mane, and had his velvet nose thrust into her soft palms for an apple or a wastel cake? She knew how the earl loved the creature, and had misliked leaving him behind, and she herself loved him both for his master"s sake and for his own. He seemed to her half human as she thought of his intelligent eyes, and the clear, soft neigh, musical as the whistle of a blackbird, with which he was wont to greet her, and a sob caught her breath as she thought of condemning him to death. She knew also that he was worth his weight in gold.
Yet to sacrifice him seemed to her a clear duty, as she looked round the circle of reluctant men about her. They would never ask it, she knew. Some few horses would be kept, and the earl"s destrier amongst them, as a matter of course; but she remembered how she had heard it told of William the Conqueror, that when, on his march on Chester, his men, weary with labour and cold, begged him to let them go back, he dismounted and went afoot to encourage them, and shared all their hardships. Was her lord a less generous knight than William? A thousand times no! If he were in Blauncheflour, he would be the first to lead the sacrifice. As he was absent, she must do it for him. These thoughts flashed through her mind in a moment, though they are long to write.
"Thou art right, Sir Hoel," she said in a steady voice. ""Tis like killing a child for a knight to kill his steed, I well understand. Yet it is but wisdom as we are circ.u.mstanced, and I make no doubt if my lord were here, he would be the first to make the sacrifice. Therefore I beg thee, dear Sir Hoel,"--she laid her left hand on his arm, and would have put the other with it, had it not been stiffened with bandages, and looked into his face with her clear, brave eyes, very pathetic now, with heavy rings of blue round them, and thin, wan cheeks beneath,--"I beg thee, dear Sir Hoel, despatch my lord"s destrier with thine own blade, and see that he suffer no needless pain."
A chorus of protests burst from the knights; not a man but offered his steed to save Oliver; but the countess said hastily, "Attend to my behest, I pray thee, Sir Hoel!" and hurried from the room.
She went to her bower, where Eadgyth was awaiting her. She had not trusted any of her ladies to attend her in her council-chamber, lest their courage should give way, and so weaken her influence over the knights. Now, when she met Eadgyth"s look of tender inquiry, and felt her caressing arms round her, she was overcome herself. She dropped her poor weary head on Eadgyth"s shoulder and wept--wept as she had never done in her life before--no, not even in the chapel through that long sad night when she believed herself a widow; for her fresh young strength was in its prime then, and now she was weakened physically by the strain of continued anxiety and the acute pain of her wounded arm.
The storm of sobs was so long and violent, that Eadgyth, who had scarcely ever seen her cry, was sore afraid. She dreaded that some fell disaster had befallen.
But she was a good comforter; she did not tease with questions, she only pressed her friend fondly to her, and kissed and caressed her till she grew calmer.
"Oh, Eadgyth," said the countess at length, "they are going to kill the horses, and Ralph"s destrier must die. The dear Oliver!"
To Eadgyth this reason for such excessive grief seemed almost absurd, and her blue eyes opened widely.
"Oh, I am a poor weak fool!" said Emma, drawing away, "to break down so utterly. But my arm aches shrewdly, Eadgyth, and I am not used to pain."
She threw herself upon the embroidered bed, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.
"Poor sweet!" said Eadgyth. "I do not marvel that even thy wonderful spirit should yield to nature. This day has been fearful indeed."