CHAPTER XIV.
THE BATTLE OF THE BEUNE.
LE GROS GUILLEM, at the head of fifty men, was on his way to chastisethe peasants of the Vezere Valley.
The number he had with him was not large, but he was unable to sparemore for this expedition. A sufficient garrison must be left in Domme.Besides, to deal with peasants, a handful of soldiers with steel capsand swords was certain to suffice; hitherto it had sufficed, and that atall times. What was Del' Peyra? He had never distinguished himself infeats of arms; no one had ever heard that he had taken them up at anytime. The dung-fork and the ox-goad befitted him. It was said he hadmore than once ploughed his own land.
The men were mounted so as to make the _chevauchee_ as rapidly andeffectively as possible, without allowing those whom they were resolvedto attack time to bestir themselves and assemble to offer resistance. Ifthese Ste. Soure peasants did learn that the _ribauds_ were coming theywould flee to the rocks and hide themselves there. That they shouldattempt resistance was not to be anticipated. Guillem had determined toburn every house in the village, to devastate the fields, cut down allthe fruit-trees, and try whether fire and an escalade would enable himto capture Le Peuch, the stronghold of the Del' Peyras, so that he mightbe able to punish the chief offender, the Seigneur Ogier, as well as allhis retainers and vassals.
The Captain alone was silent and immersed in gloomy thoughts. The restof the Company were merry and indulged in banter. They were bound on anexpedition of all others best to their liking.
As they descended the valley of the Little Beune they passed under therock of Cazelles, and looked up with a laugh at the peasants who werepeering out of the holes of the cliff, much like jackdaws. Not abullock, not a sheep was left in the valley. The houses were deserted,and probably everything that could be carried away had been transmittedto the cave refuges.
"Look!" mocked one of the riders. "The fellows had such a scare theother day at Ste. Soure that these villains at Cazelles have not yetrecovered confidence."
Where the Little Beune unites with the Great Beune the blendedcalcareous waters ooze through bog in a dreamlike, purposeless mannerround a shoulder of rock that is precipitous, but which has asufficiency of solid ground at its feet to allow of a practicable waybeing carried over this deposit.
The Beune and the Vezere are like two different types of character. Thelatter never deviates from the direction it has resolved on takingexcept when opposed by obstacles impossible to overleap, and these itcircumvents. It saws down every barrier it can; it never halts for amoment; if it turns back in the direction it has been pursuing it issolely that it may seek out a channel more direct and less tortuous. Itis so with men and women who have a clear conception of an object atwhich they are aiming, some purpose in their lives.
With the Beune it is otherwise. It has no perceptible current; it doesnot run; it has no flow; it slips down. It finds itself in a channel anddrifts along from one stagnation to another; it has had nothing whateverto do with the formation of its channel. It does not even lie in a bedof its own making. It is a bog and not a river--here and there spreadinginto pools that wait for an impulse to be given them by the wind, by thewhisk of a heron's wing, to form the ripple that will carry some of itswater over the calcareous bar it has itself raised by its own inertness.No one could say, looking at the Beune, in which direction it wastending, and it does not seem to have any idea itself. Its sluggishnessaccumulates obstacles; marsh grass is given time to throw out itsfibrous roots, and reeds to build up hurdles across the stream, and thecretaceous particles settle at leisure into walls obstructing it;consequently diverting it. It lurches stupidly from side to side andthen listlessly gives up every effort of advance. We stoop to drink ofthe Vezere. We turn in disgust from the Beune.
On each side of the Vezere as it swings along is alluvial soil--beds ofthe utmost richness that laugh with verdure, where the hay harvest isgathered thrice in the year. In the equally broad valley of the Beune isno pasture at all, nothing good, nothing but profitless morass. Wherethe waters touch good soil they corrupt it. The crystal waters of theVezere nourish every herb they reach; the turbid ooze of the Beunekills, petrifies all life that approaches it.
Is not this also a picture of certain characters? Characters!--save themark! Characterless individuals that we have seen, perhaps have to dowith, whom we avoid when possible.[4]
[4] Within the last five years a determined effort has been made to reclaim the valley of the Beune. To do this, a channel has been cut for the river, that has to be incessantly cleared.
Hardly had the band of _routiers_ turned into the main valley, and theforemost men had reached the cliff, before a horn was blown, and at oncea shower of stones was hurled from above the horsemen.
At the same moment they saw that the road before them was barricaded.Trees had been felled and thrown across the track, and from behind thisbarricade scowled black faces and flashed weapons.
Some of the horses reared, struck by the stones; some of the riders werethrown to the ground. The horses, frightened, bounded from the road.They could not turn, being pressed on by those behind; they rushed awayfrom the shower of stones into the level track of valley-bed on theirright, and at once foundered in the morass. There they plunged,endeavoured to extricate themselves, and sank deeper. The semi-petrifiedfibres through which their hoofs sank, held to their legs, and preventedthe beasts from withdrawing them. After a few frantic and fruitlessefforts they sank to their bellies and remained motionless, with thatsingular stolidity that comes over a beast when it resigns itself tocircumstances which it recognises it has not the power to overcome.
The men who had been carried into the marsh threw themselves off. The_routiers_ were wiser than were the knights at Agincourt. They did notoverburden themselves with defensive armour which would weigh them downand render them incapable of movement. Most of their clothing was ofleather, with but a little steel over their breasts and shoulders. Withagility they threw themselves from their sinking horses, and waded tothe hard ground. At times they floundered deep, but were able to throwthemselves forward and where the surface was most precarious, advancedlike lizards, till they reached ground where the rushes showed that itwas sufficiently compact to sustain them upright.
Meanwhile, those in the rear who had halted when the first ranks werebroken and dispersed hesitated what to do. To push forward was to incurthe same fate, and their pride would not suffer them to retreat.
