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diff --git a/2845-h/2845-h.htm b/2845-h/2845-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ce3683 --- /dev/null +++ b/2845-h/2845-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17384 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sir Nigel, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sir Nigel, by Arthur Conan Doyle</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Sir Nigel</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Arthur Conan Doyle</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 10, 2000 [eBook #2845]<br /> +[Most recently updated: April 11, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR NIGEL ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>Sir Nigel</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle</h2> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap00"> INTRODUCTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01"> I. THE HOUSE OF LORING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02"> II. HOW THE DEVIL CAME TO WAVERLEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03"> III. THE YELLOW HORSE OF CROOKSBURY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04"> IV. HOW THE SUMMONER CAME TO THE MANOR HOUSE OF TILFORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05"> V. HOW NIGEL WAS TRIED BY THE ABBOT OF WAVERLEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06"> VI. IN WHICH LADY ERMYNTRUDE OPENS THE IRON COFFER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07"> VII. HOW NIGEL WENT MARKETING TO GUILDFORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08"> VIII. HOW THE KING HAWKED ON CROOKSBURY HEATH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09"> IX. HOW NIGEL HELD THE BRIDGE AT TILFORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10"> X. HOW THE KING GREETED HIS SENESCHAL OF CALAIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11"> XI. IN THE HALL OF THE KNIGHT OF DUPLIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12"> XII. HOW NIGEL FOUGHT THE TWISTED MAN OF SHALFORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13"> XIII. HOW THE COMRADES JOURNEYED DOWN THE OLD, OLD ROAD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14"> XIV. HOW NIGEL CHASED THE RED FERRET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15"> XV. HOW THE RED FERRET CAME TO COSFORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16"> XVI. HOW THE KING’S COURT FEASTED IN CALAIS CASTLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17"> XVII. THE SPANIARDS ON THE SEA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18"> XVIII. HOW BLACK SIMON CLAIMED FORFEIT FROM THE KING OF SARK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19"> XIX. HOW A SQUIRE OF ENGLAND MET A SQUIRE OF FRANCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20"> XX. HOW THE ENGLISH ATTEMPTED THE CASTLE OF LA BROHINIÈRE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21"> XXI. HOW THE SECOND MESSENGER WENT TO COSFORD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22"> XXII. HOW ROBERT OF BEAUMANOIR CAME TO PLOERMEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23"> XXIII. HOW THIRTY OF JOSSELIN ENCOUNTERED THIRTY OF PLOERMEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24"> XXIV. HOW NIGEL WAS CALLED TO HIS MASTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25"> XXV. HOW THE KING OF FRANCE HELD COUNSEL AT MAUPERTUIS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26"> XXVI. HOW NIGEL FOUND HIS THIRD DEED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27"> XXVII. HOW THE THIRD MESSENGER CAME TO COSFORD</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap00"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p> +Dame History is so austere a lady that if one, has been so ill-advised as to +take a liberty with her, one should hasten to make amends by repentance and +confession. Events have been transposed to the extent of some few months in +this narrative in order to preserve the continuity and evenness of the story. I +hope so small a divergence may seem a venial error after so many centuries. For +the rest, it is as accurate as a good deal of research and hard work could make +it. +</p> + +<p> +The matter of diction is always a question of taste and discretion in a +historical reproduction. In the year 1350 the upper classes still spoke +Norman-French, though they were just beginning to condescend to English. The +lower classes spoke the English of the original Piers Plowman text, which would +be considerably more obscure than their superiors’ French if the two were now +reproduced or imitated. The most which the chronicles can do is to catch the +cadence and style of their talk, and to infuse here and there such a dash of +the archaic as may indicate their fashion of speech. +</p> + +<p> +I am aware that there are incidents which may strike the modern reader as +brutal and repellent. It is useless, however, to draw the Twentieth Century and +label it the Fourteenth. It was a sterner age, and men’s code of morality, +especially in matters of cruelty, was very different. There is no incident in +the text for which very good warrant may not be given. The fantastic graces of +Chivalry lay upon the surface of life, but beneath it was a half-savage +population, fierce and animal, with little ruth or mercy. It was a raw, rude +England, full of elemental passions, and redeemed only by elemental virtues. +Such I have tried to draw it. +</p> + +<p> +For good or bad, many books have gone to the building of this one. I look round +my study table and I survey those which lie with me at the moment, before I +happily disperse them forever. I see La Croix’s “Middle Ages,” Oman’s “Art of +War,” Rietstap’s “Armorial General,” De la Borderie’s “Histoire de Bretagne,” +Dame Berner’s “Boke of St. Albans,” “The Chronicle of Jocelyn of Brokeland,” +“The Old Road,” Hewitt’s “Ancient Armour,” Coussan’s “Heraldry,” Boutell’s +“Arms,” Browne’s “Chaucer’s England,” Cust’s “Scenes of the Middle Ages,” +Husserand’s “Wayfaring Life,” Ward’s “Canterbury Pilgrims;” Cornish’s +“Chivalry,” Hastings’ “British Archer,” Strutt’s “Sports,” Johnes Froissart, +Hargrove’s “Archery,” Longman’s “Edward III,” Wright’s “Domestic Manners.” With +these and many others I have lived for months. If I have been unable to combine +and transfer their effect, the fault is mine. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. +</p> + +<p> +“UNDERSHAW,” November 30, 1905. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>I.<br/> +THE HOUSE OF LORING</h2> + +<p> +In the month of July of the year 1348, between the feasts of St. Benedict and +of St. Swithin, a strange thing came upon England, for out of the east there +drifted a monstrous cloud, purple and piled, heavy with evil, climbing slowly +up the hushed heaven. In the shadow of that strange cloud the leaves drooped in +the trees, the birds ceased their calling, and the cattle and the sheep +gathered cowering under the hedges. A gloom fell upon all the land, and men +stood with their eyes upon the strange cloud and a heaviness upon their hearts. +They crept into the churches where the trembling people were blessed and +shriven by the trembling priests. Outside no bird flew, and there came no +rustling from the woods, nor any of the homely sounds of Nature. All was still, +and nothing moved, save only the great cloud which rolled up and onward, with +fold on fold from the black horizon. To the west was the light summer sky, to +the east this brooding cloud-bank, creeping ever slowly across, until the last +thin blue gleam faded away and the whole vast sweep of the heavens was one +great leaden arch. +</p> + +<p> +Then the rain began to fall. All day it rained, and all the night and all the +week and all the month, until folk had forgotten the blue heavens and the gleam +of the sunshine. It was not heavy, but it was steady and cold and unceasing, so +that the people were weary of its hissing and its splashing, with the slow drip +from the eaves. Always the same thick evil cloud flowed from east to west with +the rain beneath it. None could see for more than a bow-shot from their +dwellings for the drifting veil of the rain-storms. Every morning the folk +looked upward for a break, but their eyes rested always upon the same endless +cloud, until at last they ceased to look up, and their hearts despaired of ever +seeing the change. It was raining at Lammas-tide and raining at the Feast of +the Assumption and still raining at Michaelmas. The crops and the hay, sodden +and black, had rotted in the fields, for they were not worth the garnering. The +sheep had died, and the calves also, so there was little to kill when Martinmas +came and it was time to salt the meat for the winter. They feared a famine, but +it was worse than famine which was in store for them. +</p> + +<p> +For the rain had ceased at last, and a sickly autumn sun shone upon a land +which was soaked and sodden with water. Wet and rotten leaves reeked and +festered under the foul haze which rose from the woods. The fields were spotted +with monstrous fungi of a size and color never matched before—scarlet and mauve +and liver and black. It was as though the sick earth had burst into foul +pustules; mildew and lichen mottled the walls, and with that filthy crop Death +sprang also from the water-soaked earth. Men died, and women and children, the +baron of the castle, the franklin on the farm, the monk in the abbey and the +villein in his wattle-and-daub cottage. All breathed the same polluted reek and +all died the same death of corruption. Of those who were stricken none +recovered, and the illness was ever the same—gross boils, raving, and the black +blotches which gave its name to the disease. All through the winter the dead +rotted by the wayside for want of some one to bury them. In many a village no +single man was left alive. Then at last the spring came with sunshine and +health and lightness and laughter—the greenest, sweetest, tenderest spring that +England had ever known—but only half of England could know it. The other half +had passed away with the great purple cloud. +</p> + +<p> +Yet it was there in that stream of death, in that reek of corruption, that the +brighter and freer England was born. There in that dark hour the first streak +of the new dawn was seen. For in no way save by a great upheaval and change +could the nation break away from that iron feudal system which held her limbs. +But now it was a new country which came out from that year of death. The barons +were dead in swaths. No high turret nor cunning moat could keep out that black +commoner who struck them down. +</p> + +<p> +Oppressive laws slackened for want of those who could enforce them, and once +slackened could never be enforced again. The laborer would be a slave no +longer. The bondsman snapped his shackles. There was much to do and few left to +do it. Therefore the few should be freemen, name their own price, and work +where and for whom they would. It was the black death which cleared the way for +that great rising thirty years later which left the English peasant the freest +of his class in Europe. +</p> + +<p> +But there were few so far-sighted that they could see that here, as ever, good +was coming out of evil. At the moment misery and ruin were brought into every +family. The dead cattle, the ungarnered crops, the untilled lands—every spring +of wealth had dried up at the same moment. Those who were rich became poor; but +those who were poor already, and especially those who were poor with the burden +of gentility upon their shoulders, found themselves in a perilous state. All +through England the smaller gentry were ruined, for they had no trade save war, +and they drew their living from the work of others. On many a manor-house there +came evil times, and on none more than on the Manor of Tilford, where for many +generations the noble family of the Lorings had held their home. +</p> + +<p> +There was a time when the Lorings had held the country from the North Downs to +the Lakes of Frensham, and when their grim castle-keep rising above the green +meadows which border the River Wey had been the strongest fortalice betwixt +Guildford Castle in the east and Winchester in the west. But there came that +Barons’ War, in which the King used his Saxon subjects as a whip with which to +scourge his Norman barons, and Castle Loring, like so many other great +strongholds, was swept from the face of the land. From that time the Lorings, +with estates sadly curtailed, lived in what had been the dower-house, with +enough for splendor. +</p> + +<p> +And then came their lawsuit with Waverley Abbey, and the Cistercians laid claim +to their richest land, with peccary, turbary and feudal rights over the +remainder. It lingered on for years, this great lawsuit, and when it was +finished the men of the Church and the men of the Law had divided all that was +richest of the estate between them. There was still left the old manor-house +from which with each generation there came a soldier to uphold the credit of +the name and to show the five scarlet roses on the silver shield where it had +always been shown—in the van. There were twelve bronzes in the little chapel +where Matthew the priest said mass every morning, all of men of the house of +Loring. Two lay with their legs crossed, as being from the Crusades. Six others +rested their feet upon lions, as having died in war. Four only lay with the +effigy of their hounds to show that they had passed in peace. +</p> + +<p> +Of this famous but impoverished family, doubly impoverished by law and by +pestilence, two members were living in the year of grace 1349—Lady Ermyntrude +Loring and her grandson Nigel. Lady Ermyntrude’s husband had fallen before the +Scottish spearsmen at Stirling, and her son Eustace, Nigel’s father, had found +a glorious death nine years before this chronicle opens upon the poop of a +Norman galley at the sea-fight of Sluys. The lonely old woman, fierce and +brooding like the falcon mewed in her chamber, was soft only toward the lad +whom she had brought up. All the tenderness and love of her nature, so hidden +from others that they could not imagine their existence, were lavished upon +him. She could not bear him away from her, and he, with that respect for +authority which the age demanded, would not go without her blessing and +consent. +</p> + +<p> +So it came about that Nigel, with his lion heart and with the blood of a +hundred soldiers thrilling in his veins, still at the age of two and twenty, +wasted the weary days reclaiming his hawks with leash and lure or training the +alans and spaniels who shared with the family the big earthen-floored hall of +the manor-house. +</p> + +<p> +Day by day the aged Lady Ermyntrude had seen him wax in strength and in +manhood, small of stature, it is true, but with muscles of steel—and a soul of +fire. From all parts, from the warden of Guildford Castle, from the tilt-yard +of Farnham, tales of his prowess were brought back to her, of his daring as a +rider, of his debonair courage, of his skill with all weapons; but still she, +who had both husband and son torn from her by a bloody death, could not bear +that this, the last of the Lorings, the final bud of so famous an old tree, +should share the same fate. With a weary heart, but with a smiling face, he +bore with his uneventful days, while she would ever put off the evil time until +the harvest was better, until the monks of Waverley should give up what they +had taken, until his uncle should die and leave money for his outfit, or any +other excuse with which she could hold him to her side. +</p> + +<p> +And indeed, there was need for a man at Tilford, for the strife betwixt the +Abbey and the manor-house had never been appeased, and still on one pretext or +another the monks would clip off yet one more slice of their neighbor’s land. +Over the winding river, across the green meadows, rose the short square tower +and the high gray walls of the grim Abbey, with its bell tolling by day and +night, a voice of menace and of dread to the little household. +</p> + +<p> +It is in the heart of the great Cistercian monastery that this chronicle of old +days must take its start, as we trace the feud betwixt the monks and the house +of Loring, with those events to which it gave birth, ending with the coming of +Chandos, the strange spear-running of Tilford Bridge and the deeds with which +Nigel won fame in the wars. Elsewhere, in the chronicle of the White Company, +it has been set forth what manner of man was Nigel Loring. Those who love him +may read herein those things which went to his making. Let us go back together +and gaze upon this green stage of England, the scenery, hill, plain and river +even as now, the actors in much our very selves, in much also so changed in +thought and act that they might be dwellers in another world to ours. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>II.<br/> +HOW THE DEVIL CAME TO WAVERLEY</h2> + +<p> +The day was the first of May, which was the Festival of the Blessed Apostles +Philip and James. The year was the 1,349th from man’s salvation. +</p> + +<p> +From tierce to sext, and then again from sext to nones, Abbot John of the House +of Waverley had been seated in his study while he conducted the many high +duties of his office. All around for many a mile on every side stretched the +fertile and flourishing estate of which he was the master. In the center lay +the broad Abbey buildings, with church and cloisters, hospitium, chapter-house +and frater-house, all buzzing with a busy life. Through the open window came +the low hum of the voices of the brethren as they walked in pious converse in +the ambulatory below. From across the cloister there rolled the distant rise +and fall of a Gregorian chant, where the precentor was hard at work upon the +choir, while down in the chapter-house sounded the strident voice of Brother +Peter, expounding the rule of Saint Bernard to the novices. +</p> + +<p> +Abbot John rose to stretch his cramped limbs. He looked out at the greensward +of the cloister, and at the graceful line of open Gothic arches which skirted a +covered walk for the brethren within. Two and two in their black-and-white garb +with slow step and heads inclined, they paced round and round. Several of the +more studious had brought their illuminating work from the scriptorium, and sat +in the warm sunshine with their little platters of pigments and packets of +gold-leaf before them, their shoulders rounded and their faces sunk low over +the white sheets of vellum. There too was the copper-worker with his burin and +graver. Learning and art were not traditions with the Cistercians as with the +parent Order of the Benedictines, and yet the library of Waverley was well +filled both with precious books and with pious students. +</p> + +<p> +But the true glory of the Cistercian lay in his outdoor work, and so ever and +anon there passed through the cloister some sunburned monk, soiled mattock or +shovel in hand, with his gown looped to his knee, fresh from the fields or the +garden. The lush green water-meadows speckled with the heavy-fleeced sheep, the +acres of corn-land reclaimed from heather and bracken, the vineyards on the +southern slope of Crooksbury Hill, the rows of Hankley fish-ponds, the Frensham +marshes drained and sown with vegetables, the spacious pigeon-cotes, all +circled the great Abbey round with the visible labors of the Order. +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot’s full and florid face shone with a quiet content as he looked out at +his huge but well-ordered household. Like every head of a prosperous Abbey, +Abbot John, the fourth of the name, was a man of various accomplishments. +Through his own chosen instruments he had to minister a great estate and to +keep order and decorum among a large body of men living a celibate life. He was +a rigid disciplinarian toward all beneath him, a supple diplomatist to all +above. He held high debate with neighboring abbots and lords, with bishops, +with papal legates, and even on occasion with the King’s majesty himself. Many +were the subjects with which he must be conversant. Questions of doctrine, +questions of building, points of forestry, of agriculture, of drainage, of +feudal law, all came to the Abbot for settlement. He held the scales of justice +in all the Abbey banlieue which stretched over many a mile of Hampshire and of +Surrey. To the monks his displeasure might mean fasting, exile to some sterner +community, or even imprisonment in chains. Over the layman also he could hold +any punishment save only corporeal death, instead of which he had in hand the +far more dreadful weapon of spiritual excommunication. +</p> + +<p> +Such were the powers of the Abbot, and it is no wonder that there were +masterful lines in the ruddy features of Abbot John, or that the brethren, +glancing up, should put on an even meeker carriage and more demure expression +as they saw the watchful face in the window above them. +</p> + +<p> +A knock at the door of his studio recalled the Abbot to his immediate duties, +and he returned to his desk. Already he had spoken with his cellarer and prior, +almoner, chaplain and lector, but now in the tall and gaunt monk who obeyed his +summons to enter he recognized the most important and also the most importunate +of his agents, Brother Samuel the sacrist, whose office, corresponding to that +of the layman’s bailiff, placed the material interests of the monastery and its +dealings with the outer world entirely under his control, subject only to the +check of the Abbot. Brother Samuel was a gnarled and stringy old monk whose +stern and sharp-featured face reflected no light from above but only that +sordid workaday world toward which it was forever turned. A huge book of +accounts was tucked under one of his arms, while a great bunch of keys hung +from the other hand, a badge of his office, and also on occasion of impatience +a weapon of offense, as many a scarred head among rustics and lay brothers +could testify. +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot sighed wearily, for he suffered much at the hands of his strenuous +agent. “Well, Brother Samuel, what is your will?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Holy father, I have to report that I have sold the wool to Master Baldwin of +Winchester at two shillings a bale more than it fetched last year, for the +murrain among the sheep has raised the price.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have done well, brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have also to tell you that I have distrained Wat the warrener from his +cottage, for his Christmas rent is still unpaid, nor the hen-rents of last +year.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has a wife and four children, brother.” He was a good, easy man, the Abbot, +though liable to be overborne by his sterner subordinate. