ose, and in sundry
places the walls were broken down. Here we found a number of women who
had climbed for refuge, thinking that the place would be safe. Among
these was a beautiful and high-born maiden whom I knew by sight. Her
father was Sir Robert Aleys who, I believe, was then the Warden of the
Castle of Pevensey, and she was named the lady Blanche. Once, indeed, I
had spoken with her on an occasion too long to tell. Then her large blue
eyes, which she knew well how to use, had left me with a swimming head,
for she was very fair and very sweet and gracious, with a most soft
voice, and quite unlike any other woman I had ever seen, nor did she
seem at all proud. Soon her father, an old knight, who had no name for
gentleness in the countryside, but was said to be a great lover of gold,
had come up and swept her away, asking her what she did, talking with a
common fishing churl. This had happened some months before.

Well, there I found her in the Castle, alone it seemed, and knowing me
again, which I thought strange, she ran to me, praying me to protect
her. More, she began to tell me some long tale, to which I had not time
to listen, of how she had come to Hastings with her father, Sir Robert,
and a young lord named Deleroy, who, I understood, was some kinsman of
hers, and slept there. How, too, she had been separated from them in the
throng when they were attempting to return to Pevensey which her father
must go to guard, because her horse was frightened and ran away, and
of how finally men took her by the arm and brought her to this castle,
saying that it was the safest place.

"Then here you must bide, Lady Blanche," I answered, cutting her short.
"Cling to me and I will save you if I can, even if it costs me my life."

Certainly she did cling to me for all the rest of that terrible day, as
will be seen.

From this height we saw Hastings beginning to burn, for the Frenchmen
had fired the town in sundry places, and being built of wood, it burnt
furiously. Also we saw and heard horrible scenes and sounds of rapine,
such as chance in this Christian world of ours where a savage foe finds
peaceful folk of another race at his mercy. In the houses people were
burnt; in the streets they were being murdered, or worse. Yes, even
children were murdered, for afterwards I saw the bodies of some of them.

Awhile later through the wreaths of smoke we perceived companies of the
French advancing to attack the Castle. There may h