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CHAPTER XXXV. HOW SIR NIGEL HAWKED AT AN EAGLE.
To the south of Pampeluna in the kingdom of Navarre there stretched
a high table-land, rising into bare, sterile hills, brown or gray in
color, and strewn with huge boulders of granite. On the Gascon side of
the great mountains there had been running streams, meadows, forests,
and little nestling villages. Here, on the contrary, were nothing but
naked rocks, poor pasture, and savage, stone-strewn wastes. Gloomy
defiles or barrancas intersected this wild country with mountain
torrents dashing and foaming between their rugged sides. The clatter
of waters, the scream of the eagle, and the howling of wolves the only
sounds which broke upon the silence in that dreary and inhospitable
region.
Through this wild country it was that Sir Nigel and his Company pushed
their way, riding at times through vast defiles where the brown, gnarled
cliffs shot up on either side of them, and the sky was but a long
winding blue slit between the clustering lines of box which fringed the
lips of the precipices; or, again leading their horses along the narrow
and rocky paths worn by the muleteers upon the edges of the chasm, where
under their very elbows they could see the white streak which marked
the _gave_ which foamed a thousand feet below them. So for two days they
pushed their way through the wild places of Navarre, past Fuente,
over the rapid Ega, through Estella, until upon a winter's evening the
mountains fell away from in front of them, and they saw the broad blue
Ebro curving betwixt its double line or homesteads and of villages. The
fishers of Viana were aroused that night by rough voices speaking in a
strange tongue, and ere morning Sir Nigel and his men had ferried the
river and were safe upon the land of Spain.
All the next day they lay in a pine wood near to the town of Logrono,
resting their horses and taking counsel as to what they should do. Sir
Nigel had with him Sir William Felton, Sir Oliver Buttesthorn, stout old
Sir Simon Burley, the Scotch knight-errant, the Earl of Angus, and Sir
Richard Causton, all accounted among the bravest knights in the army,
together with sixty veteran men-at-arms, and three hundred and twenty
archers. Spies had been sent out in the morning, and returned after
nightfall to say that the King of Spain was encamped some fourteen miles
off in the direction of Burgos, having with him twenty thousand horse
and forty-five thousand foot.
A dry-wood fire had been lit, and round this the leaders crouched, the
glare beating upon their rugged faces, while the hardy archers lounged
and chatted amid the tethered horses, while they munched their scanty
provisions.
"For my part," said Sir Simon Burley, "I am of opinion that we have
already done that which we have come for. For do we not now know where
the king is, and how great a following he hath, which was the end of our
journey."
"True," answered Sir William Felton, "but I have come on this venture
because it is a long time since I have broken a spear in war, and,
certes, I shall not go back until I have run a course with some cavalier
of Spain. Let those go back who will, but I must see more of these
Spaniards ere I turn."
"I will not leave you, Sir William," returned Sir Simon Burley; "and
yet, as an old soldier and one who hath seen much of war, I cannot but
think that it is an ill thing for four hundred men to find themselves
between an army of sixty thousand on the one side and a broad river on
the other."
"Yet," said Sir Richard Causton, "we cannot for the honor of England go
back without a blow struck."
"Nor for the honor of Scotland either," cried the Earl of Angus. "By
Saint Andrew! I wish that I may never set eyes upon the water of
Leith again, if I pluck my horse's bridle ere I have seen this camp of
theirs."
"By Saint Paul! you have spoken very well," said Sir Nigel, "and I have
always heard that there were very worthy gentlemen among the Scots, and
fine skirmishing to be had upon their border. Bethink you, Sir Simon,
that we have this news from the lips of common spies, who can scarce
tell us as much of the enemy and of his forces as the prince would wish
to hear."
"You are the leader in this venture, Sir Nigel," the other answered,
"and I do but ride under your banner."
"Yet I would fain have your rede and counsel, Sir Simon. But, touching
what you say of the river, we can take heed that we shall not have it
at the back of us, for the prince hath now advanced to Salvatierra, and
thence to Vittoria, so that if we come upon their camp from the further
side we can make good our retreat."
"What then would you propose?" asked Sir Simon, shaking his grizzled
head as one who is but half convinced.
"That we ride forward ere the news reach them that we have crossed the
river. In this way we may have sight of their army, and perchance even
find occasion for some small deed against them."
"So be it, then," said Sir Simon Burley; and the rest of the council
having approved, a scanty meal was hurriedly snatched, and the advance
resumed under the cover of the darkness. All night they led their
horses, stumbling and groping through wild defiles and rugged valleys,
following the guidance of a frightened peasant who was strapped by the
wrist to Black Simon's stirrup-leather. With the early dawn they found
themselves in a black ravine, with others sloping away from it on either
side, and the bare brown crags rising in long bleak terraces all round
them.
"If it please you, fair lord," said Black Simon, "this man hath misled
us, and since there is no tree upon which we may hang him, it might be
well to hurl him over yonder cliff."
The peasant, reading the soldier's meaning in his fierce eyes and harsh
accents dropped upon his knees, screaming loudly for mercy.
"How comes it, dog?" asked Sir William Felton in Spanish. "Where is this
camp to which you swore that you would lead us?"
