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Printed in the United States of AmericaCHAPTER
I,
i.
Til.
[V.
VI.
VII.
VITL.
IX.
XI.
AL.
ALi,
XIV.
XV.
wa dis
XVII.
CONTENTS
How THE BLAcK SHEEP CAME FORTH FROM
Tee POLY Ou iw yo eee yee
How ALLEYNE Epricson CAME OUT INTO
Tee . WORLD wi ee ee ee ae ee
How Horpre JoHN CozENED THE FULLER
GF LN MINGTON Gy ke eee er
How THE BAILIFF OF SOUTHAMPTON SLEW
THe Two MASTERLESS MEN oud. ko
How A STRANGE CoMPANY GATHERED AT THE
'Prep (MEREIN ei. Neos ieee eee
How SamKtn AYLWARD WaGERED Huis
PRATHER BED OAc Uy eee es eine
How THE THREE COMRADES JouRNEvED
THROUGH THE \WOODLANDS .. W000... aus
THE “lRREER PRION Ver Cicer ae
How STRANGE THINGS BEFELL IN MINSTED
AWOOD . sae ere O CONN eC O Ne OU la we bey ded
How HorpteE JoHN Founp a Man WuHom
He. MicuHt. FORLow ies .5 ore ed. ees
How A YouNG SHEPHERD Hap A PeRILous
BLOCK oy 6. co OUR ei eas
How ALLEYNE LEARNED More THan HE
CovuLD TRACE Vue ee
How THE Waite Company SET ForTH TO
Tees WARE ee a a ee
How Sir NiceL SoucHt FoR A WAYSIDE
VENTURE (oe eat el eae
How THE YELLOW CoG SAILED FoRTH FROM
LSPR id oe Ee
How THE YELLOW CoG FouGHT THE Two
BOVER GALLEYS oie a ee
How THE YELLOW CoG CROSSED THE BAR OF
CRONE cael oe UO Rare oe cps Sk cae
PAGE
10
a
22
34
46 ~
58
69
79
Ge ue
114
128
138
145
156
169V1
CHAPTER
XVIII.
XIX.
OG
AA,
XAIT.
AXAITI.
AATYV.
Lv.
KXVI.
XXVIIL.
XXXVI,
XTX.
aX.
RK,
XL
XXXIIL
RXV:
AAV).
XXXVI.
XXXVI.
XXXVIII.
CONTENTS
How Srr Nice. Lorine Put A PATCH UPON
His Eve
How Tuere Was STIR AT THE ABBEY OF ST.
POW DRPOWR oo Aa ee eels ae
How ALLEYNE Won. His PLAcE IN AN
HIONOBAELE GUILD 20 COTA. ear Ga es
How Acostino Pisano Riskep His HEAD ..
How THE BOWMEN HELD WASSAIL AT THE
PRUAR De CUIENNE oe, SOU Gelade aie
How ENGLAND HELpD THE LisTs AT BORDEAUX
How A CHAMPION CAME FORTH FROM THE
Be ee a a aie hee atece
How Sir Nicet Wrote To TWYNHAM CASTLE
How THE THREE COMRADES GAINED A
MIGu TY PREASURE Oo De en ae ee
How Rocer Ciusrootr Was PASSED INTO
PARABISR ti. OO ee EO La
How THE COMRADES CAME OVER’ THE
INVARCHES OF PRANCE (i) 650. bao. Sab ee
How THE BLESSED Hour oF S1GHT CAME TO
THE ADDY \LIPHAINE Goes ia
How THE BrusHwoop MEN CAME TO THE
CHATEAU OF VILEEFRANCHE!..0.....4/0¢
How Five Men HEtLp THE KEEP oF VILLE-
PON C ee a
How THE CoMPANY TOOK COUNSEL ROUND
POE PALIN TBR >. GI ie eee. oc
How THE ARMY MADE THE PASSAGE OF
TOON EESUAUL ES ee oa.
How THE CoMPANY MADE Sport IN THE
WALE OF PAMPELUMA LI) JIU ol oe.
How Sir Nicer HAWKED AT AN EAGLE.....
How Sir Nice, Took THE PatcH FROM His
Ree ae OG ate take ke
How THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE
DISBANDED
ee eee ee eer eee O OU OS ONO Or Os Rr CO Ro Mit O AS Oe
PAGE
185
195
206
216
226
200
243
292
258
2/1
280
292
303
S12LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
“Sir Knight,” said the Prince, “you speak like a brave man”
(Page 248). cc cecescccensenweteccoceses Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
Underneath, in the porch of the abbey, the monks had
gathered to give him a last God-speed .............--. 24
“Nay, let him come!” cried Alleyne. “I shall not budge a
foot for him or his dogs” 2.0.2.2... sese cease ncaa es 88
“By my hilt, he is gone!” cried Aylward. “They have sunk
together like a stone” ...... secre cess were ee ccees 152
“Come hither, young English squire with the grey eyes”.... 296
Who is the travel-stained youth who dares to ride so madly
through the lines of staring burghers? .........+...-- 376THE WHITE COMPANY
CHAPTER f
HOW THE BLACK SHEEP CAME FORTH FROM THE FOLD
HE great bell of Beaulieu was ringing. Far away
through the forest might be heard its musical clangor
and swell. Peat-cutters of Blackdown and fishers upon
the Exe heard the distant throbbing rising and falling upon
the sultry summer air. It was a common sound in those parts
—as common as the chatter of the jays and the booming of
the bittern. Yet the fishers and the peasants raised their heads
and looked questions at each other, for the angelus had already
gone and vespers was still far off. Why should the great
bell of Beaulieu toll when the shadows were neither short nor
long?
All round the Abbey the monks were trooping in. Under
the long green-paved avenues of gnarled oaks and of lichened
beeches the white-robed brothers gathered to the sound.
From the vineyard and the vine press, from the bouvary or
ox farm, from the marlpits and salterns, even from the dis-
tant ironworks of Sowley and the outlying grange of St. Leon-
ard’s, they had all turned their steps homeward. It had been
no sudden call. A swift messenger had the night before sped
round to the outlying dependencies of the Abbey, and had left
the summons for every monk to be back in the cloisters by the
third hour after noontide. So urgent a message had not been
issued within the memory of old lay brother Athanasius, who
had cleaned the Abbey knocker since the year after the Battle
of Bannockburn.
A stranger who knew nothing either of the Abbey or of its
immense resources might have gathered from the appearance of
the brothers some conception of the varied duties which they
were called upon to perform, and of the busy, widespread life
which centered in the old REED As they swept gravely2 THE WHITE COMPANY
in by twos and by threes, with bended heads and muttering
lips, there were few who did not bear upon them some signs
of their daily toil. Here were two with wrists and sleeves all
spotted with the ruddy grape juice. There again was a bearded
brother with a broad-headed ax and a bundle of faggots upon
his shoulders, while beside him walked another with the shears
under his arm and the white wool still clinging to his whiter
gown. A long, straggling troop bore spades and mattocks,
while the two rearmost of all staggered along under a huge.
basket of fresh-caught carp, for the morrow was Friday, and
there were fifty platters to be filled and as many sturdy trench-
ermen behind them. Of all the throng there was scarce one
who was not labor-stained and weary, for Abbot Berghersh
was a hard man to himself and to others. |
Meanwhile, in the broad and lofty chamber set apart for
occasions of import, the Abbot himself was pacing impatiently
backward and forward, with his long white nervous hands
clasped in front of him. His thin, thought-worn features and
sunken, haggard cheeks bespoke one who had indeed beaten
down that inner foe whom every man must face, but had none
the less suffered sorely in the contest. In crushing his pas-
sions he had well-nigh crushed himself. Yet, frail as was his
person, there gleamed out ever and anon from under his droop-
a
ing brows a flash of fierce energy, which recalled to men’s.
minds that he came of a fighting stock, and that even now his
twin brother, Sir Bartholomew Berghersh, was one of the
most famous of those stern warriors who had planted the
Cross of St. George before the gates of Paris. With lips
compressed and clouded brow, he strode up and down the
oaken floor, the very genius and impersonation of asceticism,
while the great bell still thundered and clanged above his head.
At last the uproar died away in three last, measured throbs,
and ere their echo had ceased the Abbot struck a small gong
which summoned a lay brother to his presence.
“Have the brethren come?” he asked, in the Anglo-French
dialect used in religious houses.
“They are here,” the other answered, with his eyes cast
res his hands crossed upon his chest.
é¢ Let?
“Two and thirty of the seniors and fifteen of the novices,THE BLACK SHEEP COMES FORTH 3
most holy father. Brother Mark of the Spicarium is sore
smitten with a fever and could not come. He said that—’’
“Tt boots not what he said. Fever or no, he should have
come at my call. His spirit must be chastened, as must that
of many more in this Abbey. You yourself, brother Francis,
have twice raised your voice, so it hath come to my ears,
when the reader in the refectory hath been dealing with the
lives of God’s most blessed saints. What hast thou to say ee
The lay brother stood meek and silent, with his arms still
crossed in front of him.
“One thousand aves and as many credos, said standing with
arms outstretched before the shrine of the Virgin, may help
thee to remember that the Creator hath given us two ears and
but one mouth, as a token that there is twice the work for the
one as for the other. Where is the master of the novices ?”’
“He is without, most holy father.”
“Send him hither.”
The sandaled feet clattered over the wooden floor, and the
‘ron-bound door creaked upon its hinges. Ina few moments
it opened again to admit a short square monk with a heavy,
composed face and an authoritative manner.
“You have sent for me, holy father?”
“Ves, brother Jerome, I wish that this matter be disposed of
with as little scandal as may be, and yet it is needful that the
example should be a public one.” The Abbot spoke in Latin
now, as a language which was more fitted by its age and so-
lemnity to convey the thoughts of two high dignitaries of the
order.
“Tt would, perchance, be best that the novices be not ad-
mitted,’ suggested the master. “This mention of a woman
- may turn their minds from their pious meditations to worldly
and evil thoughts.”
“Woman! woman!” groaned the Abbot. “Well has the
holy Christendom termed them radix malorum. From Eve
downward, what good hath come from any of them? Who
brings the plaint?”
“Tt is brother Ambrose.”
“A holy and devout young man.”
“A light and a pattern to every novice.’
“Tet the matter be brought to an issue then according to4 THE WHITE COMPANY
our old-time monastic habit. Bid the chancellor and the sub-
chancellor lead in the brothers according to age, together with
brother John, the accused, and brother Ambrose, the accuser.”
“And the novices ?”
“Let them bide in the north alley of the cloisters. Stay!
Bid the subchancellor send out to them Thomas the lector to
read unto them from the ‘Gesta beati Benedicti.’ It may save
them from foolish and pernicious babbling.’
The Abbot was left to himself once more, and bent his thin
gray face over his illuminated breviary. So he remained
while the senior monks filed slowly and sedately into the
chamber, seating themselves upon the long oaken benches
which lined the wall on either side. At the further end, in
two high chairs as large as that of the Abbot, though hardly
as elaborately carved, sat the master of the novices and the
chancellor, the latter a broad and portly priest, with dark
mirthful eyes and a thick outgrowth of crisp black hair round
his tonsured head. Between them stood a lean, white-faced
brother who appeared to be ill at ease, shifting his feet from
side to side and tapping his chin nervously with the long parch-
ment roll which he held in his hand. The Abbot, from his
point of vantage, looked down on the two long lines of faces,
placid and sun-browned for the most part, with the large
bovine eyes and unlined features which told of their easy,
unchanging existence. Then he turned his eager fiery gaze
upon the pale-faced monk who faced him.
“This plaint is thine, as I learn, brother Ambrose,” said he.
"May the holy Benedict, patron of our house, be present this
day and aid us in our findings! How many counts are there ?”
“Three, most holy father,” the brother answered in a low
and quavering voice.
“Have you set them forth according to rule?”
“They are here set down, most holy father, upon a cantle
of sheepskin.”
“Let the sheepskin be handed to the chancellor. Bring in
brother John, and let him hear the plaints which have been
urged against him.”
At this order a lay brother Swung open the door, and two
other lay brothers entered leading between them a young nov-
ice of the order. He was a man of huge stature, dark-eyedTHE BLACK SHEEP COMES FORTH 5
and red-headed, with a peculiar half-humorous, half-defiant
expression upon his bold, well-marked features. His cowl
was thrown back upon his shoulders, and his gown, unfastened
at the top, disclosed a round, sinewy neck, ruddy and corded
like the bark of the fir. “Thick, muscular arms, covered with
a reddish down, protruded from the wide sleeves of his habit,
while his white shirt, looped up upon one side, gave a glimpse
of a huge knotty leg, scarred and torn with the scratches of
brambles. With a bow to the Abbot, which had in it per-
haps more pleasantry than reverence, the novice strode across
to the carved prie-dieu which had been set apart for him, and
stood silent and erect with his hand upon the gold bell which
was used in the private orisons of the Abbot’s own household.
His dark eyes glanced rapidly over the assembly, and finally
settled with a grim and menacing twinkle upon the face of
his accuser.
The chamberlain rose, and having slowly unrolled the parch-
ment scroll, proceeded to read it out in a thick and pompous
voice, while a subdued rustle and movement among the
brothers bespoke the interest with which they followed the
proceedings.
“Charges brought upon the second Thursday after the Feast
of the Assumption, in the year of our Lord thirteen hundred
and sixty-six, against brother John, formerly known as
Hordle John, or John of Hordle, but now a novice in the holy
monastic order of the Cistercians. Read upon the same day
at the Abbey of Beaulieu in the presence of the most reverend
Abbot rok and of the assembled order.
“The charges against the said brother John are the fol-
lowing, namely, to wit:
“First, that on the above-mentioned Feast of the Assump-
tion, small beer having been served to the novices in the pro-
portion of one quart to each four, the said brother John did
drain the pot at one draft to the detriment of brother Paul,
brother Porphyry and brother Ambrose, who could scarce eat
their none-meat of salted stockfish on account of their ex-
ceeding dryness.”
At this solemn indictment the novice raised his hand and
twitched his lip, while even the placid senior brothers glanced
across at each other and coughed to cover their amusement.6 THE WHITE COMPANY
The Abbot alone sat gray and immutable, with a drawn face
and a brooding eye.
“Item, that having been told by the master of the novices
that he should restrict his food for two days to a single three-
pound loaf of bran and beans, for the greater honoring and
glorifying of St. Monica, mother of the holy Augustine, he
was heard by brother Ambrose and others to say that he
wished twenty thousand devils would fly away with the said
Monica, mother of the holy Augustine, or any other saint
who came between a man and his meat. Item, that upon
brother Ambrose reproving him for this blasphemous wish,
he did hold the said brother face downward over the pisca-
torium or fishpond for a space during which the said brother
was able to repeat a pater and four aves for the better forti-
fying of his soul against impending death.”
There was a buzz and murmur among the white-frocked
brethren at this grave charge; but the Abbot held up his long
quivering hand. “What then?” said he.
“Item, that between nones and vespers on the feast of
James the Less the said brother John was observed upon the
Brockenhurst road, near the spot which is known as Hatch-
ett’s Pond, in converse with a person of the other sex, being
a maiden of the name of Mary Sowley, the daughter of the
King’s verderer. Item, that after sundry japes and jokes the
said brother John did lift up the said Mary Sowley and did
take, carry, and convey her across a stream, to the infinite
relish of the devil and the exceeding detriment of his own
soul, which scandalous and willful falling away was witnessed
by three members of our order.”
A dead silence throughout the room, with a rolling of heads
and upturning of eyes, bespoke the pious horror of the com-
munity. The Abbot drew his gray brows low over his fiercely
questioning eyes.
“Who can vouch for this thing?” he asked.
“That can I,” answered the accuser. ‘So too can brother
Porphyry, who was with me, and brother Mark of the Spi-
carium, who hath been so much stirred and inwardly troubled
by the sight that he now lies in a fever through it.”’
“And the woman?” asked the Abbot. “Did she not breakTHE BLACK SHEEP COMES FORTH 7
into lamentation and woe that a brother should so demean
himself ?”
“Nay, she smiled sweetly upon him and thanked him. 1
can vouch it and so can brother Porphyry.”
“Canst thou?” cried the Abbot, in a high, tempestuous tone.
“Canst thou so? Has forgotten that the five-and-thirtieth rule
of the order is that in the presence of a woman the face
should be ever averted and the eyes cast down? Hast forgot
it, I say? If your eyes were upon your sandals, how came
ye to see this smile of which ye prate? A week in your cells,
false brethren, a week of rye bread and lentils, with double
lauds and double matins, may help ye to remembrance of the
laws under which ye live.”
At this sudden outflame of wrath the two witnesses sank
their faces on to their chests, and sat as men crushed. The
Abbot turned his angry eyes away from them and bent them
upon the accused, who met his searching gaze with a firm and
composed face.
‘What hast thou to say, brother John, upon these weighty
things which are urged against you?”
“Little enough, good father, little enough,” said the novice,
speaking English with a broad West Saxon drawl. The
brothers, who were English to a man, pricked up their ears
at the sound of the homely and yet unfamiliar speech; but
the Abbot flushed red with anger, and struck his hand upon
the oaken arm of his chair.
“What talk is this?’ he cried. “Is this a tongue to be used
within the walls of an old and well-famed monastery? But
grace and learning have ever gone hand in hand, and when
one is lost it is needless to look for the other.”
“T know not about that,’ said brother John. “I know only
that the words come kindly to my mouth, for it was the speech
of my fathers before me. Under your favor, I shall either use
it now or hold my peace.”’
The Abbot patted his foot and nodded his head, as one who
passes a point but does not forget it.
“For the matter of the ale,’ continued brother John, “I had
come in hot from the fields and had scarce got the taste of the
thing before mine eye lit upon the bottom of the pot. It may
be, too, that I spoke somewhat shortly concerning the bran8 THE WHITE COMPANY
and the beans, the same being poor provender and unfitted for
a man of my inches. It is true also that I did lay my hands
upon this jack-fool of a brother Ambrose, though, as you can
see, I did him little scathe. As regards the maid, too, it 1s
true that I did heft her over the stream, she having on her
hosen and shoon, whilst I had but my wooden sandals, which
could take no hurt from the water. I should have thought
shame upon my manhood, as well as my monkhood, if I had
held back my hand from her.”’ He glanced around as he
spoke with the half-amused look which he had worn during
the whole proceedings.
“There is no need to go further,” said the Abbot. “He has
confessed it all. It only remains for me to portion out the
punishment which is due to his evil conduct.”’
He rose, and the two long lines of brothers followed his
example, looking sideways with scared faces at the angry
prelate.
“John of Hordle,’”’ he thundered, “‘you have shown yourself
during the two months of your novitiate to be a recreant
monk, and one who is unworthy to wear the white garb which
is the outer symbol of the spotless spirit. That dress shall
therefore be stripped from thee, and thou shalt be cast into
the outer world without benefit of clerkship, and without lot
or part in the graces and blessings of those who dwell under
the care of the Blessed Benedict. Thou shalt come back
neither to Beaulieu nor to any of the granges of Beaulieu, and
thy name shall be struck off the scrolls of the order.”
The sentence appeared a terrible one to the older monks,
who had become so used to the safe and regular life of the
Abbey that they would have been as helpless as children in the
outer world. From their pious oasis they looked dreamily out
at the desert of life, a place full of stormings and strivings—
comfortless, restless, and overshadowed by evil. The young
novice, however, appeared to have other thoughts, for his eyes .
sparkled and his smile broadened. It needed but that to add
fresh fuel to the fiery mood of the prelate.
“So much for thy spiritual punishment,” he cried. “But
it is to thy grosser feelings that we must turn in such natures
as thine, and as thou art no longer under the shield of holy
church there is the less difficulty. Ho there! lay brothers—THE BLACK SHEEP COMES FORTH 9
Francis, Naomi, Joseph—seize him and bind his arms! Drag
him forth, and let the foresters and the porters scourge him
from the precincts!”
As these three brothers advanced toward him to carry out
the Abbot’s direction, the smile faded from the novice’s face,
and he glanced right and left with his fierce brown eyes, like
a bull at a baiting. Then, with a sudden deep-chested shout,
he tore up the heavy oaken prie-dieu and poised it to strike,
taking two steps backward the while, that none might take
him at a vantage.
“By the black rood of Waltham!” he roared, “if any knave
among you lays a finger end upon the edge of my gown, I
will crush his skull like a filbert!’’ With his thick knotted
arms, his thundering voice, and his bristle of red hair, there
was something so repellent in the man that the three brothers
flew back at the very glare of him and the two rows of white
monks strained away from him like poplars in a tempest. ‘The
Abbot only sprang forward with shining eyes; but the chan-
cellor and the master hung upon either arm and wrested him
back out of danger’s way.
‘He is possessed of a devil!” they shouted. “Run, brother
- Ambrose, brother Joachim! Call Hugh of the Mill, and
Woodman Wat, and Raoul with his arbalest and bolts. Tell
them that we are in fear of our lives! Run, run! for the love
of the Virgin!”
But the novice was a strategist as well as a man of action.
Springing forward, he hurled his unwieldy weapon at brother
Ambrose, and, as desk and monk clattered on to the floor to-
gether, he sprang through the open door and down the wind-
ing stair. Sleepy old brother Athanasius, at the porter’s cell,
had a fleeting vision of twinkling feet and flying skirts; but
before he had time to rub his eyes the recreant had passed the
lodge, and was speeding as fast as his sandals could patter
along the Lyndhurst Road.CHAPTER II
HOW ALLEYNE EDRICSON CAME OUT INTO THE WORLD
tercian house been so rudely ruffled. Never had there
been insurrection so sudden, so short, and so success-
ful. Yet the Abbot Berghersh was a man of too firm a grain
to allow one bold outbreak to imperil the settled order of his
great household. In a few hot and bitter words, he compared
their false brother’s exit to the expulsion of our first parents
from the garden, and more than hinted that unless a reforma-
tion occurred some others of the community might find them-
selves in the same evil and perilous case. Having thus pointed
the moral and reduced his flock to a fitting state of docility, he
dismissed them once more to their labors and withdrew him-
self to his own private chamber, there to seek spiritual aid in
the discharge of the duties of his high office. |
The Abbot was still on his knees, when a gentle tapping
at the door of his cell broke in upon his orisons,
Rising in no very good humor at the interruption, he gave
the word to enter; but his look of impatience softened down
into a pleasant and paternal smile as his eyes fell upon his
visitor.
He was a thin-faced, yellow-haired youth, rather above the
middle size, comely and well shapen, with straight, lithe figure
and eager, boyish features. His clear, pensive gray eyes, and
quick, delicate expression, spoke of a nature which had un-
folded far from the boisterous joys and sorrows of the world.
Yet there was a set of the mouth and a prominence of the
chin which relieved him of any trace of effeminacy. Im-
pulsive he might be, enthusiastic, sensitive, with something
sympathetic and adaptive in his disposition: but an observer
of nature’s tokens would have confidently pledged himself that
10
. N EVER had the peaceful atmosphere of the old Cis-ALLEYNE EDRICSON 11
there was native firmness and strength underlying his gentle,
monk-bred ways.
The youth was not clad in monastic garb, but in lay attire,
though his jerkin, cloak and hose were all of a somber hue, as
befitted one who dwelt in sacred precincts. A broad leather
strap hanging from his shoulder supported a scrip or satchel
such as travelers were wont to carry. In one hand he grasped
a thick staff pointed and shod with metal, while in the other he
held his coif or bonnet, which bore in its front a broad pew-
ter medal stamped with the image of Our Lady of Rocama-
dour.
“Art ready, then, fair son?’’ said the Abbot. ‘This is 1n-
deed a day of comings and goings. It is strange that in one
twelve hours the Abbey should have cast off its foulest weed,
and should now lose what we are fain to look upon as our
choicest blossom.”
“You speak too kindly, father,” the youth answered. “If I
had my will I should never go forth, but should end my days
here in Beaulieu. It hath been my home as far back as my
mind can carry me, and it is a sore thing for me to have to
leave it.”’
“Life brings many a cross,” said the Abbot gently. “Who
is without them? Your going forth is a grief to us as well
as to yourself. But there is no help. I had given my fore-
word and sacred promise to your father, Edric the Franklin,
that at the age of twenty you should be sent out into the
world to see for yourself how you liked the savor of it. Seat
thee upon the settle, Alleyne, for you may need rest ere long.”
The youth sat down as directed, but reluctantly and with
difiidence. The Abbot stood by the narrow window, and his
long black shadow fell slantwise across the rush-strewn floor.
“Twenty years ago,” he said, “your father, the Franklin of
Minstead, died, leaving to the Abbey three hides of rich land
in the hundred of Malwood, and leaving to us also his infant
son on condition that we should rear him until he came to
man’s estate. This he did partly because your mother was
dead, and partly because your elder brother, now Socman of
Minstead, had already given sign of that fierce and rude na-
ture which would make him no fit companion for you. It
was his desire and request, however, that you should not12 THE WHITE COMPANY
remain in the cloisters, but should at a ripe age return into
the world.”
' But, father,” interrupted the young man, “it is surely true
that I am already advanced several degrees in clerkship?”
“Yes, fair son, but not so far as to bar you from the garb
you now wear or the life which you must now lead. You have
been porter ?”’
“Yes, father.’
“Exorcist ?”’
“Yes, father.”
“Reader?”
“Yes, father.’
“Acolyte ?”
“Yes, father;”’
“But have sworn no vow of constancy or chastity?”
“No, father.”
‘Then you are free to follow a worldly life. But let me
hear, ere you start, what gifts you take away with you from
Beaulieu? Some I already know. There is the playing of the
citole and the rebeck. Our choir will be dumb without you.
You carve too?”
The youth’s pale face flushed with the pride of the skilled
workman. “Yes, holy father,” he answered. “Thanks to
good brother Bartholomew, I carve in wood and in ivory, and
can do something also in silver and in bronze. From brother
Francis I have learned to paint on vellum, on glass, and on
metal, with a knowledge of those pigments and essences which
can preserve the color against damp or a biting air. Brother
Luke hath given me some skill in damask work, and in the
enameling of shrines, tabernacles, diptychs and triptychs. For
the rest, I know a little of the making of covers, the cutting
of precious stones, and the fashioning of instruments.”
“A goodly list, truly,” cried the superior with a smile.
“What clerk of Cambrig or of Oxenford could say as much?
But of thy reading—hast not so much to show there, I fear?”
“No, father, it hath been slight enough. Yet, thanks to
our good chancellor, I am not wholly unlettered. I have read
Ockham, Bradwardine, and other of the schoolmen, together
with the learned Duns Scotus and the book of the holy
Aquinas.”ALLEYNE EDRICSON — 13
“But of the things of this world, what have you gathered
from your reading? From this high window you may catch
a glimpse over the wooded point and the smoke of Bucklers-
hard, of the mouth of the Exe, and the shining sea. Now,
I pray you, Alleyne, if a man were to take a ship and spread
sail across yonder waters, where might he hope to arrive?”
The youth pondered, and drew a plan amongst the rushes
with the point of his staff. “Holy father,” said he, “he would
come upon those parts of France which are held by the King’s
Majesty. But if he trended to the south he might reach Spain
and the Barbary States. To his north would be Flanders and
the country of the Eastlanders and of the Muscovites.”
“True, And how if, after reaching the King’s possessions,
he still journeyed on to the eastward?”
“THe would then come upon that part of France which is
still in dispute, and he might hope to reach the famous city of
Avignon, where dwells our blessed father, the prop of Chris-
tendom.” |
“And then?” |
“Then he would pass through the land of the Almains and
the great Roman Empire, and so to the country of the Huns
and of the Lithuanian pagans, beyond which lies the great city
of Constantine and the kingdom of the unclean followers of
Mahmoud.”’
“And beyond that, fair son?”
“Beyond that is Jerusalem and the Holy Land, and the
great river which hath its source in the Garden of Eden.”
“And then?”
“Nay, good father, I cannot tell. Methinks the end of the
world is not far from there.”
“Then we can still find something to teach thee, Alleyne,”
said the Abbot complaisantly. “Know that many strange
nations lie betwixt there and the end of the world. There is
the country of the Amazons, and the country of the dwarfs,
and the country of the fair but evil women who slay with
beholding, like the basilisk. Beyond that again is the king-
dom of Prester John and of the great Cham. These things
I know for very sooth, for I had them from that pious Chris-
tian and valiant knight, Sir John de Mandeville, who stopped
twice at Beaulieu on his way to and from Southampton, and14 THE WHITE COMPANY
discoursed to us concerning what he had seen from the
reader’s desk in the refectory, until there was many a good
brother who got neither bite nor sup, so stricken were they by
his strange tales.”
“T would fain know, father,’ asked the young man, ‘“‘what
there may be at the end of the world?”
“There are some things,” replied the Abbot gravely, “into
which it was never intended that we should inquire. But you
have a long road before you. Whither will you first turn?’
“To my brother’s at Minstead. If he be indeed an ungodly
and violent man, there 1s the more need that I should seek
him out and see whether I cannot turn him to better ways.”
The Abbot shook his head. “The Socman of Minstead hath
earned an evil name over the countryside,” he said. “If you
must go to him, see at least that he doth not turn you from
the narrow path upon which you have learned to tread. But
you are in God’s keeping, and Godward should you ever look
in danger and in trouble. Above all, shun the snares of
women, for they are ever set for the foolish feet of the young.
Kneel down, my child, and take an old man’s blessing.”
Alleyne Edricson bent his head while the Abbot poured out
his heartfelt supplication that Heaven would watch over this
young soul, now going forth into the darkness and danger
of the world. It was no mere form for either of them. To
them the outside life of mankind did indeed seem to be one
of violence and of sin, beset with physical and still more
with spiritual danger. Heaven, too, was very near to them in
those days. God’s direct agency was to be seen in the thunder
and the rainbow, the whirlwind and the lightning. To the
believer, clouds of angels and confessors, and martyrs,
armies of the sainted and the saved, were ever stooping over
their struggling brethren upon earth, raising, encouraging,
and supporting them. It was then with a lighter heart and
a stouter courage that the young man turned from the Abbot’s
room, while the latter, following him to the stair head, finally
commended him to the protection of the holy Julian, patron
of travelers.
Underneath, in the porch of the Abbey, the monks had
gathered to give him a last Godspeed. Many of them had
brought some parting token by which he should remember
’ALLEYNE EDRICSON 15
them. There was brother Bartholomew with a crucifix of rare
carved ivory, and brother Luke with a white-backed psalter
adorned with golden bees, and brother Francis with the “Slay-
ing of the Innocents” most daintily set forth upon vellum.
All these were duly packed away deep in the traveler's scrip,
and above them old pippin-faced brother Athanasius had
placed a parcel of simnel bread and rammel cheese, with a
small flask of the famous blue-sealed Abbey wine. So, amid
handshakings and laughings and blessings, Alleyne Edricson
turned his back upon Beaulieu.
At the turn of the road he stopped and gazed back. There ©
was the widespread building which he knew so well, the
Abbot’s house, the long church, the cloisters with their line
of arches, all bathed and mellowed in the evening sun. There
too was the broad sweep of the river Exe, the old stone
well, the canopied niche of the Virgin, and in the center of all
the cluster of white-robed figures who waved their hands to
him. A sudden mist swam up before the young man’s eyes,
and he turned away upon his journey with a heavy heart and
a choking throat.CHAPTER Tit
HOW HORDLE JOHN COZENED THE FULLER OF LYMINGTON
twenty, with young life glowing in his veins and all the
wide world before him, should spend his first hours of
freedom in mourning for what he had left. Long ere Alleyne
was out of sound of the Beaulieu bells he was striding sturdily
along, swinging his staff and whistling as merrily as the birds
in the thicket. It was an evening to raise a man’s heart. The
sun shining slantwise through the trees threw delicate traceries
across the road, with bars of golden light between. Away in
the distance before and behind, the green boughs, now turning
in places to a coppery redness, shot their broad arches across
the track. The still summer air was heavy with the resinous
smell of the great forest. Here and there a tawny brook
prattled out from among the underworld and lost itself again
in the ferns and brambles upon the further side. Save the
dull piping of insects and the sough of the leaves, there was
Silence everywhere—the sweet restful silence of nature.
And yet there was no want of life—the whole wide
wood was full of it. Now it was a lithe, furtive stoat which
shot across the path upon some fell errand of its own; then it
was a wildcat which squatted upon the outlying branch of
an oak and peeped at the traveler with a yellow and dubious
eye. Once it was a wild sow which scuttled out of the bracken,
with two young sounders at her heels, and once a lordly red
staggard walked daintily out from among the tree trunks,
and looked around him with the fearless gaze of one who
lived under the King’s own high protection. Alleyne gave his
staff a merry flourish, however, and the red deer bethought
him that the King was far off, so streaked away from whence
he came.
|: is not, however, in the nature of things that a lad of
16HORDLE JOHN AND THE FULLER 17
The youth had now journeyed considerably beyond the
furthest domains of the Abbey. He was the more surprised
therefore when, on coming round a turn in the path, he per-
ceived a man clad in the familiar garb of the order, and
seated in a clump of heather by the roadside. Alleyne had
known every brother well, but this was a face which was
new to him—a face which was very red and puffed, working
this way and that, as though the man were sore perplexed in
his mind. Once he shook both hands furiously in the air,
and twice he sprang from his seat and hurried down the road.
When he rose, however, Alleyne observed that his robe was
much too long and loose for him in every direction, trailing
upon the ground and bagging about his ankles, so that even
with trussed-up skirts he could make little progress. He ran
once, but the long gown clogged him so that he slowed down
into a shambling walk, and finally plumped into the heather
once more.
“Young friend,” said he, when Alleyne was abreast of him,
“T fear from thy garb that thou canst know little of the Abbey
of Beaulieu?”
“Then you are in error, friend,” the clerk answered, “for
I have spent all my days within its walls.”
“Hast so indeed?” cried he. ‘Then perhaps canst tell me
the name of a great loathly lump of a brother wi freckled
face an’ a hand like a spade. His eyes were black an’ his
hair was red an’ his voice like the parish bull. I trow that
there cannot be two alike in the same cloisters.”
“That surely can be no other than brother John,” said Al-
leyne. “I trust he has done you no wrong, that you should
be so hot against him.”’
“Wrong, quotha!’”’ cried the other, jumping out of the
heather. “Wrong! why he hath stolen every plack of cloth-
ing off my back, if that be wrong, and hath left me here in this
sorry frock of white falding, so that I have shame to go back
to my wife, lest she think that I have donned her old kirtle.
Harrow and alas that ever I should have met him!” —
“But how came this?” asked the young clerk, who could
scarce keep from laughter at the sight of the hot little man
so swathed in the great white cloak.
“Tt came in this way,” he said, sitting down once more: “I18 THE WHITE COMPANY
was passing this way, hoping to reach Lymington ere night-
fall, when I came on this red-headed knave seated even where
we are sitting now. I uncovered and louted as I passed,
thinking that he might be a holy man at his orisons, but he
called to me and asked me if I had heard speak of the new
indulgence in favor of the Cistercians. “Not I,’ I answered.
‘Then the worse for thy soul!’ said he; and with that he
broke into a long tale how that on account of the virtues of
the Abbot Berghersh it had been decreed by the Pope that
whoever should wear the habit of a monk of Beaulieu for as
long as he might say the seven psalms of David should be
assured of the kingdom of Heaven. When I heard this I
prayed him on my knees that he would give me the use of his
gown, which after many contentions he at last agreed
to do, on my paying him three marks toward the regilding
of the image of Laurence the martyr. Having stripped his
robe, I had no choice but to let him have the wearing of my
good leathern jerkin and hose, for, as he said, it was chilling
to the blood and unseemly to the eye to stand frockless whilst
I made my orisons. He had scarce got them on, and it was
a sore labor, seeing that my inches will scarce match my girth
——he had scarce got them on, I say, and I not yet at the end of
the second psalm, when he bade me do honor to my new
dress, and with that set off down the road as fast as feet
would carry him. For myself, I could no more run than if
I had been sewn in a sack; so here I sit, and here I am like
to sit, before I set eyes upon my clothes again.”
“Nay, friend, take it not so sadly,” said Alleyne, clapping
the disconsoJate one upon the shoulder. ‘‘Canst change thy
robe for a jerkin once more at the Abbey, unless perchance
you have a friend near at hand.”
“That have I,” he answered, “and close; but I care not to
go nigh him in this plight, for his wife hath a jibing tongue,
and will spread the tale until I could not show my face in any
market from Fordingbridge to Southampton. But if you,
fair sir, out of your kind charity would be pleased to go a
matter of two bowshots out of your way, you would do me
such a service as I could scarce repay.”
“With all my heart,” said Alleyne readily.
“Then take this pathway on the left, I pray thee, and thenHORDLE JOHN AND THE FULLER 19
the deer track which passes on the right. You will then see
under a great beech tree the hut of a charcoal burner. Give
him my name, good sir, the name of Peter the fuller, of Lym-
ington, and ask him for a change of raiment, that I may
pursue my journey without delay. There are reasons why
he would be loath to refuse me.”
Alleyne started off along the path indicated, and soon found
the log hut where the burner dwelt. He was away faggot-
cutting in the forest, but his wife, a ruddy bustling dame,
found the needful garments and tied them into a bundle.
While she busied herself in finding and folding them, Alleyne
Edricson stood by the open door looking in at her with much
interest and some distrust, for he had never been so nigh to
a woman before. She had round red arms, a dress of some
sober woolen stuff, and a brass brooch the size of a cheese-
cake stuck in the front of it.
“Peter the fuller!’ she kept repeating. ‘Marry come up!
if I were Peter the fuller’s wife I would teach him better than
to give his clothes to the first knave who asks for them. But
he was always a poor, fond, silly creature, was Peter, though
we are beholden to him for helping to bury our second son
Wat, who was a ’prentice to him at Lymington in the year of
the Black Death. But who are you, young sir?”
“T am a clerk on my road from Beaulieu to Minstead.”
“Aye, indeed! Hast been brought up at the Abbey then.
I could read it from thy reddened cheek and downcast eye.
Hast learned from the monks, I trow, to fear a woman as
thou wouldst a lazar house. Out upon them! that they should
dishonor their own mothers by such teaching.
make your heart as glad as you have made mine!” She turned ©
away, still mumbling blessings, and Alleyne saw her short —
ficure and her long shadow stumbling slowly up the slope.
He was moving away himself, when his eyes lit upon a |
strange sight, and one which sent a tingling through his skin.
Out of the tangled scrub on the old overgrown barrow two
human faces were looking out at him; the sinking sun glim-
mered full upon them, showing up every line and feature. |
The one was an oldish man with a thin beard, a crooked nose, |
and a broad red smudge from a birthmark over his temple ;_
the other was a negro, a thing rarely met in England at that
day, and rarer still in the quiet southland parts. Alleyne
had read of such folk, but had never seen one before, and,
could scarce take his eyes from the fellow’s broad pouting
lip and shining teeth. Even as he gazed, however, the two
came writhing out from among the heather, and came down
toward him with such a guilty, slinking carriage, that th
clerk felt that there was no good in them, and hastened keh
upon his way. |
| He had not gained the crown of the slope, when he heard
:THE TWO MASTERLESS MEN 29
a sudden scuffle behind him and a feeble voice bleating for
help. Looking round, there was the old dame down upon
the roadway, with her red whimple flying on the breeze, while
the two rogues, black and white, stooped over her, wresting
away from her the penny and such other poor trifles as were
worth the taking. At the sight of her thin limbs struggling
in weak resistance, such a glow of fierce anger passed over
Alleyne as set his head in a whirl. Dropping his scrip, he
bounded over the stream once more, and made for the two
villains, with his staff whirled over his shoulder and his gray
eyes blazing with fury.
The robbers, however, were not disposed to leave their
victim until they had worked their wicked will upon her.
The black man, with the woman’s crimson scarf tied round
his swarthy head, stood forward in the center of the path,
with a long dull-colored knife in his hand, while the other,
waving a ragged cudgel, cursed at Alleyne and dared him to
come on. His blood was fairly aflame, however, and he
needed no such challenge. Dashing at the black man, he smote
at him with such good will that the other let his knife tinkle
into the roadway, and hopped howling to a safer distance.
The second rogue, however, made of sterner stuff, rushed
in upon the clerk, and clipped him round the waist with a
erip like a bear, shouting the while to his comrade to come
round and stab him in the back. At this the negro took heart
of grace, and picking up his dagger again he came stealing
with prowling step and murderous eye, while the two swayed
backward and forward, staggering this way and that. In the
very midst of the scuffle, however, whilst Alleyne braced him-
self to feel the cold blade between his shoulders, there came
a sudden scurry of hoofs, and the black man yelled with terror
and ran for his life through the heather. The man with the
birthmark, too, struggled to break away, and Alleyne heard
his teeth chatter and felt his limbs grow limp to his hand.
At this sign of coming aid the clerk held on tighter, and at
last was able to pin his man down and glanced behind him to
see where all the noise was coming from.
Down the slanting road there was riding a big, burly man,
clad in a tunic of purple velvet and driving a great black horse
as hard as it could gallop. He leaned well over its neck as he30 THE WHITE COMPANY
rode, and made a heaving with his shoulders at every bound
as though he were lifting the steed instead of it carrying him.
In the rapid glance Alleyne saw that he had white doeskin
gloves, a curling white feather in his flat velvet cap, and a
broad gold-embroidered baldric across his bosom. Behind
him rode six others, two and two, clad in sober brown jerkins,
with the long yellow staves of their bows thrusting out from
behind their right shoulders. Down the hill they thundered,
over the brook and up to the scene of the contest.
“Here is one!’ said the leader, springing down from his
reeking horse, and seizing the white rogue by the edge of his
jerkin. “This is one of them. I know him by that devil’s
touch upon his brow. Where are your cords, Peterkin? So!
—hbind him hand and foot. His last hour has come. And
you, young man, who may you be?”
“I am a clerk, sir, traveling from Beaulieu.”
“A clerk!” cried the other. “Art from Oxenford or from
Cambridge? Hast thou a letter from the chancellor of thy
college giving thee a permit to beg? Let me see thy letter:’
He had a stern, square face, with bushy side whiskers and a
very questioning eye.
“Tam from Beaulieu Abbey, and I have no need to beg,7
said Alleyne, who was all of a tremble now that the ruffle was
over.
“The better for thee,” the other answered. “Dost know
who I am?”
"No; sir, Ido not.”
“I am the law!”—nodding his head solemnly. ‘I am the
law of England and the mouthpiece of his most gracious and
royal majesty, Edward the Third.”
Alleyne louted low to the King’s representative. “Truly
you came in good time, honored sir,” said he. “A moment
later and they would have slain me.”
“But there should be another one,” cried the man in the
purple coat. “There should be a black man. A shipman with ©
St. Anthony’s fire, and a black man who had served him as
cook—those are the pair that we are in chase of.” |
“The black man fled over to that side,” said Alleyne, point- —
ing toward the barrow.
“He could not have gone far, sir bailiff,” cried one ofTHE TWO MASTERLESS MEN 31
the archers, unslinging his bow. “He is in hiding somewhere,
for he knew well, black paynim as he is, that our horses’ four
legs could outstrip his two.”’
“Then we shall have him,’’ said the other. “It shall never
be said, whilst I am bailiff of Southampton, that any waster,
riever, draw-latch or murtherer came scathless away from me
and my posse. Leave that rogue lying. Now stretch out
in line, my merry ones, with arrow on string, and I shall
show you such sport as only the King can give. You on the
left, Howett, and Thomas of Redbridge upon the right. So!
Beat high and low among the heather, and a pot of wine to
the lucky marksman.”’
As it chanced, however, the searchers had not far to seek.
The negro had burrowed down into his hiding place upon the
barrow, where he might have lain snug enough had it not
been for the red gear upon his head. As he raised himself
to look over the bracken at his enemies, the staring color
caught the eye of the bailiff, who broke into a long screeching
whoop and spurred forward sword in hand. Seeing himself
discovered, the man rushed out from his hiding place, and
bounded at the top of his speed down the line of archers,
keeping a good hundred paces to the front of them. The
two who were on either side of Alleyne bent their bows as
calmly as though they were shooting at the popinjay at the
village fair.
“Seven yards windage, Hal,’ said one, whose hair was
streaked with gray.
“Five,” replied the other, letting loose his string. Alleyne
gave a gulp in his throat, for the yellow streak seemed to
pass through the man; but he still ran forward.
“Seven, you jack-fool,”’ growled the first speaker, and his
bow twanged like a harp string. The black man sprang high
up into the air, and shot out both his arms and his legs,
coming down all a-sprawl among the heather. “Right under
the blade bone!’ quoth the archer, sauntering forward for
his arrow.
“The old hound is the best when all is said,’ quoth the
bailiff of Southampton, as they made back for the roadway.
“That means a quart of the best Malmsey in Southampton
this very night, Matthew Atwood. Art sure that he is dead?”32 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Dead as Pontius Pilate, worshipful sir.”
“Tt is well. Now, as to the other knave. There are trees
and to spare over yonder, but we have scarce leisure to make
for them. Draw thy sword, Thomas of Redbridge, and hew
me his head from his shoulders.”
“A boon, gracious sir, a boon!” cried the condemned man.
“What then?” asked the bailiff.
“TI will confess to my crime. It was indeed I and the black
cook, both from the ship ‘La Rose de Gloire,’ of Southamp-
ton, who did set upon the Flanders merchant and rob him of
his spicery and his mercery, for which, as we well know, you
hold a warrant against us.”
“There is little merit in this confession,’ quoth the bailiff
sternly. ‘Thou hast done evil within my bailiwick, and must
die.”’
“But, sir,” urged Alleyne, who was white to the lips at |
these bloody doings, “‘he hath not yet come to trial.”
“Young clerk,” said the bailiff, “you speak of that of which
you know nothing. It is true that he hath not come to trial,
but the trial hath come to him. He hath fled the law and
is beyond its pale. Touch not that which is no concern of
thine. But what is this boon, rogue, which you would crave?”
“IT have in my shoe, most worshipful sir, a strip of wood
which belonged once to the bark wherein the blessed Paul was
dashed up against the island of Melita. I bought it for two
rose nobles from a shipman who came from the Levant. The
boon I crave is that you will place it in my hand and let me
die still grasping it. In this manner, not only shall my own
eternal salvation be secured, but thine also, for I shall never
cease to intercede for thee.”’
At the command of the bailiff they plucked off the fellow’s
shoe, and there sure enough at the side of the instep, wrapped
in a piece of fine sendall, lay a long, dark splinter of wood.
The archers doffed caps at the sight of it, and the bailiff
crossed himself devoutly as he handed it to the robber.
“Tf it should chance,” he said, “that through the surpassing
merits of the blessed Paul your sin-stained soul should gain
a way into paradise, I trust that you will not forget that in-
tercession which you have promised. Bear in mind, too, that
it is Herward the bailiff for whom you pray, and not Her-THE TWO MASTERLESS MEN 33
wafd the sheriff, who is my uncle’s son. Now, Thomas, I
pray you dispatch, for we have a long ride before us and sun
has already set.”
Alleyne gazed upon the scene—the portly velvet-clad official,
the knot of hard-faced archers with their hands to the bridles
of their horses, the thief with his arms trussed back and his
doublet turned down upon his shoulders. By the side of the
track the old dame was standing, fastening her red whimple
once more round her head. Even as he looked one of the
archers drew his sword with a sharp whirr of steel and
stepped up to the lost man. The clerk hurried away in hor-
ror; but, ere he had gone many paces, he heard a sudden, sul-
len thump, with a choking, whistling sound at the end of it.
A minute later the bailiff and four of his men rode past
him on their journey back to Southampton, the other two
having been chosen as gravediggers. As they passed, Al-
leyne saw that one of the men was wiping his sword blade
upon the mane of his horse. A deadly sickness came over
him at the sight, and sitting down by the wayside he burst
out weeping with his nerves all in a jangle. It was a terrible
world, thought he, and it was hard to know which were the
most to be dreaded, the knaves or the men of the law.CHAPTER V
HOW A STRANGE COMPANY GATHERED AT THE ‘“‘PIED MERLIN”
ing between the rifts of ragged, drifting clouds, be-
fore Alleyne Edricson, footsore and weary from the
unwonted exercise, found himself in front of the forest inn
which stood upon the outskirts of Lyndhurst. The building
was long and low, standing back a little from the road, with
two flambeaux blazing on either side of the door as a wel-
come to the traveler. From the window there thrust forth
a long pole with a bunch of greenery tied to the end of it—
a sign that liquor was to be sold within. .As Alleyne walked
up to it he perceived that it was rudely fashioned out of
beams of wood, with twinkling lights all over where the
glow from within shone throught the chinks. The roof was
poor and thatched; but in strange contrast to it there ran all
along under the eaves a line of wooden shields, most gor-
geously painted with chevron, bend, and saltire, and every
heraldic device. By the door a horse stood tethered, the ruddy
glow beating strongly upon his brown head and patient eyes,
while his body stood back in the shadow.
Alleyne stood still in the roadway for a few minutes re-
flecting upon what he should do. It was, he knew, only a
few miles further to Minstead, where his brother dwelt. On
the other hand, he had never seen his brother since childhood,
and the reports which had come to his ears concerning him
were seldom to his advantage. By all accounts he was a hard
and a bitter man.
It might be an evil start to come to his door so late and
clatm the shelter of his roof. Better to sleep here at this inn,
and then travel on to Minstead in the morning. If his brother —
would take him in, well and good.
34
P AHE night had already fallen, and the moon was shin-AT THE “PIED MERLIN” 35
He would bide with him for a time and do what he might to
serve him. If, on the other hand, he should have hardened
his heart against him, he could only go on his way and do the
best he might by his skill as a craftsman and a scrivener. At
' the end of a year he would be free to return to the cloisters,
for such had been his father’s bequest. A monkish upbring-
ing, one year in the world after the age of twenty, and then
a free selection one way or the other—it was a strange course
which had been marked out for him. Such as it was, how-
ever, he had no choice but to follow it, and if he were to be-
gin by making a friend of his brother he had best wait until
morning before he knocked at his dwelling.
The rude plank door was ajar, but as Alleyne approached it
there came from within such a gust of rough laughter and
clatter of tongues that he stood irresolute upon the threshold.
Summoning courage, however, and reflecting that it was a
public dwelling, in which he had as much right as any other
man, he pushed it open and stepped into the common room.
Though it was an autumn evening and somewhat warm, a
huge fire of heaped billets of wood crackled and sparkled in a
broad, open grate, some of the smoke escaping up a rude
chimney, but the greater part rolling out into the room, so
that the air was thick with it, and a man coming from without
could scarce catch his breath. On this fire a great caldron
bubbled and simmered, giving forth a rich and promising
smell. Seated round it were a dozen or so folk, of all ages
and conditions, who set up such a shout as Alleyne entered
that he stood peering at them through the smoke, uncertain
what this riotous greeting might portend.
“A rouse! A rouse!’’ cried one rough-looking fellow in a
tattered jerkin. “One more round of mead or ale and the
score to the last comer.”’
“Tis the law of the ‘Pied Merlin’,” shouted anothet.) HG,
there, Dame Eliza! Here is fresh custom come to the house,
and not a drain for the company.”
“I will take your orders, gentles; I will assuredly take
your orders,” the landlady answered, bustling in with her
hands full of leathern drinking-cups. ‘What is it that you
drink, then? Beer for the lads of the forest, mead for the
gleeman, strong waters for the tinker, and wine for the rest.36 THE WHITE COMPANY
It is an old custom of the house, young sir. It has been the
‘se at the ‘Pied Merlin’ this many a year back that the com-
pany should drink to the health of the last comer. Is it your
pleasure to humor it?”
“Why, good dame,” said Alleyne, “T would not offend the
customs of your house, but it is only sooth when I say that my
purse is a thin one. As far as twopence will go, however, I
shall be right glad to do my part.”
“Plainly said and bravely spoken, my sucking friar,’ roared
a deep voice, and a heavy hand fell upon Alleyne’s shoulder.
Looking up, he saw beside him his former cloister companion,
the renegade monk, Hordle John.
“By the thorn of Glastonbury! ill days are coming upon
Beaulieu,” said he. ‘Here they have got rid in one day of the
only two men within their walls—for I have had mine eyes
upon thee, youngster, and I know that for all thy baby face
there is the making of a man in thee. Then there is the Ab-
bot, too. I am no friend of his, nor he of mine; but he has
warm blood in his veins. He is the only man left among
them. The others, what are they?”
“They are holy men,’’ Alleyne answered gravely.
“Holy men? Holy cabbages! Holy bean pods! What do
they do but live and suck in sustenance and grow fat? If that
be holiness, I could show you hogs in this forest who are fit
to head the calendar. Think you it was for such a life that
this good arm was fixed upon my shoulder, or that head
placed upon your neck? There is work in the world, man, and
it is not by hiding behind stone walls that we shall do it.”
“Why, then, did you join the brothers?’ asked Alleyne.
“A fair enough question but it is as fairly answered. I
joined them because Margery Alspaye, of Bolder, married
Crooked Thomas of Ringwood, and left a certain John of
Hordle in the cold, for that he was a ranting, roving blade
who was not to be trusted in wedlock. That was why, being
fond and hot-headed, I left the world; and that is why, having
had time to take thought, I am right glad to find myself back
in it once more. Ill betide the day that ever I took off my
yeoman’s jerkin to put on the white gown!”
Whilst he was speaking the landlady came in again, bearing
a broad platter, upon which stood all the beakers and flagonsAT THE “PIED MERLIN” 37
charged to the brim with the brown ale or the ruby wine. Be-
hind her came a maid with a high pile of wooden plates, and
a great sheaf of spoons, one of which she handed round to
each of the travelers.
Two of the company, who were dressed in the weather-
stained green doublet of foresters, lifted the big pot off the
fire, and a third, with a huge pewter ladle, served out a por-
tion of steaming collops to each guest. Alleyne bore his
share and his ale-mug away with him to a retired trestle in
the corner, where he could sup in peace and watch the strange
scene, which was so different to those silent and well-ordered
meals to which he was accustomed.
The room was not unlike a stable. The low ceiling, smoke-
blackened and dingy, was pierced by several square trap-
doors with rough-hewn ladders leading up to them. The
walls of bare unpainted planks were studded here and there
with great wooden pins, placed at irregular intervals and
heights, from which hung overtunics, wallets, whips, bridles,
and saddles. Over the fireplace were suspended six or seven
shields of wood, with coats of arms daubed upon them, which
showed by their varying degrees of smokiness and dirt that
they had been placed there at different periods. There was no
furniture, save a single long dresser covered with coarse
crockery, and a number of wooden benches and trestles, the
legs of which sank deeply into the soft clay floor, while the
only light, save that of the fire, was furnished by three torches
stuck in sockets on the wall, which flickered and crackled,
giving forth a strong resinous odor. All this was novel and
strange to the cloister-bred youth; but most interesting of all
was the motley circle of guests who sat eating their collops
round the blaze. They were a humble group of wayfarers,
such as might have been found that night in any inn through
the length and breadth of England; but to him they repre-
sented that vague world against which he had been so fre-
quently and so earnestly warned. It did not seem to him
from what he could see of it to be such a very wicked place
after all.
Three or four of the men round the fire were evidently
underkeepers and verderers from the forest, sunburned and
bearded, with the quick restless eye and lithe movements of38 THE WHITE COMPANY
the deer among which they lived. Close to the corner of the
chimney sat a middle-aged gleeman, clad in a faded garb
of Norwich cloth, the tunic of which was so outgrown that
it did not fasten at the neck and at the waist. His face was
swollen and coarse, and his watery protruding eyes spoke of
a life which never wandered very far from the winepot. A
gilt harp, blotched with many stains and with two of its
strings missing, was tucked away under one of his arms, while
with the other he scooped greedily at his platter. Next to
him sat two other men of about the same age, one with a
trimming of fur to his coat, which gave him a dignity which
was evidently dearer to him than his comfort, for he still
drew it round him in spite of the hot glare of the faggots.
The other, clad in a dirty russet suit with a long sweeping
doublet, had a cunning, foxy face with keen, twinkling eyes
and a peaky beard. Next to him sat Hordle John, and beside
him three other rough unkempt fellows with tangled beards
and matted hair—free laborers from the adjoining farms,
where small patches of freehold property had been suffered
to remain scattered about in the heart of the royal demesne.
The company was completed by a peasant in a rude dress of
undyed sheepskin, with the old-fashioned galligaskins about
his legs, and a gayly dressed young man with striped cloak
jagged at the edges and parti-colored hosen, who looked about
him with high disdain upon his face, and held a blue smelling-
flask to his nose with one hand, while he brandished a busy
spoon with the other. In the corner a very fat man was lying
all a-sprawl upon a truss, snoring stertorously, and evidently
in the last stage of drunkenness.
That is Wat the limner,”’ quoth the landlady, sitting down
beside Alleyne, and pointing with the ladle to the sleeping man.
“That is he who paints the signs and the tokens. Alack and
alas that ever I should have been fool enough to trust him!
Now, young man, what manner of a bird would you suppose
a pied merlin to be—that being the proper sign of my hostel ?”
“Why,” said Alleyne, “a merlin is a bird of the same form
as an eagle or a falcon. I can well remember that learned
brother Bartholomew, who is deep in all the secrets of nature,
vei one out to me as we walked together near Vinney
idge.”AT THE “PIED MERLIN” 39
“A falcon or an eagle, quotha? And pied, that is of two
several colors. So any man would say except this barrel
of lies. He came to me, look you, saying that if I would
furnish him with a gallon of ale, wherewith to strengthen
himself as he worked, and also the pigments and a board,
he would paint for me a noble pied merlin which I might hang
along with the blazonry over my door. I, poor simple fool,
gave him the ale and all that he craved, leaving him alone too,
because he said that a man’s mind must be left untroubled
when he had great work to do. When I came back the gallon
jar was empty, and he lay as you see him, with the board
in front of him with this sorry device.” She raised up a
panel which was leaning against the wall, and showed a rude
painting of a scraggy and angular fowl, with very long legs
and a spotted body.
“Was that,” she asked, “like the bird which thou hast seen ?”’.
Alleyne shook his head, smiling.
“No, nor any other bird that ever wagged a feather. It is
most like a plucked pullet which has died of the spotted fever.
And scarlet too! What would the gentles Sir Nicholas Boar-
hunte, or Sir Bernard Brocas, of Roche Court, say if they
saw such a thing——or, perhaps, even the King’s own Majesty
himself, who often has ridden past this way, and who loves
his falcons as he loves his sons? It would be the downfall
of my house.”
“The matter is not past mending,” said Alleyne. “I pray
you, good dame, to give me those three pigment-pots and the
brush, and I shall try whether I cannot better this painting.”
Dame Eliza looked doubtfully at him, as though fearing
some other stratagem, but, as he made no demand for ale,
she finally brought the paints, and watched him as he smeared
on his background, talking the while about the folk round
the fire.
“The four forest lads must be jogging soon,” she said.
“They bide at Emery Down, a mile or more from here. Yeo-
men prickers they are, who tend to the King’s hunt. The glee-
man is called Floyting Will. He comes from the north country,
but for many years he hath gone the round of the forest
from Southampton to Christchurch. He drinks much and
pays little; but it would make your ribs crackle to hear him40 THE WHITE COMPANY”
sing the ‘Jest of Hendy Tobias.’ Mayhap he will sing it
when the ale has warmed him.”
“Who are those next to him?” asked Alleyne, much in-
terested. “He of the fur mantel has a wise and reverent
face.”’
‘He is a seller of pills and salves, very learned in humors,
and rheums, and fluxes, and all manner of ailments. He
wears, as you perceive, the vernicle of Sainted Luke, the first
physician, upon his sleeve. May good St. Thomas of Kent
grant that it may be long before either I or mine need his
help! He is here to-night for herbergage, as are the others
except the foresters. His neighbor is a tooth-drawer. ‘That
bag at his girdle is full of the teeth that he drew at Winchester
fair. I warrant that there are more sound ones than sorry,
for he is quick at his work and a trifle dim in the eye. The
lusty man next him with the red head I have not seen before.
The four on this side are all workers, three of them in the
service of the bailiff of Sir Baldwin Redvers, and the other,
he with the sheepskin, is, as I hear, a villein from the mid-
lands who hath run from his master. His year and day are
well-nigh up, when he will be a free man.”
“And the other?” asked Alleyne in a whisper. “He is
surely some very great man, for he looks as though he scorned
those who were about him.”’
The landlady looked at him in a motherly way and shook
her head. “You have had no great truck with the world,”
she said, “or you would have learned that it is the small
men and not the great who hold their noses in the air. Look
at those shields upon my wall and under my eaves. Each
of them is the device of some noble lord or gallant knight who
hath slept under my roof at one time or another. Yet milder
men or easier to please | have never seen: eating my bacon
and drinking my wine with a merry face, and paying my
score with some courteous word or jest which was dearer to
me than my profit. Those are the true gentles. But your
chapman or your bearward will swear that there is a lime
in the wine, and water in the ale, and fling off at the last
with a curse instead of a blessing. This youth is a scholar.
from Cambrig, where men are wont to be blown out by a
little knowledge, and lose the use of their hands in learningAT THE “PIED MERLIN” 41
the laws of the Romans. But I must away to lay down the
beds. So may the saints keep you and prosper you in your
undertaking!”
Thus left to himself, Alleyne drew his panel of wood where
the light of one of the torches would strike full upon it, and
worked away with all the pleasure of the trained craftsman, —
listening the while to the talk which went on round the fire.
The peasant in the sheepskins, who had sat glum and silent
all evening, had been so heated by his flagon of ale that he
was talking loudly and angrily with clenched hands and flash-
ing’ eyes.
“Sir Humphrey Tennant of Ashby may till his own fields
for me,’ he cried. “The castle has thrown its shadow upon
the cottage over long. For three hundred years my folk
have swinked and sweated, day in and day out, to keep the
wine on the lord’s table and the harness on the lord’s back.
Let him take off his plates and delve himself, if delving must
be done.”’
“A proper spirit, my fair son!” said one of the free la-
borers. “I would that all men were of thy way of thinking.”
“He would have sold me with his acres,” the other cried, in
a voice which was hoarse with passion. ‘‘ ‘The man, the
woman and their litter—so ran the words of the dotard bail-
iff. Never a bullock on the farm was sold more lightly. Ha!
he may wake some black night to find the flames licking about
his ears—for fire is a good friend to the poor man, and I have
seen a smoking heap of ashes where overnight there stcod
just such another castlewick as Ashby.”
“This is a lad of mettle!’ shouted another of the laborers.
‘He dares to give tongue to what all men think. Are we not
all from Adam’s loins, all with flesh and blood, and with the
same mouth that must needs have food and drink? Where
all this difference then between the ermine cloak and the
leathern tunic, if what they cover is the same?”
“Aye, Jenkin,” said another, “our foeman is under the stole
and the vestment as much as under the helmet and plate of
proof. We have as much to fear from the tonsure as from
the hauberk. Strike at the noble and the priest shrieks, strike
at priest and the noble lays his hand upon glaive. They are
twin thieves who live upon our labor.”42 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Tt would take a clever man to live upon thy labor, Hugh,”
remarked one of the foresters, “seeing that the half of thy
time is spent in swilling mead at the ‘Pied Merlin.’ ”’
“Better that than stealing the deer that thou art placed to
guard, like some folk I know.”
“Tf you dare open that swine’s mouth against me,” shouted
the woodman, “I’ll crop your ears for you before the hang-
man has the doing of it, thou long-jawed lackbrain.”
“Nay, gentles, gentles!” cried Dame Eliza, in a singsong
heedless voice, which showed that such bickerings were nightly
things among her guests. “No brawling or brabbling, gentles!
Take heed to the good name of the house.”
“Besides, if it comes to the cropping of ears, there are other
folk who may say their say,” quoth the third laborer. “We
are all freemen, and I trow that a yeoman’s cudgel is as good
as a forester’s knife. By St. Anselm! it would be an evil day
if we had to bend to our master’s servants as well as to our
masters.”’
“No man is my master save the King,” the woodman’
answered. ‘‘Who is there, save a false traitor, who would
refuse to serve the English king?”’
“T know not about the English king,” said the man Jenkin.
“What sort of English king is it who cannot lay his tongue
to a word of English? You mind last year when he came
down to Malwood, with his inner marshal and his outer
marshal, his justiciar, his seneschal, and his four and twenty
guardsmen. One noontide I was by Franklin Swinton’s gate,
when up he rides with a yeoman pricker at his heels. ‘“Ouvre,’
he cried, ‘ouvre,’ or some such word, making signs for me to
open the gate; and then ‘Merci,’ as though he were adrad of
me. And you talk of an English king?”
“I do marvel at it,” cried the Cambrig scholar, speaking in
the high drawling voice which was common among his class.
“Tt is a foul, snorting, snarling manner of speech. For my-
self, I swear by the learned Polycarp that I have most ease
with Hebrew, and after that perchance with Arabian.”
“T will not hear a word said against old King Ned,’ cried
Hordle John in a voice like a bull. “What if he is fond of a
bright eye and a saucy face. I know one of his subjects who
could matcn him at that. If he cannot speak like an English-
?AT THE “PIED MERLIN”. 43
man I trow that he can fight like an Englishman, and he was
hammering at the gates of Paris while alehouse topers were
grutching and grumbling at home.”
This loud speech, coming from a man of so formidable
an appearance, somewhat daunted the disloyal party, and they
fell into a sullen silence, which enabled Alleyne to hear some-
thing of the talk which was going on in the further corner
_ between the physician, the tooth-drawer and the gleeman.
“A raw rat,” the man of drugs was saying, “that is what
it 1s ever my use to order for the plague—a raw rat with its
paunch cut open.”
_ “Might it not be broiled, most learned sir?’ asked the
tooth-drawer. “A raw rat sounds a most sorry and cheer-
less dish.”
“Not to be eaten,” cried the physician, in high disdain.
“Why should any man eat such a thing?”
_ “Why indeed?” asked the gleeman, taking a long drain at
his tankard.
_ “Tt is to be placed on the sore or swelling. For the rat,
‘mark you, being a foul-living creature, hath a natural draw-
ing or affinity for all foul things, so that the noxious humors
pass from the man into the unclean beast.”
_ “Would that cure the black death, master?” asked Jenkin.
“Aye, truly would it, my fair son.”
“Then I am right glad that there were none who knew of
it. The black death is the best friend that ever the common
folk had in England.”
“How that then?” asked Hordle John.
“Why, friend, it is easy to see that you have not worked
with your hands or you would not need to ask. When half
the folk in the country were dead it was then that the other
half could pick and choose who they would work for, and for
what wage. That is why I say that the murrain was the
Dest friend that the borel folk ever had.”
_ “True, Jenkin,” said another workman; “but it is not all
good that is brought by it either. We well know that through
it cornland has been turned into pasture, so that flocks of sheep
with perchance a single shepherd wander now where once a
hundred men had work and wage.”
._ “There is no great harm in that,” remarked the tooth-AA, THE WHITE COMPANY
drawer, “for the sheep give many folk their living. There
is not only the herd, but the shearer and brander, and then
the dresser, the curer, the dyer, the fuller, the webster, the
‘merchant, and a score of others.”
“Tf it come to that,” said one of the foresters, “the tough
meat of them will wear folks’ teeth out, and there is a trade
for the man who can draw them.”
A general laugh followed this sally at the dentist’s expense,
in the midst of which the gleeman placed his battered harp
upon his knee, and began to pick out a melody upon the frayed
strings.
“Elbowroom for Floyting Will!’ cried the woodmen.
“Twang us a merry lilt.”
“Aye, aye, the ‘Lasses of Lancaster’,
“Or ‘St. Simeon and the Devil’.”
“Or the ‘Jest of Hendy Tobias’.”
To all these suggestions the jongleur made no response,
but sat with his eye fixed abstractedly upon the ceiling, as
one who calls words to his mind. Then, with a sudden
sweep across the strings, be broke out into a song so gross and ©
so foul that ere he had finished a verse the pure-minded lad
sprang to his feet with the blood tingling in his face.
“How can you sing such things?’ he cried. “You, too, an
old man who should be an example to others.”
The wayfarers all gazed in the utmost astonishment at the
interruption.
“By the holy Dicon of Hampole! our silent clerk has found
his tongue,” said one of the woodmen. “What is amiss with
the song then? How has it offended your babyship?”’
“A milder and better mannered song hath never been heard
within these walls,” cried another. “What sort of talk is this
for a public inn?”
“Shall it be a litany, my good clerk?” shouted a third; “or
would a hymn be good enough to serve?”’
The jongleur had put down his harp in high dungeon. “Am
I to be preached to by a child?” he cried, staring across at
Alleyne with an inflamed and angry countenance. “Is a hair-
less infant to raise his tongue against me, when I have sung
every fair from Tweed to Trent, and have twice been named
3
one suggested.AT THE “PIED MERLIN” 45
aloud by the High Court of the Minstrels at Beverley? I
shall sing no more to-night.”’
“Nay, but you will so,’ said one of the laborers. “Hi,
Dame Eliza, bring a stoup of your best to Will to clear his
throat. Go forward with thy song, and if our girl-faced
clerk does not love it he can take to the road and go whence
he came.”
“Nay, but not too fast,’ broke in Hordle John. “There
are two words in this matter. It may be that my little com-
rade has been over quick in reproof, he having gone early into
the cloisters and seen little of the rough ways and words of
the world. Yet there is truth in what he says, for, as you
know well, the song was not of the cleanest. I shall stand
by him, therefore, and he shall neither be put out on the
road, nor shall his ears be offended indoors.”’
“Indeed, your high and mighty grace,’’ sneered one of the
yeomen, “have you in sooth so ordained?”
“By the Virgin!” said a second, “I think that you may both
chance to find yourselves upon the road before long.”’
“And so belabored as to be scarce able to crawl along it,”
cried a third.
“Nay, I shall go! I shall go!’ said Alleyne hurriedly, as
Hordle John began to slowly roll up his sleeve, and bare an
arm like a leg of mutton. “I would not have you brawl about
me.”’
“Hush! lad,’ he whispered, ‘‘I count them not a fly. They
may find they have more tow on their distaff than they know
how to spin. Stand thou clear and give me space.”
Both the foresters and the laborers had risen from their
bench, and Dame Eliza and the traveling doctor had flung
themselves between the two parties with soft words and
soothing gestures, when the door of the ‘‘Pied Merlin’? was
flung violently open, and the attention of the company was
drawn from their own quarrel to the newcomer who had
burst so unceremoniously upon them.CHARTERS Vi
HOV/ SAMKIN AYLWARD WAGERED HIS FEATHER BED
E was a middle-sized man, of most massive and robust
H build, with an arching chest and extraordinary
breadth of shoulder. His shaven face was as brown
as a hazelnut, tanned and dried by the weather, with harsh,
well-marked features, which were not improved by a long
white scar which stretched from the corner of his left nostril
to the angle of the jaw. His eyes were bright and searching,
with something of menace and of authority in their quick
glitter, and his mouth was firm set and hard, as befitted one
who was wont to set his face against danger. A straight
sword by his side and a painted longbow jutting over his
shoulder proclaimed his profession, while his scarred brig-
andine of chain mail and his dinted steel cap showed that he
was no holiday soldier, but one who was even now fresh from
the wars. A white surcoat with the lion of St. George in red
upon the center covered his broad breast, while a sprig of new-
plucked broom at the side of his headgear gave a touch of
gayety and grace to his grim, war-worn equipment.
“Ha!” he cried, blinking like an owl in the sudden glare.
“Good even to you, comrades! Hola! a woman, by my soul!’
and in an instant he had clipped Dame Eliza round the waist
and was kissing her violently. His eye happening to wander —
upon the maid, however, he instantly abandoned the mistress
and danced off after the other, who scurried in confusion up
one of the ladders, and dropped the heavy trapdoor upon her
pursuer. He then turned back and saluted the landlady once
more with the utmost relish and satisfaction.
“La petite is frightened,” said he. “Ah, c’est l’amour,
Yamour! Curse this trick of F rench, which will stick to my
throat. I must wash it out with some good English ale. By
my hilt! camarades, there is no drop of French blood in my
AGSAM AYLWARD’S WAGER AT
body, and I am a true English bowman, Samkin Aylward by
name; and I tell you, mes amis, that it warms my very heart
roots to set my feet on the dear old land once more. When
I came off the galley at Hythe, this very day, I down on my
bones, and I kissed the good brown earth, as I kiss thee now,
ma belle, for it was eight long years since I had seen it. The
very smell of it seemed life to me. But where are my six
rascals?” Holdy there! «Env avanti’
At the order, six men, dressed as common drudges, marched
solemnly into the room, each bearing a huge bundle upon his
head. They formed in military line, while the soldier stood
in front of them with stern eyes, checking off their several
_ packages.
“Number one—a French feather bed with the two counter-
_ panes of white sandell,’’ said he. ;
“Here, worthy sir,’’ answered the first of the bearers, laying
a great package down in the corner.
“Number two—seven ells of red Turkey cloth and nine ells
of cloth of gold. Put it down by the other. Good dame, I
_prythee give each of these men a bottrine of wine or a jack of
ale. Three—a full piece of white Genoan velvet with twelve
ells of purple silk. Thou rascal, there is dirt on the hem!
Thou hast brushed it against some wall, coquin!”
“Not I, most worthy sir,” cried the carrier, shrinking away
_ from the fierce eyes of the bowman.
“Tsay yes, dog! By the three kings! I have seen a man
gasp out his last breath for less. Had you gone through the
pain and unease that I have done to earn these things you
would be at more care. I swear by my ten finger bones that
there is not one of them that hath not cost its weight in French
blood! Four—an incense boat, a ewer of silver, a gold buckle
and a cope worked in pearls. I found them, camarades, at the
Church of St. Denis in the harrying of Narbonne, and I took
them away with me lest they fall into the hands of the wicked.
Five—a cloak of fur turned up with minever, a gold goblet
with stand and cover, and a box of rose- -colored sugar. See
that you lay them together. Six—a box of monies, three
pounds of Limousine gold-work, a pair of boots, silver tagged,
and, lastly, a store of naping linen. So, the tally j is complete !
Here is a groat apiece, and you may go.”A8 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Go whither, worthy sir?” asked one of the carriers.
“Whither? To the devil if ye will. What is it to me?
Now, ma belle, to supper. A pair of cold capons, a mortress
of brawn, or what you will, with a flask or two of the right
Gascony. I have crowns in my pouch, my sweet, and I mean
to spend them. Bring in wine while the food is dressing.
Buvons, my brave lads; you shall each empty a stoup with me.”
Here was an offer which the company in an English inn
at that or any other date are slow to refuse. The flagons were
regathered and came back with the white foam dripping over
their edges. Two of the woodmen and three of the laborers
drank their portions off hurriedly and trooped off together,
for their homes were distant and the hour late. The others,
however, drew closer, leaving the place of honor to the right
of the gleeman to the free-handed newcomer. He had thrown
off his steel cap and his brigandine, and had placed them with
his sword, his quiver and his painted longbow, on the top of
his varied heap of plunder in the corner. Now, with his thick
and somewhat bowed legs stretched in front of the blaze,
his green jerkin thrown open, and a great quart pot held in
his corded fist, he looked the picture of comfort and of good
fellowship. His hard-set face had softened, and the thick
crop of crisp brown curls which had been hidden by his helmet
grew low upon his massive neck. He might have been forty
years of age, though hard toil and harder pleasure had left
their grim marks upon his features. Alleyne had ceased paint-
ing his pied merlin, and sat, brush in hand, staring with open
eyes at a type of man so strange and so unlike any whom he
had met. Men had been good or had been bad in his cata-
logue, but here was a man who was fierce one instant and
gentle the next, with a curse on his lips and a smile in his
eye. What was to be made of such a man as that?
It chanced that the soldier looked up and saw the questioning
glance which the young clerk threw upon him. He raised his
— and drank to him, with a merry flash of his white
teeth.
‘A toi, mon garcon,” he cried. “Hast surely never seen a
man at arms, that thou shouldst stare so?”
“I never have,” said Alleyne frankly, “though I have oft
heard talk of their deeds.” |SAM AYLWARD’S WAGER 49
“By my hilt!’ cried the other, “if you were to cross the nar-
row sea you would find them as thick as bees at a tee hole.
Couldst not shoot a bolt down any street of Bordeaux, | war-
rant, but you would pink archer, squire, or knight. There
are more breastplates than gaberdines to be seen, I promise
you.”’
“And where got you all these pretty things?” asked Hordle
John, pointing at the heap in the corner.
‘Where there is as much more waiting for any brave lad
to pick it up. Where a good man can always earn a good
wage, and where he need look upon no man as his paymaster,
but just reach his hand out and help himself. Aye, it is a
goodly and a proper life. And here I drink to mine old com-
rades, and the saints be with them! Arouse all together, mes
enfants, under pain of my displeasure. To Sir Claude La-
tour and the White Company!”
“Sir Claude Latour and the White Company!’ shouted the
travelers, draining off their goblets.
“Well quaffed, mes braves! It is for me to fill your cups
again, since you have drained them to my dear lads of the
white jerkin. Hola! mon ange, bring wine and ale. How
runs the old stave r— |
We'll drink all together
To the gray goose feather
And the land where the gray goose flew.”
He roared out the catch in a harsh, unmusical voice, and ended
with a shout of laughter. “I trust that I am a better bowman
than a minstrel,” said he.
“Methinks I have some remembrance of the lilt,’ remarked
the gleeman, running his fingers over the strings. “Hoping
that it will give thee no offense, most holy sir’’—with a vicious
snap at Alleyne—‘“and with the kind permit of the company,
I will even venture upon it.”
Many a time in the after days Alleyne Edricson seemed
to see that scene, for all that so many which were stranger
and more stirring were soon to crowd upon him. The fat,
red-faced gleeman, the listening group, the archer with up-
raised finger beating in time to the music, and the huge sprawl-
ing figure of Hordle John, all thrown into red light and black50 | -THE WHITE COMPANY
shadow by the flickering fire in the center—-memory was to
come often lovingly back to it. At the time he was lost in
admiration at the deft way in which the jongleur disguised the
loss of his two missing strings, and the lusty, hearty fashion
in which he trolled out his little ballad of the outland bowmen,
which ran in some such fashion as this:
What of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
Love the old yew tree
And the land where the yew tree grows.
What of the cord?
The cord was made in England:
A rough cord, a tough cord,
A cord that bowmen love;
So we'll drain our jacks
To the English flax
And the land where the hemp was wove.
What of the shaft?
