to his father's land, and Wolnoth to his mother's arms."




CHAPTER III.


Messire Mallet de Graville (as becomes a man bred up to arms, and
snatching sleep with quick grasp whenever that blessing be his to
command) no sooner laid his head on the pallet to which he had been
consigned, than his eyes closed, and his senses were deaf even to
dreams. But at the dead of the midnight he was wakened by sounds that
might have roused the Seven Sleepers--shouts, cries, and yells, the
blast of horns, the tramp of feet, and the more distant roar of
hurrying multitudes. He leaped from his bed, and the whole chamber
was filled with a lurid bloodred air. His first thought was that the
fort was on fire. But springing upon the settle along the wall, and
looking through the loophole of the tower, it seemed as if not the
fort but the whole land was one flame, and through the glowing
atmosphere he beheld all the ground, near and far, swarming with men.
Hundreds were swimming the rivulet, clambering up dyke mounds, rushing
on the levelled spears of the defenders, breaking through line and
palisade, pouring into the enclosures; some in half-armour of helm and
corselet--others in linen tunics--many almost naked. Loud sharp
shrieks of "Alleluia!" [160] blended with those of "Out! out! Holy
crosse!" [161] He divined at once that the Welch were storming the
Saxon hold. Short time indeed sufficed for that active knight to case
himself in his mail; and, sword in hand, he burst through the door,
cleared the stairs, and gained the hall below, which was filled with