"By the sweet ***! By the blessed Mother of God!" cried the trembling
peasant, "I swear to you that in the darkness I have myself lost the
path."
"Over the cliff with him!" shouted half a dozen voices; but ere the
archers could drag him from the rocks to which he clung Sir Nigel had
ridden up and called upon them to stop.
"How is this, sirs?" said he. "As long as the prince doth me the honor
to entrust this venture to me, it is for me only to give orders; and,
by Saint Paul! I shall be right blithe to go very deeply into the
matter with any one to whom my words may give offence. How say you, Sir
William? Or you, my Lord of Angus? Or you, Sir Richard?"
"Nay, nay, Nigel!" cried Sir William. "This base peasant is too small
a matter for old comrades to quarrel over. But he hath betrayed us, and
certes he hath merited a dog's death."
"Hark ye, fellow," said Sir Nigel. "We give you one more chance to
find the path. We are about to gain much honor, Sir William, in this
enterprise, and it would be a sorry thing if the first blood shed were
that of an unworthy boor. Let us say our morning orisons, and it may
chance that ere we finish he may strike upon the track."
With bowed heads and steel caps in hand, the archers stood at their
horse's heads, while Sir Simon Burley repeated the Pater, the Ave, and
the Credo. Long did Alleyne bear the scene in mind—the knot of knights
in their dull leaden-hued armor, the ruddy visage of Sir Oliver, the
craggy features of the Scottish earl, the shining scalp of Sir Nigel,
with the dense ring of hard, bearded faces and the long brown heads of
the horses, all topped and circled by the beetling cliffs. Scarce had
the last deep "amen" broken from the Company, when, in an instant, there
rose the scream of a hundred bugles, with the deep rolling of drums and
the clashing of cymbals, all sounding together in one deafening uproar.
Knights and archers sprang to arms, convinced that some great host was
upon them; but the guide dropped upon his knees and thanked Heaven for
its mercies.
"We have found them, caballeros!" he cried. "This is their morning call.
If ye will but deign to follow me, I will set them before you ere a man
might tell his beads."
As he spoke he scrambled down one of the narrow ravines, and, climbing
over a low ridge at the further end, he led them into a short valley
with a stream purling down the centre of it and a very thick growth of
elder and of box upon either side. Pushing their way through the dense
brushwood, they looked out upon a scene which made their hearts beat
harder and their breath come faster.
In front of them there lay a broad plain, watered by two winding streams
and covered with grass, stretching away to where, in the furthest
distance, the towers of Burgos bristled up against the light blue
morning sky. Over all this vast meadow there lay a great city of
tents—thousands upon thousands of them, laid out in streets and in
squares like a well-ordered town. High silken pavilions or colored
marquees, shooting up from among the crowd of meaner dwellings, marked
where the great lords and barons of Leon and Castile displayed their
standards, while over the white roofs, as far as eye could reach, the
waving of ancients, pavons, pensils, and banderoles, with flash of gold
and glow of colors, proclaimed that all the chivalry of Iberia were
mustered in the plain beneath them. Far off, in the centre of the camp,
a huge palace of red and white silk, with the royal arms of Castile
waiving from the summit, announced that the gallant Henry lay there in
the midst of his warriors.
As the English adventurers, peeping out from behind their brushwood
screen, looked down upon this wondrous sight they could see that the
vast army in front of them was already afoot. The first pink light of
the rising sun glittered upon the steel caps and breastplates of dense
masses of slingers and of crossbowmen, who drilled and marched in the
spaces which had been left for their exercise. A thousand columns of
smoke reeked up into the pure morning air where the faggots were piled
and the camp-kettles already simmering. In the open plain clouds of
light horse galloped and swooped with swaying bodies and waving
javelins, after the fashion which the Spanish had adopted from their
Moorish enemies. All along by the sedgy banks of the rivers long lines
of pages led their masters' chargers down to water, while the knights
themselves lounged in gayly-dressed groups about the doors of their
pavilions, or rode out, with their falcons upon their wrists and their
greyhounds behind them, in quest of quail or of leveret.
"By my hilt! mon gar.!" whispered Aylward to Alleyne, as the young
squire stood with parted lips and wondering eyes, gazing down at the
novel scene before him, "we have been seeking them all night, but now
that we have found them I know not what we are to do with them."
"You say sooth, Samkin," quoth old Johnston. "I would that we were upon
the far side of Ebro again, for there is neither honor nor profit to be
gained here. What say you, Simon?"
"By the rood!" cried the fierce man-at-arms, "I will see the color of
their blood ere I turn my mare's head for the mountains. Am I a child,
that I should ride for three days and nought but words at the end of
it?"
"Well said, my sweet honeysuckle!" cried Hordle John. "I am with you,
like hilt to blade. Could I but lay hands upon one of those gay prancers
yonder, I doubt not that I should have ransom enough from him to buy my
mother a new cow."
"A cow!" said Aylward. "Say rather ten acres and a homestead on the
banks of Avon."
"Say you so? Then, by our Lady! here is for yonder one in the red
jerkin!"
He was about to push recklessly forward into the open, when Sir Nigel
himself darted in front of him, with his hand upon his breast.
"Back!" said he. "Our time is not yet come, and we must lie here until
evening. Throw off your jacks and headpieces, least their eyes catch the
shine, and tether the horses among the rocks."