The shaft was cut in England:
A long shaft, a strong shaft,
Barbed and trim and true;
So we'll drink all together
To the gray goose feather
And the land where the gray goose flew.
What of the men?
The men were bred in England:
The bowman—the yeoman—
The lads of dale and fell;
Here’s to you—and to you!
To the hearts that are true
And the land where the true hearts dwell.
“Well sung, by my hilt!” shouted the archer in high delight.
“Many a night have I heard that song, both in the old war
time and after in the days of the White Company, when Black
Simon of Norwich would lead the stave, and four hundred
of the best bowmen that ever drew string would come roar-
ing in upon the chorus. I have seen old John Hawkwood,SAM AYLWARD’S WAGER 51
the same who has led half the Company into Italy, stand
laughing in his beard as he heard it, until his plates rattled
again. But to get the full smack of it ye must yourselves be
English bowmen, and be far off upon an outland soil.”
Whilst the song had been singing Dame Eliza and the maid
had placed a board across two trestles, and had laid upon it
the knife, the spoon, the salt, the tranchoir of bread, and
finally the smoking dish which held the savory supper. The
archer settled himself to it like one who had known what it
was to find good food scarce; but his tongue still went as
merrily as his teeth.
“It passes me,” he cried, “how all you lusty fellows can bide
scratching your backs at home when there are such doings
over the seas. Look at me—what have I to do? It is but
the eye to the cord, the cord to the shaft, and the shaft to the
mark. There is the whole song of it. It is but what you do
_ yourselves for pleasure upon a Sunday evening at the parish
village butts.”
“And the wage?” asked a laborer.
“You see what the wage brings,” he answered. “I eat of
the best, and I drink deep. I treat my friend, and I ask no
friend to treat me. I clap a silk gown on my girl’s back.
Never a knight’s lady shall be better betrimmed and _be-
_trinketed. How of all that, mon garcon? And how of the
heap of trifles that you can see for yourselves in yonder
corner? They are from the South French, every one, upon
whom I have been making war. By my hilt! camarades, I
think that I may let my plunder speak for itself.’’
“It seems indeed to be a goodly service,’ said the tooth-
drawer.
‘Tete bleue! yes, indeed. Then there is the chance of a
ransom. Why, look you, in the affair at Brignais some four
years back, when the companies slew James of Bourbon, and
put his army to the sword, there was scarce a man of ours
who had not count, baron, or knight. Peter Karsdale, who
_was but a common country lout newly brought over, with the
English fleas still hopping under his doublet, laid his great
hands upon the Sieur Amaury de Chatonville, who owns half
Picardy, and had five thousand crowns out of him, with his
horse and harness. *Tis true that a French wench took it all52 THE WHITE COMPANY
off Peter as quick as the Frenchman paid it; but what then?
By the twang of string! it would be a bad thing if money was
not made to be spent; and how better than on woman—eh,
ma belle?”’
“It would indeed be a bad thing if we had not our brave
archers to bring wealth and kindly customs into the country,”
quoth Dame Eliza, on whom the soldier’s free and open ways
had made a deep impression.
“A toi, ma chérie!’”’ said he, with his hand over his heart.
“Hola! there is la petite peeping from behind the door. A toi,
aussi, ma petite! Mon Dieu! but the lass has a good color!”
“There is one thing, fair sir,” said the Cambridge student
in his piping voice, ‘which I would fain that you would make
more clear. As I understand it, there was peace made at the
town of Bretigny some six years back between our most
gracious monarch and the King of the French. This being
so, it seems most passing strange that you should talk so
loudly of war and companies when there is no quarrel be-
tween the French and us.”’
“Meaning that I lie,” said the archer, laying down his knife.
"May heaven forfend!” cried the student hastily. “Magna
_ est veritas sed rara, which means in the Latin tongue that
archers are all honorable men. I come to you seeking knowl-
edge, for it is my trade to learn.”
“I fear that you are yet a ’prentice to that trade,” quoth
the soldier; “for there is no child over the water but could
answer what you ask. Know then that though there may
be peace between our own provinces and the French, yet
within the marches of France there is always war, for the
country is much divided against itself, and is furthermore
harried by bands of flayers, skinners, Brabagons, tardvenus, —
and the rest of them. When every man’s grip is on his neigh- _
bor’s throat, and every five-sous-piece of a baron is marching ~
with tuck of drum to fight whom he will, it would be a strange —
thing if five hundred brave English boys could not pick up a ©
living. Now that Sir John Hawkwood hath gone with the ©
East Anglian lads and the Nottingham woodmen into the |
service of the Marquis of Montferrat to fight against the Lord —
of Milan, there are but ten score of us left, yet I trust that ©
I may be able to bring some back with me to fill the ranks _SAM AYLWARD’S WAGER 53
of the White Company. By the tooth of Peter! it would be
a bad thing if I could not muster many a Hamptonshire man
who would be ready to strike in under the red flag of St.
George, and the more so if Sir Nigel Loring, of Christchurch,
should don hauberk once more and take the lead of us.”
“Ah, you would indeed be in luck then,” quoth a wood-
man ; “‘for it is said that, setting aside the prince, and mayhap
good old Sir John Chandos, there was not in the whole army
aman of such tried courage.”
“It is sooth, every word of it,” the archer answered. “I
have seen him with these two eyes in a stricken field, and
never did man carry himself better. Mon Dieu! yes, ye would
not credit it to look at him, or to hearken to his soft voice, but
from the sailing from Orwell down to the foray to Paris, and
that is clear twenty years, there was not a skirmish, onfall,
sally, bushment, escalado or battle, but Sir Nigel was in the
heart of it. I go now to Christchurch with a letter to him
from Sir Claude Latour to ask him if he will take the place
of Sir John Hawkwood; and there is the more chance that he
will if I bring one or two likely men at my heels. What say
you, woodman: wilt leave the bucks ta loose a shaft at a
nobler mark?”
The forester shook his head. “I have a wife and child
at Emery Down,” quoth he; “I would not leave them for
such a venture.”’
“You, then, young sir?’ asked the archer.
“Nay, I am a man of peace,” said Alleyne Edricson. “Be-
sides, I have other work’ tb}.ctos" 336+, se se...
‘““Peste!” growled the. seldier, striking his flazon on the
board until the dishes danced again, |““What, in the name of
the devil, hath come over the folk? . Why. sit) ye allymoping by
the fireside, like crows round a dead liorse,’ when ‘thee is man’s
work to be done within a few short leagues of ye? Out upon
you all, as a set of laggards and hang-backs! By my hilt I
believe that the men of England are all in France already, and
that what is left behind are in sooth the women dressed up
in their paltocks and hosen.” |
“Archer,” quoth Hordle John, “you have lied more than
once and more than twice; for which, and also because I see54 THE WHITE COMPANY
much in you to dislike, I am sorely tempted to lay you upon
your back.”’
“By my hilt! then, I have found a man at last!’ shouted
the bowman. “And, ‘fore God, you are a better man than I
take you for if you can lay me on my back, mon garcon. I
have won the ram more times than there are toes to my feet,
and for seven long years I have found no man in the Com-
pany who could make my jerkin dusty.”
“We have had enough bobance and boasting,” said
Hordle John, rising and throwing off his doublet. “I will
show you that there are better men left in England than
ever went thieving to France.”
“Pasques Dieu!’’ cried the archer, loosening his jerkin, and
eying his foeman over with the keen glance of one who is a
judge of manhood. “I have only once before seen such a
body of a man. By your leave, my red-headed friend, I
should be right sorry to exchange buffets with you; and I will
allow that there is ng man in the Company who would pull,
against you on a rope; so let that be a salve to your pride.
On the other hand I should judge that you have led a life of
ease for some months back, and that my muscle is harder than
your own. I am ready to wager upon myself against you
if you are not afeard.”
“Afeard, thou lurden!” growled big John. “I never saw
the face yet of the man that I was afeard of. Come out, and
we shall see who is the better man.”
“But the wager ?”
“I have naught to wager. Come out for the love and the
Hist of the ting Ys 08 oy eae
“Naught to wager'!’< cried the’ soldier. ‘Why, you have
that which. I:coyet above‘ all-things. . It is that big body of
thine that Larh aitet, See; ndw, mon garcon. I havea French
feather bed there, which I have been at pains to keep these
years back. I had it at the sacking of Issodum, and the King
himself hath not such a bed. If you throw me, it is thine:
but, if I throw you, then you are under a vow to take bow and
bill and hie with me to France, there to serve in the White
Company as long as we be enrolled.”’
“A fair wager!” cried all the travelers, moving back their
benches and trestles, so as to give fair field for the wrestlers.SAM AYLWARD’S WAGER 55
“Then you may bid farewell to your bed, soldier,’ said
Hordle John.
“Nay; I shall keep the bed, and I shall have you to France
in spite of your teeth, and you shall live to thank me for it.
How shall it be, then, mon enfant? Collar and elbow, or
close lock, or catch how you can?’
“To the devil with your tricks,’ said John, opening and
shutting his great red hands. “Stand forth, and let me clip
thee.”
“Shalt clip me as best you can then,” quoth the archer,
moving out into the open space, and keeping a most wary eye
upon his opponent. He had thrown off his green jerkin, and
his chest was covered only by a pink silk jupon, or undershirt,
cut low in the neck and sleeveless. Hordle John was stripped
from his waist upward, and his huge body, with his great
muscles swelling out like the gnarled roots of an oak, towered
high above the soldier. The other, however, though near
a foot shorter, was a man of great strength; and there was a
gloss upon his white skin which was wanting in the heavier
limbs of the renegade monk. He was quick on his feet, too,
and skilled at the game; so that it was clear, from the poise of
head and shine of eye, that he counted the chances to be in
his favor. It would have been hard that night, through the
whole length of England, to set up a finer pair in face of each
other.
Big John stood waiting in the center with a sullen, men-
acing eye, and his red hair in a bristle, while the archer paced
lightly and swiftly to the right and the left with crooked knee
and hands advanced. Then with a sudden dash, so swift and
fierce that the eye could scarce follow it, he flew in upon his
man and locked his leg round him. It was a grip that, be-
tween men of equal strength, would mean a fall; but Hordle
John tore him off from him as he might a rat, and hurled
him across the room, so that his head cracked up against the
wooden wall.
“Ma foi!’ cried the bowman, passing his fingers through
his curls, “you were not far from the feather bed then, mon
gar. A little more and this good hostel would have had a new
window.”
Nothing daunted, he approached his man once more; but56 THE WHITE COMPANY
this time with more caution than before. With a quick feint
he threw the other off his guard, and then, bounding upon
him, threw his legs round his waist and his arms round his
bullneck, in the hope of bearing him to the ground with the
sudden shock. With a bellow of rage, Hordle John squeezed
him limp in his huge arms; and then, picking him up, cast
him down upon the floor with a force which might well have
splintered a bone or two, had not the archer with the most
periect coolness clung to the other’s forearms to break his
fall. As it was, he dropped upon his feet and kept his bal-
ance, though it sent a jar through his frame which set every
joint a-creaking. He bounded back from his perilous foe-
man; but the other, heated by the bout, rushed madly after
him, and so gave the practiced wrestler the very vantage for
which he had planned. As big John flung himself upon him,
the archer ducked under the great red hands that clutched for
him, and, catching his man round the thighs, hurled him
over his shoulder—helped as much by his own mad rush as by |
the trained strength of the heave. To Alleyne’s eye, it was
as if John had taken unto himself wings and flown. As he
hurtled through the air, with giant limbs revolving, the lad’s.
heart was in his mouth; for surely no man ever yet had such
a fall and came scathless out of it. In truth, hardy as the man
was, his neck had been assuredly broken had he not pitched
headfirst on the very midriff of the drunken artist, who was
slumbering so peacefully in the corner, all unaware of these
stirring doings. The luckless limner, thus suddenly brought
out from his dreams, sat up with a piercing yell, while Hordle
John bounded back into the circle almost as rapidly as he
had left it.
“One more fall, by all the saints!” he cried, throwing out
his arms.
Not I,” quoth the archer, pulling on his clothes, “I have
come well out of the business. I would sooner wrestle with
the great bear of Navarre.”
“It was a trick,” cried John.
“Aye was it. By my ten finger bones! It is a trick that
will add a proper man to the ranks of the Company.”’ :
“Oh, for that,” said the other, “I count it not a fly; for I
had promised myself a good hour ago that I should go withSAM AYLWARD’S WAGER 57
thee, since the life seems to be a goodly and proper one. Yet
I would fain have had the feather bed.”
“I doubt it not, mon ami,’ quoth the archer, going back to
his tankard. “Here is to thee, lad, and may we be good
comrades to each other! But, hola! what is it that ails our
friend of the wrathful face?”
The unfortunate limner had been sitting up rubbing himself
ruefully and staring about with a vacant gaze, which showed
that he knew neither where he was nor what had occurred
to him. Suddenly, however, a flash of intelligence had come
over his sodden features, and he rose and staggered for the
door. “ “Ware the ale!’ he said in a hoarse whisper, shaking
a warning finger at the company. “Oh, holy Virgin, ’ware
the ale!” and clapping his hands to his injury, he flitted off
into the darkness, amid a shout of laughter, in which the van-
quished joined as merrily as the victor. The remaining for-
ester and the two laborers were also ready for the road, and
the rest of the company turned to the blankets which Dame
Eliza and the maid had laid out for them upon the floor. Al-
leyne, weary with the unwonted excitements of the day, was
soon in a deep slumber, broken only by fleeting visions of
twittering legs, cursing beggars, black robbers, and the many
strange folk whom he had met at the ‘‘Pied Merlin.”CHAPTER Vil
HOW THE THREE COMRADES JOURNEYED THROUGH THE
WOODLANDS
rare indeed that an hour of daylight would be wasted
at a time when lighting was so scarce and dear. In-
deed, early as it was when Dame Eliza began to stir, it seemed
that others could be earlier still, for the door was ajar, and
the learned student of Cambridge had taken himself off, with
a mind which was too intent upon the high things of antiquity.
to stoop to consider the fourpence which he owed for bed
and board. It was the shrill outcry of the landlady when she
found her loss, and the clucking of the hens, which had
streamed in through the open door, that first broke in upon
the slumbers of the tired wayfarers.
Once afoot, it was not long before the company began to
disperse. A sleek mule with red trappings was brought round
from some neighboring shed for the physician, and he ambled
away with much dignity upon his road to Southampton. The
tooth-drawer and the gleeman called for a cup of small ale
apiece, and started off together for Ringwood fair, the old
jongleur looking very yellow in the eye and swollen in the face
aiter his overnight potations. The archer, however, who had
drunk more than any man in the room, was as merry as a
grig, and having kissed the matron and chased the maid up
the ladder once more, he went out to the brook, and came
back with the water dripping from his face and hair.
“Hola! my man of peace,” he cried to Alleyne, “whither
are you bent this morning?”
“To Minstead,”’ quoth he. ‘My brother Simon Edricson
is socman there, and I go to bide with him for a while. I
prythee, let me have my score, good dame.”
58
A T early dawn the country inn was all alive, for it wasTHROUGH THE WOODLANDS 59
“Score, indeed!” cried she, standing with upraised hands
in front of the panel on which Alleyne had worked the night
before. “Say, rather what it is that I owe to thee, good
youth. Aye, this is indeed a pied merlin, and with a leveret
under its claws, as I am a living woman. By the rood of
Waltham! but thy touch is deft and dainty.”
“And see the red eye of it!” cried the maid.
“Aye, and the open beak.”’
“And the ruffled wing,’ added Hordle John.
“By my hilt!” cried the archer, “it is the very bird itselt.”
The young clerk flushed with pleasure at this chorus of
praise, rude and indiscriminate indeed, and yet so much
heartier and less grudging than any which he had ever heard
from the critical brother Jerome, or the short-spoken Abbot.
There was, it would seem, great kindness as well as great
wickedness in this world, of which he had heard so little that
was good. His hostess would hear nothing of his paying
either for bed or for board, while the archer and Hordle John
placed a hand upon either shoulder and led him off to the
board, where some smoking’ fish, a dish of spinach, and a jug
of milk were laid out for their breakfast.
“T should not be surprised to learn, mon camarade,”’ said
the soldier, as he heaped a slice of fish upon Alleyne’s tran-
choir of bread, “that you could read written things, since you
are so ready with your brushes and pigments.”
“Tt would be shame to the good brothers of Beaulieu if I
could not,” he answered, “seeing that I have been their clerk
this ten years back.”’
The bowman looked at him with great respect. “Think of
that!” said he. “And you with not a hair to your face, and a
skin like a girl. I can shoot three hundred and fifty paces
with my little popper there, and four hundred and twenty with
the great war bow; yet I can make nothing of this, nor read
my own name if you were to set “Sam Aylward’ up against
me. In the whole Company there was only one man who
could read, and he fell down a well at the taking of Ventadour,
which proves that the thing is not suited to a soldier, though
most needful to a clerk.”
“I can make some show at it,” said big John; “though I60 THE WHITE COMPANY
was scarce long enough among the monks to catch the whole
trick of it.”
“Here, then, is something to try upon,” quoth the archer,
pulling a square of parchment from the inside of his tunic.
It was tied securely with a broad band of purple silk, and
firmly sealed at either end with a large red seal. John pored
long and earnestly over the inscription upon the back, with
his brows bent as one who bears up against great mental
strain.
Not having read much of late,” he said, “I am loath to say
too much about what this may be. Some might say one thing
and some another, just as one bowman loves the yew, anda
second will not shoot save with the ash. To me, by the length
and the look of it, I should judge this to be a verse from one
of the Psalms.”
The bowman shook his head. “It is scarce likely,” he said,
‘that Sir Claude Latour should send me all the Way across
seas with naught more weighty than a psalm verse. You have
clean overshot the butts this time, mon camarade. Give it to
the little one. I will wager my feather bed that he makes
more sense of it.”
“Why, it is written in the French tongue,’’ said Alleyne,
“and in a right clerkly hand. This is how it runs: ‘A le moult
puissant et moult honorable chevalier, Sir Nigel Loring de
Christchurch, de son trés fidéle ami Sir Claude Latour, capi-
taine de la Compagnie blanche, chatelain de Biscar, grand sei-
gneur de Montchateau, vavaseur de le renommé Gaston, Comte
de Foix, tenant les droits de la haute justice, de la milieu, et de
la basse.’ Which signifies in our speech: ‘To the very power-
ful and very honorable knight, Sir N igel Loring of Christ-
church, from his very faithful friend Sir Claude Latour,
captain of the White Company, chatelain of Biscar, grand
Jord of Montchateau and vassal to the renowned Gaston,
Count of Foix, who holds the rights of the high justice, the
middle and the low.’ ”’
“Look at that now!” cried the bowman in triumph. “That
is just what he would have said.’
“I can see now that it is even so,” said John, examining
the parchment again. “Though I scarce understand this high,
middle and low.”’THROUGH THE WOODLANDS 61
“By my hilt! you would understand it if you were Jacques
Bonhomme. The low justice means that you may fleece him,
and the middle that you may torture him, and the high that
you may slay him. That is about the truth of it. But this is
the letter which I am to take; and since the platter is clean
it is time that we trussed up and were afoot. You come with
me, mon gros Jean; and as to you, little one, where did you
say that you journeyed?”’
“To Minstead.”
“Ah, yes. I know this forest country well, though I was
born myself in the Hundred of Easebourne, in the Rape of
Chichester, hard by the village of Midhurst. Yet I have not
a word to say against the Hampton men, for there are no
better comrades or truer archers in the whole Company than
some who learned to loose the string in these very parts. We
shall travel round with you to Minstead, lad, seeing that it is
little out of our way.”
“I am ready,” said Alleyne, right pleased at the thought
of such company upon the road.
“So am not I. I must store my plunder at this inn, since
the hostess is an honest woman. Hola! ma cherie, I wish to
leave with you my gold-work, my velvet, my silk, my feather
bed, my incense boat, my ewer, my naping linen, and all the
rest of it. I take enly the money in a linen bag, and the box
of rose-colored sugar which is a gift from my captain to the
Lady Loring. Wilt guard my treasure for me?’
“Tt shall be put in the safest loft, good archer. Come when
you may, you shall find it ready for you.”
“Now, there is a true friend!” cried the bowman, taking
her hand. “There is a bonne amie! English land and Eng-
lish women, say I, and French wine and French plunder. |
shall be back anon, mon ange. I am a lonely man, my sweet-
ing, and I must settle some day when the wars are over and
done. Mayhap you and I— Ah, méchante, méchante! There
is la petite peeping from behind the door. Now, John, the sun
is over the trees; you must be brisker than this when the
bugleman blows ‘Bows and Bills.’ ”
“T have been waiting this time back,” said Hordle John
eruffly.
“Then we must be off. Adieu, ma vie! The two livres62 THE WHITE COMPANY
shall settle the score and buy some ribbons against the next
kermesse. Do not forget Sam Aylward, for his heart shall
ever be thine alone—and thine, ma petite! So, marchons, and
may St. Julian grant us as good quarters elsewhere!”
The sun had risen over Ashurst and Denny woods, and was
shining brightly, though the eastern wind had a sharp flavor
to it, and the leaves were flickering thickly from the trees.
In the High Street of Lyndhurst the wayfarers had to pick
their way, for the little town was crowded with the guards-
men, grooms, and yeomen prickers who were attached to the
King’s hunt. The King himself was staying at Castle Mal-
wood, but several of his suite had been compelled to seek such
quarters as they might find in the wooden or wattle-and-
daub cottages of the village. Here and there a small escutch-
eon, peeping from a glassless window, marked the night’s
lodging of knight or baron. These coats of arms could be
read, where a scroll would be meaningless, and the bowman,
like most men of his age, was well versed in the common
symbols of heraldry.
“There is the Saracen’s head of Sir Bernard Brocas,”’ quoth
he. “I saw him last at the ruffle at Poictiers some ten years
back, when he bore himself like a man. He is the master of
the King’s horse, and can sing a right jovial stave, though in
that he cannot come nigh to Sir John Chandos, who is first
at the board or in the saddle. Three martlets on a field
azure, that must be one of the Luttrells. By the crescent upon
it, it should be the second son of old Sir Hugh, who had a
bolt through his ankle at the intaking of Romorantin, he hav-
ing rushed into the fray ere his squire had time to clasp
his solleret to his greave. There too is the hackle which is
the old device of the De Brays. I have served under Sir
Thomas de Bray, who was as jolly as a pie, and a lusty
swordsman until he got too fat for his harness.”
So the archer gossiped as the three wayfarers threaded —
their way among the stamping horses, the busy grooms, and
the knots of pages and squires who disputed over the merits
of their masters’ horses and deerhounds. As they passed
the old church, which stood upon a mound at the left-hand —
side of the village street the door was flung open, and a
stream of worshipers wound down the sloping path, coming —THROUGH THE WOODLANDS 63
from the morning mass, all chattering like a cloud of jays.
Alleyne bent knee and doffed hat at the sight of the open
door; but ere he had finished an ave his comrades were out of
sight round the curve of the path, and he had to run to over-
take them.
“What! he said, “not one word of prayer before God’s
own open house? How can ye hope for His blessing upon
the day?’
“My friend,’”’ said Hordle John, “I have prayed so much
during the last two months, not only during the day, but at
matins, lauds, and the like, when I could scarce keep my head
upon my shoulders for nodding, that I feel that I have some-
what overprayed myself.”’
“How can a man have too much religion?” cried Alleyne
earnestly. “It is the one thing that availeth. A man is but
a beast as he lives from day to day, eating and drinking,
breathing and sleeping. It is only when he raises himself,
and-concerns himself with the immortal spirit within him,
that he becomes in very truth a man. Bethink ye how sad
a thing it would be that the blood of the Redeemer should
be spilled to no purpose.”
“Bless the lad, if he doth not blush like any girl, and yet
preach like the whole College of Cardinals,” cried the archer.
“In truth I blush that anyone so weak and so unworthy
as I should try to teach another that which he finds it so
passing hard to follow himself.”’
“Prettily said, mon garcon. Touching that same slaying of
the Redeemer, it was a bad business. A good padre in France
read to us from a scroll the whole truth of the matter. The
soldiers came upon him in the garden. In truth, these Apos-
tles of His may have been holy men, but they were of no
great account as men at arms. There was one, indeed, Sir
Peter, who smote out like a true man; but, unless he is belied,
he did but clip a varlet’s ear, which was no very knightly
deed. By these ten finger bones! had I been there with Black
Simon of Norwich, and but one score picked men of the
Company, we had held them in play. Could we do no more,
we had at least filled the false knight, Sir Judas, so full of
English arrows that he would curse the day that ever he
came on such an errand.”64 THE WHITE COMPANY
The young clerk smiled at his companion’s earnestness.
‘‘Had He wished help,” he said, “He could have summoned
legions of archangels from heaven, so what need had He of
your poor bow and arrow? Besides, bethink you of His own
words—that those who live by the sword shall perish by
the sword.”’
“And how could man die better?” asked the archer. “If
I had my wish, it would be to fall so—not, mark you, in any
mere skirmish of the Company, but in a stricken field, with
the great lion banner waving over us and the red oriflamme
in front, amid the shouting of my fellows and the twanging
of the strings. But let it be sword, lance, or bolt that strikes
me down: for I should think it shame to die from an iron
ball from the fire-crake or bombard or any such unsoldierly
weapon, which is only fitted to scare babes with its foolish
noise and smoke.”’
“I have heard much even in the quiet cloisters of these new
and dreadful engines,” quoth Alleyne. “It is said, though I
can scarce bring myself to believe it, that they will send a
ball twice as far as a bowman can shoot his shaft, and with
such force as to break through armor of proof.”
“True enough, my lad. But while the armorer is thrust-
ing in his devil’s dust, and dropping his ball, and lighting
his flambeau, I can very easily loose six shafts, or eight
maybe, so he hath no great vantage after all. Yet I will not.
deny that at the intaking of a town it is well to have a good
store of bombards. I am told that at Calais they made dints
in the wall that a man might put his head into. But surely,
comrades, some one who is grievously hurt hath passed along
this road before us.”
All along the woodland track there did indeed run a
scattered straggling trail of blood marks, sometimes in single
drops, and in other places in broad, ruddy gouts, smudged
over the dead leaves or crimsoning the white flint stones.
“It must be a stricken deer,” said John.
“Nay, I am woodman enough to see that no deer hath
passed this way this morning; and yet the blood is fresh.
But hark to the sound!”
They stood listening all three with sidelong heads.
Through the silence of the great forest there came a swish-THROUGH THE WOODLANDS 65
ing, whistling sound, mingled with the most dolorous groans,
and the voice of a man raised in a high quavering kind of
song. The comrades hurried onward eagerly, and topping the
brow of a small rising they saw upon the other side the
source from which these strange noises arose.
A tall man, much stooped in the shoulders, was walking
slowly with bended head and clasped hands in the center of
the path. He was dressed from head to foot in a long white
linen cloth, and a high white cap with a red cross printed
upon it. His gown was turned back from his shoulders, and
the flesh there was a sight to make a man wince, for it was
all beaten to a pulp, and the blood was soaking into his gown
and trickling down upon the ground. Behind him walked
a smaller man, with his hair touched with gray, who was clad
in the same white garb. He intoned a long whining rhyme
in the French tongue, and at the end of every line he raised
a thick cord, all jagged with pellets of lead, and smote his
companion across the shoulders until the blood spurted again.
Even as the three wayfarers stared, however, there was a
sudden change, for the smaller man, having finished his song,
loosened his own gown and handed the scourge to the other,
who took up the stave once more and lashed his companion
with all the strength of his bare and sinewy arm. So, alter-
nately beating and beaten, they made their dolorous way
through the beautiful woods and under the amber arches of
the fading beech trees, where the calm strength and majesty
of Nature might serve to rebuke the foolish energies and
misspent strivings of mankind.
Such a spectacle was new to Hordle John or to Alleyne
Edricson; but the archer treated it lightly, as a common
matter enough.
‘These are the Beating Friars, otherwise called the Flagel-
lants,’ quoth he. “I marvel that ye should have come upon
none of them before, for across the water they are as common
as gallybaggers. I have heard that there are no English
among them, but that they are from France, Italy and Bo-
hemia. En avant, camarades! that we may have speech with
them.”
' As they came up to them, Alleyne could hear the doleful
dirge which the beater was chanting, bringing down his heavy66 THE WHITE COMPANY
whip at the end of each line, while the groans of the sufferer
formed a sort of dismal chorus. It was in old F rench, and
ran somewhat in this way:
Or avant, entre nous tous fréres
Battons nos charognes bien fort
En remembrant la grant misére
De Dieu et sa piteuse mort,
Qui fut pris en la gent amére
Et vendus et trais a tort
Et bastu sa chair, vierge et dére
Au nom de ce battons plus fort.
Then at the end of the verse the scourge changed hands and
the chanting began anew.
“Truly, holy fathers,” said the archer in French as they
came abreast of them, “you have beaten enough for to-day.
The road is all spotted like a shambles at Martinmas. Why
should ye mishandle yourselves thus?” |
“C'est pour vos pechés—pour vos péchés,”’ they droned;
looking at the travelers with sad lackluster eyes, and then bent
to their bloody work once more without heed to the prayers
and persuasions which were addressed to them, F inding all
remonstrance useless, the three comrades hastened on their
way, leaving these strange travelers to their dreary task.
“Mort Dieu!” cried the bowman, “there is a bucketful or
more of my blood over in France, but it was all spilled in hot
fight, and I should think twice before I drew it drop by drop
as these friars are doing. By my hilt! our young one here
is as white as a Picardy cheese. What is amiss then, mon
cher?” |
“It is nothing,’’ Alleyne answered. “My life has been too
quiet, I am not used to such sights.”
vate foil) the, other cried, “I. have never yet seen a man
who was so stout of speech and yet so weak of heart.”
“Not so, friend,” quoth big John; ‘it is not weakness of
heart, for I know the lad well. His heart is as good as thine
or mine, but he hath more in his pate than ever you will carry
under that tin pot of thine, and as a consequence he can see
farther into things, so that they weigh upon him more.”
“Surely to any man it is a sad sight,” said Alleyne, “to
see these holy men, who have done no sin themselves, suffer-THROUGH THE WOODLANDS 67
ing so for the sins of others. Saints are they, if in this age
any may merit so high a name.”
“T count them not a fly,” cried Hordle John; “for who is
the better for all their whipping and yowling? They are
like other friars, I trow, when all is done. Let them leave
their backs alone, and beat the pride out of their hearts.”’
“By the three kings! there is sooth in what you say,’ fre-
marked the archer. “Besides, methinks if I were le bon
Dieu, it would bring me little joy to see a poor devil cutting
the flesh off his bones; and I should think that he had but a
small opinion of me, that he should hope to please me by
such provost-marshal work. No, by my hilt! I should look
with a more loving eye upon a jolly archer who never harmed
a fallen foe and never feared a hale one.”
“Doubtless you mean no sin,” said Alleyne. “Tf your words
are wild, it is not for me to judge them. Can you not see that
there are other foes in this world besides Frenchmen, and as
much glory to be gained in conquering them? Would it
not be a proud day for knight or squire if he could overthrow
seven adversaries in the lists? Yet here are we in the lists
of life, and there come the seven black champions against us:
Sir Pride, Sir Covetousness, Sir Lust, Sir Anger, Sir Glut-
tony, Sir Envy, and Sir Sloth. Let a man lay those seven
low, and he shall have the prize of the day, from the hands
of the fairest queen of beauty, even from the Virgin Mother
herself. It is for this that these men mortify their flesh,
and to set us an example, who would pamper ourselves over-
much. I say again that they are God’s own saints, and I
bow my head to them.”
“And so you shall, mon petit,” replied the archer. “I
have not heard a man speak better since old Dom Bertrand
died, who was at one time chaplain to the White Company.
He was a very valiant man, but at the battle of Brignais he
was spitted through the body by a Hainault man at arms.
For this we had an excommunication read against the man,
when next we saw our holy father at Avignon; but as we
had not his name, and knew nothing of him, save that he rode
a dapple-gray roussin, I have feared sometimes that the blight
may have settled upon the wrong man.”
“Your Company has been, then, to bow knee before our68 THE WHITK COMPANY
holy father, the Pope Urban, the prop and center of Chris-
tendom:” asked Alleyne, much interested. ‘“Perchance you
have yourself set eyes upon his august face?”
“Twice I saw him,” said the archer. ‘He was a lean little
rat of a man, with a scab on his chin. The first time we had
five thousand crowns out of him, though he made much ado
about it. The second time we asked ten thousand, but it was
three days before we could come to terms, and I am of
opinion myself that we might have done better by plundering
the palace. His chamberlain and cardinals came forth, as
I remember, to ask whether we would take seven thousand
crowns with his blessing and a plenary absolution, or the ten
thousand with his solemn ban by bell, book and candle. We
were all of one mind that it was best to have the ten thousand
with the curse; but in some way they prevailed upon Sir John,
so that we were blest and shriven against our will. Per-
chance it is as well, for the Company were in need of it about
that time.”
The pious Alleyne was deeply shocked by this reminiscence.
Involuntarily he glanced up and around to see if there were
any trace of those opportune levin-flashes and thunderbolts
which, in the “Acta Sanctorum,’ were wont so often to
cut short the loose talk of the scoffer. The autumn sun
streamed down as brightly as ever, and the peaceful red path
still wound in front of them through the rustling, yellow-
tinted forest. Nature seemed to be too busy with her own
concerns to heed the dignity of an outraged pontiff. Yet he
felt a sense of weight and reproach within his breast, as
though he had sinned himself in giving ear to such words.
_ The teachings of twenty years cried out against such license.
It was not until he had thrown himself down before one of
the many wayside crosses, and had prayed from his heart
both for the archer and for himself, that the dark cloud
rolled back again from his spirit.CHAPIER Vil
THE THREE FRIENDS
orisons; but his young blood and the fresh morning
air both invited him to a scamper. His staff in one
hand and his scrip in the other, with springy step and floating
locks, he raced along the forest path, as active and as grace-
ful as a young deer. He had not far to go, however; for,
on turning a corner, he came on a roadside cottage with a
wooden fence-work around it, where stood big John and Ayl-
ward the bowman, staring at something within. As he came
up with them, he saw that two little lads, the one about nine
years of age and the other somewhat older, were standing
on the plot in front of the cottage, each holding out a round
stick in their left hands, with their arms stiff and straight from
the shoulder, as silent and still as two small statues. They
were pretty, blue-eyed, yellow-haired lads, well made and
sturdy, with bronzed skins, which spoke of a woodland lite.
“Here are young chips from an old bowstave!” cried the
soldier in great delight. “This is the proper way to raise
children. By my hilt! I could not have trained them better
had I the ordering of it myself.”
“What is it then?’ asked Hordle John. “They stand very
stiff, and I trust that they have not been struck so.”
- “Nay, they are training their left arms, that they may have
a steady grasp of the bow. So my own father trained me,
and six days a week I held out his walking-staff till my arm
was heavy as lead. Hola, mes enfants! how long will you
hold out?”
“Until the sun is over the great lime tree, good master,”’ the
elder answered.
‘What would ye be, then? Woodmen? Verderers?”’
69
: IS companions had passed on whilst he was at his70 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Nay, soldiers,’ they cried both together.
“By the beard of my father! but ye are whelps of the
true breed. Why so keen, then, to be soldiers?”
“That we may fight the Scots,” they answered. “Daddy
will send us to fight the Scots.”
(And why the Scots, my pretty lads? We have seen
French and Spanish galleys no further away than South-
ampton, but I doubt that it will be some time before the Scots
find their way to these parts.”’
“Our business is with the Scots,’ quoth the elder; “for it
was the Scots who cut off daddy’s string fingers and his
thumbs.’
“Aye, lads, it was that,’ said a deep voice from behind
Alleyne’s shoulder. Looking round, the wayfarers saw a
gaunt, big-boned man, with sunken cheeks and a sallow face,
who had come up behind them. He held up his two hands
as he spoke, and showed that the thumbs and two first fingers
had been torn away from each of them.
‘Ma foi, camarade!’”’ cried Aylward. ‘“‘Who hath served
thee in so shameful a fashion?”
“It 1s easy to see, friend, that you were born far from the
marches of Scotland,” quoth the stranger, with a bitter smile.
“North of Humber there is no man who would not know the
handiwork of Devil Douglas, the black Lord James.”
“And how fell you into his hands?” asked John.
“I am a man of the north country, from the town of
Beverley and the wapentake of Holderness,” he answered.
“There was a day when, from Trent to Tweed, there was no
better marksman than Robin Heathcot. Yet, as you see, he
hath left me, as he hath left many another poor border archer,
with no grip for bill or bow. Yet the king hath given me a
living here in the southlands, and please God these two lads
of mine will pay off a debt that hath been owing over long.
What is the price of daddy’s thumbs, boys?”
“Twenty Scottish lives,” they answered together.
‘And for the fingers?”
“Half a score.”
"When they can bend my war bow, and bring down a
squirrel at a hundred paces, I send them to take service under
Johnny Copeland, the Lord of the Marches and Governor ofTHE THREE FRIENDS 71
Carlisle. By my soul! I would give the rest of my fingers
to see the Douglas within arrow flight of them.”
“May you live to see it,” quoth the bowman. “And hark
ye, mes enfants, take an old soldier’s rede and lay your bodies
to the bow, drawing from hip and thigh as much as from arm.
Learn also, I pray you, to shoot with a dropping shaft; for
though a bowman may at times be called upon to shoot
straight and fast, yet it is more often that he has to do with a
town guard behind a wall, or an arbalestier with his mantlet
raised, when you cannot hope to do him scathe unless your
shaft fall straight upon him from the clouds. I have not
drawn string for two weeks, but I may be able to show ye
how such shots should be made.” He loosened his longbow,
slung his quiver round to the front, and then glanced keenly
round for a fitting mark. There was a yellow and withered
stump some way off, seen under the drooping branches of a
lofty oak. The archer measured the distance with his eye;
and then, drawing three shafts, he shot them off with such
speed that the first had not reached the mark ere the last was
on the string. Each arrow passed high over the oak; and, of
the three, two struck fair into the stump; while the third,
caught in some wandering puff of wind, was driven a foot or
two to one side.
“Good!” cried the north countryman. ‘“Hearken to him,
lads! He is a master bowman. Your dad says amen to every
word he says.”
“By my hilt!” said Aylward, “if I am to preach on bow-
manship, the whole long day would scarce give me time for
my sermon. We have marksmen in the Company who will
notch with a shaft every crevice and joint of a man-at-arm’s
harness, from the clasp of his bassinet to the hinge of his
greave. But, with your favor, friend, I must gather my
arrows again, for while a shaft costs a penny a poor man
can scarce leave them sticking in wayside stumps. We must,
then, on our road again, and I hope from my heart that you
may train these two young goshawks here until they are ready
for a cast even at such a quarry as you speak of.”
Leaving the thumbless archer and his brood, the way-
farers struck through the scattered huts of Emery Down, and
out on the broad rolling heath covered deep in ferns and in72 THE WHITE COMPANY
heather, where droves of the half-wild black forest pigs were
rooting about amongst the hillocks. The woods about this
point fall away to the left and the right, while the road curves
upward and the wind sweeps keenly over the swelling uplands.
The broad strips of bracken glowed red and yellow against
the black peaty soil, and a queenly doe who grazed among
them turned her white front and her great questioning eyes
toward the wayfarers. Alleyne gazed in admiration at the
supple beauty of the creature; but the archer’s fingers played
with his quiver, and his eyes glistened with the fell instinct
which urges a man to slaughter.
“Téte Dieu!’ he growled, “were this France, or even
Guienne, we should have a fresh haunch for our none-meat.
Law or no law, I have a mind to loose a bolt at her.”
“I would break your stave across my knee first,” cried John,
laying his great hand upon the bow. “What! man, I am
forest-born, and I know what comes of it. In our township
of Hordle two have lost their eyes and one his skin for this
very thing. On my troth, I felt no great love when I first
saw you, but since then I have conceived over much regard
for you to wish to see the verderer’s flayer at work upon you.”
“It is my trade to risk my skin,” growled the archer; but
none the less he thrust his quiver over his hip again and
turned his face for the west.
As they advanced, the path still tended upward, running
from heath into copses of holly and yew, and so back into
heath again. It was joyful to hear the merry whistle of black-
birds as they darted from one clump of greenery to the
other. Now and again a peaty amber-colored stream rippled
across their way, with ferny overgrown banks, where the
blue kingfisher flitted busily from side to side, or the gray
and pensive heron, swollen with trout and dignity, stood ankle-
deep among the sedges. Chattering jays and loud wood
pigeons flapped thickly overhead, while ever and anon the
measured tapping of Nature’s carpenter, the great green wood-
pecker, sounded from each wayside grove. On either side,
as the path mounted, the long sweep of country broadened
and expanded, sloping down on the one side through yellow
forest and brown moor to the distant smoke of Lyming-
ton and the blue misty channel which lay alongside the sky-THE THREE FRIENDS 73
line, while to the north the woods rolled away, grove topping
grove, to where in the furthest distance the white spire of
salisbury stood out hard and clear against the cloudless sky.
To Alleyne: whose days had been spent in the low-lying
coastland, the eager upland air and the wide free countryside
gave a sense of life and of the joy of living which made his
young blood tingle in his veins. Even the heavy John was not
unmoved by the beauty of their road, while the bowman
whistled lustily or sang snatches of French love songs in a
voice which might have scared the most stout-hearted maiden
that ever hearkened to serenade. ,
“T have a liking for that north countryman,” he remarked
presently. “‘He hath good power of hatred. Couldst see by
his cheek and eye that he is as bitter as verjuice. [ warm toa
man who hath some gall in his liver.”
“Ah me!” sighed Alleyne. “‘Would it not be better if he
had some love in his heart?”
“T would not say nay to that. By my hilt! I shall never
be said to be traitor to the little king. Let a man love the
sex. Pasques Dieu! they are made to be loved, les petites,
from whimple down to shoe string! I am right glad, mon
garcon, to see that the good monks have trained thee so wisely
and so well.”’
“Nay, I meant not worldly love, but rather that his heart
should soften toward those who have wronged him.”’
The archer shook his head. “A man should love those of
his own breed,” said he. ‘But it is not nature that an Eng-
lish-born man should love a Scot or a Frenchman. Ma foi!
you have not seen a drove of Nithsdale raiders on their Gal-
loway nags, or you would not speak of loving them. I would
as soon take Beelzebub himself to my arms. I fear, mon gar.,
that they have taught thee but badly at Beaulieu, for surely a
bishop knows more of what is right and what is ill than an
abbot can do, and I myself with these very eyes saw the
Bishop of Lincoln hew into a Scottish hobeler with a battle-
ax, which was a passing strange way of showing him that he
loved him.”
Alleyne scarce saw his way to argue in the face of so decided
an opinion on the part of a high dignitary of the Church.
“You have borne arms against the Scots, then?” he asked.74 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Why, man, I first loosed string in battle when I was but a
lad, younger by two years than you, at Neville’s Cross, under
the Lord Mowbray. Later, I served under the Warden of
Berwick, that very John Copeland of whom our friend spake,
the same who held the King of Scots to ransom. Ma foi!
it is rough soldiering, and a good school for one who would
learn to be hardy and war-wise.”’
“T have heard that the Scots are good men of war,” said
Hordle John.
“For axmen and for spearmen I have not seen their match,”
the archer answered. “They can travel, too, with bag of meal
and gridiron slung to their sword belt, so that it is ill to fol-
low them. There are scant crops and few beeves in the
borderland, where a man must reap his grain with sickle in one
fist and brown bill in the other. On the other hand, they are
the sorriest archers that I have ever seen, and cannot so much
as aim with the arbalest, to say naught of the longbow.
Again, they are mostly poor folk, even the nobles among them,
so that there are few who can buy as good a brigandine of
chain mail as that which I am wearing, and it is ill for them
to stand up against our own knights, who carry the price
of five Scotch farms upon their chest and shoulders. Man for
man, with equal weapons, they are as worthy and valiant men
as could be found in the whole of Christendom.”
“And the French?’ asked Alleyne, to whom the archer’s
light gossip had all the relish that the words of the man of
action have for the recluse.
“The French are also very worthy men. We have had great
good fortune in France, and it hath led to much bobance and
camp-fire talk, but I have ever noticed that those who know
the most have the least to say about it. I have seen French-
men fight both in open field, in the intaking and the defending
of towns or castlewicks, in escalados, camisades, night forays,
bushments, sallies, outfalls, and knightly spear-runnings.
Their knights and squires, lad, are every whit as good as ours,
and I could pick out a score of those who ride behind Du
Guesclin who would hold the lists with sharpened lances
against the best men in the army of England. On the other
hand, their common folk are so crushed down. with gabelie,
and poll tax, and every manner of cursed tallage, that theTHE THREE FRIENDS 75
spirit has passed right out of them. It is a fool’s plan to teach
a man to be a cur in peace, and think that he will be a lion
in war. Fleece them like sheep and sheep they will remain.
If the nobles had not conquered the poor folk it is like
enough that we should not have conquered the nobles.”
“But they must be sorry folk to bow down to the rich in
such a fashion,” said big John. “I am but a poor commoner
of England myself, and yet I know something of charters,
liberties, franchises, usages, privileges, customs, and the like.
If these be broken, then all men know that it is time to buy
arrowheads.’
‘“‘Aye, but the men of the law are strong in France as well
as the men of war. By my hilt! I hold that a man has more
to fear there from the inkpot of the one than from the iron of
the other. There is ever some cursed sheepskin in their
strong boxes to prove that the rich man should be richer and
the poor man poorer. It would scarce pass in England, but
they are quiet folk over the water.”
“And what other nations have you seen in your travels,
good sir?’ asked Alleyne Edricson. His young mind
hungered for plain facts of life, after the long course of
speculation and of mysticism on which he had been trained.
“J have seen the low countryman in arms, and I have naught
to say against him. Heavy and slow is he by nature, and is
not to be brought into battle for the sake of a lady’s eyelash
or the twang of a minstrel’s string, like the hotter blood of
the south. But ma foi! lay hand on his woolbales, or trifle
with his velvet of Bruges, and out buzzes every stout burgher,
like bees from the tee hole, ready to lay on as though it were
his one business in life. By our lady! they have shown the
French at Courtrai and elsewhere that they are as deft in
wielding steel as in welding it
“And the men of Spain?”
“They too are very hardy soldiers, the more so as for many
hundred years they have had to fight hard against the cursed
followers of the black Mahound, who have pressed upon them
from the south, and still, as I understand, hold the fairer half
of the country. I had a turn with them upon the sea when
they came over to Winchelsea and the good queen with her
ladies sat upon the cliffs looking down at us, as if it had been76 THE WHITE COMPANY
joust or tourney. By my hilt! it was a sight that was worth
the seeing, for all that was best in England was out on the water
that day. We went forth in little ships and came back in
great galleys—for of fifty tall ships of Spain, over two score
flew the Cross of St. George ere the sun had set. But now,
youngster, I have answered you freely, and I trow it is time
that you answered me. Let things be plat and plain between
us. Jam aman who shoots straight at his mark. You saw
the things I had with me at yonder hostel: name which you
will, save only the box of rose-colored sugar which I take to
the Lady Loring, and you shall have it if you will but come
with me to France.”’
“Nay, said Alleyne, “I would gladly come with ye to
France or where else ye will, just to list to your talk, and be-
cause ye are the only two friends that I have in the whole
wide world outside of the cloisters; but, indeed, it may not
be, for my duty is toward my brother, seeing that father and
mother are dead, and he my elder. Besides, when ye talk
of taking me to France, ye do not conceive how useless I
should be to you, seeing that neither by training nor by nature
am I fitted for the wars, and there seems to be naught but
strife in those parts.”
“That comes from my fool’s talk,” cried the archer; “for
being a man of no learning myself, my tongue turns to blades
and targets, even as my hand does. Know then that for every
parchment in England there are twenty in France. For every
statue, cut gem, shrine, carven screen, or what else might
please the eye of a learned clerk, there are a good hundred to
our one. At the spoiling of Carcassonne I have seen chambers
stored with writing, though not one man in our Company
could read them. Again, in Arlis and Nimes, and other towns
that I could name, there are the great arches and fortalices
still standing which were built of old by giant men who came
from the south. Can I not see by your brightened eye how
you would love to look upon these things? Come then with
me, and, by these ten finger bones! there is not one of them
which you shall not see.”
“T should indeed love to look upon them,’’ Alleyne answered;
“but I have come from Beaulieu for a purpose, and I must
be true to my service, even as thou art true to thine.”THE THREE FRIENDS 77
“Bethink you again, mon ami,” quoth Aylward, “that you
might do much good yonder, since there are three hundred
men in the Company, and none who has ever a word of grace
for them, and yet the Virgin knows that there was never a
set of men who were in more need of it. Sickerly the one
duty may balance the other. Your brother hath done without
you this many a year, and, as I gather, he hath never walked
as far as Beaulieu to see you during all that time, so he can-
not be in any great need of you.”
“Besides,” said John, “the Socman of Minstead is a by-
word through the forest, from Bramshaw Hill to Holmesley
Walk. He is a drunken, brawling, perilous churl, as you may
find to your cost.”
“The more reason that I should strive to mend him,” quoth
Alleyne. “There is no need to urge me, friends, for my own
wishes would draw me to France, and it would be a joy to
me if I could go with you. But indeed and indeed it cannot
be, so here I take my leave of you, for yonder square tower
amongst the trees upon the right must surely be the church
of Minstead, and I may reach it by this path through the
woods.”’
“Well, God be with thee, lad!’ cried the archer, pressing
Alleyne to his heart. “I am quick to love, and quick to hate,
and ’fore God I am loath to part.” |
“Would it not be well,’ said John, “that we should wait
here, and see what manner of greeting you have from your
_ brother? You may prove to be as welcome as the king’s pur-
veyor to the village dame.”’
“Nay, nay,’ he answered; “‘ye must not bide for me, for
where I go I stay.”’
“Yet it may be as well that you should know whither we
go,’ said the archer. ‘We shall now journey south through
the woods until we come out upon the Christchurch road, and
so onward, hoping to-night to reach the castle of Sir William
Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, of which Sir Nigel Loring is
constable. There we shall bide, and it is like enough that
for a month or more you may find us there, ere we are ready
for our viage back to France.”
- It was hard indeed for Alleyne to break away from these
two new but hearty friends, and so strong was the combat be-78 THE WHITE COMPANY
tween his conscience and his inclinations that he dared not
look round, lest his resolution should slip away from him.
It was not until he was deep among the tree trunks that he
cast a glance backward, when he found that he could still see
them through the branches on the road above him. The
archer was standing with folded arms, his bow jutting from
over his shoulder, and the sun gleaming brightly upon his
headpiece and the links of his chain mail. Beside him stood
his giant recruit, still clad in the homespun and ill-fitting
garments of the fuller of Lymington, with arms and legs
shooting out of his scanty garb. Even as Alleyne watched
them they turned upon their heels and plodded off together
upon their way.CHAPTER IX
HOW STRANGE THINGS BEFELL IN MINSTEAD WOOD
P NHE path which the young clerk had now to follow
lay through a magnificent forest of the very heaviest
timber, where the giant boles of oak and of beech
formed long aisles in every direction, shooting up their huge
branches to build the majestic arches of Nature’s own cathe-
dral. Beneath lay a broad carpet of the softest and greenest
moss, flecked over with fallen leaves, but yielding pleasantly
to the foot of the traveler. The track which guided him was
one so seldom used that in places it lost itself entirely among
the grass, to reappear as a reddish rut between the distant
tree trunks. It was very still here in the heart of the wood-
lands. The gentle rustle of the branches and the distant coo-
ing of pigeons were the only sounds which broke in upon the
silence, save that once Alleyne heard afar off a merry call
upon a hunting bugle and the shrill yapping of the hounds.
It was not without some emotion that he looked upon the
scene around him, for, in spite of his secluded life, he knew
enough of the ancient greatness of his own family to be aware
that the time had been when they had held undisputed and
paramount sway over all that tract of country. His father
could trace his pure Saxon lineage back to that Godfrey Malf
who had held the manors of Bisterne and of Minstead at the
time when the Norman first set mailed foot upon English
soil. The afforestation of the district, however, and its con-
version into a royal demesne had clipped off a large section of
his estate, while other parts had been confiscated as a punish-
ment for his supposed complicity in an abortive Saxon ris-
ing. The fate of the ancestor had been typical of that of
his descendants. During three hundred years their domains
had gradually contracted, sometimes through royal or feudal
encroachment, and sometimes through such gifts to the
Church as that with which Alleyne’s father had opened the
%980 THE WHITE COMPANY
doors of Beaulieu Abbey to his younger son. The importance
of the family had thus dwindled, but they still retained the
old Saxon manor house, with a couple of farms and a grove
large enough to afford pannage to a hundred pigs—‘“sylva de
centum porcis,’ as the old family parchments describe it.
Above all, the owner of the soil could still hold his head high
as the veritable Socman of Minstead—that is, as holding the
land in free socage, with no feudal superior, and answerable
to no man lower than the king. Knowing this, Alleyne felt
some little glow of worldly pride as he looked for the first
time upon the land with which so many generations of his
ancestors had been associated. He pushed on the quicker,
twirling his staff merrily, and looking out at every turn of
the path for some sign of the old Saxon residence. He was
suddenly arrested, however, by the appearance of a wild-look-
ing fellow armed with a club, who sprang out from behind a
tree and barred his passage. He was a rough, powerful peas-
ant, with cap and tunic of untanned sheepskin, leather breeches,
and galligaskins round legs and feet.
“Stand!” he shouted, raising his heavy cudgel to enforce
the order. “Who are you who walk so freely through the
wood? Whither would you go, and what is your errand ?”
“Why should I answer your questions, my friend?” said
Alleyne, standing on his guard.
“Because your tongue may save your pate. But where
have I looked upon your face before ?” |
“No longer ago than last night at the ‘Pied Merlin,’ ” the
clerk answered, recognizing the escaped serf who had been
so outspoken as to his wrongs.
"By the Virgin! yes. You were the little clerk who sat so
mum in the corner, and then cried fie on the gleeman. What
hast in the scrip?”
“Naught of any price,”
“How can I tell that, clerk? Let me see.”
"Wot 1.7
“Fool! I could pull you limb from limb like a pullet.
What would you have? Hast forgot that we are alone far
from all men? How can your clerkship help you? Wouldst
lose scrip and life too?”
“I will part with neither without fight.”
“A fight, quotha? A fight betwixt spurred cock and new-STRANGE THINGS BEFALL 81
hatched chicken! Thy fighting days may soon be over.”
“Hadst asked me in the name of charity I would have
given freely,” cried Alleyne. ‘As it stands, not one far-
thing shall you have with my free will, and when I see my
brother, the Socman of Minstead, he will raise hue and cry
from vill to vill, from hundred to hundred, until you are
taken as a common robber and a scourge to the country.”
The outlaw sank his club. ‘The Socman’s brother!’ he
gasped. ‘Now, by the keys of Peter! I had rather that hand
withered and tongue was palsied ere I had struck or miscalled
you. If you are the Socman’s brother you are one of the
right side, I warrant, for all your clerkly dress.”
“His brother I am,” said Alleyne. “But if I were not, is
that reason why you should molest me on the king’s ground ?”’
“I give not the pip of an apple for king or for noble,” cried
the serf passionately. “Ill have I had from them, and ill I
shall repay them. I am a good friend to my friends, and,
_ by the Virgin! an evil foeman to my foes.”
“And therefore the worst of foemen to thyself,” said
Alleyne. ‘But I pray you, since you seem to know him, to
point out to me the shortest path to my brother’s house.”
The serf was about to reply, when the clear ringing call of
a bugle burst from the wood close behind them, and Alleyne
caught sight for an instant of the dun side and white breast
of a lordly stag glancing swiftly betwixt the distant tree
trunks. A minute later came the shaggy deerhounds, a dozen
or fourteen of them, running on a hot scent, with nose to
earth and tail in air. As they streamed past the silent forest
around broke suddenly into loud life, with galloping of
hoofs, crackling of brushwood, and the short, sharp cries
of the hunters. Close behind the pack rode a fourrier and
a yeoman pricker, whooping on the laggards and encourag-
ing the leaders, in the shrill half-French jargon which was
the language of venery and woodcraft. Alleyne was still
gazing after them, listening to the loud “Hyke-a-Bayard!
Hyke-a-Pomers! Hyke-a-Lebryt!” with which they called
upon their favorite hounds, when a group of horsemen
crashed out through the underwood at the very spot where
the serf and he were standing.
The one who led was a man between fifty and sixty years
of age, war-worn and weather-beaten, with a broad, thought-82 THE WHITE COMPANY
ful forehead and eyes which shone brightly from under his
fierce and overhung brows. His beard, streaked thickly with
gray, bristled forward from his chin, and spoke of a passion-
ate nature, while the long, finely cut face and firm mouth
marked the leader of men. His figure was erect and sol-
dierly, and he rode his horse with the careless grace of a
man whose life had been spent in the saddle. In common
garb, his masterful face and flashing eye would have marked
him as one who was born to rule; but now, with his silken
tunic powdered with golden fleurs-de-lis, his velvet mantle
lined with the royal minever, and the lions of England
stamped in silver upon his harness, none could fail to rec-
ognize the noble Edward, most warlike and powerful of all
the long line of fighting monarchs who had ruled the Anglo-
Norman race. Alleyne doffed hat and bowed head at the
sight of him, but the serf folded his hands and leaned them
upon his cudgel, looking with little love at the knot of nobles
and knights-in-waiting who rode behind the king.
"Ha! cried Edward, reining up for an instant his power-
ful black steed. “Le cerf est passé? Non? Ici, Brocas; tu
parles Anglais.”
“The deer, clowns?” said a hard-visaged, swarthy-faced
man, who rode at the king’s elbow. “If ye have headed it
back it is as much as your ears are worth.”
“It passed by the blighted beech there,” said Alleyne, point-
ing, “and the hounds were hard at its heels.” |
“It is well,” cried Edward, still speaking in French: for,
though he could understand English, he had never learned to
express himself in so barbarous and unpolished a tongue.
“By my faith, sirs,” he continued, half turning in his saddle
to address his escort, “unless my woodcraft is sadly at fault,
it is a stag of six tines and the finest that we have roused
this journey. A golden St. Hubert to the man who is the
first to sound the mort.” He shook his bridle as he spoke,
and thundered away, his knights lying low upon their horses
and galloping as hard as whip and spur would drive them, in
the hope of winning the king’s prize. Away they drove
down the long green glade—bay horses, black and gray,
riders clad in every shade of velvet, fur, or silk, with glint
of brazen horn and flash of knife and spear. One only lin-
gered, the black-browed Baron Brocas, who, making a gam-STRANGE THINGS BEFALL 83
bade which brought him within arm sweep of the serf,
slashed him across the face with his riding whip. ‘‘Doff,
dog, doff,” he hissed, “when a monarch deigns to lower his
eyes to such as you!’’—then spurred through the underwood
and was gone, with a gleam of steel shoes and flutter of dead
leaves.
The villein took the cruel blow without wince or cry, as
one to whom stripes are a birthright and an inheritance.
His eyes flashed, however, and he shook his bony hand with
a fierce wild gesture after the retreating figure.
“Black hound of Gascony,” he muttered, “‘evil the day that
you and those like you set foot in free England! I know thy
kennel of Rochecourt. The night will come when I may do
to thee and thine what you and : your class have wrought upon
mine and me. May God smite me if I fail to smite thee,
thou French robber, gains thy wife and thy child and all that
is under thy castle roof! ie
“Forbear!’’ cried Alleyne. “Mix not God’s name with
these unhallowed threats! And yet it was a coward’s blow,
and one to stir the blood and loose the tongue of the most
peaceful. Let me find some soothing simples and lay them
on the weal to draw the sting.”
“Nay, there is but one thing that can draw the sting, and
that the future may bring to me. But, clerk, if you would
see your brother you must on, for there is a meeting to-day,
and his merry men will await him ere the shadows turn from
west to east. I pray you not to hold him back, for it would
be an evil thing if all the stout lads were there and the leader
a-missing. I would come with you, but sooth to say I am
stationed here and may not move. The path over yonder,
betwixt the oak and the thorn, should bring you out into
his nether field.”
Alleyne lost no time in following the directions of the wild,
masterless man, whom he left among the trees where he had
found him. His heart was the heavier for the encounter, not
only because all bitterness and wrath were abhorrent to his
gentle nature, but also because it disturbed him to hear his
brother spoken of as though he were a chief of outlaws or
the leader of a party against the state. Indeed, of all the
things which he had seen yet in the world to surprise him
there was none more strange than the hate which class ap-84 THE WHITE COMPANY
peared to bear to class. The talk of laborer, woodman and
villein in the inn had all pointed to the widespread mutiny,
and now his brother’s name was spoken as though he were
the very center of the universal discontent. In good truth,
the commons throughout the length and breadth of the land
were heart-weary of this fine game of chivalry which had
been played so long at their expense. So long as knight and
baron were a strength and a guard to the kingdom they
might be endured, but now, when all men knew that the
great battles in France had been won by English yeomen and
Welsh stabbers, warlike fame, the only fame to which his
class had ever aspired, appeared to have deserted the plate-
clad horsemen. The sports of the lists had done much in
days gone by to impress the minds of the people, but the
plumed and unwieldy champion was no longer an object
either of fear or of reverence to men whose fathers and
brothers had shot into the press at Crécy or Poitiers, and
seen the proudest chivalry in the world unable to make head
against the weapons of disciplined peasants. Power had
changed hands. The protector had become the protected, and
the whole fabric of the feudal system was tottering to a
fall. Hence the fierce mutterings of the lower classes and the
constant discontent, breaking out into local tumult and out-
tage, and culminating some years later in the great rising
of Tyler. What Alleyne saw and wondered at in Hampshire
would have appealed equally to the traveler in any other
English county from the Channel to the marches of Scot-
land.
He was following the track, his misgivings increasing with
every step which took him nearer to that home which he had
never seen, when of a sudden the trees began to thin and the
sward to spread out into a broad, green lawn, where five
cows lay in the sunshine and droves of black swine wandered
unchecked. A brown forest stream swirled down the center
of this clearing, with a rude bridge flung across it, and on
the other side was a second field sloping up to a long, low-
lying wooden house, with thatched roof and open squares for
windows. Alleyne gazed across at it with flushed cheeks and
sparkling eyes—for this, he knew, must be the home of his
fathers. “A wreath of blue smoke floated up through a hole
in the thatch, and was the only sign of life in the place, saveSTRANGE THINGS BEFALL 85
a great black hound which lay sleeping chained to the door-
post. In the yellow shimmer of the autumn sunshine it lay
as peacefully and as still as he had oft pictured it to himself
in his dreams.
He was roused, however, from his pleasant reverie by the »
sound of voices, and two people emerged from the forest
some little way to his right and moved across the field in the
direction of the bridge. The one was a man with yellow
flowing beard and very long hair of the same tint drooping
over his shoulders; his dress of good Norwich cloth and his
assured bearing marked him as a man of position, while the
somber hue of his clothes and the absence of all ornament
contrasted with the flash and glitter which had marked the
king’s retinue. By his side walked a woman, tall and slight
and dark, with lithe, graceful figure and clear-cut, composed
features. Her jet-black hair was gathered back under a light
pink coif, her head poised proudly upon her neck, and her
step long and springy, like that of some wild, tireless wood-
land creature. She held her left hand in front of her, cov-
ered with a red velvet glove, and on the wrist a little brown
falcon, very fluffy and bedraggled, which she smoothed and
fondled as she walked. As she came out into the sunshine,
Alleyne noticed that her light gown, slashed with pink, was
all stained with earth and with moss upon one side from
shoulder to hem. He stood in the shadow of an oak staring
at her with parted lips, for this woman seemed to him to be
the most beautiful and graceful creature that mind could con-
ceive of. Such had he imagined the angels, and such he
had tried to paint them in the Beaulieu missals; but here
there was something human, were it only in the battered
hawk and discolored dress, which sent a tingle and thrill
through his nerves such as no dream of radiant and stainless
spirit had ever yet been able to conjure up. Good, quiet,
uncomplaining mother Nature, long slighted and miscalled,
still bides her time and draws to her bosom the most errant
of her children.
The two walked swiftly across the meadow to the narrow
bridge, he in front and she a pace or two behind. There they
paused, and stood for a few minutes face to face talking
earnestly. Alleyne had read and had heard of love and
of lovers. Such were these, doubtless—this golden-bearded86 THE WHITE COMPANY
man and the fair damsel with the cold, proud face. Why
else should they wander together in the woods, or be so lost
in talk by rustic streams? And yet as he watched, uncertain
whether to advance from the cover or to choose some other
path to the house, he soon came to doubt the truth of this
first conjecture. The man stood, tall and square, blocking the
entrance to the bridge, and throwing out his hands as he
spoke in a wild eager fashion, while the deep tones of his
stormy voice rose at times into accents of menace and of
anger. She stood fearlessly in front of him, still stroking
her bird; but twice she threw a swift questioning glance over
her shoulder, as one who is in search of aid. So moved was
the young clerk by these mute appeals, that he came forth
from the trees and crossed the meadow, uncertain what to
do, and yet loath to hold back from one who might need his
aid. So intent were they upon each other that neither took
note of his approach; until, when he was close upon them,
the man threw his arm roughly round the damsel’s waist
and drew her toward him, she straining her lithe, supple
figure away and striking fiercely at him, while the hooded
hawk screamed with ruffled wings and pecked blindly in its
mistress’s defense. Bird and maid, however, had but little
chance against their assailant, who, laughing loudly, caught
her wrist in one hand while he drew her toward him with
other.
“The best rose has ever the longest thorns,” said he.
“Quiet, little one, or you may do yourself a hurt. Must pay
Saxon toll on Saxon land, my proud Maude, for all your
airs and graces.”
“You boor!” she hissed. “You base underbred clod! Is
this your care and your hospitality? JI would rather wed a
branded serf from my father’s fields. Leave go, I say—
Ah! good youth, Heaven has sent you. Make him loose me!
By the honor of your mother, I pray you to stand by me and
to make this knave loose me.”
“Stand by you I will, and that blithely,” said Alleyne.
“Surely, sir, you should take shame to hold the damsel
against her will.’
The man turned a face upon him which was lion-like in its
strength and in its wrath. With his tangle of golden hair, his
fierce blue eyes, and his large, well-marked features, he wasSTRANGE THINGS BEFALL 87
the most comely man whom Alleyne had ever seen; and yet
there was something so sinister and so fell in his expression
that child or beast might well have shrunk from him. His
brows were drawn, his cheek flushed, and there was a mad
sparkle in his eyes which spoke of a wild, untamable nature.
“Young fool!’ he cried, holding the woman still to his
side, though every line of her shrinking figure spoke her ab-
horrence. “Do you keep your spoon in your own broth.
I rede you to go on your way, lest worse befall you. This
little wench has come with me and with me she shall bide.”’
“Liar!” cried the woman; and, stooping her head, she sud-
denly bit fiercely into the broad brown hand which held her.
He whipped it back with an oath, while she tore herself free
and slipped behind Alleyne, cowering up against him like the
trembling leveret who sees the falcon poising for the swoop
above him.
“Stand off my land!” the man said fiercely, heedless of the
blood which trickled freely from his fingers. ‘What have
you 'to do here? By your dress you should be one of those
cursed clerks who overrun the land like vile rats, poking and
prying into other men’s concerns, too caitiff to fight and too
lazy to work. By the rood! if I had my will upon ye, I
should nail you upon the abbey doors, as they hang vermin
before their holes. Art neither man nor woman, young
shaveling. Get thee back ‘to thy fellows ere I lay hands upon
you: for your foot is on my land, and I may slay you as a
common draw-latch.”’
“Ts this your land, then?” gasped Alleyne.
“Would you dispute it, dog? Would you wish by trick or
quibble to juggle me out of these last acres? Know, base-
born knave, that you have dared this day to stand in the path
of one whose race have been the advisers of kings and the
leaders of hosts, ere ever this vile crew of Norman robbers
came into the land, or such half-blood hounds as you were
let loose to preach that the thief should have his booty and
the honest man should sin if he strove to win back his own.”
“You are the Socman of Minstead?”
“That am I; and the son of Edric the Socman, of the pure
blood of Godfrey the thane, by the only daughter of the
house of Aluric, whose forefathers held the white-horse ban-
ner at the fatal fight where our shield was broken and our88 THE WHITE COMPANY
sword shivered. I tell you, clerk, that my folk held this land
from Bramshaw Wood to the Ringwood road; and, by the
soul of my father! it will be a strange thing if I am to be
bearded upon the little that is left of it. Begone, I say, and
meddle not with my affair.”’
‘Tf you leave me now,’ whispered the woman, “then
shame forever upon your manhood.”’
“Surely, sir,’ said Alleyne, speaking in as persuasive and
soothing a way as he could, “if your birth is gentle, there is
the more reason that your manners should be gentle too. 1
am well persuaded that you did but jest with this lady, and
that you will now permit her to leave your land either alone
or with me as a guide, if she should need one, through the
wood. As to birth, it does not become me to boast, and
there is sooth in what you say as to the unworthiness of
clerks, but it is none the less true that I am as well born as
you.”
Dog!’ cried the furious Socman, “there is no man in the
south who can say as much.”
“Vet can I,” said Alleyne smiling; “for indeed I also am
the son of Edric the Socman, of the pure blood of Godfrey
the thane, by the only daughter of Aluric of Brockenhurst.
Surely, dear brother,’ he continued, holding out his hand,
“you have a warmer greeting than this for me. There are
but two boughs left upon this old, old Saxon trunk.”
His elder brother dashed his hand aside with an oath, while
an expression of malignant hatred passed over his passion-
drawn features. “‘You are the young cub of Beaulieu, then,”
said he. “I might have known it by the sleek face and the
slavish manner, too monk-ridden and craven in spirit to an-
swer back a rough word. Thy father, shaveling, with all his
faults, had a man’s heart; and there were few who could look
him in the eyes on the day of his anger. But you! Look
there, rat, on yonder field where the cows graze, and on that
other beyond, and on the orchard hard by the church. Do
you know that all these were squeezed out of your dying
father by greedy priests, to pay for your upbringing in the
cloisters? I, the Socman, am shorn of my lands that you
may snivel Latin and eat bread for which you never did
hand’s turn. You rob me first, and now you would come
preaching and whining, in search mayhap of another field orSTRANGE THINGS BEFALL 89
two for your priestly friends. Knave! my dogs shall be
set upon you; but, meanwhile, stand out of my path, and stop
me at your peril!’ As he spoke he rushed forward, and,
throwing the lad to one side, caught the woman’s wrist.
Alleyne, however, as active as a young deerhound, sprang
to her aid and seized her by the other arm, raising his iron-
shod staff as he did so.
“You may say what you will to me,” he said between his
clenched teeth—‘‘it may be no better than I deserve; but,
brother or no, I swear by my hopes of salvation that I will
break your arm if you do not leave hold of the maid.”
There was a ring in his voice and a flash in his eyes which
promised that the blow would follow quick at the heels of the
word. For a moment the blood of the long line of hot-
headed thanes was too strong for the soft whisperings of the
doctrine of meekness and mercy. He was conscious of a
fierce wild thrill through his nerves and a throb of mad glad-
ness at his heart, as his real human self burst for an instant
the bonds of custom and of teaching which had held it so
long. The Socman sprang back, looking to left and to right
for some stick or stone which might serve him for weapon;
but finding none, he turned and ran at the top of his speed
for the house, blowing the while upon a shrill whistle.
“Come!’’ gasped the woman. “Fly, friend, ere he come
back.”
“Nay, let him come!” cried Alleyne. “I shall not budge
a foot for him or his dogs.”
“Come, come!” she cried, tugging at his arm. “I know
the man: he will kill you. Come, for the Virgin’s sake, or
for my sake, for I cannot go and leave you here.”
“Come, ‘then,’ said he; and they ran together to the cover
of the woods. As they gained the edge of the brushwood,
Alleyne, looking back, saw his brother come running out of
the house again, with the sun gleaming upon his hair and
his beard. He held something which flashed in his right
hand, and he stooped at the threshold to unloose the black
hound.
“This way!” the woman whispered, in a low eager voice.
“Through the bushes to that forked ash. Do not heed me;
I can run as fast as you, I trow. Now into the stream—
right in, over ankles, to throw the dog off, though I think it90 THE WHITE COMPANY
is but a common cur, like its master.” As she spoke, she
sprang herself into the shallow stream and ran swiftly up
the center of it, with the brown water bubbling over her feet
and her hand outstretched toward the clinging branches of
bramble or sapling. Alleyne followed close at her heels, with
his mind in a whirl at this black welcome and sudden shift-
ing of all his plans and hopes. Yet, grave as were his
thoughts, they would still turn to wonder as he looked at
the twinkling feet of his guide and saw her lithe figure bend
this way and that, dipping under boughs, springing over
stones, with a lightness and ease which made it no small task
for him to keep up with her. At last, when he was almost
out of breath, she suddenly threw herself down upon a mossy
bank, between two hollybushes, and looked ruefully at her
own dripping feet and bedraggled skirt.
“Holy Mary!” said she, “what shall I do? Mother will
keep me to my chamber for a month, and make me work
at the tapestry of the nine bold knights. She promised as
much last week, when I fell into Wilverly bog, and yet she
knows that I cannot abide needlework.”
Alleyne, still standing in the stream, glanced down at the
graceful pink-and-white figure, the curve of raven-black hair,
and the proud, sensitive face which looked up frankly and
confidingly at his own. |
"We had best on,” he said. “He may yet overtake us.”
“Not so. We are well off his land now, nor can he tell
in this great wood which way we have taken. But you—
you had him at your mercy. Why did you not kill him?”
“Isall him! My brother!’
“And why not?’—with a quick gleam of her white teeth.
"He would have killed you. I know him, and I read it in
his eyes. Had I had your staff I would have tried—aye,
and done it, too.” She shook her clenched white hand as
she spoke, and her lips tightened ominously.
“IT am already sad in heart for what I have done,”’ said he,
sitting down on the bank, and sinking his face into his hands.
"God help me!—all that is worst in me seemed to come up-
permost. Another instant, and I had smitten him: the son
of my own mother, the man whom I have longed to take to
my heart. Alas! that I should still be so weak.”
“Weak!” she exclaimed, raising her black eyebrows. “TISTRANGE THINGS BEFALL 91
do not think that even my father himself, who is a hard
judge of manhood, would call you that. But it is, aS you
may think, sir, a very pleasant thing for me to hear that
you are grieved at what you have done, and I can but rede
that we should go back together, and you should make your
peace with the Socman by handing back your prisoner. It iS
a sad thing that so small a thing as a woman should come
between two who are of one blood.”
Simple Alleyne opened his eyes at this little spurt of femi-
nine bitterness. ‘‘Nay, lady,” said he, “that were worst of
all. What man would be so caitiff and thrall as to fail you
at your need? I have turned my brother against me, and
now, alas! I appear to have given you offense also with
my clumsy tongue. But, indeed, lady, 1 am torn both ways,
and can scarce grasp in my mind what it is that has befallen.”
“Nor can I marvel at that,” said she, with a little tinkling
laugh. ‘You came in as the knight does in the jongleur’s
romances, between dragon and damsel, with small time for
the asking of questions. Come,’ she went on, springing
to her feet, and smoothing down her rumpled frock, “let us
walk through the shaw together, and we may come upon
Bertrand with the horses. If poor Troubadour had not cast
a shoe, we should not have had this trouble. Nay, I must
have your arm: for, though I speak lightly, now that all is
happily over I am as frightened as my brave Roland. See
how his chest heaves, and his dear feathers all awry—the
little knight who would not have his lady mishandled.” So
she prattled on to her hawk, while Alleyne walked by her
side, stealing a glance from time to time at this queenly and
wayward woman. In silence they wandered together over
the velvet turf and on through the broad Minstead woods,
where the old lichen-draped beeches threw their circles of
black shadow upon the sunlit sward.
“Vou have no wish, then, to hear my story?’’’ said she, at
last.
“Tf it pleases you to tell it me,’ he answered.
“Oh!” she cried tossing her head, “if it is of so little in-
terest to you, we had best let it bide.”
“Nay,” said he eagerly, “I would fain hear it.”
“Vou have a right to know it, if you have lost a brother’s
favor through it. And yet Ah well, you are, as I un-92 THE WHITE COMPANY
derstand, a clerk, so I must think of you as one step further
in orders, and make you my father confessor. Know then
that this man has been a suitor for my hand, less as I think
for my own sweet sake than because he hath ambition and
had it on his mind that he might improve his fortunes by
dipping into my father’s strong box—though the Virgin
knows that he would have found little enough therein. My
father, however, is a proud man, a gallant knight and tried
soldier of the oldest blood, to whom this man’s churlish birth
and low descent Oh, lackaday! I had forgot that he
was of the same strain as yourself.”
“Nay, trouble not for that,” said Alleyne, “we are all from
good mother Eve.’
“Streams may spring from one source, and yet some be
clear and some be foul,” quoth she quickly. “But, to be
brief over the matter, my father would have none of his
wooing, nor in sooth would [. On that he swore a vow
against.us, and as he is known to be a perilous man, with
many outlaws and others at his back, my father forbade that
I should hawk or hunt in any part of the wood to the north
of the Christchurch road. As it chanced, however, this
morning my little Roland here was loosed at a strong-winged
heron, and page Bertrand and I rode on, with no thoughts
but for the sport, until we found ourselves in Minstead
woods. Small harm then, but that my horse Troubadour
trod with a tender foot upon a sharp stick, rearing and
throwing me to the ground. See to my gown, the third that
I have befouled within the week. Wo worth me when
Agatha the tire-woman sets eyes upon it!”
“And what then, lady?” asked Alleyne.
“Why, then away ran Troubadour, for belike I spurred
him in falling, and Bertrand rode after him as hard as hoofs
could bear him. When I rose there was the Socman himself
by my side, with the news that I was on his land, but with
so many courteous words besides, and such gallant bearing,
that he prevailed upon me to come to his house for shelter,
there to wait until the page return. By the grace of the
Virgin and the help of my patron St. Magdalen, I stopped.
short ere I reached his door, though, as you saw, he strove
to hale me up to it. And then—ah-h-h-h!’’—she shivered
and chattered like one in an ague fit.STRANGE THINGS BEFALL 93
“What is it?’ cried Alleyne, looking about in alarm.
“Nothing, friend, nothing! I was but thinking how I bit
into his hand. Sooner would I bite living toad or poisoned
snake. Oh, I shall loathe my lips forever! But you—how
brave you were, and how quick! How meek for yourself, and
how bold for a stranger! If I were a man, I should wish to
do what you have done.”
