University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
DEATH UNDER SHIELD.

As the spirit of the murderer and villain passed away,
whither we dare not say, the kettledrums and trumpets rang
out triumphantly, and the loud shout of “Verneuil, Verneuil,
and Tankarville! and so perish all the foes of the gentle Norman
race!” rose wildly and triumphantly into the air, and the
great tocsin of the castle tolled dismally, the death alarum of
the dishonored dead.

A moment or two later, Ermold de Marcy and an elderly
man dressed in black velvet, the chamberlain of the castle,
made their appearance on the ramparts, conducting the young
serf, who had been instantly liberated from his dungeon at the
knight's request, but who still wore an iron collar about his
neck, to which had been attached a small light chain of the
same metal.

The chamberlain bowed low as he approached the count,
and when he stood before him holding the serf by the chain —
“Fair sir,” he said, “lord count of Tankarville, knight of
St. Denys, and the Holy Ghost, peer of France, noble of the
Roman empire, these from Gabrielle, chatelaine de Verneuil,
gratefully greeting. She thanks you for herself and for her
lord now absent in the field, the sieur de Floris, who present
would have known better how to entreat you; she thanks you
for her life, and, more than life, for her honor. She admits
that she owes you all, the castle she inhabits, the lands she
holds in fee or in fief, herself and all that belongs to her, from
her and hers unto you and yours for ever. And now through

my hands, she thus gives you handsel of the same, the castle
and the lands of Verneuil, to herself of her own right heretofore
pertaining, with all its dues and droits and service, and
vert and venison, and men and maids, serfs of the soil for ever,
here in the person of this man, Henri le Noir of this hamlet
of Verneuil, and seeing that he is serf of the soil and may not
be moved thence, ten roods of ground now set off to his occupation,
and the cabin he inhabits — to you and yours, Count
Hugues de Tankarville, to have and to hold, to give or to sell,
to head or to hang, at your pleasure. Hear this, all ye who
are present, and bear witness, now and always!”

Then the knight received the chain into his hands, and uncovering
his head, made answer: “I, Hugues count de Tankarville,
knight of St. Denys, and the Holy Ghost, peer of
France, noble of the German, do gratefully accept the thanks
of the chatelaine, and this her homage and transfer of her
castle and lands of Verneuil, with all droits and dues and services
thereunto appertaining — and more especially this handsel
of the same, this man Henri le Noir, and these ten roods
of ground now set off to his occupation, and this cabin he inhabits,
and him and these I take and accept from her and hers
unto me and mine, to have and to hold, to give or to sell, to
head or to hang, as to us shall seem good for ever. But all
besides these, the lands and castle of Verneuil, with its dues
and droits, its services, its verts and venison, its men and
maids, serfs of the soil, I restore and make over from me and
mine unto her and hers, as it were sin and shame, unworthy
of stricken knight and belted noble, to deprive so bright and
beautiful a lady of anything of her beholdings.”

Then he stooped down toward the serf, who was kneeling
at his feet, and taking both his hands into his own — “Henri
le Noir,” he asked solemnly, “although you may not contest
it, seeing that it is lawfully performed and duly, do you accept

the transfer from the chatelaine of Verneuil, your lady, to me
Count Hugues of Tankarville, your lord, from hers to be mine
so long as you shall live, to be true servant to me and mine
till death.”

“I do,” replied the man steadily, “and I will be true man
to you, lord count, so aid me God! for ever.

“An armorer and a file,” cried the count, turning to Ivernois.
“And give me a white wand, that of this serf, with
Heaven's good blessing, we make this day a freeman. Bring
trumpets, too, and a pursuivant, if there be one.”

Then as the wand was placed in his hand, seeing that the
armorer stood ready with his file, and that in the absence of a
regular armorer Ermold de Marcy had assumed the office, he
touched the man lightly on the head and on both shoulders
with the rod, exclaiming, “Henri le Noir, serf thou art not,
nor villeyn, any longer, but freeman and landholder and vassal
of the Tankarville, for my ten roods of land I give thee in Verneuil,
from me and mine unto thee and thine for ever, only
thou shalt do homage to, for the same, and serve me with man-service
in the field, one hundred days in the year, when my
broad banner shall be displayed and my trumpets blown for
Tankarville. Sound now and make proclamation.”