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, holy father; but if I should pass him, then how am I to ask the +rent of the foresters of Puttenham, or the hinds in the village? Such a thing +spreads from house to house, and where then is the wealth of Waverley?” +</p> + +<p> +“What else, Brother Samuel?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is the matter of the fish-ponds.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot’s face brightened. It was a subject upon which he was an authority. +If the rule of his Order had robbed him of the softer joys of life, he had the +keener zest for those which remained. +</p> + +<p> +“How have the char prospered, brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“They have done well, holy father, but the carp have died in the Abbot’s pond.” +</p> + +<p> +“Carp prosper only upon a gravel bottom. They must be put in also in their due +proportion, three milters to one spawner, brother sacrist, and the spot must be +free from wind, stony and sandy, an ell deep, with willows and grass upon the +banks. Mud for tench, brother, gravel for carp.” +</p> + +<p> +The sacrist leaned forward with the face of one who bears tidings of woe. +“There are pike in the Abbot’s pond,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Pike!” cried the Abbot in horror. “As well shut up a wolf in our sheepfold. +How came a pike in the pond? There were no pike last year, and a pike does not +fall with the rain nor rise in the springs. The pond must be drained, or we +shall spend next Lent upon stockfish, and have the brethren down with the great +sickness ere Easter Sunday has come to absolve us from our abstinence.” +</p> + +<p> +“The pond shall be drained, holy father; I have already ordered it. Then we +shall plant pot-herbs on the mud bottom, and after we have gathered them in, +return the fish and water once more from the lower pond, so that they may +fatten among the rich stubble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” cried the Abbot. “I would have three fish-stews in every well-ordered +house—one dry for herbs, one shallow for the fry and the yearlings, and one +deep for the breeders and the tablefish. But still, I have not heard you say +how the pike came in the Abbot’s pond.” +</p> + +<p> +A spasm of anger passed over the fierce face of the sacrist, and his keys +rattled as his bony hand clasped them more tightly. “Young Nigel Loring!” said +he. “He swore that he would do us scathe, and in this way he has done it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How know you this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Six weeks ago he was seen day by day fishing for pike at the great Lake of +Frensham. Twice at night he has been met with a bundle of straw under his arm +on the Hankley Down. Well, I wot that the straw was wet and that a live pike +lay within it.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot shook his head. “I have heard much of this youth’s wild ways; but now +indeed he has passed all bounds if what you say be truth. It was bad enough +when it was said that he slew the King’s deer in Woolmer Chase, or broke the +head of Hobbs the chapman, so that he lay for seven days betwixt life and death +in our infirmary, saved only by Brother Peter’s skill in the pharmacies of +herbs; but to put pike in the Abbot’s pond—why should he play such a devil’s +prank?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he hates the House of Waverley, holy father; because he swears that we +hold his father’s land.” +</p> + +<p> +“In which there is surely some truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, holy father, we hold no more than the law has allowed.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, brother, and yet between ourselves, we may admit that the heavier purse +may weigh down the scales of Justice. When I have passed the old house and have +seen that aged woman with her ruddled cheeks and her baleful eyes look the +curses she dare not speak, I have many a time wished that we had other +neighbors.” +</p> + +<p> +“That we can soon bring about, holy father. Indeed, it is of it that I wished +to speak to you. Surely it is not hard for us to drive them from the +country-side. There are thirty years’ claims of escuage unsettled, and there is +Sergeant Wilkins, the lawyer of Guildford, whom I will warrant to draw up such +arrears of dues and rents and issues of hidage and fodder-corn that these folk, +who are as beggarly as they are proud, will have to sell the roof-tree over +them ere they can meet them. Within three days I will have them at our mercy.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are an ancient family and of good repute. I would not treat them too +harshly, brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bethink you of the pike in the carp pond!” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot hardened his heart at the thought. “It was indeed a devil’s deed—when +we had but newly stocked it with char and with carp. Well, well, the law is the +law, and if you can use it to hurt, it is still lawful to do so. Have these +claims been advanced?” +</p> + +<p> +“Deacon the bailiff with his two varlets went down to the Hall yesternight on +the matter of the escuage, and came screaming back with this young hothead +raging at their heels. He is small and slight, yet he has the strength of many +men in the hour of his wrath. The bailiff swears that he will go no more, save +with half a score of archers to uphold him.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot was red with anger at this new offense. “I will teach him that the +servants of Holy Church, even though we of the rule of Saint Bernard be the +lowliest and humblest of her children, can still defend their own against the +froward and the violent! Go, cite this man before the Abbey court. Let him +appear in the chapter-house after tierce to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +But the wary sacrist shook his head: “Nay, holy father, the times are not yet +ripe. Give me three days, I pray you, that my case against him may be complete. +Bear in mind that the father and the grandfather of this unruly squire were +both famous men of their day and the foremost knights in the King’s own +service, living in high honor and dying in their knightly duty. The Lady +Ermyntrude Loring was first lady to the King’s mother. Roger FitzAlan of +Farnham and Sir Hugh Walcott of Guildford Castle were each old comrades-in-arms +of Nigel’s father, and sib to him on the distaff side. Already there has been +talk that we have dealt harshly with them. Therefore, my rede is that we be +wise and wary and wait until his cup be indeed full.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot had opened his mouth to reply, when the consultation was interrupted +by a most unwonted buzz of excitement from among the monks in the cloister +below. Questions and answers in excited voices sounded from one side of the +ambulatory to the other. Sacrist and Abbot were gazing at each other in +amazement at such a breach of the discipline and decorum of their well-trained +flock, when there came a swift step upon the stair, and a white-faced brother +flung open the door and rushed into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Father Abbot!” he cried. “Alas, alas! Brother John is dead, and the holy +subprior is dead, and the Devil is loose in the five-virgate field!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>III.<br/> +THE YELLOW HORSE OF CROOKSBURY</h2> + +<p> +In those simple times there was a great wonder and mystery in life. Man walked +in fear and solemnity, with Heaven very close above his head, and Hell below +his very feet. God’s visible hand was everywhere, in the rainbow and the comet, +in the thunder and the wind. The Devil too raged openly upon the earth; he +skulked behind the hedge-rows in the gloaming; he laughed loudly in the +night-time; he clawed the dying sinner, pounced on the unbaptized babe, and +twisted the limbs of the epileptic. A foul fiend slunk ever by a man’s side and +whispered villainies in his ear, while above him there hovered an angel of +grace who pointed to the steep and narrow track. How could one doubt these +things, when Pope and priest and scholar and King were all united in believing +them, with no single voice of question in the whole wide world? +</p> + +<p> +Every book read, every picture seen, every tale heard from nurse or mother, all +taught the same lesson. And as a man traveled through the world his faith would +grow the firmer, for go where he would there were the endless shrines of the +saints, each with its holy relic in the center, and around it the tradition of +incessant miracles, with stacks of deserted crutches and silver votive hearts +to prove them. At every turn he was made to feel how thin was the veil, and how +easily rent, which screened him from the awful denizens of the unseen world. +</p> + +<p> +Hence the wild announcement of the frightened monk seemed terrible rather than +incredible to those whom he addressed. The Abbot’s ruddy face paled for a +moment, it is true, but he plucked the crucifix from his desk and rose +valiantly to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Lead me to him!” said he. “Show me the foul fiend who dares to lay his grip +upon brethren of the holy house of Saint Bernard! Run down to my chaplain, +brother! Bid him bring the exorcist with him, and also the blessed box of +relics, and the bones of Saint James from under the altar! With these and a +contrite and humble heart we may show front to all the powers of darkness.” +</p> + +<p> +But the sacrist was of a more critical turn of mind. He clutched the monk’s arm +with a grip which left its five purple spots for many a day to come. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this the way to enter the Abbot’s own chamber, without knock or reverence, +or so much as a ‘Pax vobiscum’?” said he sternly. “You were wont to be our +gentlest novice, of lowly carriage in chapter, devout in psalmody and strict in +the cloister. Pull your wits together and answer me straightly. In what form +has the foul fiend appeared, and how has he done this grievous scathe to our +brethren? Have you seen him with your own eyes, or do you repeat from hearsay? +Speak, man, or you stand on the penance-stool in the chapter-house this very +hour!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus adjured, the frightened monk grew calmer in his bearing, though his white +lips and his startled eyes, with the gasping of his breath, told of his inward +tremors. +</p> + +<p> +“If it please you, holy father, and you, reverend sacrist, it came about in +this way. James the subprior, and Brother John and I had spent our day from +sext onward on Hankley, cutting bracken for the cow-houses. We were coming back +over the five-virgate field, and the holy subprior was telling us a saintly +tale from the life of Saint Gregory, when there came a sudden sound like a +rushing torrent, and the foul fiend sprang over the high wall which skirts the +water-meadow and rushed upon us with the speed of the wind. The lay brother he +struck to the ground and trampled into the mire. Then, seizing the good +subprior in his teeth, he rushed round the field, swinging him as though he +were a fardel of old clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“Amazed at such a sight, I stood without movement and had said a credo and +three aves, when the Devil dropped the subprior and sprang upon me. With the +help of Saint Bernard I clambered over the wall, but not before his teeth had +found my leg, and he had torn away the whole back skirt of my gown.” As he +spoke he turned and gave corroboration to his story by the hanging ruins of his +long trailing garment. +</p> + +<p> +“In what shape then did Satan appear?” the Abbot demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“As a great yellow horse, holy father—a monster horse, with eyes of fire and +the teeth of a griffin.” +</p> + +<p> +“A yellow horse!” The sacrist glared at the scared monk. “You foolish brother! +How will you behave when you have indeed to face the King of Terrors himself if +you can be so frightened by the sight of a yellow horse? It is the horse of +Franklin Aylward, my father, which has been distrained by us because he owes +the Abbey fifty good shillings and can never hope to pay it. Such a horse, they +say, is not to be found betwixt this and the King’s stables at Windsor, for his +sire was a Spanish destrier, and his dam an Arab mare of the very breed which +Saladin, whose soul now reeks in Hell, kept for his own use, and even it has +been said under the shelter of his own tent. I took him in discharge of the +debt, and I ordered the varlets who had haltered him to leave him alone in the +water-meadow, for I have heard that the beast has indeed a most evil spirit, +and has killed more men than one.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was an ill day for Waverley that you brought such a monster within its +bounds,” said the Abbot. “If the subprior and Brother John be indeed dead, then +it would seem that if the horse be not the Devil he is at least the Devil’s +instrument.” +</p> + +<p> +“Horse or Devil, holy father, I heard him shout with joy as he trampled upon +Brother John, and had you seen him tossing the subprior as a dog shakes a rat +you would perchance have felt even as I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come then,” cried the Abbot, “let us see with our own eyes what evil has been +done.” +</p> + +<p> +And the three monks hurried down the stair which led to the cloisters. +</p> + +<p> +They had no sooner descended than their more pressing fears were set at rest, +for at that very moment, limping, disheveled and mud-stained, the two sufferers +were being led in amid a crowd of sympathizing brethren. Shouts and cries from +outside showed, however, that some further drama was in progress, and both +Abbot and sacrist hastened onward as fast as the dignity of their office would +permit, until they had passed the gates and gained the wall of the meadow. +Looking over it, a remarkable sight presented itself to their eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Fetlock deep in the lush grass there stood a magnificent horse, such a horse as +a sculptor or a soldier might thrill to see. His color was a light chestnut, +with mane and tail of a more tawny tint. Seventeen hands high, with a barrel +and haunches which bespoke tremendous strength, he fined down to the most +delicate lines of dainty breed in neck and crest and shoulder. He was indeed a +glorious sight as he stood there, his beautiful body leaning back from his +wide-spread and propped fore legs, his head craned high, his ears erect, his +mane bristling, his red nostrils opening and shutting with wrath, and his +flashing eyes turning from side to side in haughty menace and defiance. +</p> + +<p> +Scattered round in a respectful circle, six of the Abbey lay servants and +foresters, each holding a halter, were creeping toward him. Every now and then, +with a beautiful toss and swerve and plunge, the great creature would turn upon +one of his would-be captors, and with outstretched head, flying mane and +flashing teeth, would chase him screaming to the safety of the wall, while the +others would close swiftly in behind and cast their ropes in the hope of +catching neck or leg, but only in their turn to be chased to the nearest +refuge. +</p> + +<p> +Had two of these ropes settled upon the horse, and had their throwers found +some purchase of stump or boulder by which they could hold them, then the man’s +brain might have won its wonted victory over swiftness and strength. But the +brains were themselves at fault which imagined that one such rope would serve +any purpose save to endanger the thrower. +</p> + +<p> +Yet so it was, and what might have been foreseen occurred at the very moment of +the arrival of the monks. The horse, having chased one of his enemies to the +wall, remained so long snorting his contempt over the coping that the others +were able to creep upon him from behind. Several ropes were flung, and one +noose settled over the proud crest and lost itself in the waving mane. In an +instant the creature had turned and the men were flying for their lives; but he +who had cast the rope lingered, uncertain what use to make of his own success. +That moment of doubt was fatal. With a yell of dismay, the man saw the great +creature rear above him. Then with a crash the fore feet fell upon him and +dashed him to the ground. He rose screaming, was hurled over once more, and lay +a quivering, bleeding heap, while the savage horse, the most cruel and terrible +in its anger of all creatures on earth, bit and shook and trampled the writhing +body. +</p> + +<p> +A loud wail of horror rose from the lines of tonsured heads which skirted the +high wall—a wail which suddenly died away into a long hushed silence, broken at +last by a rapturous cry of thanksgiving and of joy. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +On the road which led to the old dark manor-house upon the side of the hill a +youth had been riding. His mount was a sorry one, a weedy, shambling, +long-haired colt, and his patched tunic of faded purple with stained leather +belt presented no very smart appearance; yet in the bearing of the man, in the +poise of his head, in his easy graceful carriage, and in the bold glance of his +large blue eyes, there was that stamp of distinction and of breed which would +have given him a place of his own in any assembly. He was of small stature, but +his frame was singularly elegant and graceful. His face, though tanned with the +weather, was delicate in features and most eager and alert in expression. A +thick fringe of crisp yellow curls broke from under the dark flat cap which he +was wearing, and a short golden beard hid the outline of his strong square +chin. One white osprey feather thrust through a gold brooch in the front of his +cap gave a touch of grace to his somber garb. This and other points of his +attire, the short hanging mantle, the leather-sheathed hunting-knife, the cross +belt which sustained a brazen horn, the soft doe-skin boots and the prick +spurs, would all disclose themselves to an observer; but at the first glance +the brown face set in gold and the dancing light of the quick, reckless, +laughing eyes, were the one strong memory left behind. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the youth who, cracking his whip joyously, and followed by half a +score of dogs, cantered on his rude pony down the Tilford Lane, and thence it +was that with a smile of amused contempt upon his face he observed the comedy +in the field and the impotent efforts of the servants of Waverley. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, however, as the comedy turned swiftly to black tragedy, this passive +spectator leaped into quick strenuous life. With a spring he was off his pony, +and with another he was over the stone wall and flying swiftly across the +field. Looking up from his victim, the great yellow horse saw this other enemy +approach, and spurning the prostrate, but still writhing body with its heels, +dashed at the newcomer. +</p> + +<p> +But this time there was no hasty flight, no rapturous pursuit to the wall. The +little man braced himself straight, flung up his metal-headed whip, and met the +horse with a crashing blow upon the head, repeated again and again with every +attack. In vain the horse reared and tried to overthrow its enemy with swooping +shoulders and pawing hoofs. Cool, swift and alert, the man sprang swiftly aside +from under the very shadow of death, and then again came the swish and thud of +the unerring blow from the heavy handle. +</p> + +<p> +The horse drew off, glared with wonder and fury at this masterful man, and then +trotted round in a circle, with mane bristling, tail streaming and ears on end, +snorting in its rage and pain. The man, hardly deigning to glance at his fell +neighbor, passed on to the wounded forester, raised him in his arms with a +strength which could not have been expected in so slight a body, and carried +him, groaning, to the wall, where a dozen hands were outstretched to help him +over. Then, at his leisure, the young man also climbed the wall, smiling back +with cool contempt at the yellow horse, which had come raging after him once +more. +</p> + +<p> +As he sprang down, a dozen monks surrounded him to thank him or to praise him; +but he would have turned sullenly away without a word had he not been stopped +by Abbot John in person. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Squire Loring,” said he, “if you be a bad friend to our Abbey, yet we +must needs own that you have played the part of a good Christian this day, for +if there is breath left in our servant’s body it is to you next to our blessed +patron Saint Bernard that we owe it.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul! I owe you no good-will, Abbot John,” said the young man. “The +shadow of your Abbey has ever fallen across the house of Loring. As to any +small deed that I may have done this day, I ask no thanks for it. It is not for +you nor for your house that I have done it, but only because it was my pleasure +so to do.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot flushed at the bold words, and bit his lip with vexation. +</p> + +<p> +It was the sacrist, however, who answered: “It would be more fitting and more +gracious,” said he, “if you were to speak to the holy Father Abbot in a manner +suited to his high rank and to the respect which is due to a Prince of the +Church.” +</p> + +<p> +The youth turned his bold blue eyes upon the monk, and his sunburned face +darkened with anger. “Were it not for the gown upon your back, and for your +silvering hair, I would answer you in another fashion,” said he. “You are the +lean wolf which growls ever at our door, greedy for the little which hath been +left to us. Say and do what you will with me, but by Saint Paul! if I find that +Dame Ermyntrude is baited by your ravenous pack I will beat them off with this +whip from the little patch which still remains of all the acres of my fathers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have a care, Nigel Loring, have a care!” cried the Abbot, with finger +upraised. “Have you no fears of the law of England?” +</p> + +<p> +“A just law I fear and obey.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you no respect for Holy Church?” +</p> + +<p> +“I respect all that is holy in her. I do not respect those who grind the poor +or steal their neighbor’s land.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rash man, many a one has been blighted by her ban for less than you have now +said! And yet it is not for us to judge you harshly this day. You are young and +hot words come easily to your lips. How fares the forester?” +</p> + +<p> +“His hurt is grievous, Father Abbot, but he will live,” said a brother, looking +up from the prostrate form. “With a blood-letting and an electuary, I will +warrant him sound within a month.