"So die all pirates, and enemies of the duke in the Norman Seas!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
The story of the relief of Vale Castle.
Now, by the ending of our battle before L'Ancresse Bay, the sun was setting, and for fear of some attack on us as we disembarked, Samson d'Anville thought it better that, though well in sight of Vale Castle, that already had lit beacons of joy upon its towers, we should drop anchor for the night in L'Ancresse Bay.
This we did, and there was much business in our fleet in the repairing of the damage of the fight. When the tale was made up, but forty men-at-arms had been lost with some sixty more who had sore damage, and two of our ships were so disabled that we left them to float upon the rocks.
From the prow, where I lay down to sleep, I thought of the joy in the hearts of our brethren and the abbot, and "Oh, Brother Hugo!" I thought, "now, by God's grace, have I well-nigh fulfilled the task thou gavest me;" and then sleep drew my eyelids tight, and with no alarm of sea or enemy, I slept until the morning.
Now, the day that followed has ever been the brightest and the gladdest of my memories as I have trodden the path of my life. For on that day by Samson's side I entered Vale gate in very sooth the deliverer of my friends.
I remember not in what manner that goodly army was disembarked, but well I know, through the long space it took, my heart burned to be away. But all was done in the due order of war, for Samson greatly feared an ambush of the Sarrasins in rocky spaces betwixt us and the Castle. And good companies of men were left in a little camp, hastily thrown up by the shore, lest there should be a mishap upon our march.
But at length the men-at-arms were drawn up in order of march, and every man sent forward gave word that no sign of Sarrasin could be seen in the Vale. So, steadily, with the great standard of the two lions unrolled, we marched across the common, and soon the great mass of Vale Castle, on its seat of rock, towered up before us, and along the rampart we saw gathered the defenders, like saints of heaven, welcoming us as we came. And the women, so long pent up with anxious minds therein, waved their light kerchiefs, and wept for very joy at the sound of the soldier's tramp shaking the plain. And along the wall, as at a set signal, when we passed the black ruin of the old cloister and church, uprose the deep sound of men's singing, and we heard the goodly round Latin tongue roll its heavy cadence o'er our heads—"Magnificat anima mea Dominum"—ay, magnificat of praise and glory, as greeting this deliverance wrought by the most Holy One, and the downfall of Satan's power. And ever, when they sing that hymn of blessed Mary, I seem again to be a-marching with all the triumph of a noble lad in the successful doings of his first great enterprise over the wind-swept grass of the Vale up to the Castle gate—marching with a great army, that knows naught of sin and guile, full-stedfast and full-faithful through all its sunny ranks.