The whole party galloped swiftly to Vauguyon, where they were received with open gates and a steaming supper. After wine had been drunk, and the Lord of Vauguyon had settled down to talk, Gargantua was told that all that had been said was true. Picrochole's soldiers were both at Roche-Clermaud and the Ford of Vede. On hearing this, the Prince would not wait to sleep, so anxious was he to rush to the help of his good old Father. The Lord of Vauguyon tried to keep him in the Castle until after a great storm, which then threatened, was over. It was of no use, Gargantua would hear nothing.
"To your saddles, gentlemen!" he cried. "It is at the Ford we shall hunt Picrochole's mannikins!"
GARGANTUA HURRIES HOME.
Once more mounted on his great Mare he started for the Ford. His lips were pressed close, and his eyes glared fiercely down from a height greater than that of the tallest trees. "His Highness is very angry," Ponocrates whispered to Gymnaste. (For the first time he was afraid of his pupil.) "His Highness is awful mad," Gymnaste whispered to Eudemon. On getting near the Ford, what should Gargantua do but tear up a fine and stately tree which he found growing by the roadside, stripping its branches and leaves till he made it a bare pole of enormous length and strength. "Just what I have been looking for!" he said to himself; "this tree will serve me both as staff and lance."
All this was being done under a fearful tempest of rain. The storm had burst, as the Lord of Vauguyon had foreseen. Ponocrates could hardly sit on his horse, for the heavy drops fell like so much lead; dainty little Eudemon was quite crushed, and could only keep himself from falling by clasping his horse's neck; and all Gymnaste could do to keep his spirits up and his blood warm was, every now and then, to turn somersaults on the back of his horse, stand on his head, on the tip of his thumb, and skip from side to side like a monkey. All this time Gargantua, seated on his great Mare, did not feel the rain any more than if it was not roaring and hissing around him, filling all the streams along the road, and making a deluge around the Ford.
GYMNASTE WARMS HIMSELF.
He was soon to see, however, that if he himself, being a Giant, could stand this sudden flood, smaller men could not. The first thing he heard on going a little farther, from some people who were running to the high grounds for safety, was that the Ford was all swollen, and that thousands of men had been drowned in it.
He could not understand this,—of course he could not, being a Giant,—but what he did understand better was what that sly little page Eudemon, who had galloped ahead to get shelter from the rain, told him. The news Eudemon brought was that Picrochole's men were in a Castle this side of the Ford, and that before his master could hope to reach it he must take the Castle, or they would take him.