The order was swiftly obeyed, and in ten minutes the archers were
stretched along by the side of the brook, munching the bread and the
bacon which they had brought in their bags, and craning their necks to
watch the ever-changing scene beneath them. Very quiet and still they
lay, save for a muttered jest or whispered order, for twice during the
long morning they heard bugle-calls from amid the hills on either side
of them, which showed that they had thrust themselves in between the
outposts of the enemy. The leaders sat amongst the box-wood, and took
counsel together as to what they should do; while from below there
surged up the buzz of voices, the shouting, the neighing of horses, and
all the uproar of a great camp.
"What boots it to wait?" said Sir William Felton. "Let us ride down upon
their camp ere they discover us."
"And so say I," cried the Scottish earl; "for they do not know that
there is any enemy within thirty long leagues of them."
"For my part," said Sir Simon Burley, "I think that it is madness, for
you cannot hope to rout this great army; and where are you to go and
what are you to do when they have turned upon you? How say you, Sir
Oliver Buttesthorn?"
"By the apple of Eve!" cried the fat knight, "it appears to me that
this wind brings a very savory smell of garlic and of onions from their
cooking-kettles. I am in favor of riding down upon them at once, if my
old friend and comrade here is of the same mind."
"Nay," said Sir Nigel, "I have a plan by which we may attempt some small
deed upon them, and yet, by the help of God, may be able to draw off
again; which, as Sir Simon Burley hath said, would be scarce possible in
any other way."
"How then, Sir Nigel?" asked several voices.
"We shall lie here all day; for amid this brushwood it is ill for them
to see us. Then when evening comes we shall sally out upon them and see
if we may not gain some honorable advancement from them."
"But why then rather than now?"
"Because we shall have nightfall to cover us when we draw off, so that
we may make our way back through the mountains. I would station a score
of archers here in the pass, with all our pennons jutting forth from the
rocks, and as many nakirs and drums and bugles as we have with us, so
that those who follow us in the fading light may think that the whole
army of the prince is upon them, and fear to go further. What think you
of my plan, Sir Simon?"
"By my troth! I think very well of it," cried the prudent old commander.
"If four hundred men must needs run a tilt against sixty thousand, I
cannot see how they can do it better or more safely."
"And so say I," cried Felton, heartily. "But I wish the day were over,
for it will be an ill thing for us if they chance to light upon us."
The words were scarce out of his mouth when there came a clatter of
loose stones, the sharp clink of trotting hoofs, and a dark-faced
cavalier, mounted upon a white horse, burst through the bushes and rode
swiftly down the valley from the end which was farthest from the Spanish
camp. Lightly armed, with his vizor open and a hawk perched upon his
left wrist, he looked about him with the careless air of a man who is
bent wholly upon pleasure, and unconscious of the possibility of danger.
Suddenly, however, his eyes lit upon the fierce faces which glared out
at him from the brushwood. With a cry of terror, he thrust his spurs
into his horse's sides and dashed for the narrow opening of the gorge.
For a moment it seemed as though he would have reached it, for he had
trampled over or dashed aside the archers who threw themselves in his
way; but Hordle John seized him by the foot in his grasp of iron and
dragged him from the saddle, while two others caught the frightened
horse.
"Ho, ho!" roared the great archer. "How many cows wilt buy my mother, if
I set thee free?"
"Hush that bull's bellowing!" cried Sir Nigel impatiently. "Bring the
man here. By St. Paul! it is not the first time that we have met; for,
if I mistake not, it is Don Diego Alvarez, who was once at the prince's
court."
"It is indeed I," said the Spanish knight, speaking in the French
tongue, "and I pray you to pass your sword through my heart, for how can
I live—I, a caballero of Castile—after being dragged from my horse by
the base hands of a common archer?"
"Fret not for that," answered Sir Nigel. "For, in sooth, had he not
pulled you down, a dozen cloth-yard shafts had crossed each other in
your body."
"By St. James! it were better so than to be polluted by his touch,"
answered the Spaniard, with his black eyes sparkling with rage and
hatred. "I trust that I am now the prisoner of some honorable knight or
gentleman."
"You are the prisoner of the man who took you, Sir Diego," answered Sir
Nigel. "And I may tell you that better men than either you or I have
found themselves before now prisoners in the hands of archers of
England."
"What ransom, then, does he demand?" asked the Spaniard.
Big John scratched his red head and grinned in high delight when the
question was propounded to him. "Tell him," said he, "that I shall have
ten cows and a bull too, if it be but a little one. Also a dress of
blue sendall for mother and a red one for Joan; with five acres of
pasture-land, two scythes, and a fine new grindstone. Likewise a small
house, with stalls for the cows, and thirty-six gallons of beer for the
thirsty weather."
"Tut, tut!" cried Sir Nigel, laughing. "All these things may be had for
money; and I think, Don Diego, that five thousand crowns is not too much
for so renowned a knight."
"It shall be duly paid him."
"For some days we must keep you with us; and I must crave leave also to
use your shield, your armor, and your horse."
"My harness is yours by the law of arms," said the Spaniard, gloomily.