“Tt was a small thing,” he answered, with a tingle of pleas-
ure at these sweet words of praise. “But you—what will
you dor” |
“There is a great oak near here, and I think that Bertrand
will bring the horses there, for it is an old hunting-tryst of
ours. Then hey for home, and no more hawking to-day! A
twelve-mile gallop will dry feet and skirt.”
“But your father?”
“Not one word shall I tell him. You do not know him;
but I can tell you he is not a man to disobey as I have dis-
obeyed him. He would avenge me, it is true, but it is not
to him that I shall look for vengeance. Some day, perchance,
in joust or in tourney, knight may wish to wear my colors,
and then I shall tell him that if he does indeed crave my
favor there is wrong unredressed, and the wronger the Soc-
man of Minstead. So my knight shall find a venture such as
bold knights love, and my debt shall be paid, and my father
none the wiser, and one rogue the less in the world. Say, is
not that a brave plan?”
“Nay, lady, it is a thought which is unworthy of you.
How can such as you speak of violence and of vengeance.
Are none to be gentle and kind, none to be piteous and for-
giving? Alas! it is a hard, cruel world, and I would that
I had never left my abbey cell. To hear such words from
your lips is as though I heard an angel of grace preaching
the devil’s own creed.”
She started from him as a young colt who first feels the
bit. ‘‘Gramercy for your rede, young sir!’ she said, with a
little curtsy. ‘As I understand your words, you are grieved
that you ever met me, and look upon me as a preaching
devil. Why, my father is a bitter man when he is wroth,
but hath never called me such a name as that. It may be his
right and duty, but certes it is none of thine. So it would
be best, since you think so lowly of me, that you should take94 THE WHITE COMPANY
this path to the left while I keep on upon this one; for it is
clear that I. can be no fit companion for you.’ So saying,
with downcast lids and a dignity which was somewhat
marred by her bedraggled skirt, she swept off down the
muddy track, leaving Alleyne standing staring ruefully after
her. He waited in vain for some backward glance or sign
of relenting, but she walked on with a rigid neck until her
dress was only a white flutter among the leaves. Then,
with a sunken head and a heavy heart, he plodded wearily
down the other path, wroth with himself for the rude and
uncouth tongue which had given offense where so little was
intended.
He had gone some way, lost in doubt and in self-reproach,
his mind all tremulous with a thousand new-found thoughts
and fears and wonderments, when of a sudden there was a
light rustle of the leaves behind him, and, glancing round,
there was this graceful, swift-footed creature, treading in his
very shadow, with her proud head bowed, even as his was
—the picture of humility and repentance.
“I shall not vex you, nor even speak,” she said; “but I
would fain keep with you while we are in the wood.”’
“Nay, you cannot vex me,” he answered, all warm again
at the very sight of her. “It was my rough words which
vexed you; but I have been thrown among men all my life,
and indeed, with all the will, I scarce know how to temper
my speech to a lady’s ear.”
"Then unsay it,” cried she quickly; “say that I was right
to wish to have vengeance on the Socman.”’
“Nay, I cannot do that,’ he answered gravely.
“Then who is ungentle and unkind now?” she cried in
triumph. “‘How stern and cold you are for one so young!
Art surely no mere clerk, but bishop or cardinal at the least.
Shouldst have crosier for staff and miter for cap. Well, well,
for your sake I will forgive the Socman and take vengeance
on none but on my own willful self who must needs run into
danger’s path. So will that please you, sir?”
“There spoke your true self,” said he; “and you will find
more pleasure in such forgiveness than in any vengeance.”
She shook her head, as if by no means assured of it, and
then with a sudden little cry, which had more of surprise“Nay; Let Him Come! Cripp ALLEYNE... - | Save Nem Bunce
A Foor. FoR Him or Hrs Does.”
[See page 89]STRANGE THINGS BEFALL 95
than of joy in it, “Here is Bertrand with the horses!”
Down the glade there came a little green-clad page with
laughing eyes, and long curls floating behind him. He-sat
perched on a high bay horse, and held on to the bridle of a
spirited black palfrey, the hides of both glistening from a long
run.
“T have sought you everywhere, dear Lady Maude,” said
he in a piping voice, springing down from his horse and
holding the stirrup. ‘Troubadour galloped as far as Holm-
hill ere I could catch him. I trust that you have had no
hurt or scathe?” He shot a questioning glance at Alleyne as
he spoke.
“No, Bertrand,’ said she, “thanks to this courteous
stranger. And now, sir,” she continued, springing into her
saddle, “it is not fit that I leave you without a word more.
Clerk or no, you have acted this day as becomes a true knight.
King Arthur and all his table could not have done more.
It may be that, as some small return, my father or his kin
may have power to advance your interest. He is not rich,
but he is honored and hath great friends. Tell me what is
your purpose, and see if he may not aid tt
“Alas! lady, I have now no purpose. I have but two
friends in the world, and they have gone to Christchurch,
where it is likely I shall join them.”
“And where is Christchurch?”
“At the castle which is held by the brave knight, Sir Nigel
Loring, constable to the Earl of Salisbury.”
To his surprise she burst out a-laughing, and, spurring her
valfrey, dashed off down the glade, with her page riding be-
hind her. Not one word did she say, but as she vanished
amid the trees she half turned in her saddle and waved a last
greeting. Long time he stood, half hoping that she might
again come back to him; but the thud of the hoofs had died
away, and there was no sound in all the woods but the gentle
rustle and dropping of the leaves. At last he turned away
and made his way back to the highroad—another person from
the light-hearted boy who had left it a short three hours be-
fore,CHAPTER X
HOW HORDLE JOHN FOUND A MAN WHOM HE MIGHT FOLLOW
if his brother’s dogs were to be set upon him if he
showed face upon Minstead land, then indeed he was
adrift upon earth. North, south, east, and west—he might
turn where he would, but all was equally chill and cheerless.
The Abbot had rolled ten silver crowns in a lettuce leaf and
hid them away in the bottom of his scrip, but that would be
a sorry support for twelve long months. In all the dark-
ness there was but the one bright spot of the sturdy comrades
whom he had left that morning; if he could find them
again all would be well. The afternoon was not very ad-
vanced, for all that had befallen him. When a man is afoot
at cockcrow much may be done in the day. If he walked
fast he might yet overtake his friends ere they reached their
destination. He pushed on therefore, now walking and now
running. As he journeyed he bit into a crust which re-
mained from his Beaulieu bread, and he washed it down by
a draft from a woodland stream.
It was no easy or light thing to journey through this great
forest, which was some twenty miles from east to west and a
good sixteen from Bramshaw Woods in the north to Lyming-
ton in the south. Alleyne, however, had the good fortune to
fall in with a woodman, ax upon shoulder, trudging along in
the very direction that he wished to go. With his guidance
he passed the fringe of Bolderwood Walk, famous for old
ash and yew, through Mark Ash with its giant beech trees,
and on through the Knightwood groves, where the giant oak
was already a great tree, but only one of many comely brothers.
They plodded along together, the woodman and Alleyne, with
little talk on either side, for their thoughts were as far asunder
as the poles. The peasant’s gossip had been of the hunt, of
96
” he might not return to Beaulieu within the year, andHORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN 97
the brocken, of the gray-headed kites that had nested in Wood
Fidley, and of the great catch of herring brought back by
the boats of Pitt’s Deep. The clerk’s mind was on his brother,
on his future—above all on this strange, fierce, melting, beau-
tiful woman who had broken so suddenly into his life, and as
suddenly passed out of it again. So distrait was he and so
random his answers, that the woodman took to whistling,
and soon branched off upon the track to Burley, leaving
Alleyne upon the main Christchurch road.
Down this he pushed as fast as he might, hoping at every
turn and rise to catch sight of his companions of the morning.
From Vinney Ridge to Rhinefield Walk the woods grow
thick and dense up to the very edges of the track, but beyond
the country opens up into broad dun-colored moors, flecked
with clumps of trees, and topping each other in long, low
curves up to the dark lines of forest in the furthest distance.
Clouds of insects danced and buzzed in the golden autumn
light, and the air was full of the piping of the song birds.
Long, glinting dragon flies shot across the path, or hung
tremulous with gauzy wings and gleaming bodies. Once a
white-necked sea eagle soared screaming high over the trav-
eler’s head, and again a flock of brown bustards popped up
from among the bracken, and blundered away in their clumsy
fashion, half running, half flying, with strident cry and whir
of wings.
There were folk, too, to be met upon the road—beggars
and couriers, chapmen and tinkers—cheery fellows for the
most part, with a rough jest and homely greeting for each
other and for Alleyne. Near Shotwood he came upon five
seamen, on their way from Poole to Southampton—rude red-
faced men, who shouted at him in a jargon which he could
scarce understand, and held out to him a great pot from
which they had been drinking—nor would they let him pass
until he had dipped pannikin in and taken a mouthful, which
set him coughing and choking, with the tears running down
his cheeks. Further on he met a sturdy black-bearded man,
mounted on a brown horse, with a rosary in his right hand
and a long two-handed sword jangling against his stirrup
iron. By his black robe and the eight-pointed cross upon his
sleeve, Alleyne recognized him as one of the Knights Hos-98 THE WHITE COMPANY
pitalers of St. John of Jerusalem, whose presbytery was at
Baddesley. He held up two fingers as he passed, with a
“Benedice, filie meus!’ whereat Alleyne doffed hat and bent
knee, looking with much reverence at one who had devoted his
life to the overthrow of the infidel. Poor simple lad! he had
not learned yet that what men are and what men profess to
be are very wide asunder, and that the Knights of St. John,
having come into large part of the riches of the ill-fated
Templars, were very much too comfortable to think of ex-
changing their palace for a tent, or the cellars of England
for the thirsty deserts of Syria. Yet ignorance may be more
precious than wisdom, for Alleyne as he walked on braced
himself to a higher life by the thought of this other’s sac-
rifice, and strengthened himself by his example, which he
could scarce have done had he known that the Hospitaler’s
mind ran more upon malmsey than on mamalukes, and on
venison rather than victories.
As he pressed on the plain turned to woods once more in
the region of Wilverly Walk, and a cloud swept up from
the south, with the sun shining through the chinks of it. A
few great drops came pattering loudly down, and then in a
moment the steady swish of a brisk shower, with the dripping
and dropping of the leaves. Alleyne, glancing round for
shelter, saw a thick and lofty holly bush, so hollowed out
beneath that no house could have been drier. Under this
canopy of green two men were already squatted, who waved
their hands to Alleyne that he should join them. As he ap-
proached he saw that they had five dried herrings laid out
in front of them, with a great hunch of wheaten bread and
a leathern flask full of milk, but instead of setting to at their
food they appeared to have forgot all about it, and were
disputing together with flushed faces and angry gestures. It
was easy to see by their dress and manner that they were
two of those wandering students who formed about this time
so enormous a multitude in every country in Europe. The
one was long and thin, with melancholy features, while the
other was fat and sleek, with a loud voice and the air of a
man who is not to be gainsaid.
“Come hither, good youth,” he cried, “come hither! Vultus
ingenui puer. Heed not the face of my good coz here. Foe-HORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN 99
num habet in cornu, as Dan Horace has it; but I warrant him
harmless for all that.”
“Stint your bull’s bellowing!’ exclaimed the other. “If
it come to Horace, I have a line in my mind: Loquaces si sa-
piat— How doth it run? The English o’t being that a man
of sense should ever avoid a great talker. That being so,
if all were men of sense then thou wouldst be a lonesome
man, coz.”
“Alas! Dicon, I fear that your logic is as bad as your
philosophy or your divinity—and God wot it would be hard
to say a worse word than that for it. For, hark ye: granting,
propter argumentum, that I am a talker, then the true reason-
ing runs that since all men of sense should avoid me, and
thou hast not avoided me, but art at the present moment
eating herrings with me under a holly bush, ergo you are no
man of sense, which is exactly what I have been dinning into
your long ears ever since I first clapped eyes on your sunken
chops.”
“Tut, tut!’ cried the other. “Your tongue goes like the
clapper of a mill wheel. Sit down here, friend, and partake
of this herring. Understand first, however, that there are
certain conditions attached to it.”
“I had hoped,” said Alleyne, falling into the humor of the
twain, “that a tranchoir of bread and a draft of milk might
be attached to it.”
“‘Hark to him, hark to him!’ cried the little fat man. “It
is even thus, Dicon! Wit, lad, 1s a catching thing, like the
itch or the sweating sickness. I exude it round me; it is an
aura. I tell you, coz, that no man can come within seventeen
feet of me without catching a spark. Look at your own case.
A duller man never stepped, and yet within the week you
have said three things which might pass, and one thing the
day we left Fordingbridge which I should not have been
ashamed of myself.” |
“Enough, rattlepate, enough!” said the other. “The milk
you shall have and the bread also, friend, together with the
herring, but you must hold the scales between us.”’
“Tf he hold the herring he holds the scales, my sapient
brother,” cried the fat man. “But I pray you, good youth,100 THE WHITE COMPANY
to tell us whether you are a learned clerk, and, if so, whether
you have studied at Oxenford or at Paris.”’
“I have some small stock of learning,’ Alleyne answered,
picking at his herring, “but I have been at neither of these
places. I was bred amongst the Cistercian monks at Beaulieu
Abbey.”
'Pooh, pooh!” they cried both together. ‘What sort of
an upbringing is that?”
“Non cutvis contingit adire Corinthum,’ quoth Alleyne.
_ “Come, brother Stephen, he hath some tincture of letters,”
said the melancholy man more hopefully. ‘He may be the
better judge, since he hath no call to side with either of us.
Now, attention, friend, and let your ears work as well as your
nether jaw. Judex damnatur—you know the old saw. Here
am I upholding the good fame of the learned Duns Scotus
against the foolish quibblings and poor silly reasonings of
Willie Ockham.”
"While I,” quoth the other loudly, “do maintain the good
sense and extraordinary wisdom of that most learned William
against the crack-brained fantasies of the muddy Scotchman,
who hath hid such little wit as he has under so vast a pile of
words, that it is like one drop of Gascony in a firkin of ditch
water. Solomon his wisdom would not suffice to say what the
rogue means.”’
“Certes, Stephen Hapgood, his wisdom doth not suffice,”
cried the other. “It is as though a mole cried out against the
morning star, because he could not see it. But our dispute,
friend, is concerning the nature of that subtle essence which we
call thought. For I hold with the learned Scotus that thought
is in very truth a thing, even as vapor or fumes, or many other
substances which our gross bodily eyes are blind to. For, look
you, that which produces a thing must be itself a thing, and if a
man’s thought may produce a written book, then must thought
itself be a material thing, even as the book is. Have I expressed
it? DoI make it plain?”
“Whereas I hold,” shouted the other, “with my revered
preceptor, doctor preclarus et excellentissimus, that all things
are but thought; for when thought is gone I prythee where are
the things then? Here are trees about us, and I[ see them be-
cause I think I see them, but if I have swooned, or sleep, or amHORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN 101
in wine, then, my thought having gone forth from me, lo the
trees go forth also. How now, coz, have I touched thee on the
raw?”
Alleyne sat between them munching his bread, while the
twain disputed across his knees, leaning forward with flushed
faces and darting hands, in all the heat of argument. Never
had he heard such jargon of scholastic philosophy, such fine-
drawn distinctions, such cross-fire of major and minor, proposi-
tion, syllogism, attack and refutation. Question clattered upon
answer like a sword on a buckler. The ancients, the fathers of
the Church, the moderns, the Scriptures, the Arabians, were
each sent hurtling against the other, while the rain still dripped
and the dark holly-leaves glistened with the moisture. At last
the fat man seemed to weary of it, for he set to work quietly
upon his meal, while his opponent, as proud as the rooster who
is left unchallenged upon the midden, crowed away in a last
long burst of quotation and deduction. Suddenly, however, his
eyes dropped upon his food, and he gave a howl of dismay.
“You double thief!” he cried, “you have eaten my herrings,
and I without bite or sup since morning.”
“That,” quoth the other complacently, “was my final argu-
ment, my crowning effort, or peroratio, as the orators have it.
For, coz, since all thoughts are things, you have but to think a
pair of herrings, and then conjure up a pottle of milk where-
with to wash them down.”
‘“‘A brave piece of reasoning,” cried the other, “and I know
of but one reply to it.” On which, leaning forward, he
caught his comrade a rousing smack across his rosy cheek.
“Nay, take it not amiss,” he said, “since all things are but
thoughts, then that also is but a thought and may be dis-
regarded.”
This last argument, however, by no means commended itself
to the pupil of Ockham, who plucked a great stick from the
ground and signified his dissent by smiting the realist over the
pate with it. By good fortune, the wood was so light and rot-
ten that it went to a thousand splinters, but Alleyne thought it
best to leave the twain to settle the matter at their leisure, the
more so as the sun was shining brightly once more. Lookin
back down the pool-strewn road, he saw the two excited phi-
losophers waving their hands and shouting at each other, but102 THE WHITE COMPANY
their babble soon became a mere drone in the distance, and a
turn in the road hid them from his sight.
And now after passing Holmesley Walk and the Wooton
Heath, the forest began to shred out into scattered belts of
trees, with gleam of cornfield and stretch of pasture land be-
tween. Here and there by the wayside stood little knots of
wattle-and-daub huts with shock-haired laborers lounging by
the doors and red-cheeked children sprawling in the roadway.
Back among the groves he could see the high gable ends and
thatched roofs of the franklin’s houses, on whose fields these
men found employment, or more often a thick dark column of
smoke marked their position and hinted at the coarse plenty
within. By these signs Alleyne knew that he was on the very
fringe of the forest, and therefore no great way from Christ-
church. The sun was lying low in the west and shooting its
level rays across the long sweep of rich green country, glinting
on the white-fleeced sheep, and throwing long shadows from
the red kine who waded knee-deep in the juicy clover. Right
glad was the traveler to see the high tower of Christchurch
Priory gleaming in the mellow evening light, and gladder still
when, on rounding a corner, he came upon his comrades of
the morning seated astraddle upon a fallen tree. They had a
flat space before them, on which they alternately threw little
Square pieces of bone, and were so intent upon their occupation
that they never raised eye as he approached them. He ob-
served with astonishment, as he drew near, that the archer’s
bow was on John’s back, the archer’s sword by John’s side, and
the steel cap laid upon the tree trunk between them.
“Mort de ma vie!’ Aylward shouted, looking down at the
dice. “Never had I such cursed luck A murrain on the
bones! I have not thrown a good main since I left Navarre.
A one and a three! En avant, camarade!”’
“Four and three,” cried Hordle John, counting on his great
fingers, “that makes seven. Ho, archer, I have thy cap! Now
have at thee for thy jerkin!”
“Mon Dieu!” he growled, “I am like to reach Christchurch
in my shirt.” Then suddenly glancing up, “Hola, by the splen-
dor of heaven, here is our cher petit! Now, by my ten finger
bones! this is a rare sight to mine eyes.” He sprang up and
threw his arms round Alleyne’s neck, while John, no lessHORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN 108
pleased, but more backward and Saxon in his habits, stood
grinning and bobbing by the wayside, with his newly won steel
cap stuck wrong side foremost upon his tangle of red hair.
“Hast come to stop?” cried the bowman, patting Alleyne all
over in his delight. ‘Shall not get away from us again!”
“I wish no better,” said he, with a pringling in the eyes at
this hearty greeting.
“Well said, lad!’ cried big John. ‘We three shall to the
wars together, and the devil may fly away with the Abbot of
Beaulieu! But your feet and hosen are all besmudged. Hast
been in the water, or I am the more mistaken.”
“T have in good sooth,” Alleyne answered, and then as they
journeyed on their way he told them the many things that had
befallen him, his meeting with the villein, his sight of the king,
his coming upon his brother, with all the tale of the black wel-
come and of the fair damsel. They strode on either side, each
with an ear slanting toward him, but ere he had come to the
end of his story the bowman had spun round upon his heel,
and was hastening back the way they had come, breathing
loudly through his nose.
“What then?” asked Alleyne, trotting after him and grip-
ping at his jerkin.
“TI am back for Muinstead, lad.”
“And why, in the name of sense?”
“To thrust a handful of steel into the Socman. What! hale
a demoiselle against her will, and then loose dogs at his own
brother! Let me go!”
“Nenny, nenny!’” cried Alleyne, laughing. ‘There was no
scathe done. Come back, friend’’—and so, by mingled pushing
and entreaties, they got his head round for Christchurch once
more. Yet he walked with his chin upon his shoulder, until,
catching sight of a maiden by a wayside well, the smiles came
back to his face and peace to his heart. |
“But you,” said Alleyne, “there have been changes with you
also. Why should not the workman carry his tools? Where
are bow and sword and cap—and why so warlike, John?”
“It is a game which friend Aylward hath been a-teaching of
me.
“And I found him an overapt pupil,” grumbled the bow-
man. “He hath stripped me as though I had fallen into the104 THE WHITE COMPANY
hands of the tardvenus. But, by my hilt! you must render
them back to me, camarade, lest you bring discredit upon my
mission, and I will pay you for them at armorers’ prices.”
“Take them back, man, and never heed the pay,” said John.
“I did but wish to learn the feel of them, since | am like to have
such trinkets hung to my own girdle for some years to come.”
“Ma, foi, he was born for a free companion!” cried Ayl-
ward. “He hath the very trick of speech and turn of thought.
I take them back then, and indeed it gives me unease not to
feel my yew stave tapping against my leg bone. But see, mes
garcons, on this side of the church rises the square and
darkling tower of Earl Salisbury’s castle, and even from
here I seem to see on yonder banner the red roebuck of the
Montacutes.”’ |
“Red upon white,” said Alleyne, shading his eyes; “‘but
whether roebuck or no is more than I could vouch. How black
is the great tower, and how bright the gleam of arms upon the
wall! See below the flag, how it twinkles like a star!’
“Aye, it is the steel headpiece of the watchman,” remarked
the archer. “But we must on, if we are to be there before the
drawbridge rises at the vespers bugle; for it is likely that Sir
Nigel, being so renowned a soldier, may keep hard discipline
within the walls, and let no man enter after sundown.” So
saying, he quickened his pace, and the three comrades were
soon close to the straggling and broad-spread town which
centered round the noble church and the frowning castle.
It chanced on that very evening that Sir Nigel Loring,
having supped before sunset, as was his custom, and having
himself seen that Pommers and Cadsand, his two war horses,
with the thirteen hacks, the five jennets, my lady’s three
palfreys, and the great dapple-gray roussin, had all their needs
supplied, had taken his dogs for an evening breather. Sixty
or seventy of them, large and small, smooth and shaggy—
deerhound, boarhound, bloodhound, wolfhound, mastiff, alaun,
talbot, lurcher, terrier, spaniel—snapping, yelling and whin-
ing, with score of lolling tongues and waving tails, came surg-
ing down the narrow lane which leads from the Twynham
kennels to the bank of Avon. Two russet-clad varlets, with
loud halloo and cracking whips, walked thigh-deep amid the
swarm, guiding, controlling, and urging. Behind came SirHORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN _ 105
Nigel himself, with Lady Loring upon his arm, the pair
walking slowly and sedately, as befitted both their age and
their condition, while they watched with a smile in their eyes
the scrambling crowd in front of them. They paused, how-
ever, at the bridge, and, leaning their elbows upon the stone-
work, they stood looking down at their own faces in the
glassy stream, and at the swift flash of speckled trout against
the tawny gravel.
- Sir Nigel was a slight man of poor stature, with soft lisping
voice and gentle ways. So short was he that his wife, who was
no very tall woman, had the better of him by the breadth of
three fingers. His sight having been injured in his early wars
by a basketful of lime which had been emptied over him when
he led the Earl of Derby’s stormers up the breach at Bergerac,
he had contracted something of a stoop, with a blinking, peer-
ing expression of face. His age was six and forty, but the
constant practice of arms, together with a cleanly life, had
preserved his activity and endurance unimpaired, so that from
a distance he seemed to have the slight limbs and swift grace
of a boy. His face, however, was tanned of a dull yellow tint,
with a leathery, poreless look, which spoke of rough, outdoor
doings, and the little pointed beard which he wore, in deference
to the prevailing fashion, was streaked and shot with gray.
His features were small, delicate, and regular, with clear-cut,
curving nose, and eyes which jutted forward from the lids.
His dress was simple and yet spruce. A Flandrish hat of
beevor, bearing in the band the token of Our Lady of Embrun,
was drawn low upon the left side to hide that ear which had
been partly shorn from his head by a Flemish man at arms
ina camp broil before Tournay. His cote-hardie, or tunic, and
trunk-hosen were of a purple plum color, with long weepers
which hung from either sleeve to below his knees. His shoes
were of red leather, daintily pointed at the toes, but not yet
prolonged to the extravagant lengths which the succeeding
reign was to bring into fashion. A gold-embroidered belt of
knighthood encircled his loins, with his arms, five roses gules
on a field argent, cunningly worked upon the clasp. So stood
Sir Nigel Loring upon the bridge of Avon, and talked lightly
with his lady.
And, certes, had the two visages alone been seen, and the106 THE WHITE COMPANY
stranger been asked which were the more likely to belong to the
bold warrior whose name was loved by the roughest soldiery of
Europe, he had assuredly selected the lady’s. Her face was
large and square and red, with fierce, thick brows, and the eyes
of one who was accustomed to rule. Taller and broader than
her husband, her flowing gown of sendall, and fur-lined tippet,
could not conceal the gaunt and ungraceful outlines of her
figure. It was the age of martial women. The deeds of black
Agnes of Dunbar, of Lady Salisbury and of the Countess of
Montfort, were still fresh in the public minds. With such ex-
amples before them the wives of the English captains had be-
come as warlike as their mates, and ordered their castles in their
absence with the prudence and discipline of veteran seneschals.
Right easy were the Montacutes of their Castle of Twynham,
and little had they to dread from roving galley or French
squadron, while Lady Mary Loring had the ordering of it.
Yet even in that age it was thought that, though a lady might
have a soldier’s heart, it was scarce as well that she should
have a soldier’s face. There were men who said that of all
the stern passages and daring deeds by which Sir Nigel Lor-
ing had proved the true temper of his courage, not the least
was his wooing and winning of so forbidding a dame.
“T tell you, my fair lord,’”’ she was saying, “that it is no fit
training for a demoiselle: hawks and hounds, rotes and citoles,
singing a French rondel, or reading the Gestes de Doon de
Mayence, as I found her yesternight, pretending sleep, the
artful, with the corner of the scroll thrusting forth from
under her pillow. Lent her by Father Christopher of the
priory, forsooth—that is ever her answer. How shall all this
help her when she has castle of her own to keep, with a hun-
dred mouths all agape for beef and beer?”
“True, my sweet bird, true,” answered the knight, picking a
comfit from his gold drageoir. ‘The maid is like the young
filly, which kicks heels and plunges for very lust of life. Give
her time, dame, give her time.”
“Well, I know that my father would have given me, not
time, but a good hazel stick across my shoulders. Ma foi! I
know not what the world is coming to, when young maids may
flout their elders. I wonder that you do not correct her, my
fair lord.”HORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN 107
“Nay, my heart’s comfort, I never raised hand to woman
yet, and it would be a passing strange thing if I began on my
own flesh and blood. It was a woman’s hand which cast this
lime into mine eyes, and though I saw her stoop, and might
well have stopped her ere she threw, I deemed it unworthy of
my knighthood to hinder or balk one of her sex.”
“The hussy!’’ cried Lady Loring clenching her broad right.
hand. “I would I had been at the side of her!’
“And so would I, since you would have been the nearer me,
my own. But I doubt not that you are right, and that Maude’s
wings need clipping, which I may leave in your hands when I
am gone, for, in sooth, this peaceful life is not for me, and
were it not for your gracious kindness and loving care I could
not abide it a week. I hear that there is talk of warlike muster
at Bordeaux once more, and by St. Paul! it would be a new
thing if the lions of England and the red pile of Chandos were
to be seen in the field, and the roses of Loring were not waving
by their side.”’
“Now woe worth me but I feared it!” cried she, with the
color all struck from her face. “I have noted your absent
mind, your kindling eye, your trying and riveting of old
harness. Consider, my sweet lord, that you have already won
much honor, that we have seen but little of each other, that
you bear upon your body the scar of over twenty wounds re-
ceived in I know not how many bloody encounters. Have you
not done enough for honor and the public cause?”
“My lady, when our liege lord, the king, at three-score years,
and my Lord Chandos.at threescore and ten, are blithe and
ready to lay lance in rest for England’s cause, it would ill be-
seem me to prate of service done. It is sooth that I have re-
ceived seven and twenty wounds. There is the more reason
that I should be thankful that I am still long of breath and
sound of limb. I have also seen some bickering and scuffling.
Six great land battles I count, with four upon sea, and seven
and fifty onfalls, skirmishes and bushments. I have held two
and twenty towns, and I have been at the intaking of thirty-
one. Surely then it would be bitter shame to me, and also to
you, since my fame is yours, that I should now hold back if
a man’s work is to be done. Besides, bethink you how low is
our purse, with bailiff and reeve ever croaking of empty farms108 THE WHITE COMPANY
and wasting lands. Were it not for this constableship which
the Earl of Salisbury hath bestowed upon us we could scarce
uphold the state which is fitting to our degree. Therefore, my
sweeting, there is the more need that I should turn to where
there is good pay to be earned and brave ransoms to be won.”
“Ah, my dear lord,” quoth she, with sad, weary eyes. “TI
thought that at last I had you to mine own self, even though
your youth had been spent afar from my side. Yet my voice,
as I know well, should speed you on to glory and renown, not
hold you back when fame is to be won. Yet what can I say,
for all men know that your valor needs the curb and not the
spur. It goes to my heart that you should ride forth now a
mere knight bachelor, when there is no noble in the land who
hath so good a claim to the square pennon, save only that you
have not the money to uphold it.’
“And whose fault that, my sweet bird?” said he.
“No fault, my fair lord, but a virtue: for how many rich
ransoms have you won, and yet have scattered the crowns
among page and archer and varlet, until in a week you had not
as much as would buy food and forage. It is a most knightly
largesse, and yet withouten money how can man rise ?”
“Dirt and dross!’ cried he.
“What matter rise or fall, so that duty be done and honor
gained. Banneret or bachelor, square pennon or forked, I
would not give a denier for the difference, and the less since
Sir John Chandos, chosen flower of English chivalry, is him-
self but a humble knight. But meanwhile fret not thyself, my
heart’s dove, for it is like that there may be no war waged, and
we must await the news. But here are three strangers, and
one, as I take it, a soldier fresh from service. It is likely that
he may give us word of what is stirring over the water.”
Lady Loring, glancing up, saw in the fading light three com-
panions walking abreast down the road, all gray with dust, and
stained with travel, yet chattering merrily between themselves.
He in the midst was young and comely, with boyish open face
and bright gray eyes, which glanced from right to left as
though he found the world around him both new and pleas-
ing. To his right walked a huge red-headed man, with broad
smile and merry twinkle, whose clothes seemed to be bursting
and splitting at every seam, as though he were some lusty chickHORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN _ 109
who was breaking bravely from his shell. On the other side,
with his knotted hand upon the young man’s shoulder, came a
stout and burly archer, brown and fierce eyed, with sword at
belt and long yellow yew stave peeping over his shoulder.
Hard face, battered headpiece, dinted brigandine, with faded
red lion of St. George ramping on a discolored ground, all
proclaimed as plainly as words that he was indeed from the
land of war. He looked keenly at Sir Nigel as he approached,
and then, plunging his hand under his breastplate, he stepped
up to him with a rough, uncouth bow to the lady.
“Your pardon, fair sir,’ said he, “but I know you the mo-
ment I clap eyes on you, though in sooth I have seen you
oftener in steel than in velvet. I have drawn string beside you
at La Roche-d’Errien, Romorantin, Maupertuis, Nogent,
Auray, and other places.”
“Then, good archer, I am right glad to welcome you to
Twynham Castle, and in the steward’s room you will find prov-
ant for yourself and comrades. To me also your face is
known, though mine eyes play such tricks with me that I can
scarce be sure of my own squire. Rest awhile, and you shall
come to the hall anon and tell us what is passing in France, for
I have heard that it is likely that our pennons may flutter to
the south of the great Spanish mountains ere another year be
passed.”
“There was talk of it in Bordeaux,” answered the archer,
“and I saw myself that the armorers and smiths were as busy
as rats in a wheat rick. But I bring you this letter from the
valiant Gascon knight, Sir Claude Latour. And to you, Lady,”
he added after a pause, “I bring from him this box of red
sugar of Narbonne, with every courteous and knightly greeting
which a gallant cavalier may make to a fair and noble dame.”
This little speech had cost the blunt bowman much pains
and planning; but he might have spared his breath, for the
lady was quite as much absorbed as her lord in the letter, which
they held between them, a hand on either corner, spelling it
out very slowly, with drawn brows and muttering lips. As
they read it, Alleyne, who stood with Hordle John a few paces
back from their comrade, saw the lady catch her breath, while
the knight laughed softly to himself.
“You see, dear heart,” said he, “that they will not leave the110 THE WHITE COMPANY
old dog in his kennel when the game is afoot. And what of
this White Company, archer ?”
“Ah, sir, you speak of dogs,” cried Aylward; “but there are
a pack of lusty hounds who are ready for any quarry, if they
have but a good huntsman to halloo them on. Sir, we have
been in the wars together, and I have seen many a brave
following but never such a set of woodland boys as this. They
do but want you at their head, and who will bar the way to
them !”’
_ “Pardieu!” said Sir Nigel, “if they are all like their mes-
senger, they are indeed men of whom a leader may be proud.
Your name, good archer?”
“Sam Aylward, sir, of the Hundred of Easebourne and the
Rape of Chichester.”
“And this giant behind you?”
‘He is big John, of Hordle, a forest man, who hath now
taken service in the Company.” , .
“4A proper figure of a man at arms,” said the little knight.
“Why, man, you are no chicken, yet I warrant him the
stronger man. See to that great stone from the coping which
hath fallen upon the bridge. Four of my lazy varlets strove
this day to carry it hence. I would that you two could put
them to shame by budging it, though I fear that I overtask
you, for it is of a grievous weight.”
He pointed as he spoke to a huge rough-hewn block which
lay by the roadside, deep sunken from its own weight in the
reddish earth. The archer approached it, rolling back the
sleeves of his jerkin, but with no very hopeful countenance,
for indeed it was a mighty rock. John, however, put him
aside with his left hand, and, stooping over the stone, he
plucked it single-handed from its soft bed and swung it far
into the stream. There it fell with mighty splash, one jagged
end peaking out above the surface, while the waters bubbled
and foamed with far-circling eddy.
“Good lack!” cried Sir Nigel, and “Good lack!” cried his
lady, while John stood laughing and wiping the caked dirt
from his fingers.
“I have felt his arms round my ribs,” said the bowman,
~and they crackle yet at the thought of it. This other comrade
of mine is a right learned clerk, for all that he is so young,HORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN itll
hight Alleyne, the son of Edric, brother to the Socman of
Minstead.”’
“Young man,” quoth Sir Nigel, sternly, “if you are of the
same way of thought as your brother, you may not pass under
portcullis of mine.”
“Nay, fair sir,” cried Aylward hastily, “I will be pledge for
it that they have no thought in common; for this very day his
brother hath set his dogs upon him, and driven him from his
lands.”
“And are you, too, of the White Company?” asked Sir
Nigel. ‘Hast had small experience of war, if I may judge by
your looks and bearing.”’
“TI would fain to France with my friends here,’ Alleyne
answered; “but I am a man of peace—a reader, exorcist,
acolyte, and clerk.”
“That need not hinder,’ quoth Sir Nigel.
“No, fair sir,” cried the bowman joyously. “Why, I my-
self have served two terms with Arnold de Cervolles, he whom
they called the archpriest. By my hilt! I have seen him ere
now, with monk’s gown trussed to his knees, over his sandals
in blood in the forefront of the battle. Yet, ere the last string
had twanged, he would be down on his four bones among the
stricken, and have them all houseled and shriven, as quick as
shelling peas. Ma foi! there were those who wished that he
would have less care for their souls and a little more for their
bodies!’
“Tt 1s well to have a learned clerk in every troop,” said Sir
Nigel. “By St. Paul, there are men so caitiff that they think
more of a scrivener’s pen than of their lady’s smile, and do
their devoir in hopes that they may fill a line in a chronicle or
make a tag to a jongleur’s romance. I remember well that, at
the siege of Retters, there was a little, sleek, fat clerk of the
name of Chaucer, who was so apt at rondel, sirvente, or tonson,
that no man dare give back a foot from the walls, lest he find
it all set down in his rhymes and sung by every underling and
varlet in the camp. But, my soul’s bird, you hear me prate as
though all were decided, when [ have not yet taken counsel
either with you or with my lady mother. Let us to the
chamber, while these strangers find such fare as pantry and
cellar may furnish.”112 THE WHITE COMPANY
“The night air strikes chill,” said the lady, and turned down
the road with her hand upon her lord’s arm. The three com-
trades dropped behind and followed: Aylward much the lighter
for having accomplished his mission, Alleyne full of wonder-
ment at the humble bearing of so renowned a captain, and
John loud with snorts and sneers, which spoke his disappoint-
ment and contempt.
"What ails the man?” asked Aylward in surprise.
“I have been cozened and bejaped,” quoth he gruffly.
"By whom, Sir Samson the strong?”
“By thee, Sir Balaam the false prophet.”
“By my hilt!’’ cried the archer, “though I be not Balaam,
yet I hold converse with the very creature that spake to him.
What is amiss, then, and how have I played you false?”
“Why, marry, did you not say, and Alleyne here will be my
witness, that, if I would hie to the wars with you, you would
” place me under a leader who was second to none in all England
for valor? Yet here you bring me to a shred of a man, peaky
and ill-nourished, with eyes like a moulting owl, who must
needs, forsooth, take counsel with his mother ere he buckle
_ sword to girdle.”
“Is that where the shoe galls?” cried the bowman, and
laughed aloud. “I will ask you what you think of him three
months hence, if we be all alive: for sure I am that———”
Aylward’s words were interrupted by an extraordinary hub-
bub which broke out that instant some little way down the
street in the direction of the Priory. There was deep-mouthed
shouting of men, frightened shrieks of women, howling and
barking of curs, and over all a sullen, thunderous rumble,
indescribably menacing and terrible. Round the corner of
the narrow street there came rushing a brace of whining dogs
with tails tucked under their legs, and after them a white-
faced burgher, with outstretched hands and widespread fingers,
his hair all abristle and his eyes glinting back from one
shoulder to the other, as though some great terror were at
his very heels. “Fly, my lady, fly!” he screeched and whizzed
past them like bolt from bow; while close behind came lum-
bering a huge black bear, with red tongue lolling from his
mouth, and a broken chain jangling behind him. To right
and lett the folk flew for arch and doorway. Hordle JohnHORDLE JOHN FINDS A MAN 113
caught up the Lady Loring as though she had been a feather,
and sprang with her into an open porch; while Aylward, with
a whirl of French oaths, plucked at his quiver and tried to
unsling his bow. Alleyne, all unnerved at so strange and un-
wonted a sight, shrunk up against the wall with his eyes fixed
upon the frenzied creature, which came bounding along with
ungainly speed, looking the larger in the uncertain light, its
huge jaws agape, with blood and slaver trickling to the ground.
Sir Nigel alone, unconscious to all appearance of the universal
panic, walked with unfaltering step up the center of the road,
a silken handkerchief in one hand and his gold comfit-box
in the other. It sent the blood cold through Alleyne’s veins
to see that as they came together—the man and the beast—
the creature reared up, with eyes ablaze with fear and hate,
and whirled its great paws above the knight to smite him to
the earth. He, however, blinking with puckered eyes, reached
up his kerchief, and flicked the beast twice across the snout
with it. “Ah, saucy! saucy,’’ quoth he, with gentle chiding;
on which the bear, uncertain and puzzled, dropped its four legs
to earth again, and, waddling back, was soon swathed in
ropes by the bear-ward and a crowd of peasants who had
been in close pursuit.
A scared man was the keeper; for, having chained the brute
to a stake while he drank a stoup of ale at the inn, it had
been baited by stray curs until, in wrath and madness, it had
plucked loose the chain, and smitten or bitten all who came
in its path. Most scared of all was he to find that the creature
had come nigh to harm the Lord and Lady of the castle, who
had power to place him in the stretch-neck or to have the skin
scourged from his shoulders. Yet, when he came with bowed
head and humble entreaty for forgiveness, he was met with
a handful of small silver from Sir Nigel, whose dame, how-
ever, was less charitably disposed, being much ruffled in her
dignity by the way she had been hustled from her lord’s side.
_As they passed through the castle gate, John plucked at
Aylward’s sleeve, and the two fell behind.
“I must crave your pardon, comrade,” said he, bluntly. “I
was a fool not to know that a little rooster may be the gamest.
I believe that this man is indeed a leader whom we may fol-
; als
1O0W ;CHAPTER XI
HOW A YOUNG SHEPHERD HAD A PERILOUS FLOCK
LACK was the mouth of Twynham Castle, though a
B pair of torches burning at the further end of the gate-
way cast a red glare over the outer bailey, and sent a
dim, ruddy flicker through the rough-hewn arch, rising and
falling with fitful brightness. Over the door the travelers
could discern the escutcheon of the Montacutes, a roebuck
gules on a field argent, flanked on either side by smaller
shields which bore the red roses of the veteran constable. As
they passed over the drawbridge, Alleyne marked the gleam
of arms in the embrasures to right and left, and they had
scarce set foot upon the causeway ere a hoarse blare burst
from a bugle, and, with screech of hinge and clank of chain,
the ponderous bridge swung up into the air, drawn by unseen
hands. At the same instant the huge portcullis came rattling
down from above, and shut off the last fading light of day.
Sir Nigel and his lady walked on in deep talk, while a fat
understeward took charge of the three comrades, and led
them to the buttery, where beef, bread, and beer were kept
ever in readiness for the wayfarer. After a hearty meal and
a dip in the trough to wash the dust from them, they strolled
forth into the bailey, where the bowman peered about through
the darkness at wall and at keep, with the carping eyes of one
who has seen something of sieges, and is not likely to be
satisfied. To Alleyne and to John, however, it appeared to
be as great and as stout a fortress as could be built by the
hands of man.
Erected by Sir Balwin de Redvers in the old fighting days
of the twelfth century, when men thought much of war and
little of comfort, Castle Twynham had been designed as a
stronghold pure and simple, unlike those later and more mag-
nificent structures where warlike strength had been comb:ned
114A PERILOUS FLOCK 115
with the magnificence of a palace. From the time of the
Edwards such buildings as Conway or Caernarvon castles, to
say nothing of Royal Windsor, had shown that it was possible
to secure luxury in peace as well as security in times of
trouble. Sir Nigel’s trust, however, still frowned above the
smooth-flowing waters of the Avon, very much as the stern
race of early Anglo-Normans had designed it. There were
the broad outer and inner bailies, not paved, but sown with
grass to nourish the sheep and cattle which might be driven
in on sign of danger. All round were high and turreted walls,
with at the corner a bare square-faced keep, gaunt and win-
dowless, rearing up from a lofty mound, which made it almost
inaccessible to an assailant. Among the bailey walls were
rows of frail wooden houses and leaning sheds, which gave
shelter to the archers and men at arms who formed the
garrison. The doors of these humble dwellings were mostly
open, and against the yellow glare from within Alleyne could
see the bearded fellows cleaning their harness, while their
wives would come out for a gossip, with their needlework
in their hands, and their long black shadows streaming across
the yard. The air was full of the clack of their voices and the
merry prattling of children, in strange contrast to the flash
of arms and constant warlike challenge from the walls above.
“Methinks a company of schpol lads could hold this place
against an army,’ quoth John.
“And so say I,” said Alleyne.
“Nay, there you are wide of the clout,” the bowman said
gravely. “By my hilt! I have seen a strOnger fortalice car-
ried in a summer evening. I remember such a one in Picardy,
with a name as long as a Gascon’s pedigree. It was when I
served under Sir Robert Knolles, before the days of the Com-
pany; and we came by good plunder at the sacking of it. I
had myself a great silver bowl, with two goblets, and a plas-
tron of Spanish steel. Pasques Dieu! there are some fine
women over yonder! Mort de ma vie! see to that one in
the doorway! I will go speak to her. But whom have we
here ?”’
“Ts there an archer here hight Sam Aylward?” asked a
gaunt man at arms, clanking up to them across the courtyard.
“My name, friend,’ quoth the bowman.116 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Then sure I have no need to tell thee mine,’ said the
other. Aa,
“By the rood! if it is not Black Simon of Norwich!’ cried
Aylward. “A mon cceur, camarade, 4 mon cceur! Ah, but |
am blithe to see thee!’ The two fell upon each other and
hugged like bears.
“And where from, old blood and bones?” asked the bow-
man.
“T am in service here. Tell me, comrade, is it sooth that
we shall have another fling at these Frenchmen? It is so
rumored in the guardroom, and that Sir Nigel will take the
field once more.”’
“It is like enough, mon gar., as things go.
‘Now may the Lord be praised!” cried the other. ‘This
very night will I set apart a golden ouche to be offered on the
shrine of my name saint. I have pined for this, Aylward, as
a young maid pines for her lover.”’
“Art so set on plunder then? Is the purse so light that
there is not enough for a rouse? I have a bag at my belt,
camarade, and you have but to put your fist into it for what
you want. It was ever share and share between us.”
"Nay, friend, it is not the Frenchman’s gold, but the French-
man’s blood that I would have. I should not rest quiet in the
grave, coz, if I had not another turn at them. For with us in
France it has ever been fair and honest war—a shut fist for
the man, but a bended knee for the woman. But how was it
at Winchelsea when their galleys came down upon it some
few years back? JI had an old mother there, lad, who had
come down thither from the Midlands to be the nearer her
son. hey found her afterwards by her own hearthstone,
thrust through by a Frenchman’s bill. My second sister, my
brother's wife, and her two children, they were but ash heaps
in the smoking ruins of their house. I will not say that we
have not wrought great scathe upon France, but women and
children have been safe from us. And so, old friend, my
heart is hot within me, and I long to hear the old battle cry
again, and, by God’s truth! if Sir Nigel unfurls his pennon,
here is one who will be right glad to feel the saddle flaps
under his knees.”’
“We have seen good work together, old war dog,” quoth
33A PERILOUS FLOCK 117
Aylward; “and, by my hilt! we may hope to see more ere we
die. But we are more like to hawk at the Spanish woodcock
than at the French heron, though certes it is rumored that
Du Guesclin with all the best lances of France have taken
service under the lions and towers of Castile. But, comrade,
it is in my mind that there is some small matter of dispute
still open between us.”’
**’Fore God, it is sooth!’’ cried the other; “I had forgot it.
The provost marshal and his men tore us apart when last we
met.’’
“On which, friend, we vowed that we should settle the
point when next we came together. Hast thy sword, I see,
and the moon throws glimmer enough for such old night birds
as we. On guard, mon gar.! I have not heard clink of steel
this month or more.”’
“Out from the shadow then,” said the other, drawing his
sword. “A vow is a vow, and not lightly to be broken.”
“A vow to the saints,’ cried Alleyne, “is indeed not to be
set aside; but this is a devil’s vow, and, simple clerk as I am,
I am yet the mouthpiece of the true church when I say that it
were mortal sin to fight on such a quarrel. What! shall two
grown men carry malice for years, and fly like snarling curs
at each other’s throats?”
“No malice, my young clerk, no malice,’ quoth Black Simon.
“T have not a bitter drop in my heart for mine old comrade;
but the quarrel, as he hath told you, is still open and unsettled.
Fall on, Aylward!’ |
“Not whilst I can stand between you,” cried Alleyne, spring-
ing before the bowman. “It is shame and sin to see two
Christian Englishmen turn swords against each other like
the frenzied bloodthirsty paynim.”
“And, what is more,’ said Hordle John, suddenly appearing
out of the buttery with the huge board upon which the pastry
was rolled, “if either raise sais I shall flatten him like a
Ota cactatle pancake. By the black rood! I shall drive him
into the earth, like a nail into a door, rather than see you do
scathe to each other.”
_“°Fore God, this is a strange way of preaching peace,’ cried
Black Simon. “You may find the scathe yourself, my lusty118 THE WHITE COMPANY
friend, if you raise your great cudgel to me. I had as lief
have the castle drawbridge drop upon my pate.”
“Tell me, Aylward,” said Alleyne earnestly, with his hands
outstretched to keep the pair asunder, “what is the cause of
quarrel, that we may see whether honorable settlement may
not be arrived at?”
The bowman looked down at his feet and then up at the
moon. “Parbleu!” he cried, “the cause of quarrel? Why,
-mon petit, it was years ago in Limousin, and how can I bear
in mind what was the cause of it? Simon there hath it at
the end of his tongue.”
“Not I, in troth,” replied the other; “I have had other
things to think of. There was some sort of bickering over
dice, or wine, or was it a woman, coz?”
“Pasques Dieu! but you have nicked it,” cried Aylward.
“It was indeed about a woman; and the quarrel must go
forward, for I am still of the same mind as before.”
“What of the woman, then?” asked Simon. ‘May the
murrain strike me if I can call to mind aught about her.”
“It was La Blanche Rose, maid at the sign of the ‘Trois
Corbeaux’ at Limoges. Bless her pretty heart! Why, mon
gar., I loved her.”’
“So did a many,” quoth Simon. “TI call her to mind now.
On the very day that we fought over the little hussy, she went
off with Evan ap Price, a long-legged Welsh dagsman. They
have a hostel of their own now, somewhere on the banks of
the Garonne, where the landlord drinks so much of the liquor
that there is little left for the customers.”
“So ends our quarrel, then,” said Aylward, sheathing his
sword. “A Welsh dagsman, i’ faith! C’était mauvais goitt,
camarade, and the more so when she had a jolly archer and
a lusty man at arms to choose from.”
"True, old lad. And it is as well that we can compose our
differences honorably, for Sir Nigel had been out at the first
clash of steel; and he hath sworn that if there be quarreling
in the garrison he would smite the right hand from the
broilers. You know him of old, and that he is like to be as
good as his word.”
“Mort Dieu! yes. But there are ale, mead, and wine in the
buttery, and the steward a merry rogue, who will not haggleA. PERILOUS FLOCK 119
over a quart or two. Buvons, mon gar., for it 1s not every
day that two old friends come together.”
The old soldiers and Hordle John strode off together in all
good fellowship. Alleyne had turned to follow them, when
he felt a touch upon his shoulder, and found a young page
by his side.
“The Lord Loring commands,” said the boy, “that you
will follow me to the great chamber, and await him there.”
“But my comrades ?”
““His commands were for you alone.”
Alleyne followed the messenger to the east end of the court-
yard, where a broad flight of steps led up to the doorway
of the main hall, the outer wall of which is washed by the
waters of the Avon. As designed at first, no dwelling had
been allotted to the lord of the castle and his family but the
dark and dismal basement story of the keep. A more civ-
ilized or more effeminate generation, however, had refused
to be pent up in such a cellar, and the hall with its neighboring
chambers had been added for their accommodation. Up the
broad steps Alleyne went, still following his boyish guide,
until at the folding oak doors the latter paused, and ushered
him into the main hall of the castle.
On entering the room the clerk looked round; but, seeing
no one, he continued to stand, his cap in his hand, examining
with the greatest interest a chamber which was so different
to any to which he was accustomed. The days had gone by
when a nobleman’s hall was but a barn-like, rush-strewn in-
closure, the common lounge and eating room of every inmate
of the castle. The Crusaders had brought back with them
experiences of domestic luxuries, of Damascus carpets and
rugs of Aleppo, which made them impatient of the hideous
bareness and want of privacy which they found in their an-
cestral strongholds. Still stronger, however, had been the
influence of the great French war; for, however well matched
the nations might be in martial exercises, there could be no
question but that our neighbors were infinitely superior to
us in the arts of peace. A stream of returning knights, of
wounded soldiers, and of unransomed French noblemen, had
been for a quarter of a century continually pouring into Eng-
land, every one of whom exerted an influence in the direction120 THE WHITE COMPANY
of greater domestic refinement, while shiploads of French
furniture from Calais, Rouen, and other plundered towns,
had supplied our own artisans with models on which to shape
their work. Hence, in most English castles, and in Castle
T'wynham among the rest, chambers were to be found which
would seem to be not wanting either in beauty or in comfort.
In the great stone fireplace a log fire was spurting and
crackling, throwing out a ruddy glare which, with the four
bracket-lamps which stood at each corner of the room, gave
a bright and lightsome air to the whole apartment. Above
was a wreath-work of blazonry, extending up to the carved
and corniced oaken roof; while on either side stood the high
canopied chairs placed for the master of the house and for
his most honored guest. The walls were hung all round with
most elaborate and brightly colored tapestry, representing the
achievements of Sir Bevis of Hampton, and behind this con-
venient screen were stored the tables dormant and benches
which would be needed for banquet or high festivity. The
floor was of polished tiles, with a square of red and black
diapered Flemish carpet in the center; and many settees,
cushions, folding chairs, and carved bancals littered all over
it. At the further end was a long black buffet or dresser,
thickly covered with gold cups, silver salvers, and other such
valuables. All this Alleyne examined with curious eyes; but
most interesting of all to him was a small ebony table at his
very side, on which, by the side of a chessboard and the scat-
tered chessmen, there lay an open manuscript written in a
right clerkly hand, and set forth with brave flourishes and
devices along the margins. In vain Alleyne bethought him
of where he was, and of those laws of good breeding and —
decorum which should restrain him: those colored capitals
and black even lines drew his hand down to them, as the
loadstone draws the needle, until, almost before he knew it,
he was standing with the romance of Garin de Montglane
before his eyes, so absorbed in its contents as to be completely
oblivious both of where he was and why he had come there.
He was brought back to himself, however, by a sudden little
ripple of quick feminine laughter. Aghast, he dropped the
manuscript among the chessmen and stared in bewilderment
round the room. It was as empty and as still as ever. AgainA PERILOUS FLOCK 121
he stretched his hand out to the romance, and again came
that roguish burst of merriment. He looked up at the ceiling,
back at the closed door, and round at the stiff folds of mo-
tionless tapestry. Of a sudden, however, he caught a quick
shimmer from the corner of a high-backed bancal in front
of him, and, shifting a pace or two to the side, saw a white
slender hand, which held a mirror of polished silver in such
a way that the concealed observer could see without being
seen. He stood irresolute, uncertain whether to advance or
to take no notice; but, even as he hesitated, the mirror was
whipped in, and a tall and stately young lady swept out from
behind the oaken screen, with a dancing light of mischief
in her eyes. Alleyne started with astonishment as he recog-
nized the very maiden who had suffered from his brother’s
violence in the forest. She no longer wore her gay riding-
dress, however, but was attired in a long sweeping robe of
black velvet of Bruges, with delicate tracery of white lace
at neck and at wrist, scarce to be seen against her ivory skin.
Beautiful as she had seemed to him before, the lithe charm
of her figure and the proud, free grace of her bearing were
enhanced now by the rich simplicity of her attire.
“Ah, you start,” said she, with the same sidelong look of
mischief, “‘and I cannot marvel at it. Didst not look to see
the distressed damosel again. Oh that I were a minstrel,
that I might put it into rhyme, with the whole romance—
the luckless maid, the wicked socman, and the virtuous clerk!
So might our fame have gone down together for all time, and
you be numbered with Sir Percival or Sir Galahad, or all the
other rescuers of oppressed ladies.” |
"What I did,” said Alleyne, “was too small a thing for
thanks; and yet, if I may say it without offense, it was too
grave and near a matter for mirth and raillery. I had counted
on my brother’s love, but God has willed that it should be.
otherwise. It is a joy to me to see you again, lady, and to
know that you have reached home in safety, if this be indeed
your home.”
“Yes, in sooth, Castle Twynham is my home, and Sir N igel
Loring my father. I should have told you so this morning,
but you said that you were coming thither, so I bethought
me that I might hold it back as a surprise to you. Oh dear,122 THE WHITE COMPANY
but it was brave to see you!” she cried, bursting out a-laughing
once more, and standing with her hand pressed to her side,
and her half-closed eyes twinkling with amusement. "You
drew back and came forward with your eyes upon my book
there, like the mouse who sniffs the cheese and yet dreads
the trap.”
“T take shame,” said Alleyne, “that I should have touched
He
“Nay, it warmed my very heart to see it. So glad was l,
that I laughed for very pleasure. My fine preacher can him-
self be tempted then, thought I; he is not made of another
clay to the rest of us.”
“God help me! I am the weakest of the weak,” groaned
Alleyne. “I pray that I may have more strength.”’ a
“And to what end?” she asked sharply. “If you are, as'
I understand, to shut yourself forever in your cell within the
four walls of an abbey, then of what use would it be were
your prayer to be answered?”
“The use of my own salvation.”’
She turned from him with a pretty shrug and wave. “Is
that all?” she said. “Then you are no better than Father
Christopher and the rest of them. Your own, your own,
ever your own! My father is the king’s man, and when he
rides into the press of fight he is not thinking ever of the
saving of his own poor body; he recks little enough if he
leave it on the field. Why then should you, who are soldiers
of the Spirit, be ever moping or hiding in cell or in cave,
with minds full of your own concerns, while the world, which
you should be mending, is going on its way, and neither sees
nor hears you? Were ye all as thoughtless of your own souls
as the soldier is of his body, ye would be of more avail to
the souls of others.”
“There is sooth in what you say, lady,” Alleyne answered;
“and yet I scarce can see what you would have the clergy
and the church to do.”
“T would have them live as others and do men’s work in
the world, preaching by their lives rather than their words.
I would have them come forth from their lonely places, mtx
with the borel folks, feel the pains and the pleasures, the
cares and the rewards, the temptings and the stirrings ofA. PERILOUS FLOCK 128
the common people. Let them toil and swinken, and labor,
and plow the land, and take wives to themselves (
“Alas! alas!’ cried Alleyne aghast, “you have surely sucked
this poison from the man Wycliffe, of whom I have heard
such evil things.”
“Nay, I know him not. I have learned it by looking from
my own chamber window and marking these poor monks
of the priory, their weary life, their profitless round. I have
asked myself if the best which can be done with virtue is to
shut it within high walls as though it were some savage
creature. If the good will lock themselves up, and if the
wicked will still wander free, then alas for the world!’
Alleyne looked at her in astonishment, for her cheek was
flushed, her eyes gleaming, and her whole pose full of elo-
quence and conviction. Yet in an instant she had changed
again to her old expression of merriment leavened with mis-
chief.
“Wilt do what I ask?” said she.
“What is it, lady?”
“Oh, most ungallant clerk! A true knight would never
have asked, but would have vowed upon the instant. ‘Tis
but to bear me out in what I say to my father.”
“Tn what?”
“Tn saying, if he ask, that it was south of the Christchurch
‘road that I met you. I shall be shut up with the tire-women
‘else, and have a week of spindle and bodkin, when I would
fain be galloping Troubadour up Wilverly Walk, or loosing
little Roland at the Vinney Ridge herons.”
“T shall not answer him if he ask.”
“Not answer! But he will have an answer. Nay, but
you must not fail me, or it will go ill with me.”
“But, lady,” cried poor Alleyne in great distress, “how
can I say that it was to the south of the road when I know
well that it was four miles to the north?”
“You will not say it?”
“Surely you will not, too, when you know that it is not
so?”
“Oh, I weary of your preaching!” she cried, and swept
away with a toss of her beautiful head, leaving Alleyne as
cast down and ashamed as though he had himself proposed124 THE WHITE COMPANY
some infamous thing. She was back again in an instant,
however, in another of her varying moods.
‘Took at that, my friend!” said she. “If you had been
shut up in abbey or in cell this day you could not have taught
a wayward maiden to abide by the truth. Is it not so? What
avail is the shepherd if he leaves his sheep?”
“A sorry shepherd!” said Alleyne humbly. “But here is
your noble father.”
“And you shall see how worthy a pupil I am. Father, I
am much beholden to this young clerk, who was of service
to me and helped me this very morning in Minstead Woods,
four miles to the north of the Christchurch road, where I had
no call to be, you having ordered it otherwise.’ All this she
reeled off in a loud voice, and then glanced with sidelong,
questioning eyes at Alleyne for his approval.
Sir Nigel, who had entered the room with a silvery-haired
old lady upon his arm, stared aghast at this sudden outburst
of candor.
“Maude, Maude!’’ said he, shaking his head, “it is more
hard for me to gain obedience from you than from the ten
score drunken archers who followed me to Guienne. “Yet,
hush! little one, for your fair lady mother will be here anon,
and there is no need that she should know it. We will keep
you from the provost marshal this journey. Away to your
chamber, sweeting, and keep a blithe face, for she who con-
fesses is shriven. And now, fair mother,’ he continued,
when his daughter had gone, “sit you here by the fire, for
your blood runs colder than it did. Alleyne Edricson, I would
have a word with you, for I would fain that you should take
service under me. And here in good time comes my lady,
without whose counsel it is not my wont to decide aught of
import; but, indeed, it was her own thought that you should
come.”
“For I have formed a good opinion of you, and can see
that you are one who may be trusted,” said the Lady Loring.
“And in good sooth my dear lord hath need of such a one
by his side, for he recks so little of himself that there should
be one there to look to his needs and meet his wants. You
have seen the cloisters; it were well that you should see the
world too, ere you make choice for life between them.”A PERILOUS FLOCK 125
“It was for that very reason that my father willed that I
should come forth into the world at my twentieth year,” said
Alleyne.
“Then your father was a man of good counsel,” said she,
“and you cannot carry out his will better than by going on
this path, where all that is noble and gallant in England will
be your companions.
“You can ride?” asked Sir Nigel, looking at the youth
with puckered eyes.
» “Yes, | have ridden much at the abbey,”
“Yet there is a difference betwixt a friar’s hack and a war-
rior’s destrier. You can sing and play?”
“On citole, flute and rebeck.’’
. “Good! You. can read. blazonry °°”
“Indifferent well.”
“Then read this,’ quoth Sir Nigel, pointing upward to one
of the many quarterings which adorned the wall over the
fireplace.
“Argent,” Alleyne answered, “a fess azure charged with
three lozenges dividing three mullets sable. Over all, on an
escutcheon of the first, a jambe gules.”
“A jambe gules erased,’ said Sir Nigel, shaking his head
solemnly. “Yet it is not amiss for a monk-bred man. I trust
that you are lowly and serviceable ?”’
“T have served all my life, my lord.”
“Canst carve toor’’
‘“T have carved two days a week for the brethren.”’
“A model truly! Wilt make a squire of squires. But tell
me, I pray, canst curl hair?’
“No, my lord, but I could learn.”
“It is of import,” said he, “for 1 love to keep my hair
well ordered, seeing that the weight of my helmet for thirty
years hath in some degree frayed it upon the top.” He
pulled off his velvet cap of maintenance as he spoke, and
displayed a pate which was as bald as an egg, and shone
bravely in the firelight. ‘You see,” said he, whisking round,
and showing one little strip where a line of scattered hairs,
like the last survivors in some fatal field, still barely held
their own against the fate which had fallen upon their com-
rades; ‘‘these locks need some little oiling and curling, for126 THE WHITE COMPANY
I doubt not that if you look slantwise at my head, when the
light is good, you will yourself perceive that there are places
where the hair is sparse.’’
“It is for you also to bear the purse,” said the lady; “for
my sweet lord is of so free and gracious a temper that he
would give it gayly to the first who asked alms of him. All
these things, with some knowledge of venerie, and of the
management of horse, hawk and hound, with the grace and
hardihood and courtesy which are proper to your age, will
make you a fit squire for Sir Nigel Loring.”
“Alas! lady,” Alleyne answered, “I know well the great
honor that you have done me in deeming me worthy to wait
upon so renowned a knight, yet I am so conscious of my
own weakness that I scarce dare incur duties which I might
be so ill-fitted to fulfill.”
“Modesty and a humble mind,” said she, “are the very
first and rarest gifts in page or squire. Your words prove
that you have these, and all the rest is but the work of use
and time. But there is no call for haste. Rest upon it for
the night, and let your orisons ask for guidance in the matter.
We knew your father well, and would fain help his son,
though we have small cause to love your brother the Socman,
who is forever stirring up strife in the county.”
“We can scare hope,” said Nigel, “to have all ready for
our start before the feast of St. Luke, for there is much to
be done in the time. You will have leisure, therefore, if it
please you to take service under me, in which to learn your
devoir. Bertrand, my daughter’s page, is hot to go; but in
sooth he is over young for such rough work as may be before
us.’ :
“And I have one favor to crave from you,’ added the lady
of the castle, as Alleyne turned to leave their presence. “You
have, as I understand, much learning which you have acquired
at Beaulieu.” |
“Little enough, lady, compared with those who were my
teachers.”’
“Yet enough for my purpose, I doubt not. For I would
have you give an hour or two a day whilst you are with us
in discoursing with my daughter, the Lady Maude; for she
is somewhat backward, I fear, and hath no love for letters,A PERILOUS FLOCK 127
_ save for these poor fond romances, which do but fill her empty
head with dreams of enchanted maidens and of errant cav-
aliers. Father Christopher comes over after nones from the
priory, but he is stricken with years and slow of speech, so
that she gets small profit from his teaching. I would have
you do what you can with her, and with Agatha my young
_ tire-woman, and with Dorothy Pierpont.’’
And so Alleyne found himself not only chosen as squire
to a knight but also as squire to three damosels, which was
even further from the part which he had thought to play
in the world. Yet he could but agree to do what he might,
and so went forth from the castle hall with his face flushed
and his head in a whirl at the thought of the strange and
perilous paths which his feet were destined to tread.CHAPTER xi
HOW ALLEYNE LEARNED MORE THAN HE COULD TEACH
ND now there came a time of stir and bustle, of fur-
A bishing of arms and clang of hammer from all the
southland counties. Fast spread the tidings from
thorpe to thorpe and from castle to castle, that the old game
was afoot once more, and the lions and lilies to be in the
field with the early spring. Great news this for that fierce
old country, whose trade for a generation had been war, her
exports archers and her imports prisoners. For six years
her sons had chafed under an unwonted peace. Now they
flew to their arms as to their birthright. The old soldiers
of Crécy, of Nogent, and of Poictiers were glad to think
that they might hear the war trumpet once more, and gladder
still were the hot youth who had chafed for years under the
martial tales of their sires. To pierce the great mountains
of the south, to fight the tamers of the fiery Moor, to follow
the greatest captain of the age, to find sunny cornfields and
vineyards, when the marches of, Picardy and Normandy were
as rare and bleak as the Jedburgh forests—here was a golden
prospect for a race of warriors. From sea to sea there was
stringing of bows in the cottage and clang of steel in the
castle.
Nor did it take long for every stronghold to pour forth its
cavalry, and every hamlet its footmen. Through the late
autumn and the early winter every road and country lane
resounded with nakir and trumpet, with the neigh of the war
horse and the clatter of marching men. From the Wrekin
in the Welsh marches to the cotswolds in the west or Butser
in the south, there was no hilltop from which the peasant
might not have seen the bright shimmer of arms, the toss
and flutter of plume and of pensil. From bypath, from wood-
land clearing, or from winding moorside track these little
128ALLEYNE LEARNS MORE 129
rivulets of steel united in the larger roads to form a broader
stream, growing ever fuller and larger as it approached the
nearest or most commodious seaport. And there all day, and
day after day, there was bustle and crowding and labor,
while the great ships loaded up, and one after the other
spread their white pinions and darted off to the open sea,
amid the clash of cymbals and rolling of drums and lusty
shouts of those who went and of those who waited. From
Orwell to the Dart there was no port which did not send
forth its little fleet, gay with streamer and bunting, as for
a joyous festival. Thus in the season of the waning days
the might of England put forth on to the waters.
In the ancient and populous county of Hampshire there
was no lack of leaders or of soldiers for a service which
promised either honor or profit. In the north the Saracen’s
head of the Brocas and the scarlet fish of the De Roches
were waving over a strong body of archers from Holt, Wool-
mer, and Harewood forests. De Borhunte was up in the
east, and Sir John de Montague in the west. Sir Luke de
Ponynges, Sir Thomas West, Sir Maurice de Bruin, Sir
Arthur Lipscombe, Sir Walter Ramsey, and stout Sir Oliver
Buttesthorn were all marching south with levies from And-
over, Arlesford, Odiham and Winchester, while from Sussex
came Sir John Clinton, Sir Thomas Cheyne, and Sir John
Fallislee, with a troop of picked men at arms, making for
their port at Southampton. Greatest of all the musters, how-
ever, was that of Twynham Castle, for the name and the
fame of Sir Nigel Loring drew toward him the keenest and
boldest spirits, all eager to serve under so valiant a leader.
Archers from the New Forest and the Forest of Bere, bill-
men from the pleasant country which is watered by the Stour,
the Avon, and the Itchen, young cavaliers from the ancient
Hampshire houses, all were pushing for Christchurch to take
service under the banner of the five scarlet roses.
And now, could Sir Nigel have shown the bachelles of land
which the laws of rank required, he might well have cut his
forked pennon into a square banner, and taken such a fol.
lowing into the field as would have supported the dignity of
a banneret. But poverty was heavy upon him, his land was
scant, his coffers empty, and the very castle which covered130 THE WHITE COMPANY
him the holding of another. Sore was his heart when he
saw rare bowmen and war-hardened spearmen turned away
from his gates, for the lack of money which might equip and
pay them. Yet the letter which Aylward had brought him
gave him powers which he was not slow to use. In it Sir
Claude Latour, the Gascon lieutenant of the White Company,
assured him that there remained in his keeping enough to
fit out a hundred archers and twenty men at arms, which,
joined to the three hundred veteran companions already in
France, would make a force which any leader might be proud
to command. Carefully and sagaciously the veteran knight
chose out his men from the swarm of volunteers. Many an
anxious consultation he held with Black Simon, Sam Aylward,
and other of his more experienced followers, as to who should
come and who should stay. By All Saints’ day, however,
ere the last leaves had fluttered to earth in the Wilverly and
Holmesley glades, he had filled up his full numbers, and
mustered under his banner as stout a following of Hamp-
shire foresters as ever twanged their war bows. Twenty
men at arms, too, well mounted and equipped, formed the
cavalry of the party, while young Peter Terlake of Fareham,
and Walter Ford of Botley, the martial sons of martial sires,
came at their own cost to wait upon Sir Nigel and to share
with Alleyne Edricson the duties of his squireship.
_ Yet, even after the enrollment, there was much to be done
ere the party could proceed upon its way. For armor, swords,
and lances, there was no need to take much forethought, for
they were to be had both better and cheaper in Bordeaux than
in England. With the longbow, however, it was different.
Yew staves indeed might be got in Spain, but it was well
to take enough and to spare with them. Then three spare
cords should be carried for each bow, with a great store of
arrowheads, besides the brigandines of chain mail, the wad-
ded steel caps, and the brassarts or arm guards, which were
the proper equipment of the archer. Above all, the women
for miles round were hard at work cutting the white surcoats
which were the badge of the Company, and adorning them
with the red lion of St. George upon the center of the breast.
When all was completed and the muster called in the castle
yard the oldest soldier of the French wars was fain to confessALLEYNE LEARNS MORE 131
that he had never looked upon a better equipped or more
warlike body of men, from the old knight with his silk jupon,
sitting his great black war horse in the front of them, to
Hordle John, the giant recruit, who leaned carelessly upon
a huge black bowstave in the rear. Of the six score, fully
half had seen service before, while a fair sprinkling were
-men who had followed the wars all their lives, and had a
hand in those battles which had made the whole world ring
with the fame and the wonder of the island infantry.
Six long weeks were taken in these preparations, and it
was close on Martinmas ere all was ready for a start. Nigh
two months had Alleyne Edricson been in Castle Twynham—
months which were fated to turn the whole current of his
life, to divert it from that dark and lonely bourne toward
which it tended, and to guide it into freer and more sunlit
channels. Already he had learned to bless his father for
that wise provision which had made him seek to know the
world ere he had ventured to renounce it.
For it was a different place from that which he had pic-
tured—very different from that which he had heard described
when the master of the novices held forth to his charges upon
the ravening wolves who lurked for them beyond the peaceful
folds of Beaulieu. There was cruelty in it, doubtless, and
lust and sin and sorrow; but were there not virtues to atone,
robust positive virtues which did not shrink from temptation,
which held their own in all the rough blasts of the workaday
world? How colorless by contrast appeared the sinlessness
which came from inability to sin, the conquest which was
attained by flying from the enemy! Monk-bred as he was,
Alleyne had native shrewdness and a mind which was young
enough to form new conclusions and to outgrow old ones.
He could not fail to see that the men with whom he was
thrown in contact, rough-tongued, fierce and quarrelsome as
they were, were yet of deeper nature and of more service in
the world than the ox-eyed brethren who rose and ate and
slept from year’s end to year’s end in their own narrow,
stagnant circle of existence. Abbot Berghersh was a good
man, but how was he better than this kindly knight, who
lived as simple a life, held as lofty and inflexible an ideal
of duty, and did with all his fearless heart whatever came132 THE WHITE COMPANY
to his hand to do? In turning from the service of the one
to that of the other, Alleyne could not feel that he was low-
ering his aims in life. True that his gentle and thoughtful
nature recoiled from the grim work of war, yet in those
days of martial orders and militant brotherhoods there was
no gulf fixed betwixt the priest and the soldier. The man
of God and the man of the sword might without scandal be
united in the same individual. Why then should he, a mere
clerk, have scruples when so fair a chance lay in his way of
carrying out the spirit as well as the letter of his father’s
provision. Much struggle it cost him, anxious spirit-ques-
tionings and midnight prayings, with many a doubt and a
misgiving; but the issue was that ere he had been three days
in Castle Twynham he had taken service under Sir Nigel,
and had accepted horse and harness, the same to be paid for
out of his share of the profits of the expedition. Henceforth
for seven hours a day he strove in the tiltyard to qualify
himself to be a worthy squire to so worthy a knight. Young,
supple and active, with all the pent energies from years of
pure and healthy living, it was not long before he could
manage his horse and his weapon well enough to earn an
approving nod from critical men at arms, or to hold his own
against Terlake and Ford, his fellow servitors. |
But were there no other considerations which swayed him
from the cloisters toward the world? So complex is the
human spirit that it can itself scarce discern the deep springs
which impel it to action. Yet to Alleyne had been opened
now a side of life of which he had been as innocent as a
child, but one which was of such deep import that it could
not fail to influence him in choosing his path. A woman,
in monkish precepts, had been the embodiment and concen-
tration of what was dangerous and evil—a focus whence
spread all that was to be dreaded and avoided. So defiling
was their presence that a true Cistercian might not raise his
eyes to their face or touch their finger tips under ban of
church and fear of deadly sin. Yet here, day after day for
an hour after nones, and for an hour before vespers, he found
himself in close communion with three maidens, all young,
all fair, and all therefore doubly dangerous from the monkish
standpoint. Yet he found that in their presence he was con-ALLEYNE LEARNS MORE 133
scious of a quick sympathy, a pleasant ease, a ready response
to all that was most gentle and best in himself, which filled
his soul with a vague and new-found joy.
And yet the Lady Maude Loring was no easy pupil to
handle. An older and more world-wise man might have been
puzzled by her varying moods, her sudden prejudices, her
quick resentment at all constraint and authority. Did a sub-
ject interest her, was there space in it for either romance or
imagination, she would fly through it with her subtle, active
mind, leaving her two fellow students and even her teacher
toiling behind her. On the other hand, were there dull pa-
tience needed with steady toil and strain of memory, no single
fact could by any driving be fixed in her mind. Alleyne
might talk to her of the stories of old gods and heroes, of
gallant deeds and lofty aims, or he might hold forth upon
moon and stars, and let his fancy wander over the hidden
secrets of the universe, and he would have a rapt listener
with flushed cheeks and eloquent eyes, who could repeat after
him the very words which had fallen from his lips. But
when it came to almagest and astrolabe, the counting of figures
and reckoning of epicycles, away would go her thoughts to
horse and hound, and a vacant eye and listless face would
warn the teacher that he had lost his hold upon his scholar.
Then he had but to bring out the old romance book from
the priory, with befingered cover of sheepskin and gold letters
upon a purple ground, to entice her wayward mind back to
the paths of learning.
At times, too, when the wild fit was upon her, she would
break into pertness and rebel openly against Alleyne’s gentle
firmness. Yet he would jog quietly on with his teachings,
taking no heed to her mutiny, until suddenly she would be
conquered by his patience, and break into seli-revilings a
hundred times stronger than her fault demanded. It chanced
however that, on one of these mornings when the evil mood
was upon her, Agatha the young tire-woman, thinking to
please her mistress, began also to toss her head and make
tart rejoinder to the teacher’s questions. In an instant the
Lady Maude had turned upon her two blazing eyes and a
face which was blanched with anger. |
“Vou would dare!” said she. “You would dare!’ The134 THE WHITE COMPANY
frightened tire-woman tried to excuse herself. “But my fair
lady,’ she stammered, “what have I done? I have said no
more than I heard.”
“You would dare!’ repeated the lady in a choking voice.
“You, a graceless baggage, a foolish lack-brain, with no
thought above the hemming of shifts. And he so kindly and
hendy and long-suffering! You would—ha, you may well
flee the room!”
She had spoken with a rising voice, and a clasping and
opening of her long white fingers, so that it was no marvel
that ere the speech was over the skirts of Agatha were
whisking round the door and the click of her sobs to be
heard dying swiftly away down the corridor.
Alleyne stared open-eyed at this tigress who had sprung
so suddenly to his rescue. “There is no need for such anger,”
he said mildly. “The maid’s words have done me no scathe.
It 1s you yourself who have erred.”’
“T know it,’”’ she cried, “I am a most wicked woman. But
it is bad enough that one should misuse you. Ma foi! I
will see that there is not a second one.”
“Nay, nay, no one has misused me,” he answered. “But
the fault lies in your hot and bitter words. You have called
her a baggage and a lack-brain, and I know not what.”
“And you are he who taught me to speak the truth,” she
cried. “Now I have spoken it, and yet I cannot please you.
Lack-brain she is, and lack-brain I shall call her.”
Such was a sample of the sudden janglings which marred
the peace of that little class. As the weeks passed, however,
they became fewer and less violent, as Alleyne’s firm and
constant nature gained sway and influence over the Lady
Maude. And yet, sooth to say, there were times when he
had to ask himself whether it was not the Lady Maude who
was gaining sway and influence over him. If she were
changing, so was he. In drawing her up from the world,
he was day by day being himself dragged down toward it.
