Then the Constable's voice was heard amid the din, "Onwards, men, the place is ours," and regaining their wits, the Englishmen rushed forward and reached the deserted barbican.
The discharge from the bombard, by which the remaining Frenchmen, save one, and four English men-at-arms, including the ill-fated Peter, had been swept away, was attended by one good result. The drawbridge had been lowered, and, after applying the linstock, the cannonier had darted back across it to take refuge in the fortress, while the heavy bombard, wrenching asunder the leather thongs that bound it to the carriage, had recoiled till its weight rested on the end of the drawbridge, effectually preventing it from being raised by the defenders.
In the meanwhile the English archers, while engaged in keeping down the fire of the cross-bowmen, had marked the fugitive cannonier as he sped back to gain the entrance. Ere he had run but half the distance he fell, transfixed by a dozen arrows, while the attacking party roared with excitement and jubilation.
Even if the defenders had had another bombard available they would have been prevented by the hail of shafts from training it on their adversaries; and, led by the Constable and his squires, the men-at-arms crossed the drawbridge and thundered at the main gate with their axes, while the archers, advancing in close order, kept up a hot fire against every point where a Norman dared show the crest of his steel cap.
Under the furious blows the door was splintered; then with a united effort the shattered woodwork gave way, and the victorious Englishmen rushed headlong into the castle, only to find that not a man of the garrison was to be seen.
With his own hands the Constable tore down the scarlet wolves' heads of the banner of the Count of Tancarville, and the blue guidon with the demi-lune floated in its place, amidst a fanfare of trumpets and the cheers of the victors.
Then a systematic search of the stronghold was undertaken, but no trace of the Normans was found till an archer stumbled over a heavy trap-door, which, on being raised, disclosed a flight of dank stone steps leading to a subterranean passage. Listening intently, the Constable and his squires heard the faint sounds of retreating footsteps echoing along the stone walls of the tunnel.
"It matters not," quoth Sir John. "I doubt whether there be any person of quality amongst them. Their burrow doubtless leads to some spot in the forest, and I can ill-afford to risk more lives in a needless undertaking."
To close the entrance, pieces of heavy timber weighted with stone were thrown down the yawning pit, and having made all chance of a return by this outlet impossible, the soldiers devoted their energies to the exploration of the building.
It was more of a fortified arsenal than a castle, the Count's principal fortress being ten leagues off, but the spoils of war were both numerous and useful.