A shrill blast was blown up at the word, and Ermold de
Marcy made loud proclamation.

Then Henri le Noir again placed both his hands in the
hands of his feudal lord, and swore him fealty and faith, and
did him homage for his land.

And again the trumpet sounded, and again Ermold made
proclamation.

And the armorer filed away the iron collar from his neck,
and the white wand with which his lord had manumitted him
was placed in his hand, and a sharp sword was girded about
his waist, and he who had knelt down but a few short minutes'

space before, a serf and slave, whose life his lord might take
at any moment, with reason or without reason, arose a free
cultivator, a free owner of the soil, a free man-at-arms, capable
even to be stricken a knight, or by the emperor to be made
noble and to be endowed with coat-armor.

And so strange was in those day the admixture of ferocity
with gentleness and even grace in the doings of chivalry, that
even in the midst of the fury and frenzy of that desperate feud,
the condottieri, mere brigands as they were and banditti, without
the walls, panting as they were to avenge their leader's
death, offered no interruption to the ceremony, shot no arrow
upon the walls, but stood there silent and reverent spectators of
the impressive scene, for they had recognised the person of
the manumitted serf, as he who had performed the gallant deed
of arms and rescued the champion, and soldiers before they became
routiers, the soldier-spirit was still predominant among
them, and they could both themselves honor valor, and rejoice
to see it rewarded by the brave and noble.

Therefore they now stood silent and observant, nor that
only, but when the trumpets and kettle-drums struck upon the
battlements in honor of the new-made freeman, their bugles
sent back an answering flourish, and their voices sent forth a
full-mouthed cheer, even while the carcase of their late chief
Talebardin wavered in the wind, like the vilest carrion swaying
from the castle-walls.

Within a minute or two of the completion of the ceremonial,
and almost at the same instant, the hard galloping of horses
was heard by the beleaguered garrison from two several directions,
of one, and apparently the nearer of the two, the sounds
came down the road, by which the Lord of Tankarville had
gained the fortalice of Verneuil, and by which the routiers had
subsequently come down upon them — the other seemed to be
approaching by a strong by-path leading down through the

woods from the higher ground to the rearward of the castle,
where there was a small postern gate or sallyport, unprovided
with a drawbridge, the want of which was supplied in time of
need by a plank run out from the open door and guided across
the moat by a rope from the battlements. On this side, not
being sufficiently strong in numbers to invest the place regularly,
and having neither ladders nor any other engines by aid
of which they might hope to cross the deep wet ditch or to
scale the blank walls, the routiers had bestowed no more attention,
after the first reconnoitring parties had examined, and
reported it impracticable.

But now as the Coucy noted the distant horse-hoof, which
seemed to be drowned to the ears of the marauders by the
nearer clang which was approaching them, then he conceived
the idea that reinforcements to the robbers and relief to himself
were at once approaching, and in this he was confirmed,
when his acute sense of hearing, long sharpened by experience
of every warlike stratagem, perceived that the rider, whoever
he was, had left the beaten track, probably from fearing
its betrayal of his approach, and was making his way through
the wood-paths, where the mossy soil gave no tidings to ears
that were not awake to particular suspicion.

Without a moment's delay the chief despatched Ermold de
Marcy to keep watch on the rearward esplanade, and immediately
afterward ordered Henri le Noir, who now as a landholder
had received the title of Henri of Verneuil, to arm
himself cap-a-pie as a man-at-arms, and then to go hold himself
in readiness at the postern to admit any friendly messenger,
should one arrive, while he himself kept a jealous out-look
on the proceedings of the marauders.

It was soon seen that his forebodings were correct, for within
five minutes after his sending Ermold to the rear, a horseman
galloped down to join the marauders, and was received

with a burst of savage merriment and congratulation that
proved him an old and favorite companion.

While he was yet observing what should follow, one of the
menials of the place came up requesting the Count de Tankarville,
on the part of his young esquire, that he would be
pleased to join him at the postern on matters of great moment.

