These inroads upon our shores by the French during the Hundred Years' War are apt to be ignored or lightly passed over by modern historians, yet during a time when England was busy pouring the best of her blood and treasure into France there was hardly a town on the South Coast that escaped the ravages of the French and their allies, the Spaniards and Genoese.
"Awake! awake! Raymond!" shouted his father. "The French are upon us!"
Raymond sprang up and began to hastily don his clothes, while the archer laid hands on every heavy article in the room, barricading the door and securing the windows. Then, having made ready his bow, he again looked out towards the village.
By this time a series of unequal combats were taking place in the narrow streets or within the houses, where the terrified inhabitants were being routed out like rabbits. All who came across the path of the ruthless invaders were cut down without mercy—men, women, and children—while their homes were being plundered and afterwards fired by men to whom the sacking of a town was almost a familiar task.
To add to the din the church bell was ringing a violent tocsin, and all who were able to escape fled either to the stout Norman tower to seek shelter, or else across the open country towards the town of Southampton.
Raymond, white-faced with pardonable fear and shaking in every limb, now joined his father. Flight for them was now out of the question, for already some of the foemen had passed the house, hard in pursuit of a party of fugitives, the slowest of whom fell under the weapons of the relentless marauders. Like bloodhounds on the trail, this band of pursuers passed by the solitary house, ignoring its existence or else meaning to plunder it at their leisure after the chase of the fugitives was ended.
Suddenly four or five dark figures, silhouetted against the now bright glare of the burning village, came running up the hill and headed straight for the house.
"Quickly, Raymond, notch a shaft!" hissed the archer, and setting an example, he fitted an arrow to his bow and waited, with the weapon slightly bent, the opportunity to let fly.
"By St. George, they are our friends!" exclaimed Redward.
"Andrew Walter! Dick!" he shouted. "This way, for your lives, and ye are safe!" And throwing his great bulk against the barricade behind the door, he moved it sufficiently to enable the door to be opened to admit the fugitives.