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then bear him to the hospital. And now, brother, about this terrible beast who +still gazes and snorts at us over the top of the wall as though his thoughts of +Holy Church were as uncouth as those of Squire Nigel himself, what are we to do +with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here is Franklin Aylward,” said one of the brethren. “The horse was his, and +doubtless he will take it back to his farm.” +</p> + +<p> +But the stout red-faced farmer shook his head at the proposal. “Not I, in +faith!” said he. “The beast hath chased me twice round the paddock; it has nigh +slain my boy Samkin. He would never be happy till he had ridden it, nor has he +ever been happy since. There is not a hind in my employ who will enter his +stall. Ill fare the day that ever I took the beast from the Castle stud at +Guildford, where they could do nothing with it and no rider could be found bold +enough to mount it! When the sacrist here took it for a fifty-shilling debt he +made his own bargain and must abide by it. He comes no more to the Crooksbury +farm.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he stays no more here,” said the Abbot. “Brother sacrist, you have raised +the Devil, and it is for you to lay it again.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I will most readily,” cried the sacrist. “The pittance-master can stop +the fifty shillings from my very own weekly dole, and so the Abbey be none the +poorer. In the meantime here is Wat with his arbalist and a bolt in his girdle. +Let him drive it to the head through this cursed creature, for his hide and his +hoofs are of more value than his wicked self.” +</p> + +<p> +A hard brown old woodman who had been shooting vermin in the Abbey groves +stepped forward with a grin of pleasure. After a lifetime of stoats and foxes, +this was indeed a noble quarry which was to fall before him. Fitting a bolt on +the nut of his taut crossbow, he had raised it to his shoulder and leveled it +at the fierce, proud, disheveled head which tossed in savage freedom at the +other side of the wall. His finger was crooked on the spring, when a blow from +a whip struck the bow upward and the bolt flew harmless over the Abbey orchard, +while the woodman shrank abashed from Nigel Loring’s angry eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep your bolts for your weasels!” said he. “Would you take life from a +creature whose only fault is that its spirit is so high that it has met none +yet who dare control it? You would slay such a horse as a king might be proud +to mount, and all because a country franklin, or a monk, or a monk’s varlet, +has not the wit nor the hands to master him?” +</p> + +<p> +The sacrist turned swiftly on the Squire. “The Abbey owes you an offering for +this day’s work, however rude your words may be,” said he. “If you think so +much of the horse, you may desire to own it. If I am to pay for it, then with +the holy Abbot’s permission it is in my gift and I bestow it freely upon you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot plucked at his subordinate’s sleeve. “Bethink you, brother sacrist,” +he whispered, “shall we not have this man’s blood upon our heads?” +</p> + +<p> +“His pride is as stubborn as the horse’s, holy father,” the sacrist answered, +his gaunt fact breaking into a malicious smile. “Man or beast, one will break +the other and the world will be the better for it. If you forbid me—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, brother, you have bought the horse, and you may have the bestowal of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I give it—hide and hoofs, tail and temper—to Nigel Loring, and may it be +as sweet and as gentle to him as he hath been to the Abbot of Waverley!” +</p> + +<p> +The sacrist spoke aloud amid the tittering of the monks, for the man concerned +was out of earshot. At the first words which had shown him the turn which +affairs had taken he had run swiftly to the spot where he had left his pony. +From its mouth he removed the bit and the stout bridle which held it. Then +leaving the creature to nibble the grass by the wayside he sped back whence he +came. +</p> + +<p> +“I take your gift, monk,” said he, “though I know well why it is that you give +it. Yet I thank you, for there are two things upon earth for which I have ever +yearned, and which my thin purse could never buy. The one is a noble horse, +such a horse as my father’s son should have betwixt his thighs, and here is the +one of all others which I would have chosen, since some small deed is to be +done in the winning of him, and some honorable advancement to be gained. How is +the horse called?” +</p> + +<p> +“Its name,” said the franklin, “is Pommers. I warn you, young sir, that none +may ride him, for many have tried, and the luckiest is he who has only a staved +rib to show for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you for your rede,” said Nigel, “and now I see that this is indeed a +horse which I would journey far to meet. I am your man, Pommers, and you are my +horse, and this night you shall own it or I will never need horse again. My +spirit against thine, and God hold thy spirit high, Pommers, so that the +greater be the adventure, and the more hope of honor gained!” +</p> + +<p> +While he spoke the young Squire had climbed on to the top of the wall and stood +there balanced, the very image of grace and spirit and gallantry, his bridle +hanging from one hand and his whip grasped in the other. With a fierce snort, +the horse made for him instantly, and his white teeth flashed as he snapped; +but again a heavy blow from the loaded whip caused him to swerve, and even at +the instant of the swerve, measuring the distance with steady eyes, and bending +his supple body for the spring, Nigel bounded into the air and fell with his +legs astride the broad back of the yellow horse. For a minute, with neither +saddle nor stirrups to help him, and the beast ramping and rearing like a mad +thing beneath him, he was hard pressed to hold his own. His legs were like two +bands of steel welded on to the swelling arches of the great horse’s ribs, and +his left hand was buried deep in the tawny mane. +</p> + +<p> +Never had the dull round of the lives of the gentle brethren of Waverley been +broken by so fiery a scene. Springing to right and swooping to left, now with +its tangled wicked head betwixt its forefeet, and now pawing eight feet high in +the air, with scarlet, furious nostrils and maddened eyes, the yellow horse was +a thing of terror and of beauty. But the lithe figure on his back, bending like +a reed in the wind to every movement, firm below, pliant above, with calm +inexorable face, and eyes which danced and gleamed with the joy of contest, +still held its masterful place for all that the fiery heart and the iron +muscles of the great beast could do. +</p> + +<p> +Once a long drone of dismay rose from the monks, as rearing higher and higher +yet a last mad effort sent the creature toppling over backward upon its rider. +But, swift and cool, he had writhed from under it ere it fell, spurned it with +his foot as it rolled upon the earth, and then seizing its mane as it rose +swung himself lightly on to its back once more. Even the grim sacrist could not +but join the cheer, as Pommers, amazed to find the rider still upon his back, +plunged and curveted down the field. +</p> + +<p> +But the wild horse only swelled into a greater fury. In the sullen gloom of its +untamed heart there rose the furious resolve to dash the life from this +clinging rider, even if it meant destruction to beast and man. With red, +blazing eyes it looked round for death. On three sides the five-virgate field +was bounded by a high wall, broken only at one spot by a heavy four-foot wooden +gate. But on the fourth side was a low gray building, one of the granges of the +Abbey, presenting a long flank unbroken by door or window. The horse stretched +itself into a gallop, and headed straight for that craggy thirty-foot wall. He +would break in red ruin at the base of it if he could but dash forever the life +of this man, who claimed mastery over that which had never found its master +yet. +</p> + +<p> +The great haunches gathered under it, the eager hoofs drummed the grass, as +faster and still more fast the frantic horse bore himself and his rider toward +the wall. Would Nigel spring off? To do so would be to bend his will to that of +the beast beneath him. There was a better way than that. Cool, quick and +decided, the man swiftly passed both whip and bridle into the left hand which +still held the mane. Then with the right he slipped his short mantle from his +shoulders and lying forward along the creature’s strenuous, rippling back he +cast the flapping cloth over the horse’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The result was but too successful, for it nearly brought about the downfall of +the rider. When those red eyes straining for death were suddenly shrouded in +unexpected darkness the amazed horse propped on its forefeet and came to so +dead a stop that Nigel was shot forward on to its neck and hardly held himself +by his hair-entwined hand. Ere he had slid back into position the moment of +danger had passed, for the horse, its purpose all blurred in its mind by this +strange thing which had befallen, wheeled round once more, trembling in every +fiber, and tossing its petulant head until at last the mantle had been slipped +from its eyes and the chilling darkness had melted into the homely circle of +sunlit grass once more. +</p> + +<p> +But what was this new outrage which had been inflicted upon it? What was this +defiling bar of iron which was locked hard against its mouth? What were these +straps which galled the tossing neck, this band which spanned its chest? In +those instants of stillness ere the mantle had been plucked away Nigel had lain +forward, had slipped the snaffle between the champing teeth, and had deftly +secured it. +</p> + +<p> +Blind, frantic fury surged in the yellow horse’s heart once more at this new +degradation, this badge of serfdom and infamy. His spirit rose high and +menacing at the touch. He loathed this place, these people, all and everything +which threatened his freedom. He would have done with them forever; he would +see them no more. Let him away to the uttermost parts of the earth, to the +great plains where freedom is. Anywhere over the far horizon where he could get +away from the defiling bit and the insufferable mastery of man. +</p> + +<p> +He turned with a rush, and one magnificent deer-like bound carried him over the +four-foot gate. Nigel’s hat had flown off, and his yellow curls streamed behind +him as he rose and fell in the leap. They were in the water-meadow now, and the +rippling stream twenty feet wide gleamed in front of them running down to the +main current of the Wey. The yellow horse gathered his haunches under him and +flew over like an arrow. He took off from behind a boulder and cleared a +furze-bush on the farther side. Two stones still mark the leap from hoof-mark +to hoof-mark, and they are eleven good paces apart. Under the hanging branch of +the great oak-tree on the farther side (that <i>Quercus Tilfordiensis +ordiensis</i> is still shown as the bound of the Abby’s immediate precincts) +the great horse passed. He had hoped to sweep off his rider, but Nigel sank low +on the heaving back with his face buried in the flying mane. The rough bough +rasped him rudely, but never shook his spirit nor his grip. Rearing, plunging +and struggling, Pommers broke through the sapling grove and was out on the +broad stretch of Hankley Down. +</p> + +<p> +And now came such a ride as still lingers in the gossip of the lowly country +folk and forms the rude jingle of that old Surrey ballad, now nearly forgotten, +save for the refrain: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The Doe that sped on Hinde Head,<br/> + The Kestril on the winde,<br/> +And Nigel on the Yellow Horse<br/> + Can leave the world behinde. +</p> + +<p> +Before them lay a rolling ocean of dark heather, knee-deep, swelling in billow +on billow up to the clear-cut hill before them. Above stretched one unbroken +arch of peaceful blue, with a sun which was sinking down toward the Hampshire +hills. Through the deep heather, down the gullies, over the watercourses, up +the broken slopes, Pommers flew, his great heart bursting with rage, and every +fiber quivering at the indignities which he had endured. +</p> + +<p> +And still, do what he would, the man clung fast to his heaving sides and to his +flying mane, silent, motionless, inexorable, letting him do what he would, but +fixed as Fate upon his purpose. Over Hankley Down, through Thursley Marsh, with +the reeds up to his mud-splashed withers, onward up the long slope of the +Headland of the Hinds, down by the Nutcombe Gorge, slipping, blundering, +bounding, but never slackening his fearful speed, on went the great yellow +horse. The villagers of Shottermill heard the wild clatter of hoofs, but ere +they could swing the ox-hide curtains of their cottage doors horse and rider +were lost amid the high bracken of the Haslemere Valley. On he went, and on, +tossing the miles behind his flying hoofs. No marsh-land could clog him, no +hill could hold him back. Up the slope of Linchmere and the long ascent of +Fernhurst he thundered as on the level, and it was not until he had flown down +the incline of Henley Hill, and the gray castle tower of Midhurst rose over the +coppice in front, that at last the eager outstretched neck sank a little on the +breast, and the breath came quick and fast. Look where he would in woodland and +on down, his straining eyes could catch no sign of those plains of freedom +which he sought. +</p> + +<p> +And yet another outrage! It was bad that this creature should still cling so +tight upon his back, but now he would even go to the intolerable length of +checking him and guiding him on the way that he would have him go. There was a +sharp pluck at his mouth, and his head was turned north once more. As well go +that way as another, but the man was mad indeed if he thought that such a horse +as Pommers was at the end of his spirit or his strength. He would soon show him +that he was unconquered, if it strained his sinews or broke his heart to do so. +Back then he flew up the long, long ascent. Would he ever get to the end of it? +Yet he would not own that he could go no farther while the man still kept his +grip. He was white with foam and caked with mud. His eyes were gorged with +blood, his mouth open and gasping, his nostrils expanded, his coat stark and +reeking. On he flew down the long Sunday Hill until he reached the deep +Kingsley Marsh at the bottom. No, it was too much! Flesh and blood could go no +farther. As he struggled out from the reedy slime with the heavy black mud +still clinging to his fetlocks, he at last eased down with sobbing breath and +slowed the tumultuous gallop to a canter. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, crowning infamy! Was there no limit to these degradations? He was no longer +even to choose his own pace. Since he had chosen to gallop so far at his own +will he must now gallop farther still at the will of another. A spur struck +home on either flank. A stinging whip-lash fell across his shoulder. He bounded +his own height in the air at the pain and the shame of it. Then, forgetting his +weary limbs, forgetting his panting, reeking sides, forgetting everything save +this intolerable insult and the burning spirit within, he plunged off once more +upon his furious gallop. He was out on the heather slopes again and heading for +Weydown Common. On he flew and on. But again his brain failed him and again his +limbs trembled beneath him, and yet again he strove to ease his pace, only to +be driven onward by the cruel spur and the falling lash. He was blind and giddy +with fatigue. +</p> + +<p> +He saw no longer where he placed his feet, he cared no longer whither he went, +but his one mad longing was to get away from this dreadful thing, this torture +which clung to him and would not let him go. Through Thursley village he +passed, his eyes straining in his agony, his heart bursting within him, and he +had won his way to the crest of Thursley Down, still stung forward by stab and +blow, when his spirit weakened, his giant strength ebbed out of him, and with +one deep sob of agony the yellow horse sank among the heather. So sudden was +the fall that Nigel flew forward over his shoulder, and beast and man lay +prostrate and gasping while the last red rim of the sun sank behind Butser and +the first stars gleamed in a violet sky. +</p> + +<p> +The young Squire was the first to recover, and kneeling by the panting, +overwrought horse he passed his hand gently over the tangled mane and down the +foam-flecked face. The red eye rolled up at him; but it was wonder not hatred, +a prayer and not a threat, which he could read in it. As he stroked the reeking +muzzle, the horse whinnied gently and thrust his nose into the hollow of his +hand. It was enough. It was the end of the contest, the acceptance of new +conditions by a chivalrous foe from a chivalrous victor. +</p> + +<p> +“You are my horse, Pommers,” Nigel whispered, and he laid his cheek against the +craning head. “I know you, Pommers, and you know me, and with the help of Saint +Paul we shall teach some other folk to know us both. Now let us walk together +as far as this moorland pond, for indeed I wot not whether it is you or I who +need the water most.” +</p> + +<p> +And so it was that some belated monks of Waverley passing homeward from the +outer farms saw a strange sight which they carried on with them so that it +reached that very night the ears both of sacrist and of Abbot. For, as they +passed through Tilford they had seen horse and man walking side by side and +head by head up the manor-house lane. And when they had raised their lanterns +on the pair it was none other than the young Squire himself who was leading +home, as a shepherd leads a lamb, the fearsome yellow horse of Crooksbury. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>IV.<br/> +HOW THE SUMMONER CAME TO THE MANOR HOUSE OF TILFORD</h2> + +<p> +By the date of this chronicle the ascetic sternness of the old Norman castles +had been humanized and refined so that the new dwellings of the nobility, if +less imposing in appearance, were much more comfortable as places of residence. +A gentle race had built their houses rather for peace than for war. He who +compares the savage bareness of Pevensey or Guildford with the piled grandeur +of Bodmin or Windsor cannot fail to understand the change in manners which they +represent. +</p> + +<p> +The earlier castles had a set purpose, for they were built that the invaders +might hold down the country; but when the Conquest was once firmly established +a castle had lost its meaning save as a refuge from justice or as a center for +civil strife. On the marches of Wales and of Scotland the castle might continue +to be a bulwark to the kingdom, and there still grew and flourished; but in all +other places they were rather a menace to the King’s majesty, and as such were +discouraged and destroyed. By the reign of the third Edward the greater part of +the old fighting castles had been converted into dwelling-houses or had been +ruined in the civil wars, and left where their grim gray bones are still +littered upon the brows of our hills. The new buildings were either great +country-houses, capable of defense, but mainly residential, or they were +manor-houses with no military significance at all. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the Tilford Manor-house where the last survivors of the old and +magnificent house of Loring still struggled hard to keep a footing and to hold +off the monks and the lawyers from the few acres which were left to them. The +mansion was a two-storied one, framed in heavy beams of wood, the interstices +filled with rude blocks of stone. An outside staircase led up to several +sleeping-rooms above. Below there were only two apartments, the smaller of +which was the bower of the aged Lady Ermyntrude. The other was the hall, a very +large room, which served as the living room of the family and as the common +dining-room of themselves and of their little group of servants and retainers. +The dwellings of these servants, the kitchens, the offices and the stables were +all represented by a row of penthouses and sheds behind the main building. Here +lived Charles the page, Peter the old falconer, Red Swire who had followed +Nigel’s grandfather to the Scottish wars, Weathercote the broken minstrel, John +the cook, and other survivors of more prosperous days, who still clung to the +old house as the barnacles to some wrecked and stranded vessel. +</p> + +<p> +One evening about a week after the breaking of the yellow horse, Nigel and his +grandmother sat on either side of the large empty fireplace in this spacious +apartment. The supper had been removed, and so had the trestle tables upon +which it had been served, so that the room seemed bare and empty. The stone +floor was strewed with a thick layer of green rushes, which was swept out every +Saturday and carried with it all the dirt and débris of the week. Several dogs +were now crouched among these rushes, gnawing and cracking the bones which had +been thrown from the table. A long wooden buffet loaded with plates and dishes +filled one end of the room, but there was little other furniture save some +benches against the walls, two dorseret chairs, one small table littered with +chessmen, and a great iron coffer. In one corner was a high wickerwork stand, +and on it two stately falcons were perched, silent and motionless, save for an +occasional twinkle of their fierce yellow eyes. +</p> + +<p> +But if the actual fittings of the room would have appeared scanty to one who +had lived in a more luxurious age, he would have been surprised on looking up +to see the multitude of objects which were suspended above his head. Over the +fireplace were the coats-of-arms of a number of houses allied by blood or by +marriage to the Lorings. The two cresset-lights which flared upon each side +gleamed upon the blue lion of the Percies, the red birds of de Valence, the +black engrailed cross of de Mohun, the silver star of de Vere, and the ruddy +bars of FitzAlan, all grouped round the famous red roses on the silver shield +which the Lorings had borne to glory upon many a bloody field. Then from side +to side the room was spanned by heavy oaken beams from which a great number of +objects were hanging. There were mail-shirts of obsolete pattern, several +shields, one or two rusted and battered helmets, bowstaves, lances, +otter-spears, harness, fishing-rods, and other implements of war or of the +chase, while higher still amid the black shadows of the peaked roof could be +seen rows of hams, flitches of bacon, salted geese, and those other forms of +preserved meat which played so great a part in the housekeeping of the Middle +Ages. +</p> + +<p> +Dame Ermyntrude