"I do but ask the loan of it. I have need of it this day, but it shall
be duly returned to you. Set guards, Aylward, with arrow on string, at
either end of the pass; for it may happen that some other cavaliers may
visit us ere the time be come." All day the little band of Englishmen
lay in the sheltered gorge, looking down upon the vast host of their
unconscious enemies. Shortly after mid-day, a great uproar of shouting
and cheering broke out in the camp, with mustering of men and calling of
bugles. Clambering up among the rocks, the companions saw a long rolling
cloud of dust along the whole eastern sky-line, with the glint of spears
and the flutter of pennons, which announced the approach of a large body
of cavalry. For a moment a wild hope came upon them that perhaps the
prince had moved more swiftly than had been planned, that he had crossed
the Ebro, and that this was his vanguard sweeping to the attack.
"Surely I see the red pile of Chandos at the head of yonder squadron!"
cried Sir Richard Causton, shading his eyes with his hand.
"Not so," answered Sir Simon Burley, who had watched the approaching
host with a darkening face. "It is even as I feared. That is the double
eagle of Du Guesclin."
"You say very truly," cried the Earl of Angus. "These are the levies of
France, for I can see the ensigns of the Marshal d'Andreghen, with
that of the Lord of Antoing and of Briseuil, and of many another from
Brittany and Anjou."
"By St. Paul! I am very glad of it," said Sir Nigel. "Of these Spaniards
I know nothing; but the French are very worthy gentlemen, and will do
what they can for our advancement."
"There are at the least four thousand of them, and all men-at-arms,"
cried Sir William Felton. "See, there is Bertrand himself, beside his
banner, and there is King Henry, who rides to welcome him. Now they all
turn and come into the camp together."
As he spoke, the vast throng of Spaniards and of Frenchmen trooped
across the plain, with brandished arms and tossing banners. All day long
the sound of revelry and of rejoicing from the crowded camp swelled up
to the ears of the Englishmen, and they could see the soldiers of the
two nations throwing themselves into each other's arms and dancing
hand-in-hand round the blazing fires. The sun had sunk behind a
cloud-bank in the west before Sir Nigel at last gave word that the men
should resume their arms and have their horses ready. He had himself
thrown off his armor, and had dressed himself from head to foot in the
harness of the captured Spaniard.
"Sir William," said he, "it is my intention to attempt a small deed, and
I ask you therefore that you will lead this outfall upon the camp. For
me, I will ride into their camp with my squire and two archers. I pray
you to watch me, and to ride forth when I am come among the tents. You
will leave twenty men behind here, as we planned this morning, and you
will ride back here after you have ventured as far as seems good to
you."
"I will do as you order, Nigel; but what is it that you propose to do?"
"You will see anon, and indeed it is but a trifling matter. Alleyne, you
will come with me, and lead a spare horse by the bridle. I will have the
two archers who rode with us through France, for they are trusty men and
of stout heart. Let them ride behind us, and let them leave their bows
here among the bushes for it is not my wish that they should know that
we are Englishmen. Say no word to any whom we may meet, and, if any
speak to you, pass on as though you heard them not. Are you ready?"
"I am ready, my fair lord," said Alleyne.
"And I," "And I," cried Aylward and John.
"Then the rest I leave to your wisdom, Sir William; and if God sends us
fortune we shall meet you again in this gorge ere it be dark."
So saying, Sir Nigel mounted the white horse of the Spanish cavalier,
and rode quietly forth from his concealment with his three companions
behind him, Alleyne leading his master's own steed by the bridle. So
many small parties of French and Spanish horse were sweeping hither and
thither that the small band attracted little notice, and making its way
at a gentle trot across the plain, they came as far as the camp without
challenge or hindrance. On and on they pushed past the endless lines of
tents, amid the dense swarms of horsemen and of footmen, until the huge
royal pavilion stretched in front of them. They were close upon it when
of a sudden there broke out a wild hubbub from a distant portion of the
camp, with screams and war-cries and all the wild tumult of battle. At
the sound soldiers came rushing from their tents, knights shouted loudly
for their squires, and there was mad turmoil on every hand of bewildered
men and plunging horses. At the royal tent a crowd of gorgeously dressed
servants ran hither and thither in helpless panic for the guard
of soldiers who were stationed there had already ridden off in the
direction of the alarm. A man-at-arms on either side of the doorway were
the sole protectors of the royal dwelling.
"I have come for the king," whispered Sir Nigel; "and, by Saint Paul! he
must back with us or I must bide here."
Alleyne and Aylward sprang from their horses, and flew at the two
sentries, who were disarmed and beaten down in an instant by so furious
and unexpected an attack. Sir Nigel dashed into the royal tent, and was
followed by Hordle John as soon as the horses had been secured. From
within came wild screamings and the clash of steel, and then the two
emerged once more, their swords and forearms reddened with blood,
while John bore over his shoulder the senseless body of a man whose gay
surcoat, adorned with the lions and towers of Castile, proclaimed him
to belong to the royal house. A crowd of white-faced sewers and pages
swarmed at their heels, those behind pushing forwards, while the
foremost shrank back from the fierce faces and reeking weapons of the
adventurers. The senseless body was thrown across the spare horse, the
four sprang to their saddles, and away they thundered with loose reins
and busy spurs through the swarming camp.
