and Sarrasin had called off the attack at that quarter.
Two or three got off scot-free; but, thank Heaven, these gave such an
account of us as monk-devils and witch-men, that all hope was given up
of taking us by storm--by day at least.

It was now towards evening. No better success had been won by the
Sarrasin at any point in the attack. It but remained for him to sweep
his forces back again to the chateau. Our hearts leapt up to see them
turn their faces towards the forest-land. And before long, with a flag
of truce, they were collecting the wounded and the bodies of the dead.
Those of the storming party we handed down the wall, or, if living
still, led them through the gate.

Now we reckoned that the Moors that day, by sea, arrow, stone, and ball,
and in storming, had lost at least a hundred men, while our loss was
only nine men killed and twenty-six in hospital. So nobly and well we
faced that day of my first fighting.

"Now, look you," said Hugo, "we shall have no more storming, unless they
find greater forces."

"What then?" said I.

"Next will they come like Brother Mole," he said, "with his long tunnel
under earth. And then, if that fail--as God grant it may--they will
trust to a surer _aide-de-camp_ that I fear the most. His step is heard
already--"

"And who is he--this friend who will aid them best?"

"Hush! Whisper it not, Nigel, abroad to dishearten any; but we have but
three weeks' provisions here for so many mouths, or a month's at the
most, if we be wary in giving rations."

"Then their friend is----"

"Famine!" said Hugo, grimly.

CHAPTER VIII.

How I was sent forth by my lord abbot to seek the protection of _Duke
William_, and of what befell me by the way of the pirates.

That night there was restless sleeping in Vale Castle and but rough
quarters, but no assault nor alarm.

Next morning there was singing of "Non nobis" and "Te Deum" to boot by
the brethren assembled in martial conclave on the open lawn. Their
church was destroyed and its beauty perished; but said Abbot Michael--

"Lo, brethren, here be your choir these days, here your House of God.
See, its pillars are the Lord's, and they fear no sacrilegious hand;
see, its arch is the heaven, and its roof the sunlit sky, and for music
to our chant hear the lapping of the waves that God hath set in their
bed below." So, with comforting words, did he restore our courage, as we
thought sadly of the ruined cloister, whose smoke