In vain he strove and reasoned with himself as to the madness
of letting his mind rest upon Sir Nigel’s daughter. What
was he—a younger son, a penniless clerk, a squire unable to
pay for his own harness—that he should dare to raise his
eyes to the fairest maid in Hampshire? So spake reason:ALLEYNE LEARNS MORE 135
but, in spite of all, her voice was ever in his ears and her
image in his heart. Stronger than reason, stronger than
cloister teachings, stronger than all that might hold him back,
was that old, old tyrant who will brook no rival in the king-
dom of youth.
And yet it was a surprise and a shock to himself to find how
deeply she had entered into his life; how completely those
vague ambitions and yearnings which had filled his spiritual
nature centered themselves now upon this thing of earth.
He had scarce dared to face the change which had come upon
him, when a few sudden chance words showed it all up hard
and clear, like a lightning flash in the darkness.
He had ridden over to Poole, one November day, with his
fellow squire, Peter Terlake, in quest of certain yew staves
from Wat Swathling, the Dorsetshire armorer. The day for
their departure had almost come, and the two youths spurred
it over the lonely downs at the top of their speed on their
homeward course, for evening had fallen and there was much
to be done. Peter was a hard, wiry, brown-faced, country-
bred lad, who looked on the coming war as the schoolboy
looks on his holidays. This day, however, he had been somber
and mute, with scarce a word a mile to bestow upon his
comrade.
“Tell me, Alleyne Edricson,” he broke out, suddenly, as
they clattered along the winding track which leads over the
Bournemouth hills, “has it not seemed to you that of late
the Lady Maude is paler and more silent than is her wont?”
“It may be so,” the other answered shortly.
“And would rather sit distrait by her oriel than ride gayly
to the chase as of old. Methinks, Alleyne, it is this learning
which you have taught her that has taken all the life and
sap from her. It is more than she can master, like a heavy
spear to a light rider.”
“Her lady mother has so ordered it,” said Alleyne.
“By our Lady! and withouten disrespect,” quoth Terlake,
“it is in my mind that her lady mother is more fitted to lead
a company to a storming than to have the upbringing of this
tender and milk-white maid. Hark ye, lad Alleyne, to what
I never told man or woman yet. I love the fair Lady Maude,
and would give the last drop of my heart’s blood to serve136 THE WHITE COMPANY
her.” He spoke with a gasping voice, and his face flushed
crimson in the moonlight.
Alleyne said nothing, but his heart seemed to turn to a
lump of ice in his bosom.
“My father has broad acres,” the other continued, “from
Fareham Creek to the slope of the Portsdown Hill. There is
filling of granges, hewing of wood, malting of grain, and
herding of sheep as much as heart could wish, and I the only
son. Sure am I that Sir Nigel would be blithe at such a
match.’ |
“But how of the lady?’ asked Alleyne, with dry lips.
“Ah, lad, there lies my trouble. It is a toss of the head
and a droop of the eyes if I say one word of what is in my
mind. *Iwere as easy to woo the snow dame that we shaped
last winter in our castle yard. I did but ask her yesternight
for her green veil, that I might bear it as a token or lambre-
quin upon my helm; but she flashed out at me that she kept
it for a better man, and then all in a breath asked pardon
for that she had spoke so rudely. Yet she would not take
back the words either, nor would she grant the veil. Has
it seemed to thee, Alleyne, that she loves anyone?”
“Nay, I cannot say,” said Alleyne, with a wild throb of
sudden hope in his heart.
“T have thought so, and yet I cannot name the man. In-
deed, save myself, and Walter Ford, and you, who are half
a clerk, and Father Christopher of the Priory, and Bertrand
the page, who is there whom she sees?”
“T cannot tell,” quoth Alleyne shortly; and the two squires
rode on again, each intent upon his own thoughts.
Next day at morning lesson the teacher observed that his
pupil was indeed looking pale and jaded, with listless eyes
and a weary manner. He was heavy-hearted to note the
grievous change in her. |
“Your mistress, I fear, is ill, Agatha,” he said to the tire
woman, when the Lady Maude had sought her chamber.
The maid looked aslant at him with laughing eyes. “It is
not an illness that kills,’ quoth she. :
(Fray (sod mot! he: cried. “But tell me; Agatha, what
it is that ails her?”
“Methinks that I could lay my hand upon another who isALLEYNE LEARNS MORE 137
smitten with the same trouble,’ said she, with the same
sidelong look. “Canst not give a name to it, and thou so
skilled in leechcraft ?”’
“Nay, save that she seems aweary.”’
“Well, bethink you that it is but three days ere you will
all be gone, and Castle Twynham be as dull as the Priory.
_ Is there not enough there to cloud a lady’s brow?”
“In sooth, yes,’ he answered; “I had forgot that she is
about to lose her father.”
“Her father!’ cried the tire-woman, with a little trill of
laughter. “Oh simple, simple!’ And she was off down the
passage like arrow from bow, while Alleyne stood gazing
after her, betwixt hope and doubt, scarce daring to put faith
in the meaning which seemed to underlie her words,CHAPTER XIII
HOW THE WHITE COMPANY SET FORTH TO THE WARS
Tl. LUKE’S day had come and had gone, and it was
S in the season df Martinmas, when the oxen are driven
in to the slaughter, that the White Company was ready
for its journey. Loud shrieked the brazen bugles from keep
and from gateway, and merry was the rattle of the war drum,
as the men gathered in the outer bailey, with torches to light
them, for the morn had not yet broken. Alleyne, from the
window of the armory, looked down upon the strange scene
—the circles of yellow flickering light, the lines of stern and
bearded faces, the quick shimmer of arms, and the lean heads
of the horses. In front stood the bowmen, ten deep, with
a fringe of underofficers, who paced hither and thither mar-
shaling the ranks with curt precept or short rebuke. Behind
were the little clump of steel-clad horsemen, their lances raised,
with long pensils drooping down the oaken shafts. So silent
and still were they, that they might have been metal-sheathed
statues, were it not for the occasional quick, impatient stamp
of their chargers, or the rattle of chamfron agairfst neck plates
as they tossed and strained. A spear’s length in front of
them sat the spare and long-limbed figure of Black Simon,
the Norwich fighting man, his fierce, deep-lined face framed
in steel, and the silk guidon marked with the five scarlet roses
slanting over his right shoulder. All round, in the edge of
the circle of the light, stood the castle servants, the soldiers
who were to form the garrison, and little knots of women,
who sobbed in their aprons and called shrilly to their name
saints to watch over the Wat, or Will, or Peterkin who had
turned his hand to the work of war. |
The young squire was leaning forward, gazing at the
stirring and martial scene, when he heard a short, quick gasp
at his shoulder. and there was the Lady Maude, with her
138FORTH TO THE WARS 139
hand to her heart, leaning up against the wall, slender and
fair, like a half-plucked lily. Her face was turned away from
him, but he could see, by the sharp intake of her breath, that
she was weeping bitterly. |
“Alas! alas!” he cried, all unnerved at the sight, “why is
it that you are so sad, lady?”
“It is the sight of these brave men,” she answered; “and
to think how many of them go and how few are like to find
their way back. I have seen it before, when I was a little
maid, in the year of the Prince’s great battle. I remember
then how they mustered in the bailey, even as they do now,
and my lady mother holding me in her arms at this very
window that I might see the show.”
“Please God, you will see them all back ere another year
be out,” said he.
She shook her head, looking round at him with flushed
cheeks and eyes that sparkled in the lamplight. “Oh, but
I hate myself for being a woman!” she cried, with a stamp
of her little foot. ‘What can I do that is good? Here I
must bide, and talk and sew and spin, and spin and sew and
talk. Ever the same dull round, with nothing at the end of
it. And now you are going, too, who could carry my thoughts
out of these gray walls, and raise my mind above tapestry
and distaffs. What can I do? I am of no more use or value
than that broken bowstave.”’
“You are of such value to me,” he cried, in a whirl of hot,
passionate words, “‘that all else has become naught. You are
my heart, my life, my one and only thought. Oh, Maude, I
cannot live without you, I cannot leave you without a word
of love. All is changed to me since I have known you. I
am poor and lowly and all unworthy of you; but if great love
may weigh down such defects, then mine may do it. Give
me but one word of hope to take to the wars with me—but
one. Ah, you shrink, you shudder! My wild words have
frightened you.”
Twice she opened her lips, and twice no sound came from
them. At last she spoke in a hard and measured voice, as one
who dare not trust herself to speak too freely.
“This is over sudden,” she said; “it is not so long since140 THE WHITE COMPANY
the world was nothing to you. You have changed once; per-
chance you may change again.”
“Cruel!” he cried, “who hath changed me?”
‘And then your brother,” she continued with a little laugh,
disregarding his question. “Methinks this hath become a
family custom amongst the Edricsons. Nay, I am sorry; I did
not mean a jibe. But, indeed, Alleyne, this hath come sud-
denly upon me, and I scarce know what to say.”
“Say some word of hope, however distant—some kind
word that | may cherish in my heart.”’
“Nay, Alleyne, it were a cruel kindness, and you have been
too good and true a friend to me that I should use you despite-
fully. There cannot be a closer link between us. It is madness
to think of it. Were there no other reasons, it is enough that
my father and your brother would both cry out against it.”
“My brother, what has he to do with it? And your
father 4
“Come, Alleyne, was it not you who would have me act
fairly to all men and, certes, to my father amongst them?”
“You say truly,” he cried, “you say truly. But you do not
reject me, Maude? You give me some ray of hope? I do
not ask pledge or promise. Say only that I am not hateful
to you—that on some happier day I may hear kinder words
from you.”
Her eyes softened upon him, and a kind answer was on
her lips, when a hoarse shout, with a clatter of arms and
stamping of steeds, rose up from the bailey below. At the
sound her face set, her eyes sparkled, and she stood with
flushed cheek and head thrown back—a woman’s body, with
a soul of fire.
“My father hath gone down,” she cried. “Your place is
by his side. Nay, look not at me, Alleyne. It is no time for
dallying. Win my father’s love, and all may follow. It is when
the brave soldier hath done his devoir that he hopes for
his reward. Farewell, and may God be with you!” She held
out her white, slim hand to him, but as he bent his lips over
it she whisked away and was gone, leaving in his outstretched
hand the very green veil for which poor Peter Terlake had
craved in vain. Again the hoarse cheering burst out from
below, and he heard the clang of the rising portcullis. Press-FORTH TO THE WARS 141
ing the veil to his lips, he thrust it into the bosom of his tunic,
and rushed as fast as feet could bear him to arm himself and
join the muster.
The raw morning had broken ere the hot spiced aie had
been served round and the last farewell spoken. A cold wind
blew up from the sea and ragged clouds drifted swiftly across
the sky. The Christchurch townsfolk stood huddled about
the Bridge of Avon, the women pulling tight their shawls
and the men swathing themselves in their gaberdines, while
down the winding path from the castle came the van of the
little army, their feet clanging on the hard, frozen road. First
_ came Black Simon with his banner, bestriding a lean and
powerful dapple-gray charger, as hard and wiry and war wise
as himself. After him, riding three abreast, were nine men
at arms, all picked soldiers, who had followed the French
wars betore, and knew the marches of Picardy as they knew
the downs of their native Hampshire. They were armed to
the teeth with lance, sword, and mace, with square shields
notched at the upper right-hand corner to serve as a spear
rest. For defense each man wore a coat of interlaced leathern
thongs, strengthened at the shoulder, elbow, and upper arm
with slips of steel. Greaves and kneepieces were also of
leather backed by steel, and their gauntlets and shoes were
of iron plates, craftily jointed. So, with jingle of arms and
clatter of hoofs, they rode across the Bridge of Avon, while
the burghers shouted lustily for the flag of the five roses and
its gallant guard.
Close at the heels of the horses came two-score archers,
bearded and burly, their round targets on their backs and
their long yellow bows, the most deadly weapon that the wit
of man had yet devised, thrusting forth from behind their
shoulders. From each man’s girdle hung sword or ax, ac-
cording to his humor, and over the right hip there jutted
out the leathern quiver with its bristle of goose, pigeon, and
peacock feathers. Behind the bowmen strode two trumpeters
blowing upon nakirs, and two drummers in parti-colored
clothes. After them came twenty-seven sumpter horses car-
rying tent poles, cloth, spare arms, spurs, wedges, cooking
kettles, horse shoes, bags of nails, and the hundred other
things which experience had shown to be needful in a harried142 THE WHITE COMPANY
and hostile country. A white mule with red trappings, led
by a varlet, carried Sir Nigel’s own napery and table com-
forts. Then came two-score more archers, ten more men
at arms, and finally a rear guard of twenty bowmen, with
big John towering in the front rank and the veteran Aylward
marching by the side, his battered harness and faded surcoat
in strange contrast with the snow-white jupons and shining
brigandines of his companions. A quick cross-fire of greet-
ings and questions and rough West Saxon jests flew from
rank to rank, or were bandied about betwixt the marching
archers and the gazing crowd.
“Hola, Gaffer Higginson!” cried Aylward, as he spied the
portly figure of the village innkeeper. “No more of thy nut-
brown, mon gar. We leave it behind us.”
By St. Paul, no!” cried the other. ‘You take it with you.
Devil a drop have you left in the great kilderkin. It was
time for you to go.”
‘If your cask is leer, I warrant your purse is full, gaffer,”
shouted Hordle John. “See that you lay in good store of
the best for our home-coming.”’
“See that you keep your throat whole for the drinking of
it, archer,” cried a voice, and the crowd laughed at the rough
pleasantry.
“If you will warrant the beer, I will warrant the throat,”
said John composedly.
“Close up the ranks!’ cried Aylward. “En avant, mes
enfants! Ah, by my finger bones, there is my sweet Mary
from the Priory Mill! Ma foi, but she is beautiful! Adieu,
Mary ma chérie! Mon cceur est toujours a toi. Brace your
belt, Watkins, man, and swing your shoulders as a free com-
panion should. By my hilt! your jerkins will be as dirty as
mine ere you clap eyes on Hengistbury Head again.”
The company had marched to the turn of the road ere Sir
Nigel Loring rode out from the gateway, mounted on Pom-
mers, his great black war horse, whose ponderous footfall
on the wooden drawbridge echoed loudly from the gloomy
arch which spanned it. Sir Nigel was still in his velvet dress
of peace, with flat velvet cap of maintenance, and curling
ostrich feather clasped in a golden brooch. To his three
squires riding behind him it looked as though he bore theFORTH TO THE WARS 143
bird’s egg as well as its feather, for the back of his bald
pate shone like a globe of tvory. He bore no arms save
the long and heavy sword which hung at his saddlebow; but
Terlake carried in front of him the high wivern-crested bas-
sinet, Ford the heavy ash spear with swallow-tail pennon,
while Alleyne was intrusted with the emblazoned shield. The
Lady Loring rode her palfrey at her lord’s bridle arm, for
she would see him as far as the edge of the forest, and ever
and-anon she turned her hard-lined face up wistfully to him
and ran a questioning eye over his apparel and appoint-
ments.
“T trust that there is nothing forgot,’’ she said, beckoning
to Alleyne to ride on her further side. “I trust him to you,
Edricson. Hosen, shirts, cyclas, and underjupons are in the
brown basket on the left side of the mule. His wine he takes
hot when the nights are cold, malvoisie or vernage, with as
much spice as would cover the thumb nail. See that he hath
a change if he come back hot from the tilting. There is
goose grease in a box, if the old scars ache at the turn of
the weather. Let his blankets be dry and x
“Nay, my heart’s life,” the little knight interrupted, “trouble
not now about such matters. Why so pale and wan, Edricson?
Is it not enow to make a man’s heart dance to see this noble
Company, such valiant men at arms, such lusty archers? By
St. Paul! I would be ill to please if I were not blithe to see
the red roses flying at the head of so noble a following!”
“The purse I have already given you, Edricson,” continued
the lady. “There are in it twenty-three marks, one noble,
three shillings and fourpence, which is a great treasure for
one man to carry. And I pray you to bear in mind, Edricson,
that he hath two pairs of shoes, those of red leather for
common use, and the others with golden toe-chains, which
he may wear should he chance to drink wine with the Prince
or with Chandos.”
“My sweet bird,” said Sir Nigel, “I am right loath to part
from you, but we are now at the fringe of the forest, and it
is not right that I should take the chatelaine too far from
her trust.”
“But oh, my dear lord,” she cried with a trembling lip,
“let me bide with you for one furlong further—or one and144. THE WHITE COMPANY
a half perhaps. You may spare me this out of the weary
miles that you will journey along.”
“Come, then, my heart’s comfort,’ he answered. “But I
must crave a gage from thee. It is my custom, dearling, and
hath been since I have first known thee, to proclaim by herald
in such camps, townships, or fortalices as I may chance to
visit, that my ladylove, being beyond compare the fairest and
sweetest in Christendom, I should deem it great honor and
kindly condescension if any cavalier would run three courses
against me with sharpened lances, should he chance to have
a lady whose claim he was willing to advance. I pray you
then, my fair dove, that you will vouchsafe to me one of
those doeskin gloves, that I may wear it as the badge of her
whose servant I shall ever be.”
‘‘Alack and alas for the fairest and sweetest!’’ she cried.
“Fair and sweet I would fain be for your dear sake, my
lord, but old I am and ugly, and the knights would laugh
should you lay lance in rest in such a cause.’
~Edricson,” quoth Sir Nigel, “you have young eyes, and
mine are somewhat bedimmed. Should you chance to see a
knight laugh, or smile, or even, look you, arch his brows,
or purse his mouth, or in any way show surprise that I should
uphold the Lady Mary, you will take particular note of his
name, his coat armor, and his lodging. Your glove, my life’s
desire !”’
The Lady Mary Loring slipped her hand from her yellow
leather gauntlet, and he, lifting it with dainty reverence,
bound it to the front of his velvet cap.
“It is with mine other guardian angels,” quoth he, pointing
at the saints’ medals which hung beside it. “And now, my
dearest, you have come far enow. May the Virgin guard and
prosper thee! One kiss!” He bent down from his saddle,
and then, striking spurs into his horse’s sides, he galloped at
top speed after his men, with his three squires at his heels.
Flalf a mile further, where the road topped a hill, they looked
back, and the Lady Mary on her white palfrey was still where
they had left her. A moment later they were on the down-
ward slope, and she had vanished from their view.CHAPTER XiVv
HOW SIR NIGEL SOUGHT FOR A WAYSIDE VENTURE
with bent brows and eyes upon the pommel of his
saddle. Edricson and Terlake rode behind him in
little better case, while Ford, a careless and light-hearted
youth, grinned at the melancholy of his companions, and
flourished his lord’s heavy spear, making a point to right and
a point to left, as though he were a paladin contending against
a host of assailants. Sir Nigel happened, however, to turn
himself in his saddle—Ford instantly became as stiff and as
rigid as though he had been struck with a palsy. The four
rode alone, for the archers had passed a curve in the road,
though Alleyne could still hear the heavy clump, clump of
their marching, or catch a glimpse of the sparkle of steel
through the tangle of leafless branches.
“Ride by my side, friends, I entreat of you,” said the knight,
reining in his steed that they might come abreast of him.
“For, since it hath pleased you to follow me to the wars, it
were well that you should know how you may best serve
me. I doubt not, Terlake, that you will show yourself a
worthy son of a valiant father; and you, Ford, of yours;
and you, Edricson, that you are mindful of the old-time house
from which all men know that you are sprung. And first
I would have you bear very steadfastly in mind that our
setting forth is by no means for the purpose of gaining spoil
or exacting ransom, though it may well happen that such
may come to us also. We go to France, and from thence
I trust to Spain, in humble search of a field in which we
may win advancement and perchance some small share of
glory. For this purpose I would have you know that it is
not my wont to let any occasion pass where it is in any way
possible that honor may be gained. I would have you bear
145
\ OR a time Sir Nigel was very moody and downcast,146 THE WHITE COMPANY
this in mind, and give great heed to it that you may bring
me word of all cartels, challenges, wrongs, tyrannies, infamies,
and wronging of damsels. Nor is any occasion too small to
take note of, for I have known such trifles as the dropping
of a gauntlet, or the flicking of a bread crumb, when well
and properly followed up, lead to a most noble spear-running.
But, Edricson, do I not see a cavalier who rides down yonder
road amongst the nether shaw? It would be well, perchance,
that you should give him greeting from me. And, should
he be of gentle blood, it may be that he would care to exchange
thrusts with me.”
“Why, my lord,’ quoth Ford, standing in his stirrups and
shading his eyes, “it 1s old Hob Davidson, the fat miller of
Milton!”
“Ah, so it is, indeed,” said Sir Nigel, puckering his cheeks;
“but wayside ventures are not to be scorned, for I have seen
no finer passages than are to be had from such chance meet-
ings, when cavaliers are willing to advance themselves. |
can well remember that two leagues from the town of Reims
I met a very valiant and courteous cavalier of France, with
whom I had gentle and most honorable contention for upward
of an hour. It hath ever grieved me that I had not his name,
for he smote upon me with a mace and went upon his way
ere I was in condition to have much speech with him; but
his arms were an allurion in chief above a fess azure. I was
also on such an occasion thrust through the shoulder by
Lyon de Montcourt, whom I met on the high road betwixt
Libourne and Bordeaux. I met him but the once, but I have
never seen a man for whom I bear a greater love and esteem.
And so also with the squire Le Bourg Capillet, who would
have been a very valiant captain had he lived.”
“He is dead then?” asked Alleyne Edricson.
“Alas! it was my ill fate to slay him in a bickering which
broke out in a field near the township of Tarbes. I cannot
call to mind how the thing came about, for it was in the year
of the Prince’s ride through Langued’oc, when there was much
fine skirmishing to be had at barriers. By St. Paul! I do
not think that any honorable cavalier could ask for bettez
chance of advancement than might be had by spurring forth
before the army and riding to the gateways of Narbonne, orSIR NIGEL SEEKS A VENTURE § 147
Bergerac, or Mont Giscar, where some courteous gentleman
would ever be at wait to do what he might to meet your wish
or ease you of your vow. Such a one at Ventadour ran three
courses with me betwixt daybreak and sunrise, to the great
exaltation of his lady.”
“And did you slay him also, my lord?” asked Ford with
reverence.
‘“T-could never learn, for he was carried within the barrier,
and as I had chanced to break the bone of my leg it was a
great unease for me to ride or even to stand. Yet, by the
goodness of heaven and the pious intercession of the valiant
St. George, I was able to sit my charger in the ruffle of
Poictiers, which was no very long time afterwards. But what
have we here? A very fair and courtly maiden, or I mistake.”’
It was indeed a tall and buxom country lass, with a basket
of spinach leaves upon her head, and a great slab of bacon
tucked under one arm. She bobbed a frightened curtsy as Sir
Nigel swept his velvet hat from his head and reined up his
great charger.
“God be with thee, fair maiden!’ said he.
“God guard thee, my lord!” she answered, speaking in the
broadest West Saxon speech, and balancing herself first on
one foot and then on the other in her bashfulness.
“Fear not, my fair damsel,” said Sir Nigel, “but tell me if
perchance a poor and most unworthy knight can in any wise
be of service to you. Should it chance that you have been
used despitefully, it may be that I may obtain justice for |
you.”
“Lawk no, kind sir,’’ she answered, clutching her bacon the
tighter, as though some design upon it might be hid under this
knightly offer. “I be the milking wench o’ fairmer Arnold,
and he be as kind a maister as heart could wish.”
“Tt is well,” said he, and with a shake of the bridle rode on
down the woodland path. “I would have you bear in mind,”
he continued to his squires, “that gentle courtesy is not, as is
the base use of so many false knights, to be shown only to
maidens of high degree, for there is no woman so humble that
a true knight may not listen to her tale of wrong. But here
comes a cavalier who is indeed in haste. Perchance it would
be well that we should ask him whither he rides, for it may be148 THE WHITE COMPANY
that he is one who desires to advance himself in chivalry.”
The bleak, hard, wind-swept road dipped down in front of
them into a little valley, and then, writhing up the heathy
slope upon the other side, lost itself among the gaunt pine
trees. Far away between the black lines of trunks the quick
glitter of steel marked where the Company pursued its way.
To the north stretched the tree country, but to the south, be-
tween two swelling downs, a glimpse might be caught of the
cold gray shimmer of the sea, with the white fleck of a galley
sail upon the distant sky line. Just in front of the travelers
a horseman was urging his steed up the slope, driving it on
with whip and spur as one who rides for a set purpose. As
he clattered up, Alleyne could see that the roan horse was
gray with dust and flecked with foam, as though it had left
many a mile behind it. The rider was a stern-faced man,
hard of mouth and dry of eye, with a heavy sword clanking
at his side, and a stiff white bundle swathed in linen balanced
across the pommel of his saddle.
“The king’s messenger,” he bawled as he came up to them.
“The messenger of the king. Clear the causeway for the
king’s own man.”
“Not so loudly, friend,’ quoth the little knight, reining his
horse half round to bar the path. “I have myself been the
king’s man for thirty years or more, but I have not been wont
to halloo about ft on a peaceful highway.”
1 fide in his service,’ cried the other, “and I carry that
which belongs to him. You bar my path at your peril.”
“Yet I have known the king’s enemies claim to ride in his
name,’ said Sir Nigel. ‘The. foul fiend may lurk beneath a
garment of light. We must have some sign or warrant of
your mission.”
“Then must I hew a passage,” cried the stranger, with his
shoulder braced round and his hand upon his hilt. ‘I am not
to be stopped on the king’s service by every gadabout.”
“Should you be a gentleman of quarterings and coat
armor,” lisped Sir Nigel, “I shall be very blithe to go further
into the matter with you. If not, I have three very worthy
squires, any one of whom would take the thing upon himself,
and debate it with you in a very honorable way.”
’SIR NIGEL SEEKS A VENTURE § 149
The man scowled from one to the other, and his hand stole
away from his sword.
“You ask me for a sign,” he said. “Here is a sign for you,
since you must have one.”’ As he spoke he whirled the cover-
ing from the object in front of him and showed to their
horror that it was a newly severed human leg. “By God’s
tooth!’ he continued, with a brutal laugh, “you ask me if I am
a man of quarterings, and it is even so, for I am officer to the
verderer’s court at Lyndhurst. This thievish leg is to hang
at Milton, and the other is already at Brockenhurst, as a sign
to all men of what comes of being overfond of venison pasty.”’
- “Faugh!” cried Sir Nigel. “Pass on the other side of the
road, fellow, and let us have the wind of you. We shall trot
our horses, my friends, across this pleasant valley, for, by
Our Lady! a breath of God’s fresh air is right welcome after
such a sight.”’
‘“‘We hoped to snare a falcon,’ said he presently, “but we
netted a carrion crow. Ma foi! but there are men whose
hearts are tougher than a boar’s hide. For me, I have played
the old game of war since ever I had hair on my chin, and I
have seen ten thousand brave men in one day with their faces
to the sky, but I swear by Him who made me that I cannot
abide the work of the butcher.”’
“And yet, my fair lord,” said Edricson, “there has, from
what I hear, been much of such devil’s work in France.”
“Too much, too much,” he answered. “But I have ever
observed that the foremost in the field are they who would ©
scorn to mishandle a prisoner. By St. Paul! it is not they
who carry the breach who are wont to sack the town, but
the laggard knaves who come crowding in when a way has
been cleared for them. But what is this among the trees?”
“Tt is a shrine of Our Lady,” said Terlake, ‘‘and a blind
beggar who lives by the alms of those who worship there.”
“A shrine!” cried the knight. “Then let us put up an
orison.” Pulling off his cap, and clasping his hands, he
chanted in a shrill voice: “Benedictus dominus Deus meus,
qui docet manus meas ad prcelium, et digitos meos ad
bellum.” A strange figure he seemed to his three squires,
perched on his huge horse, with his eyes upturned and the
wintry sun shimmering upon his bald head. “It is a noble
J150 THE WHITE COMPANY
prayer,’ he remarked, putting on his hat again, ‘‘and it was
taught to me by the noble Chandos himself. But how fares
it with you, father? Methinks that I should have ruth upon
you, seeing that I am myself like one who looks through a
horn window while his neighbors have the clear crystal. Yet,
by St. Paul! there is a long stride between the man who hath
a horn casement and him who is walled in on every hand.”
“Alas! fair sir,’ cried the blind old man, ‘‘I have not seen
the blessed blue of heaven this two-score years, since a levin
flash burned the sight out of my head.”’
“You have been blind to much that is goodly and fair,”
quoth Sir Nigel, “but you have also been spared much that
is sorry and foul. This very hour our eyes have been shocked
with that which would have left you unmoved. But, by St.
Paul! we must on, or our Company will think that they have
lost their captain somewhat early in the venture. Throw the
man my purse, Edricson, and let us go.”
Alleyne, lingering behind, bethought him of the Lady Lor-
ing’s counsel, and reduced the noble gift which the knight
had so freely bestowed to a single penny, which the beggar
with many mumbled blessings thrust away into his wallet.
Then, spurring his steed, the young squire rode at the top
of his speed after his companions, and overtook them just at
the spot where the trees fringe off into the moor and the
straggling hamlet of Hordle lies scattered on either side of the
winding and deeply rutted track. The Company was already
well-nigh through the village; but, as the knight and his
squires closed up upon them, they heard the clamor of a
strident voice, followed by a roar of deep-chested laughter
from the ranks of the archers. Another minute brought them
up with the rear guard, where every man marched with his
beard on his shoulder and a face which was a-grin with
merriment. By the side of the column walked a huge red-
headed bowman, with his hands thrown out in argument and
expostulation, while close at his heels followed a little wrinkled
woman, who poured forth a shrill volley of abuse, varied by
an occasional thwack from her stick, given with all the force
of her body, though she might have been beating one of the
forest trees for all the effect that she seemed likely to pro-
duce.SIR NIGEL SEEKS A VENTURE 151
“T trust, Aylward,” said Sir Nigel gravely, as he rode up,
“that this doth not mean that any violence hath been offered
to women. If such a thing happened, I tell you that the man
shall hang, though he were the best archer that ever wore
brassart.”’
“Nay, my fair lord,” Aylward answered with a grin, “itl 16
violence which is offered to a man. He comes from Hordle,
and this-is his mother who hath come forth to welcome him.”
“Vou rammucky lurden,” she was howling, with a blow be-
tween each catch of her breath, ‘you shammocking, yaping,
overlong good-for-naught. I will teach thee! I will baste
thee! Aye, by my faith!”
“Whist, mother,” said John, looking back at her from the
tail of his eye, ‘I go to France as an archer to give blows and
to take them.”
“To France, quotha?” cried the old dame. ‘Bide here with
me, and I shall warrant you more blows than you are like
to get in France. If blows be what you seek, you need not
go further than Hordle.”
“By my hilt! the good dame speaks truth,” said Aylward.
“Tt seems to be the very home of them.”
“What have you to say, you clean-shaved galley beggar?”
cried the fiery dame, turning upon the archer. “Can I not
speak with my own son but you must let your tongue clack?
A soldier, quotha, and never a hair on his face. I have seen a
better soldier with pap for food and swaddling clothes for
harness.”’ |
“Stand to it, Aylward,’ cried the archers, amid a fresh
burst of laughter.
“Do not thwart her, comrade,” said big John. “She hath a
proper spirit for her years and cannot abide to be thwarted.
It is kindly and homely to me to hear her voice and to feel that
she is behind me. But I must leave you now, mother, for
the way is overrough for your feet; but I will bring you back
a silken gown, if there be one in France or Spain, and I will
bring Jinny a silver penny; so good-by to you, and God have
you in His keeping!’ Whipping up the little woman, he
lifted her lightly to his lips, and then, taking his place in the
ranks again, marched on with the laughing Company.
“That was ever his way,’ she cried, appealing to Sir152 THE WHITE COMPANY
Nigel, who reined up his horse and listened with the greatest
courtesy. ‘‘He would jog on his own road for all that I could
do to change him. First he must be a monk forsooth, and all
because a wench was wise enough to turn her back on him.
Then he joins a rascally crew and must needs traipse off to
the wars, and me with no one to bait the fire if I be out, or
tend the cow if I be home. Yet I have been a good mother to
him. Three hazel switches a day have I broke across his
shoulders, and he takes no more notice than you have seen
him to-day.”
“Doubt not that he will come back to you both safe and
prosperous, my fair dame,” quoth Sir Nigel. ‘‘Meanwhile it
grieves me that as I have already given my purse to a beggar
up the road I is
“Nay, my lord,” said Alleyne, “I still have some moneys
remaining.’’
“Then I pray you to give them to this very worthy woman.”
He cantered on as he spoke, while Alleyne, having dispensed
two more pence, left the old dame standing by the furthest
cottage of Hordle, with her shrill voice raised in blessings
instead of revilings.
There were two crossroads before they reached the Lyming-
ton Ford, and at each of them Sir Nigel pulled up his horse,
and waited with many a curvet and gambade, craning his neck
this way and that to see if fortune would send him a venture.
Crossroads had, as he explained, been rare places for knightly
spear-runnings, and in his youth it was no uncommon thing
for a cavalier to abide for weeks at such a point, holding
gentle debate with all comers, to his own advancement and
the great honor of his lady. The times were changed, how-
ever, and the forest tracks wound away from them deserted
and silent, with no trample of war horse or clang of armor
which might herald the approach of an adversary—so that
Sir Nigel rode on his way disconsolate. At the Lymington
River they splashed through the ford, and lay in the meadows
on the further side to eat the bread and salt meat which they
carried upon the sumpter horses. Then, ere the sun was on
the slope of the heavens, they had deftly trussed up again,
and were swinging merrily upon their way, two hundred feet
moving like two.66
HEY AVE
“By My Hace He Is Gone Crimp Aviw Arp:
SUNK LOGETHER LIKE A STONE
See page 176]SIR NIGEL SEEKS A VENTURE = 153
There is a third crossroad where the track from Boldre runs
down to the old fishing village of Pitt’s Deep. Down this, as
they came abreast of it, there walked two men, the one a pace
or two behind the other. The cavaliers could not but pull up
their horses to look at them, for a stranger pair were never
seen journeying together. The first was a misshapen, squalid
man with cruel, cunning eyes and a shock of tangled red hair,
bearing in-his hands a small unpainted cross, which he held
high so that all men might see it. He seemed to be in the
last extremity of fright, with a face the color of clay and his
limbs all ashake as one who hath an ague. Behind him, with
his toe ever rasping upon the other’s heels, there walked a
very stern, black-bearded man with a hard eye and a set
mouth. He bore over his shoulder a great knotted stick with
three jagged nails stuck in the head of it, and from time to
time he whirled it up in the air with a quivering arm, as
though he could scarce hold back from dashing his com-
panion’s brains out. So in silence they walked under the
spread of the branches on the grass-grown path from
Boldre.
“By St. Paul!’ quoth the knight, “but this is a passing
strange sight, and perchance some very perilous and honor-
able venture may arise from it. I pray you, Edricson, to ride
up to them and to ask them the cause of it.”
There was no need, however, for him to move, for the
twain came swiftly toward them until they were within a
spear’s length, when the man with the cross sat himself down |
sullenly upon a tussock of grass by the wayside, while the
other stood beside him with his great cudgel still hanging over
his head. So intent was he that he raised his eyes neither to
knight nor squires, but kept them ever fixed with a savage
glare upon his comrade.
“I pray you, friend,” said Sir Nigel, “‘to tell us truthfully
who you are, and why you follow this man with such bitter
enmity ?”
“So long as I am within the pale of the king’s law,” the
stranger answered, “I cannot see why I should render account
to every passing wayfarer.”
“Vou are no very shrewd reasoner, fellow,’ quoth the
knight; “for if it be within the law for you to threaten him154 THE WHITE COMPANY
with your club, then it is also lawful for me to threaten you
with my sword.”’
The man with the cross was down in an instant on his knees
upon the ground, with hands clasped above him and his face
shining with hope. “For dear Christ’s sake, my fair lord,”
he cried in a crackling voice, ‘I have at my belt a bag with
a hundred rose nobles, and I will give it to you freely if you
will but pass your sword through this man’s body.”
“How, you foul knave’” exclaimed Sir Nigel hotly. “Do
you think that a cavalier’s arm is to be bought like a pack-
man’s ware. By St. Paul! I have little doubt that this fellow
hath some very good cause to hold you in hatred.”
“Indeed, my fair sir, you speak sooth,” quoth he with the
club, while the other seated himself once more by the wayside.
“For this man is Peter Peterson, a very noted rieve, draw-
latch, and murtherer, who has wrought much evil for many
years in the parts about Winchester. It was but the other
day, upon the feasts of the blessed Simon and Jude, that he
slew my younger brother William in Bere Forest—for which,
by the black thorn of Glastonbury! I shall have his heart’s
blood, though I walk behind him to the further end of the
earth.”
“But if this be indeed so,” asked Sir Nigel, “why is it that
you have come with him so far through the forest?”
“Because I am an honest Englishman, and will take no more
than the law allows. For when the deed was done this foul
and base wretch fled to sanctuary at St. Cross, and I, as you
may think, after him with all the posse. The prior, however,
hath so ordered that while he holds this cross no man may
lay hand upon him without the ban of church, which heaven
forfend from me or mine. Yet, if for an instant he lay
the cross aside, or if he fail to journey to Pitt’s Deep, where
it is ordered that he shall take ship to outland parts, or if he
take not the first ship, or if until the ship be ready he walk
not every day into the sea as far as his loins, then he becomes
outlaw, and I shall forthwith dash out his brains.”
At this the man on the ground snarled up at him like a rat,
while the other clenched his teeth, and shook his club, and
looked down at him with murder in his eyes. Knight and
squire gazed from rogue to avenger, but as it was a matterSIR NIGEL SEEKS A VENTURE 155
which none could mend they tarried no longer, but rode upon
their way. Alleyne, looking back, saw that the murderer had
drawn bread and cheese from his scrip, and was silently
munching it, with the protecting cross still hugged to his
breast, while the other, black and grim, stood in the sunlit
road and threw his dark shadow athwart him,CHAPTER) XV.
HOW THE YELLOW COG SAILED FORTH FROM LEPE
a HAT night the Company slept at St. Leonard’s, in the
great monastic barns and spicarium—ground well
known both to Alleyne and to John, for they were
almost within sight of the Abbey of Beaulieu. A strange
thrill it gave to the young squire to see the well-remembered
white dress once more, and to hear the measured tolling of the
deep vespers bell. At early dawn they passed across the broad,
sluggish, reed-girt stream—men, horses, and baggage in the
flat ferry barges—and so journeyed on through the fresh
morning air past Exbury to Lepe. Topping the heathy down,
they came of a sudden full in sight of the old seaport—a
cluster of houses, a trail of blue smoke, and a bristle of masts.
To right and left the long curve of the Solent lapped in a
fringe of foam upon the yellow beach. Some way out from
the town a line of pessoners, creyers, and other small craft
were rolling lazily on the gentle swell. Further out still lay
a great merchant ship, high ended, deep waisted, painted
of a canary yellow, and towering above the fishing boats
like a swan among ducklings.
“By St. Paul!” said the knight, “our good merchant of
Southampton hath not played us false, for methinks I can
see our ship down yonder. He said that she would be of
great size and of a yellow shade.”
“By my hilt, yes!’ muttered Aylward; “she is yellow as a
kite’s claw, and would carry as many men as there: are pips
in a pomegranate.”
“It is as well,” remarked Terlake; “for methinks, my fair
lord, that we are not the only ones who are waiting a passage
to Gascony. Mine eye catches at times a flash and sparkle
among yonder houses which assuredly never came from ship-
man’s jacket or the gaberdine of a burgher.”
156THE YELLOW COG SAILS 157
“T can also see it,” said Alleyne, shading his eyes with his
hand. ‘‘And I can see men at arms in yonder boats which
ply betwixt the vessel and the shore. But methinks that we
are very welcome here, for already they come forth to meet
99
shy
A tumultuous crowd of fishermen, citizens, and women had
indeed swarmed out from the northern gate, and approached
them up the side of the moor, waving their hands and dancing
with joy, as though a great fear had been rolled back trom
their minds. At their head rode a very large and solemn man
with a long chin and a drooping lip. He wore a fur tippet
round his neck and a heavy gold chain over it, with a me-
dallion which dangled in front of him.
“Welcome, most puissant and noble lord,” he cried, doffing
his bonnet to Black Simon. “I have heard of your lordship’s
valiant deeds, and in sooth they might be expected from your
lordship’s face and bearing. Is there any small matter in
which I may oblige your” |
“Since you ask me,” said the man at arms, “I would take
it kindly if you could spare a link or two of the chain which
hangs round your neck.”
“What, the corporation chain!” cried the other in horror.
“The ancient chain of the township of Lepe! This is but a
sorry jest, Sir Nigel.”
“What the plague did you ask me for then?” said Simon.
“But if it is Sir Nigel Loring with whom you would speak,
that is he upon the black horse.”
The Mayor of Lepe gazed with amazement on the mild face
and slender frame of the famous warrior.
“Your pardon, my gracious lord,’ he cried. “You see in
me the mayor and chief magistrate of the ancient and power-
ful town of Lepe. I bid you very heartily welcome, and the
more so as you are come at a moment when we are sore put
to it for’ means of defense.”
“Ta!” cried Sir Nigel, pricking up his ears.
“Ves my lord, for the town being very ancient and the
walls as old as the town, it follows that they are very ancient
too. But there is a certain villainous and bloodthirsty Nor-
‘man pirate hight Téte-noire, who, with a Genoan called Tito
Caracci, commonly known as Spade-beard, hath been a mighty158 THE WHITE COMPANY
scourge upon these coasts. Indeed, my lord, they are very
cruel and black-hearted men, graceless and ruthless, and if
they should come to the ancient and powerful town of Lepe
then i
“Then good-by to the ancient and powerful town of Lepe,”
quoth Ford, whose lightness of tongue could at times rise
above his awe of Sir Nigel.
The knight, however, was too much intent upon the matter
in hand to give heed to the flippancy of his squire. ‘Have
you then cause,” he asked, “‘to think that these men are about
to venture an attempt upon you?”
“They have come in two great galleys,” answered the mayor,
“with two bank of oars on either side, and great store of
engines of war and of men at arms. At Weymouth and
at Portland they have murdered and ravished. Yesterday
morning they were at Cowes, and we saw the smoke from
the burning crofts. To-day they lie at their ease near Fresh-
water, and we fear much lest they come upon us and do us
a mischief.”
“We cannot tarry,” said Sir Nigel, riding toward the town,
with the mayor upon his left side; “the Prince awaits us at
Bordeaux, and we may not be behind the general muster. Yet
I will promise you that on our way we shall find time to pass
Freshwater and to prevail upon these rovers to leave you in
peace.”’
“We are much beholden to you!” cried the mayor. “But
I cannot see, my lord, how, without a warship, you may ven-
ture against these men. With your archers, however, you
might well hold the town and do them great scathe if they
attempt to land.”
“There is a very proper cog out yonder,” said Sir N igels (Gt
would be a very strange thing if any ship were not a war-
ship when it had such men as these upon her decks. Certes,
we shall do as I say, and that no later than this very day.”
“My lord,’ said a rough-haired, dark-faced man, who
walked by the knight’s other stirrup, with his head sloped to
catch all that he was saying. “By your leave, I have no doubt
that you are skilled in land fighting and the marshaling of
lances, but, by my soul! you will find it another thing upon
the sea. I am the master shipman of this yellow cog, and myTHE YELLOW COG SAILS 159
name is Goodwin Hawtayne. I have sailed since I was as
high as this staff, and I have fought against these Normans
and against the Genoese, as well as the Scotch, the Bretons,
the Spanish, and the Moors. I tell you, sir, that my ship is
overlight and overfrail for such work, and it will but end in
our having our throats cut, or being sold as slaves to the
Barbary heathen.”’
“T also have. experienced one or two gentle and honorable
ventures upon the sea,’ quoth Sir Nigel, “and I am right
blithe to have so fair a task before us. I think, good master
shipman, that you and I may win great honor in this matter,
and I can see very readily that you are a brave and stout man.”’
“T like it not,” said the other sturdily. “In God’s name, I
like it not. And yet Goodwin Hawtayne is not the man to
stand back when his fellows are for pressing forward. By
my soul! be it sink or swim, I shall turn her beak into Fresh-
water Bay, and if good Master Witherton, of Southampton,
like not my handling of his ship then he may find another
master shipman.”’
They were close by the old north gate of the little town, and
Alleyne, half turning in his saddle, looked back at the motley
crowd who followed. The bowmen and men at arms had
broken their ranks and were intermingled with the fishermen
and citizens, whose laughing faces and hearty gestures be-
spoke the weight of care from which this welcome arrival had
relieved them. Here and there among the moving throng of
dark jerkins and of white surcoats were scattered dashes of —
scarlet and blue, the whimples or shawls of the women.
Aylward, with a fishing lass on either arm, was vowing con-
stancy alternately to her on the right and her on the left,
while big John towered in the rear with a little chubby
maiden enthroned upon his great shoulder, her soft white arm
curled round his shining headpiece. So the throng moved
on, until at the very gate it was brought to a stand by a
wondrously fat man, who came darting forth from the town
with rage in every feature of his rubicund face.
“How now, Sir Mayor?” he roared, in a voice like a
bull. “How now, Sir Mayor? How of the clams and the
-scallops ?”’
“By Our Lady! my sweet Sir Oliver,” cried the mayor.160 THE WHITE COMPANY
“IT have had so much to think of, with these wicked villains
so close upon us, that it had quite gone out of my head.”
“Words, words!’ shouted the other furiously. “Am I to
be put off with words? I say to you again, how of the
clams and scallops?”
“My fair sir, you flatter me,’ cried the mayor. ,“] am:a
peaceful trader, and | am not wont to be so shouted at upon
so small a matter.”
“Small!” shrieked the other. “Small! Clams and scallops!
Ask me to your table to partake of the dainty of the town, and
when I come a barren welcome and a bare board! Where is
my spear-bearer?”’
“Nay, Sir Oliver, Sir Oliver!’ cried Sir Nigel, laughing.
“Let your anger be appeased, since instead of this dish you
come upon an old friend and comrade.”
“By St. Martin of Tours!” shouted the fat knight, his
wrath all changed in an instant to joy, “if it is not my dear
little game rooster of the Garonne. Ah, my sweet coz, I am
right glad to see you. What days we have seen together!”
“Aye, by my faith,” cried Sir Nigel, with sparkling eyes,
“we have seen some valiant men, and we have shown our
pennons in some noble skirmishes. By St. Paul! we have
had great joys in France.”’
“And sorrows also,” quoth the other. ‘I have some sad
memories of the land. Can you recall that which befell us
at Libourne ?”’
“Nay, I cannot call to mind that we ever so much as drew
sword at the place.”
“Man, man,” cried Sir Oliver, ‘your mind still runs on
naught but blades and bassinets. Hast no space in thy frame
for the softer joys. Ah, even now I can scarce speak of it
unmoved. So noble a pie, such tender pigeons, and sugar in
the gravy instead of salt! You were by my side that day,
as were Sir Claude Latour and the Lord of Pommers.”’
“I remember it,” said Sir Nigel, laughing, “and how you
harried the cook down the street, and spoke of setting fire to
the inn. By St. Paul! most worthy mayor, my old friend
is a perilous man, and I rede you that you compose your
difference with him on such terms as you may.”
"The clams and scallops shall be ready within the hour,”THE YELLOW COG SAILS 161
the mayor answered. “I had asked Sir Oliver Buttesthorn
to do my humble board the honor to partake at it of the dainty
upon which we take some little pride, but in sooth this alarm
of pirates hath cast such a shadow on my wits that I am
like one distrait. But I trust, Sir Nigel, that you will also
partake of none-meat with me?”
“TI have overmuch to do,’ Sir Nigel answered, “for we
must be aboard, horse and man, as early as we may. How
many do you muster, Sir Oliver?”
“Three and forty. The forty are drunk, and the three
are but indifferent sober. I have them all safe upon the
ship.”
‘They had best find their wits again, for I shall have work
for every man of them ere the sun set. It is my intention, if
it seems good to you, to try a venture against these Norman
and Genoese rovers.”’
“They carry caviare and certain very noble spices from
the Levant aboard of ships from Genoa,’ quoth Sir Oliver.
“We may come to great profit through the business. I pray
you, master shipman, that when you go on board you pour
a helmetful of sea water over any of my rogues whom you
may see there.”’
Leaving the lusty knight and the Mayor of Lepe, Sir
Nigel led the Company straight down to the water’s edge,
where long lines of flat lighters swiftly bore them to their
vessel. Horse after horse was slung by main force up from
the barges, and after kicking and plunging in empty air was
dropped into the deep waist of the yellow cog, where rows
of stalls stood ready for their safe keeping. Englishmen in
those days were skilled and prompt in such matters, for it
was so not long before that Edward had embarked as many
as fifty thousand men in the port of Orwell, with their horses
atid their baggage, all in the space of four-and-twenty hours.
So urgent was Sir Nigel on the shore, and so prompt was
Goodwin Hawtayne on the cog, that Sir Oliver Buttesthorn
had scarce swallowed his last scallop ere the peal of the
trumpet and clang of nakir announced that all was ready and
the anchor drawn. In the last boat which left the shore the
two commanders sat together in the sheets, a strange contrast
to one another, while under the feet of the rowers was a litter162 THE WHITE COMPANY
of huge stones which Sir Nigel had ordered to be carried to
the cog. These once aboard, the ship set her broad mainsail,
purple in color, and with a golden St. Christopher bearing
Christ upon his shoulder in the center of it. The breeze blew,
the sail bellied, over heeled the portly vessel, and away she
plunged through the smooth blue rollers, amid the clang of
minstrels on her poop and the shouting of the black crowd
who fringed the yellow beach. To the left lay the green
Island of Wight, with its long, low, curving hills peeping
over each other’s shoulders to the sky line; to the right the
wooded Hampshire coast as far as eye could reach; above
a steel-blue heaven, with a wintry sun shimmering down
upon them, and enough of frost to set the breath a-smoking.
“By St. Paul!” said Sir Nigel gayly, as he stood upon the
poop and looked on either side of him, “it is a land which is
very well worth fighting for, and it were pity to go to
France for what may be had at home. Did you not spy
a crooked man upon the beach?”
“Nay, I spied nothing,” grumbled Sir Oliver, “for I was
hurried down with a clam stuck in my gizzard and an un-
tasted goblet of Cyprus on the board behind me.”
“T saw him, my fair lord,’ said Terlake, “‘an old man with
one shoulder higher than the other.”
“’Tis a sign of good fortune,” quoth Sir Nigel. “Our
path was also crossed by a woman and by a priest, so all
should be well with us. What say you, Edricson?”
“T cannot tell, my fair lord. The Romans of old were a
very wise people, yet, certes, they placed their faith in such
matters. So, too, did the Greeks, and divers other ancient
peoples who were famed for their learning. Yet of the
moderns there are many who scoff at all omens.”
“There can be no manner of doubt about it,” said Sir
Oliver Buttesthorn. “I can well remember that in Navarre
one day it thundered on the left out of a cloudless sky. We
knew that ill would come of it, nor had we long to wait. Only
thirteen days after, a haunch of prime venison was carried
from my very tent door by the wolves, and on the same
day two flasks of old vernage turned sour and muddy.”
“You may bring my harness from below,” said Sir Nigel to
his squires, “and also, I pray you, bring up Sir Oliver’s andTHE YELLOW COG SAILS 163
we shall don it here. Ye may then see to your own gear,
for this day you will, I hope, make a very honorable entrance
into the field of chivalry, and prove yourselves to be very
worthy and valiant squires. And now, Sir Oliver, as to our
dispositions: would it please you that I should order them
or will you?’
“You, my cockerel, you. By Our Lady! I am no chicken,
but I cannot claim to know as much of war as the squire of
Sir Walter Manny. Settle the matter to your own liking.”
“You shall fly your pennon upon the fore part, then, and I
upon the poop. For foreguard I shall give you your own
forty men, with two-score archers. ‘l'wo-score men, with
my own men at arms and squires, will serve as a poop guard.
Ten archers, with thirty shipmen, under the master, may
hold the waist while ten lie aloft with stones and arbalests.
How like you that?”
“Good, by my faith, good! But here comes my harness,
and I must to work, for I cannot slip into it as 1 was wont
when first I set my face to the wars.”’
Meanwhile there had been bustle and preparation in all
parts of the great vessel. The archers stood in groups about
the decks, new-stringing their bows, and testing that they
were firm at the nocks. Among them moved Aylward and
other of the older soldiers, with a few whispered words of
precept here and of warning there.
“Stand to it, my hearts of gold,” said the old bowman as
he passed from knot to knot. “By my hilt! we are in luck
this journey. Bear in mind the old saying of the Com-
any. ”
A What is that, Aylward?” cried several, leaning on their
bows and laughing at him.
“°Tis the master bowyer’s rede: ‘Every bow well bent.
Every shaft well sent. Every stave well nocked. [Every
string well locked.’ There, with that jingle in his head, a
bracer on his left hand, a shooting glove on his right, and
a farthing’s worth of wax in his girdle, what more doth a
bowman need ?”’
“Tt would not be amiss,” said Hordle John, “Tf under his
girdle he had four farthings’ worth of wine.”
‘Work first, wine afterwards, mon camarade. But it is164 THE WHITE COMPANY
time that we took our order, for methinks that between the
Needle rocks and the Alum cliffs yonder I can catch a glimpse
of the topmasts of the galleys. Hewett, Cook, Johnson, Cun-
ningham, your men are of the poop guard. Thornbury,
Walters, Hackett, Baddlesmere, you are with Sir Oliver on
the forecastle. Simon, you bide with your lord’s banner;
but ten men must go forward.”
Quietly and promptly the men took their places, lying flat
upon their faces on the deck, for such was Sir Nigel’s order.
Near the prow was planted Sir Oliver’s spear, with his arms
—a boar’s head gules upon a field of gold. Close by the stern
stood Black Simon with the pennon of the house of Loring.
In the waist gathered the Southampton mariners, hairy and
burly men, with their jerkins thrown off, their waists braced
tight, swords, mallets, and poleaxes in their hands. Their
leader, Goodwin Hawtayne, stood upon the poop and talked
with Sir Nigel, casting his eye up sometimes at the swell-
ing sail, and then glancing back at the two seamen who held
the tiller.
“Pass the word,” said Sir Nigel, “that no man shall stand
to arms or draw his bowstring until my trumpeter shall
sound. It would be well that we should seem to be a mer-
chant ship from Southampton and appear to flee from them.”
“We shall see them anon,” said the master shipman. valet Be
said : not so? There they lie, the water snakes, in Fresh-
water Bay; and mark the reek of smoke from yonder point,
where they have been at their devil’s work. See how their
shallops pull from the land! They have seen us and called
their men aboard. Now they draw upon the anchor. See
them like ants upon the forecastle! They stoop and heave
like handy shipmen. But, my fair lord, these are no niefs,
I doubt but we have taken in hand more than we can do.
Fach of these ships is a galeasse, and of the largest and
swiftest make.” :
“I would I had your eyes,” said Sir Nigel, blinking at the
pirate galleys. “They seem very gallant ships, and I trust
that we shall have much pleasance from our meeting with
them. It would be well to pass the word that we should
neither give nor take quarter this day. Have you perchance
a priest or friar aboard this ship, Master Hawtayne?”THE YELLOW COG SAILS 165
“No, my fair lord.”
“Well, well, it is no great matter for my Company, for
they were all houseled and shriven ere we left T'wynham
Castle; and Father Christopher of the Priory gave me his
word that they were as fit to march to heaven as to Gascony.
But my mind misdoubts me as to these Winchester men who
have come with Sir Oliver, for they appear to be a very un-
godly crew. Pass the word that the men kneel, and that
the underofficers repeat to them the pater, the ave, and the
credo.”
With a clank of arms, the rough archers and seamen took
to their knees, with bent heads and crossed hands, listening
to the hoarse mutter from the file leaders. It was strange to
mark the hush; so that the lapping of the water, the strain-
ing of the sail, and the creaking of the timbers grew louder
of a sudden upon the ear. Many of the bowmen had drawn
amulets and relics from their bosoms, while he who possessed
some more than usually sanctified treasure passed it down
the line of his comrades, that all might kiss and reap the
virtue. |
The yellow cog had now shot out from the narrow waters
of the Solent, and was plunging and rolling on the long heave
of the open channel. The wind blew freshly from the east,
with a very keen edge to it; and the great sail bellied roundly
out, laying the vessel over until the water hissed beneath her
lee bulwarks. Broad and ungainly, she floundered from wave
to wave, dipping her round bows deeply into the blue roll-
ers, and sending the white flakes of foam in a spatter over
her decks. On her larboard quarter lay the two dark galleys,
which had already hoisted sail, and were shooting out from
Freshwater Bay in swift pursuit, their double line of oars
giving them a vantage which could not fail to bring them up
with any vessel which trusted to sails alone. High and bluff
the English cog; long, black and swift the pirate galleys, like
two fierce lean wolves which have seen a lordly and unsus-
pecting stag walk past their forest lair.
“Shall we turn, my fair lord, or shall we carry on?’ asked
the master shipman, looking behind him with anxious eyes.
“Nay, we must carry on and play the part of the helpless
merchant.”166 THE WHITE COMPANY
“But your pennons? They will see that we have two
knights with us.”’
“Yet it would not be to a knight’s honor or good name to
lower his pennon. Let them be, and they will think that we
are a wine ship for Gascony, or that we bear the wool bales
of some mercer of the Staple. Ma foi, but they are very
swift! They swoop upon us like two goshawks on a heron.
Is there not some symbol or device upon their sails ?”’
"That on the right,’ said Edricson, “appears to have the
head of an Ethiop upon it.”
“Tis ‘the badge of Téte-noire, the Norman,” cried a sea-
man-mariner. “I have seen it before, when he harried us
at Winchelsea. He is a wondrous large and strong man,
with no ruth for man, woman, or beast. They say that he
hath the strength of six; and, certes, he hath the crimes of
six upon his soul. See, now, to the poor souls who swing
at either end of his yardarm!”
At each end of the yard there did indeed hang the dark
figure of a man, jolting and lurching with hideous jerkings
of its limbs at every plunge and swoop of the galley.
“By St. Paul!” said Sir Nigel, “and by the help of St.
George and Our Lady, it will be a very strange thing if our
black-headed friend does not himself swing thence ere he be
many hours older. But what is that upon the other galley?”
“It is the red cross of Genoa. This Spade-beard is a very
noted captain, and it is his boast that there are no seamen
and no archers in the world who can compare with those
who serve the Doge Boccanegra.”
“That we shall prove,” said Goodwin Hawtayne; “but it
would be well, ere they close with us, to raise up the mantlets
and pavises as a screen against their bolts.” He shouted a>
hoarse order, and his seamen worked swiftly and silently,
heightening the bulwarks and strengthening them. The
three ship’s anchors were at Sir Nigel’s command carried
into the waist, and tied to the mast, with twenty feet of cable
between, each under the care of four seamen. Fight others
were stationed with leather water-bags to quench any fire
arrows which might come aboard, while others were sent up
the mast, to lie along the yard and drop stones or shoot
arrows as the occasion served.THE YELLOW COG SAILS 167
“Let them be supplied with all that is heavy and weighty
in the ship,” said Sir Nigel.
‘Then we must send them up Sir Oliver Buttesthorn,”’
quoth Ford.
The knight looked at him with a face which struck the
smile from his lips. “No squire of mine,’ he said, ‘‘shall
ever make jest of a belted knight. And yet,’ he added, his
eyes softening, “I know that it 1s but a boy’s mirth, with
no sting in it. Yet I should ill do my part toward your
father if I did not teach you to curb your tongue play.”
“They will lay us aboard on either quarter, my lord,” cried
the master. “See how they stretch out from each other!
The Norman hath a mangonel or a trabuch upon the fore-
castle. See, they bend to the levers! They are about to loose
hat.
“Aylward,” cried the knight, “pick your three trustiest
archers, and see if you cannot do something to hinder their
aim. Methinks they are within long arrow flight.”
“Seventeen score paces,’ said the archer, running his eye
backward and forward. ‘By my ten finger bones! it would
be a strange thing if we could not notch a mark at that dis-
tance. Here, Watkin of Sowley, Arnold, Long Williams, let
us show the rogues that they have English bowmen to deal
with.”
The three archers named stood at the further end of the
poop, balancing themselves with feet widely spread and bows
drawn, until the heads of the cloth-yard arrows were level
with the center of the stave. “You are the surer, Watkin,”
said Aylward, standing by them with shaft upon string.
“Do you take the rogue with the red coif. You two bring
down the man with the headpiece, and I will hold myself
ready if you miss. Ma foi! they are about to loose her.
Shoot, mes garcons, or you will be too late.”
The throng of pirates had cleared away from the great
wooden catapult, leaving two of their number to discharge
it. One in a scarlet cap bent over it, steadying the jagged
rock which was balanced on the spoon-shaped end of the long
wooden lever. The other held the loop of the rope which
would release the catch and send the unwieldy missile
hurtling through the air. So for an instant they stood, show-168 THE WHITE COMPANY
ing hard and clear against the white sail behind them. The
next redcap had fallen across the stone with an arrow be-
_tween his ribs; and the other, struck in the leg and in the
throat, was writhing and spluttering upon the ground. As
he toppled backward he had loosed the spring, and the huge
beam of wood, swinging round with tremendous force, cast
the corpse of his comrade so close to the English ship that
its mangled and distorted limbs grazed their very stern. As
to the stone, it glanced off obliquely and fell midway between
the vessels. A roar of cheering and of laughter broke from
the rough archers and seamen at the sight, answered by a
yell of rage from their pursuers.
“Lie low, mes enfants,” cried Aylward, motioning with
his left hand. “They will learn wisdom. They are bringing
forward shield and mantlet. We shall have some pebbles
about our ears ere long.”’CHAPTER XVI
HOW THE YELLOW COG FOUGHT THE TWO ROVER GALLEYS
| HE three vessels had been sweeping swiftly westward,
| the cog still well to the front, although the galleys
were slowly drawing in upon either quarter. To the
left was a hard sky line unbroken by a sail. The island al-
ready lay like a cloud behind them, while right in front
was St. Alban’s Head, with Portland looming mistily in the
farthest distance. Alleyne stood by the tiller, looking back-
ward, the fresh wind full in his teeth, the crisp winter air
tingling on his face and blowing his yellow curls from under
his bassinet. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes shining,
for the blood of a hundred fighting Saxon ancestors was be-
ginning to stir in his veins.
‘What was that?’ he asked, as a hissing, sharp-drawn
voice seemed to whisper in his ear. The steersman smiled,
and pointed with his foot to where a short heavy cross-bow
quarrel stuck quivering in the boards. At the same instant
the man stumbled forward upon his knees, and lay lifeless
upon the deck, a blood-stained feather jutting from his back.
As Alleyne stooped to raise him, the air seemed to be alive
with the sharp zip-zip of the bolts, and he could hear them
pattering on the deck like apples at a tree-shaking.
‘Raise two more mantlets by the poop lanthorn,”’ said Sir
Nigel quietly.
“And another man to the tiller,” cried the master shipman.
‘Keep them in play, Aylward, with ten of your men,” the
knight continued. “And let ten of Sir Oliver’s bowmen do
as much for the Genoese. I have no mind as yet to show
them how much they have to fear from us.”’
Ten picked shots under Aylward stood in line across the
broad deck, and it was a lesson to the young squires who had
seen nothing of war to note how orderly and how cool were
169170 THE WHITE COMPANY
these old soldiers, how quick the command, and how prampt
the carrying out, ten moving like one. Their comrades
crouched beneath the bulwarks, with many a rough jest and
many a scrap of criticism or advice. “Higher, Wat, higher!”
“Put thy body into it, Will!’ “Forget not the wind, Hal!”
So ran the muttered chorus, while high above it rose the
sharp twanging of the strings, the hiss of the shafts, and
the short “Draw your arrow! Nick your arrow! Shoot
wholly together!’ from the master bowman.
And now both mangonels were at work from the galleys,
but so covered and protected that, save at the moment of dis-
charge, no glimpse could be caught of them. A huge brown
rock from the Genoese sang over their heads, and plunged
sullenly into the slope of a wave. Another from the Nor-
man whizzed into the waist, broke the back of a horse, and
crashed its way through the side of the vessel. ‘Two others,
flying together, tore a great gap in the St. Christopher upon
the sail, and brushed three of Sir Oliver’s men at arms from
the forecastle. The master shipman looked at the knight
with a troubled face.
“They keep their distance from us,” said he. “Our arch-
ery is overgood, and they will not close. What defense can
we make against the stones?”
“T think I may trick them,” the knight answered cheerfully,
and passed his order to the archers. Instantly five of them
threw up their hands and fell prostrate upon the deck. One
had already been slain by a bolt, so that there were but four
upon their feet.
“That should give them heart,” said Sir Nigel, eying the
galleys, which crept along on either side, with a slow, meas-
ured swing of their great oars, the water swirling and foam-
ing under their sharp stems.
“They still hold aloof,” cried Hawtayne.
“Then down with two more,’ shouted their leader. “That
will do. Ma foi! but they come to our lure like chicks to the
fowler. To your arms, men! The pennon behind me, and
the squires round the pennon. Stand fast with the anchors
in the waist, and be ready for a cast. Now blow out the
trumpets, and may God’s benison be with the honest men!”
As he spoke a roar of voices and a roll of drums cameTHE TWO ROVER GALLEYS 171
from either galley, and the water was lashed into spray by
the hurried beat of a hundred oars. Down they swooped,
one on the right, one on the left, the sides and shrouds black
with men and bristling with weapons. In heavy clusters
they hung upon the forecastle all ready for a spring—faces
white, faces brown, faces yellow, and faces black, fair Norse-
men, swarthy Italians, fierce rovers from the Levant, and
fiery Moors from the Barbary States, of all hues and coun-
tries, and marked solely by the common stamp of a wild-beast
ferocity. Rasping up on either side, with oars trailing to
save them from snapping, they poured in a living torrent
with horrid yell and shrill whoop upon the defenseless mer-
chantman.
But wilder yet was the cry, and shriller still the scream,
when there rose up from the shadow of those silent bulwarks
the long lines of the English bowmen, and the arrows
whizzed in a deadly sleet among the unprepared masses upon
the pirate decks. From the higher sides of the cog the bow-
men could shoot straight down, at a range which was so
short as to enable a cloth-yard shaft to pierce through mail
coats or to transfix a shield, though it were an inch thick
of toughened wood. One moment Alleyne saw the galley’s
poop crowded with rushing figures, waving arms, exultant
faces; the next it was a blood-smeared shambles, with bodies
piled three deep upon each other, the living cowering behind
the dead to shelter themselves from that sudden storm blast
of death. On either side the seamen whom Sir Nigel had
chosen for the purpose had cast their anchors over the side
of the galleys, so that the three vessels, locked in an iron
grip, lurched heavily forward upon the swell.
And now set in a fell and fierce fight, one of a thousand
of which no chronicler has spoken and no poet sung.
Through all the centuries and over all those southern waters
nameless men have fought in nameless places, their sole mon-
uments a protected coast and an unravaged countryside.
Fore and aft the archers had cleared the galleys’ decks, but
from either side the rovers had poured down into the waist,
where the seamen and bowmen were pushed back and so
mingled with their foes that it was impossible for their com-
tades above to draw string to help them. It was a wild chaos172 THE WHITE COMPANY
where ax and sword rose and fell, while Englishman, Nor-
man, and Italian staggered and reeled on a deck which was
cumbered with bodies and slippery with blood. The clang
of blows, the cries of the stricken, the short, deep shout of
the islanders, and the fierce whoops of the rovers, rose to-
gether in a deafening tumult, while the breath of the panting
men went up in the wintry air like the smoke from a fur-
nace. The giant Téte-noire, towering above his fellows and
clad from head to foot in plate of proof, led on his boarders,
waving a huge mace in the air, with which he struck to the
deck every man who approached him. On the other side,
Spade-beard, a dwarf in height, but of great breadth of
shoulder and length of arm, had cut a road almost to the
mast, with three-score Genoese men at arms close at his
heels. Between these two formidable assailants the seamen
were being slowly wedged more closely together, until they
stood back to back under the mast with the rovers raging
upon every side of them.
But help was close at hand. Sir Oliver Buttesthorn with
his men at arms had swarmed down from the forecastle,
while Sir Nigel, with his three squires, Black Simon, Ayl-
ward, Hordle John, and a score more, threw themselves from
the poop and hurled themselves into the thickest of the fight.
Alleyne, as in duty bound, kept his eyes fixed ever on his
lord and pressed forward close at his heels. Often had he
heard of Sir Nigel’s prowess and skill with all knightly
weapons, but all the tales that had reached his ears fell far
short of the real quickness and coolness of the man. It was
as if the devil was in him, for he sprang here and sprang
there, now thrusting and now cutting, catching blows on his
shield, turning them with his blade, stooping under the swing
of an ax, springing over the sweep of a sword, so swift and
so erratic that the man who braced himself for a blow at
him might find him six paces off ere he could bring it down.
Three pirates had fallen before him, and he had wounded >
Spade-beard in the neck, when the Norman giant sprang at
him from the side with a slashing blow from his deadly mace.
Sir Nigel stooped to avoid it, and at the same instant turned
a thrust from the Genoese swordsman, but, his foot slip-
ping in a pool of blood, he fell heavily to the ground. AlleyneTHE TWO ROVER GALLEYS 173
sprang in front of the Norman, but his sword was shattered
and he himself beaten to the ground by a second blow from
the ponderous weapon. Ere the pirate chief could repeat
it, however, John’s iron grip fell upon his wrist, and he found
that for once he was in the hands of a stronger man than
himself. Fiercely he strove to disengage his weapon, but
Hordle John bent his arm slowly back until, with a sharp
crack, like a breaking stave, it turned limp in his grasp, and
the mace dropped trom the nerveless fingers. In vain he
tried to pluck it up with the other hand. Back and back still
his foeman bent him, until, with a roar of pain and of fury,
the giant clanged his full length upon the boards, while the
glimmer of a knife before the bars of his helmet warned him
that short would be his shrift 1f he moved.
Cowed and disheartened by the loss of their leader, the Nor-
mans had given back and were now streaming over the bul-
warks on to their own galley, dropping a dozen at a time on
to her deck. But the anchor still held them in its crooked
claw, and Sir Oliver with fifty men was hard upon their
heels. Now, too, the archers had room to draw their bows
once more, and great stones from the yard of the cog came
thundering and crashing among the flying rovers. Here and
there they rushed with wild screams and curses, diving under
the sail, crouching behind booms, huddling into corners like
rabbits when the ferrets are upon them, as helpless and as
hopeless. They were stern days, and if the honest soldier, too
poor for a ransom, had no prospects of mercy upon the
battlefield, what ruth was there for sea robbers, the enemies
of humankind, taken in the very deed, with proofs of their
crimes still swinging upon their yardarm.
But the fight had taken a new and a strange turn upon
the other side. Spade-beard and his men had given slowly
back, hard pressed by Sir Nigel, Aylward, Black Simon, and
the poop guard. Foot by foot the Italian had retreated, his
armor running blood at every joint, his shield split, his crest
‘shorn, his voice fallen away to a mere gasping and croak-
ing. Yet he faced his foemen with dauntless courage, dash-
ing in, springing back, sure-footed, steady-handed, with a
point which seemed to menace three at once. Beaten back on
to the deck of his own vessel, and closely followed by a dozen174 THE WHITE COMPANY
Englishmen, he disengaged himself from them, ran swiftly
down the deck, sprang back into the cog once more, cut the
rope which held the anchor, and was back in an instant among
his crossbowmen. At the same time the Genoese sailors
thrust with their oars against the side of the cog, and a
rapidly widening rift appeared between the two vessels.
“By St. George!” cried Ford, “we are cut off from Sir
Nigel.”’
vite ds; lost,” gasped. Terlake. “Come, let us spring for
it.” The two youths jumped with all their strength to reach
the departing galley. Ford’s feet reached the edge of the
bulwarks, and his hand clutching a rope he swung himself
on board. ‘Terlake fell short, crashed in among the oars, and
bounded off into the sea. Alleyne, staggering to the side,
was about to hurl himself after him, but Hordle John dragged
him back by the girdle.
“You can scarce stand, lad, far less jump,” said he. ‘See
how the blood drips from your bassinet.”
“My place is by the flag,” cried Alleyne, vainly struggling
to break from the other’s hold.
“Bide here, man. You would need wings ere you could
reach Sir Nigel’s side.’’
The vessels were indeed so far apart now that the Genoese
could use the full sweep of their oars, and draw away rapidly
from the cog.
“My God, but it is a noble fight!” shouted big John, clap-
ping his hands. “They have cleared the poop, and they
spring into the waist. Well struck, my lord! Well struck,
Aylward! See to Black Simon, how he storms among the
shipmen! But this Spade-beard is a gallant warrior. He
rallies his men upon the forecastle. He hath slain an archer.
Ha! my lord is upon him. Look to it, Alleyne! See to the
whirl and glitter of it!”
“By heavens, Sir Nigel is down!” cried the squire.
“Up!” roared John. “It was but a feint. He bears him
back. fle drives him to the side... Ah, by Our Lady, his
sword is through him! They cry for mercy. Down goes
the red cross, and up springs Simon with the scarlet roses!”
The death of the Genoese leader did indeed bring the re-
sistance to an end. Amid a thunder of cheering from cogTHE TWO ROVER GALLEYS 175
and from galleys the forked pennon fluttered upon the fore-
castle, and the galley, sweeping round, came slowly back, as
the slaves who rowed it learned the wishes of their new
masters.
The two knights had come aboard the cog, and the grap-
plings having been thrown off, the three vessels now moved
abreast. Through all the storm and rush of the fight Alleyne
had been aware of the voice of Goodwin Hawtayne, the
master shipman, with his constant ‘Hale the bowline! Veer
the sheet!’ and strange it was to him to see how swiftly
the blood-stained sailors turned from the strife to the ropes
and back. Now the cog’s head was turned Franceward, and
the shipman walked the deck, a peaceful master mariner once
more.
“There is sad scathe done to the cog, Sir Nigel,’ said he.
“Here is a hole in the side two ells across, the sail split
through the center, and the wood as bare as a friar’s poll.
In good sooth, I know not what I shall say to Master With-
erton when I see the Itchen once more.”
“By St. Paul! it would be a very sorry thing if we suffered
you to be the worse of this day’s work,” said Sir Nigel.
“You shall take these galleys back with you, and Master
Witherton may sell them. Then from the moneys he shall
take as much as may make good the damage, and the rest
he shall keep until our home-coming, when every man shall
have his share. An image of silver fifteen inches high I
have vowed to the Virgin, to be placed in her chapel within
the Priory, for that she was pleased to allow me to come
upon this Spade-beard, who seemed to me from what I have
seen of him to be a very sprightly and valiant gentleman.
- But how fares it with you, Edricson?”
“Tt is nothing, my fair lord,” said Alleyne, who had now
loosened his bassinet, which was cracked across by the Nor-
man’s blow. Even as he spoke, however, his head swirled
round, and he fell to the deck with the blood gushing from
his nose and mouth.
“He will come to anon,’ said the knight, stooping over
him and passing his fingers through his hair. “I have lost
‘one very valiant and gentle squire this day. I can ill afford to
lose another. How many men have fallen?’176 THE WHITE COMPANY
“I have pricked off the tally,” said Aylward, who had
come aboard with his lord. ‘There are seven of the Win-
chester men, eleven seamen, your squire, young Master Ter-
lake, and nine archers.”’
“And of the others?’
“They are all dead—save only the Norman knight who
stands behind you. What would you that we should do with
him ?” |
“He must hang on his own yard,” said Sir Nigel. “It was
my vow and must be done.”
The pirate leader had stood by the bulwarks, a cord round
his arms, and two stout archers on either side. At Sir Nigel’s
words he started violently, and his swarthy features blanched
to a vivid gray.
“How, Sir Knight?” he cried in broken English. “Que
dites-vous? To hang, la mort du chien! To hang!”
“It is my vow,” said Sir Nigel shortly. “From what I
hear, you thought little enough of hanging others.”
“Peasants, base roturiers,’ cried the other. “It is their
fitting death. “Mais Le Seigneur d’Andelys, avec le sang
des rois dans ses veines! | C’est incroyable !”’
Sir Nigel turned upon his heel, while two seamen cast a
noose over the pirate’s neck. At the touch of the cord he
snapped the borids which bound him, dashed one of the arch-
ers to the deck, and seizing the other round the waist sprang
with him into the sea.
“By my hilt, he is gone!’ cried Aylward, rushing to the
side. ‘“They have sunk together like a stone.”
“T am right glad of it,’ answered Sir Nigel; “for though
it was against my vow to loose him, I deem that he has
carried himself like a very gentle and débonnaire cavalier.”CHAPTER XVII
HOW THE YELLOW COG CROSSED THE BAR OF GIRONDE
, OR two days the yellow cog ran swiftly before a
HK northeasterly wind, and on the dawn of the third the
high land of Ushant lay like a mist upon the shim-
mering sky line. There came a plump of rain toward mid-
day and the breeze died down, but it freshened again before
nightfall, and Goodwin Hawtayne veered his sheet and held
head for the south. Next morning they had passed Belle Isle,
and ran through the midst of a fleet of transports return-
ing from Guienne. Sir Nigel Loring and Sir Oliver Buttes-
thorn at once hung their shields over the side, and displayed
their pennons as was the custom, noting with the keenest in-
terest the answering symbols which told the names of the
cavaliers who had been constrained by ill health or wounds
to leave the prince at so critical a time.
That evening a great dun-colored cloud banked up in the
west, and an anxious man was Goodwin Hawtayne for a
third part of his crew had been slain, and half the remainder
were aboard the galleys, so that, with an injured ship, he
was little fit to meet such a storm as sweeps over those
waters. All night it blew in short fitful putts, heeling the
great cog over until the water curled over her lee bulwarks.