The rider, whose approach they had heard, had shown himself
on foot on the farther bank of the castle ditch, leaving his
horse picketed in the pinewood, and being recognised by
Henri of Verneuil, had hastily disarmed himself, swum the
moat, and been admitted at the postern. He was the chosen
page of the Sieur de Floris, who it appeared in crossing the
country in quite a different direction toward Mirepoix, had
learned that a roving band under the famous, or rather infamous,
Aymerigot Marcel was on its way with twenty spears to
attempt a surprise of Verneuil; and suspecting in no wise that
this was a concerted movement, and that the castle was already
beset, he had sent on his page to warn the people of
their peril, and to announce his coming by daybreak at the
latest with fifty lances to the rescue.

Even while he was speaking with the page, a loud blast on
a trumpet blowing a point of parley, as it was termed, recalled
him to the bartizan, and he found there on the esplanade, with
a white flag displayed and a trumpeter at his side, the Green
Rider, who now alone survived of the leaders of the free companions,
having succeeded by the death of Talebardin to the
chief command of the band.

He now summoned the garrison in form, with all the frankness
and not a little of the courtesy of a soldier — it was he
whom De Coucy had remarked from the first onslaught as
bearing no disgraceful emblems of butchery or bloodshed, beyond
the harness of a man-at-arms, with the green plume and
the cognizance of the white dragon on his shield, by which he

easily distinguished him as a Saxon outlaw, said to be a bastard
of high descent, known far and wide through France as
a free rider by the title of the green esquire, a soldier of much
renown in the field, who had never tainted his fair fame by
any deeds of cruelty or treason, and whose worst censure was
that he had at times associated with those incarnate fiends,
Talebard Talebardin and the Rouge Batard.

He now addressing De Coucy with deep reverence, and
something almost of humility in his demeanor, announced to
him that he had just received the tidings of the approach of
Aymerigot Marcel with such a reinforcement of men-at-arms,
besides ladders and military engines, as would place the garrison
entirely at their mercy.

“He will be here, my lord,” he continued, “before midnight;
and, believe me, he here, defence is hopeless. However, when
Aymerigot is in the field, you may have heard, beau sire,
mercy is not either to sex or age — regard is not to beauty or
to valor — but torture and violation, the rack, gibbet, and the
firebrand, to the bravest, and the fairest. Therefore I do beseech
you, noble sir, accept the terms of composition which I
offer you, while I have yet the power to offer and you the
time to profit by them. March out in all safety and honor,
with all your arms and apparel and effects, your mules and
horses, men and maids, and the chatelaine of Verneuil, and go
whither you will under safe conduct, leaving to us the castle
only and the fixtures. Go! only for God's sake and the
lady's! Go! beau sire de Tankarville! and I, even I, free
companion though I be, will bear witness to the nobleness of
your defence, to your undaunted valor, and untainted honor!”

“And what shall vouch that the safe conduct will be respected?”
replied the knight, with a grave inclination of his
head, as if somewhat moved by the manner of the green
rider.

“The honor of an Englishman,” replied the free companion,
raising his vizor, and showing the fair skin, blue eyes, and
auburn hair of his race; “and who shall question that?”

“Not I, good fellow,” said the knight. “But now mark
me, surrender I may not, nor march out save with lance in rest
and trumpets sounding, the charge from any place I have determined
to defend. But trust me, sir esquire, in guerdon for this
thou hast done, on mine honor! thou shalt die as a soldier
under shield by the lance of De Coucy, and not as a robber by
the hangman and the cord!”

“Grammercy! for your courtesy, beau sire,” answered the
other with a smile that was almost a sneer — “and, in requital
of it, I pledge my word, that you shall be harassed by no
treacherous night attack, but we will fight it out to-morrow
by fair daylight, with the sun to look upon the deeds of brave
men, and the free air to bear their fame upward to heaven; and
while I breathe, good knight, no harm shall light upon your
chatelaine.”

And therewith they parted, to meet but once again, and then
no more for ever.

All that day and half of the long night, they toiled in the
court-yard, knight and esquire, man-at-arms and vassal, squaring
the mighty beams and hewing solid planks, forging stout
chains and ponderous hinges, till ere the castle clocks tolled
midnight, a new drawbridge lay ready on the pavement, with
all prepared to raise it at an instant's notice.

Horses were fed and saddled, armors were polished, weapons
ground, torches and cressets were extinguished, and save
the count of Tankarville himself, and the warders on the walls,
all else lay down to snatch an hour's repose before the desperate
affray which all foresaw with the coming dawn.