But confusion and disorder still reigned among the Spaniards for Sir
William Felton and his men had swept through half their camp, leaving
a long litter of the dead and the dying to mark their course. Uncertain
who were their attackers, and unable to tell their English enemies
from their newly-arrived Breton allies, the Spanish knights rode wildly
hither and thither in aimless fury. The mad turmoil, the mixture of
races, and the fading light, were all in favor of the four who alone
knew their own purpose among the vast uncertain multitude. Twice ere
they reached open ground they had to break their way through small
bodies of horses, and once there came a whistle of arrows and singing of
stones about their ears; but, still dashing onwards, they shot out
from among the tents and found their own comrades retreating for the
mountains at no very great distance from them. Another five minutes of
wild galloping over the plain, and they were all back in their gorge,
while their pursuers fell back before the rolling of drums and blare of
trumpets, which seemed to proclaim that the whole army of the prince was
about to emerge from the mountain passes.
"By my soul! Nigel," cried Sir Oliver, waving a great boiled ham over
his head, "I have come by something which I may eat with my truffles! I
had a hard fight for it, for there were three of them with their mouths
open and the knives in their hands, all sitting agape round the table,
when I rushed in upon them. How say you, Sir William, will you not try
the smack of the famed Spanish swine, though we have but the brook water
to wash it down?"
"Later, Sir Oliver," answered the old soldier, wiping his grimed face.
"We must further into the mountains ere we be in safety. But what have
we here, Nigel?"
"It is a prisoner whom I have taken, and in sooth, as he came from the
royal tent and wears the royal arms upon his jupon, I trust that he is
the King of Spain."
"The King of Spain!" cried the companions, crowding round in amazement.
"Nay, Sir Nigel," said Felton, peering at the prisoner through the
uncertain light, "I have twice seen Henry of Transtamare, and certes
this man in no way resembles him."
"Then, by the light of heaven! I will ride back for him," cried Sir
Nigel.
"Nay, nay, the camp is in arms, and it would be rank madness. Who are
you, fellow?" he added in Spanish, "and how is it that you dare to wear
the arms of Castile?"
The prisoner was bent recovering the consciousness which had been
squeezed from him by the grip of Hordle John. "If it please you," he
answered, "I and nine others are the body-squires of the king, and must
ever wear his arms, so as to shield him from even such perils as have
threatened him this night. The king is at the tent of the brave Du
Guesclin, where he will sup to night. But I am a caballero of Aragon,
Don Sancho Penelosa, and, though I be no king, I am yet ready to pay a
fitting price for my ransom."
"By Saint Paul! I will not touch your gold," cried Sir Nigel. "Go back
to your master and give him greeting from Sir Nigel Loring of Twynham
Castle, telling him that I had hoped to make his better acquaintance
this night, and that, if I have disordered his tent, it was but in my
eagerness to know so famed and courteous a knight. Spur on, comrades!
for we must cover many a league ere we can venture to light fire or to
loosen girth. I had hoped to ride without this patch to-night, but it
seems that I must carry it yet a little longer."
End of Chapter XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW SIR NIGEL TOOK THE PATCH FROM HIS EYE.
It was a cold, bleak morning in the beginning of March, and the mist was
drifting in dense rolling clouds through the passes of the Cantabrian
mountains. The Company, who had passed the night in a sheltered gully,
were already astir, some crowding round the blazing fires and others
romping or leaping over each other's backs for their limbs were chilled
and the air biting. Here and there, through the dense haze which
surrounded them, there loomed out huge pinnacles and jutting boulders
of rock: while high above the sea of vapor there towered up one gigantic
peak, with the pink glow of the early sunshine upon its snow-capped
head. The ground was wet, the rocks dripping, the grass and ever-greens
sparkling with beads of moisture; yet the camp was loud with laughter
and merriment, for a messenger had ridden in from the prince with words
of heart-stirring praise for what they had done, and with orders that
they should still abide in the forefront of the army.
Round one of the fires were clustered four or five of the leading men
of the archers, cleaning the rust from their weapons, and glancing
impatiently from time to time at a great pot which smoked over the
blaze. There was Aylward squatting cross-legged in his shirt, while he
scrubbed away at his chain-mail brigandine, whistling loudly the while.
On one side of him sat old Johnston, who was busy in trimming the
feathers of some arrows to his liking; and on the other Hordle John, who
lay with his great limbs all asprawl, and his headpiece balanced upon
his uplifted foot. Black Simon of Norwich crouched amid the rocks,
crooning an Eastland ballad to himself, while he whetted his sword upon
a flat stone which lay across his knees; while beside him sat Alleyne
Edricson, and Norbury, the silent squire of Sir Oliver, holding out
their chilled hands towards the crackling faggots.
"Cast on another culpon, John, and stir the broth with thy
sword-sheath," growled Johnston, looking anxiously for the twentieth
time at the reeking pot.
"By my hilt!" cried Aylward, "now that John hath come by this great
ransom, he will scarce abide the fare of poor archer lads. How say you,
camarade? When you see Hordle once more, there will be no penny ale and
fat bacon, but Gascon wines and baked meats every day of the seven."
"I know not about that," said John, kicking his helmet up into the air
and catching it in his hand. "I do but know that whether the broth be
ready or no, I am about to dip this into it."