Loring, daughter, wife, and mother of warriors, was herself a +formidable figure. Tall and gaunt, with hard craggy features and intolerant +dark eyes, even her snow-white hair and stooping back could not entirely remove +the sense of fear which she inspired in those around her. Her thoughts and +memories went back to harsher times, and she looked upon the England around her +as a degenerate and effeminate land which had fallen away from the old standard +of knightly courtesy and valor. +</p> + +<p> +The rising power of the people, the growing wealth of the Church, the +increasing luxury in life and manners, and the gentler tone of the age were all +equally abhorrent to her, so that the dread of her fierce face, and even of the +heavy oak staff with which she supported her failing limbs, was widespread +through all the country round. +</p> + +<p> +Yet if she was feared she was also respected, for in days when books were few +and readers scarce, a long memory and a ready tongue were of the more value; +and where, save from Dame Ermyntrude, could the young unlettered Squires of +Surrey and Hampshire hear of their grandfathers and their battles, or learn +that lore of heraldry and chivalry which she handed down from a ruder but a +more martial age? Poor as she was, there was no one in Surrey whose guidance +would be more readily sought upon a question of precedence or of conduct than +the Dame Ermyntrude Loring. +</p> + +<p> +She sat now with bowed back by the empty fireplace, and looked across at Nigel +with all the harsh lines of her old ruddled face softening into love and pride. +The young Squire was busy cutting bird-bolts for his crossbow, and whistling +softly as he worked. Suddenly he looked up and caught the dark eyes which were +fixed upon him. He leaned forward and patted the bony hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What hath pleased you, dear dame? I read pleasure in your eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard to-day, Nigel, how you came to win that great war-horse which +stamps in our stable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, dame; I had told you that the monks had given it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You said so, fair son, but never a word more. Yet the horse which you brought +home was a very different horse I wot, to that which was given you. Why did you +not tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think it shame to talk of such a thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“So would your father before you, and his father no less. They would sit silent +among the knights when the wine went round and listen to every man’s deeds; but +if perchance there was anyone who spoke louder than the rest and seemed to be +eager for honor, then afterwards your father would pluck him softly by the +sleeve and whisper in his ear to learn if there was any small vow of which he +could relieve him, or if he would deign to perform some noble deed of arms upon +his person. And if the man were a braggart and would go no further, your father +would be silent and none would know it. But if he bore himself well, your +father would spread his fame far and wide, but never make mention of himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked at the old woman with shining eyes. “I love to hear you speak of +him,” said he. “I pray you to tell me once more of the manner of his death.” +</p> + +<p> +“He died as he had lived, a very courtly gentleman. It was at the great +sea-battle upon the Norman coast, and your father was in command of the +after-guard in the King’s own ship. Now the French had taken a great English +ship the year before when they came over and held the narrow seas and burned +the town of Southampton. +</p> + +<p> +“This ship was the Christopher, and they placed it in the front of their +battle; but the English closed upon it and stormed over its side, and slew all +who were upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“But your father and Sir Lorredan of Genoa, who commanded the Christopher, +fought upon the high poop, so that all the fleet stopped to watch it, and the +King himself cried aloud at the sight, for Sir Lorredan was a famous +man-at-arms and bore himself very stoutly that day, and many a knight envied +your father that he should have chanced upon so excellent a person. But your +father bore him back and struck him such a blow with a mace that he turned the +helmet half round on his head, so that he could no longer see through the eye +holes, and Sir Lorredan threw down his sword and gave himself to ransom. But +your father took him by the helmet and twisted it until he had it straight upon +his head. Then, when he could see once again, he handed him his sword, and +prayed him that he would rest himself and then continue, for it was great +profit and joy to see any gentleman carry himself so well. So they sat together +and rested by the rail of the poop; but even as they raised their hands again +your father was struck by a stone from a mangonel and so died.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this Sir Lorredan,” cried Nigel, “he died also, as I understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear that he was slain by the archers, for they loved your father, and they +do not see these things with our eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a pity,” said Nigel; “for it is clear that he was a good knight and +bore himself very bravely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Time was, when I was young, when commoners dared not have laid their grimy +hands upon such a man. Men of gentle blood and coat-armor made war upon each +other, and the others, spearmen or archers, could scramble amongst themselves. +But now all are of a level, and only here and there one like yourself, fair +son, who reminds me of the men who are gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel leaned forward and took her hands in his. “What I am you have made me,” +said he. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, Nigel. I have indeed watched over you as the gardener watches his +most precious blossom, for in you alone are all the hopes of our ancient house, +and soon—very soon—you will be alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, dear lady, say not that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very old, Nigel, and I feel the shadow closing in upon me. My heart +yearns to go, for all whom I have known and loved have gone before me. And +you—it will be a blessed day for you, since I have held you back from that +world into which your brave spirit longs to plunge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, I have been happy here with you at Tilford.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are very poor, Nigel. I do not know where we may find the money to fit you +for the wars. Yet we have good friends. There is Sir John Chandos, who has won +such credit in the French wars and who rides ever by the King’s bridle-arm. He +was your father’s friend and they were Squires together. If I sent you to court +with a message to him he would do what he could.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel’s fair face flushed. “Nay, Dame Ermyntrude, I must find my own gear, even +as I have found my own horse, for I had rather ride into battle in this tunic +than owe my suit to another.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feared that you would say so, Nigel; but indeed I know not how else we may +get the money,” said the old woman sadly. “It was different in the days of my +father. I can remember that a suit of mail was but a small matter in those +days, for in every English town such things could be made. But year by year +since men have come to take more care of their bodies, there have been added a +plate of proof here and a cunning joint there, and all must be from Toledo or +Milan, so that a knight must have much metal in his purse ere he puts any on +his limbs.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked up wistfully at the old armor which was slung on the beams above +him. “The ash spear is good,” said he, “and so is the oaken shield with facings +of steel. Sir Roger FitzAlan handled them and said that he had never seen +better. But the armor—” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Ermyntrude shook her old head and laughed. “You have your father’s great +soul, Nigel, but you have not his mighty breadth of shoulder and length of +limb. There was not in all the King’s great host a taller or a stronger man. +His harness would be little use to you. No, fair son, I rede you that when the +time comes you sell this crumbling house and the few acres which are still +left, and so go forth to the wars in the hope that with your own right hand you +will plant the fortunes of a new house of Loring.” +</p> + +<p> +A shadow of anger passed over Nigel’s fresh young face. “I know not if we may +hold off these monks and their lawyers much longer. This very day there came a +man from Guildford with claims from the Abbey extending back before my father’s +death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are they, fair son?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are flapping on the furze-bushes of Hankley, for I sent his papers and +parchments down wind as fast as ever falcon flew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay! you were mad to do that, Nigel. And the man, where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Red Swire and old George the archer threw him into the Thursley bog.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! I fear me such things cannot be done in these days, though my father or +my husband would have sent the rascal back to Guildford without his ears. But +the Church and the Law are too strong now for us who are of gentler blood. +Trouble will come of it, Nigel, for the Abbot of Waverley is not one who will +hold back the shield of the Church from those who are her servants.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Abbot would not hurt us. It is that gray lean wolf of a sacrist who +hungers for our land. Let him do his worst. I fear him not.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has such an engine at his back, Nigel, that even the bravest must fear him. +The ban which blasts a man’s soul is in the keeping of his church, and what +have we to place against it? I pray you to speak him fair, Nigel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, dear lady, it is both my duty and my pleasure to do what you bid me; but +I would die ere I ask as a favor that which we can claim as a right. Never can +I cast my eyes from yonder window that I do not see the swelling down-lands and +the rich meadows, glade and dingle, copse and wood, which have been ours since +Norman-William gave them to that Loring who bore his shield at Senlac. Now, by +trick and fraud, they have passed away from us, and many a franklin is a richer +man than I; but never shall it be said that I saved the rest by bending my neck +to their yoke. Let them do their worst, and let me endure it or fight it as +best I may.” +</p> + +<p> +The old lady sighed and shook her head. “You speak as a Loring should, and yet +I fear that some great trouble will befall us. But let us talk no more of such +matters, since we cannot mend them. Where is your citole, Nigel? Will you not +play and sing to me?” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman of those days could scarce read and write; but he spoke in two +languages, played at least one musical instrument as a matter of course, and +possessed a number of other accomplishments, from the imping of hawk’s +feathers, to the mystery of venery, with knowledge of every beast and bird, its +time of grace and when it was seasonable. As far as physical feats went, to +vault barebacked upon a horse, to hit a running hare with a crossbow-bolt, or +to climb the angle of a castle courtyard, were feats which had come by nature +to the young Squire; but it was very different with music, which had called for +many a weary hour of irksome work. Now at last he could master the strings, but +both his ear and his voice were not of the best, so that it was well perhaps +that there was so small and so unprejudiced an audience to the Norman-French +chanson, which he sang in a high reedy voice with great earnestness of feeling, +but with many a slip and quaver, waving his yellow head in cadence to the +music: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A sword! A sword! Ah, give me a sword!<br/> + For the world is all to win.<br/> +Though the way be hard and the door be barred,<br/> + The strong man enters in.<br/> +If Chance and Fate still hold the gate,<br/> + Give me the iron key,<br/> +And turret high my plume shall fly,<br/> + Or you may weep for me!<br/> +<br/> +A horse! A horse! Ah, give me a horse!<br/> + To bear me out afar,<br/> +Where blackest need and grimmest deed<br/> + And sweetest perils are.<br/> +Hold thou my ways from glutted days<br/> + Where poisoned leisure lies,<br/> +And point the path of tears and wrath<br/> + Which mounts to high emprise!<br/> +<br/> +A heart! A heart! Ah, give me a heart<br/> + To rise to circumstance!<br/> +Serene and high and bold to try<br/> + The hazard of the chance,<br/> +With strength to wait, but fixed as fate<br/> + To plan and dare and do,<br/> +The peer of all, and only thrall,<br/> + Sweet lady mine, to you! +</p> + +<p> +It may have been that the sentiment went for more than the music, or it may +have been the nicety of her own ears had been dulled by age, but old Dame +Ermyntrude clapped her lean hands together and cried out in shrill applause. +</p> + +<p> +“Weathercote has indeed had an apt pupil!” she said. “I pray you that you will +sing again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, dear dame, it is turn and turn betwixt you and me. I beg that you will +recite a romance, you who know them all. For all the years that I have listened +I have never yet come to the end of them, and I dare swear that there are more +in your head than in all the great books which they showed me at Guildford +Castle. I would fain hear ‘Doon of Mayence,’ or ‘The Song of Roland,’ or ‘Sir +Isumbras.’” +</p> + +<p> +So the old dame broke into a long poem, slow and dull in the inception, but +quickening as the interest grew, until with darting hands and glowing face she +poured forth the verses which told of the emptiness of sordid life, the beauty +of heroic death, the high sacredness of love and the bondage of honor. Nigel, +with set, still features and brooding eyes, drank in the fiery words, until at +last they died upon the old woman’s lips and she sank back weary in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel stooped over her and kissed her brow. “Your words will ever be as a star +upon my path,” said he. Then, carrying over the small table and the chessmen, +he proposed that they should play their usual game before they sought their +rooms for the night. +</p> + +<p> +But a sudden and rude interruption broke in upon their gentle contest. A dog +pricked its ears and barked. The others ran growling to the door. And then +there came a sharp clash of arms, a dull heavy blow as from a club or +sword-pommel, and a deep voice from without summoned them to open in the King’s +name. The old dame and Nigel had both sprung to their feet, their table +overturned and their chessmen scattered among the rushes. Nigel’s hand had +sought his crossbow, but the Lady Ermyntrude grasped his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair son! Have you not heard that it is in the King’s name?” said she. +“Down, Talbot! Down, Bayard! Open the door and let his messenger in!” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel undid the bolt, and the heavy wooden door swung outward upon its hinges. +The light from the flaring cressets beat upon steel caps and fierce bearded +faces, with the glimmer of drawn swords and the yellow gleam of bowstaves. A +dozen armed archers forced their way into the room. At their head were the +gaunt sacrist of Waverley and a stout elderly man clad in a red velvet doublet +and breeches much stained and mottled with mud and clay. He bore a great sheet +of parchment with a fringe of dangling seals, which he held aloft as he +entered. +</p> + +<p> +“I call on Nigel Loring!” he cried. “I, the officer of the King’s law and the +lay summoner of Waverley, call upon the man named Nigel Loring!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am he.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is he!” cried the sacrist. “Archers, do as you were ordered!” +</p> + +<p> +In an instant the band threw themselves upon him like the hounds on a stag. +Desperately Nigel strove to gain his sword which lay upon the iron coffer. With +the convulsive strength which comes from the spirit rather than from the body, +he bore them all in that direction, but the sacrist snatched the weapon from +its place, and the rest dragged the writhing Squire to the ground and swathed +him in a cord. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold him fast, good archers! Keep a stout grip on him!” cried the summoner. “I +pray you, one of you, prick off these great dogs which snarl at my heels. Stand +off, I say, in the name of the King! Watkin, come betwixt me and these +creatures who have as little regard for the law as their master.” +</p> + +<p> +One of the archers kicked off the faithful dogs. But there were others of the +household who were equally ready to show their teeth in defense of the old +house of Loring. From the door which led to their quarters there emerged the +pitiful muster of Nigel’s threadbare retainers. There was a time when ten +knights, forty men-at-arms and two hundred archers would march behind the +scarlet roses. Now at this last rally when the young head of the house lay +bound in his own hall, there mustered at his call the page Charles with a +cudgel, John the cook with his longest spit, Red Swire the aged man-at-arms +with a formidable ax swung over his snowy head, and Weathercote the minstrel +with a boar-spear. Yet this motley array was fired with the spirit of the +house, and under the lead of the fierce old soldier they would certainly have +flung themselves upon the ready swords of the archers, had the Lady Ermyntrude +not swept between them: +</p> + +<p> +“Stand back, Swire!” she cried. “Back, Weathercote Charles, put a leash on +Talbot, and hold Bayard back!” Her black eyes blazed upon the invaders until +they shrank from that baleful gaze. “Who are you, you rascal robbers, who dare +to misuse the King’s name and to lay hands upon one whose smallest drop of +blood has more worth than all your thrall and caitiff bodies?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, not so fast, dame, not so fast, I pray you!” cried the stout summoner, +whose face had resumed its natural color, now that he had a woman to deal with. +“There is a law of England, mark you, and there are those who serve and uphold +it, who are the true men and the King’s own lieges. Such a one am I. Then +again, there are those who take such as me and transfer, carry or convey us +into a bog or morass. Such a one is this graceless old man with the ax, whom I +have seen already this day. There are also those who tear, destroy or scatter +the papers of the law, of which this young man is the chief. Therefore, I would +rede you, dame, not to rail against us, but to understand that we are the +King’s men on the King’s own service.” +</p> + +<p> +“What then is your errand in this house at this hour of the night?” +</p> + +<p> +The summoner cleared his throat pompously, and turning his parchment to the +light of the cressets he read out a long document in Norman-French, couched in +such a style and such a language that the most involved and foolish of our +forms were simplicity itself compared to those by which the men of the long +gown made a mystery of that which of all things on earth should be the plainest +and the most simple. Despair fell cold upon Nigel’s heart and blanched the face +of the old dame as they listened to the dread catalogue of claims and suits and +issues, questions of peccary and turbary, of house-bote and fire-bote, which +ended by a demand for all the lands, hereditaments, tenements, messuages and +curtilages, which made up their worldly all. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel, still bound, had been placed with his back against the iron coffer, +whence he heard with dry lips and moist brow this doom of his house. Now he +broke in on the recital with a vehemence which made the summoner jump: +</p> + +<p> +“You shall rue what you have done this night!” he cried. “Poor as we are, we +have our friends who will not see us wronged, and I will plead my cause before +the King’s own majesty at Windsor, that he, who saw the father die, may know +what things are done in his royal name against the son. But these matters are +to be settled in course of law in the King’s courts, and how will you excuse +yourself for this assault upon my house and person?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, that is another matter,” said the sacrist. “The question of debt may +indeed be an affair of a civil court. But it is a crime against the law and an +act of the Devil, which comes within the jurisdiction of the Abbey Court of +Waverley when you dare to lay hands upon the summoner or his papers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, he speaks truth,” cried the official. “I know no blacker sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Therefore,” said the stern monk, “it is the order of the holy father Abbot +that you sleep this night in the Abbey cell, and that to-morrow you be brought +before him at the court held in the chapter-house so that you receive the fit +punishment for this and the many other violent and froward deeds which you have +wrought upon the servants of Holy Church. Enough is now said, worthy master +summoner. Archers, remove your prisoner!” +</p> + +<p> +As Nigel was lifted up by four stout archers, the Dame Ermyntrude would have +rushed to his aid, but the sacrist thrust her back. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand off, proud woman! Let the law take its course, and learn to humble your +heart before the power of Holy Church. Has your life not taught its lesson, +you, whose horn was exalted among the highest and will soon not have a roof +above your gray hairs? Stand back, I say, lest I lay a curse upon you!” +</p> + +<p> +The old dame flamed suddenly into white wrath as she stood before the angry +monk: “Listen to me while I lay a curse upon you and yours!” she cried as she +raised her shriveled arms and blighted him with her flashing eyes— +</p> + +<p> +“As you have done to the house of Loring, so may God do to you, until your +power is swept from the land of England, and of your great Abbey of Waverley +there is nothing left but a pile of gray stones in a green meadow! I see it! I +see it! With my old eyes I see it! From scullion to Abbot and from cellar to +tower, may Waverley and all within it droop and wither from this night on!” +</p> + +<p> +The monk, hard as he was, quailed before the frantic figure and the bitter, +burning words. Already the summoner and the archers with their prisoner were +clear of the house. He turned and with a clang he shut the heavy door behind +him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>V.