He, with a dim foreboding of he knew not what, prayed
fervently before the altar in the castle-chapel, and made confession,

although there was no human ear to listen, no human
lip to pronounce absolution.

At one hour after midnight, the tramp of many horses, and
the dash and clang of harness, announced the arrival of Aymerigot,
and half suspicious of treason, the knight aroused his
garrison, got them under arms silently and in darkness.

But for once the routiers kept faith — the din ceased in the
encampment, the lights went out one by one, and silence of
dewy night fell over tent and bivouac as peacefully as if the
deadliest of foes were not almost arrayed beneath it face to
face.

An hour later, the Tankarville himself dismissed the page
of Floris, as he had come, by the postern, with instructions to
bring up his lord with his lances on the rear of the free companions,
as soon as might be. Then with the aid of his best
men, the great gates were opened silently, the new chains rove
through the iron pulleys and hooked to the outer end of the
pont-levis, which was slowly and guardedly thrust forward, until
the hinges fell into their sockets, the huge bolts were driven
in, and the bridge, hauled up to its supports, stood as if by
magic, even as it had stood the previous morning, when it admitted
the brave train of Tankarville.

The night passed speedily, and the gray dawn was nigh,
and the watchwords and orders of the freebooters arming in
their huts came to the ears of the garrison, but came winged
with no terrors, for in the dim, dewy twilight they might discern
a lance with the pennoncelle of Floris pitched in the
ground before the postern, telling of aid at hand.

The vassals and the half-armed serving-men mustered upon
the ramparts, but in the court-yard champed and pawed twelve
powerful war-horses, backed by twelve champions all in steel,
with De Coucy at the head, his broad banner displayed, and
his lance-points erected — while four stout grooms manned the

chains of the pont-levis, and stood to the bars of the great
gate.

The sun rose, and with a wild, discordant yell, and the barbarous
blast of horns and bugles, the free companions formed
for the assault, some bearing ladders, others mantelets and
pavesses, and covered by a cloud of archers.

Up went the banners of Verneuil and Floris, and awoke the
din of the tocsin, the deep roar of the kettledrums, and the clear
flourish of the Norman trumpets, seeming to defy earth and
heaven.

Then, bearing terror to the souls of the routiers, another
Norman trumpet answered, and a tremendous shout arouse —
“Floris for Verneuil! Floris to the rescue!”

Down went the drawbridge in their front, and forth, lance in
rest, banner displayed, and trumpet sounding to the charge,
forth came De Coucy and his men — “St. Paul! St. Paul!” —
while down the pine hills, in their rear, poured the fresh
lances of De Floris.

Aymerigot wheeled with his own band to meet the lord of
Verneuil; the green esquire charged his lance gallantly and
well, and met De Coucy fair in full career. His lance caught
in the bars of De Coucy's casque unhelmed him, but the
knight's spear-point struck the free-rider's shield on the chief,
bored through shield, plastron, and cuirass, and breaking in
his bosom, hurled him dead to the earth. But the Coucy's
charger, wearied and overdone, went down untouched, and
rolling over its lord's right thigh, pinned him to the ground,
that he could not arise, and the next moment Aymerigot and
his party, unable to endure the shock of the lances of Verneuil,
passed over him in disarray and disorder, the brigand chief
bringing up the rear.

But, as he passed, his eye fell upon the dismounted champion,
and swinging his two-handed sword on high, he cut him down

with a ghastly blow, shearing his left shoulder, through plate
and mail, almost asunder.

They bore him into the castle, into the presence of the lady
he had so long and fondly loved — he had so nobly rescued.
They unhelmed him — he was pale, speechless; but his eye
was as bright as ever — his senses had not wavered. She
recognised him — fell fainting on his bosom — her right hand
clasped in his cold fingers, her lips pressed to his own in a
last, chaste, permitted kiss, the crucifix of his God before his
glazing eyes, under shield, in steel harness, nobly, happily,
his great sould passed away! —

He had feared God, loved his lady, held honor ever in his
eye — and without a taint on his fame — pure lover, loyal noble,
gallant knight — he went fearless and faithful to his last account.

Honor to the brave! — rest to the ashes! Pray for the soul
of De Coucy!