"It simmers and it boils," cried Johnston, pushing his hard-lined face
through the smoke. In an instant the pot had been plucked from the
blaze, and its contents had been scooped up in half a dozen steel
head-pieces, which were balanced betwixt their owners' knees, while,
with spoon and gobbet of bread, they devoured their morning meal.
"It is ill weather for bows," remarked John at last, when, with a long
sigh, he drained the last drop from his helmet. "My strings are as limp
as a cow's tail this morning."
"You should rub them with water glue," quoth Johnston. "You remember,
Samkin, that it was wetter than this on the morning of Crecy, and yet I
cannot call to mind that there was aught amiss with our strings."
"It is in my thoughts," said Black Simon, still pensively grinding his
sword, "that we may have need of your strings ere sundown. I dreamed of
the red cow last night."
"And what is this red cow, Simon?" asked Alleyne.
"I know not, young sir; but I can only say that on the eve of Cadsand,
and on the eve of Crecy, and on the eve of Nogent, I dreamed of a red
cow; and now the dream has come upon me again, so I am now setting a
very keen edge to my blade."
"Well said, old war-dog!" cried Aylward. "By my hilt! I pray that your
dream may come true, for the prince hath not set us out here to drink
broth or to gather whortle-berries. One more fight, and I am ready to
hang up my bow, marry a wife, and take to the fire corner. But how now,
Robin? Whom is it that you seek?"
"The Lord Loring craves your attendance in his tent," said a young
archer to Alleyne.
The squire rose and proceeded to the pavilion, where he found the knight
seated upon a cushion, with his legs crossed in front of him and a broad
ribbon of parchment laid across his knees, over which he was poring with
frowning brows and pursed lips.
"It came this morning by the prince's messenger," said he, "and was
brought from England by Sir John Fallislee, who is new come from Sussex.
What make you of this upon the outer side?"
"It is fairly and clearly written," Alleyne answered, "and it signifies
To Sir Nigel Loring, Knight Constable of Twynham Castle, by the hand of
Christopher, the servant of God at the Priory of Christchurch."
"So I read it," said Sir Nigel. "Now I pray you to read what is set
forth within."
Alleyne turned to the letter, and, as his eyes rested upon it, his face
turned pale and a cry of surprise and grief burst from his lips.
"What then?" asked the knight, peering up at him anxiously. "There is
nought amiss with the Lady Mary or with the Lady Maude?"
"It is my brother—my poor unhappy brother!" cried Alleyne, with his
hand to his brow. "He is dead."
"By Saint Paul! I have never heard that he had shown so much love for
you that you should mourn him so."
"Yet he was my brother—the only kith or kin that I had upon earth.
Mayhap he had cause to be bitter against me, for his land was given to
the abbey for my upbringing. Alas! alas! and I raised my staff against
him when last we met! He has been slain—and slain, I fear, amidst crime
and violence."
"Ha!" said Sir Nigel. "Read on, I pray you."
"'God be with thee, my honored lord, and have thee in his holy keeping.
The Lady Loring hath asked me to set down in writing what hath befallen
at Twynham, and all that concerns the death of thy ill neighbor the
Socman of Minstead. For when ye had left us, this evil man gathered
around him all outlaws, villeins, and masterless men, until they were
come to such a force that they slew and scattered the king's men who
went against them. Then, coming forth from the woods, they laid siege to
thy castle, and for two days they girt us in and shot hard against us,
with such numbers as were a marvel to see. Yet the Lady Loring held the
place stoutly, and on the second day the Socman was slain—by his own
men, as some think—so that we were delivered from their hands; 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 gate. 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 centre
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."
"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 h
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 marching.
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 penniless, 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.
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 bowmen, the occasional bursts of hoarse laughter, and the
champing 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 monastic 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 is a great body of horse," said Sir William Felton, "and they are
riding very swiftly hitherwards."
"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 rumored 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," answered 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."
"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 advancement. 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 marshalling
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.
"It 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, "if 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 centre of the gorge on which we might take
our stand."
"I marked it yester-night," said Felton, "and no better spot could be
found for our purpose, for it is very steep at the back. It is but a
bow-shot to the left, and, indeed, I can see the shadow of it."
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 defence, for it sloped down in front, all jagged and
boulder-strewn, while it fell away 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 Causton. I and Sir
William Felton will hold the centre with our men-at-arms. Now order
the ranks, and fling wide the banners, 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 walling 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 backwards
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 banderoles, while the curvets and gambades of the chargers
lent a constant motion and shimmer to the glittering, many-colored mass.
A yell of exultation, and a forest of waving steel through the length
and breadth of their column, announced that they could at last see their
entrapped enemies, while the swelling notes of a hundred bugles and
drums, mixed with the clash of Moorish cymbals, broke forth into a proud
peal of martial triumph. Strange it was to these gallant and sparkling
cavaliers of Spain to look upon this handful of men upon the hill, the
thin lines of bowmen, the knots of knights and men-at-arms with armor
rusted and discolored from long service, and to learn that these were
indeed the soldiers whose fame and prowess had been the camp-fire talk
of every army in Christendom. Very still and silent they stood, leaning
upon their bows, while their leaders took counsel together in front of
them. No clang of bugle rose from their stern ranks, but in the centre
waved the leopards of England, on the right the ensign of their Company
with the roses of Loring, and on the left, over three score of Welsh
bowmen, there floated the red banner of Merlin with the boars'-heads of
the Buttesthorns. Gravely and sedately they stood beneath the morning
sun waiting for the onslaught of their foemen.