<br/> +HOW NIGEL WAS TRIED BY THE ABBOT OF WAVERLEY</h2> + +<p> +The law of the Middle Ages, shrouded as it was in old Norman-French dialect, +and abounding in uncouth and incomprehensible terms, in deodands and heriots, +in infang and outfang, was a fearsome weapon in the hands of those who knew how +to use it. It was not for nothing that the first act of the rebel commoners was +to hew off the head of the Lord Chancellor. In an age when few knew how to read +or to write, these mystic phrases and intricate forms, with the parchments and +seals which were their outward expression, struck cold terror into hearts which +were steeled against mere physical danger. +</p> + +<p> +Even young Nigel Loring’s blithe and elastic spirit was chilled as he lay that +night in the penal cell of Waverley and pondered over the absolute ruin which +threatened his house from a source against which all his courage was of no +avail. As well take up sword and shield to defend himself against the black +death, as against this blight of Holy Church. He was powerless in the grip of +the Abbey. Already they had shorn off a field here and a grove there, and now +in one sweep they would take in the rest, and where then was the home of the +Lorings, and where should Lady Ermyntrude lay her aged head, or his old +retainers, broken and spent, eke out the balance of their days? He shivered as +he thought of it. +</p> + +<p> +It was very well for him to threaten to carry the matter before the King, but +it was years since royal Edward had heard the name of Loring, and Nigel knew +that the memory of princes was a short one. Besides, the Church was the ruling +power in the palace as well as in the cottage, and it was only for very good +cause that a King could be expected to cross the purposes of so high a prelate +as the Abbot of Waverley, as long as they came within the scope of the law. +Where then was he to look for help? With the simple and practical piety of the +age, he prayed for the aid of his own particular saints: of Saint Paul, whose +adventures by land and sea had always endeared him; of Saint George, who had +gained much honorable advancement from the Dragon; and of Saint Thomas, who was +a gentleman of coat-armor, who would understand and help a person of gentle +blood. Then, much comforted by his naïve orisons he enjoyed the sleep of youth +and health until the entrance of the lay brother with the bread and small beer, +which served as breakfast, in the morning. +</p> + +<p> +The Abbey court sat in the chapter-house at the canonical hour of tierce, which +was nine in the forenoon. At all times the function was a solemn one, even when +the culprit might be a villain who was taken poaching on the Abbey estate, or a +chapman who had given false measure from his biased scales. But now, when a man +of noble birth was to be tried, the whole legal and ecclesiastical ceremony was +carried out with every detail, grotesque or impressive, which the full ritual +prescribed. The distant roll of church music and the slow tolling of the Abbey +bell; the white-robed brethren, two and two, walked thrice round the hall +singing the “<i>Benedicite</i>” and the “<i>Veni, Creator</i>” before they +settled in their places at the desks on either side. Then in turn each high +officer of the Abbey from below upward, the almoner, the lector, the chaplain, +the subprior and the prior, swept to their wonted places. +</p> + +<p> +Finally there came the grim sacrist, with demure triumph upon his downcast +features, and at his heels Abbot John himself, slow and dignified, with pompous +walk and solemn, composed face, his iron-beaded rosary swinging from his waist, +his breviary in his hand, and his lips muttering as he hurried through his +office for the day. He knelt at his high prie-dieu; the brethren, at a signal +from the prior, prostrated themselves upon the floor, and the low deep voices +rolled in prayer, echoed back from the arched and vaulted roof like the wash of +waves from an ocean cavern. Finally the monks resumed their seats; there +entered clerks in seemly black with pens and parchment; the red-velveted +summoner appeared to tell his tale; Nigel was led in with archers pressing +close around him; and then, with much calling of old French and much legal +incantation and mystery, the court of the Abbey was open for business. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was the sacrist who first advanced to the oaken desk reserved for the +witnesses and expounded in hard, dry, mechanical fashion the many claims which +the House, of Waverley had against the family of Loring. Some generations back +in return for money advanced or for spiritual favor received the Loring of the +day had admitted that his estate had certain feudal duties toward the Abbey. +The sacrist held up the crackling yellow parchment with swinging leaden seals +on which the claim was based. Amid the obligations was that of escuage, by +which the price of a knight’s fee should be paid every year. No such price had +been paid, nor had any service been done. The accumulated years came now to a +greater sum than the fee simple of the estate. There were other claims also. +The sacrist called for his books, and with thin, eager forefinger he tracked +them down: dues for this, and tailage for that, so many shillings this year, +and so many marks that one. Some of it occurred before Nigel was born; some of +it when he was but a child. The accounts had been checked and certified by the +sergeant of the law. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel listened to the dread recital, and felt like some young stag who stands +at bay with brave pose and heart of fire, but who sees himself compassed round +and knows clearly that there is no escape. With his bold young face, his steady +blue eyes, and the proud poise of his head, he was a worthy scion of the old +house, and the sun, shining through the high oriel window, and showing up the +stained and threadbare condition of his once rich doublet, seemed to illuminate +the fallen fortunes of his family. +</p> + +<p> +The sacrist had finished his exposition, and the sergeant-at-law was about to +conclude a case which Nigel could in no way controvert, when help came to him +from an unexpected quarter. It may have been a certain malignity with which the +sacrist urged his suit, it may have been a diplomatic dislike to driving +matters to extremes, or it may have been some genuine impulse of kindliness, +for Abbot John was choleric but easily appeased. Whatever the cause, the result +was that a white plump hand, raised in the air with a gesture of authority, +showed that the case was at an end. +</p> + +<p> +“Our brother sacrist hath done his duty in urging this suit,” said he, “for the +worldly wealth of this Abbey is placed in his pious keeping, and it is to him +that we should look if we suffered in such ways, for we are but the trustees of +those who come after us. But to my keeping has been consigned that which is +more precious still, the inner spirit and high repute of those who follow the +rule of Saint Bernard. Now it has ever been our endeavor, since first our +saintly founder went down into the valley of Clairvaux and built himself a cell +there, that we should set an example to all men in gentleness and humility. For +this reason it is that we built our houses in lowly places, that we have no +tower to our Abbey churches, and that no finery and no metal, save only iron or +lead, come within our walls. A brother shall eat from a wooden platter, drink +from an iron cup, and light himself from a leaden sconce. Surely it is not for +such an order who await the exaltation which is promised to the humble, to +judge their own case and so acquire the lands of their neighbor! If our cause +be just, as indeed I believe that it is, then it were better that it be judged +at the King’s assizes at Guildford, and so I decree that the case be now +dismissed from the Abbey court so that it can be heard elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel breathed a prayer to the three sturdy saints who had stood by him so +manfully and well in the hour of his need. “Abbot John,” said he, “I never +thought that any man of my name would utter thanks to a Cistercian of Waverley; +but by Saint Paul! you have spoken like a man this day, for it would indeed be +to play with cogged dice if the Abbey’s case is to be tried in the Abbey +court.” +</p> + +<p> +The eighty white-clad brethren looked with half resentful, half amused eyes as +they listened to this frank address to one who, in their small lives, seemed to +be the direct vice-regent of Heaven. The archers had stood back from Nigel, as +though he was at liberty to go, when the loud voice of the summoner broke in +upon the silence— +</p> + +<p> +“If it please you, holy father Abbot,” cried the voice, “this decision of yours +is indeed secundum legem and intra vires so far as the civil suit is concerned +which lies between this person and the Abbey. That is your affair; but it is I, +Joseph the summoner, who have been grievously and criminally mishandled, my +writs, papers and indentures destroyed, my authority flouted, and my person +dragged through a bog, quagmire or morass, so that my velvet gabardine and +silver badge of office were lost and are, as I verily believe, in the morass, +quagmire or bog aforementioned, which is the same bog, morass—” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough!” cried the Abbot sternly. “Lay aside this foolish fashion of speech +and say straitly what you desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Holy father, I have been the officer of the King’s law no less than the +servant of Holy Church, and I have been let, hindered and assaulted in the +performance of my lawful and proper duties, whilst my papers, drawn in the +King’s name, have been shended and rended and cast to the wind. Therefore, I +demand justice upon this man in the Abbey court, the said assault having been +committed within the banlieue of the Abbey’s jurisdiction.” +</p> + +<p> +“What have you to say to this, brother sacrist?” asked the Abbot in some +perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“I would say, father, that it is within our power to deal gently and charitably +with all that concerns ourselves, but that where a the King’s officer is +concerned we are wanting in our duty if we give him less than the protection +that he demands. I would remind you also, holy father, that this is not the +first of this man’s violence, but that he has before now beaten our servants, +defied our authority, and put pike in the Abbot’s own fish-pond.” +</p> + +<p> +The prelate’s heavy cheeks flushed with anger as this old grievance came fresh +into his mind. His eyes hardened as he looked at the prisoner. “Tell me, Squire +Nigel, did you indeed put pike in the pond?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man drew himself proudly up. “Ere I answer such a question, father +Abbot, do you answer one from me, and tell me what the monks of Waverley have +ever done for me that I should hold my hand when I could injure them?” +</p> + +<p> +A low murmur ran round the room, partly wonder at his frankness, and partly +anger at his boldness. +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot settled down in his seat as one who has made up his mind. “Let the +case of the summoner be laid before me,” said he. “Justice shall be done, and +the offender shall be punished, be he noble or simple. Let the plaint be +brought before the court.” +</p> + +<p> +The tale of the summoner, though rambling and filled with endless legal +reiteration, was only too clear in its essence. Red Swire, with his angry face +framed in white bristles, was led in, and confessed to his ill treatment of the +official. A second culprit, a little wiry nut-brown archer from Churt, had +aided and abetted in the deed. Both of them were ready to declare that young +Squire Nigel Loring knew nothing of the matter. But then there was the awkward +incident of the tearing of the writs. Nigel, to whom a lie was an +impossibility, had to admit that with his own hands he had shredded those +august documents. As to an excuse or an explanation, he was too proud to +advance any. A cloud gathered over the brow of the Abbot, and the sacrist gazed +with an ironical smile at the prisoner, while a solemn hush fell over the +chapter-house as the case ended and only, judgment remained. +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Nigel,” said the Abbot, “it was for you, who are, as all men know, of +ancient lineage in this land, to give a fair example by which others should set +their conduct. Instead of this, your manor house has ever been a center for the +stirring up of strife, and now not content with your harsh showing toward us, +the Cistercian monks of Waverley, you have even marked your contempt for the +King’s law, and through your servants have mishandled the person of his +messenger. For such offenses it is in my power to call the spiritual terrors of +the Church upon your head, and yet I would not be harsh with you, seeing that +you are young, and that even last week you saved the life of a servant of the +Abbey when in peril. Therefore, it is by temporal and carnal means that I will +use my power to tame your overbold spirit, and to chasten that headstrong and +violent humor which has caused such scandal in your dealings with our Abbey. +Bread and water for six weeks from now to the Feast of Saint Benedict, with a +daily exhortation from our chaplain, the pious Father Ambrose, may still avail +to bend the stiff neck and to soften the hard heart.” +</p> + +<p> +At this ignominious sentence by which the proud heir of the house of Loring +would share the fate of the meanest village poacher, the hot blood of Nigel +rushed to his face, and his eye glanced round him with a gleam which said more +plainly than words that there could be no tame acceptance of such a doom. Twice +he tried to speak, and twice his anger and his shame held the words in his +throat. +</p> + +<p> +“I am no subject of yours, proud Abbot!” he cried at last. “My house has ever +been vavasor to the King. I deny the power of you and your court to lay +sentence upon me. Punish these your own monks, who whimper at your frown, but +do not dare to lay your hand upon him who fears you not, for he is a free man, +and the peer of any save only the King himself.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot seemed for an instant taken aback by these bold words, and by the +high and strenuous voice in which they were uttered. But the sterner sacrist +came as ever to stiffen his will. He held up the old parchment in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“The Lorings were indeed vavasors to the King,” said he; “but here is the very +seal of Eustace Loring which shows that he made himself vassal to the Abbey and +held his land from it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he was gentle,” cried Nigel, “because he had no thought of trick or +guile.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay!” said the summoner. “If my voice may be heard, father Abbot, upon a point +of the law, it is of no weight what the causes may have been why a deed is +subscribed, signed or confirmed, but a court is concerned only with the terms, +articles, covenants and contracts of the said deed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” said the sacrist, “sentence is passed by the Abbey court, and there +is an end of its honor and good name if it be not upheld.” +</p> + +<p> +“Brother sacrist,” said the Abbot angrily, “methinks you show overmuch zeal in +this case, and certes, we are well able to uphold the dignity and honor of the +Abbey court without any rede of thine. As to you, worthy summoner, you will +give your opinion when we crave for it, and not before, or you may yourself get +some touch of the power of our tribunal. But your case hath been tried, Squire +Loring, and judgment given. I have no more to say.” +</p> + +<p> +He motioned with his hand, and an archer laid his grip upon the shoulder of the +prisoner. But that rough plebeian touch woke every passion of revolt in Nigel’s +spirit. Of all his high line of ancestors, was there one who had been subjected +to such ignominy as this? Would they not have preferred death? And should he be +the first to lower their spirit or their traditions? With a quick, lithe +movement, he slipped under the arm of the archer, and plucked the short, +straight sword from the soldier’s side as he did so. The next instant he had +wedged himself into the recess of one of the narrow windows, and there were his +pale set face, his burning eyes, and his ready blade turned upon the assembly. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul!” said he, “I never thought to find honorable advancement under +the roof of an abbey, but perchance there may, be some room for it ere you hale +me to your prison.” +</p> + +<p> +The chapter-house was in an uproar. Never in the long and decorous history of +the Abbey had such a scene been witnessed within its walls. The monks +themselves seemed for an instant to be infected by this spirit of daring +revolt. Their own lifelong fetters hung more loosely as they viewed this +unheard-of defiance of authority. They broke from their seats on either side +and huddled half-scared, half-fascinated, in a large half-circle round the +defiant captive, chattering, pointing, grimacing, a scandal for all time. +Scourges should fall and penance be done for many a long week before the shadow +of that day should pass from Waverley. But meanwhile there was no effort to +bring them back to their rule. Everything was chaos and disorder. The Abbot had +left his seat of justice and hurried angrily forward, to be engulfed and +hustled in the crowd of his own monks like a sheep-dog who finds himself +entangled amid a flock. +</p> + +<p> +Only the sacrist stood clear. He had taken shelter behind the half-dozen +archers, who looked with some approval and a good deal of indecision at this +bold fugitive from justice. +</p> + +<p> +“On him!” cried the sacrist. “Shall he defy the authority of the court, or +shall one man hold six of you at bay? Close in upon him and seize him. You, +Baddlesmere, why do you hold back?” +</p> + +<p> +The man in question, a tall bushy-bearded fellow, clad like the others in green +jerkin and breeches with high brown boots, advanced slowly, sword in hand, +against Nigel. His heart was not in the business, for these clerical courts +were not popular, and everyone had a tender heart for the fallen fortunes of +the house of Loring and wished well to its young heir. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, young sir, you have caused scathe enough,” said he. “Stand forth and +give yourself up!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and fetch me, good fellow,” said Nigel, with a dangerous smile. +</p> + +<p> +The archer ran in. There was a rasp of steel, a blade flickered like a swift +dart of flame, and the man staggered back, with blood running down his forearm +and dripping from his fingers. He wrung them and growled a Saxon oath. +</p> + +<p> +“By the black rood of Bromeholm!” he cried, “I had as soon put my hand down a +fox’s earth to drag up a vixen from her cubs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Standoff!” said Nigel curtly. “I would not hurt you; but by Saint Paul! I will +not be handled, or some one will be hurt in the handling.” +</p> + +<p> +So fierce was his eye and so menacing his blade as he crouched in the narrow +bay of the window that the little knot of archers were at a loss what to do. +The Abbot had forced his way through the crowd and stood, purple with outraged +dignity, at their side. +</p> + +<p> +“He is outside the law,” said he. “He hath shed blood in a court of justice, +and for such a sin there is no forgiveness. I will not have my court so flouted +and set at naught. He who draws the sword, by the sword also let him perish. +Forester Hugh lay a shaft to your bow!” +</p> + +<p> +The man, who was one of the Abbey’s lay servants, put his weight upon his long +bow and slipped the loose end of the string into the upper notch. Then, drawing +one of the terrible three-foot arrows, steel-tipped and gaudily winged, from +his waist, he laid it to the string. +</p> + +<p> +“Now draw your bow and hold it ready!” cried the furious Abbot. “Squire Nigel, +it is not for Holy Church to shed blood, but there is naught but violence which +will prevail against the violent, and on your head be the sin. Cast down the +sword which you hold in your hand!” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you give me freedom to leave your Abbey?” +</p> + +<p> +“When you have abided your sentence and purged your sin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I had rather die where I stand than give up my sword.” +</p> + +<p> +A dangerous flame lit in the Abbot’s eyes. He came of a fighting Norman stock, +like so many of those fierce prelates who, bearing a mace lest they should be +guilty of effusion of blood, led their troops into battle, ever remembering +that it was one of their own cloth and dignity who, crosier in hand, had turned +the long-drawn bloody day of Hastings. The soft accent of the churchman was +gone and it was the hard voice of a soldier which said— +</p> + +<p> +“One minute I give you, and no more. Then when I cry ‘Loose!’ drive me an arrow +through his body.” +</p> + +<p> +The shaft was fitted, the bow was bent, and the stern eyes of the woodman were +fixed on his mark. Slowly the minute passed, while Nigel breathed a prayer to +his three soldier saints, not that they should save his body in this life, but +that they should have a kindly care for his soul in the next. Some thought of a +fierce wildcat sally crossed his mind, but once out of his corner he was lost +indeed. Yet at the last he would have rushed among his enemies, and his body +was bent for the spring, when with a deep sonorous hum, like a breaking +harp-string, the cord of the bow was cloven in twain, and the arrow tinkled +upon the tiled floor. At the same moment a young curly-headed bowman, whose +broad shoulders and deep chest told of immense strength, as clearly as his +frank, laughing face and honest hazel eyes did of good humor and courage, +sprang forward sword in hand and took his place by Nigel’s side. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, comrades!” said he. “Samkin Aylward cannot stand by and see a gallant man +shot down like a bull at the end of a baiting. Five against one is long odds; +but two against four is better, and by my finger-bones! Squire Nigel and I +leave this room together, be it on our feet or no.” +</p> + +<p> +The formidable appearance of this ally and his high reputation among his +fellows gave a further chill to the lukewarm ardor of the attack. Aylward’s +left arm was passed through his strung bow, and he was known from Woolmer +Forest to the Weald as the quickest, surest archer that ever dropped a running +deer at tenscore paces. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Baddlesmere, hold your fingers from your string-case, or I may chance to +give your drawing hand a two months’ rest,” said Aylward. “Swords, if you will, +comrades, but no man strings his bow till I have loosed mine.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet the angry hearts of both Abbot and sacrist rose higher with a fresh +obstacle. +</p> + +<p> +“This is an ill day for your father, Franklin Aylward, who holds the tenancy of +Crooksbury,” said the sacrist. “He will rue it that ever he begot a son who +will lose him his acres and his steading.” +</p> + +<p> +“My father is a bold yeoman, and would rue it evermore that ever his son should +stand by while foul work was afoot,” said Aylward stoutly. “Fall on, comrades! +We are waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +Encouraged by promises of reward if they should fall in the service of the +Abbey, and by threats of penalties if they should hold back, the four archers +were about to close, when a singular interruption gave an entirely new turn to +the proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +At the door of the chapter-house, while these fiery doings had been afoot, +there had assembled a mixed crowd of lay brothers, servants and varlets who had +watched the development of the drama with the interest and delight with which +men hail a sudden break in a dull routine. Suddenly there was an agitation at +the back of this group, then a swirl in the center, and finally the front rank +was violently thrust aside, and through the gap there emerged a strange and +whimsical figure, who from the instant of his appearance dominated both +chapter-house and Abbey, monks, prelates and archers, as if he were their owner +and their master. +</p> + +<p> +He was a man somewhat above middle age, with thin lemon-colored hair, a curling +mustache, a tufted chin of the same hue, and a high craggy face, all running to +a great hook of the nose, like the beak of an eagle. His skin was tanned a +brown-red by much exposure to the wind and sun. In height he was tall, and his +figure was thin and loose-jointed, but stringy and hard-bitten. One eye was +entirely covered by its lid, which lay flat over an empty socket, but the other +danced and sparkled with a most roguish light, darting here and there with a +twinkle of humor and criticism and intelligence, the whole fire of his soul +bursting through that one narrow cranny. +</p> + +<p> +His dress was as noteworthy as his person. A rich purple doublet and cloak was +marked on the lapels with a strange scarlet device shaped like a wedge. Costly +lace hung round his shoulders, and amid its soft folds there smoldered the dull +red of a heavy golden chain. A knight’s belt at his waist and a knight’s golden +spurs twinkling from his doeskin riding-boots proclaimed his rank, and on the +wrist of his left gauntlet there sat a demure little hooded falcon of a breed +which in itself was a mark of the dignity of the owner. Of weapons he had none, +but a mandolin was slung by a black silken band over his back, and the high +brown end projected above his shoulder. Such was the man, quaint, critical, +masterful, with a touch of what is formidable behind it, who now surveyed the +opposing groups of armed men and angry monks with an eye which commanded their +attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Excusez!” said he, in a lisping French. “Excusez, mes amis! I had thought to +arouse from prayer or meditation, but never have I seen such a holy exercise as +this under an abbey’s roof, with swords for breviaries and archers for +acolytes. I fear that I have come amiss, and yet I ride on an errand from one +who permits no delay.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot, and possibly the sacrist also, had begun to realize that events had +gone a great deal farther than they had intended, and that without an extreme +scandal it was no easy matter for them to save their dignity and the good name +of Waverley. Therefore, in spite of the debonair, not to say disrespectful, +bearing of the newcomer, they rejoiced at his appearance and intervention. +</p> + +<p> +“I am the Abbot of Waverley, fair son,” said the prelate. “If your message deal +with a public matter it may be fitly repeated in the chapter-house; if not I +will give you audience in my own chamber; for it is clear to me that you are a +gentle man of blood and coat-armor who would not lightly break in upon the +business of our court—a business which, as you have remarked, is little welcome +to men of peace like myself and the brethren of the rule of Saint Bernard.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pardieu!</i> Father Abbot,” said the stranger. “One had but to glance at +you and your men to see that the business was indeed little to your taste, and +it may be even less so when I say that rather than see this young person in the +window, who hath a noble bearing, further molested by these archers, I will +myself adventure my person on his behalf.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot’s smile turned to a frown at these frank words. “It would become you +better, sir, to deliver the message of which you say that you are the bearer, +than to uphold a prisoner against the rightful judgment of a court.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger swept the court with his questioning eye. “The message is not for +you, good father Abbot. It is for one whom I know not. I have been to his +house, and they have sent me hither. The name is Nigel Loring.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is for me, fair sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had thought as much. I knew your father, Eustace Loring, and though he would +have made two of you, yet he has left his stamp plain enough upon your face.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know not the truth of this matter,” said the Abbot. “If you are a loyal +man, you will stand aside, for this young man hath grievously offended against +the law, and it is for the King’s lieges to give us their support.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have haled him up for judgment,” cried the stranger with much +amusement. “It is as though a rookery sat in judgment upon a falcon. I warrant +that you have found it easier to judge than to punish. Let me tell you, father +Abbot, that this standeth not aright. When powers such as these were given to +the like of you, they were given that you might check a brawling underling or +correct a drunken woodman, and not that you might drag the best blood in +England to your bar and set your archers on him if he questioned your +findings.” +</p> + +<p> +The Abbot was little used to hear such words of reproof uttered in so stern a +voice under his own abbey roof and before his listening monks. “You may +perchance find that an Abbey court has more powers than you wot of, Sir +Knight,” said he, “if knight indeed you be who are so uncourteous and short in +your speech. Ere we go further, I would ask your name and style?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger laughed. “It is easy to see that you are indeed men of peace,” +said he proudly. “Had I shown this sign,” and he touched the token upon his +lapels, “whether on shield or pennon, in the marches of France or Scotland, +there is not a cavalier but would have known the red pile of Chandos.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos, John Chandos, the flower of English chivalry, the pink of +knight-errantry, the hero already of fifty desperate enterprises, a man known +and honored from end to end of Europe! Nigel gazed at him as one who sees a +vision. The archers stood back abashed, while the monks crowded closer to stare +at the famous soldier of the French wars. The Abbot abated his tone, and a +smile came to his angry face. +</p> + +<p> +“We are indeed men of peace, Sir John, and little skilled in warlike blazonry,” +said he; “yet stout as are our Abbey walls, they are not so thick that the fame +of your exploits has not passed through them and reached our ears. If it be +your pleasure to take an interest in this young and misguided Squire, it is not +for us to thwart your kind intention or to withhold such grace as you request. +I am glad indeed that he hath one who can set him so fair an example for a +friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you for your courtesy, good father Abbot,” said Chandos carelessly. +“This young Squire has, however, a better friend than myself, one who is kinder +to those he loves and more terrible to those he hates. It is from him I bear a +message.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, fair and honored sir,” said Nigel, “that you will tell me what is +the message that you bear.” +</p> + +<p> +“The message, <i>mon ami</i>, is that your friend comes into these parts and +would have a night’s lodging at the manor house of Tilford for the love and +respect that he bears your family.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, he is most welcome,” said Nigel, “and yet I hope that he is one who can +relish a soldier’s fare and sleep under a humble roof, for indeed we can but +give our best, poor as it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is indeed a soldier and a good one,” Chandos answered, laughing, “and I +warrant he has slept in rougher quarters than Tilford Manor-house.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have few friends, fair sir,” said Nigel, with a puzzled face. “I pray you +give me this gentleman’s name.” +</p> + +<p> +“His name is Edward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Edward Mortimer of Kent, perchance, or is it Sir Edward Brocas of whom the +Lady Ermyntrude talks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, he is known as Edward only, and if you ask a second name it is +Plantagenet, for he who comes to seek the shelter of your roof is your liege +lord and mine, the King’s high majesty, Edward of England.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>VI.<br/> +IN WHICH LADY ERMYNTRUDE OPENS THE IRON COFFER</h2> + +<p> +AS in a dream Nigel heard these stupendous and incredible words. As in a dream +also he had a vision of a smiling and conciliatory Abbot, of an obsequious +sacrist, and of a band of archers who cleared a path for him and for the King’s +messenger through the motley crowd who had choked the entrance of the Abbey +court. A minute later he was walking by the side of Chandos through the +peaceful cloister, and in front in the open archway of the great gate was the +broad yellow road between its borders of green meadow-land. The spring air was +the sweeter and the more fragrant for that chill dread of dishonor and +captivity which had so recently frozen his ardent heart. He had already passed +the portal when a hand plucked at his sleeve and he turned to find himself +confronted by the brown honest face and hazel eyes of the archer who had +interfered in his behalf. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Aylward, “what have you to say to me, young sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“What can I say, my good fellow, save that I thank you with all my heart? By +Saint Paul! if you had been my blood brother you could not have stood by me +more stoutly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay! but this is not enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel colored with vexation, and the more so as Chandos was listening with his +critical smile to their conversation. “If you had heard what was said in the +court,” said he, “you would understand that I am not blessed at this moment +with much of this world’s gear. The black death and the monks have between them +been heavy upon our estate. Willingly would I give you a handful of gold for +your assistance, since that is what you seem to crave; but indeed I have it +not, and so once more I say that you must be satisfied with my thanks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your gold is nothing to me,” said Aylward shortly, “nor would you buy my +loyalty if you filled my wallet with rose nobles, so long as you were not a man +after my own heart. But I have seen you back the yellow horse, and I have seen +you face the Abbot of Waverley, and you are such a master as I would very +gladly serve if you have by chance a place for such a man. I have seen your +following, and I doubt not that they were stout fellows in your grandfather’s +time; but which of them now would draw a bow-string to his ear? Through you I +have left the service of the Abbey of Waverley, and where can I look now for a +post? If I stay here I am all undone like a fretted bow-string.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, there can be no difficulty there,” said Chandos. “<i>Pardieu!</i> a +roistering, swaggering dare-devil archer is worth his price on the French +border. There are two hundred such who march behind my own person, and I would +ask nothing better than to see you among them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, noble sir, for your offer,” said Aylward, “and I had rather +follow your banner than many another one, for it is well known that it goes +ever forward, and I have heard enough of the wars to know that there are small +pickings for the man who lags behind. Yet, if the Squire will have me, I would +choose to fight under the five roses of Loring, for though I was born in the +hundred of Easebourne and the rape of Chichester, yet I have grown up and +learned to use the longbow in these parts, and as the free son of a free +franklin I had rather serve my own neighbor than a stranger.” +</p> + +<p> +“My good fellow,” said Nigel, “I have told you that I could in no wise reward +you for such service.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will but take me to the wars I will see to my own reward,” said +Aylward. “Till then I ask for none, save a corner of your table and six feet of +your floor, for it is certain that the only reward I would get from the Abbey +for this day’s work would be the scourge for my back and the stocks for my +ankles. Samkin Aylward is your man, Squire Nigel, from this hour on, and by +these ten finger-bones he trusts the Devil will fly away with him if ever he +gives you cause to regret it!” So saying he raised his hand to his steel cap in +salute, slung his great yellow bow over his back, and followed on some paces in +the rear of his new master. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pardieu!</i> I have arrived <i>à la bonne heure</i>,” said Chandos. “I rode +from Windsor and came to your manor house, to find it empty save for a fine old +dame, who told me of your troubles. From her I walked across to the Abbey, and +none too soon, for what with cloth-yard shafts for your body, and bell, book +and candle for your soul, it was no very cheerful outlook. But here is the very +dame herself, if I mistake not.” +</p> + +<p> +It was indeed the formidable figure of the Lady Ermyntrude, gaunt, bowed and +leaning on her staff, which had emerged from the door of the manor-house and +advanced to greet them. She croaked with laughter, and shook her stick at the +great building as she heard of the discomfiture of the Abbey court. Then she +led the way into the hall where the best which she could provide had been laid +out for their illustrious guest. There was Chandos blood in her own veins, +traceable back through the de Greys, de Multons, de Valences, de Montagues and +other high and noble strains, so that the meal had been eaten and cleared +before she had done tracing the network of intermarriages and connections, with +quarterings, impalements, lozenges and augmentations by which the blazonry of +the two families might be made to show a common origin. Back to the Conquest +and before it there was not a noble family-tree every twig and bud of which was +not familiar to the Dame Ermyntrude. +</p> + +<p> +And now when the trestles were cleared and the three were left alone in the +hall, Chandos broke his message to the lady. “King Edward hath ever borne in +mind that noble knight your son Sir Eustace,” said he. “He will journey to +Southampton next week, and I am his harbinger. He bade me say, noble and +honored lady, that he would come from Guildford in any easy stage so that he +might spend one night under your roof.” +</p> + +<p> +The old dame flushed with pleasure, and then turned white with vexation at the +words. “It is in truth great honor to the house of Loring,” said she, “yet our +roof is now humble and, as you have seen, our fare is plain. The King knows not +that we are so poor. I fear lest we seem churlish and niggard in his eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +But Chandos reasoned away her fears. The King’s retinue would journey on to +Farnham Castle. There were no ladies in his party. Though he was King, still he +was a hardy soldier, and cared little for his ease. In any case, since he had +declared his coming, they must make the best of it. Finally, with all delicacy, +Chandos offered his own purse if it would help in the matter. But already the +Lady Ermyntrude had recovered her composure. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair kinsman, that may not be,” said she. “I will make such preparation +as I may for the King. He will bear in mind that if the house of Loring can +give nothing else, they have always held their blood and their lives at his +disposal.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos was to ride on to Farnham Castle and beyond, but he expressed his +desire to have a warm bath ere he left Tilford, for like most of his +fellow-knights, he was much addicted to simmering in the hottest water that he +could possibly endure. The bath therefore, a high hooped arrangement like a +broader but shorter churn, was carried into the privacy of the guest-chamber, +and thither it was that Nigel was summoned to hold him company while he stewed +and sweltered in his tub. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel perched himself upon the side of the high bed, swinging his legs over the +edge and gazing with wonder and amusement at the quaint face, the ruffled +yellow hair, and the sinewy shoulders of the famous warrior, dimly seen amid a +pillar of steam. He was in a mood for talk; so Nigel with eager lips plied him +with a thousand questions about the wars, hanging upon every word which came +back to him, like those of the ancient oracles, out of the mist and the cloud. +To Chandos himself, the old soldier for whom war had lost its freshness, it was +a renewal of his own ardent youth to listen to Nigel’s rapid questions and to +mark the rapt attention with which he listened. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me of the Welsh, honored sir,” asked the Squire. “What manner of soldiers +are the Welsh?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are very valiant men of war,” said Chandos, splashing about in his tub. +“There is good skirmishing to be had in their valleys if you ride with a small +following. They flare up like a furzebush in the flames, but if for a short +space you may abide the heat of it, then there is a chance that it may be +cooler.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the Scotch?” asked Nigel. “You have made war upon them also, as I +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Scotch knights have no masters in the world, and he who can hold his own +with the best of them, be it a Douglas, a Murray or a Seaton, has nothing more +to learn. Though you be a hard man, you will always meet as hard a one if you +ride northward. If the Welsh be like the furze fire, then, <i>pardieu!</i> the +Scotch are the peat, for they will smolder and you will never come to the end +of them. I have had many happy hours on the marches of Scotland, for even if +there be no war the Percies of Alnwick or the Governor of Carlisle can still +raise a little bickering with the border clans.” +</p> + +<p> +“I bear in mind that my father was wont to say that they were very stout +spearmen.” +</p> + +<p> +“No better in the world, for the spears are twelve foot long and they hold them +in very thick array; but their archers are weak, save only the men of Ettrick +and Selkirk who come from the forest. I pray you to open the lattice, Nigel, +for the steam is overthick. Now in Wales it is the spearmen who are weak, and +there are no archers in these islands like the men of Gwent with their bows of +elm, which shoot with such power that I have known a cavalier to have his horse +killed when the shaft had passed through his mail breeches, his thigh and his +saddle. And yet, what is the most strongly shot arrow to these new balls of +iron driven by the fire-powder which will crush a man’s armor as an egg is +crushed by a stone? Our fathers knew them not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the better for us,” cried Nigel, “since there is at least one honorable +venture which is all our own.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos chuckled and turned upon the flushed youth a twinkling and sympathetic +eye. “You have a fashion of speech which carries me back to the old men whom I +met in my boyhood,” said he. “There were some of the real old knight-errants +left in those days, and they spoke as you do. Young as you are, you belong to +another age. Where got you that trick of thought and word?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have had only one to teach me, the Lady Ermyntrude.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pardieu!</i> she has trained a proper young hawk ready to stoop at a lordly +quarry,” said Chandos. “I would that I had the first unhooding of you. Will you +not ride with me to the wars?” +</p> + +<p> +The tears brimmed over from Nigel’s eyes, and he wrung the gaunt hand extended +from the bath. “By Saint Paul! what could I ask better in the world? I fear to +leave her, for she has none other to care for her. But if it can in any way be +arranged—” +</p> + +<p> +“The King’s hand may smooth it out. Say no more until he is here. But if you +wish to ride with me—” +</p> + +<p> +“What could man wish for more? Is there a Squire in England who would not serve +under the banner of Chandos! Whither do you go, fair sir? And when do you go? +Is it to Scotland? Is it to Ireland? Is it to France? But alas, alas!” +</p> + +<p> +The eager face had clouded. For the instant he had forgotten that a suit of +armor was as much beyond his means as a service of gold plate. Down in a +twinkling came all his high hopes to the ground. Oh, these sordid material +things, which come between our dreams and their fulfilment! The Squire of such +a knight must dress with the best. Yet all the fee simple of Tilford would +scarce suffice for one suit of plate. +</p> + +<p> +Chandos, with his quick wit and knowledge of the world, had guessed the cause +of this sudden change. “If you fight under my banner it is for me to find the +weapons,” said he. “Nay, I will not be denied.” +</p> + +<p> +But Nigel shook his head sadly. “It may not be. The Lady Ermyntrude would sell +this old house and every acre round it, ere she would permit me to accept this +gracious bounty which you offer. Yet I do not despair, for only last week I won +for myself a noble war-horse for which I paid not a penny, so perchance a suit +of armor may also come my way.