As the wind still freshened the yard was lowered halfway
down the mast in the morning. Alleyne, wretchedly ill and
weak, with his head still ringing from the blow which he
had received, crawled up upon deck. Water-swept and aslant,
it was preferable to the noisome, rat-haunted dungeons
which served as cabins. There, clinging to the stout halyards
of the sheet, he gazed with amazement at the long lines of
black waves, each with its curling ridge of foam, racing in
endless succession from out the inexhaustible west. A huge
177178 THE WHITE COMPANY
somber cloud, flecked with livid blotches, stretched over the
whole seaward sky line, with long ragged streamers whirled
out in front of it. Far behind them the two galleys labored
heavily, now sinking between the rollers until their yards
were level with the waves, and again shooting up with a reel-
ing, scooping motion until every spar and rope stood out
hard against the sky. On the left the low-lying land stretched
in a dim haze, rising here and there into a darker blur which
marked the higher capes and headlands. The land of France!
Alleyne’s eyes shone as he gazed upon it. The land of
France !—the very words sounded as the call of a bugle in
the ears of the youth of England. The land where their
fathers had bled, the home of chivalry and of knightly deeds,
the country of gallant men, of courtly women, of princely
buildings, of the wise, the polished and the sainted. There
it lay, so still and gray beneath the drifting wreck—the
home of things noble and of things shameful—the theater
where a new name might be made or an old one marred.
From his bosom to his lips came the crumpled veil, and he
breathed a vow that if valor and good will could raise him
to his lady’s side, then death alone should hold him back from
her. His thoughts were still in the woods of Minstead and
the old armory of Twynham Castle, when the hoarse voice
of the master shipman brought them back once more to the
Bay of Biscay.
“By my troth, young sir,” he said, “you are as long in the
face as the devil at a christening, and I cannot marvel at it,
for I have sailed these waters since I was as high as this
whinyard, and yet I never saw more sure promise of an evil
night.”’
“Nay, I had other things upon my mind,” the squire an-
swered.
“And so has every man,’’ cried Hawtayne in an injured
voice. “Let the shipman see to it. It is the master shipman’s
affair. Put it all upon good Master Hawtayne! Never had I
so much care since first I blew trumpet and showed cartel
at the west gate of Southampton.”
“What is amiss then?” asked Alleyne, for the man’s words
were as gusty as the weather.
“Amiss, quotha? Here am I with but half my mariners,THE BAR OF GIRONDE 179
and a hole in the ship where that twenty-devil stone struck us
big enough to fit the fat widow of Northam through. It is
well enough on this tack, but I would have you tell me what
I am to do on the other. We are like to have salt water
upon us until we be found pickled like the herrings in an
Kasterling’s barrels.”’
“What says Sir Nigel to it?”
“He is below pricking out the coat armor of his mother’s
uncle. ‘Pester me not with such small matters!’ was all that
I could get from him. Then there is Sir Oliver. ‘Fry them
in oil with a dressing of Gascony,’ quoth he, and then swore
at me because I had not been the cook. ‘Walawa,’ thought
I, ‘mad master, sober man’-—so away forward to the arch-
ers. Harrow and alas! but they were worse than the others.”’
“Would they not help you then?’
“Nay, they sat tway and tway at a board, him that they
call Aylward and the great red-headed man who snapped
the Norman’s arm bone, and the black man from Norwich,
and a score of others, rattling their dice in an archer’s gaunt-
let for want of a box. “The ship can scarce last much
longer, my masters,’ quoth I. ‘That is your business, old
swine’s head,’ cried the black galliard. ‘Le diable t’emporte,’
says Aylward. ‘A five, a four and the main,’ shouted the big
man, with a voice like the flap of a sail. Hark to them now,
young sir, and say if I speak not sooth.”
As he spoke, there sounded high above the shriek of the
gale and the straining of the timbers a gust of oaths with a
roar of deep-chested mirth from the gamblers in the fore-
castle.
“Can I be of avail?’ asked Alleyne. “Say the word and
the thing is done, if two hands may doi at.
“Nay, nay, your head I can see is still totty, and i’ faith
little head would you have, had your bassinet not stood your
friend. All that may be done is already carried out, for we
have stuffed the gape with sails and corded it without and
within. Yet when we hale our bowline and veer the sheet
our lives will hang upon the breach remaining blocked. See
how yonder headland looms upon us through the mist! We
must tack within three arrow flights, or we may find a rock180 THE WHITE COMPANY
through our timbers. Now, St. Christopher be praised! here
is Sir Nigel, with whom I may confer.”
“I prythee that you will pardon me,” said the knight,
clutching his way along the bulwark. “I would not show
lack of courtesy toward a worthy man, but I was deep in a
matter of some weight, concerning which, Alleyne, I should
be glad of your rede. It touches the question of dimidiation
or impalement in the coat of mine uncle, Sir John Leighton
of Shropshire, who took unto wife the widow of Sir Henry
Oglander of Nunwell. The case has been much debated by
pursuivants and kings-of-arms. But how is it with you,
master shipman?”’
“Ill enough, my fair lord. The cog must go about anon,
and I know not how we may keep the water out of her.”
“Go call Sir Oliver!” said Sir Nigel, and presently the
portly knight made his way all astraddle down the slippery
deck.
“By my soul, master shipman, this passes all patience!’ he
cried wrathfully. “If this ship of yours must needs dance
and skip like a clown at a kermis, then I pray you that you
will put me into one of these galeasses. I had but sat down
to a flask of malvesie and a mortress of brawn, as is my use
about this hour, when there comes a cherking, and I find my
wine over my legs and the flask in my lap, and then as I
stoop to clip it there comes another cursed cherk, and there
is a mortress of brawn stuck fast to the nape of my neck.
At this moment I have two pages coursing after it from side
to side, like hounds behind a leveret. Never did living pig
gambol more lightly. But you have sent for me, Sir Nigel?”
“T would fain have your rede, Sir Oliver, for Master Haw-
tayne hath fears that when we veer there may come danger
from the hole in our side.” |
“Then do not veer,” quoth Sir Oliver hastily. “And now,
fair sir, I must hasten back to see how my rogues have fared
with the brawn.”
“Nay, but this will scarce suffice,” cried the shipman. “If
we do not veer we will be upon the rocks within the hour.”
“Then veer,’ said Sir Oliver. “There is my rede; and
now, Sir Nigel, I must crave i
At this instant, however, a startled shout rang out fromTHE BAR OF GIRONDE 181
two seamen upon the forecastle. “Rocks!” they yelled, stab-
bing into the air with their forefingers. “Rocks beneath our
very bows!” Through the belly of a great black wave, not
one hundred paces to the front of them, there thrust forth
a huge jagged mass of brown stone, which spouted spray
as though it were some crouching monster, while a dull
menacing boom and roar filled the air. |
“Yare! yare!” screamed Goodwin Hawtayne, flinging him,
self upon the long pole which served as a tiller. ‘“‘Cut the
halyards! Haul her over! Lay her two courses to the
wind!”
Over swung the great boom, and the cog trembled and
quivered within five spear-lengths of the breakers.
“She can scarce draw clear,” cried Hawtayne, with his eyes
from the sail to the seething line of foam. ‘May the holy
Julian stand by us and the thrice-sainted Christopher !” |
»lf there be such peril; Sir Oliver,’ quoth, Sir. Nigel
would be very knightly and fitting that we should show our
pennons. I pray you, Edricson, that you will command my >
guidon-bearer to put forward my banner.”
‘And sound the trumpets!” cried Sir Oliver. ‘In manus
tuas, Domine! I am in the keeping of James of Compostella,
to whose shrine I shall make pilgrimage, and in whose honor
I vow that I will eat a carp each year upon his feast day.
Mon Dieu, but the waves roar! How is it with us now,
master shipman?”’
“We draw! We draw!” cried Hawtayne, with his eyes
still fixed upon the foam which hissed under the very bulge
of the side. ‘Ah, Holy Mother, be with us now!’ :
_ As he spoke the cog rasped along the edge of the reef, and
a long white curling sheet of wood was planed off from her
side from waist to poop by a jutting horn of the rock. At
the same instant she lay suddenly over, the sail drew full,
and she plunged seaward amid the shoutings of the seamen
and the archers.
“The Virgin be praised!” cried the shipman, wiping his
brow. “For this shall bell swing and candle burn when I see
Southampton Water once more. Cheerily, my hearts! Pull
yarely on the bowline!’’
“By my soul! I would rather have a dry death,’ quoth182 THE WHITE COMPANY
Sir Oliver. ‘Though, Mort Dieu! I have eaten so many fish
that it were but justice that the fish should eat me. Now
I must back to the cabin, for I have matters there which
crave my attention.”’
“Nay, Sir Oliver, you had best bide with us, and still
show your ensign,” Sir Nigel answered; “for, if I understand
the matter aright, we have but turned from one danger to the
other.’
“Good Master Hawtayne,”’ cried the boatswain, rushing
aft, “the water comes in upon us apace. The waves have
driven in the sail wherewith we strove to stop the hole.” As
he spoke the seamen came swarming on to the poop and the
forecastle to avoid the torrent which poured through the
huge leak into the waist. High above the roar of the wind
and the clash of the sea rose the shrill half-human cries of the
horses, as they found the water rising rapidly around them.
“Stop it from without!’ cried Hawtayne, seizing the end
of the wet sail with which the gap had been plugged.
“Speedily, my hearts, or we are gone!” Swiitly they rove
ropes to the corners, and then, rushing forward to the bows,
they lowered them under the keel, and drew them tight in
such a way that the sail should cover the outer face of the
. The force of the rush of water was checked by this
obstacle, but it still squirted plentifully from every side of it.
At the sides the horses were above the belly, and in the
center a man from the poop could scarce touch the deck with
a seven-foot spear. The cog lay lower in the water and the
waves splashed freely over the weather bulwark.
“T fear that we can scarce bide upon this tack,” cried Haw-
tayne; ‘‘and yet the other will drive us on the rocks.”’
“Might we not haul down sail and wait for better times?”
suggested Sir Nigel.
‘‘Nay, we should drift upon the rocks. ‘Thirty years have
I been on the sea, and never yet in greater straits. Yet we
are in the hands of the Saints.”
“Of whom,” cried Sir Oliver, “I look more particularly to
St. James of Compostella, who hath already befriended us this
day, and on whose feast I hereby vow that I shall eat a sec-
ond carp, if he will but interpose a second time.”
The wrack had thickened to seaward, and the coast was butTHE BAR OF GIRONDE 183
a blurred line. Two vague shadows in the offing showed
where the galeasses rolled and tossed upon the great At-
Jantic rollers. Hawtayne looked wistfully in their direction.
“If they would but lie closer we might find safety even
should the cog founder. You will bear me out with good
Master Witherton of Southampton that I have done all that
a shipman might. It would be well that you should doff
camail and greaves, Sir Nigel, for, by the black rood! it is
like enough that we shall have to swim for it.”
“Nay,” said the little knight, “it would be scarce fitting
that a cavalier should throw off his harness for the fear of
every puff of wind and puddle of water. I would rather that
my Company should gather round me here on the poop,
where we might abide together whatever God may be pleased
to send. But, certes, Master Hawtayne, for all that my
sight is none of the best, it is not the first time that I have
seen that headland upon the left.”
The seaman shaded his eyes with his hand, and gazed
earnestly through the haze and spray. Suddenly he threw
up his arms, and shouted aloud in his joy. |
“’Tis the point of La Tremblade!”’ he cried. “I had not
thought that we were as far as Oleron. The Gironde lies be-
fore us, and once over the bar, and under shelter of the
Tour de Cordouan, all will be well with us. Veer again,
my hearts, and bring her to try with the main course!”
The sail swung round once more, and the cog, battered and
torn and well-nigh water-logged, staggered in for this haven
of refuge. A bluff cape to the north and a long spit to the
south marked the mouth of the noble river, with a low-lying
island of silted sand in the center, all shrouded and curtained
by the spume of the breakers. A line of broken water traced
the dangerous bar, which in clear day and balmy weather has
cracked the back of many a tall ship.
“There is a channel,’ said Hawtayne, “which was shown
to me by the Prince’s own pilot. Mark yonder tree upon
the bank, and see the tower which rises behind it. If these
two be held in a line, even as we hold them now, it may be
done, though our ship draws two good ells more than when
she put forth.’
“God speed you, Master Hawtayne!” cried Sir Oliver,184 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Twice have we come scatheless out of peril, and now for
the third time | commend me to the blessed James of Com-
postella, to whom | vow iy
“Nay, nay, old friend,’ whispered Sir Nigel. “You are
like to bring a judgment upon us with these vows, which no
living man could accomplish. Have I not already heard you
vow to eat two carp in one day, and now you would venture
upon a third?”
“I pray you that you will order the Company to lie down,”’
cried Hawtayne, who had taken the tiller and was gazing
ahead with a fixed eye. “In three minutes we shall either be
lost or in safety.”
Archers and seamen lay flat upon the deck, waiting in
stolid silence for whatever fate might come. Hawtayne bent
his weight upon the tiller, and crouched to see under the belly-
ing sail. Sir Oliver and Sir Nigel stood erect with hands
crossed in front of the poop. Down swooped the great cog
into the narrow channel which was the portal to safety. On
either bow roared the shallow bar. Right ahead one small
lane of black swirling water marked the pilot’s course. But
true was the eye and firm the hand which guided. A dull
scraping came from beneath, the vessel quivered and shook,
at the waist, at the quarter, and behind sounded that grim
roaring of the waters, and with a plunge the yellow cog was
over the bar and speeding swiftly up the broad and tranquil
estuary of the Gironde. |CHAPTER XVIII
HOW SIR NIGEL LORING PUT A PATCH UPON HIS EYE
day of November, two days before the feast of St.
Andrew, that the cog and her two prisoners, after a
weary tacking up the Gironde and the Garonne, dropped an-
chor at last in front of the noble city of Bordeaux. With
wonder and admiration, Alleyne, leaning over the bulwarks
gazed at the forest of masts, the swarm of boats darting
hither and thither on the bosom of the broad curving stream,
and the gray crescent-shaped city which stretched with many a
tower and minaret along the western shore. Never had he
in his quiet life seen so great a town, nor was there in the
whole of England, save London alone, one which might
match it in size or in wealth. Here came the merchandise
of all the fair countries which are watered by the Garonne
and the Dordogne—the cloths of the south, the skins of
Guienne, the wines of the Médoc—to be borne away to Hull,
Exeter, Dartmouth, Bristol or Chester, in exchange for the
wools and woolfels of England. Here, too, dwelt those fa-
mous smelters and welders who had made the Bordeaux steel
the most trusty upon earth, and could give a temper to lance
or to sword which might mean dear life to its owner. Alleyne
could see the smoke of their forges reeking up in the clear
morning air. The storm had died down now to a gentle
breeze, which wafted to his ears the long-drawn stirring
bugle calls which sounded from the ancient ramparts.
“Hola, mon petit!’ said Aylward, coming up to where he
stood. “Thou art a squire now, and like enough to win the
golden spurs, while I am still the master bowman, and master
-bowman I shall bide. I dare scarce wag my tongue so freel
with you as when we tramped together past Wilverley Chase,
else | might be your guide now, for indeed I know every
185
' | T was on the morning of Friday, the eight-and-twentieth186 THE WHITE COMPANY
house in Bordeaux as a friar knows the beads on his rosary.”
“Nay, Aylward,” said Alleyne, laying his hand upon the
sleeve of his companion’s frayed jerkin, “you cannot think
me so thrall as to throw aside an old friend because I have
had some small share of good fortune. I take it unkind that
you should have thought such evil of me.”
“Nay, mon gar. ’Twas but a flight shot to see if the wind
blew steady, though I were a rogue to doubt it.”
"Why, had I not met you, Aylward, at the Lyndhurst inn,
who can say where I had now been! Certes, I had not gone
to I'wynham Castle, nor become squire to Sir Nigel, nor
met He paused abruptly and flushed to his hair, but
the bowman was too busy with his own thoughts to notice
his young companion’s embarrassment. |
“It was a good hostel, that of the ‘Pied Merlin’,”’ he re-
marked. “By my ten finger bones! when I hang bow on nail
and change my brigandine for a tunic, I might do worse than
take over the dame and her business.”’
“I thought,” said Alleyne, “that you were betrothed to
some one at Christchurch.”
‘To three,” Aylward answered moodily, “to three. I fear
I may not go back to Christchurch. I might chance to see
hotter service in Hampshire than I have ever done in Gas-
cony. But mark you now yonder lofty turret in the
center, which stands back from the river and hath a broad
banner upon the summit. See the rising sun flashes full
upon it and sparkles on the golden lions. ’Tis the royal
banner of England, crossed by the prince’s label. There he
dwells in the Abbey of St. Andrew, where he hath kept his
court these years back. Beside it is the minster of the same
saint, who hath the town under his very special care.”’
“And how of yon gray turret on the left?”
“ "Tis the fane of St. Michael, as that upon the right is of
St. Remi. There, too, above the poop of yonder nief, you
see the towers of Saint Croix and of Pey Berland. Mark
also the mighty ramparts which are pierced by the three water
gates, and sixteen others to the landward side.”’
“And how is it, good Aylward, that there comes so much
music from the town? I seem to hear a hundred trumpets,
all calling in chorus,”SIR NIGEL PUTS ON A PATCH 187
“It would be strange else, seeing that all the great lords
of England and of Gascony are within the walls, and each
would have his trumpeter blow as loud as his neighbor, lest
it might be thought that his dignity had been abated. Ma
foi! they make as much louster as a Scotch army, where
every man fills himself with griddle-cakes, and sits up all
night to blow upon the toodle-pipe. See all along the banks
how the pages water the horses, and there beyond the town
how they gallop them over the plain! For every horse you
see a belted knight hath herbergage in the town, for, as I
learn, the men at arms and archers have already gone for-
ward to Dax.”
“I trust, Aylward,” said Sir Nigel, coming upon deck,
“that the men are ready for the land. Go tell them that
the boats will be for them within the hour.”
The archer raised his hand in salute, and hastened for-
ward. In the meantime Sir Oliver had followed his brother
knight, and the two paced the poop together, Sir Nigel in
his plum-colored velvet suit with flat cap of the same, adorned
in front with the Lady Loring’s glove and girt round with a
curling ostrich feather. The lusty knight, on the other
hand, was clad in the very latest mode, with cdte-hardie,
doublet, pourpoint, courtpie, and paltock of olive-green,
picked out with pink and jagged at the edges. A red chap-
eron or cap, with long hanging cornette, sat daintily on the
back of his black-curled head, while his gold-hued shoes were
twisted up @ la poulaine, as though the toes were shooting
forth a tendril which might hope in time to entwine itself
around his massive leg.
“Once more, Sir Oliver,” said Sir Nigel, looking shoreward
with sparkling eyes, “do we find ourselves at the gate of
honor, the door which hath so often led us to all that is
knightly and worthy. There flies the prince’s banner, and it
would be well that we haste ashore and pay our obeisance to
him. The boats already swarm from the bank.” |
“There is a goodly hostel near the west gate, which is
-famed for the stewing of spiced pullets,’’ remarked Sir
Oliver. “We might take the edge of our hunger off ere we
seek the prince, for though his tables are gay with damask188 THE WHITE COMPANY
and silver he is no trencherman himself, and hath no sym-
pathy for those who are his betters.”
“His betters !’’
“His betters before the tranchoir, lad. Sniff not treason
where none is meant. I have seen him smile in his quiet
way because I had looked for the fourth time toward the
carving squire. And indeed to watch him dallying with a
little gobbet of bread, or sipping his cup of thrice-watered
wine, is enough to make a man feel shame at his own hunger.
Yet war and glory, my good friend, though well enough in
their way, will not serve to tighten such a belt as clasps my
waist.”
“How read you that coat which hangs over yonder galley,
Alleyne?” asked Sir Nigel.
“Argent, a bend vert between cotises dancetté gules.”
“It is a northern coat. I have seen it in the train of the
Percies. From the shields, there is not one of these vessels
which hath not knight or baron aboard. I would mine eyes
were better. How read you this upon the left?”
“Argent and azure, a barry wavy of six.”
“Ha, it is the sign of the Wiltshire Stourtons! And there
beyond I see the red and silver of the Worsleys of Apulder-
combe, who like myself are of Hampshire lineage. Close be-
hind us is the moline cross of the gallant William Molyneux,
and beside it the bloody chevrons of the Norfolk Woodhouses,
with the amulets of the Musgraves of Westmoreland. By St.
Paul! it would be a very strange thing if so noble a com-
pany were to gather without some notable deed of arms
arising from it. And here is our boat, Sir Oliver, so it
seems best to me that we should go to the abbey with our
squires, leaving Master Hawtayne to have his own way in
the unloading.’
The horses both of knights and squires were speedily low-
ered into a broad lighter, and reached the shore almost as
soon as their masters. Sir Nigel bent his knee devoutly as
he put foot on land, and taking a small black patch from
his bosom he bound it tightly over his left eye.
~ May the blessed George and the memory of my sweet lady-
love raise high my heart!” quoth he. “And as a token I vow
that I will not take this patch from my eye until I have seenSIR NIGEL PUTS ON A PATCH 189
something of this country of Spain, and done such a small
deed as it lies in me to do. And this I swear upon the cross
of my sword and upon the glove of my lady.”
“In truth, you take me back twenty years, Nigel,’ quoth
Sir Oliver, as they mounted and rode slowly through the
water gate. “After Cadsand, I deem that the French thought
that we were an army of the blind, for there was scarce a
man who had not closed an eye for the greater love and
honor of his lady. Yet it goes hard with you that you should
darken one side, when with both open you can scarce tell a
horse from a mule. In truth, friend, I think that you step
over the line of reason in this matter.”
“Sir Oliver Buttesthorn,” said the little knight shortly,
“T would have you to understand that, blind as I am, I can
yet see the path of honor very clearly, and that that is the
road upon which I do not crave another man’s guidance.”
“By my soul,” said Sir Oliver, “you are as tart as verjuice
this morning! If you are bent upon a quarrel with me I
must leave you to your humor and drop into the “Téte d’Or’
here, for J marked a varlet pass the door who bare a smok-
ing dish, which had, methought, a most excellent smell.’’
“Nenny, nenny,” cried his comrade, laying his hand upon
his knee; “we have known each other over long to fall out,
Oliver, like two raw pages at their first épreuves. You must
come with me first to the prince, and then back to the hostel ;
though sure I am that it would grieve his heart that any’
gentle cavalier should turn from his board to a common
tavern. But is not that my Lord Delewar who waves to us?
Ha! my fair lord, God and Our Lady be with you! And
there is Sir Robert Cheney. Good morrow, Robert! I am
right glad to see you.” |
The two knights walked their horses abreast, while Alleyne
and Ford, with John Northbury, who was squire to Sir
Oliver, kept some paces behind them, a spear’s length in
front of Black Simon and of the Winchester guidon--bearer.
Northbury, a lean, silent man, had been to those parts be-
fore, and sat his horse with a rigid neck; but the two young
_ squires gazed eagerly to right or left, and plucked each other’s
sleeves to call attention to the strange things on every side.
“See to the brave stalls!” cried Alleyne. “See to the noble190 THE WHITE COMPANY
armor set forth, and the costly taffeta—and oh, Ford, see to
where the scrivener sits with the pigments and the inkhorns,
and the rolls of sheepskin as white as the Beaulieu napery!
Saw man ever the like before?’
“Nay, man, there are finer stalls in Cheapside,” answered
Ford, whose father had taken him to London on occasion of
one of the Smithfield joustings. “I have seen a silversmith’s
booth there which would serve to buy either side of this
street. But mark these houses, Alleyne, how they thrust
forth upon the top. And see to the coats of arms at every
window, and banner or pensel on the roof.”
“And the churches!’ cried Alleyne. ‘The Priory at
Christchurch was a noble pile, but it was cold and bare, me-
thinks, by one of these, with their frettings, and their carvings,
and their traceries, as though some great ivy plant of stone
had curled and wantoned over the walls.”
“And hark to the speech of the folk!” said Ford. “Was
ever such a hissing and clacking? I wonder that they have
not wit to learn English now that they have come under the
English crown. By Richard of Hampole! there are fair
faces amongst them. See the wench with the brown
whimple! Out on you, Alleyne, that you would rather gaze
upon dead stone than on living flesh!’
It was little wonder that the richness and ornament, not
only of church and of stall, but of every private house as
well, should have impressed itself upon the young squires.
The town was now at the height of its fortunes. Besides its
trade and its armorers, other causes had combined to pour
wealth into it. War, which had wrought evil upon so many
fair cities around, had brought naught but good to this one.
As her French sisters decayed she increased, for here, from
north, and from east, and from south, came the plunder to
be sold and the ransom money to be spent. Through all her
sixteen landward gates there had set for many years a double
tide of empty-handed soldiers hurrying Franceward, and of
enriched and laden bands who brought their spoils home.
The prince’s court, too, with its swarm of noble barons and
wealthy knights, many of whom, in imitation of their
master, had brought their ladies and their children from
England, all helped to swell the coffers of the burghers.
yySIR NIGEL PUTS ON A PATCH 191
Now, with this fresh influx of noblemen and cavaliers, food
and lodgings were scarce to be had, and the prince was hurry-
ing forward his forces to Dax in Gascony to relieve the over-
crowding of his capital.
In front of the minster and abbey of St. Andrews was a
large square crowded with priests, soldiers, women, friars,
and burghers, who made it their common center for sight-
seeing and gossip. Amid the knot of noisy and gesticulating
townsfolk, many small parties of mounted knights and squires
threaded their way toward the prince’s quarters, where the
huge iron-clamped doors were thrown back to show that he
held audience within. Two-score archers stood about the
gateway, and beat back from time to time with- their bow-
staves the inquisitive and chattering crowd who swarmed
round the portal. Two knights in full armor, with lances
raised and closed visors, sat their horses on either side, while
in the center, with two pages to tend upon him, there stood
a noble-faced man in flowing purple gown, who pricked off
upon a sheet of parchment the style and title of each ap-
plicant, marshaling them in their due order, and giving to
each the place and facility which his rank demanded. His
long white beard and searching eyes imparted to him an air
_ of masterful dignity, which was increased by his tabard-like
vesture and the heraldic barret cap with triple plume which
bespoke his office.
“It 1s Sir William de Pakington, the prince’s own herald
and scrivener,” whispered Sir Nigel, as they pulled up amid
the line of knights who waited admission. ‘Ill fares it with
the man who would venture to deceive him. He hath by
rote the name of every knight of France or of England, and
all the tree of his family, with his kinships, coat armor,
marriages, augmentations, abatements, and I know not what
beside. We may leave our horses here with the varlets, and
push forward with our squires.”’
Following Sir Nigel’s counsel, they pressed on upon foot
until they were close to the prince’s secretary, who was in high
debate with a young and foppish knight, who was bent upon
making his way past him.
“Mackworth!” said the king-at-arms. “It is in my mind,
young sir, that you have not been presented before.”’192 = THE WHITE COMPANY
“Nay, it is but a day since I set foot in Bordeaux, but I
feared lest the prince should think it strange that I had not
waited upon him.”’ |
"The prince hath other things to think upon,’ quoth Sir
William de Pakington; ‘but if you be a Mackworth you must
be a Mackworth of Normanton, and indeed I see now that
your coat is sable and ermine.”’
“I am a Mackworth of Normanton,” the other answered,
with some uneasiness of manner.
“Then you must be Sir Stephen Mackworth, for I learn
that when old Sir Guy died he came in for the arms and the
name, the war cry and the profit.”
“Sir Stephen is my elder brother, and I am Arthur, the
second son,” said the youth. |
“In sooth and in sooth!” cried the king-at-arms with scorn-
ful eyes. “And pray, sir second son, where is the cadency
mark which should mark your rank? Dare you to wear your
brother’s coat without the crescent which should stamp you
as his cadet? Away to your lodgings, and come not nigh the
prince until the armorer hath placed the true charge upon
your shield.” As the youth withdrew in confusion, Sir Wil-
liam’s keen eye singled out the five red roses from amid the
overlapping shields and cloud of pennons which faced him.
‘Ha!’ he cried, “there are charges here which are above
counterfeit. The roses of Loring and the boar’s head of
Buttesthorn may stand back in peace, but by my faith! they
are not to be held back in war. Welcome, Sir Oliver, Sir
Nigel! Chandos will be glad to his very heart roots when
he sees you. This way, my fair sirs. Your squires are doubt-
less worthy the fame of their masters. Down this passage,
ot tuiver:) Jidricson!.’ Hal, one .of dhe old. strait. 66
Hampshire Edricsons, I doubt not. And Ford, they are
of a south Saxon stock, and of good repute. There are
Norburys in Cheshire and in Wiltshire, and also, as I have
heard, upon the borders. So, my fair sirs, and I shall see
that you are shortly admitted.”’
Fle had finished his professional commentary by flinging
open a folding door, and ushering the party into a broad hall,
which was filled with a great number of people who were
waiting, like themselves, for an audience. The room wasSIR NIGEL PUTS ON A PATCH 198
very spacious, lighted on one side by three arched and mul-
lioned windows, while opposite was a huge fireplace in which
a pile of faggots was blazing merrily. Many of the com-
pany had crowded round the flames, for the weather was
bitterly cold; but the two knights seated themselves upon a
bancal, with their squires standing behind them. Looking
down the room, Alleyne marked that both floor and ceiling
were of the richest oak, the latter spanned by twelve arching
beams, which were adorned at either end by the lilies and the
lions of the royal arms. On the further side was a small
door, on each side of which stood men at arms. From time
to time an elderly man in black with rounded shoulders and
a long white wand in his hand came softly forth from this
inner room, and beckoned to one or other of the company,
who doffed cap and followed him.
Ihe two knights were deep in talk, when Alleyne became
aware of a remarkable individual who was walking round
the room in their direction. As he passed each knot of cava-
liers every head turned to look after him, and it was evi-
dent, from the bows and respectful salutations on all sides,
that the interest which he excited was not due merely to his
strange personal appearance. He was tall and straight as a
lance, though of a great age, for his hair, which curled from
under his velvet cap of maintenance, was as white as the new-
fallen snow. Yet, from the swing of his stride and the
spring of his step, it was clear that he had not yet lost the
fire and activity of his youth. His fierce hawk-like face was
clean shaven like that of a priest, save for a long thin wisp
of white mustache which drooped down halfway to his shoul-
der. That he had been handsome might be easily judged
from his high aquiline nose and clear-cut chin; but his fea-
tures had been so distorted by the seams and scars of old
wounds, and by the loss of one eye which had been torn
from the socket, that there was little left to remind one of
the dashing young knight who had been fifty years ago the
fairest as well as the boldest of the English chivalry. Yet
what knight was there in that hall of St. Andrews who would
not have gladly laid down youth, beauty, and all that he pos-
sessed to win the fame of this man? For who could be
named with Chandos, the stainless knight, the wise councilor,194 THE WHITE COMPANY
the valiant warrior, the hero of Crécy, of Winchelsea, of
Poictiers, of Auray, and of as many other battles as there
were years to his life?
“Ha, my little heart of gold!” he cried, darting forward
suddenly and throwing his arms round Sir Nigel. “I heard
that you were here and have been seeking you.”
“My fair and dear lord,” said the knight, returning the
warriors embrace, “I have indeed come back to you, for
where else shall I go that I may learn to be a gentle and a
hardy knight?”
“By my troth!” said Chandos with a smile, “it is very
fitting that we should be companions, Nigel, for since you
have tied up one of your eyes, and I have had the mischance
to lose one of mine, we have but a pair between us. Ah, Sir
Oliver! you were on the blind side of me and I saw you not.
A wise woman hath made prophecy that this blind side will
one day be the death of me. We shall go in to the prince
anon; but in truth he hath much upon his hands, for what
with Pedro, and the King of Majorca, and the King of Na-
varre, who is no two days of the same mind, and the Gascon
barons who are all chaffering for terms like so many huck-
sters, he hath an uneasy part to play. But how left you the
Lady Loring?”
“She was well, my fair lord, and sent her service and greet-
ings to you.”
“I am ever her knight and slave. And your journey, I
trust that it was pleasant ?”’
“As heart could wish. We had sight of two rover galleys,
and even came to have some slight bickering with them.”
“Ever in luck’s way, Nigel!’ quoth Sir John. “We must
hear the tale anon. But I deem it best that ye should leave
your squires and come with me, for, howsoe’er pressed the
prince may be, | am very sure that he would be loath to
keep two old comrades in arms upon the further side of the
door. Follow close behind me, and I will forestall old Sir
William, though I can scarce promise to roll forth your style
and rank as is his wont.”’ So saying, he led the way to the
inner chamber, the two companions treading close at his
heels, and nodding to right and left as they caught sight of
familiar faces among the crowd.CHAPTER AIX
HOW THERE WAS STIR AT THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREWS
HE prince’s reception room, although of no great size,
was fitted up with all the state and luxury which the
fame and power of its owner demanded. A high dais
at the further end was roofed in by a broad canopy of scarlet
velvet spangled with silver fleurs-de-lis, and supported at either
corner by silver rods. This was approached by four steps
carpeted with the same material, while all round were scat-
tered rich cushions, oriental mats and costly rugs of fur. The
choicest tapestries which the looms of Arras could furnish
draped the walls, whereon the battles of Judas Maccabzeus were
set forth, with the Jewish warriors in plate of proof, with crest
and lance and banderole, as the naive artists of the day were
wont to depict them. A few rich settles and bancals, choicely
carved and decorated with glazed leather hangings of the sort
termed or basané, completed the furniture of the apartment,
save that at one side of the dais there stood a lofty perch, upon
which a cast of three solemn Prussian gerfalcons sat, hooded
and jesseled, as silent and motionless as the royal fowler who
stood beside them.
In the center of the dais were two very high chairs with
dorserets, which arched forward over the heads of the occu-
pants, the whole covered with light-blue silk thickly powdered
with golden stars. On that to the right sat a very tall
and well-formed man with red hair, a livid face, and a cold
blue eye, which had in it something peculiarly sinister and
menacing. He lounged back in a careless position, and yawned
repeatedly as though heartily weary of the proceedings, stoop-
ing from time to time to fondle a shaggy Spanish greyhound
which lay stretched at his feet. On the other throne there was
perched bolt upright, with prim demeanor, as though he felt
himself to be upon his good behavior, a little, round, pippin-
195196 THE WHITE COMPANY
faced person, who smiled and bobbed to everyone whose eye
he chanced to meet. Between and a little in front of them on a
humble charette or stool, sat a slim, dark young man, whose
quiet attire and modest manner would scarce proclaim him to
be the most noted prince in Europe. A jupon of dark blue
cloth, tagged with buckles and pendants of gold, seemed but a
somber and plain attire amidst the wealth of silk and ermine
and gilt tissue of fustian with which he was surrounded. He
sat with his two hands clasped round his knee, his head slightly
bent, and an expression of impatience and of trouble upon his
clear, well-chiseled features. Behind the thrones there stood
two men in purple gowns, with ascetic, clean-shaven faces, and
half a dozen other high dignitaries and office-holders of Aqui-
taine. Below on either side of the steps were forty or fifty
barons, knights, and courtiers, ranged in a triple row to the
right and the left, with a clear passage in the center.
"There sits the prince,” whispered Sir John Chandos, as
they entered. ‘He on the right is Pedro, whom we are about
to put upon the Spanish throne. The other is Don James,
whom we purpose with the aid of God to help to his throne in
Majorca. Now follow me, and take it not to heart if he be a
little short in his speech, for indeed his mind is full of many
very weighty concerns.”
The prince, however, had already observed their entrance,
and, springing to his feet, he had advanced with a winning
smile and the light of welcome in his eyes. 7
“We do not need your good offices as herald here, Sir
John,” said he in a low but clear voice; “these valiant knights
are very well known to me. Welcome to Aquitaine, Sir Nigel
Loring and Sir Oliver Buttesthorn. Nay, keep your knee for
my sweet father at Windsor. I would have your hands, my
friends. We are like to give you some work to do ere you see
the downs of Hampshire once more. Know you aught of
Spain, Sic Oliver ?”
“Naught, my sire, save that I have heard men say that there
is a dish named an olla which is prepared there, though I have
never been clear in my mind as to whether it was but a ragout
such as is to be found in the south, or whether there is some
seasoning such as fennel or garlic which is peculiar to Spain.”
“Your doubts, Sir Oliver, shall soon be resolved,” answered
the prince, laughing heartily, as did many of the barons who ©THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREWS _ 197
surrounded them. “His majesty here will doubtless order that
you have this dish hotly seasoned when we are all safely in
Castile.”
“I will have a hotly seasoned dish for some folk I know of,”
answered Don Pedro with a cold smile.
“But my friend Sir Oliver can fight right hardily without
either bite or sup,’ remarked the prince. ‘Did I not see him at
Poictiers, when for two days we had not more than a crust of
bread and a cup of foul water, yet carrying himself most val-
iantly? With my own eyes I saw him in the rout sweep the
head from a knight of Picardy with one blow of his sword.”
“The rogue got between me and the nearest French victual
wain,’ muttered Sir Oliver, amid a fresh titter from those who
were near enough to catch his words.
“How many have you in your train?” asked the prince, as-
suming a graver mien.
“T have forty men at arms, sire,’”’ said Sir Oliver.
“And I have one hundred archers and a score of lancers, but
there are two hundred men who wait for me on this side of
the water upon the borders of Navarre.”
“And who are they, Sir Nigel ?”
“They are a free company, sire, and they are called the
White Company.”
To the astonishment of the knight, his words provoked a
burst of merriment from the barons round, in which the two
kings and the prince were fain to join. Sir Nigel blinked
mildly from one to the other, until at last perceiving a stout
black-bearded knight at his elbow, whose laugh rang somewhat
louder than the others, he touched him lightly upon the sleeve.
““Perchance, my fair sir,”’ he whispered, “there is some small
vow of which I may relieve you. Might we not have some
honorable debate upon the matter? Your gentle courtesy may
perhaps grant me an exchange of thrusts.”
“Nay, nay, Sir Nigel,’ cried the prince, “fasten not the of-
fense upon Sir Robert Briquet, for we are one and all bogged
in the same mire. Truth to say, our ears have just been vexed
by the doings of the same company, and I have even now made
vow to hang the man who held the rank of captain over it. I
little thought to find him among the bravest of my own chosen
chieftains. But the vow is now naught, for, as you have never198 THE WHITE COMPANY
- seen your company, it would be a fool’s act to blame you for
their doings.”’
"My liege,” said Nigei, “it is a very small matter that I
should be hanged, albeit the manner of death is somewhat more
ignoble than I had hoped for. On the other hand, it would be
a very grievous thing that you, the Prince of England and the
flower of knighthood, should make a vow, whether in ignorance
or no, and fail to bring it to fulfillment.”
“Vex not your mind on that,” the prince answered, smiling.
“We have had a citizen from Montauban here this very day,
who told us such a tale of sack and murder and pillage that it
moved our blood; but our wrath was turned upon the man who
was in authority over them.”
"My dear and honored master,” cried Nigel, in great anxiety,
“I fear me much that in your gentleness of heart you are
straining this vow which you have taken. If there be so much
as a shadow of a doubt as to the form of it, it were a thousand
times best :
“Peace! peace!” cried the prince impatiently. “I am very
well able to look to my own vows and their performance. We
hope to see you both in the banquet hall anon. Meanwhile
you will attend upon us with our train.” He bowed, and
Chandos, plucking Sir Oliver by the sleeve, led them both
away to the back of the press of courtiers.
“Why, little coz,” he whispered, “you are very eager to have
your neck in a noose. By my soul! had you asked as much
from our new ally Don Pedro, he had not balked you. Be-
tween friends, there is overmuch of the hangman in him, and
too little of the prince. But indeed this White Company is a
rough band, and may take some handling ere you find yourself
safe in your captaincy.” — .
“TI doubt not, with the help of St. Paul, that I shall bring
them to some order,” Sir Nigel answered. “But there are
many faces here which are new to me, though others have been
before me since first I waited upon my dear master, Sir Walter.
I pray you tell me, Sir John, who are these priests upon the
dais?”
“The one is the Archbishop of Bordeaux, Nigel, and the
other the Bishop of Agen.”
“And the dark knight with gray-streaked beard? By my
troth, he seems to be a man of much wisdom and valor.”THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREWS _ 199
“He is Sir William Fenton, who, with my unworthy self, is
chief counselor of the prince, he being high steward and I
the seneschal of Aquitaine.”
‘And the knights upon the right, beside Don Pedro?”
‘They are cavaliers of Spain who have followed him in his
exile. The one at his elbow is Fernando de Castro, who is as
brave and true a man as heart could wish. In front to the
right are the Gascon lords. You may well tell them by their
clouded brows, for there hath been some ill will of late betwixt
the prince and them. The tall and burly man is the Captal de
Buch, whom I doubt not that you know, for a braver knight
never laid lance in rest. That heavy-faced cavalier who
plucks his skirts and whispers in his ear is Lord Oliver de
Clisson, known also as the butcher. He it is who stirs up strife,
and forever blows the dying embers into flame. The man
with the mole upon his cheek is the Lord Pommers, and his
two brothers stand behind him, with the Lord Lesparre, Lord
de Rosem, Lord de Mucident, Sir Perducas d’Albret, the
Souldich de la Trane, and others. Further back are knights
from Quercy, Limousin, Saintonge, Poitou, and Aquitaine,
with the valiant Sir Guiscard d’Angle. That is he in the rose-
colored doublet with the ermine.”
“And the knights upon this side?”
“They are all Englishmen, some of the household and others
who, like yourself, are captains of companies. There is Lord
Neville, Sir Stephen Cossington, and Sir Matthew Gourney,
with Sir Walter Huet, Sir Thomas Banaster, and Sir Thomas
Felton, who is the brother of the high steward. Mark well the
man with the high nose and flaxen beard who hath placed his
hand upon the shoulder of the dark hard-faced cavalier in the
rust-stained jupon.”
“Aye, by St. Paul!’ observed Sir Nigel, “they both bear the
print of their armor upon their cétes-hardies. Methinks they
are men who breathe freer in a camp than a court.”
“There are many of us who do that, Nigel,” said Chandos,
“and the head of the court is, I dare warrant, among them.
But of these two men the one is Sir Hugh Calverley, and the
other is Sir Robert Knolles.”’
Sir Nigel and Sir Oliver craned their necks to have the
clearer view of these famous warriors, the one a chosen leader
of free companies, the other a man who by his fierce valor and200 THE WHITE COMPANY
energy had raised himself from the lowest ranks until he was
second only to Chandos himself in the esteem of the army.
“He hath no light hand in war, hath Sir Robert,” said
Chandos. “If he passes through a country you may tell it for
some years to come. [ have heard that in the north it is still
the use to call a house which hath but the two gable ends left,
without walls or roof, a Knolles’ miter.”
“T have often heard of him,’’ said Nigel, ‘‘and I have hoped
to be so far honored as to run a course with him. But hark,
Sir John, what is amiss with the prince?”
Whilst Chandos had been conversing with the two knights a
continuous stream of suitors had been ushered in, adventurers
seeking to sell their swords and merchants clamoring over some
grievance, a ship detained for the carriage of troops, or a tun
of sweet wine which had the bottom knocked out by a troop of
thirsty archers. A few words from the prince disposed of each
case, and, if the applicant liked not the judgment, a quick glance
from the prince’s dark eyes sent him to the door with the
grievance all gone out of him. The younger ruler had sat list-
lessly upon his stool with the two puppet monarchs enthroned
behind him, but of a sudden a dark shadow passed over his
face, and he sprang to his feet in one of those gusts of passion
which were the single blot upon his noble and generous char-
acter.
“How now, Don Martin de la Carra?” he cried. “How now,
sirrah? What message do you bring to us from our brother
of Navarre?”
The newcomer to whom this abrupt query had been ad-
dressed was a tall and exceedingly handsome cavalier who had
just been ushered into the apartment. His swarthy cheek and
raven black hair spoke of the fiery south, and he wore his long
black cloak swathed across his chest and over his shoulders
in a graceful sweeping fashion, which was neither English nor
French. With stately steps and many profound bows, he ad-
vanced to the foot of the dais before replying to the prince’s
question.
“My powerful and illustrious master,” he began, “Charles,
King of Navarre, Earl of Evreux, Count of Champagne, who
also writeth himself Overlord of Bearn, hereby sends his love
and greetings to his dear cousin Edward, the Prince of Wales,
Governor of Aquitaine, Grand Commander of ,THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREWS 20]
“Tush! tush! Don Martin!’ interrupted the prince, who
had been beating the ground with his foot impatiently during
this stately preamble. ‘We already know our cousin’s titles
and style, and, certes, we know our own. To the point, man,
and at once. Are the passes open to us, or does your master go
back from his word pledged to me at Libourne no later than
last Michaelmas ?”’
“It would ill become my gracious master, sire, to go back
from promise given. He does but ask some delay and certain
conditions and hostages “
“Conditions! Hostages! Is he speaking to the Prince of
England, or is it to the bourgeois provost of some half-cap-
tured town! Conditions, quotha? He may find much to mend
in his own condition ere long. The passes are, then, closed
to us?”
“Nay, sire
“They are open, then?”
“Nay, sire, if you would but
“Enough, enough, Don Martin,” cried the prince. “It is a
sorry sight to see so true a knight pleading in so false a cause.
We know the doings of our cousin Charles. We know that
while with the right hand he takes our fifty thousand crowns
for the holding of the passes open, he hath his left outstretched
to Henry of Trastamare, or to the King of France, all ready to
take as many more for the keeping them closed. I know our
good Charles, and, by my blessed name saint the Confessor, he
shall learn that I know him. He sets his kingdom up to the
best bidder, like some scullion farrier selling a glandered horse.
He is i
“My lord,” cried Don Martin, “I cannot stand there to hear
such words of my master. Did they come from other lips, I
should know better how to answer them.”
Don Pedro frowned and curled his lip, but the prince smiled
and nodded his approbation.
“Your bearing and your words, Don Martin, are such T
should have looked for in you,’ he remarked. ‘You will tell
the king, your master, that he hath been paid his price, and
that if he holds to his promise he hath my word for it that no
scathe shall come to his people, nor to their houses or gear.
If, however, we have not his leave, I shall come close at the
heels of this message without his leave, and bearing a key with
99
v2202 THE WHITE COMPANY
me which shall open all that he may close.” He stooped and
whispered to Sir Robert Knolles and Sir Hugh Calverly,
who smiled as men well pleased, and hastened from the room.
“Our cousin Charles has had experience of our friendship,”’
the prince continued, “and now, by the Saints! he shall feel a
touch of our displeasure. I send now a message to our cousin
Charles which his whole kingdom may read. Let him take
heed lest worse befall him. Where is my Lord Chandos?
Ha, Sir John, I commend this worthy knight to your care.
You will see that he hath reflection, and such a purse of gold
as may defray his charges, for indeed it is great honor to any
court to have within it so noble and gentle a cavalier. How
say you, sire?” he asked, turning to the Spanish refugee, while
the herald of Navarre was conducted from the chamber by the
old warrior.
“Tt is not our custom in Spain to reward pertness in a mes-
senger,” Don Pedro answered, patting the head of his grey-
hound. “Yet we have all heard the lengths to which your royal
generosity runs.’’
“In sooth, yes,” cried the King of Majorca.
“Who should know it better than we?” said Don Pedro bit-
terly, ‘‘since we have had to fly to you in our trouble as to the
natural protector of all who are weak.”
“Nay, nay, as brothers to a brother,” cried the prince, with
sparkling eyes. “We doubt not, with the help of God, to see
you very soon restored to those thrones from which you have
been so traitorously thrust.”’
“When that happy day comes,’ said Pedro, “then Spain
shall be to you as Aquitaine, and, be your project what it may,
-you may ever count on every troop and every ship over which
flies the banner of Castile.”
“And,” added the other, “upon every aid which the wealth
‘and power of Majorca can bestow.”’
“Touching the hundred thousand crowns in which I stand
your debtor,’ continued Pedro carelessly, “it can no
doubt if
“Not a word, sire, not a word!” cried the prince. ‘It is
not now when ydu are in grief that I would vex your mind with
such base and sordid matters. I have said once and forever
that I am yours with every bowstring of my army and every
florin in my coffers.”THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREWS _ 208
“Ah! here is indeed a mirror of chivalry,’ said Don Pedro.
“T think, Sir Fernando, since the prince’s bounty is stretched
so far, that we may make further use of his gracious good-
ness to the extent of fifty thousand crowns. Good Sir William
_ Felton, here, will doubtless settle the matter with you.”
The stout old English counselor looked somewhat blank at
this prompt acceptance of his master’s bounty.
“If it please you, sire,” he said, “the public funds are at
their lowest, seeing that I have paid twelve thousand men of
the companies, and the new taxes—the hearth tax and the wine
tax—not yet come in. If you could wait until the promised
help from England comes ‘
“Nay, nay, my sweet cousin,” cried Don Pedro. ‘‘Had we
known that your own coffers were so low, or that this sorry
sum could have weighed one way or the other, we had been
loath indeed i
“Enough, sire, enough!” said the prince, flushing with vexa-
tion. “If the public funds be, indeed, so backward, Sir
William, there is still, I trust, my own private credit, which
hath never been drawn upon for my own uses, but is now ready
in the cause of a friend in adversity. Go, raise this money
upon our own jewels, if naught else may serve, and see that it
be paid over to Don Fernando.”
“In security I offex ” cried Don Pedro.
“Tush! tush! said the prince. “I am not a Lombard, sire.
Your kingly pledge is my security, without bond or seal. But
I have tidings for you, my lords and lieges, that our brother
of Lancaster is on his way for our capital with four hundred
lances and as many archers to aid us in our venture. When he
hath come, and when our fair consort is recovered in her
health, which I trust by the grace of God may be ere many
weeks be past, we shall then join the army at Dax, and set our
banners to the breeze once more.”
A buzz of joy at the prospect of immediate action rose up
from the group of warriors. The prince smiled at the martial
ardor which shone upon every face around him.
“It will hearten you to know,” he continued, “that I have
sure advices that this Henry is a very valiant leader, and that
he has it in his power to make such a stand against us as
promises to give us much honor and pleasure. Of his own
people he hath brought together, as I learn, some fifty204 THE WHITE COMPANY .
thousand, with twelve thousand of the French free companies,
who are, as you know, very valiant and expert men at arms.
It is certain, also, that the brave and worthy Bertrand de
Guesclin hath ridden into France to the Duke of Anjou, and
purposes to take back with him great levies from Picardy and
Brittany. We hold Bertrand in high esteem, for he has oft
before been at great pains to furnish us with an honorable en-
counter. What think you of it, my worthy Captal? He took
you at Cocherel, and, by my soul! you will have the chance now
to pay that score.”
The Gascon warrior winced a little at the allusion, nor were
his countrymen around him better pleased, for on the only
occasion when they had encountered the arms of France with-
out English aid they had met with a heavy defeat.
“There are some who say, sire,” said the burly De Clisson,
“that the score is already overpaid, for that without Gascon
help Bertrand had not been taken at Auray, nor had King
John been overborne at Poictiers.”’
“By heaven! but this is too much,” cried an English noble-
man. “Methinks that Gascony is too small a cock to crow so
lustily.”
“The smaller cock, my Lord Audley, may have the longer
spur,’ remarked the Captal de Buch.
“May have its comb clipped if it make overmuch noise,”
broke in an Englishman.
“By our Lady of Rocamadour!” cried the Lord of Mucident,
‘this is more than I can abide. Sir John Charnell, you shall
answer to me for those words!’’
_ “Freely, my lord, and when you will,” returned the English-
man carelessly.
“My Lord de Clisson,” cried Lord Audley, “you look some-
what fixedly in my direction. By God’s soul! I should be
right glad to go further into the matter with you.”
“And you, my Lord of Pommers,” said Sir Nigel, pushing
his way to the front, “it is in my mind that we might break a
lance in gentle and honorable debate over the question.”
For a moment a dozen challenges flashed backward and for-
ward at this sudden bursting of the cloud which had lowered
so long between the knights of the two nations. Furious and
gesticulating the Gascons, white and cold and sneering the
English, while the prince with a half smile glanced from oneTHE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREWS — 205
party to the other, like a man who loved to dwell upon a fiery
scene, and yet dreaded lest the mischief go so far that he
might find it beyond his control.
“Friends, friends!” he cried at last, “this quarrel must go
no further. The man shall answer to me, be he Gascon or
English, who carries it beyond this room. I have overmuch
need for your swords that you should turn them upon each
other. Sir John Charnell, Lord Audley, you do not doubt the
courage of our friends of Gascony?”
‘Not I, sire,” Lord Audley answered. “I have seen them
fight too often not to know that they are very hardy and valiant
gentlemen.”
“And so say I,” quoth the other Englishman; “‘but, certes,
there is no fear of our forgetting it while they have a tongue
_ in their heads.”
“Nay, Sir John,” said the prince reprovingly, “all peoples
have their own use and customs. There are some who might
call us cold and dull and silent. But you hear, my lords of Gas-
cony, that these gentlemen had no thought to throw a slur upon
your honor or your valor, so let all anger fade from your mind.
Clisson, Captal, De Pommers, I have your word?”
‘We are your subjects, sire,” said the Gascon barons, though
with no very good grace. ‘Your words are our law.”’
‘Then shall we bury all cause of unkindness in a flagon of
Malvoisie,” said the prince, cheerily. “Ho, there! the doors
of the banquet hall! I have been over long from my sweet
spouse, but I shall be back with you anon. Let the sewers
serve and the minstrels play, while we drain a cup to the brave
days that are before us in the south!’ He turned away, ac-
companied by the two monarchs, while the rest of the company,
with many a compressed lip and menacing eye, filed slowly
through the side door to the great chamber in which the royal
tables were set forth.CHAPIER AA
HOW ALLEYNE WON HIS PLACE IN AN HONORABLE GUILD
HILST the prince’s council was sitting, Alleyne and
Ford had remained in the outer hall, where they were
soon surrounded by a noisy group of young English-
men of their own rank, all eager to hear the latest news from
England.
“How is it with the old man at Windsor?” asked one.
“And how with the good Queen Philippa?’
“And how with Dame Alice Perrers?” cried a third.
“The devil take your tongue, Wat!’ shouted a tall young
man, seizing the last speaker by the collar and giving him an
admonitory shake. ‘The prince would take your head off for
those words.”
“By God’s coif! Wat would miss it but little,’ said another.
“Tt is as empty as a beggar’s wallet.”’
“As empty as an English squire, coz,’ cried the first
speaker. ‘What a devil has become of the maitre-destables
and his sewers? They have not put forth the trestles yet.”
“Mon Dieu! if a man could eat himself into knighthood,
Humphrey, you had been a banneret at the least,” observed
another, amid a burst of laughter.
“And if you could drink yourself in, old leather-head, you
had been first baron of the realm,” cried the aggrieved Hum-
phrey. ‘But how of England, my lads of Loring?”
“T take it,’ said Ford, “that it is much as it was when you
were there last, save that perchance there is a little less noise
there.”’
“And why less noise, young Solomon?”
“Ah, that is for your wit to discover.”
“Pardieu! here is a paladin come over, with the Hampshire
mud still sticking to his shoes. He means that the noise is
less for our being out of the country.”’
206ALLEYNE WINS HIS PLACE 207
“They are very quick in these parts,” said Ford, turning to
Alleyne.
“How are we to take this, sir?” asked the ruffling squire.
“You may take it as it comes,” said Ford carelessly.
“Here is pertness!”’ cried the other.
“Sir, I honor your truthfulness,” said Ford.
“Stint it, Humphrey,” said the tall squire, with a burst of
laughter. “You will have little credit from this gentleman, [
perceive. Tongues are sharp in Hampshire, sir.”
“And swords ?”
‘Hum! we may prove that. In two days’ time is the vépres
du tournoi, when we may see if your lance is as quick as your
wit.”
“All very well, Roger Harcomb,” cried a burly, bullnecked
_ young man, whose square shoulders and massive limbs told of
exceptional personal strength. “You pass too lightly over the
matter. We are not to be so easily overcrowed. The Lord
Loring hath given his proofs; but we know nothing of his
squires, save that one of them hath a railing tongue. And how
of you, young sir?” bringing his heavy hand down on Alleyne’s
_ shoulder.
“And what of me, young sir?”
“Ma foi! this is my lady’s page come over. Your cheek
will be browner and your hand harder ere you see your mother
again.”
“If my hand is not hard, it is ready.”
“Ready? Ready for what? For the the hem of my lady’s
train?”
“Ready to chastise insolence, sir,” cried Alleyne with flash-
ing eyes.
"sweet little coz!” answered the burly squire. “Such a
dainty color! Such a mellow voice! Eyes of a bashful maid,
and hair like a three years’ babe! Voila!’ He passed his thick
fingers roughly through the youth’s crisp golden curls.
“You seek to force a quarrel, sir,” said the young man, white
with anger.
“And what then?”
“Why, you do it like a country boor, and not like a gentle
squire. Hast been ill bred and as ill taught. I serve a master
who could show you how such things should be done.”
"And how would he do it, O pink of squires ?”208 THE WHITE COMPANY
“He would neither be loud nor would he be unmannerly, but
rather more gentle than is his wont. He would say, ‘Sir, I
should take it as an honor to do some small deed of arms against
you, not for mine own glory or advancement, but rather for
the fame of my lady and for the upholding of chivalry.’ Then
he would draw his glove, thus, and throw it on the ground; or,
if he had cause to think that he had to deal with a churl, he
might throw it in his face—as I do now!”
A buzz of excitement went up from the knot of squires as
Alleyne, his gentle nature turned by this causeless attack into
fiery resolution, dashed his glove with all his strength into the
sneering face of his antagonist. -From all parts of the hall
squires and pages came running, until a dense, swaying crowd
surrounded the disputants.
“Your life for this!’ said the bully, with a face which was
distorted with rage.
“Tf you can take it,” returned Alleyne.
“Good lad!” whispered Ford. “Stick to it close as wax.”
“T shall see justice,’ cried Newbury, Sir Oliver’s silent
attendant.
“You brought it upon yourself, John Tranter,” said the tall
squire, who had been addressed as Roger Harcomb. “You
must ever plague the newcomers. But it were shame if this
went further. The lad hath shown a proper spirit.”
“But a blow! a blow!’ cried several of the older squires.
“There must be a finish to this.” :
“Nay; Tranter first laid hand upon his head,” said Har-
comb. ‘‘How say you, Tranter? The matter may rest where
it stands ?”’ |
“My name is known in these parts,” said Tranter proudly.
“T can let pass what might leave a stain upon another. Let
him pick up his glove and say that he has done amiss.”
“T would see him in the claws of the devil first,’ whispered
Ford.
“You hear, young sir?’ said the peacemaker. “Our friend
will overlook the matter if you do but say that you have acted
in heat and haste.”
“T cannot say that,’’ answered Alleyne.
“Tt is our custom, young sir, when new squires come amongst
us from England, to test them in some such way. Bethink you
that if a man have a destrier or a new lance he will ever try itALLEYNE WINS HIS PLACE 209
in time of peace, lest in days of need it may fail him. How
much more then is it proper to test those who are our comrades
in arms.”’
‘“T would draw out if it may honorably be done,’’ murmured
Norbury in Alleyne’s ear. ‘‘The man is a noted swordsman
and far above your strength.”
Edricson came, however, of that sturdy Saxon blood which
is very slowly heated, but once up not easily to be cooled. The
hint of danger which Norbury threw out was the one thing
needed to harden his resolution.
“I came here at: the back of my master,” he said, “and I
looked on every man here as an Englishman and a friend.
This. gentleman hath shown me a rough welcome, and if I
have answered him in the same spirit he has but himself to
thank. I will pick the glove up; but, certes, I shall abide what
I have done unless he first crave my pardon for what he hath
said and done.”
Tranter shrugged his shoulders. ‘You have done what you
could to save him, Harcomb,” said he. ‘‘We had best settle
at once;”’
“So say I,’ cried Alleyne.
“The council will not break up until the banquet,’”’ remarked
a gray-haired squire. ‘‘You have a clear two hours.”’
“And the place ?’’
“The tilting-yard is empty at this hour.’
“Nay; it must not be within the grounds of the court, or it
may go hard with all concerned if it come to the ears of the
prince.”’
“But there is a quiet spot near the river,’’ said one youth.
“We have but to pass through the abbey grounds, along the
armory wall, past the church of St. Remi, and so down the
Rue des Apotres.”’
“En avant, then!” cried Tranter shortly, and the whole
assembly flocked out into the open air, save only those whom
the special orders of their masters held to their posts. These
unfortunates crowded to the small casements, and craned
their necks after the throng as far as they could catch a glimpse
of them.
_ Close to the banks of the Garonne there lay a little tract of
greensward, with the high wall of a prior’s garden upon one
side and an orchard with a thick bristle of leafless apple trees210 THE WHITE COMPANY
upon the other. The river ran deep and swift up to the steep
bank; but there were few boats upon it, and the ships were
moored far out in the center of the stream. Here the two
combatants drew their swords and threw off their doublets,
for neither had any defensive armor. The duello with its
stately etiquette had not yet come into vogue, but rough and
sudden encounters were as common as they must ever be when
hot-headed youth goes abroad with a weapon strapped to its
waist. In such combats, as well as in the more formal sports
of the tilting-yard, Tranter had won a name for strength and
dexterity which had caused Norbury to utter his well-meant
warning. On the other hand, Alleyne had used his weapons
in constant exercise and practice for every day for many
months, and being by nature quick of eye and prompt of hand,
he might pass now as no mean swordsman. A strangely op-
posed pair they appeared as they approached each other:
Tranter dark and stout and stiff, with hairy chest and corded
arms, Alleyne a model of comeliness and grace, with his golden
hair and his skin as fair as a woman’s. An unequal fight it
seemed to most; but there were a few, and they the most ex-
perienced, who saw something in the youth’s steady gray eye
and wary step which left the issue open to doubt.
“Hold, sirs, hold!” cried Norbury, ere a blow had been
struck. “This gentleman hath a two-handed sword, a good
foot longer than that of our friend.”
“Take mine, Alleyne,” said Ford.
“Nay, friends,” he answered, “I understand the weight and
balance of mine own. To work, sir, for our lord may need us
at the abbey!” |
Tranter’s great sword was indeed a mighty vantage in his
favor. He stood with his feet close together, his knees bent
outward, ready for a dash inward or a spring out. The
weapon he held straight up in front of him with blade erect, so
that he might either bring it down with a swinging blow, or
by a turn of the heavy blade he might guard his own head and
body. A further protection lay in the broad and powerful
guard which crossed the hilt, and which was furnished with a
deep and narrow notch, in which an expert swordsman might
catch his foeman’s blade, and by a quick turn of his wrist
might snap it across. Alleyne, on the other hand, must trust
for his defense to his quick eye and active foot—for his sword,ALLEYNE WINS HIS PLACE 211
though keen as a whetstone could make it, was of a light and
a build with a narrow, sloping pommel and a tapering
steel.
Tranter well knew his advantage and lost no time in putting
it to use. As his opponent walked toward him he suddenly
bounded forward and sent in a whistling cut which would have
severed the other in twain had he not sprung lightly back from
it. So close was it that the point ripped a gash in the jutting
edge of his linen cyclas. Quick as a panther, Alleyne sprang in
with a thrust, but Tranter, who was as active as he was strong,
had already recovered himself and turned it aside with a move-
ment of his heavy blade. Again he whizzed in a blow which
made the spectators hold their breath, and again Alleyne very
quickly and swiftly slipped from under it, and sent back two
lightning thrusts which the other could scarce parry. So close
were they to each other that Alleyne had no time to spring back
from the next cut, which beat down his sword and grazed his
forehead, sending the blood streaming into his eyes and down
his cheeks. He sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair
stood breathing heavily, while the crowd of young squires
buzzed their applause.
“Bravely struck on both sides!” cried Roger Harcomb.
“You have both won honor from this meeting, and it would
be sin and shame to let it go further.”’
“You have done enough, Edricson,”’ said Norbury.
“You have carried yourself well,”’ cried several of the older
squires.
“For my part, I have no wish to slay this young man,’
Tranter, wiping his heated brow.
‘Does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me
despitefully ?” asked Alleyne.
‘Naye not I.”
“Then stand on your guard, sir!’ With a clatter and dash
the two blades met once more, Alieyne pressing in so as to keep
within the full sweep of the heavy blade, while Tranter as con-
tinually sprang back to have space for one of his fatal cuts. A
three-parts-parried blow drew blood from Alleyne’s left shoul-
der, but at the same moment he wounded Tranter slightly upon
the thigh. Next instant, however, his blade had slipped into
the fatal notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tin-
kling upon the ground, and he found a splintered piece of
’
>
said212 THE WHITE COMPANY
steel fifteen inches long was all that remained to him of his
weapon. |
“Your life is in my hands!’ cried Franter, with a. bitter
smile.
“Nay, nay, he makes submission!’ broke in several squires.
‘Another sword!” cried Ford.
‘Nay, sir,’ said Harcomb, “‘that is not the custom.”
“Throw down your hilt, Edricson,” cried Norbury.
“Never!” said Alleyne. ‘Do you crave my pardon, sir?”
"You are mad to askit.’
“Then on guard again!” cried the young squire, and sprang
in with a fire and a fury which more than made up for the
shortness of his weapon. It had not escaped him that his op-
ponent was breathing in short, hoarse gasps, like a man who is
dizzy with fatigue. Now was the time for the purer living
and the more agile limb to show their value. Back and back
gave Tranter, ever seeking time for a last cut. On. and on
came Alleyne, his jagged point now at his foeman’s face, now
at his throat, now at his chest, still stabbing and thrusting to
pass the line of steel which covered him. Yet his experienced
foeman knew well that such efforts could not be long sustained.
Let him relax for one instant, and his deathblow had come.
Relax he must! Flesh and blood could not stand the strain.
Already the thrusts were less fierce, the foot less ready, al-
though there was no abatement of the spirit in the steady gray
eyes. Tranter, cunning and wary from years of fighting, knew
that his chance had come. He brushed aside the frail weapon
which was opposed to him, whirled up his great blade, sprang
back to get the fairer sweep—and vanished into the waters of
the Garonne. |
So intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators,
been on the matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank’
and swift still stream had gone from their minds. It was not
until Tranter, giving back before the other’s fiery rush, was
upon the very brink, that a general cry warned him of his
danger. That last spring, which he hoped would have brought
the fight to a bloody end, carried him clear of the edge, and ©
he found himself in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-cold —
stream. Once and twice his gasping face and clutching fingers
broke up through the still green water, sweeping outwards in
the swirl of the current. In vain were sword sheaths, apple
a ee ee ee ee ee
fiALLEYNE WINS HIS PLACE 213
branches and belts linked together thrown out to him by his
companions. Alleyne had dropped his shattered sword and
was standing, trembling in every limb, with his rage all changed
in an instant to pity. For the third time the drowning man
came to the surface, his hands full of green slimy water-plants,
his eyes turned in despair to the shore. Their glance fell upon
Alleyne, and he could not withstand the mute appeal which he
read in them. In an instant he, too, was in the Garonne, strik-
ing out with powerful strokes for his late foeman.
Yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer
as he was, it was no easy task which Alleyne had set himself.
To clutch at Tranter and to seize him by the hair was the work
of a few seconds, but to hold 1.’+ head above water and to make
their way out of the current was another matter. For a
hundred strokes he did not seem to gain an inch. Then at
last, amid a shout of joy and praise from the bank, they slowly
drew clear into more stagnant water, at the instant that a rope,
made of a dozen sword belts linked together by the buckles,
was thrown by Ford into their very hands. Three pulls from
eager arms, and the two combatants, dripping and pale, were
dragged up the bank, and lay panting upon the grass.
John Tranter was the first to come to himself, for although
he had been longer in the water, he had done nothing during
that fierce battle with the current. He staggered to his feet
and looked down upon his rescuer, who had raised himself
upon his elbow, and was smiling faintly at the buzz of con-
gratulation and of praise which broke from the squires around
him.
“IT am much beholden to you, sir,” said Tranter, though in
no very friendly voice. “Certes, I should have been in the
river now but for you, for I was born in Warwickshire, which
is but a dry county, and there are few who swim in those
aris.”
F “I ask no thanks,’ Alleyne answered shortly. “Give me
your hand to rise, Ford.”
“The river has been my enemy,” said Tranter, “but it hath
been a good friend to you, for it has saved your life this day.”
“That is as it may be,” returned Alleyne.
“But all is now well over,’ quoth Harcomb, “and no scathe
come of it, which is more than I had at one time hoped for.
Our young friend here hath very fairly and honestly earned214 THE WHITE COMPANY
his right to be craftsman of the Honorable Guild of the Squires
of Bordeaux. Here is your doublet, Tranter.”
“Alas for my poor sword which lies at the bottom of the
Garonne!” said the squire.
‘Here is your pourpoint, Edricson,” cried Norbury. “Throw
it over your shoulders, that you may have at least one dry
garment.’’
“And now away back to the abbey!’ said several.
“One moment, sirs,”’ cried Alleyne, who was leaning on
Ford’s shoulder, with the broken sword, which he had picked
up, still clutched in his right hand. “My ears may be some-
what dulled by the water, and perchance what has been said
has escaped me, but I have not yet heard this gentleman crave
pardon for the insults which he put upon me in the hall.”
“What! do you still pursue the quarrel?” asked ‘Tranter.
“And why not, sir? I am slow to take up such things, but
once afoot I shall follow it while I have life or breath.”
“Ma foi! you have not too much of either, for you are as
white as marble,’ said Harcomb bluntly. “Take my rede, sir,
and let it drop, for you have come very well out from it.”
“Nay,” said Alleyne, ‘this quarrel is none of my making;
but, now that I am here, I swear to you that I shall never
leave this spot until I have that which I have come for: so
ask my pardon, sir, or choose another glaive and to it again.”
The young squire was deadly white from his exertions, both
on the land and in the water. Soaking and stained, with a
smear of blood on his white shc:1lder and another on his brow,
there was still in his whole pose and set of face the trace of
an inflexible resolution. His opponent’s duller and more ma-
terial mind quailed before the fire and intensity of a higher
spiritual nature.
“T had not thought that you had taken it so amiss,” said
he awkwardly. “It was but such a jest as we play upon each
other, and, if you must have it so, I am sorry for it.”
“Then I am sorry too,’ quoth Alleyne warmly, “‘and here
is my hand upon it.”
“And the none-meat horn has blown three times,’ quoth
Harcomb, as they all streamed in chattering groups from the
ground. ‘I know not what the prince’s maitre-de-cuisine will
say or think. By my troth! master Ford, your friend here is
in need of a cup of wine, for he hath drunk deeply of GaronneALLEYNE WINS HIS PLACE 215
water. I had not thought from his fair face that he had stood
to this matter so shrewdly.”’
“Faith,” said Ford, “this air of Bordeaux hath turned our
turtledove into a gamecock. A milder or more courteous
youth never came out of Hampshire.”
‘His master also, as I understand, is a very mild and cour-
teous gentleman,” remarked Harcomb; “yet I do not think
that they are either of them men with whom it is very safe
to trifle.”CHAPTER XXI
HOW AGOSTINO PISANO RISKED HIS HEAD
at Bordeaux was on a very sumptuous scale while the
prince held his court there. Here first, after the meager
fare of Beaulieu and the stinted board of the Lady Loring,
Alleyne learned the lengths to which luxury and refinement
might be pushed. Roasted peacocks, with the feathers all
carefully replaced, so that the bird lay upon the dish even as
it had strutted in life, boars’ heads with the tusks gilded and
the mouth lined with silver foil, jellies in the shape of the
Twelve Apostles, and a great pasty which formed an exact
model of the king’s new castle at Windsor—these were a few
of the strange dishes which faced him. An archer had brought
him a change of clothes from the cog, and he had already,
with the elasticity of youth, shaken off the troubles and fatigues
of the morning. A page from the inner banqueting hall had
come with word that their master intended to drink wine at
the lodgings of the Lord Chandos that night, and that he de-
sired his squires to sleep at the hotel of the “Half Moon” on
the Rue des Apdtres. Thither then they both set out in the
twilight after the long course of juggling tricks and glee sing-
ing with which the principal meal was concluded.
A thin rain was falling as the two youths, with their cloaks
over their heads, made their way on foot through the streets
of the old town, leaving their horses in the royal stables. An
occasional oil lamp at the corner of a street, or in the portico
of some wealthy burgher, threw a faint glimmer over the
shining cobblestones, and the varied motley crowd who, in spite
of the weather, ebbed and flowed along every highway. In
those scattered circles of dim radiance might be seen the whole
busy panorama of life in a wealthy and martial city. Here
passed the round-faced burgher, swollen with prosperity, his
216
at the squire’s stable at the Abbey of St. AndrewsAGOSTINO PISANO 217
sweeping dark-clothed gaberdine, flat velvet cap, broad leather
belt and dangling pouch all speaking of comfort and wealth.
Behind him his serving wench, her blue whimple over her
head, and one hand thrust forth to bear the lanthorn which
drew a golden bar of light along her master’s path. Behind
them a group of swaggering, half-drunken Yorkshire dales-
men, speaking a dialect which their own southland countrymen
could scarce comprehend, their jerkins marked with the peli-
can, which showed that they had come over in the train of the
north- -country Stapletons. The burgher glanced back at their
fierce faces and quickened his step, while the girl pulled her
whimple closer round her, for there was a meaning in their
wild eyes, as they stared at the purse and the maiden, which
men of all tongues could understand. Then came archers of
the guard, shrill- voiced women of the camp, English pages
wath: their fair skins and blue wondering eyes, dark-robed
friars, lounging men at arms, swarthy loud-tongued Gascon
serving-men, seamen from the river, rude peasants of the
Médoc, and becloaked and befeathered squires of the court, all
jostling and pushing in an ever-changing, many-colored stream,
while English, French, Welsh, Basque, and the varied dialects
of Gascony and Guienne filled the air with their babel. From
time to time the throng would be burst asunder and a lady’s
horse litter would trot past toward the abbey, or there would
come a knot of torch-bearing archers walking in front of
Gascon baron or English knight, as he sought his lodgings
after the palace revels. Clatter of hoofs, clinking of weapons,
shouts from the drunken brawlers, and high laughter of
women, they all rose up, like the mist from a marsh, out of
the crowded streets of the dim-lit city.
One couple out of the moving throng especially engaged the
attention of the two young squires, the more so as they were
going in their own direction and immediately in front of them.
They consisted of a man and a girl, the former very tall with
rounded shoulders, a limp of one foot, and a large flat object
covered with dark cloth under his arm. His companion was
young and straight, with a quick, elastic step and graceiul
bearing, though so swathed in a black mantle that little could
be seen of her face save a flash of dark eyes and a curve of
raven hair. The tall man leaned heavily upon her to take the
weight off his tender foot, while he held his burden betwixt218 THE WHITE COMPANY
himself and the wall, cuddling it jealously to his side, and
thrusting forward his young companion to act as a buttress
whenever the pressure of the crowd threatened to bear him
away. The evident anxiety of the man, the appearance of his
attendant, and the joint care with which they defended their
concealed possession, excited the interest of the two young
Englishmen who walked within hand-touch of them.
“Courage, child!’ they heard the tall man exclaim in strange
hybrid French. “If we can win another sixty paces we are
Barc.
“Hold it safe, Father,’ the other answered, in the same soft,
mincing dialect. ‘We have no cause for fear.”’
“Verily, they are heathens and barbarians,” cried the man;
“mad, howling, drunken barbarians! Forty more paces, Tita
mia, and I swear to the holy Eloi, patron of all learned crafts-
men, that I will never set foot over my door again until the
whole swarm are safely hived in their camp of Dax, or
wherever else they curse with their presence. “Twenty more
paces, my treasure! Ah, my God! how they push and brawl!
Get in their way, Tita mia! Put your little elbow bravely out!
Set your shoulders squarely against them, girl! Why should
you give way to these mad islanders? Ah, cospetto! we are
ruined and destroyed!”
The crowd had thickened in front, so that the lame man
and the girl had come to a stand. Several half-drunken Eng-
lish archers, attracted, as the squires had been, by their
singular appearance, were facing toward them, and peering
at them through the dim light. |
“By the three kings!’’ cried one, “here is an old dotard
shrew to have so goodly a crutch! Use the leg that God hath
given you, man, and do not bear so heavily upon the wench.”
“Twenty devils fly away with him!’ shouted another.
“What, how, man! are brave archers to go maidless while
an old man uses one as a walking-staff ?”’ |
“Come with me, my honey-bird!” cried a third, plucking
at the girl’s mantle.
‘Nay, with me, my heart’s desire!’’ said the first. “By St.
George! our life is short, and we should be merry while we
may. May I never see Chester Bridge again, if she is not
a right winsome lass!’AGOSTINO PISANO 219
“What hath the old toad under his arm?’ cried one of
the others. “He hugs it to him as the devil hugged the par-
doner.”’
“Let us see, old bag of bones; let us see what it is that you
have under your arm!’’ They crowded in upon him, while he,
ignorant of their language, could but clutch the girl with one
hand and the parcel with the other, looking wildly about in
search of help.
“Nay, lads, nay!’ cried Ford, pushing back the nearest
archer. “This is but scurvy conduct. Keep your hands off,
or it will be the worse for you.”
“Keep your tongue still, or it will be the worse for you,”
shouted the most drunken of the archers. “Who are you to
spoil sport?”
“A raw squire, new landed,’ said another. “By St.
Thomas of Kent! we are at the beck of our master, but we
are not to be ordered by every babe whose mother hath sent
him as far as Aquitaine.”
“Oh, gentlemen,’ cried the girl in broken French, “for
dear Christ’s sake stand by us, and do not let these terrible
men do us an injury.”
“Have no fears, lady,’ Alleyne answered. ‘‘We shall see
that all is well with you. Take your hand from the girl’s
wrist, you north-country rogue!”
“Hold to her, Wat!’ said a great black-bearded man at
arms, whose steel breastplate glimmered in the dusk. “Keep
your hands from your bodkins, you two, for that was my
trade before you were born, and, by God’s soul! I will drive a
handful of steel through you if you move a finger.”
“Thank God!” said Alleyne suddenly, as he spied in the
lamplight a shock of blazing red hair which fringed a steel
cap high above the heads of the crowd. “Here is John, and
Aylward, too! Help us, comrades, for there is wrong being
done to this maid and to the old man.”
“Hola, mon petit,” said the old bowman, pushing his way
through the crowd, with the huge forester at his heels.
“What is all this, then? By the twang of string! I think
_ that you will have some work upon your hands if you are to
right all the wrongs that you may see upon this side of the
water. It is not to be thought that a troop of bowmen, with220 THE WHITE COMPANY
the wine buzzing in their ears, will be as soft-spoken as so
many young clerks in an orchard. When you have been a
year with the Company you will think less of such matters.