"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, gazing with puckered eye down the
valley, "there appear to be some very worthy people among them. What is
this golden banner which waves upon the left?"
"It is the ensign of the Knights of Calatrava," answered Felton.
"And the other upon the right?"
"It marks the Knights of Santiago, and I see by his flag that their
grand-master rides at their head. There too is the banner of Castile
amid yonder sparkling squadron which heads the main battle. There are
six thousand men-at-arms with ten squadrons of slingers as far as I may
judge their numbers."
"There are Frenchmen among them, my fair lord," remarked Black Simon.
"I can see the pennons of De Couvette, De Brieux, Saint Pol, and many
others who struck in against us for Charles of Blois."
"You are right," said Sir William, "for I can also see them. There is
much Spanish blazonry also, if I could but read it. Don Diego, you know
the arms of your own land. Who are they who have done us this honor?"
The Spanish prisoner looked with exultant eyes upon the deep and serried
ranks of his countrymen.
"By Saint James!" said he, "if ye fall this day ye fall by no mean
hands, for the flower of the knighthood of Castile ride under the banner
of Don Tello, with the chivalry of Asturias, Toledo, Leon, Cordova,
Galicia, and Seville. I see the guidons of Albornez, Cacorla, Rodriguez,
Tavora, with the two great orders, and the knights of France and of
Aragon. If you will take my rede you will come to a composition with
them, for they will give you such terms as you have given me."
"Nay, by Saint Paul! it were pity if so many brave men were drawn
together, and no little deed of arms to come of it. Ha! William, they
advance upon us; and, by my soul! it is a sight that is worth coming
over the seas to see."
As he spoke, the two wings of the Spanish host, consisting of the
Knights of Calatrava on the one side and of Santiago upon the other,
came swooping swiftly down the valley, while the main body followed more
slowly behind. Five hundred paces from the English the two great bodies
of horse crossed each other, and, sweeping round in a curve, retired
in feigned confusion towards their centre. Often in bygone wars had the
Moors tempted the hot-blooded Spaniards from their places of strength by
such pretended flights, but there were men upon the hill to whom every
ruse an trick of war were as their daily trade and practice. Again and
even nearer came the rallying Spaniards, and again with cry of fear
and stooping bodies they swerved off to right and left, but the English
still stood stolid and observant among their rocks. The vanguard halted
a long bow shot from the hill, and with waving spears and vaunting
shouts challenged their enemies to come forth, while two cavaliers,
pricking forward from the glittering ranks, walked their horses slowly
between the two arrays with targets braced and lances in rest like the
challengers in a tourney.
"By Saint Paul!" cried Sir Nigel, with his one eye glowing like an
ember, "these appear to be two very worthy and debonair gentlemen. I do
not call to mind when I have seen any people who seemed of so great a
heart and so high of enterprise. We have our horses, Sir William: shall
we not relieve them of any vow which they may have upon their souls?"
Felton's reply was to bound upon his charger, and to urge it down the
slope, while Sir Nigel followed not three spears'-lengths behind him.
It was a rugged course, rocky and uneven, yet the two knights, choosing
their men, dashed onwards at the top of their speed, while the gallant
Spaniards flew as swiftly to meet them. The one to whom Felton found
himself opposed was a tall stripling with a stag's head upon his shield,
while Sir Nigel's man was broad and squat with plain steel harness, and
a pink and white torse bound round his helmet. The first struck Felton
on the target with such force as to split it from side to side, but Sir
William's lance crashed through the camail which shielded the Spaniard's
throat, and he fell, screaming hoarsely, to the ground. Carried away by
the heat and madness of fight, the English knight never drew rein, but
charged straight on into the array of the knights of Calatrava. Long
time the silent ranks upon the hill could see a swirl and eddy deep down
in the heart of the Spanish column, with a circle of rearing chargers
and flashing blades. Here and there tossed the white plume of the
English helmet, rising and falling like the foam upon a wave, with the
fierce gleam and sparkle ever circling round it until at last it had
sunk from view, and another brave man had turned from war to peace.
Sir Nigel, meanwhile, had found a foeman worthy of his steel for his
opponent was none other than Sebastian Gomez, the picked lance of
the monkish Knights of Santiago, who had won fame in a hundred bloody
combats with the Moors of Andalusia. So fierce was their meeting that
their spears shivered up to the very grasp, and the horses reared
backwards until it seemed that they must crash down upon their riders.
