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CHAPTER XVI. HOW THE YELLOW COG FOUGHT THE TWO ROVER GALLEYS.
The three vessels had been sweeping swiftly westwards, the cog still
well to the front, although the galleys were slowly drawing in upon
either quarter. To the left was a hard skyline unbroken by a sail. The
island already 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 backwards, 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 beginning 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 out 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 these old soldiers, how quick the command,
and how prompt 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 discharge, 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
Norman 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 archery is over-good,
and they will not close. What defence can we make against the stones?"
"I 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, eyeing the galleys, which
crept along on either side, with a slow, measured swing of their great
oars, the water swirling and foaming 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 came 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 Norsemen,
swarthy Italians, fierce rovers from the Levant, and fiery Moors from
the Barbary States, of all hues and countries, 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 defenceless
merchantman.
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 bowmen 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 *** 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 monuments a protected coast and an unravaged
country-side.
Fore and aft the archers had cleared the galleys' decks, but from either
side the rovers had poured down into the waist, where the *** and
bowmen were pushed back and so mingled with their foes that it was
impossible for their comrades above to draw string to help them. It
was a wild chaos where axe and sword rose and fell, while Englishman,
Norman, 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 together in a deafening tumult, while the
breath of the panting men went up in the wintry air like the smoke from
a furnace. The giant Tete-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 *** 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, Aylward, 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
axe, 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 slipping in a pool of blood, he fell
heavily to the ground. Alleyne 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 from 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
if he moved.
Cowed and disheartened by the loss of their leader, the Normans had
given back and were now streaming over the bulwarks 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 prospect of mercy upon the
battle-field, 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 yard-arm.
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 croaking. Yet he faced his foemen with dauntless courage, dashing
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 dozen 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 crossbow-men. 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."
"He is 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
rips 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, clapping 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 heaven, Sir Nigel is down!" cried the squire.
"Up!" roared John. "It was but a feint. He bears him back. He 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 resistance to an
end. Amid a thunder of cheering from cog and from galleys the forked
pennon fluttered upon the forecastle, 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 grapplings 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 Francewards, and the shipman walked the deck,
a peaceful master-mariner once more.
"There is sad scath done to the cog, Sir Nigel," said he. "Here is a
hole in the side two ells across, the sail split through the centre,
and the wood as bare as a friar's poll. In good sooth, I know not what I
shall say to Master Witherton 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
***, 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?"
"It is nothing, my fair lord," said Alleyne, who had now loosened his
bassinet, which was cracked across by the Norman'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?"
"I have pricked off the tally," said Aylward, who had come aboard with
his lord. "There are seven of the Winchester men, eleven ***, your
squire, young Master Terlake, 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 livid gray.
"How, Sir Knight?" he cried in broken English. "Que dites vous? To hang,
le 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 veins! C'est
incroyable!"
Sir Nigel turned upon his heel, while two *** cast a noose over the
pirate's neck. At the touch of the cord he snapped the bonds which bound
him, dashed one of the archers 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."
"I 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 debonnaire cavalier."
End of Chapter XVI
CHAPTER XVII. HOW THE YELLOW COG CROSSED THE BAR OF GIRONDE.
For two days the yellow cog ran swiftly before a northeasterly wind, and
on the dawn of the third the high land of Ushant lay like a mist upon
the shimmering sky-line. There came a plump of rain towards 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 returning from Guienne. Sir Nigel Loring and Sir Oliver
Buttesthorn at once hung their shields over the side, and displayed
their pennons as was the custom, noting with the keenest interest 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 puffs, heeling the great
cog over until the water curled over her lee bulwarks. As the wind still
freshened the yard was lowered half way 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 halliards 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 sombre 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 reeling, 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 wrack—the home of
things noble and of things shameful—the theatre where a new name
might be made or an old one marred. From his *** to his lips came the
crumpled veil, and he breathed a vow that if valor and goodwill 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 answered.
"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, 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
Easterling'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 archers.
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 gauntlet 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 forecastle.
"Can I be of avail?" asked Alleyne. "Say the word and the thing is done,
if two hands may do it."
"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 bale 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 rock 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 kermesse, then I pray you that you will put me into one
of these galeasses. I had but sat down to a flask of malvoisie 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?"
"I would fain have your rede, Sir Oliver, for Master Hawtayne 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——"
At this instant, however, a startled shout rang out from two *** upon
the forecastle. "Rocks!" they yelled, stabbing 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 himself upon the long
pole which served as a tiller. "Cut the halliard! 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!"
"If there be such peril, Sir Oliver," quoth Sir Nigel, "it 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 seawards amid the shoutings of the
*** and the archers.
"The *** 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," quoth 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 *** 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!" Swiftly 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 gap. 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 centre 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.
"I fear that we can scarce bide upon this tack," cried Hawtayne; "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 second carp, if he will but interpose a
second time."
The wrack had thickened to seaward, and the coast was but a blurred
line. Two vague shadows in the offing showed where the galeasses rolled
and tossed upon the great Atlantic 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 *** 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 before 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 centre, 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. "Twice have we come
scathless out of peril, and now for the third time I commend me to the
blessed James of Compostella, to whom I vow——"
"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 *** 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 bellying 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.
End of Chapter XVII
CHAPTER XVIII. HOW SIR NIGEL LORING PUT A PATCH UPON HIS EYE.
It was on the morning of Friday, the eight-and-twentieth 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 anchor 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
*** 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 Medoc—to be borne away to
Hull, Exeter, Dartmouth, Bristol or Chester, in exchange for the wools
and woolfels of England. Here too dwelt those famous 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 freely with you as when we tramped together past Wilverley
Chase, else I might be your guide now, for indeed I know every 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 Lynhurst inn, who can say where
I had now been! Certes, I had not gone to Twynham 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 remarked. "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 Gascony. But mark you now yonder lofty turret
in the centre, 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."