But what is amiss here? The provost marshal with his arch-
ers is coming this way, and some of you may find yourselves
in the stretch-neck, if you take not heed.”
“Why, it is old Sam Aylward of the White Company!”
shouted the man at arms. “Why, Samkin, what hath come
upon thee? I can call to mind the day when you were as
roaring a blade as ever called himself a free companion. By
my soul! from Limoges to Navarre, who was there who
would kiss a wench or cut a throat as readily as bowman Ayl-
ward of Hawkwood’s company?”
“Tike enough, Peter,’ said Aylward, “and, by my hilt! I
may not have changed so much. But it was ever a fair loose
and a clear mark with me. The wench must be willing, or the
man must be standing up against me, else, by these ten
finger bones! either were safe enough for mes:
A glance at Aylward’s resolute face, and at the huge shoul-
ders of Hordle John, had convinced the archers that there
was little to be got by violence. The girl and the old man
began to shuffle on in the crowd without their tormentors
venturing to stop them. Ford and Alleyne followed slowly
behind them, but Aylward caught the latter by the shoulder.
“By my hilt! camarade,” said he, “I hear that you have
done great things at the Abbey to-day, but I pray you to have
a care, for it was I who brought you into the Company, and
it would be a black day for me if aught were to befall you.”
“Nay, Aylward, I will have a care.”
“Thrust not forward into danger too much, mon petit. In
a little time your wrist will be stronger and your cut more
shrewd. ‘There will be some of us at the “Rose de Guienne’
to-night, which is two doors from the hotel of the ‘Halli
Moon,’ so if you would drain a cup with a few simple arch-
ers you will be right welcome.”
Alleyne promised to be there if his duties would allow,
and then, slipping through the crowd, he rejoined Ford, who
was standing in talk with the two strangers, who had now
reached their own doorstep.
“Brave young signor,” cried the tall man, throwing hisAGOSTINO PISANO 221
arms round Alleyne, “how can we thank you enough for tak-
ing our parts against those horrible drunken barbarians.
What should we have done without you? My Tita would
have been dragged away, and my head would have been
shivered into a thousand fragments.”
“Nay, I scarce think that they would have mishandled you
so,’ said Alleyne in surprise.
“Ho, ho!’ cried he with a high crowing laugh, “it is not
the head upon my shoulders that I think of. Cospetto! no.
It is the head under my arm which you have preserved.”
“Perhaps the signori would deign to come under our roof,
Father,” said the maiden. “If we bide here, who knows that
_ some fresh tumult may not break out.”
“Well said, Tita! Well said, my girl! I pray you, sirs, to
honor my unworthy roof so far. A light, Giacomo! There
are five steps up. Now two more. So! Here we are at last
in safety. Corpo di Baccho! I would not have given ten
maravedi for my head when those children of the devil were
pushing us against the wall. Tita mia, you have been a brave
girl, and it was better that you should be pulled and pushed
than that my head should be broken.”’
“Ves indeed, Father,” said she earnestly.
“But those English! Ach! Take a Goth, a Hun, and a
Vandal; mix them together and add a Barbary rover; then
take this creature and make him drunk—and you have an
Englishman. My God! were ever such people upon earth!
‘What place is free from them? I hear that they swarm in
Italy even as they swarm here. Everywhere you will find
them, except in heaven.”
“Dear Father,” cried Tita, still supporting the angry old
man, as he limped up the curved oaken stair. “You must not
forget that these good signori who have preserved us are also
English.”
“Ah, yes. My pardon, sirs! Come into my rooms here.
There are some who might find some pleasure in these paint-
ings, but I learn the art of war is the only art which is held
in honor in your island.”
_ The low-roofed, oak-paneled room into which he conducted
them was brilliantly lit by four scented oil lamps. Against
the walls, upon the table, on the floor, and in every part of222 THE WHITE COMPANY
the chamber were great sheets of glass painted in the most
brilliant colors. Ford and Edricson gazed around them in
amazement, for never had they seen such magnificent works
ofvart
“You like them then,” the lame artist cried, in answer to
the look of pleasure and of surprise in their faces. ‘There
are then some of you who have a taste for such trifling.”
“I could not have believed it,” exclaimed Alleyne. “What
color! What outlines! See to this martyrdom of the holy
Stephen, Ford. Could you not yourself pick up one of these
stones which lie to the hand of the wicked murtherers?”
“And see this stag, Alleyne, with the cross betwixt its
horns. By my faith! I have never seen a better one at the
Forest of Bere.”
“And the green of this grass—how bright and clear!
Why, all the painting that I have seen is but child’s play
beside this. This worthy gentleman must be one of those
great painters of whom I have oft heard brother Bartholo-
mew speak in the old days at Beaulieu.”’
The dark mobile face of the artist shone with pleasure at
the unafiected delight of the two young Englishmen. His
daughter had thrown off her mantle and disclosed a face of
the finest and most delicate Italian beauty, which soon drew
Ford’s eyes from the pictures in front of him. Alleyne,
however, continued with little cries of admiration and of won-
derment to turn from the walls to the table and yet again to
the walls.
“What think you of this, young sir?” asked the painter,
tearing off the cloth which concealed the flat object which
he had borne beneath his arm. It was a leaf-shaped sheet of
glass bearing upon it a face with a halo round it, so deli-
cately outlined, and of so perfect a tint, that it might have
been indeed a human face which gazed with sad and thought-
ful eyes upon the young squire. He clapped his hands, with
that thrill of joy which true art will ever give to a true
artist.
“It is great!’ he cried. ‘It is wonderful! But I marvel,
sir, that you should have risked a work of such beauty and
value by bearing it at night through so unruly a crowd.”
“I have indeed been rash,” said the artist. “Some wine,AGOSTINO PISANO 223
Tita, from the Florence flask! Had it not been for you, I
tremble to think of what might have come of it. See to the
skin tint: it is not to be replaced, for paint as you will, it
is not once in a hundred times that it is not either burned
too brown in the furnace or else the color will not hold, and
you get but a sickly white. There you can see the very veins
and the throb of the blood. Yes, diavolo! if it had broken,
my heart would have broken too. It is for the choir window
in the church of St. Remi, and we had gone, my little helper
and I, to see if it was indeed of the size for the stonework.
Night had fallen ere we finished, and what could we do save
carry it home as best we might? But you, young sir, you
speak as if you too knew something of the art.”
‘“‘So little that I scarce dare speak of it in your presence,”
Alleyne answered. “I have been cloister-bred, and it was no
very great matter to handle the brush better than my brother
novices.’’
“There are pigments, brush, and paper,” said the old artist.
“I do not give you glass, for that is another matter, and
takes much skill in the mixing of colors. Now I pray you
to show me a touch of your art. I thank you, Tita! The
Venetian glasses, cara mia, and fill them to the brim. A
seat, signor!’’
While Ford, in his English-French, was conversing with
Tita in her Italian-French, the old man was carefully ex-
amining his precious head to see that no scratch had been
left upon its surface. When he glanced up again, Alleyne
had, with a few bold strokes of the brush, tinted in a woman’s
face and neck upon the white sheet in front of him.
“Diavolo!’’ exclaimed the old artist, standing with his
head on one side, “you have power; yes, cospetto! you have
power. It is the face of an angel!”
“Tt is the face of the Lady Maude Loring!” cried Ford,
even more astonished. . |
“Why, on my faith, it is not unlike her!” said Alleyne, in
some confusion.
“Ah! a portrait! So much the better. Young man, I am
Agostino Pisano, the son of Andrea Pisano, and I say again
‘that you have power. Further, I say, that, if you will stay
with me, I will teach you all the secrets of the glass-stainers’224 THE WHITE COMPANY
mystery: the pigments and their thickening, which will fuse
into the glass and which will not, the furnace and the glazing
—every trick and method you shall know.” |
“I would be right glad to study under such a master,”
said Alleyne; “but I am sworn to follow my lord whilst this
war lasts.”
“War! war!” cried the old Italian. “Ever this talk of war.
And the men that you hold to be great—what are they?
Have I not heard their names? Soldiers, butchers, destroy-
ers! “Ah, per Bacco! we have men in Italy who are in very
truth great. You pull down, you despoil; but they build up,
they restore. Ah, if you could but see my own dear Pisa,
the Duomo, the cloisters of Campo Santo, the high Cam-
panile, with the mellow throb of her bells upon the warm
Italian air! Those are the works of great men. And [I
have seen them with my own eyes, these very eyes which
look upon you. I have seen Andrea Orcagna, Taddeo Gaddi,
Giottino, Stefano, Simone Memmi—men whose very colors
I am not worthy to mix. And I have seen the aged Giotto,
and he in turn was pupil to Cimabue, before whom there
was no art in Italy, for the Greeks were brought to paint the
chapel of the Gondi at Florence. Ah, signori, there are the
real great men whose names will be held in honor when your
soldiers are shown to have been the enemies of humankind.”
‘Faith, sir,” said Ford, “there is something to say for the
soldiers also, for, unless they be defended, how are all these
gentlemen whom you have mentioned to preserve the pictures
which they have painted 2”
“And all these!’ said Alleyne. “Have you indeed done
them all?—and where are they to go?”
“Yes, signor, they are all from my hand. Some are, as
you see, upon one sheet, and some are in many pieces which
may fasten together. ‘here are some who do but paint upon
the glass, and then, by placing another sheet of glass upon
the top and fastening it, they keep the air from their paint-
ing. Yet I hold that the true art of my craft lies as much
in the furnace as in the brush. See this rose window, which
is from the model of the Church of the Holy Trinity at
Vendome, and this other of the ‘Finding of the Grail,’ which
is for the apse of the Abbey church. Time was when noneAGOSTINO PISANO 225
but my countrymen could do these things; but there is Clem-
ent of Chartres and others in France who are very worthy
workmen. But, ah! there is that ever shrieking brazen
tongue which will not let us forget for one short hour that
it is the arm of the savage, and not the hand of the master,
which rules over the world.”
A stern, clear bugle call had sounded close at hand to
summon some following together for the night.
/it-4ts;a sign to us as well,” said ord) “1 would fain
stay here forever amid all these beautiful things—” staring
hard at the blushing Tita as he spoke—“but we must be back
at our lord’s hostel ere he reach it.’ Amid renewed thanks
and with promises to come again, the two squires bade their
leave of the old Italian glass-stainer and his daughter. The
streets were clearer now, and the rain had stopped, so they
made their way quickly from the Rue du Roi, in which their
new friends dwelt, to the Rue des Apdotres, where the hostel
of the “Half Moon” was situated.CHAPTER XA
HOW THE BOWMEN HELD WASSAIL AT THE “ROSE DE
GUIENNE”’
cried Ford as they hurried along together. “So
pure, so peaceful, and so beautiful!”
“In sooth, yes. And the hue of the skin the most perfect
that ever I saw. Marked you also how the hair curled round
the brow? It was wonder fine.”
“Those eyes, too!’ cried Ford. “How clear and how
tender—simple, and yet so full of thought!”
“Tf there was a weakness it was in the chin,” said Alleyne.
“Nay, I saw none.”
“Tt was well curved, it is true.”’
“Most daintily so.”
“And ye 33
“What then, Alleyne? Wouldst find flaw in the sun?”
“Well, bethink you, Ford, would not more power and ex-
pression have been put into the face by a long and noble
beard ?”
“Holy Virgin!” cried Ford, “the man is mad. A _ beard
on the face of little Tita!”
“Tita! Who spoke of Tita?’
“Who spoke of aught else?’
“Tt was the picture of St. Remy, man, of which I have
been discoursing.”’
“Vou are indeed,” cried Ford, laughing, “a Goth, Hun, and
Vandal, with all the other hard names which the old man
called us. How could you think so much of a smear of
pigments, when there was such a picture painted by the good
God himself in the very room with you? But who is this?”
“If it please you, sirs,” said an archer, running across to
them, “Aylward and others would be right glad to see you.
226 |
M = Dieu! Alleyne, saw you ever so lovely a face?”THE BOWMEN HOLD WASSAIL 227
They are within here. He bade me say to you that the Lord
Loring will not need your service to-night, as he sleeps with
the Lord Chandos.’
“By my faith!” said Ford, “we do not need a guide to lead
us to their presence.” As he spoke there came a roar of
singing from the tavern upon the right, with shouts of laugh-
ter and stamping of feet. Passing under a low door, and
down a stone-flagged passage, they found themselves in a
long, narrow hall lit up by a pair of blazing torches, one at
either end. Trusses of straw had been thrown down along
the walls, and reclining on them were some twenty or thirty
archers, all of the Company, their steel caps and jacks thrown
off, their tunics open, and their great limbs sprawling upon
the clay floor. At every man’s elbow stood his leathern black-
jack of beer, while at the further end a hogshead with its end
knocked in promised an abundant supply for the future. Be-
hind the hogshead, on a half circle of kegs, boxes, and rude
settles, sat Aylward, John, Black Simon and three or four
other leading men of the archers, together with Goodwin
Hawtayne, the master shipman, who had left his yellow cog
in the river to have a last rouse with his friends of the Com-
pany. Ford and Alleyne took their seats between Aylward
and Black Simon, without their entrance checking in any de-
gree the hubbub which was going on. |
“Ale, mes camarades?” cried the bowman, “or shall it be
wine? Nay, but ye must have the one or the other. Here,
Jacques, thou limb of the devil, bring a bottrine of the oldest
vernage, and see that you do not shake it. Hast heard the
news?”
“Nay,” cried both the squires.
“That we are to have a brave tourney.”
“A tourney?”
“Aye, lads. For the Captal du Buch hath sworn that he
will find five knights from this side of the water who will ride
over any five Englishmen who ever threw leg over saddle;
and Chandos hath taken up the challenge, and the prince hath
promised a golden vase for the man who carries himself best,
and all the court is in a buzz over it.”
- “Why should the knights have all the sport?” growled Hor-
dle John. “Could they not set up five archers for the honor
of Aquitaine and of Gascony?”228 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Or five men at arms,” said Black Simon.
“But who are the English knights?” asked Hawtayne.
“There are three hundred and forty-one in the town,” said
Aylward, “and I hear that three hundred and forty cartels and
defiances have already been sent in, the only one missing being
Sir John Ravensholme, who is in his bed with the sweating
sickness, and cannot set foot to ground.”’
“T have heard of it from one of the archers of the guard,”
cried a bowman from among the straw; “I hear that the
prince wished to break a lance, but that Chandos would not
hear of it, for the game is likely to be a rough one.”
“Then there is Chandos.”
‘Nay, the prince would not permit it. He is to be marshal
of the lists, with Sir William Felton and the Duc d’ Armagnac.
The English will be the Lord Audley, Sir Thomas Percy, Sir
Thomas Wake, Sir William Beauchamp, and our own very
good lord and leader.”
“Hurrah for him, and God be with him!” cried several. ‘“‘It
is honor to draw string in his service.”’
“So you may well say,” said Aylward. “By my ten finger
bones! if you march behind the pennon of the five roses you
are like to see all that a good bowman would wish to see.
Ha! yes, mes garcons, you laugh, but, by my hilt! you may
not laugh when you find yourselves where he will take you, for
you can never tell what strange vow he may not have sworn
to. I see that he has a patch over his eye, even as he had at
Poictiers. There will come bloodshed of that patch, or I am
the more mistaken.”
“How chanced it at Poictiers, good Master Aylward?”
asked one of the young archers, leaning upon his elbows, with
his eyes fixed respectfully upon the old bowman’s rugged face.
“Aye, Aylward, tell us of it,’ cried Hordle John.
“Here is to old Samkin Aylward!” shouted several at the
further end of the room, waving their blackjacks in the air.
“Ask him!” said Aylward modestly, nodding toward Black
Simon. “He saw more than I did. And yet, by the holy nails!
there was not very much that I did not see either.”’
“Ah, yes,” said Simon, shaking his head, “it was a great
day. I never hope to see such another. There were some
fine archers who drew their last shaft that day. We shall never
see better men, Aylward.”THE BOWMEN HOLD WASSAIL 229
“By my hilt! no. There was little Robby Withstaff, and
Andrew Salblaster, and Wat Alspaye, who broke the neck of
the German. Mon Dieu! what men they were! Take them
how you would, at long butts or short, hoyles, rounds, or
rovers, better bowmen never twirled shaft over thumb nail.”
“But the fight, Aylward, the fight!” cried several impatiently.
“Let me fill my jack first, boys, for it is a thirsty tale. It
was at the first fall of the leaf that the prince set forth, and
he passed through Auvergne, and Berry, and Anjou, and Tou-
raine. In Auvergne the maids are kind, but the wines are
sour. In Berry it is the women that are sour, but the wines
are rich. Anjou, however, is a very good land for bowmen,
for. wine and women are all that heart could wish. In Tou-
raine I got nothing save a broken pate, but at Vierzon I had
a great good fortune, for I had a golden pyx from the minster,
for which I afterwards got nine Genoan janes from the gold-
smith in the Rue Mont Olive. From thence we went to
Bourges, where I had a tunic of flame-colored silk and a very
fine pair of shoes with tassels of silk and drops of silver.”
“From a stall, Aylward?” asked one of the young archers.
“Nay, from a man’s feet, lad. I had reason to think that
he might not need them again, seeing that a thirty-inch shaft
had feathered in his back.”
“And what then, Aylward?”
“On we went, coz, some six thousand of us, until we came
to Issodun, and there again a very great thing befell.”
“A battle, Aylward ?”
“Nay, nay; a greater thing than that. There is little to be
gained out of a battle, unless one have the fortune to win a
ransom. At Issodun I and three Welshmen came upon a
house which all others had passed, and we had the profit of
it to ourselves. For myself, I had a fine feather bed—a thing
which you will not see in a long day’s journey in England.
You have seen it, Alleyne, and you, John. You will bear me
out that it is a noble bed. We put it on a sutler’s mule, and
bore it after the army. It was on my mind that I would lay
it by until I came to start house of mine own, and I have it
now in a very safe place near Lyndhurst.”
“And what then, master bowman?’” asked Hawtayne. ‘“‘By
St. Christopher! it is indeed a fair and goodly life which you
have chosen, for you gather up the spoil as a Warsash man230 THE WHITE COMPANY
gathers lobsters, without grace or favor from any man.”
“You are right, master shipman,”’ said another of the older
archers. “It is an old bowyer’s rede that the second feather of
a fenny goose is better than the pinion of a tame one. Draw
on, old lad, for I have come between you and the clout.”
“On we went then,” said Aylward, after a long pull at his
blackjack. ‘‘There were some six thousand of us, with the
prince and his knights, and the feather bed upon a sutler’s mule
in the center. We made great havoc in Touraine, until we
came into Romorantin, where I chanced upon a gold chain and
two bracelets of jasper, which were stolen from me the same
day by a black-eyed wench from the Ardennes. Mon Dieu!
there are some folk who have no fear of Domesday in them,
and no sign of grace in their souls, forever clutching and
clawing at another’s chattels.”
“But the battle, Aylward, the battie!’’ cried several, amid
a burst of laughter.
“T come to it, my young war pups. Well, then, the King of
France had followed us with fifty thousand men, and he made
great haste to catch us, but when he had us he scarce knew
what to do with us, for we were so drawn up among hedges
and vineyards that they could not come nigh us, save by one
lane. On both sides were archers, men at arms and knights
behind, and in the center the baggage, with my feather bed
upon a sutler’s mule. Three hundred chosen knights came
straight for it, and, indeed, they were very brave men, but
such a drift of arrows met them that few came back. Then
came the Germans, and they also fought very bravely, so that
one or two broke through the archers and came as far as the
feather bed, but all to no purpose. Then out rides our own
little hothead with the patch over his eye, and my Lord Audley
with his four Cheshire squires, and a fey others of like kidney,
and after them went the prince and Chandos, and then the
whole throng of us, with ax and sword, for we had shot away —
our arrows. Ma foi! it was a foolish thing, for we came
forth from the hedges, and there was naught to guard the bag-
gage had they ridden round behind us. But all went well with
us, and the king was taken, and little Robby Withstaff and I
fell in with a wain with twelve firkins of wine for the king’s
own table, and, by my hilt! if you ask me what happened after
that, I cannot answer you, nor can little Robby Withstaff.”THE BOWMEN HOLD WASSAIL 231
“And next day ?”’
“By my faith! we did not tarry long, but we hied back to
Bordeaux, where we came in safety with the King of France
and also the feather bed. I sold my spoil, mes garcons, for
as many gold pieces as I could hold in my hufken, and for
seven days I lit twelve wax candles upon the altar of St.
Andrew; for if you forget the blessed when things are well
with you, they are very likely to forget you when you have
need of them. I have a score of one hundred and nineteen
pounds of wax against the holy Andrew, and, as he was a
very just man, I doubt not that I shall have full weight and
measure when I have most need of it.’’ |
“Tell me, master Aylward,” cried a young fresh-faced
archer at the further end, “what was this great battle about?”
“Why, you jack-fool, what would it be about save who
should wear the crown of France?”
“I thought that mayhap it might be as to who should have
this feather bed of thine.”
“If I come down to you, Silas, I may lay my belt across
your shoulders,’ Aylward answered, amid a general shout of.
laughter. ‘But it is time young chickens went to roost when
they dare cackle against their elders. It is late, Simon.”
“Nay, let us have another song.” |
_ “Here is Arnold of Sowley will troll as good a stave as any
man in the Company.”
“Nay, we have one here who is second to none,” said Haw-
tayne, laying his hand upon big John’s shoulder. ‘I have
heard him on the cog with a voice like the wave upon the shore.
I pray you, friend, to give us “The Bells of Milton,’ or, if you
will, ‘The Franklin’s Maid.’ ”
Hordle John drew the back of his hand across his mouth,
fixed his eyes upon the corner of the ceiling, and bellowed forth,
in a voice which made the torches flicker, the southland ballad
for which he had been asked :—
The franklin he hath gone to roam,
The franklin’s maid she bides at home.
But she is cold and coy and staid,
And who may win the franklin’s maid?
There came a knight of high renown
In bassinet and ciclatoun;232 THE WHITE COMPANY
On bended knee full long he prayed,
He might not win the franklin’s maid.
There came a squire so debonair,
His dress was rich, his words were fair,
He sweetly sang, he deftly played:
He could not win the franklin’s maid.
There came a mercer wonder-fine
With velvet cap and gaberdine;
For all his ships, for all his trade,
He could not buy the franklin’s maid.
There came an archer bold and true,
With bracer guard and stave of yew;
His purse was light, his jerkin frayed;
Haro, alas! the franklin’s maid!
Oh, some have laughed and some have cried
And some have scoured the countryside !
But off they ride through wood and glade,
The bowman and the franklin’s maid.
A roar of delight from his audience, with stamping of feet
and beating of blackjacks against the ground, showed how
thoroughly the song was to their taste, while John modestly
retired into a quart pot, which he drained in four giant gulps.
“I sang that ditty in Hordle alehouse ere I ever thought to be
an archer myself,’ quoth he.
“Fill up your stoups!”’ cried Black Simon, thrusting his own
goblet into the open hogshead in front of him. “Here is a
last cup to the White Company, and every brave boy who
walks behind the roses of Loring!”
“To the wood, the flax, and the gander’s wing!’ said an old
gray-headed archer on the right.
“To a gentle loose, and the king of Spain for a mark at
fourteen score!’ cried another.
“To a bloody war!” shouted a fourth. ‘Many to go and
few to come!” |
“With the most gold to the best steel!’ added a fifth.
“And a last cup to the maids of our heart!” cried Aylward.
“A steady hand and a true eye, boys; so let two quarts be a
bowman’s portion.” With shout and jest and snatch of song
they streamed from the room, and all was peaceful once more
in the “Rose de Guienne.”’CHAPTER XXIII
HOW ENGLAND HELD THE LISTS AT BORDEAUX
display and knightly sport, that an ordinary joust or
- tournament was an everyday matter with them. The
fame and brilliancy of the prince’s court had drawn the knights-
errant and pursuivants of arms from every part of Europe.
In the long lists by the Garonne on the landward side of the
northern gate there had been many a strange combat, when the
Teutonic knight, fresh from the conquest of the Prussian
heathen, ran a course against the knight of Calatrava, hard-
ened by continual struggle against the Moors, or cavaliers
from Portugal broke a lance with Scandinavian warriors from
the further shore of the great Northern Ocean. Here flut-
tered many an outland pennon, bearing symbol and blazonry
from the banks of the Danube, the wilds of Lithuania, and
the mountain strongholds of Hungary; for chivalry was of
no clime and of no race, nor was any land so wild that the
fame and name of the prince had not sounded through it from
border to border.
Great, however, was the excitement through town and dis-
trict when it was learned that on the third Wednesday in
Advent there would be held a passage at arms in which five
knights of England would hold the lists against all comers.
The great concourse of noblemen and famous soldiers, the
national character of the contest, and the fact that this was
a last trial of arms before what promised to be an arduous
and bloody war, all united to make the event one of the most
notable and brilliant that Bordeaux had ever seen. On the eve
of the contest the peasants flocked in from the whole district
-of the Médoc, and the fields beyond the walls were whitened
with the tents of those who could find no warmer lodging.
From the distant camp of Dax, too, and from Blaye, Bourge,
233
S* used were the good burghers of Bordeaux to martial234 THE WHITE COMPANY
Libourne, St. Emilion, Castillon, St. Macaire, Cardillac, Ryons,
and all the cluster of flourishing towns which looked upon Bor-
deaux as their mother, there thronged an unceasing stream
of horsemen and of footmen, all converging upon the great
city. By the morning of the day on which the courses were
to be run, not less than eighty people had assembled round the
lists and along the low grassy ridge which looks down upon
the scene of the encounter.
It was, as may well be imagined, no easy matter among so
many noted cavaliers to choose out five on either side who
should have precedence over their fellows. A score of sec-
ondary combats had nearly arisen from the rivalries and bad
blood created by the selection, and it was only the influence
of the prince and the efforts of the older barons which kept
the peace among so many eager and fiery soldiers. Not till
the day before the courses were the shields finally hung out
for the inspection of the ladies and the heralds, so that all
men might know the names of the champions and have the
opportunity to prefer any charge against them, should there
be stain upon them which should disqualify them from taking
part in so noble and honorable a ceremony.
Sir Hugh Calverley and Sir Robert Knolles had not yet re-
turned from their raid into the marches of the Navarre, so
that the English party were deprived of two of their most
famous lances. Yet there remained so many good names that
Chandos and Felton, to whom the selection had been referred,
had many an earnest consultation, in which every feat of arms
and failure or success of each candidate was weighed and bal-
anced against the rival claims of his companions. Lord Audley
of Cheshire, the hero of Poictiers, and Loring of Hampshire,
who was held to be the second lance in the army, were easily
fixed upon. Then, of the younger men, Sir Thomas Percy, oF
Northumberland, Sir Thomas Wake of Yorkshire, and Sir
William Beauchamp of Gloucestershire, were finally selected to
uphold the honor of England. On the other side were the
veteran Captal de Buch and the brawny Olivier de Clisson,
with the free companion Sir Perducas d’Albert, the valiant
Lord of Mucident, and Sigismond von Altenstadt, of the Teu-
tonic Order. The older soldiers among the English shook
their heads as they looked upon the escutcheons of these fa-
mous warriors, for they were all men who had spent their livesTHE LISTS AT BORDEAUX 235
upon the saddle, and bravery and strength can avail little
against experience and wisdom of war.
“By my faith! Sir John,” said the prince as he rode through
the winding streets on his way to the list, “I should have been
glad to have splintered a lance to-day. You have seen me
hold a spear since I had strength to lift one, and should know
best whether I do not merit a place among this honorable
company.”
“There is no better seat and no truer lance, sire,’ said Chan-
dos; “but, if I may say so without fear of offense, it were not
fitting that you should join in this debate.”
“And why, Sir John?”
“Because, sire, it is not for you to take part with Gascons
against English, or with English against Gascons, seeing that
you are lord of both. We are not too well loved by the Gascons
now, and it is but the golden link of your princely coronet
which holds us together. If that be snapped I know not what.
would follow.”
“Snapped, Sir John!” cried the prince, with an angry sparkle
in his dark eyes. ‘What manner of talk is this? You speak
as though the allegiance of our people were a thing which
might be thrown off or on like a falcon’s jessel.”
“With a sorry hack one uses whip and spur, sire,” said
Chandos; “but with a horse of blood and spirit a good cavalier
is gentle and soothing, coaxing rather than forcing. These
folk are strange people, and you must hold their love, even as
you have it now, for you will get from their kindness what all
the pennons in your army could not wring from them.”
“You are overgrave to-day, John,” the prince answered.
“We may keep such questions for our council chamber. But
how now, my brothers of Spain, and of Majorca, what think
you of this challenge ?”’
rT look to see some handsome joisting,’’ said Don Pedro,
who rode with the King of Majorca upon the right of the
prince, while Chandos was on the left. “By St. James of
Compostella! but these burghers would bear some taxing. See
to the broadcloth and velvet that the rogues bear upon their
backs! By my troth! if they were my subjects they would be
_ glad enough to wear falding and leather ere I had done with
them. But mayhap it is best to let the wool grow long ere you
chip a236 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Tt is our pride,” the prince answered coldly, “that we rule
over freemen and not slaves.”
“Every man to his own humor,” said Pedro carelessly.
“Carajo! there is a sweet face at yonder window! Don Fer-
nando, I pray you to mark the house, and to have the maid
brought to us at the Abbey.”
“Nay, brother, nay!” cried the prince impatiently. “I have
had occasion to tell you more than once that things are not
ordered in this way in Aquitaine.”
“A thousand pardons, dear friend,’ the Spaniard answered
quickly, for a flush of anger had sprung to the dark cheek of
the English prince. ‘You make my exile so like a home that
I forget at times that I am not in very truth back in Castile.
Every land hath indeed its ways and manners; but I promise
you, Edward, that when you are my guest in Toledo or Mad-
rid you shall not yearn in vain for any commoner’s daughter
on whom you may deign to cast your eye.”
“Your talk, sire,’ said the prince still more coldly, “is not
such as [ love to hear from your lips. I have no taste for such
amours as you speak of, and I have sworn that my name shall
be coupled with that of no woman save my ever dear wife.”
“Ever the mirror of true chivalry!’ exclaimed Pedro, while
James of Majorca, frightened at the stern countenance of their
all-powerful protector, plucked hard at the mantle of his
brother exile.
“Have a care, cousin,” he whispered; ‘for the sake of the
Virgin have a care, for you have angered him.”
‘“Pshaw! fear not,” the other answered in the same low tone.
“If I miss one stoop I will strike him on the next. Mark me
elsé. Fair cousin,” he continued, turning to the prince, “these
be rare men at arms and lusty bowmen. It would be hard in-
deed to match them.”
“They have journeyed far, sire, but they have never yet
found their match.”
“Nor ever will, I doubt not. I feel myself to be back upon
my throne when I look at them. But tell me, dear coz, what
shall we do next, when we have driven this bastard Henry from
the kingdom which he hath filched ?”
“We shall then compel the King of Aragon to place our
good friend and brother James of Majorca upon the throne.”
“Noble and generous prince!” cried the little monarch.THE LISTS AT BORDEAUX 237
“That done,” said King Pedro, glancing out of the corners
of his eyes at the young conqueror, “we shall unite the forces
of England, of Aquitaine, of Spain and of Majorca. It would
be shame to us if we did not do some great deed with such
forces ready to our hand.”
“You say truly, brother,’ cried the prince, his eyes kindling
at the thought. ‘Methinks that we could not do anything more
pleasing to Our Lady than to drive the heathen Moors out of
the country.”’
“T am with you, Edward, as true as hilt to blade. But, by
St. James! we shall not let these Moors make mock at us from
over the sea. We must take ship and thrust them from
Mirica:”
“By heaven, yes!” cried the prince. ‘And it is the dream
of my heart that our English pennons shall wave upon the
Mount of Olives, and the lions and lilies float over the holy
city.”
“And why not, dear coz? Your bowmen have cleared a
path to Paris, and why not to Jerusalem? Once there, your
arms might rest.”’
“Nay, there is more to be done,” cried the prince, carried
away by the ambitious dream. “There is still the city of Con-
stantine to be taken, and war to be waged against the Soldan
of Damascus. And beyond him again there is tribute to be
levied from the Cham of Tartary and from the kingdom of
Cathay. Ha! John, what say you? Can we not go as far
eastward as Richard of the Lion Heart?”
“Old John will bide at home, sire,” said the rugged soldier.
“By my soul! as long as I am seneschal of Aquitaine | will
find enough to do in guarding the marches which you have 1in-
trusted to me. It would be a blithe day for the King of France
when he heard that the seas lay between him and us.”
“By my soul! John,” said the prince, “I have never known
you turn laggard before.”
“The babbling hound, sire, is not always the first at the
mort,” the old knight answered.
“Nay, my true heart! I have tried you too often not to
know. But, by my soul! I have not seen so dense a throng
_ since the day that we brought King John down Cheapside.”
It was indeed an enormous crowd which covered the whole
vast plain from the line of vineyards to the river bank. From
3238 THE WHITE COMPANY
the northern gate the prince and his companions looked down
at a dark sea of heads, brightened here and there by the col-
ored hoods of the women, or by the sparkling headpieces of
archers and men at arms. In the center of this vast assem-
blage the lists seemed but a narrow strip of green marked out
with banners and streamers, while a gleam of white with a
flutter of pennons at either end showed where the marquees
were pitched which served as the dressing rooms of the com-
batants. A path had been staked off from the city gate to
the stands which had been erected for the court and the no-
bility. Down this, amid the shouts of the enormous multitude,
the prince cantered with his two attendant kings, his high
officers of state, and his long train of lords and ladies, courtiers,
counselors, and soldiers, with toss of plume and flash of jewel,
sheen of silk and glint of gold—as rich and gallant a show as
heart could wish. The head of the cavalcade had reached the
lists ere the rear had come clear of the city gate, for the fairest
and the bravest had assembled from all the broad lands which
are watered by the Dordogne and the Garonne. Here rode
dark-browed cavaliers from the sunny south, fiery soldiers
from Gascony, graceful courtiers of Limousin or Saintonge,
and gallant young Englishmen from beyond the seas. Here
too were the beautiful brunettes of the Gironde, with eyes
which outflashed their jewels, while beside them rode their
blond sisters of England, clear cut and aquiline, swathed in
swan’s-down and in ermine, for the air was biting though the
sun was bright. Slowly the long and glittering train wound
into the lists, until every horse had been tethered by the varlets
in waiting, and every lord and lady seated in the long stands
which stretched, rich in tapestry and velvet and blazoned arms,
on either side of the center of the arena.
The holders of the lists occupied the end which was nearest
to the city gate. There, in front of their respective pavilions,
flew the martlets of Audley, the roses of Loring, the scarlet
bars of Wake, the lion of the Percies and the silver wings of
the Beauchamps, each supported by a squire clad in hanging
green stuff to represent so many Tritons, and bearing a huge
conch shell in their left hands. Behind the tents the great war
horses, armed at all points, champed and reared, while their
masters sat at the doors of their pavilions, with their helmets
upon their knees, chatting as to the order of the day’s doings.THE LISTS AT BORDEAUX 239
The English archers and men at arms had mustered at that end
of the lists, but the vast majority of the spectators were in
favor of the attacking party, for the English had declined in
popularity ever since the bitter dispute as to the disposal of
the royal captive after the battle of Poictiers. Hence the ap-
plause was by no means general when the herald at arms pro-
claimed, after a flourish of trumpets, the names and styles
of the knights who were prepared, for the honor of their
country and for the love of their ladies, to hold the field against
all who might do them the favor to run a course with them.
On the other hand, a deafening burst of cheering greeted the
rival herald, who, advancing from the other end of the lists,
rolled forth the well-known titles of the five famous warriors
who had accepted the defiance.
“Faith, John,” said the prince, “it sounds as though you
were right. Ha! my grace D’Armagnac, it seems that our
friends on this side will not grieve if our English champions
lose the day.”’
“It may be so, sire,” the Gascon nobleman answered. “I
have little doubt that in Smithfield or at Windsor an English
crowd would favor their own countrymen.”
“By my faith! that’s easily seen,” said the prince, laughing,
“for a few score English archers at yonder end are bellowing
as though they would outshout the mighty multitude. I fear
that they will have little to shout over this journey, for my
gold vase has small prospect of crossing the water. What are
the conditions, John?”’
“They are to tilt singly not less than three courses, sire, and
the victory to rest with that party which shall have won the
greater number of courses, each pair continuing till one or
other have the vantage. He who carries himself best of the
victors hath the prize, and he who is judged best of the other
party hath a jeweled clasp. Shall I order that the nakirs sound,
sire P’’
The prince nodded, and the trumpets rang out, while the
champions rode forth one after the other, each meeting his op-
ponent in the center of the lists. Sir William Beauchamp went
down before the practiced lance of the Captal de Buch. Sir
_ Thomas Percy won the vantage over the Lord of Mucident,
and the Lord Audley struck Sir Perducas d’Albert from the
saddle. The burly De Clisson, however, restored the hopes of240 THE WHITE COMPANY
the attackers by beating to the ground Sir Thomas Wake of
Yorkshire. So far, there was little to choose betwixt chal-
lefigers and challenged. |
“By Saint James of Santiago!” cried Don Pedro, with a
tingle of color upon his pale cheeks, “win who will, this has
been a most notable contest.”
“Who comes next for England, John?” asked the prince in
a voice which quivered with excitement.
“sir Nigel Loring of Hampshire, sire.”
"Ha! he is a man of good courage, and skilled in the use of
all weapons.”
‘““He is indeed, sire. But his eyes, like my own, are the
worse for wars. Yet he can tilt or play his part at handstrokes
as merrily as ever. It was he, sire, who won the golden crown
which Queen Philippa, your royal mother, gave to be jousted
for by all the knights of England after the harrying of Calais.
I have heard that at Twynham Castle there is a buffet which
groans beneath the weight of his prizes.”
“I pray that my vase may join them,” said the prices: “But
here is the cavalier of Germany, and by my soul! he looks like
a man of great valor and hardiness. Let them run their
full three courses, for the issue is overgreat to hang upon
one.”
As the prince spoke, amid a loud flourish of trumpets and
the shouting of the Gascon party, the last of the assailants rode
gallantly into the lists. He was a man of great size, clad in
black armor without blazonry or ornament of any kind, for
all worldly display was forbidden by the rules of the military
brotherhood to which he belonged. No plume or nobloy flut-
tered from his plain tilting salade, and even his lance was de-
void of the customary banderole. A white mantle fluttered
behind him, upon the left side of which was marked the broad
black cross picked out with silver which was the well-known
badge of the Teutonic Order. Mounted upon a horse as large,
as black, and as forbidding as himself, he cantered slowly for-
ward, with none of those prancings and gambades with which
a cavalier was accustomed to show his command over his
charger. Gravely and sternly he inclined his head to the prince,
and took his place at the further end of the arena.
He had scarce done so before Sir Nigel rode out from the
holders’ inclosure, and galloping at full speed down the lists,THE LISTS AT BORDEAUX 241
drew his charger up before the prince’s stand with a jerk which
threw it back upon its haunches. With white armor, blazoned
shield, and plume of ostrich feathers from his helmet, he car-
ried himself in so jaunty and joyous a fashion, with tossing
pennon and curvetting charger, that a shout of applause ran
the full circle of the arena. With the air of a man who hastes
to a joyous festival, he waved his lance in salute, and reining
the pawing horse round without permitting its forefeet to
touch the ground, he hastened back to his station.
A great hush fell over the huge multitude as the two last
champions faced each other. A double issue seemed to rest
upon their contest, for their personal fame was at stake as
well as their party’s honor. Both were famous warriors, but
as their exploits had been performed in widely sundered coun-
tries, they had never before been able to cross lances. A course
between such men would have been enough in itself to cause
the keenest interest, apart from its being the crisis which would
decide who should be the victors of the day. For a moment
they waited—the German somber and collected, Sir Nigel quiv-
ering in every fiber with eagerness and fiery resolution. Then,
amid a long-drawn breath from the spectators, the glove fell
from the marshal’s hand, and the two steel-clad horsemen met
like a thunderclap in front of the royal stand. The German,
though he reeled for an instant before the thrust of the Eng-
lishman, struck his opponent so fairly upon the vizor that the
laces burst, the plumed helmet flew to pieces, and Sir Nigel
galloped on down the lists with his bald head shimmering in
the sunshine. A thousand waving scarves and tossing caps an-
nounced that the first bout had fallen to the popular party.
The Hampshire knight was not a man to be disheartened
by a reverse. He spurred back to the pavilion, and was out
in a few instants with another helmet. The second course was
so equal that the keenest judges could not discern any vantage.
Fach struck fire from the other’s shield, and each endured the
jarring shock as though welded to the horse beneath him. In
the final bout, however, Sir Nigel struck his opponent with so
true an aim that the point of the lance caught between the.bars
of his vizor and tore the front of his helmet out, while the Ger-
‘man, aiming somewhat low, and half stunned by the shock, had
the misfortune to strike his adversary upon the thigh, a breach
of the rules of the tilting-yard, by which he not only sacrificed242 THE WHITE COMPANY
his chances of success, but would also have forfeited his horse
and his armor, had the English knight chosen to claim them. .
A roar of applause from the English soldiers, with an ominous
silence from the vast crowd who pressed round the barriers, an-
nounced that the balance of victory lay with the holders. Al-
ready the ten champions had assembled in front of the prince to
_ receive his award, when a harsh bugle call from the further
end of the lists drew all eyes to a new and unexpected arrival.CHAPTER XXIV
HOW A CHAMPION CAME FORTH FROM THE EAST
situated upon the plain near the river upon those great
occasions when the tilting-ground in front of the Abbey
of St. Andrews was deemed to be too small to contain the
crowd. On the eastern side of this plain the countryside sloped
upward, thick with vines in summer, but now ridged with the
brown bare inclosures. Over the gently rising plain curved the
white road which leads inland, usually flecked with travelers,
but now with scarce a living form upon it, so completely had
the lists drained all the district of its inhabitants. Strange it
was to see such a vast concourse of people, and then to look
upon that broad, white, empty highway which wound away,
bleak and deserted, until it narrowed itself to a bare streak
against the distant uplands.
Shortly after the contest had begun, anyone looking from the
lists along this road might have remarked, far away in the ex-
treme distance, two brilliant and sparkling points which glit-
tered and twinkled in the bright shimmer of the winter sun.
Within an hour these had become clearer and nearer, until they
might be seen to come from the reflection from the headpieces
of two horsemen who were riding at the top of their speed in
the direction of Bordeaux. Another half-hour had brought
them so close that every point of their bearing and equipment
could be discerned. The first was a knight in full armor,
mounted upon a brown horse with a white blaze upon breast
and forehead. He was a short man of great breadth of
shoulder, with vizor closed, and no blazonry upon his simple
white surcoat or plain black shield. The other, who was
evidently his squire and attendant, was unarmed save for the
helmet upon his head, but bore in his right hand a very long
and heavy oaken spear which belonged to his master. In his
243
P \ HE Bordeaux lists were, as has already been explained,244 THE WHITE COMPANY
left hand the squire held not only the reins of his own horse
but those of a great black war horse, fully harnessed, which
trotted along at his side. Thus the three horses and their two
riders rode swiftly to the lists, and it was the blare of the trum-
pet sounded by the squire as his lord rode into the arena which
had broken in upon the prize-giving and drawn away the atten-
tion and interest of the spectators.
“Ha, John!” cried the prince, craning his neck, ““who is this
cavalier, and what is it that he desires ?”
“On my word, sire,”’ replied Chandos, with the utmost sur-
prise upon his face, “it is my opinion that he is a Frenchman.”
“A Frenchman!” repeated Don Pedro. “And how can you
tell that, my lord Chandos, when he has neither coat armor,
crest, nor blazonry?”’ |
“By his armor, sire, which is rounder at elbow and at
shoulder than any of Bordeaux or of England. Italian he
might be were his bassinet more sloped, but I will swear that
those plates were welded betwixt this and Rhine. Here comes
his squire, however, and we shall hear what strange fortune
hath brought him over the marches.”
As he spoke the attendant cantered up the grassy inclosure,
and pulling up his steed in front of the royal stand, blew a sec-
ond fanfare upon his bugle. He was a raw-boned, swarthy-
cheeked man, with black bristling beard and a swaggering
bearing. Having sounded his call, he thrust the bugle into his
belt, and, pushing his way betwixt the groups of English and
of Gascon knights, he reined up within a spear’s length of the
royal party. :
“TI come,” he shouted in a hoarse, thick voice, with a strong
Breton accent, ‘‘as squire and herald from my master, who is a
very valiant pursuivant of arms, and a liegeman to the great
and powerful monarch, Charles, king of the French. My
master has heard that there is jousting here, and prospect of
honorable advancement, so he has come to ask that some Eng-
lish cavalier will vouchsafe for the love of his lady to run a
course with sharpened lances with him, or to meet him with
sword, mace, battle-ax, or dagger. He bade me say, however,
that he would fight only with a true Englishman, and not with
any mongrel who is neither English nor French, but speaks
with the tongue of the one, and fights under the banner of
the other.”’A CHAMPION FROM THE EAST) 245
“Sir!” cried De Clisson, with a voice of thunder, while his
countrymen clapped their hands to their swords. The squire,
however, took no notice of their angry faces, but continued
with his master’s message.
“He is now ready, sire,’ he said, “albeit his destrier has
traveled many miles this day, and fast, for we were in fear lest
we come too late for the jousting.”’
‘““Ye have indeed come too late,” said the prince, “seeing that
the prize is about to be awarded; yet I doubt not that one of
these gentlemen will run a course for the sake of honor with
this cavalier of France.”
‘And as to the prize, sire,” quoth Sir Nigel, “I am sure that
I speak for all when I say this French knight hath our leave
to bear it away with him if he can fairly win it.”
“Bear word of this to your master,” said the prince, “and
sm him which of these five Englishmen he would desire to
neet. But stay; your master bears no coat armor, and we
have not yet heard his name.”’
_ “My master, sire, is under vow to the Virgin neither to re-
veal his name nor to open his vizor until he is back upon French
ground once more.”’ |
“Yet what assurance have we,” said the prince, ‘‘that this is
not some varlet masquerading in his master’s harness, or some
caitiff knight, the very touch of whose lance might bring
infamy upon an honorable gentleman ?”
“It is not so, sire,” cried the squire earnestly. ‘There is no
man upon earth who would demean himself by breaking a
lance with my master.”
“You speak out boldly, squire,’ the prince answered; “but
unless I have some further assurance of your master’s noble
birth and gentle name I cannot match the choicest lances of my
court against him.”
“You refuse, sire ?”’
1. d@ recuse,
“Then, sire, I was bidden to ask you from my master whether
you would consent if Sir John Chandos, upon hearing my mas-
ter’s name, should assure you that he was indeed a man with
whom you might yourself cross swords without indignity.”
“T ask no better,’’ said the prince.
“Then I must ask, Lord Chandos, that you will step forth.
I have your pledge that the name shall remain ever a secret, and
66246 THE WHITE COMPANY
that you will neither say nor write one word which might betray
it. The name is ’” He stooped down from his horse and
whispered something into the old knight’s ear which made him
start with surprise, and stare with much curiosity at the distant
knight, who was sitting his charger at the further end of the
arena.
“Ts this indeed sooth?” he exclaimed.
“Tt is, my lord, and I swear it by St. Ives of Brittany.”
“I might have known it,” said Chandos, twisting his mus-
tache, and still looking thoughtfully at the cavalier.
“What then, Sir John?” asked the prince.
“Sire, this is a knight whom is is indeed great honor to meet,
and I would that your grace would grant me leave to send my
squire for my harness, for I would dearly love to run a course
with him.”
‘Nay, nay, Sir John, you have gained as much honor as one
man can bear, and it were hard if you could not rest now. But
I pray you, squire, to tell your master that he is very welcome
to our court, and that wines and spices will be served him, if he
would refresh himself before jousting.”
“My master will not drink,” said the squire.
“Let him then name the gentleman with whom he would
break a spear.”
‘He would contend with these five knights, each to choose
such weapons as suit him best.”
“T perceive,” said the prince, ‘that your master is a man of
great heart and high of enterprise. But the sun already is low
in the west, and there will scarce be light for these courses. I
pray you, gentlemen, to take your places, that we may see
whether this stranger’s deeds are as bold as his words.”
The unknown knight had sat like a statue of steel, looking
neither to the right nor to the left during these preliminaries.
He had changed from the horse upon which he had ridden,
and bestrode the black charger which his squire had led beside
him. His immense breadth, his stern composed appearance,
and the mode in which he handled his shield and his lance,
were enough in themselves to convince the thousands of criti-
cal spectators that he was a dangerous opponent. Aylward,
who stood in the front row of the archers with Simon, big
John, and others of the Company, had been criticizing the pro-A CHAMPION FROM THE EAST 247
ceedings from the commencement with the ease and freedom
of a man who had spent his life under arms and had learned in
a hard school to know at a glance the points of a horse and
his rider. He stared now at the stranger with a wrinkled
brow and the air of a man who is striving to stir his memory.
“By my hilt! I have seen the thick body of him before to-
day. Yet I cannot call to mind where it could have been. At
Nogent belike, or was it at Auray? Mark me, lads, this man
will prove to be one of the best lances of France, and there
are no better in the world.”
“It is but child’s play, this poking game,” said John. “I
would fain try my hand at it, for, by the black rood! I think
that it might be amended.”
“What then would you do, John?” asked several.
“There are many things which might be done,” said the
forester thoughtfully. ‘Methinks that I would begin by
breaking my spear.”
“So they all strive to do.”
“Nay, but not upon another man’s shield. I would break it
over my own knee.”
‘And what the better for that, old beef and bones?” asked
Black Simon.
“So I would turn what is but a lady’s bodkin of a weapon
into a very handsome club.”
“And then, John?”
“Then I would take the other’s spear into my arm or my
leg, or where it pleased him best to put it, and I would dash
out his brains with my club.”
“By my ten finger bones! old John,” said Aylward, “I
would give my feather bed to see you at a spear-running.
This is a most courtly and gentle sport which you have
devised.”
“So it seems to me,” said John seriously. “Or, again, one
might seize the other round the middle, pluck him off his
horse and bear him to the pavilion, there to hold him to
ransom.”
“Good!” cried Simon, amid a roar of laughter from all the
‘archers round. ‘By Thomas of Kent! we shall make a camp
marshal of thee, and thou shalt draw up rules for our248 THE WHITE COMPANY
jousting. But, John, who is it that you would uphold in this
knightly and pleasing fashion?”
“What mean you?”
“Why, John, so strong and strange a tilter must fight for
the brightness of his lady’s eyes or the curve of her eyelash,
even as Sir Nigel does for the Lady Loring.”
“IT know not about that,’ said the big archer, scratching
his head in perplexity. “Since Mary hath played me false, I
can scarce fight for her.”
“Yet any woman will serve.”’
“There is my mother then,” said John. “She was at much
pains at my upbringing, and by my soul! I will uphold the
curve of her eyelashes, for it tickleth my very heart root to
think of her. But who is here?”
“It is Sir William Beauchamp. He is a valiant man, but I
fear that he is scarce firm enough upon the saddle to bear the
thrust of such a tilter as this stranger promises to be.”
Aylward’s words were speedily justified, for even as he
spoke the two knights met in the center of the lists. Beau-
champ struck his opponent a shrewd blow upon the helmet,
but was met with :> frightful a thrust that he whirled out
of his saddle and rolled over and over upon the ground. Sir
Thomas Percy met with little better success, for his shield
was split, his vambrace torn, and he himself wounded slightly
in the side. Lord Audley and the unknown knight struck
each other fairly upon the helmet; but, while the stranger sat
as firm and rigid as ever upon his charger, the Englishman
was bent back to his horse’s crupper by the weight of the blow,
and had galloped halfway down the lists ere he could recover
himself. Sir Thomas Wake was beaten to the ground with
a battle-ax—that being the weapon which he had selected—
and had to be carried to his pavilion. These rapid successes,
gained one after the other over four celebrated warriors,
worked the crowd up to a pitch of wonder and admiration.
Thunders of applause from the English soldiers, as well as
from the citizens and peasants, showed how far the love of
brave and knightly deeds could rise above the rivalries of
race.
“By my soul! John,” cried the prince, with his cheek flushed
and his eyes shining, “‘this is a man of good courage andA CHAMPION FROM THE EAST 249
great hardiness. I could not have thought that there was any
single arm upon earth which could have overthrown these
four champions.”
“He is indeed, as I have said, sire, a knight from whom
much honor is to be gained. But the lower edge of the sun
is wet, and it will be beneath the sea ere long.”
“Here is Sir Nigel Loring, on foot and with his sword,”
said the prince. “I have heard that he is a fine swordsman.”
“The finest in your army, sire,” Chandos answered. “Yet
I doubt not that he will need all his skill this day.”
As he spoke, the two combatants advanced from either end
in full armor with their two-handed swords sloping over their
shoulders. The stranger walked heavily and with a measured
stride, while the English knight advanced as briskly as though
there was no iron shell to weigh down the freedom of his
limbs. At four paces’ distance they stopped, eyed each other
for a moment, and then in an instant fell to work with a clatter
and clang as though two sturdy smiths were busy upon their
anvils. Up and down went the long, shining blades, round
and round they circled in curves of glimmering light, cross-
ing, meeting, disengaging, with flash of sparks at every parry.
Here and there bounded Sir Nigel, his head erect, his jaunty
plume fluttering in the air, while his dark opponent sent in
crashing blow upon blow, following fiercely up with cut and
with thrust, but never once getting past the practiced blade
of the skilled swordsman. The crowd roared with delight
as Sir Nigel would stoop his head to avoid a blow, or by
some slight movement of his body allow some terrible thrust
to glance harmlessly past him. Suddenly, however, his time
came. The Frenchman, whirling up his sword, showed for
an instant a chink betwixt his shoulder piece and the rerebrace
which guarded his upper arm. In dashed Sir Nigel, and out
again so swiftly that the eye could not follow the quick play
of his blade, but a trickle of blood from the stranger’s shoul-
der, and a rapidly widening red smudge upon his white
surcoat, showed where the thrust had taken effect. The
wound was, however, but a slight one, and the Frenchman
was about to renew his onset, when, at a sign from the prince,
‘Chandos threw down his baton, and the marshals of the lists
struck up the weapons and brought the contest to an end.250 THE WHITE COMPANY
“It were time to check it,” said the prince, smiling, “for Sir
Nigel is too good a man for me to lose, and, by the five holy
wounds! if one of those cuts came home I should have fears
for our champion. What think you, Pedro?”
“I think, Edward, that the little man was very well able to
take care of himself. For my part, I should wish to see so
well matched a pair fight on while a drop of blood remained
in their veins.’’
, We must have speech with him. Such a man must not go
\from my court without rest or sup. Bring him hither, Chan-
‘dos, and, certes, if the Lord Loring hath resigned his claim
upon this goblet, it is right and proper that this cavalier should
carry it to France with him as a sign of the prowess that he
has shown this day.”’
As he spoke, the knight-errant, who had remounted his war
horse, galloped forward to the royal stand, with a silken ker-
chief bound round his wounded arm. The setting sun cast a
ruddy glare upon his burnished arms, and sent his long black
shadow streaming behind him up the level clearing. Pulling
up his steed, he slightly inclined his head, and sat in the stern
and composed fashion with which he had borne himself
throughout, heedless of the applauding shouts and the flutter
of kerchiefs from the long lines of brave men and of fair
women who were looking down upon him.
“Sir Knight,” said the prince, “we have all marveled this
day at this great skill and valor with which God has been
pleased to endow you. I would fain that you should tarry at
our court, for a time at least, until your hurt is healed and
your horses rested.”
“My hurt is nothing, sir, nor are my horses weary,” re-
turned the stranger in a deep, stern voice.
“Will you not at least hie back to Bordeaux with us, that
you may drain a cup of muscadine and sup at our table 2”
“I will neither drink your wine nor sit at your table,” re-
turned the other. “I bear no love for you or for your race,
and there is naught that I wish at your hands until the day
when I see the last sail which bears you back to your island
vanishing away against the western sky.”’
“These are bitter words, sir knight,” said Prince Edward,
with an angry frown.A CHAMPION FROM THE EAST 251
“And they come from a bitter heart,” answered the un-
known knight. “How long is it since there has been peace in
my hapless country? Where are the steadings, and orchards,
and vineyards, which made France fair? Where are the cities
which made her great? From Providence to Burgundy we are
beset by every prowling hireling in Christendom, who rend
and tear the country which you have left too weak to guard
her own marches. Is it not a byword that a man may ride all
day in that unhappy land without seeing thatch upon roof or
hearing the crow of cock? Does not one fair kingdom con-
tent you, that you should strive so for this other one which
has no love for you? Pardieu! a true Frenchman’s words
may well be bitter, for bitter is his lot and bitter his thoughts
as he rides through his thrice unhappy country.’
“Sir knight,” said the prince, “you speak like a brave man,
and our cousin of France is happy in having a cavalier who is
so fit to uphold his cause either with tongue or with sword.
But if you think such evil of us, how comes it that you have
trusted yourselves to us without warranty or safe-conduct ?”
‘Because I knew that you would be here, sire. Had the
man who sits upon your right been ruler of this land, I had
indeed thought twice before I looked to him for aught that
was knightly or generous.” With a soldierly salute, he
wheeled round his horse, and, galloping down the lists, dis-
appeared amid the dense crowd of footmen and of horsemen
who were streaming away from the scene of the tournament.
“The insolent villain!” cried Pedro, glaring furiously after
him. “I have seen a man’s tongue torn from his jaws for
less. Would it not be well even now, Edward, to send horse-
men to hale him back? Bethink you that it may be one of the
royal house of France, or at least some knight whose loss
would be a heavy blow to his master. Sir William Felton,
you are well mounted, gallop after the caitiff, I pray you.”
“Do so, Sir William,” said the prince, “and give him this
purse of a hundred nobles as a sign of the respect which I bear
for him; for, by St. George! he has served his master this day
even as I would wish liegeman of mine to serve me.” So say-
ing, the prince turned his back upon the King of Spain, and
springing upon his horse, rode slowly homeward to the Abbey
of Saint Andrews.CHAPTER XXV
HOW SIR NIGEL WROTE TO TWYNHAM CASTLE
son went, as was his custom, into his master’s cham-
ber to wait upon him in his dressing and to curl his
hair, he found him already up and very busily at work. He
sat at a table by the window, a deerhourid on one side of him
and a lurcher on the other, his feet tucked away under the
trestle on which he sat, and his tongue in his cheek, with the
air of a man who is much perplexed. A sheet of vellum lay
upon the board in front of him, and he held a pen in his hand,
with which he had been scribbling in a rude schoolboy hand.
So many were the blots, however, and so numerous the
scratches and erasures, that he had at last given it up in de-
spair, and sat with his single uncovered eye cocked upwards
at the ceiling, as one who waits upon inspiration.
“By Saint Paul!” he cried, as Alleyne entered, “you are
the man who will stand by me in this matter. I have been in
sore need of you, Alleyne.”’
“God be with you, my fair lord!” the squire answered. “I
trust that you have taken no hurt from all that you have gone
through yesterday.”’
“Nay; I feel the fresher for it, Alleyne. It has eased my
joints, which were somewhat stiff from these years of peace.
I trust, Alleyne, that thou didst very carefully note and mark
the bearing and carriage of this knight of France: for it is
time, now when you are young, that you should see all that is
best, and mold your own actions in accordance. This was a
man from whom much honor might be gained, and I have sel-
dom met anyone for whom I have conceived so much love
and esteem. Could I but learn his name, I should send you
to him with my cartel, that we might have further occasion to
watch his goodly feats of arms.”
252
() N the morning after the jousting, when Alleyne Edric-SIR NIGEL WRITES 253
“Tt is said, my fair lord, that none know his name save only
the Lord Chandos, and that he is under vow not to speak it.
So ran the gossip at the squires’ table.”
“Be he who he might, he was a very hardy gentleman. But
I have a task here, Alleyne, which is harder to me than augh
that was set before me yesterday.” |
“Can I help you, my lord?”
“That indeed you can. I have been writing my greetings to
my sweet wife; for I hear that a messenger goes from the
prince to Southampton within the week, and he would gladly
take a packet for me. I pray you, Alleyne, to cast your eyes
upon what I have written, and see if they are such words as
my lady will understand. My fingers, as you can see, are
more used to iron and leather than to the drawing of strokes
and turning of letters. What then? Is there aught amiss,
that you should stare so?”
“Tt is this first word, my lord. In what tongue were you
pleased to write?”
“Tn English; for my lady talks it more than she doth
French.”
“Vet this is no English word, my sweet lord. Here are
four t’s and never a letter betwixt them.”’
“By St. Paul! it seemed strange to my eye when I wrote it,”
said Sir Nigel. ‘They bristle up together like a clump of
lances. We must break their ranks and set them farther apart.
The word is ‘that.’ Now I will read it to you, Alleyne, and
you shall write it out fair; for we leave Bordeaux this day,
and it would be great joy to me to think that the Lady Loring
had word from me.”
Alleyne sat down as ordered, with a pen in his hand and a
fresh sheet of parchment before him, while Sir Nigel slowly
spelled out his letter, running his forefinger on from word to
word.
“That my heart is with thee, my dear sweeting, is what
thine own heart will assure thee of. All is well with us
here, save that Pepin hath the mange on his back, and
Pommers hath scarce yet got clear of his stiffness from
being four days on shipboard; and the more so because
the sea was very high, and we were like to founder on
account of a hole in her side, which was made by a stone254 THE WHITE COMPANY
cast at us by certain sea-rovers, who may the saints have
in their keeping, for they have gone from amongst us,
as has young Terlake, and two-score mariners and arch-
ers, who would be the more welcome here, as there is like
to be a very fine war, with much honor and all hopes of
advancement, for which I go to gather my Company to-
gether, who are now at Montaubon, where they pillage
and destroy; yet I hope that, by God’s help, I may be able
to show that I am their master, even as, my sweet lady, I
am thy servant.”
“How of that, Alleyne?” continued Sir Nigel, blinking at
his squire, with an expression of some pride upon his face.
“Have I not told her all that hath befallen us?”
“You have said much, my fair lord; and yet, if I may say
so, it is somewhat crowded together, so that my Lady Loring
can, mayhap, scarce follow it. Were it in shorter periods i
“Nay, it boots me not how you marshal them, as long as
they are all there at the muster. Let my lady have the words,
and she will place them in such order as pleases her best. But
I would have you add what it would please her to know.”
“That will I,” said Alleyne, blithely, and bent to the task.
“My fair lady and mistress,’ he wrote, “God hath had
us in His keeping, and my lord is well and in good cheer.
He hath won much honor at the jousting before the
prince, when he alone was able to make it good against a
very valiant man from France. Touching the moneys,
there is enough and to spare until we reach Montaubon.
Herewith, my fair lady, I send my humble regards, en-
treating you that you will give the same to your daugh-
ter, the Lady Maude. May the holy saints have you
both in their keeping is ever the prayer of thy servant,
‘““ALLEYNE Epricson.”’
“That is very fairly set forth,” said Sir Nigel, nodding his
bald head as each sentence was read to him. “And for thy-
self, Alleyne, if there be any dear friend to whom you would
fain give greeting, I can send it for thee within this packet.”
"There is none,” said Alleyne, sadly.
‘Have you no kinsfolk, then?”
“None, save my brother.”SIR NIGEL WRITES 255
“Ha! -I-had forgotten that there was ill blood betwixt you.
But are there none in all England who love thee?’
‘None that I dare say so.’
“And none whom you love?”
“Nay, I will not say that,” said Alleyne.
Sir Nigel shook his head and laughed softly to himself,
“I see how it is with you,” he said. “Have I not noted your
frequent sighs and vacant eye? Is she fair?”
“She is indeed,” cried Alleyne from his heart, all tingling
at this sudden turn of the talk.
“And good?”
“As an angel.”
‘And yet she loves you not?”
“Nay, I cannot say that she loves another.”’
“Then you have hopes?”
“T could not live else.”’
“Then must you strive to be worthy of her love. Be brave
and pure, fearless to the strong and humble to the weak; and
so, whether this love prosper or no, you will have fitted your-
self to be honored by a maiden’s love, which is, in sooth, the
highest guerdon which a true knight can hope for.”
‘Indeed, my lord, I do so strive,” said Alleyne; “but she
is so sweet, so dainty, and of so noble a spirit, that I fear me
that I shall never be worthy of her.”’
“By thinking so you become worthy. Is she then of noble
birth: >
“She is, my lord, ”’ faltered Alleyne.
“Ota knightly house ?”’
“Ves. 33
“Have a care, Alleyne, have a care!’ said Sir Nigel, kindly.
“The higher the steed the greater the fall. Hawk not at that
which may be beyond thy flight.”
“My lord, I know little of the ways and usages of the
world, * cried Alleyne, “but I would fain ask your rede upon
the matter. You have known my father and my kin: is not
my family one of good standing and repute: fe
“Beyond all question.”’
“And yet you warn me not to place my love too high.”
“Were Minstead yours, Alleyne, then, by St. Paul! I cannot
think that any family in the land would not be proud to take256 THE WHITE COMPANY
you among them, seeing that you come of so old a strain. But
while the Socman lives Ha, by my soul! if this is not Sir
Oliver’s step I am the more mistaken.”
As he spoke, a heavy footfall was heard without, and the
portly knight flung open the door and strode into the room.
“Why, my little coz,’ said he, “I have come across to tell
you that I live above the barber’s in the Rue de la Tour, and
that there is a venison pasty in the oven and two flasks of the
right vintage on the table. By St. James! a blind man might
find the place, for one has but to get in the wind from it, and
follow the savory smell. Put on your cloak, then, and come,
for Sir Walter Hewett and Sir Robert Briquet, with one or
two others, are awaiting us.”
“Nay, Oliver, I cannot be with you, for I must to Mon-
taubon this day.”
“To Montaubon? But I have heard that your Company is
to come with my forty Winchester rascals to Dax.’’
“If you will take charge of them, Oliver. For I will go to
Montaubon with none save my two squires and two archers.
Then, when I have found the rest of my Company I shall lead
them to Dax. We set forth this morning.”
“Then I must back to my pasty,” said Sir Oliver. “You
will find us at Dax, I doubt not, unless the prince throw me
into prison, for he is very wroth against me.”
“And why, Oliver ?”
"Pardieu! because I have sent my cartel, gauntlet, and de-
fiance to Sir John Chandos and to Sir William Felton.”
“To Chandos? In God’s name, Oliver, why have you done
this?”
“Because he and the other have used me despitefully.”’
‘And how?”
“Because they have passed me over in choosing those who
should joust for England. Yourself and Audley I could pass,
coz, for you are mature men; but who are Wake, and Percy,
and Beauchamp? By my soul! I was prodding for my food
into a camp kettle when they were howling for their pap. Is
a man of my weight and substance to be thrown aside for the
first three half-grown lads who have learned the trick of the
tiltyard? But hark ye, coz, I think of sending my cartel also
to the prince,”SIR NIGEL WRITES 257
}??
“Oliver! Oliver! You are mad ?
“Not I, 1’ faith! I care not a denier whether he be prince
or no. By Saint James! I see that your squire’s eyes are
starting from his head like a trussed crab. Well, friend, we
are all men of Hampshire, and not lightly to be jeered at.”
“Has he jeered at you then?”
“Pardieu! yes. ‘Old Sir Oliver’s heart is still stout,’ said
one of his court. ‘Else had it been out of keeping with the
rest of him,’ quoth the prince. “And his arm is strong,’ said
another. ‘So is the backbone of his horse,’ quoth the prince.
This very day I will send him my cartel and defiance.”
“Nay, nay, my dear Oliver,” said Sir Nigel, laying his hand
upon his angry friend’s arm. “There is naught in this, for it
was but saying that you were a strong and robust man, who
had need of a good destrier. And as to Chandos and Felton,
bethink you that if when you yourself were young the older
lances had ever been preferred, how would you then have had
the chance to earn the good name and fame which you now
bear? You do not ride as light as you did, Oliver, and I ride
lighter by the weight of my hair, but it would be an ill thing
if in the evening of our lives we showed that our hearts were
less true and loyal than of old. If such a knight as Sir Oliver
Buttesthorn may turn against his own prince for the sake of a
light word, then where are we to look for steadfast faith and
constancy ?”
“Ah! my dear little coz, it is easy to sit in the sunshine and
preach to the man in the shadow. Yet you could ever win me
over to your side with that soft voice of yours. Let us think
no more of it then. But, holy Mother! I had forgot the
pasty, and it will be as scorched as Judas Iscariot! Come,
Nigel, lest the foul fiend get the better of me again.”
“For one hour, then; for we march at midday. Tell Ayl-
ward, Alleyne, that he is to come with me to Montaubon, and
to choose one archer for his comrade. The rest will to Dax
when the prince starts, which will be before the feast of the
Epiphany. Have Pommers ready at midday with my syca-
more lance, and place my harness on the sumpter mule.”
With these brief directions, the two old soldiers strode off
‘together, while Alleyne hastened to get all in order for their
journey.CHARTER 2X VI
HOW THE THREE COMRADES GAINED A MIGHTY TREASURE
T’ was a bright, crisp winter’s day when the little party
| set off from Bordeaux on their journey to Montaubon,
where the missing half of their Company had last been
heard of. Sir Nigel and Ford had ridden on in advance, the
knight upon his hackney, while his great war horse trotted
beside his squire. Two hours later Alleyne Edricson fol-
lowed; for he had the tavern reckoning to settle, and many
other duties which fell to him as squire of the body. With
him came Aylward and Hordle John, armed as of old, but
mounted for their journey upon a pair of clumsy Landes
horses, heavy-limbed and shambling, but of great endurance,
and capable of jogging along all day, even when between the
knees of the huge archer, who turned the scale at two hun-
dred and seventy pounds. They took with them the sumpter
mules, which carried in panniers the wardrobe and table fur-
niture of Sir Nigel; for the knight, though neither fop nor
epicure, was very dainty in small matters, and loved, however
bare the board or hard the life, that his napery should still be
white and his spoon of silver.
There had been frost during the night, and the white hard
road rang loud under their horses’ irons as they spurred
through the east gate of the town, along the same broad high-
way which the unknown French champion had traversed on
the day of the jousts. The three rode abreast, Alleyne Edric-
son with his eyes cast down and his mind distrait, for his
thoughts were busy with the conversation which he had had
with Sir Nigel in the morning. Had he done well to say so
much, or had he not done better to have said more? What
would the knight have said had he confessed to his love
for the Lady Maude? Would he cast him off in disgrace,
or might he chide him as having abused the shelter of his
258A MIGHTY TREASURE 259
roof? It had been ready upon his tongue to tell him all when
Sir Oliver had broken in upon them. Perchance Sir Nigel,
with his love of all the dying usages of chivalry, might have
contrived some strange ordeal or feat of arms by which his
love should be put to the test. Alleyne smiled as he won-
dered what fantastic and wondrous deed would be exacted
from him. Whatever it was, he was ready for it, whether it
were to hold the lists in the court of the King of Tartary, to
carry a cartel to the Sultan of Baghdad, or to serve a term
against the wild heathen of Prussia. Sir Nigel had said that
his birth was high enough for any lady, if his fortune could
but be amended. Often had Alleyne curled his lip at the beg-
garly craving for land or for gold which blinded man to the
higher and more lasting issues of life. Now it seemed as
though it were only by this same land and gold that he might
hope to reach his heart’s desire. But then, again, the Socman
of Minstead was no friend to the Constable of Twynham
Castle. It might happen that, should he amass riches by some
happy fortune of war, this feud might hold the two families
aloof. Even if Maude loved him, he knew her too well to
think that she would wed him without the blessing of her
father. Dark and murky was it all, but hope mounts high in
youth, and it ever fluttered over all the turmoil of his thoughts
like a white plume amid the shock of horsemen.
If Alleyne Edricson had enough to ponder over as he rode
through the bare plains of Guienne, his two companions were
more busy with the present and less thoughtful of the future.
Aylward rode for half a mile with his chin upon his shoulder,
looking back at a white kerchief which fluttered out of the
gable window of a high house which peeped over the corner of
the battlements. When at last a dip of the road hid it from
his view, he cocked his steel cap, shrugged his broad shoulders,
and rode on with laughter in his eyes, and his weather-beaten
face all ashine with pleasant memories. John also rode in
silence, but his eyes wandered slowly from one side of the road
to the other, and he stared and pondered and nodded his head
like a traveler who makes his notes and saves them up for the
retelling. |
“By the rood!” he broke out suddenly, slapping his thigh
with his great red hand, “I knew that there was something260 THE WHITE COMPANY
a-missing, but I could not bring to my mind what it was.”’
“What was it then?’ asked Alleyne, coming with a start out
of his reverie.
“Why, it is the hedgerows,” roared John, with a shout of
laughter. ‘The country is all scraped as clear as a friar’s poll.
But indeed I cannot think much of the folk in these parts.
Why do they not get to work and dig up these long rows of
black and crooked stumps which I see on every hand? A
franklin of Hampshire would think shame to have such litter
upon his soil.”
“Thou foolish old John!” quoth Aylward. ‘You should
know better, since I have heard that the monks of Beaulieu
could squeeze a good cup of wine from their own grapes.
Know then that if these rows were dug up the wealth of the
country would be gone, and mayhap there would be dry throats
and gaping mouths in England, for in three months’ time
these black roots will blossom and shoot and burgeon, and
from them will come many a good shipload of Médoc and
Gascony which will cross the narrow seas. But see the church
in the hollow, and the folk who cluster in the churchyard!
By my hilt! it is a burial, and there is a passing bell!’ He
pulled off his steel cap as he spoke and crossed himself with a
muttered prayer for the repose of the dead.
"There too,” remarked Alleyne, as they rode on again,
“that which seems to the eye to be dead is still full of the sap
of life, even as the vines were. Thus God hath written Him-
self and His laws very broadly on all that is around us, if our
poor dull eyes and duller souls could but read what He hath
set before us.”
“Ha! mon petit,” cried the bowman, ‘“‘you take me back to
the days when you were new fledged, as sweet a little chick as
ever pecked his way out of a monkish egg. I had feared that
in gaining our debonair young man at arms we had lost our
soft-spoken clerk. In truth, I have noted much change in you
since we came from Twynham Castle.”
“Surely it would be strange else, seeing that I have lived in
a world so new to me. Yet I trust that there are many
things in which I have not changed. If I have turned to serve
an earthly master, and to carry arms for an earthly king, it
would be an ill thing if I were to lose all thought of the great
66A MIGHTY TREASURE 261
high King and Master of all, whose humble and unworthy
servant I was ere ever I left Beaulieu. You, John, are also
from. the cloisters, but I trow that you do not feel that you
have deserted the old service in taking on the new.”
“I am a slow-witted man,” said John, “and, in sooth, when
I try to think about such matters it casts a gloom upon me.
Yet I do not look upon myself as a worse man in an archer’s
jerkin than I was in a white cowl, if that be what you mean.”
“You have but changed from one white company to the
other,” quoth Aylward. “But, by these ten finger bones! it is
a passing strange thing to me to think that it was but in the
last fall of the leaf that we walked from Lyndhurst together,
he so gentle and maidenly, and you, John, like a great red-
limbed overgrown moon-calf; and now here you are as sprack
a squire and as lusty an archer as ever passed down the high-
way from Bordeaux, while I am still the same old Samkin
Aylward, with never a change, save that I have a few more
sins on my soul and a few less crowns in my pouch. But I
have never yet heard, John, what the reason was why you
should come out of Beaulieu.”
“There were seven reasons,” said John thoughtfully. “The
first of them was that they threw me out.”
“Ma foi! camarade, to the devil with the other six! That
is enough for me and for thee also. I can see that they are
very wise and discreet folk at Beaulieu. Ah! mon ange, what
have you in the pipkin ?”
“It is milk, worthy sir,” answered the peasant maid, who
stood by the door of a cottage with a jug in her hand.
“Would it please you, gentles, that I should bring you out
three horns of it?”
“Nay, ma petite, but here is a two-sous piece for thy kindly
tongue and for the sight of thy pretty face. Ma foi! but she
has a bonne mine. I have a mind to bide and speak with her.”
‘Nay, nay, Aylward,” cried Alleyne. “Sir N igel will await
us, and he in haste.”’
“True, true, camarade! Adieu, ma chérie! mon cceur est
toujours a toi. Her mother is a well-grown woman also. See
where she digs by the wayside. Ma foi! the riper fruit is ever
the sweeter. Bonjour, ma belle dame! God have you in his
keeping! Said Sir Nigel where he would await us?”
3262 THE WHITE COMPANY
“At Marmande or Aiguillon.. He said that we could not
pass him, seeing that there is but the one road.”
‘Aye, and it is a road that I know as I know the Midhurst
parish butts,” quoth the bowman. ‘Thirty times have I jour-
neyed it, forward and backward, and, by the twang of string!
I am wont to come back this way more laden than I went. I
have carried all that I had into France in a wallet, and it hath
taken four sumpter mules to carry it back again. God’s beni-
son on the man who first turned his hand to the making of
war! But there, down in the dingle, is the church of Cardillac,
and you may see the inn where three poplars grow beyond the
village. Let us on, for a stoup of wine would hearten us upon
our way.”
The highway had lain through the swelling vineyard coun-
try, which stretched away to the north and east in gentle
curves, with many a peeping spire and feudal tower, and clus-
ter of village houses, all clear cut and hard in the bright wintry
air. To their right stretched the blue Garonne, running
swiftly seaward, with boats and barges dotted over its broad
bosom. On the other side lay a strip of vineyard, and beyond
it the desolate and sandy region of the Landes, all tangled
with faded gorse and heath and broom, stretching away in un-
broken gloom to the blue hills which lay low upon the furthest
sky line. Behind them might still be seen the broad estuary
of the Gironde, with the high towers of Saint Andre and
Saint Remi shooting up from the plain. In front, amid radi-
ating lines of poplars, lay the riverside townlet of Cardillac—
gray walls, white houses, and a feather of blue smoke.
"This is the ‘Mouton d’Or,’” said Aylward, as they pulled
up their horses at a whitewashed straggling hostel. ‘What
ho there!” he continued, beating upon the door with the hilt of
his sword. “Tapster, ostler, varlet, hark hither, and a wan-
nion on your lazy limbs! Ha! Michel, as red in the nose as
ever! Three jacks of the wine of the country, Michel—for
the air bites shrewdly. I pray you, Alleyne, to take note of
this door, for I have a tale concerning it.”
