his own choler, and (said FitzOsbern) fretted by the maggot of vainglory that ate his brain, he burst out in a loud voice to tell them how the upstart of Normandy might know him upon the field of battle, by the red mantle he would wear, and the housings of his destrier.
This was to add fuel to a growing fire, as may be supposed. Without pausing to consider William FitzOsbern retaliated in kind. He said that in his turn the Duke would wear the purple of his high standing, and a circlet round his helm, and bestride a bay stallion sent to him by a King of Spain.
‘Furthermore, seigneur,’ FitzOsbern told, ‘we said that if he were still in doubt he might know you by the golden lions that waved about your head, and by the stout warriors who gathered round you, very hot to avenge the insults sustained by you. I believe it to have been well said. I marked him to change colour.’
‘For my part,’ said young Roger, ‘I believe it was not the answer he looked for. He seemed much put out, and chewed his beard, and glanced about him this way and that.’
Galet looked up from his seat in a corner of the tent, and said: ‘Why, the dog of Anjou is a great one for barking. Take a whip out and you will see him slink back to his kennel.’
So it proved indeed. The Duke led out his army upon the term-day, but got no word of Anjou. It was heard later that he had withdrawn his troops in haste, and was marching homewards with a strong rearguard. He was the first of many to prefer an ignoble retreat to a meeting in arms with Duke William of Normandy.
What Domfront made of it no one knew. As for William he gave his sardonic laugh and returned to the business of reducing the Castle.
Martel having put himself out of court, as it were, the Duke leaped into one of his sudden swift actions. Leaving a small force at Domfront he led the remainder of his troops on a night ride to Alençon. He went by way of Menhendin and Pointel, and an arduous business he made of it. His chevaliers sweated behind him; some fell out on the road upon foundered horses, but the bulk kept on doggedly, setting their teeth in a determination not to be outdone by the tireless man who led them.
They appeared before Alençon in the morning light, grimed and sweat-stained; and stared through the lifting mist across the river at the town which lay beyond. The town itself was unfortified, but the Castle, with its straight road leading down to the gate-tower over the bridge of the Sarthe, governed all. Above its crenellated battlements floated the standard of Anjou.
‘Wine of Christ, if I do not have that down!’ the Duke swore.
Straightway he dismounted, and knelt at his prayers, for he was never one to forget what was due to God; and his men knelt with him. That being done, he rose up again and bathed his face in the river, and bent his heavy considering frown on the gatehouse that guarded the bridge. While he stayed thus, pondering, the people of Alençon had leisure to observe his force. Men gathered on the further bank of the river, and heads were seen to draw together in excited conference.
Those who kept the gate-tower marked the strength of the Duke’s army, and seeing that he had brought no siege-engines with him, thought themselves safe in their stronghold. Gaining arrogance with their feeling of security, they began to consider themselves already victors and some among them shouted out injurious words, and made signs betokening their derision.
The Duke noted these things with a gradually darkening brow. He gave curt orders, and his men formed up in battle array. The Duke was conferring apart with his captains, biting his whip-lash as he always did when he saw a difficult task before him, and carefully observing the disposition of the town. The men in the gate-tower, conceiving their jeerings to have gone wide of the mark, bethought themselves of a good jest, and one likely to touch the Duke’s pride nearly. There was a bustle, and a running to and fro;
This was to add fuel to a growing fire, as may be supposed. Without pausing to consider William FitzOsbern retaliated in kind. He said that in his turn the Duke would wear the purple of his high standing, and a circlet round his helm, and bestride a bay stallion sent to him by a King of Spain.
‘Furthermore, seigneur,’ FitzOsbern told, ‘we said that if he were still in doubt he might know you by the golden lions that waved about your head, and by the stout warriors who gathered round you, very hot to avenge the insults sustained by you. I believe it to have been well said. I marked him to change colour.’
‘For my part,’ said young Roger, ‘I believe it was not the answer he looked for. He seemed much put out, and chewed his beard, and glanced about him this way and that.’
Galet looked up from his seat in a corner of the tent, and said: ‘Why, the dog of Anjou is a great one for barking. Take a whip out and you will see him slink back to his kennel.’
So it proved indeed. The Duke led out his army upon the term-day, but got no word of Anjou. It was heard later that he had withdrawn his troops in haste, and was marching homewards with a strong rearguard. He was the first of many to prefer an ignoble retreat to a meeting in arms with Duke William of Normandy.
What Domfront made of it no one knew. As for William he gave his sardonic laugh and returned to the business of reducing the Castle.
Martel having put himself out of court, as it were, the Duke leaped into one of his sudden swift actions. Leaving a small force at Domfront he led the remainder of his troops on a night ride to Alençon. He went by way of Menhendin and Pointel, and an arduous business he made of it. His chevaliers sweated behind him; some fell out on the road upon foundered horses, but the bulk kept on doggedly, setting their teeth in a determination not to be outdone by the tireless man who led them.
They appeared before Alençon in the morning light, grimed and sweat-stained; and stared through the lifting mist across the river at the town which lay beyond. The town itself was unfortified, but the Castle, with its straight road leading down to the gate-tower over the bridge of the Sarthe, governed all. Above its crenellated battlements floated the standard of Anjou.
‘Wine of Christ, if I do not have that down!’ the Duke swore.
Straightway he dismounted, and knelt at his prayers, for he was never one to forget what was due to God; and his men knelt with him. That being done, he rose up again and bathed his face in the river, and bent his heavy considering frown on the gatehouse that guarded the bridge. While he stayed thus, pondering, the people of Alençon had leisure to observe his force. Men gathered on the further bank of the river, and heads were seen to draw together in excited conference.
Those who kept the gate-tower marked the strength of the Duke’s army, and seeing that he had brought no siege-engines with him, thought themselves safe in their stronghold. Gaining arrogance with their feeling of security, they began to consider themselves already victors and some among them shouted out injurious words, and made signs betokening their derision.
The Duke noted these things with a gradually darkening brow. He gave curt orders, and his men formed up in battle array. The Duke was conferring apart with his captains, biting his whip-lash as he always did when he saw a difficult task before him, and carefully observing the disposition of the town. The men in the gate-tower, conceiving their jeerings to have gone wide of the mark, bethought themselves of a good jest, and one likely to touch the Duke’s pride nearly. There was a bustle, and a running to and fro;
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