The Captain was behind. He was suffering greatly. His wounded feet hadbegun to inflame; they were swollen and tortured by the compression ofhis boots. He could not bear to rest his soles on the stirrup-irons. Torise in his stirrups and hew with his great sword, as he had purposed,was impossible. The pain he endured fevered his blood, churned his angerto frenzy, which this unexpected check did not serve to moderate.
He had his wits about him, however, and he saw that those who held therock must be dislodged or no advance could be made.
Accordingly, he ordered a party of his men to dismount, peg theirhorses, and ascend to where the peasants were threatening them withtheir piles of stones.
This could be done--at all events attempted--from the lateral valley,where the slope was moderate and densely overgrown with coppice.
Bitterly now did the leader regret that for a second time he hadunderrated the spirit and the sagacity of his opponents. He ought tohave marched at the head of a larger contingent or have postponed hisattempt till a more suitable opportunity presented itself.
With his usual effrontery, Guillem had ridden across country by theshortest way, through the lands of the Bishop of Sarlat, instead ofdescending the Dordogne to the junction of the Vezere, and thenascending the latter river to Ste. Soure.
He had not done this for two reasons--one was that the formidable Castleof Beynac, in French hands, blocked the passage down the Dordogne; theother was that he had measured and properly appreciated the incapacityof
the prelate: he knew the Bishop had not the men at his disposal tosend to contest his passage.
At this time his real danger lay, as he very well knew, in tidings ofhis ride reaching the Castle of Commarques, hardly an hour's distance upthe valley of the Great Beune. This was a dependence of Beynac, and washeld for the French king.[5] What garrison was there he knew not, but itwas certain to be small. Nevertheless, even a small band of troopers orexperienced men-at-arms assailing him in rear while engaged in burstingthrough this barrier of peasants before him might be more thandangerous, it might prove disastrous.
[5] This splendid ruin--one of the finest in Perigord--has been recently purchased by the Prince de Croye, who is engaged in cutting and constructing roads to it, with the purpose of restoring the castle as a residence. A charming residence it is likely to prove to such as are mosquito-proof.
Resolved at all hazards to dislodge those on the height, he sent hislieutenant up the steep hillside at the head of his trustiest men, or,rather, as many of these as he could spare without breaking the ranksdirectly opposed to those who watched and menaced from behind thebarricade.
But the task of storming the height was one that was difficult. Not onlywas the party sent up it inadequate in numbers, not only were theassailants inconvenienced by the steepness of the ascent, but theirweapons were not calculated to be effective in a tangle of chestnut,rowan, and sloe laced about with ropes of bramble and clematis. Theycarried swords; they were unprovided with pikes; whereas those who heldthe height were armed with knives fastened to long poles, which theycould thrust with excellent effect at the men who were attacking. Timewas expended in the scramble; and the assailants were exhausted beforethey came within sight of the eyes of those they were sent to dislodge.In the brushwood the _routiers_ could not keep together; the many spraysshooting up from stumps of felled chestnut separated them. They had tohack their way through the tough chains of clematis, and they werelacerated by the thorns of the sloe-bushes and the teeth of the wildrose and blackberry-briar. They could not come to a hand-to-hand fight.Their enemies calmly waited, watching them in their struggle, and droveat them with their blades through the bushes, forcing them to springback to avoid death.
It took some time for the lieutenant in command to realise that he hadbeen dispatched on a task which he was incompetent to achieve. But whenhe had determined this, he bade his men desist and retreat to the valleybelow.
They had not retreated far on their way down before they saw that theaspect of affairs below was greatly changed since they had started ontheir scramble.
Behind the barricade had been ranged the charcoal-burners with theirforks, under the command of Ogier del' Peyra.
These had remained covered by their breastwork, expecting the enemy tomake a second attempt to advance along the road. When, however, this wasnot done, and they saw them drawn up motionless, and shortly after heardthe shouts and cries from the height, then Ogier recognised that theline of men before him was covering an attack on his son, who held therock.
He at once gave the signal to advance at a rush. With a shout of joy thecharcoal-burners burst over the barricade and charged along the road,led by the Seigneur, and fell upon the double line of troopers.
A furious hand-to-hand melee ensued. The horses were alarmed by thesable figures with black faces and hands who sprang at them, andrecoiled, not only from the sight, but also at their smell, producingdisorder. The struggle that ensued was hand to hand. No quarter wasasked and none was given. The _routiers_ were borne back, several hadfallen, but also many colliers rolled on the ground.
At this juncture, down from the hill, out from among the coppice leapedthe contingent that had failed to capture the height. It arrived at themost critical moment, just as the horsemen were struggling to disengagethemselves and fly. They came upon the colliers in rear, they stoppedaccessions to their ranks from behind. Now their blades served themwell, and the rout that had begun was arrested.
The arrival of this body of men startled the peasants. They did notunderstand whence they had sprung; and they retreated.
"Turn! Back to Domme!" yelled the Captain.
The men recovered their horses, remounted, and still fighting, began theretreat.
As they came under Cazelles a shower of projectiles was launched uponthem from above.
The peasants gave over the pursuit. They were incapable of keeping pacewith the horses.
And now, as they fell back, down from the height came Jean del' Peyrawith his men.
"Where is my father?" he asked eagerly, and looked round.
Old Ogier was nowhere to be seen.
"Search among the fallen!" ordered Jean in great alarm.
Every dead and dying man was examined.
Then came back a charcoal-burner, hot, for he had been running, and thesweat streaming over his face had washed it into streaks, like thosethat stain the face of the chalk cliffs.
"What--the Seigneur?" asked the man. "He is taken."
"Taken!"
"Aye, taken and carried away by the _rouffiens_."