“Tell me, friend,” said Alleyne to the portly red-faced inn-
agai has a knight and a squire passed this way within the
Orn”
“Nay, sir, it would be two hours back. Was he a smallA MIGHTY TREASURE 263
man, weak in the eyes, with a want of hair, and speaks very
quiet when he is most to be feared ?”’ |
“The same,” the squire answered. “But I marvel how you
should know how he speaks when he is in wrath, for he is very
gentle-minded with those who are beneath him.”
“Praise to the saints! it was not I who angered him,” said
the fat Michel.
“Who, then?”
“It was young Sieur de Crespigny of Saintonge, who
chanced to be here, and made game of the Englishman, see-
ing that he was but a small man and hath a face which is full
of peace. But indeed this good knight was a very quiet and
patient man, for he saw that the Sieur de Crespigny was still
young and spoke from an empty head, so he sat his horse and
quaffed his wine, even as you are doing now, all heedless of
the clacking tongue.”
“And what then, Michel?”
“Well, messieurs, it chanced that the Sieur de Crespigny,
having said this and that, for the laughter of the varlets, cried
out at last about the glove that the knight wore in his coif,
asking if it was the custom in England for a man to wear a
great archer’s glove in his cap. Pardieu! I have never seen
a man get off his horse as quick as did that stranger English-
man. Ere the words were past the other’s lips he was beside
him, his face nigh touching, and his breath hot upon his
cheeks. ‘I think, young sir,’ quoth he softly, looking into the
other's eyes, ‘that now that I am nearer you will very clearly
see that the glove is not an archer’s glove.’ ‘Perchance not,’
said the Sieur de Crespigny with a twitching lip. ‘Nor is it
large, but very small,’ quoth the Englishman. ‘Less large than
I had thought,’ said the other, looking down, for the knight’s
gaze was heavy upon his eyelids. ‘And in every way such a
glove as might be worn by the fairest and sweetest lady in
England,’ quoth the Englishman. ‘It may be so,’ said the
Sieur de Crespigny, turning his face from him. ‘I am myself
weak in the eyes, and have often taken one thing for another,’
quoth the knight, as he sprang back into his saddle and rode
off, leaving the Sieur de Crespigny biting his nails before the
door. Ha! by the five wounds, many men of war have drunk264 THE WHITE COMPANY
my wine, but never one was more to my fancy than this little
Englishman.’
“By my hilt! he is our master, Michel,” quoth Aylward,
“and such men as we do not serve under a laggart. But here
are four deniers, Michel, and God be with you! En avant,
camarades! for we have a long road before us.”’
At a brisk trot the three friends left Cardillac and its wine
house behind them, riding without a halt past St. Macaire, and
on by ferry over the river Dorpt. At the further side the
road winds through La Reolle, Bazaille, and Marmande, with
the sunlit river still gleaming upon the right, and the bare pop-
lars bristling up upon either side. John and Alleyne rode
silent on either side, but every inn, farmsteading, or castle
brought back to Aylward some remembrance of love, foray,
or plunder, with which to beguile the way.
“There is the smoke from Bazas, on the further side of
Garonne,” quoth he. “There were three sisters yonder, the
daughters of a farrier, and, by these ten finger bones! a man
might ride for a long June day and never set eyes upon such
maidens. There was Marie, tall and grave, and Blanche petite
and gay, and the dark Agnes, with eyes that went through you
like a waxed arrow. I lingered there as long as four days,
and was betrothed to them all; for it seemed shame to set one
above her sisters, and might make ill blood in the family. Yet,
for all my care, things were not merry in the house, and I
thought it well to come away. There, too, is the mill of Le
Souris. Old Pierre Le Caron, who owned it, was a right
good comrade, and had ever a seat and a crust for a weary
archer. He was a man who wrought hard at all that he turned
his hand to; but he heated himself in grinding bones to mix
with his flour, and so through overdiligence he brought a fever
upon himself and died.”
“Tell me, Aylward,” said Alleyne, “what was amiss with
the door of yonder inn that you should ask me to observe it.” —
“Pardieu! yes, I had well-nigh forgot. What saw you on _
yonder door ?”’ |
“I saw a square hole, through which doubtless the host may -
peep when he is not too sure of those who knock.”
“And saw you naught else?”A MIGHTY TREASURE 268
“I marked that beneath this hole there was a deep cut in
the door, as though a great nail had been driven in.”’
“And naught else?”
IN OL’
‘Had you looked more closely you might have seen that
there was a stain upon the wood. The first time that I ever
heard my comrade Black Simon laugh was in front of that
door. I heard him once again when he slew a French squire
with his teeth, he being unarmed and the Frenchman having a
dagger.’ |
“And why did Simon laugh in front of the inn door!” asked
ohn.
' ‘Simon is a hard and perilous man when he hath the bitter
drop in him; and, by my hilt! he was born for war, for there
is little sweetness or rest in him. This inn, the ‘Mouton d’Or,’
was kept in the old days by one Francois Gourval, who had
a hard fist and a harder heart. It was said that many and
many an archer coming from the wars had been served with
wine with simples in it, until he slept, and had then been
stripped of all by this Gourval. Then on the morrow, if he
made complaint, this wicked Gourval would throw him out
upon the road or beat him, for he was a very lusty man, and
had many stout varlets in his service. This chanced to come
to Simon’s ears when we were at Bordeaux together, and he
would have it that we should ride to Cardillac with a good
hempen cord, and give this Gourval such a scourging as he
merited. Forth we rode then, but when we came to the
‘Mouton d’Or,’ Gourval had had word of our coming and its
purpose, so that the door was barred, nor was there any way
into the house. ‘Let us in, good Master Gourval!’ cried
Simon, and ‘Let us in, good Master Gourval! cried I, but no
word could we get through the hole in the door, save that he
would draw an arrow upon us unless we went on our way.
‘Well, Master Gourval,’ quoth Simon at last, ‘this is but a
sorry welcome, seeing that we have ridden so far just to shake
you by the hand.’ ‘Canst shake me by the hand without com-
ing in,’ said Gourval. ‘And how that?’ asked Simon. ‘By
passing in your hand through the hole,’ said he. ‘Nay, my
hand is wounded,’ quoth Simon, ‘and of such a size that I
cannot pass it in.’ ‘That need not hinder,’ said Gourval, who266 THE WHITE COMPANY
was hot to be rid of us, ‘pass in your left hand.’ ‘But I have
something for thee, Gourval,’ said Simon. ‘What then?’ he
asked. “There was an English archer who slept here last week
of the name of Hugh of Nutbourne.’ ‘We have had many
rogues here,’ said Gourval. ‘His conscience hath been heavy
within him because he owes you a debt of fourteen deniers,
having drunk wine for which he hath never paid. For the
easing of his soul, he asked me to pay the money to you as I
passed.’ Now this Gourval was very greedy for money, so he
thrust forth his hand for the fourteen deniers, but Simon had
his dagger ready and he pinned his hand to the door. ‘I have
paid the Englishman’s debt, Gourval!’ quoth he, and so rode
away, laughing so that he could scarce sit his horse, leaving
mine host still nailed to his door. Such is the story of the
hole which you have marked, and of the smudge upon the
wood. I have heard that from that time E:iglish archers have
been better treated in the auberge of Cardillac. But what
have we here by the wayside?”
“It appears to be a very holy man,” said Alleyne.
“And, by the rood! he hath some strange wares,” cried
John. “What are these bits of stone, and of wood, and rusted
nails, which are set out in front of him?”
The man whom‘they had remarked sat with his back against
a cherry tree, and his legs shooting out in front of him, like
one who is greatly at his ease. Across his thighs was a
wooden board, and scattered over it all manner of slips of
wood and knobs of brick and stone, each laid separate from
the other, as a huckster places his wares. He was dressed in
a long gray gown, and wore a broad hat of the same color,
much weather-stained, with three scallop shells dangling from
the brim. As they approached, the travelers observed that he
was advanced in years, and that his eyes were upturned and
yellow.
“Dear knights and gentlemen,” he cried in a high crackling
voice, “worthy Christian cavaliers, will ye ride past and leave
an aged pilgrim to die of hunger? The sight hast been burned
from mine eyes by the sands of the Holy Land, and I have
had neither crust of bread nor cup of wine these two days
past.”’
“By my hilt! father,” said Aylward, looking keenly at him,
3A MIGHTY TREASURE 267
“it is a marvel to me that thy girdle should have so goodly a
span and clip thee so closely, if you have in sooth had so little
to place within it.”
Kind stranger,” answered the pilgrim, “you have unwit-
tingly spoken words which are very grievous to me to listen
to. Yet I should be loath to blame you, for I doubt not that
what you said was not meant to sadden me, nor to bring my
sore affliction back to my mind. It ill becomes me to prate
too much of what I have endured for the faith, and yet, since
you have observed it, I must tell you that this thickness and
roundness of the waist is caused by a dropsy brought on by
overhaste in journeying from the house of Pilate to the
Mount of Olives.”
“There, Aylward,” said Alleyne, with a reddened cheek, “let
that curb your blunt tongue. How could you bring a fresh
pang to this holy man, who hath endured so much and hath
journeyed as far as Christ’s own blessed tomb ?”
“May the foul fiend strike me dumb!” cried the bowman in
hot repentance ; but both the palmer and Alleyne threw up their
hands to stop him.
“I forgive thee from my heart, dear brother,” piped the
blind man. “But, oh, these wild words of thine are worse
to mine ears than aught which you could say of me.’
“Not another word shall I speak,” said Aylward; “but here
is a franc for thee and I crave thy blessing.”
“And here is another,” said Alleyne.
“And another,” cried Hordle John.
But the blind palmer would have none of their alms. “Fool-
ish, foolish pride!’ he cried, beating upon his chest with his
large brown hand. “Foolish, foolish pride! How long then
will it be ere I can scourge it forth? Am I then never to con-
quer it? Oh, strong, strong are the ties of flesh, and hard it
is to subdue the spirit! I come, friends, of a noble house,
and I cannot bring myself to tauch this money, even though it
be to save me from the grave.”’
‘Alas! father,” said Alleyne, “how then can we be of help
to thee?”
“I had sat down here to die,” quoth the palmer; “but for
many years I have carried in my wallet these precious things
which you see set forth now before me. It were sin, thought268 THE WHITE COMPANY
I, that my secret should perish with me. I shall therefore sell
these things to the first worthy passers-by, and from them I
shall have money enough to take me to the shrine of Our Lady
at Rocamadour, where I hope to lay these old bones.”
“What are these treasures, then, father?” asked Hordle
John. “I can but see an old rusty nail, with bits of stone and
slips of wood.” |
“My friend,” answered the palmer, “not all the money that
is in this country could pay a just price for these wares of
mine. This nail,” he continued, pulling off his hat and turn-
ing up his sightless orbs, “is one of those wherewith man’s sal-
vation was secured. I had it, together with this piece of the
true rood, from the five-and-twentieth descendant of Joseph of
Arimathea, who still lives in Jerusalm alive and well, though
latterly much afflicted by boils. Aye, you may well cross your-
selves, and I beg that you will not breathe upon it or touch it
with your fingers.”
“And the wood and stone, holy father?” asked Alleyne,
with bated breath, as he stared awe-struck at his precious
relics.
“This cantle of wood is from the true cross, this other from
Noak his ark, and the third is from the doorpost of the temple
of the wise King Solomon. This stone was thrown at the
sainted Stephen, and the other two are from the Tower of
Babel. Here, too, is part of Aaron’s rod, and a lock of hair
from Elisha the prophet.”
“But, father,’ quoth Alleyne, “‘the holy Elisha was bald,
which brought down upon him the revilements of the wicked
children.”’
“Tt is very true that he had not much hair,” said the palmer
quickly, “and it is this which makes this relic so exceed-
ing precious. Take now your choice of these, my worthy —
gentlemen, and pay such a price as your consciences will suffer
you to offer; for I am not a chapman nor a huckster, and I
would never part with them, did I not know that I am very
near to my reward.”
“Aylward,” said Alleyne excitedly, “this is such a chance
as few folk have twice in one life. The nail I must have,
and I will give it to the abbey of Beaulieu, so that all the
folk in England may go thither to wonder and to pray.”A MIGHTY TREASURE 269
“And I will have the stone from the temple,” cried Hordle
John. “What would not my old mother give to have it hung
over her bed?” |
“And I will have Aaron’s rod,” quoth Aylward. “I have
but five florins in the world, and here are four of them.”
“Here are three more,’’ said John.
“And here are five more,” added Alleyne. “Holy father, I
hand vou twelve florins, which is all that we can give, though
we well know how poor a pay it is for the wondrous things
which you sell us.”
“Down, pride, down!” cried the pilgrim, still beating upon
his chest. ‘“‘Can I not bend myself then to take this sorry sum
which is offered me for that which has cost me the labors of a
life. Give me the dross! Here are the precious relics, and,
oh, I pray you that you will handle them softly and with rev-
erence, else had [ rather left my unworthy bones here by the
wayside.”
With doffed caps and eager hands, the comrades took their
new and precious possessions, and pressed onward upon their
journey, leaving the aged palmer still seated under the cherry
tree. They rode in silence, each with his treasure in his hand,
glancing at it from time to time, and scarce able to believe that
chance had made them sole owners of relics of such holiness
and worth that every abbey and church in Christendom would
have bid eagerly for their possession. So they journeyed, full
of this good fortune, until opposite the town of Le Mas, where
John’s horse cast a shoe, and they were glad to find a wayside
smith who might set the matter to rights. To him Aylward
narrated the good hap which had befallen them; but the smith,
when his eyes lit upon the relics, leaned up against his anvil
and laughed, with his hand to his side, until the tears hopped
down his sooty cheeks.
“Why, masters,” quoth he, “this man is a coquillart, or
seller of false relics, and was here in the smithy not two hours
ago. This nail that he hath sold you was taken from my nail
box, and as to the wood and the stones, you will see a heap of
both outside from which he hath filled his scrip.”
“Nay, nay,” cried Alleyne, “this was a holy man who had
journeyed to Jerusalem, and acquired a dropsy by running
from the house of Pilate to the Mount of Olives.”270 THE WHITE COMPANY
“I know not about that,” said the smith; “but I know that a
man with a gray palmer’s hat and gown was here no very long
time ago, and that he sat on yonder stump and ate a cold pullet
and drank a flask of wine. Then he begged from me one of
my nails, and filling his scrip with stones, he went upon his
way. Look at these nails, and see if they are not the same as
that which he has sold you.” 3
“Now may God save us!” cried Alleyne, all aghast. “Ts
there no end then to the wickedness of humankind? He so
humble, so aged, so loath to take our money—and yet a villain
and a cheat. Whom can we trust or believe in?”
“I will after him,” said Aylward, flinging himself into the
saddle. “Come, Alleyne, we may catch him ere John’s horse
be shod.”’
Away they galloped together, and ere long they saw the
old gray palmer walking slowly along in front of them. He
turned, however, at the sound of their hoofs, and it was clear
that his blindness was a cheat like all the rest of him, for he
ran swiftly through a field and so into a wood, where none
could follow him. They hurled their relics after him, and so
rode back to the blacksmith’s the poorer both in pocket and in
faith,CHAPTER XAXAVil
HOW ROGER CLUBFOOT WAS PASSED INTO PARADISE
lon. There they found Sir Nigel Loring and Ford safely
lodged at the sign of the “Baton Rouge,” where they
supped on good fare and slept between lavender-scented sheets.
It chanced, however, that a knight of Poitou, Sir Gaston
d’Estelle, was staying there on his way back from Lithuania,
where he had served a term with the Teutonic knights under
the land master of the presbytery of Marienberg. He and
Sir Nigel sat late in high converse as to bushments, outfalls,
and the intaking of cities, with many tales of warlike men and
valiant deeds. Then their talk turned to minstrelsy, and the
stranger knight drew forth a cittern, upon which he played the
Minne-lieder of the north, singing the while in a high cracked
voice of Hildebrand and Brunhild and Siegfried, and all the
strength and beauty of the land of Almain. To this Sir Nigel
answered with the romances of Sir Eglamour, and of Sir
Isumbras, and so through the long winter night they sat by
the crackling wood fire answering each other’s songs until the
crowing cocks joined in their concert. Yet, with scarce an
hour of rest, Sir Nigel was as blithe and bright as ever as
they set forth after breakfast upon their way.
“This Sir Gaston is a very worthy man,” said he to his
squires as they rode from the “Baton Rouge.” “He hath a
very strong desire to advance himself, and would have entered
upon some small knightly debate with me, had he not chanced
to have his arm bone broken by the kick of a horse. I have
conceived a great love for him, and I have promised him that
when his bone is mended I will exchange thrusts with him.
But we must keep to this road upon the left.” |
“Nay, my fair lord,” quoth Aylward. “The road to Mon-
271
; | T was evening before the three comrades came into Aiguil-272 | THE WHITE COMPANY
taubon is over the river, and so through Quercy and the
Agenois.”
“True, my good Aylward; but I have learned from this
worthy knight, who hath come over the French marches, that
there is a company of Englishmen who are burning and plun-
dering in the country round Villefranche. I have little doubt,
from what he says, that they are those whom we seek.”
“By my hilt! it is like enough,” said Aylward. ‘By all ac-
counts they had been so long at Montaubon, that there would
be little there worth the taking. Then as they have already
been in the south, they would come north to the country of the
Aveyron.” |
“We shall follow the Lot until we come to Cahors, and then
cross the marches into Villefranche,” said Sir Nigel. “By
St. Paul! as we are but a small band, it is very likely that we
may have some very honorable and pleasing adventure, for I
hear that there is little peace upon the French border.”
All morning they rode down a broad and winding road,
barred with the shadows of poplars. Sir Nigel rode in front
with his squires, while the two archers followed behind with
the sumpter mule between them. They had left Aiguillon and
the Garonne far to the south, and rode now by the tranquil
Lot, which curves blue and placid through a gently rolling
country. Alleyne could not but mark that, whereas in Guienne
there had been many townlets and few castles, there were now
many castles and few houses. On either hand gray walls and
square, grim keeps peeped out at every few miles from amid
the forests, while the few villages which they passed were all
ringed round with rude walls, which spoke of the constant
fear and sudden foray of a wild frontier land. Twice during
the morning there came bands of horsemen swooping down
upon them from the black gateways of wayside strongholds,
with short, stern questions as to whence they came and what
their errand. Bands of armed men clanked along the high-
way, and the few lines of laden mules which carried the mer-
chandise of the trader were guarded by armed varlets, or by
archers hired for the service.
“The peace of Bretigny hath not made much change in these
parts,’ quoth Sir Nigel, “for the country is overrun with free
companions and masterless men. Yonder towers, between theROGER CLUBFOOT ~—~—_2%8
wood and the hill, mark the town of Cahors, and beyond it is
the land of France. But here is a man by the wayside, and
as he hath two horses and a squire I make little doubt that
he is a knight. I pray you, Alleyne, to give him greeting from
me, and to ask him for his titles and coat armor. It may be
that I can relieve him of some vow, or perchance he hath a
lady whom he would wish to advance.”’
“Nay, my fair; lord,” said, Alleyne, “these. are not horses
and a squire, but mules and a varlet. The man is a mercer, for
he hath a great bundle beside him.”
“Now, God’s blessing on your honest English voice!” cried
the stranger, pricking up his ears at the sound of Alleyne’s
words. “Never have I heard music that was so sweet to mine
ear. Come, Watkin lad, throw the bales over Laura’s back!
My heart was nigh broke, for it seemed that I had left all
that was English behind me, and that I would never set eyes
upon Norwich market square again.” He was a tall, lusty,
middle-aged man with a ruddy face, a brown forked beard
shot with gray, and a broad Flanders hat set at the back of
his head. His servant, as tall as himself, but gaunt and raw-
boned, had swung the bales on the back of one mule, while the
merchant mounted upon the other and rode to join the party.
It was easy to see, as he approached, from the quality of his
dress and the richness of his trappings, that he was a man of
some wealth and position.
“Sir knight,” said he, “my name is David Micheldene, and I
am a burgher and alderman of the good town of Norwich,
where I live five doors from the church of Our Lady, as all
men know on the banks of Yare. I have here my bales of
cloth which I carry to Cahors—woe worth the day that ever
I started on such an errand! I crave your gracious protection
upon the way for me, my servant, and my mercery; for I
have already had many perilous passages, and have now
learned that Roger Clubfoot, the robber-knight of Quercy, is
out upon the road in front of me. I hereby agree to give you ©
one rose noble if you bring me safe to the inn of the ‘Angel’
in Cahors, the same to be repaid to me or my heirs if any
harm come to me or my goods.”
“By Saint Paul! answered Sir Nigel, “I should be a sorry.
knight if I ask pay for standing by a countryman in a strange274 THE WHITE COMPANY
land. You may ride with me and welcome, Master Michel-
dene, and your varlet may follow with my archers.”
“God’s benison upon thy bounty!” cried the stranger.
“Should you come to Norwich you may have cause to remem-
ber that you have been of service to Alderman Micheldene. It
is not very far to Cahors, for surely I see the cathedral towers
against the sky line; but I have heard much of this Roger
Clubfoot, and the more I hear the less do I wish to look upon
his face. Oh, but I am sick and weary of it all, and I would
give half that I am worth to see my good dame sitting in peace
beside me, and to hear the bells of Norwich town.”’
“Your words are strange to me,” quoth Sir Nigel, “for you
have the appearance of a stout man, and I see that you wear
a sword by your side.”’
“Yet it is not my trade,” answered the merchant. “I doubt
not that if I set you down in my shop at Norwich you might
scarce tell fustian from falding, and know little difference
between the velvet of Genoa and the three-piled cloth of
Bruges. There you might well turn to me for help. But here
on a lone roadside, with thick woods and robber-knights, I
turn to you, for it is the business to which you have been
reared.”
“There is sooth in what you say, Master Micheldene,” said
sir Nigel, “and I trust that we may come upon this Roger
Clubfoot, for I have heard that he is a very stout and skill-
ful soldier, and a man from whom much honor is to be
gained.’
He is a bloody robber,” said the trader, curtly, “and I wish
I saw him kicking at the end of a halter.”
“It is such men as he,” Sir Nigel remarked, “who give the
true knight honorable deeds to do, whereby he may advance
himself.”’
“It is such men as he,” retorted Micheldene, “who are like
rats in a wheat rick or moths in a woolfels, a harm and a
hindrance to all peaceful and honest men.”’
"Yet, if the dangers of the road weigh so heavily upon you,
master alderman, it is a great marvel to me that you should
venture so far from home.”
“And sometimes, sir knight, it is a marvel to myself. But
I am a man who may grutch and grumble, but when I haveROGER CLUBFOOT ___275
set my face to do a thing I will not turn my back upon it until
it be done. There is one, Francois Villet, at Cahors, who will
send me wine casks for my cloth bales, so to Cahors I will go,
though all the robber-knights of Christendom were to line the
roads like yonder poplars.”
“Stoutly spoken, master alderman! But how have you fared
hitherto ?”’
‘As a lamb fares in a land of wolves. Five times we have
had to beg and pray ere we could pass. Twice I have paid
toll to the wardens of the road. Three times we have had to
draw, and once at La Reolle we stood over our wool bales,
Watkin and I, and we laid about us for as long as a man might
chant a litany, slaying one rogue and wounding two others.
By God’s coif! we are men of peace, but we are free English
burghers, not to be mishandled either in our country or abroad.
Neither lord, baron, knight, or commoner shall have as much
as a strike of flax of mine whilst I have strength to wag this
sword.”
“And a passing strange sword it is,” quoth Sir Nigel.
“What make you, Alleyne, of these black lines which are
drawn across the sheath?”
“IT cannot tell what they are, my fair lord.”
“Nor can I,” said Ford.
The merchant chuckled to himself. “It was a thought of
mine own,” said he; “for the sword was made by Thomas
Wilson, the armorer, who is betrothed to my second daughter
Margery. Know then that the sheath is one cloth yard, in
length, marked off according to feet and inches to serve me as
a measuring wand. It is also of the exact weight of two
pounds, so that I may use it in the balance.”
“By St. Paul!’ quoth Sir Nigel, “it is very clear to me
that the sword is like thyself, good alderman, apt either for
war or for peace. But I doubt not that even in England you
have had much to suffer from the hands of robbers and out-
laws.”’
“It was only last Lammastide, sir knight, that I was left for
dead near Reading as I journeyed to Winchester fair. Yet I
had the rogues up at the court of pie-powder, and they will
-harm no more peaceful traders.”
“You travel much then!’276 THE WHITE COMPANY
“To Winchester, Linn mart, Bristol fair, Stourbridge, and
Bartholomew’s in London Town. The rest of the year you
may ever find me five doors from the church of Our Lady,
where I would from my heart that I was at this moment, for
there is no air like Norwich air, and no water like the Yare,
hor can all the wines of France compare with the beer of old
Sam Yelverton who keeps the ‘Dun Cow.’ But, out and
alack, here is an evil fruit which hangs upon this chestnut
tree!”
As he spoke they had ridden round a curve of the road and
come upon a great tree which shot one strong brown branch
across their path. From the center of this branch there hung
a man, with his head at a horrid slant to his body and his
toes just touching the ground. He was naked save for a linen
undershirt and a pair of woolen drawers. Beside him on a
green bank there sat a small man with a solemn face, and a
great bundle of papers of all colors thrusting forth from the
scrip which lay beside him. He was very richly dressed, with
furred robes, a scarlet hood, and wide hanging sleeves lined
with flame-colored silk. A great gold chain hung round his
neck, and rings glittered from every finger of his hands. On
his lap he had a little pile of gold and of silver, which he was
dropping, coin by coin, into a plump pouch which hung from
his girdle.
"May the saints be with you, good travelers!’’ he shouted,
as the party rode up. “May the four Evangelists watch over
you! May the twelve Apostles bear you up! May the blessed
army of martyrs direct your feet and lead you to eternal
bliss !’’
“Gramercy for these good wishes!’ said Sir Nigeh “Bat |
perceive, master alderman, that this man who hangs here is,
by mark of foot, the very robber-knight of whom we have
spoken. But there is a cartel pinned upon his breast, and I
pray you, Alleyne, to read it to me.”
_ The dead robber swung slowly to and fro in the wintry
wind, a fixed smile upon his swarthy face, and his bulging ‘eyes
still glaring down the highway of which he had so long been
the terror; on a sheet of parchment upon his breast was
printed in rude characters:ROGER CLUBFOOT Ve x:
ROGER PIED-BOT
Par l’ordre du Sénéchal de
Castelnau, et de l’Echevin de
Cahors, servantes fideles du
trés vaillant et trés puissant
Edouard, Prince de Galles et
d’ Aquitaine.
Ne touchez pas,
Ne coutez pas,
Ne dépéchez pas.
9
“He took a sorry time in dying,’ said the man who sat be-
side him. “He could stretch one toe to the ground and bear
himself up, so that I thought he would never have done. Now
at last, however, he is safely in paradise, and so I may jog
on upon my earthly way.”’ He mounted, as he spoke, a white
mule which had been grazing by the wayside, all gay with fus-
tian of gold and silver bells, and rode onward with Sir Nigel’s
party.
“How know you then that he is in paradise?” asked Sir
Nigel. ‘‘All things are possible to God, but certes, without a
miracle, I should scarce expect to find the soul of Roger Club-
foot amongst the just.”
“T know that he is there because I have just passed him in
there,” answered the stranger, rubbing his bejeweled hands to-
gether in placid satisfaction. “It is my holy mission to be a
sompnour or pardoner. I am the unworthy servant and dele-
gate of him who holds the keys. A contrite heart and ten
nobles to holy mother Church may stave off perdition; but he
hath a pardon of the first degree, with a twenty-five livre
-benison, so that I doubt if he will so much as feel a twinge of
purgatory. I came up even as the seneschal’s archers were
tying him up, and I gave him my foreword that I would bide
with him until he had passed. There were two leaden crowns
among the silver, but I would not for that stand in the way
of his salvation.”
“By Saint Paul!” said Sir Nigel, “if you have indeed this
power to open and to shut the gates of hope, then you stand
high above mankind. But if you do but claim to have it, and
yet have it not, then it seems to me, master clerk, you may
yourself find the gate barred when you shall ask admittance.”
“Small of faith! Small of faith!’ cried the sompnour.278 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Ah, Sir Didymus yet walks upon earth! And yet no words
of doubt can bring anger to mine heart, or a bitter word to
my lip, for am I not a poor unworthy worker in the cause of
gentleness and peace? Of all these pardons which I bear every
one is stamped and signed by our holy father, the prop and
center of Christendom.”
“Which of them?” asked Sir Nigel.
“Ha, ha!” cried the pardoner, shaking a jeweled forefinger.
“Thou wouldst be deep in the secrets of mother Church?
Know then that I have both in my scrip. Those who hold
with Urban shall have Urban’s pardon, while I have Clement’s
for the Clementist—or he who is in doubt may have both, so
that come what may he shall be secure. I pray you that you
will buy one, for war is bloody work, and the end is sudden
with little time for thought or shrift. Or you, sir, for you
seem to be to be a man who would do ill to trust to your own
merits.’ This to the alderman of Norwich, who had listened
to him with a frowning brow and a sneering lip.
"When I sell my cloth,” quoth he, “he who buys may weigh
and feel and handle. These goods which you sell are not to be
seen, nor is there any proof that you hold them. Certes, if
mortal man might control God’s mercy, it would be one of a
lofty and godlike life, and not one who is decked out with
rings and chains and silks, like a pleasure-wench at a kermis.”
“Thou wicked and shameless man!’’ cried the clerk. “Dost
thou dare to raise thy voice against the unworthy servant of
mother Church?”
“Unworthy enough!’ quoth David Micheldene. “I would
have you to know, clerk, that I am a free English burgher,
and that I dare say my mind to our father the Pope himself,
let alone such a lackey’s lackey as you!”
‘““Baseborn and foul-mouthed knave!’’ cried the sompnour.
“You prate of holy things, to which your hog’s mind can
never rise. Keep silence, lest I call a curse upon you!”
“Silence yourself!’ roared the other. “Foul bird! we found
thee by the gallows like a carrion crow. A fine life thoy
hast of it with thy silks and thy baubles, cozening the last
few shillings from the pouches of dying men. A fig for thy
curse! Bide here, if you will take my rede, for we will make
England too hot for such as you, when Master Wycliffe hasROGER CLUBFOOT ang
the ordering of it. Thou vile thief! it is you, and such as
you, who bring an evil name upon the many churchmen who
lead a pure and a holy life. Thou outside the door of heaven!
Art more like to be inside the door of hell.”
At this crowning insult the sompnour, with a face ashen
with rage, raised up a quivering hand and began pouring Latin
imprecations upon the angry alderman. The latter, however,
was not a man to be quelled by words, for he caught up his
ell-measure sword sheath and belabored the cursing clerk with
it. The latter, unable to escape from the shower of blows, set
spurs to his mule and rode for his life, with his enemy thun-
dering behind him. At sight of his master’s sudden departure,
the varlet Watkin set off after him, with the pack mule beside
him, so that the four clattered away down the road together,
until they swept round a curve and their babble was but a
drone in the distance. Sir Nigel and Alleyne gazed in aston-
ishment at one another, while Ford burst out a-laughing.
‘“Pardieu!” said the knight, “this David Micheldene must
be one of those Lollards about whom Father Christopher of
the priory had so much to say. Yet he seemed to be no bad
man from what I have seen of him.”
“I have heard that Wycliffe hath many followers in Nor-
wich,” answered Alleyne.
“By St. Paul! I have no great love for them,” quoth Sir
Nigel. “I am aman who am slow to change; and, if you take
away from me the faith that I have been taught, it would be
long ere I could learn one to set in its place. It is but a chip
here and a chip there, yet it may bring the tree down in time.
Yet, on the other hand, I cannot but think it shame that a
man should turn God’s mercy on and off, as a cellarman doth
wine with a spigot.”
“Nor is it,” said Alleyne, “part of the teachings of that
mother Church of which he had so much to say. There was
sooth in what the alderman said of it.’’
Then, by St. Paul! they may settle it betwixt them,” quoth
sir Nigel. “For me, I serve God, the king and my lady; and
so long as I can keep the path of honor I am well content. My
creed shall ever be that of Chandos:
““Fais ce que dois—adviegne que peut,
C’est commandé au chevalier.’ ”’CHAPTER (XX VEE
HOW THE COMRADES CAME OVER THE MARCHES OF FRANCE
F'TER passing Cahors, the party branched away from
the main road, and leaving the river to the north of
them, followed a smaller track which wound over a
vast and desolate plain. This path led them amid marshes and
woods, until it brought them out into a glade with a broad
stream swirling swiftly down the center of it. Through this
the horses splashed their way, and on the farther shore Sir
Nigel announced to them that they were now within the bor-
ders of the land of France. For some miles they still followed
the same lonely track, which led them through a dense wood,
and then widening out, curved down to an open rolling coun-
try, such as they had traversed between Aiguillon and Cahors.
If it were grim and desolate upon the English border, how-
ever, what can describe the hideous barrenness of this ten
times harried tract of France? The whole face of the coun-
try was scarred and disfigured, mottled over with the black
blotches of burned farmsteadings, and the gray, gaunt gable-
ends of what had been chateaux. Broken fences, crumbling
walls, vineyards littered with stones, the shattered arches of
bridges—look where you might, the signs of ruin and rapine
met the eye. Here and there only, on the farthest sky line,
the gnarled turrets of a castle, or the graceful pinnacles of
church or of monastery showed where the forces of the
sword or of the spirit had preserved some small islet of
security in this universal flood of misery. Moodily and in
silence the little party rode along the narrow and irregular
track, their hearts weighed down by this far-stretching land
of despair. It was indeed a stricken and a blighted country,
and a man might have ridden from Auvergne in the north
to the marches of Foix, nor ever seen a smiling village or a
thriving homestead.
280THE MARCHES OF FRANCE 981
From time to time as they advanced they saw strange lean
figures scraping and scratching amid the weeds and thistles,
who, on sight of the band of horsemen, threw up their arms
and dived in among the brushwood, as shy and as swift as
wild animals. More than once, however, they came on
families by the wayside, who were too weak from hunger and
disease to fly, so that they could but sit like hares on a tussock,
with panting chests and terror in their eyes. So gaunt were
these poor folk, so worn and spent—with bent and knotted
frames, and sullen, hopeless, mutinous faces—that it made the
young Englishman heartsick to look upon them. Indeed, it
seemed as though all hope and light had gone so far from
_ them that it was not to be brought back; for when Sir Nigel
threw down a handful of silver among them there came no
softening of their lined faces, but they clutched greedily at
the coins, peering questioningly at him, and champing with
their animal jaws. Here and there amid the brushwood the
travelers saw the rude bundle of sticks which served them as
a home—more like a fowl’s nest than the dwelling place of
man. Yet why should they build and strive, when the first ad-
venturer who passed would set torch to their thatch, and when
their own feudal lord would wring from them with blows and
curses the last fruits of their toil? They sat at the low-
est depth of human misery, and hugged a bitter com-
fort to their souls as they realized that they could go no
lower. Yet they had still the human gift of speech,
and would take counsel among themselves in their brush-
wood hovels, glaring with bleared eyes and pointing with
thin fingers at the great widespread chateaux which ate like
a cancer into the life of the countryside. When such men,
who are beyond hope and fear, begin in their dim minds to
see the source of their woes, it may be an evil time for those
who have wronged them. The weak man becomes strong when
he has nothing, for then only can he feel the wild, mad thrill
of despair. High and strong the chateaux, lowly and weak
the brushwood hut; but God help the seigneur and his lady
when the men of the brushwood set their hands to the work
of revenge. |
Through such country did the party ride for eight or it might
be nine miles, until the sun began to slope down in the west and282 THE WHITE COMPANY
their shadows to stream down the road in front of them.
Wary and careful they must be, with watchful eyes to the right
and the left, for this was no man’s land, and their only pass-
ports were those which hung from their belts. Frenchmen and
Englishmen, Gascon and Provencal, Brabanter, Tardvenu,
Scorcher, Flayer, and Free Companion, wandered and struggled
over the whole of this accursed district. So bare and cheer-
less was the outlook, and so few and poor the dwellings, that
Sir Nigel began to have fears as to whether he might find food
and quarters for his little troop. It was a relief to him, there-
fore, when their narrow track opened out upon a larger road,
and they saw some little way down it a square white house with
a great bunch of holly hung out at the end of a stick from one
of the upper windows. |
“By St. Paul!” said he, “I am right glad; for I had feared
that we might have neither provant nor herbergage. Ride on,
Alleyne, and tell this innkeeper that an English knight with his
party will lodge with him this night.”
Alleyne set spurs to his horse and reached the inn door a
long bowshot before his companions. Neither varlet nor ostler
could be seen, so he pushed open the door and called loudly for
the landlord. Three times he shouted, but, receiving no reply,
he opened an inner door and advanced into the chief guest-
room of the hostel. |
A very cheerful wood fire was sputtering and cracking in an
open grate at the further end of the apartment. At one side of
this fire, in a high-backed oak chair, sat a lady, her face turned
toward the door. The firelight played over her features, and
Alleyne thought that he had never seen such queenly power,
such dignity and strength, upon a woman’s face. She might
have been five-and-thirty years of age, with aquiline nose, firm
yet sensitive mouth, dark curving brows, and deep-set eyes
which shone and sparkled with a shifting brilliancy. Beautiful
as she was, it was not her beauty which impressed itself upon
the beholder; it was her strength, her power, the sense of wis-
dom which hung over the broad white brow, the decision
which lay in the square jaw and delicately molded chin. A
chaplet of pearls sparkled amid her black hair, with a gauze of
silver network flowing back from it over her shoulders: aTHE MARCHES OF FRANCE 283
black mantle was swathed round her, and she leaned back in
her chair as one who is fresh from a journey.
In the opposite corner there sat a very burly and broad-
shouldered man, clad in a black jerkin trimmed with sable,
with a black velvet cap with curling white feather cocked
upon the side of his head. A flask of red wine stood at his
elbow, and he seemed to be very much at ease, for his feet
were stuck upon a stool, and between his thighs he held a dish
full of nuts. These he cracked between his strong white
teeth and chewed in a leisurely way, casting the shells into the
blaze. As Alleyne gazed in at him he turned his face half
round and cocked an eye at him over his shoulder. It seemed
to the young Englishman that he had never seen so hideous
a face, for the eyes were of the lightest green, the nose was
broken and driven inward, while the whole countenance was
seared and puckered with wounds. The voice, too, when he
spoke, was as deep and as fierce as the growl of a beast of
rey.
| ' 2 Voune man,”’ said he, “I know not who you may be, and I
am not much inclined to bestir myself, but if it were not that I
am bent upon taking my ease, I swear, by the sword of Joshua!
that I would lay my dog whip across your shoulders for daring
to fill the air with these discordant bellowings.”’ |
Taken aback at this ungentle speech, and scarce knowing
how to answer it fitly in the presence of the lady, Alleyne stood
with his hand upon the handle of the door, while Sir Nigel and
his companions dismounted. At the sound of these fresh
voices, and of the tongue in which they spoke, the stranger
crashed his dish of nuts down upon the floor, and began him-
self to call for the landlord until the whole house reéchoed
with his roarings. With an ashen face the white-aproned host
came running at his call, his hands shaking and his very hair
bristling with apprehension. ‘‘For the sake of God, sirs,” he
whispered as he passed, “speak him fair and do not rouse him!
For the love of the Virgin, be mild with him!”
“Who is this, then?” asked Sir Nigel.
Alleyne was about to explain, when a fresh roar from the
stranger interrupted him. |
“Thou villain innkeeper,’ he shouted, “did I not ask you
when I brought my lady here whether vour inn was clean?”284 THE WHITE COMPANY
“¥ ou ‘did, sire.”
“Did I not very particularly ask you whether there were any
vermin in it?”
“You did, sire.”
“And you answered me?”
“That there were not, sire.’
“And yet ere I have been here an hour I find Englishmen
crawling about within it. Where are we to be free from this
pestilent race? Can a Frenchman upon French land not sit
down in a French auberge without having his ears pained by
the clack of their hideous talk? Send them packing, innkeeper,
or it may be the worse for them and for you.”
“I will, sire, I will!” cried the frightened host, and bustled
from the room, while the soft, soothing voice of the woman
was heard remonstrating with her furious companion.
“Indeed, gentlemen, you had best go,” said mine host. “It
is but six miles to Villefranche, where there are very good
quarters at the sign of the ‘Lion Rouge.’ ”
“Nay,” answered Sir Nigel, “I cannot go until I have seen
more of this person, for he appears to be a man from whom
much is to be hoped. What is his name and title 2”
“It is not for my lips to name it unless by his desire. But I
beg and pray you, gentlemen, that you will go from my house,
for I know not what may come of it if his rage should gain the
mastery of him.”
“By St. Paul!” lisped Sir Nigel, “this is certainly a man
whom it is worth journeying far to know. Go tell him that a
humble knight of England would make his further honorable
acquaintance, not from any presumption, pride, or ill will, but
for the advancement of chivalry and the glory of our ladies.
Give him greeting from Sir Nigel Loring, and say that the
glove which I bear in my cap belongs to the most peerless and
lovely of her sex, whom I am now ready to uphold against any
lady whose claim he might be desirous of advancing.”
The landlord was hesitating whether to carry this message
or no, when the door of the inner room was flung open, and
the stranger bounded out like a panther from its den, his
hair bristling and his deformed face convulsed with anger,
“Still here!” he snarled.,: “Dogs of England, must ye be
lashed hence ? Tiphaine, mv sword!’ He turned to seize hisTHE MARCHES OF FRANCE 285
weapon, but as he did so his gaze fell upon the blazonry of
Sir Nigel’s shield, and he stood staring, while the fire in his
strange green eyes softened into a sly and humorous twinkle.
“Mort Dieu!”’ cried he, “it is my little swordsman of Bor-
deaux. I should remember that coat armor, seeing that it is
but three days since I looked upon it in the lists by Garonne.
Ah! Sir Nigel, Sir Nigel! you owe me a return for this,” and
he touched his right arm, which was girt round just under the
shoulder with a silken kerchief.
But the surprise of the stranger at the sight of Sir Nigel
was as nothing compared with the astonishment and the delight
which shone upon the face of the knight of Hampshire as he
looked upon the strange face of the Frenchman. Twice he
opened his mouth and twice he peered again, as though to
assure himself that his eyes had not played him a trick.
“Bertrand!” he gasped at last. “Bertrand du Guesclin!’’
“By Saint Ives!’ shouted the French soldier, with a hoarse
roar of laughter, “it is well that I should ride with my vizor
down, for he that has once seen my face does not need to be
told my name. It is indeed I, Sir Nigel, and here is my hand!
I give you my word that there are but three Englishmen in
this world whom I would touch save with the sharp edge of
the sword: the prince is one, Chandos the second, and you the
third; for I have heard much that is good of you.”
“T am growing aged, and am somewhat spent in the wars,”
quoth Sir Nigel; “but I can lay by my sword now with an
easy mind, for I can say that I have crossed swords with him
who hath the bravest heart and the strongest arm of all this
great kingdom of France. I have longed for it, I have
dreamed of it, and now I can scarce bring my mind to under-
stand that this great honor hath indeed been mine.”’
“By the Virgin of Rennes! you have given me cause to be
very certain of it,” said Du Guesclin, with a gleam of his broad
white teeth.
“And perhaps, most honored sir, it would please you to con-
tinue the debate. Perhaps you would condescend to go farther
into the matter. God He knows that I am unworthy of such
honor, yet I can show my four-and-sixty quarterings, and I
-have been present at some bickerings and scufflings during
these twenty years.”286 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Your fame is very well known to me, and I shall ask my
lady to enter your name upon my tablets,” said Sir Bertrand.
“There are many who wish to advance themselves, and who
bide their turn, for I refuse no man who comes on such an
errand. At present it may not be, for mine arm is stiff from
this small touch, and I would fain do you full honor when we
cross swords again. Come in with me, and let your squires
come also, that my sweet spouse, the Lady Tiphaine, may say
that she hath seen so famed and gentle a knight.”
Into the chamber they went in all peace and concord, where
the Lady Tiphaine sat like queen on throne for each in turn to
be presented to her. Sooth to say, the stout heart of Sir Nigel,
which cared little for the wrath of her lion-like spouse, was
somewhat shaken by the calm, cold face of this stately dame,
for twenty years of camp life had left him more at ease in the
lists than in a lady’s boudoir. He bethought him, too, as he
looked at her set lips and deep-set questioning eyes, that he had
heard strange tales of this same Lady Tiphaine du Guesclin.
Was it not she who was said to lay hands upon the sick and
raise them from their couches when the leeches had spent their
last nostrums? Had she not forecast the future, and were
there not times when in the loneliness of her chamber she was
heard to hold converse with some being upon whom mortal
eye never rested—some dark familiar who passed where doors
were barred and windows high? Sir Nigel sunk his eye and
marked a cross on the side of his leg as he greeted this danger-
ous dame, and yet ere five minutes had passed he was hers, and
not he only but his two young squires as well. The mind had
gone out of them, and they could but look at this woman and
listen to the words which fell from her lips—words which
thrilled through their nerves and stirred their souls like the
battle call of a bugle. Often in peaceful afterdays was Alleyne
to think of that scene of the wayside inn of Auvergne. The
shadows of evening had fallen, and the corners of the long,
low, wood-paneled room were draped in darkness. The sput-
tering wood fire threw out a circle of red flickering light which
played over the little group of wayfarers, and showed up every
line and shadow upon their faces. Sir Nigel sat with elbows
upon knees, and chin upon hands, his patch still covering one
eye, but his other shining like a star, while the ruddy lightTHE MARCHES OF FRANCE 287
gleamed upon his smooth white head. Ford was seated at his
left, his lips parted, his eyes staring, and a fleck of deep color
on either cheek, his limbs all rigid as one who fears to move.
On the other side the famous French captain leaned back in his
chair, a litter of nutshells upon his lap, his huge head half
buried in a cushion, while his eyes wandered with an amused
gleam from his dame to the staring, enraptured Englishmen.
Then, last of all, that pale clear-cut face, that sweet clear voice,
with its high thrilling talk of the deathlessness of glory, of.
the wilderness of life, of the pain of ignoble joys, and of the
joy which lies in all pains which lead to a noble end. Still, as
the shadows deepened, she spoke of valor and virtue, of
loyalty, honor, and fame, and still they sat drinking in her
words while the fire burned down and the red ash turned to
oray.
“By the sainted Ives!’ cried Du Guesclin at last, “it is time
that we spoke of what we are to do this night, for I cannot
think that in this wayside auberge there are fit quarters for an
honorable company.”
Sir Nigel gave a long sigh as he came back from the dreams
of chivalry and hardihood into which this strange woman’s
words had wafted him. “I care not where I sleep,” said he;
“but these are indeed somewhat rude lodgings for this fair
lady.”
“What contents my lord contents me,’ quoth she. “TI per-
ceive, Sir Nigel, that you are under vow,” she added, glancing
at his covered eye.
“It is my purpose to attempt some small deed,” he answered.
“And the glove—is it your lady’s?”’
“Tt is indeed my sweet wife's.”
“Who is doubtless proud of you.”
“Say rather I of her,’ quoth he quickly. “God He knows
that I am not worthy to be her humble servant. It is easy,
lady, for a man to ride forth in the light of day, and do his
devoir when all men have eyes for him. But in a woman’s
heart there is a strength and truth which asks no praise, and
can but be known to him whose treasure it is.”
The Lady Tiphaine smiled across at her husband. “You
have often told me, Bertrand, that there were very gentle
knights amongst the English,” quoth she.288 THE WHITE COMPANY
“Aye, aye,’ said he moodily. “But to horse, Sir Nigel, you
and yours and we shall seek the chateau of Sir Tristram de
Rochefort, which is two miles on this side of Villefranche.
He is Seneschal of Auvergne, and mine old war companion.”
“Certes, he would have a welcome for you,” quoth Sir Nigel;
“but indeed he might look askance at one who comes without
permit over the marches.”’
“By the Virgin! when he learns that you have come to draw
away these rascals he will be very blithe to look upon your face.
Innkeeper, here are ten gold pieces. What is over and above
your reckoning you may take off from your charges to the next
needy knight who comes this way. Come then, for it grows
late and the horses are stamping in the roadway.”’
The Lady Tiphaine and her spouse sprang upon their steeds
without setting feet to stirrup, and away they jingled down the
white moonlit highway, with Sir Nigel at the lady’s bridle arm,
and Ford a spear’s length behind them. Alleyne had lingered
for an instant in the passage, and as he did so there came a
wild outcry from a chamber upon the left, and out there ran
Aylward and John, laughing together like two schoolboys who
are bent upon a prank. At sight of Alleyne they slunk past
him with somewhat of a shamefaced air, and springing upon
their horses galloped after their party. The hubbub within
the chamber did not cease, however, but rather increased, with
yells of: “A moi, mes amis! A moi, camarades! A moi,
Vhonorable champion de l’Evéque de Montaubon! A la re-
couse de l’église sainte!’” So shrill was the outcry that both
the innkeeper and Alleyne, with every varlet within hearing,
rushed wildly to the scene of the uproar.
It was indeed a singular scene which met their eyes. The
room was a long and lofty one, stone floored and bare, with a
fire at the further end upon which a great pot was boiling. A
deal table ran down the center, with a wooden wine-pitcher
upon it and two horn cups. Some way from it was a smaller
table with a single beaker and a broken wine-bottle. From
the heavy wooden rafters which formed the roof there hung
rows of hooks which held up sides of bacon, joints of smoked
beef, and strings of onions for winter use. In the very center
of all these, upon the largest hook of all, there hung a fat little
red-faced man with enormous whiskers, kicking madly in theTHE MARCHES OF FRANCE 289
air and clawing at rafters, hams, and all else that was within
hand-grasp. ‘The huge steel hook had been passed through
the collar of his leather jerkin, and there he hung like a fish on
a line, writhing, twisting, and screaming, but utterly unable
to free himself from his extraordinary position. It was not
until Alleyne and the landlord had mounted on the table
that they were able to lift him down, when he sank gasping
with rage into a seat, and rolled his eyes round in every
direction.
“Has he gone?” quoth he.
“one? OW hoe:
“He, the man with the red head, the giant man.”
Yes,’ said Alleyne, “he hathigone:”
“And comes not back?”
NO.”
“The better for him!’ cried the little man, with a long sigh
of relief. “Mon Dieu! What! am I not the champion of
the Bishop of Montaubon? Ah, could I have descended, could
I have come down, ere he fled! Then you would have seen.
You would have beheld a spectacle then. There would have
_ been one rascal the less upon earth. Ma, foi, yes!”
“Good master Pelligny,” said the landlord, “these gentle-
men have not gone very fast, and I have a horse in the stable
at your disposal, for I would rather have such bloody doings
as you threaten outside the four walls of mine auberge.”’
“T hurt my leg and cannot ride,’ quoth the bishop’s cham-
pion. “I strained a sinew on the day that I slew the three
men at Castelnau.”
“God save you, master Pelligny!” cried the landlord. ‘It
must be an awesome thing to have so much blood upon one’s
soul. And yet I do not wish to see so valiant a man mishandled,
and so I will, for friendship’s sake, ride after this Englishman
and bring him back to you.”
“Vou shall not stir,” cried the champion, seizing the inn-
keeper in a convulsive grasp. “I have a love for you, Gaston,
and I would not bring your house into ill repute, nor do such
scathe to these walls and chattels as must befall if two such
men as this Englishman and I fall to work here.”
“Nay, think not of me!’ cried the innkeeper. “What are —
my walls when set against the honer of Francois Poursuivant290 THE WHITE COMPANY
d'Amour Pelligny, champion of the Bishop of Montaubon.
My horse, André!”
“By the saints, no! Gaston, I will not have it! You have
said truly that it is an awesome thing to have such rough work
upon one’s soul. I am but a rude soldier, yet I have a mind.
Mon Dieu! I reflect, I weigh, I balance. Shall I not meet
this man again? Shall I not bear him in mind? Shall I not
know him by his great paws and his red head? Ma foi, yes!”
“And may I ask, sir,” said Alleyne, “why it is that you call
yourself champion of the Bishop of Montaubon ?”
“You may ask aught which it is becoming to me to answer.
The bishop hath need of a champion, because, if any cause
be set to test of combat, it would scarce become his office to
go down into the lists with leather and shield and cudgel to
exchange blows with any varlet. He looks around him then
for some tried fighting man, some honest smiter who can give
a blow or take one. It is not for me to say how far he hath
succeeded, but it is sooth that he who thinks that he hath but
to do with the Bishop of Montaubon, finds himself face to
face with Francois Poursuivant d’Amour Pelligny.”
At this moment there was a clatter of hoofs upon the road,
and a varlet by the door cried out that one of the Englishmen
was coming back. The champion looked wildly about for
some corner of safety, and was clambering up toward the
window, when Ford’s voice sounded from without, calling
upon Alleyne to hasten, or he might scarce find his way. Bid-
ding adieu to landlord and to champion, therefore, he set off
at a gallop, and soon overtook the two archers.
“A pretty thing this, John,” said he. “Thou wilt have holy
Church upon you if you hang her champions upon iron hooks
in an inn kitchen.”’
“It was done without thinking,” he answered apologetically,
while Aylward burst into a shout of laughter.
“By my hilt! mon petit,” said he, “you would have laughed
_ also could you have seen it. For this man was so swollen with
pride that he would neither drink with us, nor sit at the same
table with us, nor as much as answer a question, but must
needs talk to the varlet all the time that it was well there was
peace, and that he had slain more Englishmen than there were
tags to his doublet. Our good old John could scarce lay hisTHE MARCHES OF FRANCE 291
tongue to French enough to answer him, so he must needs
reach out his great hand to him and place him very gently
where you saw him. But we must on, for I can scarce hear
their hoofs upon the road.”
“I think that I can see them yet,’ said Ford, peering down
the moonlit road.
“Pardieu! yes. Now they ride forth from the shadow.
And yonder dark clump is the Castle of Villefranche. En
avant, camarades! or Sir Nigel may reach the gates before us.
But hark, mes amis, what sound is that?”
As he spoke the hoarse blast of a horn was heard from some
woods upon the right. An answering call rung forth upon
their left, and hard upon it two others from behind them.
“They are the horns of swineherds,’ quoth Aylward.
“Though why they blow them so late I cannot tell.”
“Let us on, then,” said Ford, and the whole party, setting
their spurs to their horses, soon found themselves at the Castle
of Villefranche, where the drawbridge had already been low-
ered and the portcullis raised in response to the summons of
Du Guesclin,CHAPTER AXLA
HOW THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT CAME TO THE LADY
TIPHAINE
Auvergne and Lord of Villefranche, was a fierce and re-
nowned soldier who had grown gray in the English
wars. As lord of the marches and guardian of an exposed
countryside, there was little rest for him even in times of so-
called peace, and his whole life was spent in raids and outfalls
upon the Brabanters, late-comers, flayers, free companions,
and roving archers who wandered over his province. At times
he would come back in triumph, and a dozen corpses swinging
from the summit of his keep would warn evildoers that there
was still a law in the land. At others his ventures were not so
happy, and he and his troop would spur it over the drawbridge
with clatter of hoofs hard at their heels and whistle of arrows
about their ears. Hard he was of hand and harder of heart,
hated by his foes, and yet not loved by those whom he pro-
tected, for twice he had been taken prisoner, and twice his
ransom had been wrung by dint of blows and tortures out of
the starving peasants and ruined farmers. Wolves or watch-
dogs, it was hard to say from which the sheep had most to
fear.
The Castle of Villefranche was harsh and stern as its mas-
ter. A broad moat, a high outer wall turreted at the corners,
with a great black keep towering above all—so it lay before
them in the moonlight. By the light of two flambeaux, pro-
truded through the narrow slit-shaped openings at either side
of the ponderous gate, they caught a glimpse of the glitter of
fierce eyes and of the gleam of the weapons of the guard.
The sight of the two-headed eagle of Du Guesclin, however,
was a passport into any fortalice in France, and ere they had
passed the gate the old border knight came running forward
292
Go TRISTRAM DE ROCHEFORT, Seneschal ofTHE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT 293
with hands out-thrown to greet his famous countryman. Nor
was he less glad to see Sir Nigel, when the Englishman’s er-
rand was explained to him, for these archers had been a sore
thorn in his side and had routed two expeditions which he
had sent against them. A happy day it would be for the
Seneschal of Auvergne when they should learn that the last
yew bow was over the marches.
The material for a feast was ever at hand in days when, if
there was grim want in the cottage, there was at least rude
plenty in the castle. Within an hour the guests were seated
around a board which creaked under the great pasties and
joints of meat, varied by those more dainty dishes in which
the French excelled, the spiced ortolan and the truffled becca-
ficoes. T’he Lady Rochefort, a bright and laughter-loving
dame, sat upon the left of her warlike spouse, with Lady
Tiphaine upon the right. Beneath sat Du Guesclin and Sir
Nigel, with Sir Amory Monticourt, of the order of the Hos-
pitalers, and Sir Otto Harnit, a wandering knight from the
kingdom of Bohemia. These with Alleyne and Ford, four
French squires, and the castle chaplain, made the company
who sat together that night and made good cheer in the Castle
of Villefranche. The great fire crackled in the grate, the
hooded hawks slept upon their perches, the rough deerhounds
with expectant eyes crouched upon the tiled floor; close at the
elbows of the guests stood the dapper little lilac-coated pages:
the laugh and jest circled round and all was harmony and
comfort. Little they recked of the brushwood men who
crouched in their rags along the fringe of the forest and
looked with wild and haggard eyes at the rich, warm glow
which shot a golden bar of light from the high arched win-
dows of the castle.
Supper over, the tables dormant were cleared away as by
magic and trestles and bancals arranged around the blazing
fire, for there was a bitter nip in the air. The Lady Tiphane
had sunk back in her cushioned chair, and her long dark
lashes drooped low over her sparkling eyes. Alleyne, glancing
at her, noted that her breath came quick and short, and that
her cheeks had blanched to a lily white. Du Guesclin eyed her
keenly from time to time, and passed his broad brown fingers294 THE WHITE COMPANY
through his crisp, curly black hair with the air of a man who
is perplexed in his mind.
‘These folk here,’’ said the knight of Bohemia, “they do not
seem too well fed.”
(Am canaillie! cried: the,.Lord of ., Villefranche. < “You
would scare credit it, and yet it is sooth that when I was taken
at Poictiers it was all that my wife and foster brother could
do to raise the money from them for my ransom. The sulky
dogs would rather have three twists of a rack, or the thumbi-
kins for an hour, than pay out a denier for their own feudal
father and liege lord. Yet there is not one of them but hath
an old stocking full of gold pieces hid away in a snug corner.’’
“Why do they not buy food then?” asked Sir Nigel. “By
St. Paul! it seemed to me their bones were breaking through
their skin.””
“it is their grutching and grumbling which make them thin.
We have a saying here, Sir Nigel, that if you pummel Jacques
Bonhomme he will pat you, but 1f you pat him he will pummel
you. Doubtless you find it so in England.”
“Ma foi, no!” said Sir Nigel. “I have two Englishmen of
this class in my train, who are at this instant, I make little
doubt, as full of your wine as any cask in your cellar. He
who pummeled them might come by such a pat as he would be
likely to remember.” F
"I cannot understand it,” quoth the seneschal, “for the Eng-
lish knights and nobles whom I have met were not men to
brook the insolence of the baseborn.”’ 7
‘“Perchance, my fair lord, the poor folk are sweeter and of
a better countenance in England,” laughed the Lady Roche-
fort. “Mon Dieu! you cannot conceive to yourself how ugly
they are! Without hair, without teeth, all twisted and bent;
for me, I cannot think how the good God ever came to make
such people. I cannot bear it, I, and so my trusty Raoul goes
ever before me with a cudgel to drive them from my path.”
“Yet they have souls, fair lady, they have souls!’ murmured
the chaplain, a white-haired man with a weary, patient face.
“So I have heard you tell them,” said the lord of the castle ;
“and for myself, father, though I am a true son of holy
Church, yet I think that you were better employed in saying
your mass and in teaching the children of my men at arms,
{THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT 295
than in going over the countryside to put ideas in these folks’
heads which would never have been there but for you. I
have heard that you have said to them that their souls are as
good as ours, and that it is likely that in another life they may
stand as high as the oldest blood of Auvergne. For my part,
I believe that there are so many worthy knights and gallant
gentlemen in heaven who know how such things should be ar-
ranged, that there is little fear that we shall find ourselves
mixed up with base roturiers and swineherds. Tell your
beads, father, and con your psalter, but do not come between
me and those whom the king has given to me!”
“God help them!” cried the old priest. “A higher King
than yours has given them to me, and I tell you here in your
own castle hall, Sir Tristram de Rochefort, that you have
sinned deeply in your dealings with these poor folk, and that
the hour will come, and may even now be at hand, when God’s
hand will be heavy upon you for what you have done.” He
rose as he spoke, and walked slowly from the room.
“Pest take him!” cried the French knight. “Now, what is
a man to do with a priest, Sir Bertrand?’—for one can neither
fight him like a man nor coax him like a woman.”’
“Ah, Sir Bertrand knows, the naughty one!”’ cried the Lady
Rochefort. ‘Have we not all heard how he went to Avignon
and squeezed fifty thousand crowns out of the Pope?”
“Ma foi!” said Sir Nigel, looking with a mixture of horror
and admiration at Du Guesclin. “Did not your heart sink
within you? Were you not smitten with fears? Have you
not felt a curse hang over you?”
“I have not observed it,” said the Frenchman carelessly.
“But, by Saint Ives! Tristram, this chaplain of yours seems to
me to be a worthy man, and you should give heed to his
words, for though I care nothing for the curse ofa bad
pope, it would be a grief to me to have aught but a blessing
from a good priest.”
“Hark to that, my fair lord,’ cried the Lady Rochefort.
“Take heed, I pray thee, for I do not wish to have a blight
cast over me, nor a palsy of the limbs. I remember that once
before you angered Father Stephen, and my tire-woman said
that I lost more hair in seven days than ever before in a
month.”296 THE WHITE COMPANY
“If that be sign of sin, then, by Saint Paul! I have much |
upon my soul,” said Sir Nigel, amid a general laugh. ‘‘But in
very truth, Sir Tristram, if I may venture a word of counsel,
I should advise that you make your peace with this good man.”’
‘He shall have four silver candlesticks,” said the seneschal
moodily. “And yet I would that he would leave the folk
alone. You cannot conceive in your mind how stubborn and
brainless they are. Mules and pigs are full of reason beside
them. God He knows that I have had great patience with
them. It was but last week that, having to raise some money,
I called up to the castle Jean Goubert, who, as all men know,
has a casketful of gold pieces hidden away in some hollow
tree. I give you my word that I did not so much as-lay a
stripe upon his fool’s back, but after speaking with him, and
telling him how needful the money was to me, I left him for
the night to think over the matter in my dungeon. What
think you that the dog did? Why, in the morning we found
that he had made a rope from strips of his leather jerkin, and
had hung himself to the bar of the window.”
“For me, I cannot conceive such wickedness!’ cried the
Lady.
“And there was Gertrude Le Beeuf, as fair a maiden as eye
could see, but as bad and bitter as the rest of them. When
young Amory de Valance was here last Lammastide he looked
kindly upon the girl, and even spoke of taking her into his
service. What does she do, with her dog of a father? Why,
they tie themselves together and leap into the Linden Pool,
where the water is five spears’ length deep. I give you my
word that it was a great grief to young Amory, and it was
days ere he could cast it from his mind. But how can one
serve people who are so foolish and so ungrateful?”
Whilst the Seneschal of Villefranche had been detailing the
evil doings of his tenants, Alleyne had been unable to take his
eyes from the face of Lady Tiphaine. She had lain back in
her chair, with drooping eyelids and bloodless face, so that he
had feared at first her journey had weighed heavily upon her,
and that the strength was ebbing out of her. Of a sudden,
however, there came a change, for a dash of bright color flick-
ered up on to either cheek, and her lids were slowly raised
again upon eyes which sparkled with such luster as Alleyne66
(OME HITHER, YOu :
, YOUNG ENGLISH SQUIRE WITH THE GREY Fygs ”
[See page 299]THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT 297
had never seen in human eyes before, while their gaze was
fixed intently, not on the company, but on the dark tapestry
which draped the wall. So transformed and so ethereal was
her expression, that Alleyne, in his loftiest dream of arch-
angel or of seraph, had never pictured so sweet, so womanly,
and yet so wise a face. Glancing at Du Guesclin, Alleyne saw
that he also was watching his wife closely, and from the
twitching of his features, and the beads upon his brick-colored
brow, it was easy to see that he was deeply agitated by the
change which he marked in her.
“How is it with you, lady?” he asked at last, in a trem-
ulous voice.
Her eyes remained fixed intently upon the wall, and there
was a long pause ere she answered him. Her voice, too, which
had been so clear and ringing, was now low and muffled as
that of one who speaks from a distance.
“All is very well with me, Bertrand,” said she. ‘The
blessed hour of sight has come round to me again.”
“T could see it come! I come see it come!’ he exclaimed,
passing his fingers through his hair with the same perplexed
expression as before.
“dT this 48 untoward, Sir Tristram,’ he said at last. (“Anda
scarce know in what words to make it clear to you, and to your
fair wife, and to Sir Nigel Loring, and to these other stranger
knights. My tongue is a blunt one, and fitter to shout word of
command than to clear up such a matter as this, of which I can
myself understand little. This, however, I know, that my wife
is come of a very sainted race, whom God hath in His wisdom
endowed with wondrous powers, so that Tiphaine Raquenel
was known throughout Brittany ere ever I first saw her at
Dinan. Yet these powers are ever used for good, and they
are the gift of God and not of the devil, which is the differ-
ence betwixt white magic and black.”
‘“‘Perchance it would be as well that we should send for
Father Stephen,” said Sir Tristram.
“It would be best that he should come,” cried the Hospitaler.
“And bring with him a flask of holy water,” added the
knight of Bohemia.
“Not so, gentlemen,’ answered Sir Betrand. “It is not
needful that this priest should be called, and it is in my mind298 THE WHITE COMPANY
that in asking for this ye cast some slight shadow or slur
upon the good name of my wife, as though it were still doubt-
ful whether her power came to her from above or below. If
ye have indeed such a doubt I pray that you will say so, that
‘we may discuss the matter in a fitting way.”
“For myself,” said Sir Nigel, “I have heard such words fall
from the lips of this lady that I am of the opinion that there
is nO woman, save only one, who can be in any way compared
to her in beauty and in goodness. Should any gentleman
think otherwise, I should deem it great honor to run a small
course with him, or debate the matter in whatever way might
be most pleasing to him.”
“Nay, it would ill become me to cast a slur upon a lady who
is both my guest and the wife of my comrade in arms,” said
the Seneschal of Villefranche. “I have perceived also that
on her mantle there is marked a silver cross, which is surely
sign enough that there is naught of evil in these strange
powers which you say that she possesses.”’
This argument of the seneschal’s appealed so powerfully to
the Bohemian and to the Hospitaler that they at once inti-
mated that their objections had been entirely overcome, while
even the Lady Rochefort, who had sat shivering and crossing
herself, ceased to cast glances at the door, and allowed her
fears to turn to curiosity.
“Among the gifts which have been vouchsafed to my wife,”
said Du Guesclin, “there is the wondrous one of seeing into
the future; but it comes very seldom upon her, and goes as
quickly, for none can command it. The blessed hour of sight,
as she hath named it, has come but twice since I have known
her, and I can vouch for it that all that she hath told me was
true, for on the evening of the Battle of Auray she said that
the morrow would be an ill day for me and for Charles of
Blois. Ere the sun had sunk again he was dead, and I the
prisoner of Sir John of Chandos. Yet it is not every question
that she can answer, but only those i
“Bertrand, Bertrand!” cried the lady in the same muttering
far-away voice, “the blessed hour passes. Use it, Bertrand,
while you may.”
“I will, my sweet. “T'ell me, then, what fortune comes upon
me?”THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT 299
“Danger, Bertrand—deadly, pressing danger—which creeps
upon you and you know it not.”
The French soldier burst into a thunderous laugh, and his
green eyes twinkled with amusement. “At what time dur-
ing these twenty years would not that have been a true word?”
he cried. ‘Danger is in the air that I breathe. But is this so
very close, Tiphaine ?”’
“Here—now—close upon you!” The words came out in
broken, strenuous speech, while the lady’s fair face was
writhed and drawn like that of one who looks upon a horror
which strikes the words from her lips. Du Guesclin gazed
round the tapestried room, at the screens, the tables, the abace,
the credence, the buffet with its silver salver, and the halt
circle of friendly, wondering faces. There was an utter still-
ness, save for the sharp breathing of the Lady Tiphaine and
for the gentle soughing of the wind outside, which waited to
their ears the distant cali upon a swineherd’s horn.
“The danger may bide,” said he, shrugging his broad shoul-
ders. “And now, Tiphaine, tell us what will come of this
war in Spain.”
“T can see little,’ she answered, straining her eyes and
puckering her brow, as one who would fain clear her sight.
“There are mountains, and dry plains, and flash of arms and
shouting of battle cries. Yet it is whispered to me that by
failure you will succeed.”
“Ha! Sir Nigel, how like you that?’ quoth Bertrand, shak-
ing his head. “It is like mead and vinegar, half sweet, half
sour. And is there no question which you would ask my
lady?”
“Certes there is. I would fain know, fair lady, how all
things are at Twynham Castle, and above all how my sweet
lady employs herself.”
“To answer this I would fain lay hand upon one whose
thoughts turn strongly to this castle which you have named.
Nay, my Lord Loring, it is whispered to me that there is an-
other here who hath thought more deeply of it than you.”
“Thought more of mine own home?” cried Sir Nigel.
“Lady, I fear that in this matter at least you are mistaken.”
"Not so, Sir Nigel. Come hither, young man, young Eng-
lish squire with the gray eves! Now give me your hand, and300 THE WHITE COMPANY
place it here across my brow, that I may see that which you
have seen. What is this that rises before me? Mist, mist,
rolling mist with a square black tower above it. See it shreds
out, it thins, it rises and there lies a castle in green plain, with
the sea beneath it, and a great church within a bowshot.
There are two rivers which run through the meadows, and be-
tween them lie the tents of the besiegers.”’
“The besiegers!” cried Alleyne, Ford, and Sir Nigel, all
three in a breath.
"Yes, truly, and they press hard upon the castle, for they
are an exceeding multitude and full of courage. See how they
storm and rage against the gate, while some rear ladders, and
others, line after line, sweep the walls with their arrows.
They are many leaders who shout and beckon, and one, a tall
man with a golden beard, who stands before the gate stamping
his foot and hallooing them on, as a pricker doth the hounds.
But those in the castle fight bravely. There is a woman, two
women, who stand upon the walls, and give heart to the men
at arms. hey shower down arrows, darts and great stones.
Ah! they have struck down the tall leader, and the others
give back. The mist thickens and I can see no more.”
“By Saint Paul!” said Sir Nigel, “I do not think that there
can be any such doings at Christchurch, and I am very easy of
the fortalice so long as my sweet wife hangs the key of the
outer bailey at the head of her bed. Yet I will not deny that
you have pictured the castle as well as I could have done my-
self, and I am full of wonderment at all that I have heard and
seen.’
_“T would, Lady Tiphaine,” cried the Lady Rochefort, “that
you would use your power to tell me what hath befallen my
golden bracelet which I wore when hawking upon the second
Sunday of Advent, and have never set eyes upon since.”
“Nay, nay,” said Du Guesclin, “it does not befit so ereat
and wondrous a power to pry and search and play the varlet
even to the beautiful chatelaine of Villefranche. Ask a worthy
question, and, with the blessing of God, you shall have a
worthy answer.” |
“Then I would fain ask,” cried one of the French squires,
“as to which may hope to conquer in these wars betwixt the
English and ourselves.’’THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT 301
“Both will conquer and each will hold its own,” answered
the Lady Tiphaine.
“Then we shall still hold Gascony and Guienne?” cried Sir
Nigel.
The lady shook her head. “French land, French blood,
French speech,’ she answered. “They are French, and France
shall have them.”’
“But not Bordeaux?” cried Sir Nigel excitedly.
“Bordeaux also is for France.”
“But Calais?”
“Calais, too.”
“Woe worth me then, and ill hail to these evil words! If
Bordeaux and Calais be gone, then what is left for England?”
“Tt seems indeed that there are evil times coming upon
your country,’ said Du Guesclin. ‘In our fondest hopes we
never thought to hold Bordeaux. By Saint Ives; this news
hath warmed the heart within me. Our dear country will
then be very great in the future, Tiphaine ?”’
“Great, and rich, and beautiful,’ she cried. ‘‘Far down the
course of time I can see her still leading the nations, a way-
ward queen among the peoples, great in war, but greater in
peace, quick in thought, deft in action, with her people’s will
for her sole monarch, from the sands of Calais to the blue seas
of the south.”
“Tal” cried Du Guesclin, with his eyes flashing in triumph,
“you hear her, Sir Nigel ?——and she never yet said word which
was not sooth.”
The English knight shook his head moodily. ‘What of
my own poor country?’ said he. “T fear, lady, that what you
have said bodes but small good for her.”
The lady sat with parted lips, and her breath came quick
and fast. “My God!” she cried, “what 1s this that is shown
me? Whence come they, these peoples, these lordly nations,
these mighty countries which rise up before me? I look be-
yond, and others rise, and yet others, far and farther to the
shores of the uttermost waters. They crowd! They swarm!
The world is given to them, and it resounds with the clang of
their hammers and the ringing of their church bells. They
call them many names, and they rule them this way or that,
but they are all English, for I can hear the voices of the people.302 THE WHITE COMPANY
On I go, and onward overseas where man hath never yet
sailed, and I see a great land under new stars and a stranger
sky, and still the land is England. Where have her children
not gone? What have they not done? Her banner is planted
on ice. Her banner is scorched in the sun. She lies athwart
the lands, and her shadow is over the seas. Bertrand, Ber-
trand! we are undone, for the buds of her bud are even as
our choicest flower!” Her voice rose into a wild cry, and
throwing up her arms she sank back white and nerveless into
the deep oaken chair.
“It is over,’ said Di Guesclin moodily, as he raised her
drooping head with his strong brown hand. ‘Wine for the
lady, squire! The blessed hour of sight hath passed.”CHAPTER XXX
HOW THE BRUSHWOOD MEN CAME TO THE CHATEAU OF
VILLEFRANCHE
T was late ere Alleyne Edricson, having carried Sir Nigel
| the goblet of spiced wine which it was his custom to drink
after the curling of his hair, was able at last to seek his
chamber. It was a stone-flagged room upon the second floor,
with a bed in a recess for him, and two smaller pallets on the
other side, on which Aylward and Hordle John were already
snoring. Alleyne had knelt down to his evening orisons, when
there came a tap at his door, and Ford entered with a small
lamp in his hand. His face was deadly pale, and his hand
shook until the shadows flickered up and down the wall.
“What is it, Ford?” cried Alleyne, springing to his feet.
“T can scarce tell you,” said he, sitting down on the side of
the couch, and resting his chin upon his hand. “I know not
what to say or what to think.”
“Has aught befallen you, then?’
“Ves, or I have been slave to my own fancy. I tell you,
lad, that I am all undone, like a fretted bowstring. Hark
hither, Alleyne! it cannot be that you have forgotten little Tita,
the daughter of the old glass-stainer at Bordeaux ?”’
“T remember her well.”’
“She and I, Alleyne, broke the lucky groat together ere we
parted, and she wears my ring upon her finger, ‘Caro mio,’
quoth she when last we parted, ‘I shall be near thee in the
wars, and thy danger will be my danger.’ Alleyne, as God is
my help, as I came up the stairs this night I saw her stand
before me, her face in tears, her hands out as though in warn-
ine—TI saw it, Alleyne, even as I see those two archers upon
their couches. Our very finger tips seemed to meet, ere she
thinned away like a mist in the sunshine.”’
“IT would not give overmuch thought to it,” answered
303304 THE WHITE COMPANY
Alleyne. “Our minds will play us strange pranks, and bethink
you that these words of the Lady Tiphaine du Guesclin have
wrought upon us and shaken us.”
Ford shook his head. “I saw little Tita as clearly as though
I were back at the Rue des Apotres at Bordeaux,” said he.
“But the hour is late, and I must go.”’
“Where do you sleep, then ?”
“In the chamber above you. May the saints be with us all!’
He rose from the couch and left the chamber, while Alleyne
could hear his feet sounding upon the winding stair. The
young squire walked across to the window and gazed out at
the moonlit landscape, his mind absorbed by the thought of
the Lady Tiphaine, and of the strange words that she had
spoken as to what was going forward at Castle Twynham.
Leaning his elbows upon the stonework, he was deeply plunged
in reverie, when in a moment his thoughts were brought back
to Villefranche and to the scene before him.
The window at which he stood was in the second floor of
that portion of the castle which was nearest to the keep. In
front lay the broad moat, with the moon lying upon its sur-
face, now clear and round, now drawn lengthwise as the breeze
stirred the waters. Beyond, the plain sloped down to a thick
wood, while further to the left a second wood shut out the
view. Between the two an open glade stretched, silvered in
the moonshine, with the river curving across the lower end of
it.
As he gazed, he saw of a sudden a man steal forth from the
wood into the open clearing. He walked with his head sunk,
his shoulders curved, and his knees bent, as one who strives
hard to remain unseen. Ten paces from the fringe of trees
he glanced around, and waving his hand he crouched down,
and was lost to sight among a belt of furze bushes. After
him there came a second man, and after him a third, a fourth,
and a fifth, stealing across the narrow open space and darting
into the shelter of the brushwood. Nine-and-seventy Alleyne
counted of these dark figures flitting across the line of the
moonlight. Many bore huge burdens upon their backs, though
what it was that they carried he could not tell at the distance.
Out of the one wood and into the other they passed all withCHATEAU OF VILLEFRANCHE _ 305
the same crouching, furtive gait, until the black bristle of
trees had swallowed up the last of them.
For a moment Alleyne stood in the window, still staring
down at the silent forest, uncertain as to what he should think
of these midnight walkers. Then he bethought him that there
was one beside him who was fitter to judge on such a matter.
His fingers had scarce rested upon Aylward’s shoulder ere the
bowman was on his feet, with his hand outstretched to his
sword.