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how won you the horse?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was given me by the monks of Waverley.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is wonderful. <i>Pardieu!</i> I should have expected, from what I had +seen, that they would have given you little save their malediction.” +</p> + +<p> +“They had no use for the horse, and they gave it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we have only to find some one who has no use for a suit of armor and will +give it to you. Yet I trust that you will think better of it and let me, since +that good lady proves that I am your kinsman, fit you for the wars.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, noble sir, and if I should turn to anyone it would indeed be to +you; but there are other ways which I would try first. But I pray you, good Sir +John, to tell me of some of your noble spear-runnings against the French, for +the whole land rings with the tale of your deeds and I have heard that in one +morning three champions have fallen before your lance. Was it not so?” +</p> + +<p> +“That it was indeed so these scars upon my body will prove; but these were the +follies of my youth.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you call them follies? Are they not the means by which honorable +advancement may be gained and one’s lady exalted?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is right that you should think so, Nigel. At your age a man should have a +hot head and a high heart. I also had both and fought for my lady’s glove or +for my vow or for the love of fighting. But as one grows older and commands men +one has other things to think of. One thinks less of one’s own honor and more +of the safety of the army. It is not your own spear, your own sword, your own +arm, which will turn the tide of fight; but a cool head may save a stricken +field. He who knows when his horsemen should charge and when they should fight +on foot, he who can mix his archers with his men-at-arms in such a fashion that +each can support the other, he who can hold up his reserve and pour it into the +battle when it may turn the tide, he who has a quick eye for boggy land and +broken ground—that is the man who is of more worth to an army than Roland, +Oliver and all the paladins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet if his knights fail him, honored sir, all his head-work will not prevail.” +</p> + +<p> +“True enough, Nigel; so may every Squire ride to the wars with his soul on +fire, as yours is now. But I must linger no longer, for the King’s service must +be done. I will dress, and when I have bid farewell to the noble Dame +Ermyntrude I will on to Farnham; but you will see me here again on the day that +the King comes.” +</p> + +<p> +So Chandos went his way that evening, walking his horse through the peaceful +lanes and twanging his citole as he went, for he loved music and was famous for +his merry songs. The cottagers came from their huts and laughed and clapped as +the rich full voice swelled and sank to the cheery tinkling of the strings. +There were few who saw him pass that would have guessed that the quaint +one-eyed man with the yellow hair was the toughest fighter and craftiest man of +war in Europe. Once only, as he entered Farnham, an old broken man-at-arms ran +out in his rags and clutched at his horse as a dog gambols round his master. +Chandos threw him a kind word and a gold coin as he passed on to the castle. +</p> + +<p> +In the meanwhile young Nigel and the Lady Ermyntrude, left alone with their +difficulties, looked blankly in each other’s faces. +</p> + +<p> +“The cellar is well nigh empty,” said Nigel. “There are two firkins of small +beer and a tun of canary. How can we set such drink before the King and his +court?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must have some wine of Bordeaux. With that and the mottled cow’s calf and +the fowls and a goose, we can set forth a sufficient repast if he stays only +for the one night. How many will be with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“A dozen, at the least.” +</p> + +<p> +The old dame wrung her hands in despair. “Nay, take it not to heart, dear +lady!” said Nigel. “We have but to say the word and the King would stop at +Waverley, where he and his court would find all that they could wish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” cried the Lady Ermyntrude. “It would be shame and disgrace to us +forever if the King were to pass our door when he has graciously said that he +was fain to enter in. Nay, I will do it. Never did I think that I would be +forced to this, but I know that he would wish it, and I will do it.” +</p> + +<p> +She went to the old iron coffer, and taking a small key from her girdle she +unlocked it. The rusty hinges, screaming shrilly as she threw back the lid, +proclaimed how seldom it was that she had penetrated into the sacred recesses +of her treasure-chest. At the top were some relics of old finery: a silken +cloak spangled with golden stars, a coif of silver filigree, a roll of Venetian +lace. Beneath were little packets tied in silk which the old lady handled with +tender care: a man’s hunting-glove, a child’s shoe, a love-knot done in faded +green ribbon, some letters in rude rough script, and a vernicle of Saint +Thomas. Then from the very bottom of the box she drew three objects, swathed in +silken cloth, which she uncovered and laid upon the table. The one was a +bracelet of rough gold studded with uncut rubies, the second was a gold salver, +and the third was a high goblet of the same metal. +</p> + +<p> +“You have heard me speak of these, Nigel, but never before have you seen them, +for indeed I have not opened the hutch for fear that we might be tempted in our +great need to turn them into money. I have kept them out of my sight and even +out of my thoughts. But now it is the honor of the house which calls, and even +these must go. This goblet was that which my husband, Sir Nele Loring, won +after the intaking of Belgrade when he and his comrades held the lists from +matins to vespers against the flower of the French chivalry. The salver was +given him by the Earl of Pembroke in memory of his valor upon the field of +Falkirk.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the bracelet, dear lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not laugh, Nigel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, why should I laugh?” +</p> + +<p> +“The bracelet was the prize for the Queen of Beauty which was given to me +before all the high-born ladies of England by Sir Nele Loring a month before +our marriage—the Queen of Beauty, Nigel—I, old and twisted, as you see me. Five +strong men went down before his lance ere he won that trinket for me. And now +in my last years—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, dear and honored lady, we will not part with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Nigel, he would have it so. I can hear his whisper in my ear. Honor to +him was everything—the rest nothing. Take it from me, Nigel, ere my heart +weakens. To-morrow you will ride with it to Guildford; you will see Thorold the +goldsmith; and you will raise enough money to pay for all that we shall need +for the King’s coming.” She turned her face away to hide the quivering of her +wrinkled features, and the crash of the iron lid covered the sob which burst +from her overwrought soul. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>VII.<br/> +HOW NIGEL WENT MARKETING TO GUILDFORD</h2> + +<p> +It was on a bright June morning that young Nigel, with youth and springtime to +make his heart light, rode upon his errand from Tilford to Guildford town. +Beneath him was his great yellow warhorse, caracoling and curveting as he went, +as blithe and free of spirit as his master. In all England one would scarce +have found upon that morning so high-mettled and so debonair a pair. The sandy +road wound through groves of fir, where the breeze came soft and fragrant with +resinous gums, or over heathery downs, which rolled away to north and to south, +vast and untenanted, for on the uplands the soil was poor and water scarce. +Over Crooksbury Common he passed, and then across the great Heath of Puttenham, +following a sandy path which wound amid the bracken and the heather, for he +meant to strike the Pilgrims’ Way where it turned eastward from Farnham and +from Seale. As he rode he continually felt his saddle-bag with his hand, for in +it, securely strapped, he had placed the precious treasures of the Lady +Ermyntrude. As he saw the grand tawny neck tossing before him, and felt the +easy heave of the great horse and heard the muffled drumming of his hoofs, he +could have sung and shouted with the joy of living. +</p> + +<p> +Behind him, upon the little brown pony which had been Nigel’s former mount, +rode Samkin Aylward the bowman, who had taken upon himself the duties of +personal attendant and body-guard. His great shoulders and breadth of frame +seemed dangerously top-heavy upon the tiny steed, but he ambled along, +whistling a merry lilt and as lighthearted as his master. There was no +countryman who had not a nod and no woman who had not a smile for the jovial +bowman, who rode for the most part with his face over his shoulder, staring at +the last petticoat which had passed him. Once only he met with a harsher +greeting. It was from a tall, white-headed, red-faced man whom they met upon +the moor. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morrow, dear father!” cried Aylward. “How is it with you at Crooksbury? +And how are the new black cow and the ewes from Alton and Mary the dairymaid +and all your gear?” +</p> + +<p> +“It ill becomes you to ask, you ne’er-do-weel,” said the old man. “You have +angered the monks of Waverley, whose tenant I am, and they would drive me out +of my farm. Yet there are three more years to run, and do what they may I will +bide till then. But little did I think that I should lose my homestead through +you, Samkin, and big as you are I would knock the dust out of that green jerkin +with a good hazel switch if I had you at Crooksbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you shall do it to-morrow morning, good father, for I will come and see +you then. But indeed I did not do more at Waverley than you would have done +yourself. Look me in the eye, old hothead, and tell me if you would have stood +by while the last Loring—look at him as he rides with his head in the air and +his soul in the clouds—was shot down before your very eyes at the bidding of +that fat monk! If you would, then I disown you as my father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Samkin, if it was like that, then perhaps what you did was not so far +amiss. But it is hard to lose the old farm when my heart is buried deep in the +good brown soil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, man! there are three years to run, and what may not happen in three +years? Before that time I shall have gone to the wars, and when I have opened a +French strong box or two you can buy the good brown soil and snap your fingers +at Abbot John and his bailiffs. Am I not as proper a man as Tom Withstaff of +Churt? And yet he came back after six months with his pockets full of rose +nobles and a French wench on either arm.” +</p> + +<p> +“God preserve us from the wenches, Samkin! But indeed I think that if there is +money to be gathered you are as likely to get your fist full as any man who +goes to the war. But hasten, lad, hasten! Already your young master is over the +brow.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus admonished, the archer waved his gauntleted hand to his father, and +digging his heels into the sides of his little pony soon drew up with the +Squire. Nigel glanced over his shoulder and slackened speed until the pony’s +head was up to his saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I not heard, archer,” said he, “that an outlaw has been loose in these +parts?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, fair sir. He was villain to Sir Peter Mandeville, but he broke his +bonds and fled into the forests. Men call him the ‘Wild Man of Puttenham.’” +</p> + +<p> +“How comes it that he has not been hunted down? If the man be a draw-latch and +a robber it would be an honorable deed to clear the country of such an evil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twice the sergeants-at-arms from Guildford have come out against him, but the +fox has many earths, and it would puzzle you to get him out of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul! were my errand not a pressing one I would be tempted to turn +aside and seek him. Where lives he, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a great morass beyond Puttenham, and across it there are caves in +which he and his people lurk.” +</p> + +<p> +“His people? He hath a band?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are several with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds a most honorable enterprise,” said Nigel. “When the King hath come +and gone we will spare a day for the outlaws of Puttenham. I fear there is +little chance for us to see them on this journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“They prey upon the pilgrims who pass along the Winchester Road, and they are +well loved by the folk in these parts, for they rob none of them and have an +open hand for all who will help them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is right easy to have an open hand with the money that you have stolen,” +said Nigel; “but I fear that they will not try to rob two men with swords at +their girdles like you and me, so we shall have no profit from them.” +</p> + +<p> +They had passed over the wild moors and had come down now into the main road by +which the pilgrims from the west of England made their way to the national +shrine at Canterbury. It passed from Winchester, and up the beautiful valley of +the Itchen until it reached Farnham, where it forked into two branches, one of +which ran along the Hog’s Back, while the second wound to the south and came +out at Saint Catherine’s Hill where stands the Pilgrim shrine, a gray old ruin +now, but once so august, so crowded and so affluent. It was this second branch +upon which Nigel and Aylward found themselves as they rode to Guildford. +</p> + +<p> +No one, as it chanced, was going the same way as themselves, but they met one +large drove of pilgrims returning from their journey with pictures of Saint +Thomas and snails’ shells or little leaden ampullae in their hats and bundles +of purchases over their shoulders. They were a grimy, ragged, travel-stained +crew, the men walking, the women borne on asses. Man and beast, they limped +along as if it would be a glad day when they saw their homes once more. These +and a few beggars or minstrels, who crouched among the heather on either side +of the track in the hope of receiving an occasional farthing from the +passer-by, were the only folk they met until they had reached the village of +Puttenham. Already there, was a hot sun and just breeze enough to send the dust +flying down the road, so they were glad to clear their throats with a glass of +beer at the ale-stake in the village, where the fair alewife gave Nigel a cold +farewell because he had no attentions for her, and Aylward a box on the ear +because he had too many. +</p> + +<p> +On the farther side of Puttenham the road runs through thick woods of oak and +beech, with a tangled undergrowth of fern and bramble. Here they met a patrol +of sergeants-at-arms, tall fellows, well-mounted, clad in studded-leather caps +and tunics, with lances and swords. They walked their horses slowly on the +shady side of the road, and stopped as the travelers came up, to ask if they +had been molested on the way. +</p> + +<p> +“Have a care,” they added, “for the ‘Wild Man’ and his wife are out. Only +yesterday they slew a merchant from the west and took a hundred crowns.” +</p> + +<p> +“His wife, you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she is ever at his side, and has saved him many a time, for if he has the +strength it is she who has the wit. I hope to see their heads together upon the +green grass one of these mornings.” +</p> + +<p> +The patrol passed downward toward Farnham, and so, as it proved, away from the +robbers, who had doubtless watched them closely from the dense brushwood which +skirted the road. Coming round a curve, Nigel and Aylward were aware of a tall +and graceful woman who sat, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly, upon the +bank by the side of the track. At such a sight of beauty in distress Nigel +pricked Pommers with the spur and in three bounds was at the side of the +unhappy lady. +</p> + +<p> +“What ails you, fair dame?” he asked. “Is there any small matter in which I may +stand your friend, or is it possible that anyone hath so hard a heart as to do +you an injury.” +</p> + +<p> +She rose and turned upon him a face full of hope and entreaty. “Oh, save my +poor, poor father!” she cried. “Have you perchance seen the way-wardens? They +passed us, and I fear they are beyond reach.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, they have ridden onward, but we may serve as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then hasten, hasten, I pray you! Even now they may be doing him to death. They +have dragged him into yonder grove and I have heard his voice growing ever +weaker in the distance. Hasten, I implore you!” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel sprang from his horse and tossed the rein to Aylward. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, let us go together. How many robbers were there, lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two stout fellows.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I come also.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it is not possible,” said Nigel. “The wood is too thick for horses, and +we cannot leave them in the road.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will guard them,” cried the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Pommers is not so easily held. Do you bide here, Aylward, until you hear from +me. Stir not, I command you!” So saying, Nigel, with the light, of adventure +gleaming in his joyous eyes, drew his sword and plunged swiftly into the +forest. +</p> + +<p> +Far and fast he ran, from glade to glade, breaking through the bushes, +springing over the brambles, light as a young deer, peering this way and that, +straining his ears for a sound, and catching only the cry of the wood-pigeons. +Still on he went, with the constant thought of the weeping woman behind and of +the captured man in front. It was not until he was footsore and out of breath +that he stopped with his hand to his side, and considered that his own business +had still to be done, and that it was time once more that he should seek the +road to Guildford. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Aylward had found his own rough means of consoling the woman in the +road, who stood sobbing with her face against the side of Pommers’ saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, weep not, my pretty one,” said he. “It brings the tears to my own eyes to +see them stream from thine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! good archer, he was the best of fathers, so gentle and so kind! Had you +but known him, you must have loved him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut! he will suffer no scathe. Squire Nigel will bring him back to you +anon.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I shall never see him more. Hold me, archer, or I fall!” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward pressed his ready arm round the supple waist. The fainting woman leaned +with her hand upon his shoulder. Her pale face looked past him, and it was some +new light in her eyes, a flash of expectancy, of triumph, of wicked joy, which +gave him sudden warning of his danger. +</p> + +<p> +He shook her off and sprang to one side, but only just in time to avoid a +crashing blow from a great club in the hands of a man even taller and stronger +than himself. He had one quick vision of great white teeth clenched in grim +ferocity, a wild flying beard and blazing wild-beast eyes. The next instant he +had closed, ducking his head beneath another swing of that murderous cudgel. +</p> + +<p> +With his arms round the robber’s burly body and his face buried in his bushy +beard, Aylward gasped and strained and heaved. Back and forward in the dusty +road the two men stamped and staggered, a grim wrestling-match, with life for +the prize. Twice the great strength of the outlaw had Aylward nearly down, and +twice with his greater youth and skill the archer restored his grip and his +balance. Then at last his turn came. He slipped his leg behind the other’s +knee, and, giving a mighty wrench, tore him across it. With a hoarse shout the +outlaw toppled backward and had hardly reached the ground before Aylward had +his knee upon his chest and his short sword deep in his beard and pointed to +his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“By these ten finger-bones!” he gasped, “one more struggle and it is your +last!” +</p> + +<p> +The man lay still enough, for he was half-stunned by the crashing fall. Aylward +looked round him, but the woman had disappeared. At the first blow struck she +had vanished into the forest. He began to have fears for his master, thinking +that he perhaps had been lured into some deathtrap; but his forebodings were +soon at rest, for Nigel himself came hastening down the road, which he had +struck some distance from the spot where he left it. