th
orchards, and the delicate green of the apple-trees in spring-time,
half-smothered in pinky-white blossom, gives the country a garden-like
aspect. You may see a man harrowing a field on a sudden slope with a
cloud of dust blowing up from the dry light soil, and you may hear him
make that curious hullaballooing by which the peasants direct their
horses, so different from the grunting "way-yup there" of the English
ploughman. Coming down a long descent, a great stretch of country to
the north that includes the battlefield of Tinchebrai comes into view.
It is hard to associate the rich green pastures, smiling orchards, and
peaceful cattle, with anything so gruesome as a battle between armies
led by brothers. But it was near the little town of Tinchebrai that the
two brothers, Henry I., King of England, and Robert Duke of Normandy
fought for the possession of Normandy. Henry's army was greatly
superior to that of his brother, for he had the valuable help of the
Counts of Conches, Breteuil, Thorigny, Mortagne, Montfort, and two or
three others as powerful. But despite all this array, the battle for
some time was very considerably in Robert's favour, and it was only
when Henry, heavily pressed by his brother's brilliant charge, ordered
his reserves to envelop the rear, that the great battle went in favour
of the English king. Among the prisoners were Robert and his youthful
son William, the Counts of Mortain, Estouteville, Ferrieres, and a
large number of notable men. Until his death, twenty-seven years later,
Henry kept his brother captive in Cardiff Castle, and it has been said
that, owing to an effort to escape, Henry was sufficiently lacking in
all humane feelings towards his unfortunate brother, to have both his
eyes put out. It seems a strange thing that exactly sixty years after
the battle of Hastings, a Norman king of England, should conquer the
country which had belonged to his father.

The old church of St Remy at Tinchebrai, part of which dates from the
twelfth century, has been abandoned for a new building, but the inn--the
Hotel Lion d'Or--which bears the date 1614, is still in use. Vire, however,
is only ten miles off, and its rich mediaeval architecture urges us
forward.

Standing in the midst of the cobbled street, there suddenly appears right
ahead a splendid thirteenth century gateway--the Tour de l'Horloge--that
makes one of the richest pictures in Normandy. It is not always one can see
the curious old