“Qui va?” he cried. “Hola! mon petit. By my hilt! I
thought there had been a camisade. What then, mon gar.?”
“Come hither by the window, Aylward,” said Alleyne. “I
have seen four-score men pass from yonder shaw across the
glade, and nigh every man of them had a great burden on his
back. What think you of it?”
“I think nothing of it, mon camarade! There are as many
masterless folk in this country as there are rabbits on Cowdray
Down, and there are many who show their faces by night but
would dance in a hempen collar if they stirred forth in the
day. On all the French marches are droves of outcasts,
reivers, spoilers, and draw-latches, of whom I judge that these
are some, though I marvel that they should dare to come so
nigh to the castle of the seneschal. All seems very quiet
now,’ he added, peering out of the window.
They are in the further wood,” said Alleyne.
"And there they may bide. Back to rest, mon petit; for, by
my hilt! each day now will bring its own work. Yet it would
be well to shoot the bolt in yonder door when one is in strange
quarters. So!’ He threw himself down upon his pallet and
in an instant was fast asleep.
It might have been about three o’clock in the morning when
Alleyne was aroused from a troubled sleep by a low cry or ex-
clamation. He listened, but, as he heard no more, he set it
down to the challenge of the guard upon the walls, and
dropped off to sleep once more. A few minutes later he was
disturbed by a gentle creaking of his own door, as though
some one were pushing cautiously against it, and immediately
afterwards he heard the soft thud of cautious footsteps upon
the stair which led to the room above, followed by a confused
noise and a muffled groan. Allevne sat up on his couch with306 THE WHITE COMPANY
all his nerves in a tingle, uncertain whether these sounds might
come from a simple cause—some sick archer and visiting leech
perhaps—or whether they might have a more sinister mean-
ing. But what danger could threaten them here in this strong
castle, under the care of famous warriors, with high walls and
a broad moat around them? Who was there that could injure
them? He had well-nigh persuaded himself that his fears
were a foolish fancy, when his eyes fell upon that which sent
the blood cold to his heart and left him gasping, with hands
clutching at the counterpane.
Right in front of him was the broad window of the cham-
ber, with the moon shining brightly through it. For an in-
stant something had obscured the light, and now a head was
bobbing up and down outside, the face looking in at him, and
swinging slowly from one side of the window to the other.
Even in that dim light there could be no mistaking those
features. Drawn, distorted and bloodstained, they were still
those of the young fellow squire who had sat so recently upon
his own couch. With a cry of horror Alleyne sprang from
his bed and rushed to the casement, while the two archers,
aroused by the sound, seized their weapons and stared about
them in bewilderment. One glance was enough to show Edric-
son that his fears were but too true. Foully murdered, with
a score of wounds upon him and a rope round his neck, his
poor friend had been cast from the upper window and swung
slowly in the night wind, his body rasping against the wall
and his disfigured face upon a level with the casement.
“My God!” cried Alleyne, shaking in every limb. ‘What
has come upon us? What devil’s deed is this?”
“Here is flint and steel,” said John stolidly. “The lamp,
Aylward! ‘This moonshine softens a man’s heart. Now we
may use the eyes which God hath given us.”
“By my hilt!” cried Aylward, as the yellow flame flickered
up, “it is indeed young master Ford, and I think that this
seneschal is a black villain, who dare not face us in the day but
would murther us in our sleep. By the twang of string! if I
do not soak a goose’s feather with his heart’s blood, it will be
no fault of Samkin Aylward of the White Company.”
“But Aylward, think of the men whom I saw yesternight,”
said Alleyne. “It may not be the seneschal. It may be thatCHATEAU OF VILLEFRANCHE 307
others have come into the castle. I must to Sir Nigel ere it be
too late. Let me go, Aylward, for my place is by his side.”
“One moment, mon gar. Put that steel headpiece on the
end of my yew stave. So! I will put it first through the
door; for it is ill to come out when you can neither see nor
guard yourself. Now, camarades, out swords and stand
ready! Hola, by my hilt! it is time that we were stirring!”
As he spoke, a sudden shouting broke forth in the castle,
with the scream of a woman and the rush of many feet. Then
came the sharp clink of clashing steel, and a roar like that of
an angry lion—‘‘Notre Dame du Guesclin! St. Ives! St.
Ives!” The bowman pulled back the bolt of the door, and
thrust out the headpiece at the end of the bow. A clash, the
clatter of the steel cap upon the ground, and, ere the man who
struck could heave up for another blow, the archer had passed
his sword through his body. ‘On, camarades, on!’ he cried;
and, breaking fiercely past two men who threw themselves in
his way, he sped down the broad corridor in the direction of
the shouting.
A sharp turning, and then a second one, brought them to the
head of a short stair, from which they looked straight down
upon the scene of the uproar. A square oak-floored hall lay
beneath them, from which opened the doors of the principal
guest chambers. This hall was as light as day, for torches
burned in numerous sconces upon the walls, throwing strange
shadows from the tusked or antlered heads which ornamented
them. At the very foot of the stair, close to the open door
of their chamber, lay the seneschal and his wife: she with her
head shorn from her shoulders, he thrust through with a
sharpened stake, which still protruded from either side of his
body. Three servants of the castle lay dead beside them, all
torn and draggled, as though a pack of wolves had been upon
them. In front of the central guest chamber stood Du Gues-
clin and Sir Nigel, half clad and unarmed, with the mad joy
of battle gleaming in their eyes. Their heads were thrown
back, their lips compressed, their blood-stained swords poised
over their right shoulders, and their left feet thrown out.
Three dead men lay huddled together in front of them; while
a fourth, with the blood squirting from a severed vessel, lay
back with updrawn knees, breathing in wheezy gasps. Fur-308 THE WHITE COMPANY
ther back—all panting together, like the wind in a tree—there
stood a group of fierce, wild creatures, bare-armed and bare-
legged, gaunt, unshaven, with deep-set murderous eyes and
wild beast faces. With their flashing teeth, their bristling
hair, their mad leapings and screamings, they seemed to
Alleyne more like fiends from the pit than men of flesh and
blood. Even as he looked, they broke into a hoarse yell and
dashed once more upon the two knights, hurling themselves
madly upon their sword points; clutching, scrambling, biting,
tearing, careless of wounds if they could but drag the two sol-
diers to earth. Sir Nigel was thrown down by the sheer
weight of them, and Sir Bertrand with his thunderous war cry
was swinging round his heavy sword to clear a space for him
to rise, when the whistle of two long English arrows, and the
rush of the squire and the two English archers down the
stairs, turned the tide of the combat. The assailants gave
back, the knights rushed forward, and in a very few moments
the hall was cleared, and Hordle John had hurled the last of
the wild men down the steep steps which led from the end of it.
“Do not follow them,’’ cried Du Guesclin. ‘“‘We are lost if
we scatter. For myself I care not a denier, though it is a poor
thing to meet one’s end at the hands of such scum; but I have
my dear lady here, who must by no means be risked. We have
breathing space now, and I would ask you, Sir Nigel, what
it is that you would counsel?”
“By St. Paul!’ answered Sir Nigel, “I can by no means
understand what hath befallen us, save that I have been woken
up by your battle cry, and, rushing forth, found myself in the
midst of this small bickering. Harrow and alas for the lady
and the seneschal! What dogs are they who have done this
bloody deed ?”
“They are the Jacks, the men of the brushwood. They
have the castle, though I know not how it hath come to pass.
Look from this window into the bailey.”
“By heaven!” cried Sir Nigel, “it is as bright as day with
the torches. The gates stand open, and there are three thou-
sand of them within the walls. See how they rush and scream
and wave! What is it that they thrust out through the pos-
tern door? My God! it is a man at arms, and they pluck him
limb from limb, like hounds on a wolf. Now another, andCHATEAU OF VILLEFRANCHE _ 309
yet another. They hold the whole castle, for I see their faces
at the windows. See, there are some with great bundles on
their backs.”’ :
“It is dried wood from the forest. They pile them against
the walls and set them in a blaze. Who is this who tries to
check them? By St. Ives! it is the good priest who spake for
them in the hall. He kneels, he prays, he implores! What!
villains, would ye raise hands against those who have be-
friended you? Ah, the butcher has struck him! He is down!
They stamp him under their feet! They tear off his gown
and wave it in the air! See now, how the flames lick up the
walls! Are there none left to rally round us? With a hun-
dred men we might hold our own.” |
“Oh, for my Company!’ cried Sir Nigel. ‘‘But where is
Ford, Alleyne ’”’
“He is foully murdered, my fair lord.’
“The saints receive him! May he rest in peace! But here
come some at last who may give us counsel, for amid these
passages it is ill to stir without a guide.”
As he spoke, a French squire and the Bohemian knight came
rushing down the steps, the latter bleeding from a slash across
his forehead.
‘““All is lost!’ he cried. “The castle is taken and on fire,
the seneschal is slain, and there is naught left for us.”
“On the contrary,’ quoth Sir Nigel, “there is much left to
us, for there is a very honorable contention before us, and a
fair lady for whom to give our lives. There are many ways
in which a man might die, but none better than this.”
“Vou can tell us, Godfrey,” said Du Guesclin to the French
squire: ‘how came these men into the castle, and what suc-
cor can we count upon? By St. Ives! if we come not quickly
to some counsel we shall be burned like young rooks in a nest.”
The squire, a dark, slender stripling, spoke firmly and
quickly, as one who was trained to swift action. “There is a
passage under the earth into the castle,” said he, “and through
it some of the Jacks made their way, casting open the gates
for the others. They have had help from within the walls,
and the men at arms were heavy with wine: they must have
been slain in their beds, for these devils crept from room to
room with soft step and ready knife. Sir Amory the Hos-310 THE WHITE COMPANY
pitaler was struck down with an ax as he rushed before us
from his sleeping chamber. Save only ourselves, I do not
think that there are any left alive.”
“What, then, would you counsel?’
‘That we make for the keep. It is unused, save in time of
war, and the key hangs from my poor lord and master’s belt.”
_ “There are two keys there.”
“Tt is the larger. Once there, we might hold the narrow
stair; and at least, as the walls are of greater thickness, it
would be longer ere they could burn them. Could we but
carry the lady across the bailey, all might be well with us.”
“Nay; the lady hath seen something of the work of war,”
said Tiphaine, coming forth, as white, as grave, and as un-
moved as ever. “I would not be a hamper to you, my dear
spouse and gallant friend. Rest assured of this, that if all
else fail I have always a safeguard here’’—drawing a small
silver-hilted poniard from her bosom—‘“which sets me beyond
the fear of these vile and blood-stained wretches.”’
“Tiphaine,” cried Du Guesclin, “I have always loved you;
and now, by Our Lady of Rennes! I love you more than ever.
Did I not know that your hand will be as ready as your words,
I would myself turn my last blow upon you, ere you should
fall into their hands. Lead on, Godfrey! A new golden pyx
will shine in the minster of Dinan if we come safely through
with it.”
The attention of the insurgents had been drawn away from
murder to plunder, and all over the castle might be heard their
cries and whoops of delight as they dragged forth the rich
tapestries, the silver flagons, and the carved furniture. Down
in the courtyard half-clad wretches, their bare limbs all mottled
with bloodstains, strutted about with plumed helmets upon
their heads, or with the Lady Rochefort’s silken gowns girt
round their loins and trailing on the ground behind them.
Casks of choice wine had been rolled out from the cellars, and
starving peasants squatted, goblet in hand, draining off vin-
tages which De Rochefort had set aside for noble and royal
guests. Others, with slabs of bacon and joints of dried meat
upon the ends of their pikes, held them up to the blaze or tore
at them ravenously with their teeth. Yet all order had not
been lost amongst them, for some hundreds of the better armedCHATEAU OF VILLEFRANCHE 3811
stood together in a silent group, leaning upon their rude weap-
ons and looking up at the fire, which had spread so rapidly as
to involve one whole side of the castle. Already Alleyne could
hear the crackling and roaring of the flames, while the air
was heavy with heat and full of the pungent whiff of burning
wood,CHAPTER XXXI
HOW FIVE MEN HELD THE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE
, NDER the guidance of the French squire the party
passed down two narrow corridors. The first was
empty, but at the head of the second stood a peasant
sentry, who started off at the sight of them, yelling loudly to
his comrades. “Stop him, or we are undone!” cried Du
Guesclin, and had started to run, when Aylward’s great war
bow twangled like a harp string, and the man fell forward
upon his face, with twitching limbs and clutching fingers.
Within five paces of where he lay a narrow and little-used
door led out into the bailey. From beyond it came such a
babel of hooting and screaming, horrible oaths and yet more
horrible laughter, that the stoutest heart might have shrunk
from casting down the frail barrier which faced them.
Make straight for the keep!” said Du Guesclin, in a sharp,
stern whisper. “The two archers in front, the lady in the
center, a squire on either side, while we three knights shall
bide behind and beat back those who press upon us. So!
Now open the door, and God have us in his holy keeping!”
For a few moments it seemed that their object would be
attained without danger, so swift and so silent had been their
movements. They were halfway across the bailey ere the fran-
tic, howling peasants made a movement to stop them. The
few who threw themselves in their way were overpowered or
brushed aside, while the pursuers were beaten back by the
ready weapons of the three cavaliers. Unscathed they fought
their way to the door of the keep, and faced round upon the
swarming mob, while the squire thrust the great key into the
lock.
“My God!” he cried, “it is the wrong key.”
“The wrong key !”
“Dolt, fool that Iam! This is the key of the castle gate;
312THE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE 313
the other opens the keep. I must back for it!” He turned,
with some wild intention of retracing his steps, but at the in-
stant a great jagged rock, hurled by a brawny peasant, struck
him full upon the ear, and he dropped senseless to the ground.
“This is key enough for me!” quoth Hordle John, picking
up the huge stone, and hurling it against the door with all the
strength of his enormous body. The lock shivered, the wood
smashed, the stone flew into five pieces, but the iron clamps
still held the door in its position. Bending down, he thrust
his great fingers under it, and with a heave raised the whole
mass of wood and iron from its hinges. For a moment it
tottered and swayed, and then, falling outward, buried him
in its ruin, while his comrades rushed into the dark archway
which led to safety.
“Up the steps, Tiphaine!’” cried Du Guesclin. “Now round,
friends, and beat them back!” The mob of peasants had
surged in upon their heels, but the two trustiest blades in
Europe gleamed upon that narrow stair, and four of their
number dropped upon the threshold. The others gave back,
and gathered in a half circle round the open door, gnashing
their teeth and shaking their clenched hands at the defenders.
The body of the French squire had been dragged out by them
and hacked to pieces. Three or four others had pulled John
from under the door, when he suddenly bounded to his feet,
and clutching one in either hand dashed them together with
such force that they fell senseless across each other upon the
ground. With a kick and a blow he freed himself from two
others who clung to him, and in a moment he was within the
portal with his comrades.
Yet their position was a desperate one. The peasants from
far and near had been assembled for this deed of vengeance,
and not less than six thousand were within or around the walls
of the Chateau of Villefranche. Ill armed and half starved,
they were still desperate men, to whom danger had lost all
fears: for what was death that they should shun it to cling to
such a life as theirs? The castle was theirs, and the roaring
flames were spurting through the windows and flickering high
above the turrets on two sides of the quadrangle. From either
_ side they were sweeping down from room to room and from
bastion to bastion in the direction of the keep. Faced by an314 THE WHITE COMPANY
army, and girt in by fire, were six men and one woman; but
some of them were men so trained to danger and so wise in
war that even now the combat was less unequal than it seemed.
Courage and resource were penned in by desperation and num-
bers, while the great yellow sheets of flame threw their lurid
glare over the scene of death.
‘There is but space for two upon a step to give free play to
our sword arms,” said Du Guesclin. ‘“‘Do you stand with me,
Nigel, upon the lowest. France and England will fight to-
gether this night. Sir Otto, I pray you to stand behind us
with this young squire. The archers may go higher yet and
shoot over our heads. I would that we had our harness,
Nigel.”
“Often have I heard my dear Sir John Chandos say that a
knight should never, even when a guest, be parted from it.
Yet it will be more honor to us if we come well out of it.
We have a vantage, since we see them against the light and
they can scarce see us. It seems to me that they muster for
an onslaught.”
“Tf we can but keep them in play,” said the Bohemian, “‘it is
likely that these flames may bring us succor if there be any
true men in the country.”
“Bethink you, my fair lord,’ said Alleyne to Sir Nigel,
“that we have never injured these men, nor have we cause of
quarrel against them. Would it not be well, if but for the
lady’s sake, to speak them fair and see if we may not come to
honorable terms with them?”
“Not so, by St. Paul!’ cried Sir Nigel. “It does not ac-
cord with mine honor, nor shall it ever be said that I, a knight
of England, was ready to hold parley with men who have
slain a fair lady and a holy priest.”
“As well hold parley with a pack of ravening wolves,” said
the French captain. “Ha! Notre Dame du Guesclin! Saint
Ives! Saint Ives!”
As he thundered forth his war cry, the Jacks who had been
gathering before the black arch of the gateway rushed in
madly in a desperate effort to carry the staircase. Their lead-
ers were a small man, dark in the face, with his beard done up
in two plaits, and another larger man, very bowed in the shoul-
ders, with a huge club studded with sharp nails in his hand.THE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE 315
The first had not taken three steps ere an arrow from Ayl-
ward’s bow struck him full in the chest, and he fell coughing
and spluttering across the threshold. The other rushed on-
ward, and breaking between Du Guesclin and Sir Nigel he
dashed out the brains of the Bohemian with a single blow of
his clumsy weapon. With three swords through him he still
struggled on, and had almost won his way through them ere
he fell dead upon the stair. Close at his heels came a hun-
dred furious peasants, who flung themselves again and again
against the five swords which confronted them. It was cut
and parry and stab as quick as eye could see or hand act.
The door was piled with bodies, and the stone floor was slip-
pery with blood. The deep shout of Du Guesclin, the hard,
hissing breath of the pressing multitude, the clatter of steel,
the thud of falling bodies, and the screams of the stricken,
made up such a medley as came often in after years to break
upon Alleyne’s sleep. Slowly and sullenly at last the throng
drew off, with many a fierce backward glance, while eleven
of their number lay huddled in front of the stair which they
had failed to win.
“The dogs have had enough,” said Du Guesclin.
“By St. Paul! there appear to be some very worthy and
valiant persons among them,” observed Sir Nigel. ‘“‘They are
men from whom, had they been of better birth, much honor
and advancement might be gained. Even as it 1s, it is a great
pleasure to have seen them. But what is this that they are
bringing forward?”
“Tt is as I feared,” growled Du Guesclin. “They will burn
us out, since they cannot win their way past us. Shoot
straight and hard, archers; for, by St. Ives! our good swords
are of little use to us.”
As he spoke, a dozen men rushed forward, each screening
himself behind a huge fardel of brushwood. Hurling their
burdens in one vast heap within the portal, they threw burn-
ing torches upon the top of it. The wood had been soaked in
oil, for in an instant it was ablaze, and a long, hissing, yellow
flame licked over the heads of the defenders, and drove them
further up to the first floor of the keep. They had scarce
reached it, however, ere they found that the wooden joists and
planks of the flooring were already on fire. Dry and worm-316 — THE WHITE COMPANY
eaten, a spark upon them became a smolder, and a smolder a
blaze. A choking smoke filled the air, and the five could scarce
grope their way to the staircase which led up to the very sum-
mit of the square tower.
Strange was the scene which met their eyes from this emi-
nence. Beneath them on every side stretched the long sweep
of peaceful country, rolling plain, and tangled wood, all soft-
ened and mellowed in the silver moonshine. No light, nor
movement, nor any sign of human aid could be seen, but far
away the hoarse clangor of a heavy bell rose and fell upon the
wintry air. Beneath and around them blazed the huge fire,
roaring and crackling on every side of the bailey, and even as
they looked the two corner turrets fell in with a deafening
crash, and the whole castle was but a shapeless mass, spouting
flames and smoke from every window and embrasure. The
great black tower upon which they stood rose like a last island
of refuge amid this sea of fire; but the ominous crackling and
roaring below showed that it would not be long ere it was
engulfed also in the common ruin. At their very feet was
the square courtyard, crowded with the howling and dancing
peasants, their fierce faces upturned, their clenched hands
waving, all drunk with bloodshed and with vengeance. A
yell of execration and a scream of hideous laughter burst
from the vast throng, as they saw the faces of the last sur-
vivors of their enemies peering down at them from the height
of the keep. They still piled the brushwood round the base
of the tower, and gamboled hand in hand around the blaze,
screaming out the doggerel lines which had long been the
watchword of the Jacquerie:
Cessez, cessez, gens d’armes et piétons,
De piller et manger le bonhomme,
Qui de longtemps Jacques Bonhomme
Se nomme.
Their thin, shrill voices rose high above the roar of the
flames and the crash of the masonry, like the yelping of a pack
of wolves who see their quarry before them and know that
they have well-nigh run him down.
“By my hilt!” said Aylward to John, “it is in my mind that
we shall not see Spain this journey. It is a great joy to meTHE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE 317
that I have placed my feather bed and other things of price
with that worthy woman at Lyndhurst, who will now have the
use of them. I have thirteen arrows yet, and if one of them
fly unfleshed, then, by the twang of string! I shall deserve my
doom. First at him who flaunts with my lady’s silken frock.
Clap in the clout, by God! though a hand’s breadth lower than
I had meant. Now for the rogue with the head upon his pike.
Ha! to the inch, John. When my eye is true, I am better at
rovers than at long-butts or hoyles. A good shoot for you
also, John! The villain hath fallen forward into the fire. But
I pray you, John, to loose gently, and not to pluck with the
drawing hand, for it is a trick that hath marred many a fine
bowman.”’
Whilst the two archers were keeping up a brisk fire upon the
mob beneath them, Du Guesclin and his lady were conpUrE
with Sir Nigel upon their desperate. situation.
“*Tis a strange end for one who has seen so many stricken
fields,” said the French chieftain. “For me one death is as
another, but it is the thought of my sweet lady which goes to
my heart.”’
“Nay, Bertrand, I fear it as little as you,” said she. “‘Had
I my dearest wish, it would be that we should go together.”
“Well answered, fair lady!” cried Sir Nigel. “And very
sure I am that my own sweet wife would have said the same.
If the end be now come, I have had great good fortune in hav-
ing lived in times when so much glory was to be won, and in
knowing so many valiant gentlemen and knights. But why do
you pluck my sleeve, Alleyne?”
“Tf it please you, my fair lord, there are in this corner two
great tubes of iron, with many heavy balls, which may per-
chance be those bombards and shot of which I have heard.”
“By Saint Ives! it is true,’ cried Sir Bertrand, striding
across to the recess where the ungainly, funnel-shaped, thick-
ribbed engines were standing. ‘“‘Bombards they are, and of
good size. We may shoot down upon them.”
“Shoot with them, quotha?’” cried Aylward in high disdain,
for pressing danger is the great leveler of classes. ‘How is a
man to take aim with these fool’s toys, and how can he hope to
_ do scathe with them?”
“T will show you,’ answered Sir Nigel; “for here is the318 THE WHITE COMPANY
great box of powder, and if you will raise it for me, John, I
will show you how it may be used. Come hither, where the
folk are thickest round the fire. Now, Aylward, crane thy
neck and see what would have been deemed an old wife’s tale
when we first turned our faces to the wars. Throw back the
lid, John, and drop the box into the fire!”
A deafening roar, a fluff of bluish light, and the great
square tower rocked and trembled from its very foundations,
swaying this way and that like a reed in the wind. Amazed
and dizzy, the defenders, clutching at the crackling parapets
for support, saw great stones, burning beams of wood, and
mangled bodies hurtling past them through the air. When
they staggered to their feet once more, the whole keep had
settled down upon one side, so that they could scarce keep
their footing upon the sloping platform. Gazing over the
edge, they looked down upon the horrible destruction which
had been caused by the explosion. For forty yards round the
portal the ground was black with writhing, screaming figures,
who struggled up and hurled themselves down again, tossing
this way and that, sightless, scorched, with fire bursting from
their tattered clothing. Beyond this circle of death their com-
rades, bewildered and amazed, cowered away from this black
tower and from these invincible men, who were most to be
dreaded when hope was furthest from their hearts.
“A sally, Du Guesclin, a sally!’ cried Sir N igel. “By Saint
Paul! they are in two minds, and a bold rush may turn them.”
He drew his sword as he spoke and darted down the winding
stairs, closely followed by his four comrades. Ere he was at
the first floor, however, he threw up his arms and stopped.
“Mon Dieu!’ he said, “we are lost men!’
“What then?” cried those behind him.
“The wall hath fallen in, the stair is blocked, and the fire
still rages below. By Saint Paul! friends, we have fought a
very honorable fight, and may say in all humbleness that we
have done our devoir, but I think that we may now go back
to the Lady Tiphaine and say our orisons, for we have played
our parts in this world, and it is time that we made ready for
another.”’
The narrow pass was blocked by huge stones littered in wild
confusion over each other, with the blue choking smoke reek-THE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE 319
ing up through the crevices. The explosion had blown in the
wall and cut off the only path by which they could descend.
Pent in, a hundred feet from earth, with a furnace raging un-
der them and a ravening multitude all round who thirsted for
their blood, it seemed indeed as though no men had ever come
through such peril with their lives. Slowly they made their
way back to the summit, but as they came out upon it the Lady
Tiphaine darted forward and caught her husband by the wrist.
“Bertrand,” said she, ‘hush and listen! I have heard the
voices of men all singing together in a strange tongue.”’
Breathless they stood and silent, but no sound came up to
them, save the roar of the flames and the clamor of their
enemies.
“Tt cannot be, lady,” said Du Guesclin. “This night hath
overwrought you, and your senses play you false. What men
are there in this country who would sing in a strange tongue ?”’
“Hola!” yelled Aylward, leaping suddenly into the air with
waving hands and joyous face. “I thought I heard it ere we
went down, and now I hear it again. We are saved, com-
rades! By these ten finger bones, we are saved! It is the
marching song of the White Company. Hush!’
With upraised forefinger and slanting head, he stood listen-
ing. Suddenly there came swelling up a deep-voiced, rol-
licking chorus from somewhere out of the darkness. Never
did choice or dainty ditty of Provence or Languedoc sound
‘more sweetly in the ears than did the rough-tongued Saxon
to the six who strained their ears from the blazing keep:
We'll drink all together
To the gray goose feather
And the land where the gray goose flew.
“Ha, by my hilt!’ shouted Aylward, “it is the dear old bow
song of the Company. Here come two hundred as tight lads
as ever twirled a shaft over their thumb nails. Hark to the
dogs, how lustily they sing!”
Nearer and clearer, swelling up out of the night, came the
gay marching lilt:
What of the bow?
The bow was made in England.
Of true wood, of yew wood,320 THE WHITE COMPANY
The wood of English bows;
For men who are free
Love the old yew tree
And the land where the yew tree grows.
What of the men?
The men were bred in England,
The bowmen, the yeomen,
The lads of the dale and fell,
Here’s to you and to you,
To the hearts that are true,
And the land where the true hearts dwell.
"They sing very joyfully,” said Du Guesclin, “as though
they were going to a festival.”
“It is their wont when there is work to be done.”
“By Saint Paul!” quoth Sir Nigel, “it is in my mind that
they come too late, for I cannot see how we are to come down
from this tower.”
“There they come, the hearts of gold!” cried Aylward.
“See, they move out from the shadow. Now they cross the
meadow. ‘They are on the further side of the moat. Hola,
camarades, hola! Johnston, Eccles, Cooke, Harward, Bligh!
Would ye see a fair lady and two gallant knights done foully
to death?”
“Who is there?” shouted a deep voice from below. “Who
is this who speaks with an English tongue?”
“It is I, old lad. It is Sam Aylward of the Company ; and
here is your captain, Sir Nigel Loring, and four others, all
laid out to be grilled like an Easterling’s herrings.”
“Curse me if I did not think that it was the style of speech
of old Samkin Aylward,” said the voice, amid a buzz from
the ranks. “Wherever there are knocks going there is
Sammy in the heart of it. But who are these ill-faced rogues
who block the path? To your kennels, canaille! What! you
dare look us in the eyes? Out swords, lads, and give them
the flat of them! Waste not your shafts upon such runagate
knaves.”’
There was little fight left in the peasants, however, still
dazed by the explosion, amazed at their own losses and dis-
heartened by the arrival of the disciplined archers. In a very
few minutes they were in full flight for their brushwoodTHE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE 321
homes, leaving the morning sun to rise upon a blackened and
blood-stained ruin, where it had left the night before the mag-
nificent castle of the Seneschal of Auvergne. Already the
white lines in the east were deepening into pink as the archers
gathered round the keep and took counsel how to rescue the
survivors.
“Had we a rope,” said Alleyne, “there is one side which is
not yet on fire, down which we might slip.”
“But how to get a rope?”
“Tt is an old trick,” quoth Aylward. “Hola! Johnston, cast
me up a rope, even as you did at Maupertius in the war time.”
The grizzled archer thus addressed took several lengths of
rope from his comrades, and knotting them firmly together, he
stretched them out in the long shadow which the rising sun
threw from the frowning keep. Then he fixed the yew stave
of his bow upon end and measured the long, thin, black line
which it threw upon the turf.
“A six-foot stave throws a twelve-foot shadow,” he mut-
tered. “The keep throws a shadow of sixty paces. Thirty
paces of rope will be enow and to spare. Another strand,
Watkin! Now pull at the end that all may be safe. So! It
is ready for them.”
“But how are they to reach it?’ asked the young archer
beside him.
“Watch and see, young fool’s head,” growled the old bow-
man. He took a long string from his pouch and fastened one
end to an arrow.
“All right, Samkin?”
“Ready, camarade.”’
“Close to your hand then.” With an easy pull he sent the
shaft flickering gently up, falling upon the stonework within
a foot of where Aylward was standing. The other end was
secured to the rope, so that in a minute a good strong cord
was dangling from the only sound side of the blazing and
shattered tower. The Lady Tiphaine was lowered with a
noose drawn fast under the arms, and the other five slid
swiftly down, amid the cheers and joyous outcry of their
rescuers.CHAPTER XXXII
HOW THE COMPANY TOOK COUNSEL ROUND THE FALLEN TREE
HERE is Sir Claude Latour?” asked Sir Nigel, as
his feet touched ground.
“He is in camp, near Montpezat, two hours’ march
from here, my fair lord,” said Johnston, the grizzled bow-
man who commanded the archers.
“Then we shall march thither, for I would fain have you
all back at Dax in time to be in the prince’s vanguard.”
“My lord,” cried Alleyne, joyfully, “here are our chargers
in the field, and I see your harness amid the plunder which
these rogues have left behind them.”’
“By Saint Ives! you speak sooth, young squire,’ said Du
Guesclin. ‘“There is my horse and my lady’s jennet. The
knaves led them from the stables, but fled without them.
Now, Nigel, it is great joy to me to have seen one of whom I
have often heard. Yet we must leave you now, for I must
be with the King of Spain ere your army crosses the moun-
tains.”
“T had thought that you were in Spain with the valiant
Henry of Trastamare.”
“T have been there, but I came to France to raise succor for
him. I shall ride back, Nigel, with four thousand of the best
lances of France at my back, so that your prince may find he
hath a task which is worthy of him. God be with you, friend,
and may we meet again in better times!”
“T do not think,” said Sir Nigel, as he stood by Alleyne’s
side looking after the French knight and his lady, “‘that in all
Christendom you will meet with a more stout-hearted man or
a fairer and sweeter dame. But your face is pale and sad,
oe Have you perchance met with some hurt during the
ruffle P”’
‘Nay, my fair lord, I was but thinking of my friend Ford,
322ROUND THE FALLEN TREE 323
and how he sat upon my couch no later than yesternight.”’
sir Nigel shook his head sadly. “Two brave squires have I
lost,” said he. “I know not why the young shoots should be
plucked, and an old weed left standing, yet certes there must
be some good reason, since God hath so planned it. Did
you not note, Alleyne, that the Lady Tiphaine did give us
warning last night that danger was coming upon us?’
“She did, my lord.”
“By Saint Paul! my mind misgives me as to what she saw
at Twynham Castle. And yet I cannot think that any Scot-
tish or French rovers could land in such force as to beleaguer
the fortalice. Call the Company together, Aylward; and let
us on, for it will be shame to us if we are not at Dax upon
the trysting day.” |
The archers had spread themselves over the ruins, but a
blast upon a bugle brought them all back to muster, with such
booty as they could bear with them stuffed into their pouches
or slung over their shoulders. As they formed into ranks,
each man dropping silently into his place, Sir Nigel ran a
questioning eye over them, and a smile of pleasure played over
his face. Tall and sinewy, and brown, clear-eyed, hard-
featured, with the stern and prompt bearing of experienced
soldiers, it would be hard indeed for a leader to seek for a
choicer following. Here and there in the ranks were old sol-
diers of the French wars, grizzled and lean, with fierce, puck-
ered features and shaggy, bristling brows. The most, how-
ever, were young and dandy archers, with fresh English faces,
their beards combed out, their hair curling from under their
close steel hufkens, with gold or jeweled earrings gleaming
in their ears, while their gold-spangled baldrics, their silken
belts, and the chains which many of them wore round their
thick brown necks, all spoke of the brave times which they had
had as free companions. Each had a yew or hazel stave slung
over his shoulder, plain and serviceable with the older men,
but gaudily painted and carved at either end with the others.
Steel caps, mail brigandines, white surcoats with the red lion
of St. George, and sword or battle-ax swinging from their
belts, completed this equipment, while in some cases the mur-
_ derous maul or five-foot mallet was hung across the bowstave,
being fastened to their leathern shoulder belt by a hook in the324 THE WHITE COMPANY
center of the handle. Sir Nigel’s heart beat high as he looked ©
upon their free bearing and fearless faces.
For two hours they marched through forest and marshland,
along the left bank of the river Aveyron; Sir Nigel riding be-
hind his Company, with Alleyne at his right hand, and John-
ston, the old master bowman, walking by his left stirrup. Ere
they had reached their journey’s end the knight had learned
all that he would know of his men, their doings and their in-
tentions. Once, as they marched, they saw upon the further
bank of the river a body of French men at arms, riding very
swiftly in the direction of Villefranche.
“Tt is the Seneschal of Toulouse, with his following,” said
Johnston, shading his eyes with his hand. ‘Had he been on
this side of the water he might have attempted something
upon us.”’
“T think that it would be well that we should cross,” said
Sir Nigel. ‘It were pity to balk this worthy seneschal, should
he desire to try some small feat of arms.” |
‘Nay, there is no ford nearer than Tourville,” answered the
old archer. ‘‘He is on his way to Villefranche, and short will
be the shrift of any Jacks who come into his hands, for he is a
man of short speech. It was he and the Seneschal of Beau-
cair who hung Peter Wilkins, of the Company, last Lammas-
tide; for which, by the black rood of Waltham! they shall
hang themselves, if ever they come into our power. But here
are our comrades, Sir Nigel, and here is our camp.”
As he spoke, the forest pathway along which they marched
opened out into a green glade, which sloped down toward the
river. High, leafless trees girt it in on three sides, with a thick
undergrowth of holly between their trunks. At the farther
end of this forest clearing there stood forty or fifty huts, built
very neatly from wood and clay, with the blue smoke curling
out from the roofs. A dozen tethered horses and mules
grazed around the encampment, while a number of archers
lounged about: some shooting at marks, while others built up
great wooden fires in the open, and hung their cooking kettles
above them. At the sight of their returning comrades there
was a shout of welcome, and a horseman, who had been exer-
cising his charger behind the camp, came cantering down to
them. He was a dapper, brisk man, very richly clad, with a
3ROUND THE FALLEN TREE 325
round, clean-shaven face, and very bright black eyes, which
danced and sparkled with excitement.
“Sir Nigel!’ he cried. “Sir Nigel Loring, at last! By my
soul! we have awaited you this month past. Right welcome,
Sir Nigel! You have had my letter?”
“Tt was that which brought me here,” said Sir Nigel. ‘“‘But
indeed, Sir Claude Latour, it is a great wonder to me that you
did not yourself lead these bowmen, for surely they could have
found no better leader ?”
“None, none, by the Virgin of L’Esparre!” he cried, speak-
ing in the strange, thick Gascon speech which turns every v into
a b. “But you know what these islanders of yours are, Sir
Nigel. They will not be led by any save their own blood and
race. There is no persuading them. Not even I, Claude
Latour, Seigneur of Montchateau, master of the high justice,
the middle and the low, could gain their favor. They must
needs hold a council and put their two hundred thick heads to-
gether, and then there comes this fellow Aylward and another,
as their spokesmen, to say that they will disband unless an
Englishman of good name be set over them. There are many
of them, as I understand, who come from some great forest
which lies in Hampi or Hampti—I cannot lay my tongue to
the name. Your dwelling is in those parts, and so their
thoughts turned to you as their leader. But we had hoped
that you would bring a hundred men with you.”
“They are already at Dax, where we shall join them,” said
Sir Nigel. “But let the men break their fast, and we shall then
take counsel what to do.”
“Come into my hut,” said Sir Claude. “It is but poor fare
that I can lay before you—milk, cheese, wine, and bacon—
yet your squire and yourself will doubtless excuse it. This is
my house where the pennon flies before the door—a small
residence to contain the Lord of Montchateau.”
Sir Nigel sat silent and distrait at his meal, while Alleyne
hearkened to the clattering tongue of the Gascon, and to his
talk of the glories of his own estate, his successes in love, and
his triumphs in war.
“And now that you are here, Sir Nigel,” he said at last, “I
have many fine ventures all ready for us. I have heard that
Montpezat is of no great strength, and that there are two hun-
’326 THE WHITE COMPANY
dred thousand crowns in the castle. At Castelnau also there
is a cobbler who is in my pay, and who will throw us a rope
any dark night from his house by the town wall. I promise
you that you shall thrust your arms elbow-deep among good
silver pieces ere the nights are moonless again; for on every
hand of us are fair women, rich wine, and good plunder, as
much as heart could wish.”
“I have other plans,’’ answered Sir Nigel curtly; “for I
have come hither to lead these bowmen to the help of the
prince, our master, who may have sore need of them ere he
set Pedro upon the throne of Spain. It 1s my purpose to start
this very day for Dax upon the Adour, where he hath now
pitched his camp.”
The face of the Gascon darkened, and his eyes flashed with
resentment. “For me,’ he said, “I care little for this war,
and I find the life which I lead a very joyous and pleasant
one. I will not go to Dax.”
“Nay, think again, Sir Claude,” said Sir Nigel gently; ‘for
you have ever had the name of a true and loyal knight. Surely
you will not hold back now when your master hath need of
you.”
“T will not go to Dax,” the other shouted.
“But your devoir—your oath of fealty?”
“T say that I will not go.”
“Then, Sir Claude, I must lead the Company without you.”
“Tf they will follow,” cried the Gascon with a sneer.
“These are not hired slaves, but free companions, who will do
nothing save by their own good wills. In very sooth, my Lord
Loring, they are ill men to trifle with, and it were easier to
pluck a bone from a hungry bear than to lead a bowman out
of a land of plenty and of pleasure.” )
“Then I pray you to gather them together,” said Sir Nigel,
“and I will tell them what is in my mind; for if I am their
leader they must to Dax, and 1f I am not then I know not what
I am doing in Auvergne. Have my horse ready, Alleyne;
for, by St. Paul! come what may, I must be upon the home-
ward road ere midday.” ,
A blast upon the bugle summoned the bowmen to counsel,
and they gathered in little knots and groups around a great
fallen tree which lay athwart the glade. Sir Nigel sprangROUND THE FALLEN TREE 327
lightly upon the trunk, and stood with blinking eye and firm
lips looking down at the ring of upturned warlike faces.
“They tell me, bowmen,” said he, “that ye have grown so
fond of ease and plunder and high living that ye are not to be
moved from this pleasant country. But, by Saint Paul! I will
believe no such thing of you, for I can readily see that you are
all very valiant men, who would scorn to live here in peace
when your prince hath so great a venture before him. Ye
have chosen me as a leader, and a leader I will be if ye come
with me to Spain; and I vow to you that my pennon of the
five roses shall, if God give me the strength and life, be
ever where there is most honor to be gained. But if it be
your wish to loll and loiter in these glades, bartering glory
and renown for vile gold and ill-gotten riches, then ye must
find another leader; for I have lived in honor, and in honor
I trust that I shall die. If there be forest men or Hampshire
men amongst ye, I call upon them to say whether they will
follow the banner of Loring.”’
‘““Here’s a Romsey man for you!” cried a young bowman
with a sprig of evergreen set in his helmet.
“And a lad from Alresford!” shouted another. |
“And from Milton!”
‘And trom Burley!’
“And from Lymington!’
“And a little one from Brockenhurst!’ shouted a huge-
limbed fellow who sprawled beneath a tree.
“By my hilt! lads,” cried Aylward, jumping upon the fallen
trunk, “I think that we could not look the girls in the eyes if
we let the prince cross the mountains and did not pull string
to clear a path for him. It is very well in time of peace to
lead such a life as we have had together, but now the war ban-
ner is in the wind once more, and, by these ten finger bones! if
he go alone, old Samkin Aylward will walk beside it.”
These words from a man as popular as Aylward decided
many of the waverers, and a shout of approval burst from his
audience.
“Far be it from me,” said Sir Claude Latour suavely, ‘‘to
‘persuade you against this worthy archer, or against Sir Nigel
Loring; yet we have been together in many ventures, and per-
3328 THE WHITE COMPANY
chance it may not be amiss if I say to you what I think upon
the matter.”’
‘“‘Peace for the little Gascon!’ cried the archers. “Let every
man have his word. Shoot straight for the mark, lad, and
fair play for all.”
“Bethink you, then,’ said Sir Claude, “that you go under a
hard rule, with neither freedom nor pleasure—and for what?
For sixpence a day, at the most; while now you may walk
across the country and stretch out either hand to gather in
whatever you have a mind for. What do we not hear of our
comrades who have gone with Sir John Hawkwood to Italy?
In one night they have held to ransom six hundred of the
richest noblemen of Mantua. They camp before a great city,
and the base burghers come forth with the keys, and then they
make great spoil; or, if it please them better, they take so
many horseloads of silver as a composition; and so they jour-
ney on from state to state, rich and free and feared by all.
Now, is not that the proper life for a soldier?”
“The proper life for a robber!” roared Hordle John, in his
thundering voice.
“And yet there is much in what the Gascon says,” said a
swarthy fellow in a weather-stained doublet; ‘and I for one
would rather prosper in Italy than starve in Spain.”
“You were always a cur and a traitor, Mark Shaw,” cried
Aylward. “By my hilt! if you will stand forth and draw your
sword I will warrant you that you will see neither one nor the
other.”’
“Nay, Aylward,” said Sir Nigel, “we cannot mend the mat-
ter by broiling. Sir Claude, I think that what you have said
does you little honor, and 1f my words aggrieve you I am ever
ready to go deeper into the matter with you. But you shall
have such men as will follow you, and you may go where you
will, so that you come not with us. Let all who love their
prince and country stand fast, while those who think more of
a well-lined purse step forth upon the farther side.”
Thirteen bowmen, with hung heads and sheepish faces,
stepped forward with Mark Shaw and ranged themselves be-
hind Sir Claude. Amid the hootings and hissings of their
comrades, they marched off together to the Gascon’s hut, while
the main body broke up their meeting and set cheerily to work
dROUND THE FALLEN TREE 329
packing their possessions, furbishing their weapons, and pre-
paring for the march which lay before them. Over the Tarn
and the Garonne, through the vast quagmires of Armagnac,
past the swift-flowing Losse, and so down the long valley of
the Adour, there was many a long league to be crossed ere
they could join themselves t¢ that dark war cloud which was
drifting slowly southward to the line of the snowy peaks, be-
yond which the banner of England had never yet been seen.CHAPTER XXXIII
HOW THE ARMY MADE THE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES
r NHE whole vast plain of Gascony and of Longuedoc
is an arid and profitless expanse in winter save where
the swift-flowing Adour and her snow-fed tributaries,
the Louts, the Oloron and the Pau, run down to the sea of
Biscay. South of the Adour the jagged line of mountains
which fringe the sky line send out long granite claws, running
down into the lowlands and dividing them into “gaves” or
stretches of valley. Hillocks grow into hills, and hills into
mountains, each range overlying its neighbor, until they soar
up in the giant chain which raises its spotless and untrodden
peaks, white and dazzling, against the pale blue wintry sky.
A quiet land is this—a land where the slow-moving Basque,
with his flat biretta cap, his red sash and his hempen sandals,
tills his scanty farm or drives his lean flock to their hillside
pastures. It is the country of the wolf and the isard, of the
brown bear and the mountain goat, a land of bare rock and
of rushing water. Yet here it was that the will of a great
prince had now assembled a gallant army; so that from the
Adour to the passes of Navarre the barren valleys and wind-
swept wastes were populous with soldiers and loud with the
shouting of orders and the neighing of horses. For the ban-
ners of war had been flung to the wind once more, and over
those glistening peaks was the highway along which Honor
pointed in an age when men had chosen her as their guide.
And now all was ready for the enterprise. From Dax to
St. Jean Pied-du-Port the country was mottled with the white
tents of Gascons, Aquitanians and English, all eager for the
advance. From all sides the free companions had trooped in,
until not less than twelve thousand of these veteran troops
were cantoned along the frontiers of Navarre. From Eng-
land had arrived the prince’s brother, the Duke of Lancaster,
330THE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES 331
with four hundred knights in his train and a strong company
of archers. Above all, an heir to the throne had been
born in Bordeaux, and the prince might leave his spouse with
an easy mind, for all was well with mother and with child.
‘The keys of the mountain passes still lay in the hands of the
shifty and ignoble Charles of Navarre, who had chaffered and
bargained both with the English and with the Spanish, taking
money from the one side to hold them open and from the other
to keep them sealed. The mallet hand of Edward, however,
had shattered all the schemes and wiles of the plotter. Neither
entreaty nor courtly remonstrances came from the English
prince; but Sir Hugh Calverley passed silently over the border
with his company, and the blazing walls of the two cities of
Miranda and Puenta della Reyna warned the unfaithful mon-
arch that there were other metals besides gold, and that he
was dealing with a man to whom it was unsafe to lie. His
price was paid, his objections silenced, and the mountain
gorges lay open to the invaders. From the Feast of the
Epiphany there was mustering and massing, until, in the first
week of February—three days after the White Company
joined the army—the word was given for a general advance
through the defile of Roncesvalles. At five in the cold win-
ter’s morning the bugles were blowing in the hamlet of St.
Jean Pied-du-Port, and by six Sir Nigel’s Company, three
hundred strong, were on their way for the defile, pushing
swiftly in the dim light up the steep curving road; for it was
the prince’s order that they should be the first to pass through,
and that they should remain on guard at the further end until
the whole army had emerged from the mountains. Day was
already breaking in the east, and the summits of the great
peaks had turned rosy red, while the valleys still lay in the
shadow, when they found themselves with the cliffs on either
hand and the long, rugged pass stretching away before them.
Sir Nigel rode his great black war horse at the head of his
archers, dressed in full armor, with Black Simon bearing his
banner behind him, while Alleyne at his bridle arm carried his
blazoned shield and his well-steeled ashen spear. A proud and
happy man was the knight, and many a time he turned in his
-saddle to look at the long column of bowmen who swung
swiftly along behind him.332 THE WHITE COMPANY
“By Saint Paul! Alleyne,” said he, “this pass is a very
perilous place, and I would that the King of Navarre had held
it against us, for it would have been a very honorable venture
had it fallen to us to win a passage. I have heard the min-
strels sing of one Sir Roland who was slain by the infidels in
these very parts.”’
“If it please you, my fair lord,” said Black Simon, “I know
something of these parts, for I have twice served a term with
the King of Navarre. ‘There is a hospice of monks yonder,
where you may see the roof among the trees, and there it was
that Sir Roland was slain. The village upon the left is Orbai-
ceta, and I know a house therein where the right wine of
Jurangon is to be bought, if it would please you to quaff a
morning cup.”
“There is smoke yonder upon the right.”
“That is a village named Les Aldudes, and I know a hostel
there also where the wine is of the best. It is said that the
innkeeper hath a buried treasure, and I doubt not, my fair
lord, that if you grant me leave I could prevail upon him to
tell us where he hath hid it.”’
“Nay, nay, Simon,” said Sir Nigel curtly, “I pray you to
forget these free companion tricks. Ha! Edricson, I see that
you stare about you, and in good sooth these mountains must
seem wondrous indeed to one who hath but seen Butser or the
Portsdown hill.”
The broken and rugged road had wound along the crests of
low hills, with wooded ridges on either side of it over which
peeped the loftier mountains, the distant Peak of the South
and the vast Altabisca, which towered high above them and
cast its black shadow from left to right across the valley.
From where they now stood they could look forward down a
long vista of beech woods and jagged rock-strewn wilderness,
all white with snow, to where the pass opened out upon the
uplands beyond. Behind them they could still catch a glimpse
of the gray plains of Gascony, and could see her rivers gleam-
ing like coils of silver in the sunshine. As far as eye could
see from among the rocky gorges and the bristles of the pine
woods there came the quick twinkle and glitter of steel, while
the wind brought with it sudden distant bursts of martial
music from the great host which rolled by every road andTHE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES 333
bypath toward the narrow pass of Roncesvalles. On the cliifs
on either side might also be seen the flash of arms and the
waving of pennons where the force of Navarre looked down
upon the army of strangers who passed through their terri-
tories.
“By Saint Paul!” said Sir Nigel, blinking up at them, a
think that we have much to hope for from these cavaliers, for
they cluster very thickly upon our flanks. Pass word to the
men, Aylward, that they unsling their bows, for I have no
doubt that there are some very worthy gentlemen yonder who
may give us some opportunity for honorable advancement.’
“T hear that the prince hath the King of Navarre as hos-
tage,” said Alleyne, ‘‘and it is said that he hath sworn to put
him to death if there be any attack upon us.”’
“Tt was not so that war was made when good King Edward
first turned his hand to it,’ said Sir Nigel sadly. “Ah!
Alleyne, I fear that you will never live to see such things, tor
the minds of men are more set upon money and gain than of
old. By Saint Paul! it was a noble sight when two great
armies would draw together upon a certain day, and all who
had a vow would ride forth to discharge themselves of it.
What noble spear-runnings have I not seen, and even in an
humble way had a part in, when cavaliers would run a course
for the easing of their souls and for the love of their ladies!
Never a bad word have I for the French, for, though I have
ridden twenty times up to their array, I have never yet failed
to find some very gentle and worthy knight or squire who was
willing to do what he might to enable me to attempt some
small feat of arms. Then, when all cavaliers had been satis-
fied, the two armies would come to hand strokes, and fight
right merrily until one or other had the vantage. By Saint
Paul! it was not our wont in those days to pay gold for the
opening of passes, nor would we hold a king as hostage lest
his people come to thrusts with us. In good sooth, if the war
is to be carried out in such a fashion, then it is grief to me
that I ever came away from Castle Twynham, for I would
not have left my sweet lady had I not thought that there
were deeds of arms to be done.”
“But surely, my fair lord,” said Alleyne, “you have done
some great feats of arms since we left the Lady Loring.”334 THE WHITE COMPANY
“I cannot call any to mind,” answered Sir Nigel.
“There was the taking of the sea-rovers, and the holding of
the keep against the Jacks.”
Nay, nay,” said the knight, “these were not feats of arms,
but mere wayside ventures and the chances of travel. By
Saint Paul! if it were not that these hills are oversteep for
Pommers, I would ride to these cavaliers of Navarre and see
if there were not some among them who would help me to
take this patch from mine eye. It is a sad sight to see this
very fine pass, which my own Company here could hold
against an army, and yet to ride through it with as little profit
as though it were the lane from my kennels to the Avon.”
All morning Sir Nigel rode in a very ill-humor, with his
Company tramping behind him. It was a toilsome march over
broken ground and through snow, which came often as high
as the knee, yet ere the sun had begun to sink they had
reached the spot where the gorge opens out on to the uplands
of Navarre, and could see the towers of Pampeluna jutting up
against the southern sky line. Here the Company were quar-
tered in a scattered mountain hamlet, and Alleyne spent the
day looking down upon the swarming army which poured
with gleam of spears and flaunt of standards through the
narrow pass.
“Hola, mon gar.,”’ said Aylward, seating himself upon a
bowlder by his side. “This is indeed a fine sight upon which
it is good to look, and a man might go far ere he would see
so many brave men and fine horses. By my hilt! our little
lord is wroth because we have come peacefully through the
passes, but I will warrant him that we have fighting enow
ere we turn our faces northward again. It is said that there
are four-score thousand men behind the King of Spain, with
Du Guesclin and all the best lances of France, who have sworn
to shed their heart’s blood ere this Pedro come again to the
throne.”
“Yet our own army is a great one,” said Alleyne.
“Nay, there are but seven-and-twenty thousand men. Chan-
dos hath persuaded the prince to leave many behind, and in-
deed I think that he is right, for there is little food and less
water in these parts for which we are bound. A man with-
out his meat or a horse without his fodder is like a wet bow-THE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES 335
string, fit for little. But voila, mon petit, here comes Chandos
and his company, and there is many a pensil and banderole
among yonder squadrons which show that the best blood of
England is riding under his banners.”
Whilst Aylward had been speaking, a strong column of
archers had defiled through the pass beneath them. They were
followed by a banner-bearer who held high the scarlet wedge
upon a silver field which proclaimed the presence of the
famous warrior. He rode himself within a spear’s length of
his standard, clad from neck to foot in steel, but draped in the
long linen gown or parement which was destined to be the
cause cf his death. His plumed helmet was carried behind
him by his body squire, and his head was covered by a small
purple cap, from under which his snow-white hair curled
downward to his shoulders. With his long beaklike nose and
his single gleaming eye, which shone brightly from under a
thick tuft of grizzled brow, he seemed to Alleyne to have
something of the look of some fierce old bird of prey. For a
moment he smiled, as his eye lit upon the banner of the five
roses waving from the hamlet; but his course lay for Pam-
peluna, and he rode on after the archers.
Close at his heels came sixteen squires, all chosen from the
highest families, and behind them rode twelve hundred Eng-
lish knights, with gleam of steel and tossing of plumes, their
harness jingling, their long straight swords clanking against
their stirrup irons, and the beat of their chargers’ hoofs like
the low deep roar of the sea upon the shore. Behind them
marched six hundred Cheshire and Lancashire archers, bear-
ing the badge of the Audleys, followed by the famous Lord
Audley himself, with the four valiant squires, Dutton of Dut-
ton, Delves of Doddington, Fowlehurst of Crewe, and
Hawkstone of Wainehill, who had all won such glory at
Poictiers. Two hundred heavily-armed cavalry rode behind
the Audley standard, while close at their heels came the Duke
of Lancaster with a glittering train, heralds tabarded with the
royal arms riding three deep upon cream-colored chargers in
front of him. On either side of the young prince rode the
two seneschals of Aquitaine, Sir Guiscard d’Angle and Sir
Stephen Cossington, the one bearing the banner of the prov-
ince and the other that of Saint George. Away behind him336 THE WHITE COMPANY
as far as eye could reach rolled the far-stretching, unbroken
river of steel—rank after rank and column after column, with
waving of plumes, glitter of arms, tossing of guidons, and
flash and flutter of countless armorial devices. All day
Alleyne looked down upon the changing scene, and all day the
old bowman stood by his elbow, pointing out the crests of
famous warriors and the arms of noble houses. Here were
the gold mullets of the Pakingtons, the sable and ermine of
the Mackworths, the scarlet bars of the Wakes, the gold and
blue of the Grosvenors, the cinquefoils of the Cliftons, the
annulets of the Musgraves, the silver pinions of the Beau-
champs, the crosses of the Molineux, the bloody chevron of
the Woodhouses, the red and silver of the Worsleys, the
swords of the Clarks, the boars’ heads of the Lucies, the
crescents of the Boyntons, and the wolf and dagger of the
Lipscombs. So through the sunny winter day the chivalry
of England poured down through the dark pass of Ronces-
valles to the plains of Spain.
It was on a Monday that the Duke of Lancaster’s division
passed safely through the Pyrenees. On the Tuesday there
was a bitter frost, and the ground rung like iron beneath the
feet of the horses; yet ere evening the prince himself, with
the main battle of his army, had passed the gorge and united
with his vanguard at Pampeluna. With him rode the King of
Majorca, the hostage*King of Navarre, and the fierce Don
Pedro of Spain, whose pale blue eyes gleamed with a sinister
light as they rested once more upon the distant peaks of the
land which had disowned him. Under the royal banners rode
many a bold Gascon baron and many a hot-blooded islander.
Here were the high stewards of Aquitaine, of Saintonge, of
La Rochelle, of Quercy, of Limousin, of Agenois, of Poitou,
and of Bigorre, with the banners and musters of their prov-
inces. Here also were the valiant Earl of Angus, Sir Thomas
Banaster with his garter over his greave, Sir Nele Loring,
second cousin to Sir Nigel, and a long column of Welsh foot-
men who marched under the red banner of Merlin. From
dawn to sundown the long train wound through the pass, their
breath reeking up upon the frosty air like the steam from a
caldron.
The weather was less keen upon the Wednesday, and theTHE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES 337
rear guard made good their passage, with the bombards and
the wagon train. Free companions and Gascons made up this
portion of the army to the number of ten thousand men. ‘The
fierce Sir Hugh Calverley, with his yellow mane, and the
rugged Sir Robert Knolles, with their war-hardened and vet-
eran companies of English bowmen, headed the long column;
while behind them came the turbulent bands of the Bastard
of Breteuil, Nandon de Bagerant, one-eyed Camus, Black
Ortingo, La Nuit, and others whose very names seem to smack
of hard hands and ruthless deeds. Wauth them also were the
pick of the Gascon chivalry—the old Duc d’Armagnac, his
nephew Lord d’Albret, brooding and scowling over his
wrongs, the giant Oliver de Clisson, the Captal de Buch, pink
of knighthood, the sprightly Sir Perducas d’Albert, the red-
bearded Lord d’Esparre, and a long train of needy and grasp-
ing border nobles, with long pedigrees and short purses, who
had come down from their hillside strongholds, all hungering
for the spoils and the ransoms of Spain. By the Thursday
morning the whole army was encamped in the Vale of Pam-
peluna, and the prince had called his council to meet him in
the old palace of the ancient city of Navarre.CHAPTER XXXIV
HOW THE COMPANY MADE SPORT IN THE VALE OF PAMPELUNA
HILST the council was sitting in Pampeluna the
White Company, having encamped in a neighboring
valley, close to the companies of La Nuit and of
Black Ortingo, were amusing themselves with swordplay,
wrestling, and shooting at the shields, which they had placed
upon the hillside to serve them as butts. The younger arch-
ers, with their coats of mail thrown aside, their brown or.
flaxen hair tossing in the wind, and their jerkins turned back
to give free play to their brawny chests and arms, stood in
lines, each loosing his shaft in turn, while Johnston, Aylward,
Black Simon, and half-a-score of the elders lounged up and
down with critical eyes, and a word of rough praise or of curt
censure for the marksmen. Behind stood knots of Gascon
and Brabant crossbowmen from the companies of Ortingo
and of La Nuit, leaning upon their unsightly weapons and
watching the practice of the Englishmen.
“A good shot, Hewett, a good shot!” said old Johnston to
a young bowman, who stood with his bow in his left hand,
gazing with parted lips after his flying shaft. “You see, she
finds the ring, as I knew she would from the moment that
your string twanged.”
‘‘Loose it easy, steady, and yet sharp,” said Aylward. “By
my hilt! mon gar., it is very well when you do but shoot at a
shield, but when there is a man behind the shield, and he rides
at you with wave of sword and glint of eyes from behind
his vizor, you may find him a less easy mark.” ,
“It is a mark that I have found before now,” answered the
young bowman. |
“And shall again, camarade, I doubt not. But hola! John-
ston, who is this who holds his bow like a crow-keeper ?”
“It is Silas Peterson, of Horsham. Do not wink with one
338THE VALE OF PAMPELUNA 339
eye and look with the other, Silas, and do not hop and dance
after you shoot, with your tongue out, for that will not speed
it upon its way. Stand straight and firm, as God made you.
Move not the bow arm, and steady with the drawing hand!”
“LT faith,” said Black Simon, “I am a spearman myself, and
am more fitted for hand strokes than for such work as this.
Yet I have spent my days among bowmen, and I have seen
many a brave shaft sped. I will not say but that we have
some good marksmen here, and that this Company would be
accounted a fine body of archers at any time or place. Yet I
do not see any men who bend so strong a bow or shoot as
true a shaft as those whom I have known.”
“You say sooth,” said Johnston, turning his seamed and
grizzled face upon the man at arms. “See yonder,” he added,
pointing to a bombard which lay within the camp: “there is
what hath done scathe to good bowmanship, with its filthy
soot and foolish roaring mouth. I wonder that a true knight,
like our prince, should carry such a scurvy thing in his train.
Robin, thou red-headed lurden, how oft must I tell thee not to
shoot straight with a quarter-wind blowing across the mark?”
“By these ten finger bones! there were some fine bowmen at
the intaking of Calais,” said Aylward. “I well remember
that, on occasion of an outfall, a Genoan raised his arm over
his mantlet, and shook it at us, a hundred paces from our
line. There were twenty who loosed shafts at him, and when
the man was afterwards slain it was found that he had taken
eighteen through his forearm.”
“And I can call to mind,’ remarked Johnston, “that when
the great cog ‘Christopher,’ which the French had taken from
us, was moored two hundred paces from the shore, two arch-
ers, little Robin Withstaff and Elhas Baddlesmere, in four
shots each cut every strand of her hempen anchor-cord, so
that she well-nigh came upon the rocks.”
- “Good shooting, i’ faith rare shooting!” said Black Simon.
“But I have seen you, Johnston, and you, Samkin Aylward,
and one or two others who are still with us, shoot as well as
the best. Was it not you, Johnston, who took the fat ox at
Finsbury butts against the pick of London town?”
A sunburned and black-eyed Brabanter had stood near the
old archers, leaning upon a large crossbow and listening to340 THE WHITE COMPANY
their talk, which had been carried on in that hybrid camp
dialect which both nations could understand. He was a squat,
bullnecked man, clad in the iron helmet, mail tunic, and
woolen gambesson of his class. A jacket with hanging
sleeves, slashed with velvet at the neck and wrists, showed
that he was a man of some consideration, an underofficer, or
file-leader of his company.
“IT cannot think,’ said he, “why you English should be so
fond of your six-foot stick. If it amuse you to bend it, well
and good; but why should I strain and pull, when my little
moulinet will do all for me, and better than I can do it for
myself ?”’
“I have seen good shooting with the prod and with the
latch,” said Aylward, “but, by my hilt! camarade, with all re-
spect to you and to your bow, I think that is but a woman's
weapon, which a woman can point and loose as easily as a
man.”
“T know not about that,’’ answered the Brabanter, “but this
I know, that though I have served for fourteen years, ] have
never yet seen an Englishman do aught with the longbow
which I could not do better with my arbalest. By the three
kings! I would even go further, and say that I have done
things with my arbalest which no Englishman could do with
his longbow.”’
“Well said, mon gar.,” cried Aylward. ‘A good cock has
ever a brave call. Now, I have shot little of late, but there is
Johnston here who will try a round with you for the honor of
the Company.”
“And I will lay a gallon of Jurangon wine upon the long-
bow,” said Black Simon, “though I had rather, for my own
drinking, that it were a quart of Twynham ale.”
“T take both your challenge and your wager,” said the man
of Brabant, throwing off his jacket and glancing keenly about
him with his black, twinkling eyes. “I cannot see any fitting
mark, for I care not to waste a bolt upon these shields, which
a drunken boor could not miss at a village kermis.”
“This is a perilous man,” whispered an English man at
arms, plucking at Aylward’s sleeve. “He is the best marks-
man of all the crossbow companies and it was he who
brought down the Constable de Bourbon at Brignais. I fearTHE VALE OF PAMPELUNA 341
that your man will come by little honor with him.”
“Yet I have seen Johnston shoot these twenty years, and I
will not flinch from it. How say you, old war hound, will you
not have a flight shot or two with this springald?”’
“Tut, tut, Aylward,” said the old bowman. “My day is
past, and it is for the younger ones to hold what we have
gained. I take it unkindly of thee, Samkin, that thou shouldst
call all eyes thus upon a broken bowman who could once shoot
a fair shaft. Let me feel that bow, Wilkins! It is a Scotch
bow, I see, for the upper nock is without and the lower within.
By the black rood! it 1s a good piece of yew, well nocked, well
strung, well waxed, and very joyful to the feel. I think even
now that I might hit any large and goodly mark with a bow
like this. Turn thy quiver to me, Aylward. I love an ash
arrow pierced with cornelwood for a roving shaft.”
“By my hilt! and so do I,” cried Aylward. ‘‘These three
gander-winged shafts are such.”
- “So I see, comrade. It has been my wont to choose a
- gaddle-backed feather for a dead shaft, and a swine-backed
for a smooth flier. I will take the two of them. Ah! Sam-
kin, lad, the eye grows dim and the hand less firm as the years
ass.”
? “Come then, are you not ready?” said the Brabanter, who
had watched with ill-concealed impatience the slow and me-
thodic movements of his antagonist.
“T will venture a rover with you, or try long-butts or
hoyles,” said old Johnston. “To my mind the longbow is a
better weapon than the arbalest, but it may be ill for me to
prove it.”
“So I think,” quoth the other with a sneer. He drew his
moulinet from his girdle, and fixing it to the windlass, he drew
back the powerful double cord until it had clicked into the
catch. Then from his quiver he drew a short, thick quarrel,
which he placed with the utmost care upon the groove. Word
had spread of what was going forward, and the rivals were
already surrounded, not only by the English archers of the
Company, but by hundreds of arbalestiers and men at arms
_ from the bands of Ortingo and La Nutt, to the latter of which
the Brabanter belonged.B42 THE WHITE COMPANY
“There is a mark yonder on the hill,” said he; “mayhap you
can discern it.”’
“T see something,’ answered Johnston, shading his eyes
with his hand; “but it is a very long shoot.”
“A fair shoot—a fair shoot! Stand aside, Arnaud, lest you
find a bolt through your gizzard. Now, comrade, I take no
flight shot, and I give you the vantage of watching my shaft.”’
As he spoke he raised his arbalest to his shoulder and was
about to pull the trigger, when a large gray stork’ flapped
heavily into view skimming over the brow of the hill, and then
soaring up into the air to pass the valley. Its shrill and
piercing cries drew all eyes upon it, and, as it came nearer, a
dark spot which circled above it resolved itself into a peregrine
falcon, which hovered over its head, poising itself from time
to time, and watching its chance of closing with its clumsy
quarry. Nearer and nearer came the two birds, all absorbed
in their own contest, the stork wheeling upward, the hawk still
fluttering above it, until they were not a hundred paces from
the camp. The Brabanter raised his weapon to the sky, and
there came the short, deep twang of his powerful string. His
bolt struck the stork just where its wing meets the body, and
the bird whirled aloft in a last convulsive flutter before falling
wounded and flapping to the earth. A roar of applause burst
from the crossbowmen; but at the instant that the bolt struck
its mark old Johnston, who had stood listlessly with arrow
on string, bent his bow and sped a shaft through the body
of the falcon. Whipping the other from his belt, he sent it
skimming some few feet from the earth with so true an aim
that it struck and transfixed the stork for the second time ere
it could reach the ground. A deep-chested shout of delight
burst from the archers at the sight of this double feat, and
Aylward, dancing with joy, threw his arms round the old
marksman and embraced him with such vigor that their mail
tunics clanged again.
‘Ah! camarade,” he cried, “you shall have a stoup with me
for this! What then, old dog, would not the hawk please
thee, but thou must hak the stork as well. Oh, to my heart
again !”’
“It is a pretty piece of yew, and well strung,” said John-
ston with a twinkle in his deep-set gray eyes. ‘“‘Even an oldTHE VALE OF PAMPELUNA 343
broken bowman might find the clout with a bow like this.”
“You have done very well,’ remarked the Brabanter in a
surly voice. ‘But it seems to me that you have not yet shown
yourself to be a better marksman than I, for I have struck that
at which I aimed, and, by the three kings! no man can do
more.”
“Tt would ill beseem me to claim to be a better marksman,”
answered Johnston, “for I have heard great things of your
skill. I did but wish to show that the longbow could do that
which an arbalest could not do, for you could not with your
moulinet have your string ready to speed another shaft ere
the bird drop to the earth.”
“In that you have vantage,’ said the crossbowman. “By
Saint James! it is now my turn to show you where my weapon
has the better of you. I pray you to draw a flight shaft with
all your strength down the valley, that we may see the length
of your shoot.”
“That is a very strong prod of yours,’ said Johnston, shak-
ing his grizzled head as he glanced at the thick arch and
powerful strings of his rival’s arbalest. “I have little doubt
that you can overshoot me, and yet I have seen bowmen who
could send a cloth-yard arrow further than you could speed a
quarrel.”’
“So I have heard,” remarked the Brabanter; “and yet it is a
strange thing that these wondrous bowmen are never where I
chance to be. Pace out the distances with a wand at every
five score, and do you, Arnaud, stand at the fifth wand to
carry back my bolts to me.”
A line was measured down the valley, and Johnston, draw-
ing an arrow to the very head, sent it whistling over the row
of wands.
“Bravely drawn! A rare shoot!” shouted the bystanders.
“Tt is well up to the fourth mark.”
“By my hilt! it is over it,” cried Aylward. “I can see
where they have stooped to gather up the shait.”
“We shall hear anon,” said Johnston quietly, and presently
a young archer came running to say that the arrow had fallen
- twenty paces beyond the fourth wand.
‘Four hundred paces and a score,” cried Black Simon. “T’B44 THE WHITE COMPANY
faith, it is a very long flight. Yet wood and steel may do
more than flesh and blood.”
The Brabanter stepped forward with a smile of conscious
triumph, and loosed the cord of his weapon. for
which praise be to all the saints, and more especially to the
holy Anselm, upon whose feast it came to pass. The Lady
Loring, and the Lady Maude, thy fair daughter, are in good
health; and so also am I, save for an imposthume of the toe
joint, which hath been sent me for my sins. May all the
saints preserve thee!’ ”’ ,
“It was the vision of the Lady Tiphaine,” said Sir Nigel,
after a pause. “Marked you not how she said that the leader
was one with a yellow beard, and how he fell before the sate.
But how came it, Alleyne, that this woman, to whom all things
are as crystal, and who hath not said one word which has not
come to pass, was yet so led astray as to say that your thoughts
turned to Twynham Castle even more than my own?”
“My fair lord,” said Alleyne, with a flush on his weather-
stained cheeks, “the Lady Tiphaine may have spoken sooth
when she said it; for Twynham Castle is in my heart by day
and in my dreams by night.”
“Ha!” cried Sir Nigel, with a sidelong glance.
“Yes, my fair lord; for indeed I love your daughter, the
Lady Maude; and, unworthy as I am, I would give my heart’s
blood to serve her.”
“By St. Paul! Edricson,” said the knight coldly, arching his
eyebrows, “you aim high in this matter. Our blood is very
old.”
“And mine also is very old,’ answered the squire.
“And the Lady Maude is our single child. All our name
and lands center upon her.”
“Alas! that I should say it, but I also am now the only
Edricson.”’
__ “And why have I not heard this from you before, Alleyne?
In sooth, I think that you have used me ill.”SIR NIGEL TAKES OFF PATCH — 365
“Nay, my fair lord, say not so; for I know not whether
your daughter loves me, and there is no pledge between us.”
Sir Nigel pondered for a few moments, and then burst out
a-laughing. ‘‘By St. Paul!” said he, “I know not why I should
mix in the matter; for I have ever found that the Lady Maude
was very well able to look to her own affairs. Since first she
could stamp her little foot, she hath ever been able to get that
for which she craved: and'if she set her heart on thee, Alleyne,
and thou on her, I do not think that this Spanish king, with his
three-score thousand men, could hold you apart. Yet this I
will say, that I would see you a full knight ere you go to my
daughter with words of love. I have ever said that a brave
lance should wed her; and, by my soul! Edricson, if God spare
you, I think that you will acquit yourself well. But enough of
such trifles, for we have our work before us, and it will be
time to speak of this matter when we see the white cliffs of
England once more. Go to Sir William Felton, I pray you,
and ask him to come hither, for it is time that we were march-
ing. There is no pass at the further end of the valley, and
it is a perilous place should an enemy come upon us.”
Alleyne delivered his message, and then wandered forth
from the camp, for his mind was all in a whirl with this
unexpected news, and with his talk with Sir Nigel. Sitting
upon a rock, with his burning brow resting upon his hands, he
thought of his brother, of their quarrel, of the Lady Maude
in her bedraggled riding dress, of the gray old castle, of the
proud pale face in the armory, and of the last fiery words with
which she had sped him on his way. Then he was but a penni-
less, monk-bred lad, unknown and unfriended. Now he was
himself Socman of Minstead, the head of an old stock, and the
lord of an estate which, if reduced from its former size, was
still ample to preserve the dignity of his family. Further, he
had become a man of experience, was counted brave among
brave men, had won the esteem and confidence of her father,
and, above all, had been listened to by him when he told him
the secret of his love. As to the gaining of knighthood, in
such stirring times it was no great matter for a brave squire
of gentle birth to aspire to that honor. He would leave his
‘bones among these Spanish ravines, or he would do some deed
which would call the eyes of men upon him.366 THE WHITE COMPANY
Alleyne was still seated on the rock, his griefs and his joys
drifting swiftly over his mind like the shadow of clouds upon
a sunlit meadow, when of a sudden he became conscious of a
low, deep sound which came booming up to him through the
fog. Close behind him he could hear the murmur of the bow-
men, the occasional bursts of hoarse laughter, and the champ-
ing and stamping of their horses. Behind it all, however,
came that low-pitched, deep-toned hum, which seemed to come
from every quarter and to fill the whole air. In the old mon-
astic days he remembered to have heard such a sound when
he had walked out one windy night at Bucklershard, and had
listened to the long waves breaking upon the shingly shore.
Here, however, was neither wind nor sea, and yet the dull
murmur rose ever louder and stronger out of the heart of the
rolling sea of vapor. He turned and ran to the camp, shouting
an alarm at the top of his voice.
It was but a hundred paces, and yet ere he had crossed it
every bowman was ready at his horse’s head, and the group
of knights were out and listening intently to the ominous sound.
“It 1s a great body of horse,” said Sir William Felton, “and
they are riding very swiftly hitherward.”
“Yet they must be from the prince’s army,” remarked Sir
Richard Causton, ‘‘for they come from the north.”
“Nay,” said the Earl of Angus, “it is not so certain; for the
peasant with whom we spoke last night said that it was ru-
mored that Don Tello, the Spanish king’s brother, had ridden
with six thousand chosen men to beat up the prince’s camp.
It may be that on their backward road they have come this
way.”
“By St. Paul!” cried Sir Nigel. “I think that it is even as
you say, for that same peasant had a sour face and a shifting
eye, as one who bore us little good will. I doubt not that he
has brought these cavaliers upon us.”’
“But the mist covers us,” said Sir Simon Burley. “We
have yet time to ride through the further end of the pass.”
“Were we a troop of mountain goats we might do so,” an-
swered Sir William Felton, “but it is not to be passed by a
company of horsemen. If these be indeed Don Tello and his
men, then we must bide where we are, and do what we can
to make them rue the day that they found us in their path.”SIR NIGEL TAKES OFF PATCH _ 367
“Well spoken, William!” cried Sir Nigel, in high delight.
‘If there be so many as has been said, then there will be much
honor to be gained from them and every hope of advance-
ment. But the sound has ceased, and I fear that they have
gone some other way.”
“Or mayhap they have come to the mouth of the gorge, and
are marshaling their ranks. Hush and hearken! for they are
no great way from us.”’
The Company stood peering into the dense fog-wreath,
amidst a silence so profound that the dripping of the water
from the rocks and the breathing of the horses grew loud upon
the ear. Suddenly from out the sea of mist came the shrill
sound of a neigh, followed by a long blast upon a bugle.
“Tt is a Spanish call, my fair lord,” said Black Simon. “It
is used by their prickers and huntsmen when the beast hath
not fled, but is still in its lair.”
“By my faith!” said Sir Nigel, smiling, “1f they are in a
humor for venerie we may promise them some sport ere they
sound the mort over us. But there is a hill in the center of
the gorge on which we might take our stand.”
“TI marked it yesternight,” said Felton, “and no better spot
could be found for our purpose, for it is very steep at the back.
It is but a bowshot to, the left, and, indeed, I can see the shadow
of at.
The whole Company, leading their horses, passed across to
the small hill which loomed in front of them out of the mist.
It was indeed admirably designed for defense, for it sloped
down in front, all jagged and bowlder-strewn, while it fell
away behind in a sheer cliff of a hundred feet or more. On
the summit was a small uneven plateau, with a stretch across
of a hundred paces, and a depth of half as much again.
“Unloose the horses!” said Sir Nigel. “We have no space
for them, and if we hold our own we shall have horses and to
spare when this day’s work is done. Nay, keep yours, my fair
sirs, for we may have work for them. Aylward, Johnston, let
your men form a harrow on either side of the ridge. Sir
Oliver and you, my Lord Angus, I give you the right wing,
and the left to you, Sir Simon, and to you, Sir Richard Caus-
ton. I and Sir William Felton will hold the center with our
men at arms. Now order the ranks, and fling wide the ban-368 THE WHITE COMPANY
ners, for our souls are God’s and our bodies the king’s, and
our swords for Saint George and for England!’
Sir Nigel had scarcely spoken when the mist seemed to thin
in the valley, and to shred away into long ragged clouds which
trailed from the edges of the cliffs. The gorge in which they
had camped was a mere wedge-shaped cleft among the hills,
three-quarters of a mile deep, with the small rugged rising upon
which they stood at the further end, and the brown crags wall-
ing it in on three sides. As the mist parted, and the sun broke
through, it gleamed and shimmered with dazzling brightness
upon the armor and headpieces of a vast body of horsemen
who stretched across the barranca from one cliff to the other,
and extended backward until their rear guard were far out
upon the plain beyond. Line after line, and rank after rank,
they choked the neck of the valley with a long vista of tossing
pennons, twinkling lances, waving plumes and streaming ban-
deroles, while the curvets and gambades of the chargers lent
a constant motion and shimmer to the glittering, many-colored
mass.