Yet with consummate horsemanship they both swung round in a long curvet,
and then plucking out their swords they lashed at each other like two
*** smiths hammering upon an anvil. The chargers spun round each
other, biting and striking, while the two blades wheeled and whizzed and
circled in gleams of dazzling light. Cut, parry, and thrust followed
so swiftly upon each other that the eye could not follow them, until at
last coming thigh to thigh, they cast their arms around each other
and rolled off their saddles to the ground. The heavier Spaniard threw
himself upon his enemy, and pinning him down beneath him raised his
sword to slay him, while a shout of triumph rose from the ranks of his
countrymen. But the fatal blow never fell, for even as his arm quivered
before descending, the Spaniard gave a shudder, and stiffening himself
rolled heavily over upon his side, with the blood gushing from his
armpit and from the slit of his vizor. Sir Nigel sprang to his feet with
his bloody dagger in his left hand and gazed down upon his adversary,
but that fatal and sudden stab in the vital spot, which the Spaniard had
exposed by raising his arm, had proved instantly mortal. The Englishman
leaped upon his horse and made for the hill, at the very instant that a
yell of rage from a thousand voices and the clang of a score of bugles
announced the Spanish onset.
But the islanders were ready and eager for the encounter. With feet
firmly planted, their sleeves rolled back to give free play to their
muscles, their long yellow bow-staves in their left hands, and their
quivers slung to the front, they had waited in the four-deep harrow
formation which gave strength to their array, and yet permitted every
man to draw his arrow freely without harm to those in front. Aylward and
Johnston had been engaged in throwing light tufts of grass into the air
to gauge the wind force, and a hoarse whisper passed down the ranks from
the file-leaders to the men, with scraps of advice and admonition.
"Do not shoot outside the fifteen-score paces," cried Johnston. "We may
need all our shafts ere we have done with them."
"Better to overshoot than to undershoot," added Aylward. "Better to
strike the rear guard than to feather a shaft in the earth."
"Loose quick and sharp when they come," added another. "Let it be the
eye to the string, the string to the shaft, and the shaft to the mark.
By Our Lady! their banners advance, and we must hold our ground now if
ever we are to see Southampton Water again."
Alleyne, standing with his sword drawn amidst the archers, saw a long
toss and heave of the glittering squadrons. Then the front ranks began
to surge slowly forward, to trot, to canter, to gallop, and in an
instant the whole vast array was hurtling onward, line after line, the
air full of the thunder of their cries, the ground shaking with the beat
of their hoots, the valley choked with the rushing torrent of steel,
topped by the waving plumes, the slanting spears and the fluttering
banderoles. On they swept over the level and up to the slope, ere they
met the blinding storm of the English arrows. Down went the whole ranks
in a whirl of mad confusion, horses plunging and kicking, bewildered men
falling, rising, staggering on or back, while ever new lines of horsemen
came spurring through the gaps and urged their chargers up the fatal
slope. All around him Alleyne could hear the stern, short orders of the
master-bowmen, while the air was filled with the keen twanging of the
strings and the swish and patter of the shafts. Right across the foot
of the hill there had sprung up a long wall of struggling horses and
stricken men, which ever grew and heightened as fresh squadrons poured
on the attack. One young knight on a gray jennet leaped over his fallen
comrades and galloped swiftly up the hill, shrieking loudly upon Saint
James, ere he fell within a spear-length of the English line, with the
feathers of arrows thrusting out from every crevice and joint of his
armor. So for five long minutes the gallant horsemen of Spain and of
France strove ever and again to force a passage, until the wailing
note of a bugle called them back, and they rode slowly out of bow-shot,
leaving their best and their bravest in the ghastly, blood-mottled heap
behind them.
But there was little rest for the victors. Whilst the knights had
charged them in front the slingers had crept round upon either flank and
had gained a footing upon the cliffs and behind the outlying rocks.
A storm of stones broke suddenly upon the defenders, who, drawn up in
lines upon the exposed summit, offered a fair mark to their hidden
foes. Johnston, the old archer, was struck upon the temple and fell dead
without a groan, while fifteen of his bowmen and six of the men-at-arms
were struck down at the same moment. The others lay on their faces to
avoid the deadly hail, while at each side of the plateau a fringe of
bowmen exchanged shots with the slingers and crossbowmen among the
rocks, aiming mainly at those who had swarmed up the cliffs, and
bursting into laughter and cheers when a well-aimed shaft brought one of
their opponents toppling down from his lofty perch.
"I think, Nigel," said Sir Oliver, striding across to the little knight,
"that we should all acquit ourselves better had we our none-meat, for
the sun is high in the heaven."
"By Saint Paul!" quoth Sir Nigel, plucking the patch from his eye,
"I think that I am now clear of my vow, for this Spanish knight was a
person from whom much honor might be won. Indeed, he was a very worthy
gentleman, of good courage, and great hardiness, and it grieves me that
he should have come by such a hurt. As to what you say of food, Oliver,
it is not to be thought of, for we have nothing with us upon the hill."
"Nigel!" cried Sir Simon Burley, hurrying up with consternation upon his
face, "Aylward tells me that there are not ten-score arrows left in all
their sheaves. See! they are springing from their horses, and cutting
their sollerets that they may rush upon us. Might we not even now make a
retreat?"
"My soul will retreat from my body first!" cried the little knight.
"Here I am, and here I bide, while God gives me strength to lift a
sword."
"And so say I!" shouted Sir Oliver, throwing his mace high into the air
and catching it again by the handle.
"To your arms, men!" roared Sir Nigel. "Shoot while you may, and then
out sword, and let us live or die together!"
End of Chapter XXXVI �