"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 girdle-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
forward 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 forward. 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 *** knight, on the other
hand, was clad in the very latest mode, with cote-hardie, doublet,
pourpoint, court-pie, and paltock of olive-green, picked out with
pink and jagged at the edges. A red chaperon or cap, with long hanging
cornette, sat daintily on the back of his black-curled head, while his
gold-hued shoes were twisted up _a 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 shorewards 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 damask and silver he is no trencherman himself, and hath no
sympathy 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 towards 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 dancette 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 Apuldercombe, who like myself are
of Hampshire lineage. Close behind us is the moline cross of the gallant
William Molyneux, and beside it the bloody chevrons of the Norfork
Woodhouses, with the amulets of the Musgraves of Westmoreland. By St.
Paul! it would be a very strange thing if so noble a company 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 lowered 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 *** 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 seen 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, "I 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 'Tete d'Or' here, for I marked a varlet pass
the door who bare a smoking 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 epreuves. 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 Norbury, 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. Norbury, a lean, silent man, had been to those parts
before, 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 many strange things on every side of them.
"See to the brave stalls!" cried Alleyne. "See to the noble armor set
forth, and the costly taffeta—and oh, Ford, see to where the scrivener
sits with the pigments and the ink-horns, 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 pensil on the roof."
"And the churches!" cried Alleyne. "The Priory at Christ church was a
noble pile, but it was cold and bare, methinks, 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 *** 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 nought 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 Francewards, 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.
Now, with this fresh influx of noblemen and cavaliers, food and lodging
were scarce to be had, and the prince was hurrying forward his forces to
Dax in Gascony to relieve the overcrowding of his capital.
In front of the minster and abbey of St. Andrew's was a large square
crowded with priests, soldiers, women, friars, and burghers, who made it
their common centre for sight-seeing and gossip. Amid the knot of noisy
and gesticulating townsfolk, many small parties of mounted knights and
squires threaded their way towards 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
centre, 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 applicant, marshalling 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 tabardlike vesture and the heraldic
barret cap with triple plume which bespoke his office.
"It is 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."
"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 scornful 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 William'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 doubtless worthy
the fame of their masters. Down this passage, Sir Oliver! Edricson! Ha!
one of the old strain of 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."
He 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 was very spacious, lighted on one side by three
arched and mullioned windows, while opposite was a huge fireplace in
which a pile of faggots was blazing merrily. Many of the company 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.
The 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 cavaliers every head turned to look after
him, and it was evident, 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
moustache which drooped down half way to his shoulder. That he had
been handsome might be easily judged from his high aquiline nose and
clear-cut chin; but his features 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. Andrew's who would not have gladly laid down youth, beauty, and
all that he possessed to win the fame of this man? For who could be
named with Chandos, the stainless knight, the wise councillor, the
valiant warrior, the hero of Crecy, 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 warrior's
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 Navarre, who is no two days of the same mind,
and the Gascon barons who are all chaffering for terms like so many
hucksters, 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 greetings 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, I am very sure that he
would be loth 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.
End of Chapter XVIII
CHAPTER XIX. HOW THERE WAS STIR AT THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREW'S.
The 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 scattered 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 Maccabaeus 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
basane_, 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 centre of the dais were two very high chairs with dorserets,
which arched forwards over the heads of the occupants, 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, stooping from time to time
to *** 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 faced person, who smiled and bobbed to every one 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 sombre 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-chiselled 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 Aquitaine. 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
centre.
"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.
"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, Sir Oliver?"
"Nought, 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 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 valiantly. 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, assuming a graver
mien.
"I 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 offence 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 nought, for, as you have
never seen your company, it would be a fool's act to blame you for their
doings."
"My liege," said Sir Nigel, "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 fulfilment."
"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 *** 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 baulked you. Between 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."
"I 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 to 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."
"He is Sir William Felton, who, with my unworthy self, is the chief
counsellor 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 cotes-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 and 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. I 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' mitre."
"I 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 listlessly 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 character.
"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 new-comer to whom this abrupt query had been addressed 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
advanced 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——"
"***! ***! 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-captured 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——"
"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 I 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 scath 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 me
which shall open all that he may close." He stooped and whispered to Sir
Robert Knolles and Sir Huge Calverley, 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 refection, 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.
"It is not our custom in Spain to reward pertness in a messenger," Don
Pedro answered, patting the head of his greyhound. "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 bitterly, "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——"
"Not a word, sire, not a word!" cried the prince. "It is not now when
you 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
bow-string of my army and every florin in my coffers."
"Ah! here is indeed a mirror of chivalry," said Don Pedro. "I think,
Sir Fernando, since the prince's bounty is stretched so far, that we
may make further use of his gracious goodness to the extent of fifty
thousand crowns. Good Sir William Felton, here, will doubtless settle
the matter with you."
The stout old English counsellor 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 loth indeed——"
"Enough, sire, enough!" said the prince, flushing with vexation. "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 nought else may serve, and see
that it be paid over to Don Fernando."
"In security I offer——" cried Don Pedro.
"***! ***!" 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 fifty 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
encounter. What think you of it, my worthy Captal? He took you at
Cocherel, and, by my soul I 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 without 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 nobleman. "Methinks
that Gascony is too small a *** to crow so lustily."
"The smaller ***, my Lord Audley, may have the longer spur," remarked
the Captal de Buch.
"May have its comb clipped if it make over-much 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 Englishman
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 backwards and forwards 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 one party to the other, like a man who loved to dwell upon
a fiery scene, and yet dreaded least 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 Gascony, 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,
accompanied 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.
End of Chapter XIX �