"Hot-headed boy!" exclaimed Gaston. "Thou wilt undo all the good I fain would do. Nevertheless, I'll see that thou art guarded. When I am on the walls my man Philippe will stand without the door. Shouldst thou attempt to pass hence thy blood be upon thine own head."
In high dudgeon Gaston le Noir left the lad's presence, vowing that since he had requited his debt he would not suffer his prisoner to be a source of danger to him. Presently he returned, accompanied by a heavy-browed, huge-limbed man whom Geoffrey recognized as being one of the crew of the pilot's boat on the occasion of his journey up the Seine to Rouen.
"Philippe, mark well," exclaimed Gaston. "I have made a fool of myself by giving quarter to this squire; yet thou and I must needs keep a sharp eye on him. Therefore, should he attempt to quit this place, do not fear to pass thy knife across his throat."
Gaston's companion regarded the youth with a grim stare, while Geoffrey took stock of him, wondering whether in his weak state he could, by any manner of chance, prove a match for the powerful-looking seaman. Then, as the door was closed and barred, Geoffrey fell back upon his pallet, a prey to deep despondency.
Though he appreciated Gaston's action in saving his life, the squire realized that the man meant to keep his word. Then, as he dwelt upon the situation, Geoffrey began to see the object of the Norman's solicitude. With the fall of the town, for fall it must, unless succour were speedily forthcoming, the inhabitants would in all probability be put to the sword for having offered resistance to their feudal lord. Therefore Gaston hoped to save his own life by proclaiming his good deed in rescuing the squire from certain death.
Slowly the days of captivity passed, yet the vigilance of the youth's captors was in no wise relaxed. On the subject of the state of the siege they maintained a strict reticence, though by the scanty fare supplied Geoffrey knew that provisions were beginning to fail within the beleaguered town.
Meanwhile the besiegers lay thick without the walls, and slowly yet surely advanced their trenches almost under the shadow of the battlements. But a deadly foe had made its appearance amongst King Henry's host. Dysentery, caused by bad and insufficient food and the September dampness, raged through the camp, till three thousand men, or one-tenth of the invaders, fell victims to the dread pestilence.
Under these circumstances the King realized that it would be better to risk a few hundred lives in a general onslaught than to lose his men in the comparative inaction of an investment; and on the eighteenth day of September preparations for a desperate attack upon the defences were commenced.
Eager to learn the reason for the unmistakable bustle in the besiegers' camp, the Lord of Gaucourt sent a spy from the town. The spy was detected, and on being taken before King Henry he was ordered to be hanged at sunset before the North Gate.
Within the town famine was rampant, but, suspecting that some of the inhabitants had concealed a stock of provisions instead of contributing to the common fund, Gaucourt ordered a house-to-house search.