So quoth the earl, when, after a few days of rest and rehabilitation at Blauncheflour, he was making ready to go on board a Danish galley, which lay moored at Lovelly's Staithe, her brightly coloured sails flapping idly in the summer wind; the heads of the oarsmen, with their long light hair and long light moustaches, showing in even ranks along her bulwarks, and her high dragon-carved prow gleaming in the sun.
Emma, upright and determined, with the keys of the castle at her girdle, and wearing her steel-cap and mail gorget, forced back the tears that sprang to her eyes, and turned proudly to the warrior beside her, who, dressed in complete mail, with his long cross-handled sword suspended from a jewelled baldric, looked the perfect figure of a hero.
'Nay, my Ralph! whatever hard things they may say of thee, they will never be so mad as to accuse thee of aught that savours of cowardice. Thy valour has been too well proven on many a well-fought field! Did not William see thee fight at Hastings, and give thee thine earldom for thy prowess? Didst thou not defend his conquest from the Danish invaders, and win fresh honours and lands? Who could withstand thee in the tourney? Oh, it is preposterous! Rebel they may call thee, recreant never!'
Ralph de Guader, however, gauged the justice of the makers of history better than his warm-hearted countess.[ [7]
He looked at the waiting galley with a sigh, wondering if he should ever again be lord in his English earldom.
He had not been idle during his short stay in his capital. Without waiting for his wounds to heal, he had been up and doing as soon as a few days of rest had made it possible. He had summoned his local supporters, who—if we may judge from the number of estates entered in Domesday as 'Wasta' later on—were numerous, to more than one council, and had done much to restore their confidence in his arms and their belief in his ultimate success.
His own heart had grown lighter as he went the round of his magnificent new castle, which William had munitioned with every improvement then known, and truly it seemed well-nigh impregnable, with its high towers and battlemented walls, and deep, sullen moats.
Preparations for the siege had been going merrily forward. Fat beeves were driven up from the meadows; the bleating of sheep mingled strangely with the clangor of arms, and the large herds of swine so dear to Saxon housekeeping contributed their quota of victims, while not a little fun was caused among the laughter-loving soldiery by the exciting difficulties of persuading the squeaking porkers to cross the drawbridge, and many were the tussles and, in some cases, dire the misfortunes incurred in the sport.
Barrels of salt meat and flour and ale were rolled up the ballium by the stalwart arms of the bows and bills; arms destined, alas! to be but bare skin and bone when they should issue again from the walls of the fortress.
All was bustle and plenty. Sinews of war of every kind were there in superfluity.