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul!” he cried, “who is this man on whom you are perched, and where +is the lady who has honored us so far as to crave our help? Alas, that I have +been unable to find her father!” +</p> + +<p> +“As well for you, fair sir,” said Aylward, “for I am of opinion that her father +was the Devil. This woman is, as I believe, the wife of the ‘Wild Man of +Puttenham,’ and this is the ‘Wild Man’ himself who set upon me and tried to +brain me with his club.” +</p> + +<p> +The outlaw, who had opened his eyes, looked with a scowl from his captor to the +new-comer. “You are in luck, archer,” said he, “for I have come to grips with +many a man, but I cannot call to mind any who have had the better of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have indeed the grip of a bear,” said Aylward; “but it was a coward deed +that your wife should hold me while you dashed out my brains with a stick. It +is also a most villainous thing to lay a snare for wayfarers by asking for +their pity and assistance, so that it was our own soft hearts which brought us +into such danger. The next who hath real need of our help may suffer for your +sins.” +</p> + +<p> +“When the hand of the whole world is against you,” said the outlaw in a surly +voice, “you must fight as best you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“You well deserve to be hanged, if only because you have brought this woman, +who is fair and gentle-spoken, to such a life,” said Nigel. “Let us tie him by +the wrist to my stirrup leather, Aylward, and we will lead him into Guildford.” +</p> + +<p> +The archer drew a spare bowstring from his case and had bound the prisoner as +directed, when Nigel gave a sudden start and cry of alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“Holy Mary!” he cried. “Where is the saddle-bag?” +</p> + +<p> +It had been cut away by a sharp knife. Only the two ends of strap remained. +Aylward and Nigel stared at each other in blank dismay. Then the young Squire +shook his clenched hands and pulled at his yellow curls in his despair. +</p> + +<p> +“The Lady Ermyntrude’s bracelet! My grandfather’s cup!” he cried. “I would have +died ere I lost them! What can I say to her? I dare not return until I have +found them. Oh, Aylward, Aylward! how came you to let them be taken?” +</p> + +<p> +The honest archer had pushed back his steel cap and was scratching his tangled +head. “Nay, I know nothing of it. You never said that there was aught of price +in the bag, else had I kept a better eye upon it. Certes! it was not this +fellow who took it, since I have never had my hands from him. It can only be +the woman who fled with it while we fought.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel stamped about the road in his perplexity. “I would follow her to the +world’s end if I knew where I could find her, but to search these woods for her +is to look for a mouse in a wheat-field. Good Saint George, thou who didst +overcome the Dragon, I pray you by that most honorable and knightly achievement +that you will be with me now! And you also, great Saint Julian, patron of all +wayfarers in distress! Two candles shall burn before your shrine at Godalming, +if you will but bring me back my saddle-bag. What would I not give to have it +back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you give me my life?” asked the outlaw. “Promise that I go free, and you +shall have it back, if it be indeed true that my wife has taken it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I cannot do that,” said Nigel. “My honor would surely be concerned, since +my loss is a private one; but it would be to the public scathe that you should +go free. By Saint Paul! it would be an ungentle deed if in order to save my own +I let you loose upon the gear of a hundred others.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not ask you to let me loose,” said the “Wild Man.” “If you will promise +that my life be spared I will restore your bag.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot give such a promise, for it will lie with the Sheriff and reeves of +Guildford.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I have your word in my favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I could promise you, if you will give back the bag, though I know not how +far my word may avail. But your words are vain, for you cannot think that we +will be so fond as to let you go in the hope that you return?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not ask it,” said the “Wild Man,” “for I can get your bag and yet +never stir from the spot where I stand. Have I your promise upon your honor and +all that you hold dear that you will ask for grace?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that my wife shall be unharmed?” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise it.” +</p> + +<p> +The outlaw laid back his head and uttered a long shrill cry like the howl of a +wolf. There was a silent pause, and then, clear and shrill, there rose the same +cry no great distance away in the forest. Again the “Wild Man” called, and +again his mate replied. A third time he summoned, as the deer bells to the doe +in the greenwood. Then with a rustle of brushwood and snapping of twigs the +woman was before them once more, tall, pale, graceful, wonderful. She glanced +neither at Aylward nor Nigel, but ran to the side of her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear and sweet lord,” she cried, “I trust they have done you no hurt. I waited +by the old ash, and my heart sank when you came not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been taken at last, wife.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, cursed, cursed day! Let him go, kind, gentle sirs; do not take him from +me!” +</p> + +<p> +“They will speak for me at Guildford,” said the “Wild Man.” “They have sworn +it. But hand them first the bag that you have taken.” +</p> + +<p> +She drew it out from under her loose cloak. “Here it is, gentle sir. Indeed it +went to my heart to take it, for you had mercy upon me in my trouble. But now I +am, as you see, in real and very sore distress. Will you not have mercy now? +Take ruth on us, fair sir! On my knees I beg it of you, most gentle and kindly +Squire!” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had clutched his bag, and right glad he was to feel that the treasures +were all safe within it. “My proffer is given,” said he. “I will say what I +can; but the issue rests with others. I pray you to stand up, for indeed I +cannot promise more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I must be content,” said she, rising, with a composed face. “I have +prayed you to take ruth, and indeed I can do no more; but ere I go back to the +forest I would rede you to be on your guard lest you lose your bag once more. +Wot you how I took it, archer? Nay, it was simple enough, and may happen again, +so I make it clear to you. I had this knife in my sleeve, and though it is +small it is very sharp. I slipped it down like this. Then when I seemed to weep +with my face against the saddle, I cut down like this—” +</p> + +<p> +In an instant she had shorn through the stirrup leather which bound her man, +and he, diving under the belly of the horse, had slipped like a snake into the +brushwood. In passing he had struck Pommers from beneath, and the great horse, +enraged and insulted, was rearing high, with two men hanging to his bridle. +When at last he had calmed there was no sign left of the “Wild Man” or of his +wife. In vain did Aylward, an arrow on his string, run here and there among the +great trees and peer down the shadowy glades. When he returned he and his +master cast a shamefaced glance at each other. +</p> + +<p> +“I trust that we are better soldiers than jailers,” said Aylward, as he climbed +on his pony. +</p> + +<p> +But Nigel’s frown relaxed into a smile. “At least we have gained back what we +lost,” said he. “Here I place it on the pommel of my saddle, and I shall not +take my eyes from it until we are safe in Guildford town.” +</p> + +<p> +So they jogged on together until passing Saint Catherine’s shrine they crossed +the winding Wey once more, and so found themselves in the steep high street +with its heavy-caved gabled houses, its monkish hospitium upon the left, where +good ale may still be quaffed, and its great square-keeped castle upon the +right, no gray and grim skeleton of ruin, but very quick and alert, with +blazoned banner flying free, and steel caps twinkling from the battlement. A +row of booths extended from the castle gate to the high street, and two doors +from the Church of the Trinity was that of Thorold the goldsmith, a rich +burgess and Mayor of the town. +</p> + +<p> +He looked long and lovingly at the rich rubies and at the fine work upon the +goblet. Then he stroked his flowing gray beard as he pondered whether he should +offer fifty nobles or sixty, for he knew well that he could sell them again for +two hundred. If he offered too much his profit would be reduced. If he offered +too little the youth might go as far as London with them, for they were rare +and of great worth. The young man was ill-clad, and his eyes were anxious. +Perchance he was hard pressed and was ignorant of the value of what he bore. He +would sound him. +</p> + +<p> +“These things are old and out of fashion, fair sir,” said he. “Of the stones I +can scarce say if they are of good quality or not, but they are dull and rough. +Yet, if your price be low I may add them to my stock, though indeed this booth +was made to sell and not to buy. What do you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel bent his brows in perplexity. Here was a game in which neither his bold +heart nor his active limbs could help him. It was the new force mastering the +old: the man of commerce conquering the man of war—wearing him down and +weakening him through the centuries until he had him as his bond-servant and +his thrall. +</p> + +<p> +“I know not what to ask, good sir,” said Nigel. “It is not for me, nor for any +man who bears my name, to chaffer and to haggle. You know the worth of these +things, for it is your trade to do so. The Lady Ermyntrude lacks money, and we +must have it against the King’s coming, so give me that which is right and +just, and we will say no more.” +</p> + +<p> +The goldsmith smiled. The business was growing more simple and more profitable. +He had intended to offer fifty, but surely it would be sinful waste to give +more than twenty-five. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall scarce know what to do with them when I have them,” said he. “Yet I +should not grudge twenty nobles if it is a matter in which the King is +concerned.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel’s heart turned to lead. This sum would not buy one-half what was needful. +It was clear that the Lady Ermyntrude had overvalued her treasures. Yet he +could not return empty-handed, so if twenty nobles was the real worth, as this +good old man assured him, then he must be thankful and take it. +</p> + +<p> +“I am concerned by what you say,” said he. “You know more of these things than +I can do. However, I will take—” +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred and fifty,” whispered Aylward’s voice in his ear. +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred and fifty,” said Nigel, only too relieved to have found the humblest +guide upon these unwonted paths. +</p> + +<p> +The goldsmith started. This youth was not the simple soldier that he had +seemed. That frank face, those blue eyes, were traps for the unwary. Never had +he been more taken aback in a bargain. +</p> + +<p> +“This is fond talk and can lead to nothing, fair sir,” said he, turning away +and fiddling with the keys of his strong boxes. “Yet I have no wish to be hard +on you. Take my outside price, which is fifty nobles.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a hundred,” whispered Aylward. +</p> + +<p> +“And a hundred,” said Nigel, blushing at his own greed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, take a hundred!” cried the merchant. “Fleece me, skin me, leave me +a loser, and take for your wares the full hundred!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should be shamed forever if I were to treat you so badly,” said Nigel. “You +have spoken me fair, and I would not grind you down. Therefore, I will gladly +take one hundred—” +</p> + +<p> +“And fifty,” whispered Aylward. +</p> + +<p> +“And fifty,” said Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint John of Beverley!” cried the merchant. “I came hither from the North +Country, and they are said to be shrewd at a deal in those parts; but I had +rather bargain with a synagogue full of Jews than with you, for all your gentle +ways. Will you indeed take no less than a hundred and fifty? Alas! you pluck +from me my profits of a month. It is a fell morning’s work for me. I would I +had never seen you!” With groans and lamentations he paid the gold pieces +across the counter, and Nigel, hardly able to credit his own good fortune, +gathered them into the leather saddle-bag. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later with flushed face he was in the street and pouring out his +thanks to Aylward. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, my fair lord! the man has robbed us now,” said the archer. “We could +have had another twenty had we stood fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“How know you that, good Aylward?” +</p> + +<p> +“By his eyes, Squire Loring. I wot I have little store of reading where the +parchment of a book or the pinching of a blazon is concerned, but I can read +men’s eyes, and I never doubted that he would give what he has given.” +</p> + +<p> +The two travelers had dinner at the monk’s hospitium, Nigel at the high table +and Aylward among the commonalty. Then again they roamed the high street on +business intent. Nigel bought taffeta for hangings, wine, preserves, fruit, +damask table linen and many other articles of need. At last he halted before +the armorer’s shop at the castle-yard, staring at the fine suits of plate, the +engraved pectorals, the plumed helmets, the cunningly jointed gorgets, as a +child at a sweet-shop. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Squire Loring,” said Wat the armorer, looking sidewise from the furnace +where he was tempering a sword blade, “what can I sell you this morning? I +swear to you by Tubal Cain, the father of all workers in metal, that you might +go from end to end of Cheapside and never see a better suit than that which +hangs from yonder hook!” +</p> + +<p> +“And the price, armorer?” +</p> + +<p> +“To anyone else, two hundred and fifty rose nobles. To you two hundred.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why cheaper to me, good fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I fitted your father also for the wars, and a finer suit never went +out of my shop. I warrant that it turned many an edge before he laid it aside. +We worked in mail in those days, and I had as soon have a well-made +thick-meshed mail as any plates; but a young knight will be in the fashion like +any dame of the court, and so it must be plate now, even though the price be +trebled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your rede is that the mail is as good?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am well sure of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hearken then, armorer! I cannot at this moment buy a suit of plate, and yet I +sorely need steel harness on account of a small deed which it is in my mind to +do. Now I have at my home at Tilford that very suit of mail of which you speak, +with which my father first rode to the wars. Could you not so alter it that it +should guard my limbs also?” +</p> + +<p> +The armorer looked at Nigel’s small upright figure and burst out laughing. “You +jest, Squire Loring! The suit was made for one who was far above the common +stature of man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I jest not. If it will but carry me through one spear-running it will +have served its purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +The armorer leaned back on his anvil and pondered while Nigel stared anxiously +at his sooty face. +</p> + +<p> +“Right gladly would I lend you a suit of plate for this one venture, Squire +Loring, but I know well that if you should be overthrown your harness becomes +prize to the victor. I am a poor man with many children, and I dare not risk +the loss of it. But as to what you say of the old suit of mail, is it indeed in +good condition?” +</p> + +<p> +“Most excellent, save only at the neck, which is much frayed.” +</p> + +<p> +“To shorten the limbs is easy. It is but to cut out a length of the mail and +then loop up the links. But to shorten the body—nay, that is beyond the +armorer’s art.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was my last hope. Nay, good armorer, if you have indeed served and loved my +gallant father, then I beg you by his memory that you will help me now.” +</p> + +<p> +The armorer threw down his heavy hammer with a crash upon the floor. “It is not +only that I loved your father, Squire Loring, but it is that I have seen you, +half armed as you were, ride against the best of them at the Castle tiltyard. +Last Martinmas my heart bled for you when I saw how sorry was your harness, and +yet you held your own against the stout Sir Oliver with his Milan suit: When go +you to Tilford?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heh, Jenkin, fetch out the cob!” cried the worthy Wat. “May my right hand lose +its cunning if I do not send you into battle in your father’s suit! To-morrow I +must be back in my booth, but to-day I give to you without fee and for the sake +of the good-will which I bear to your house. I will ride with you to Tilford, +and before night you shall see what Wat can do.” +</p> + +<p> +So it came about that there was a busy evening at the old Tilford Manor-house, +where the Lady Ermyntrude planned and cut and hung the curtains for the hall, +and stocked her cupboards with the good things which Nigel had brought from +Guildford. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the Squire and the armorer sat with their heads touching and the old +suit of mail with its gorget of overlapping plates laid out across their knees. +Again and again old Wat shrugged his shoulders, as one who has been asked to do +more than can be demanded from mortal man. At last, at a suggestion from the +Squire, he leaned back in his chair and laughed long and loudly in his bushy +beard, while the Lady Ermyntrude glared her black displeasure at such plebeian +merriment. Then taking his fine chisel and his hammer from his pouch of tools, +the armorer, still chuckling at his own thoughts, began to drive a hole through +the center of the steel tunic. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>VIII.<br/> +HOW THE KING HAWKED ON CROOKSBURY HEATH</h2> + +<p> +The King and his attendants had shaken off the crowd who had followed them from +Guildford along the Pilgrims’ Way and now, the mounted archers having beaten +off the more persistent of the spectators, they rode at their ease in a long, +straggling, glittering train over the dark undulating plain of heather. +</p> + +<p> +In the van was the King himself, for his hawks were with him and he had some +hope of sport. Edward at that time was a well-grown, vigorous man in the very +prime of his years, a keen sportsman, an ardent gallant and a chivalrous +soldier. He was a scholar too, speaking Latin, French, German, Spanish, and +even a little English. +</p> + +<p> +So much had long been patent to the world, but only of recent years had he +shown other and more formidable characteristics: a restless ambition which +coveted his neighbor’s throne, and a wise foresight in matters of commerce, +which engaged him now in transplanting Flemish weavers and sowing the seeds of +what for many years was the staple trade of England. Each of these varied +qualities might have been read upon his face. The brow, shaded by a crimson cap +of maintenance, was broad and lofty. The large brown eyes were ardent and bold. +His chin was clean-shaven, and the close-cropped dark mustache did not conceal +the strong mouth, firm, proud and kindly, but capable of setting tight in +merciless ferocity. His complexion was tanned to copper by a life spent in +field sports or in war, and he rode his magnificent black horse carelessly and +easily, as one who has grown up in the saddle. His own color was black also, +for his active; sinewy figure was set off by close-fitting velvet of that hue, +broken only by a belt of gold, and by a golden border of open pods of the +broom-plant. +</p> + +<p> +With his high and noble bearing, his simple yet rich attire and his splendid +mount, he looked every inch a King. +</p> + +<p> +The picture of gallant man on gallant horse was completed by the noble Falcon +of the Isles which fluttered along some twelve feet above his head, “waiting +on,” as it was termed, for any quarry which might arise. The second bird of the +cast was borne upon the gauntleted wrist of Raoul the chief falconer in the +rear. +</p> + +<p> +At the right side of the monarch and a little behind him rode a youth some +twenty years of age, tall, slim and dark, with noble aquiline features and keen +penetrating eyes which sparkled with vivacity and affection as he answered the +remarks of the King. He was clad in deep crimson diapered with gold, and the +trappings of his white palfrey were of a magnificence which proclaimed the rank +of its rider. On his face, still free from mustache or beard, there sat a +certain gravity and majesty of expression which showed that young as he was +great affairs had been in his keeping and that his thoughts and interests were +those of the statesman and the warrior. That great day when, little more than a +school-boy, he had led the van of the victorious army which had crushed the +power of France and Crécy, had left this stamp upon his features; but stern as +they were they had not assumed that tinge of fierceness which in after years +was to make “The Black Prince” a name of terror on the marches of France. Not +yet had the first shadow of fell disease come to poison his nature ere it +struck at his life, as he rode that spring day, light and debonair, upon the +heath of Crooksbury. +</p> + +<p> +On the left of the King, and so near to him that great intimacy was implied, +rode a man about his own age, with the broad face, the projecting jaw and the +flattish nose which are often the outward indications of a pugnacious nature. +</p> + +<p> +His complexion was crimson, his large blue eyes somewhat prominent, and his +whole appearance full-blooded and choleric. He was short, but massively built, +and evidently possessed of immense strength. His voice, however, when he spoke +was gentle and lisping, while his manner was quiet and courteous. Unlike the +King or the Prince, he was clad in light armor and carried a sword by his side +and a mace at his saddle-bow, for he was acting as Captain of the King’s Guard, +and a dozen other knights in steel followed in the escort. No hardier soldier +could Edward have at his side, if, as was always possible in those lawless +times, sudden danger was to threaten, for this was the famous knight of +Hainault, now naturalized as an Englishman, Sir Walter Manny, who bore as high +a reputation for chivalrous valor and for gallant temerity as Chandos himself. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the knights, who were forbidden to scatter and must always follow the +King’s person, there was a body of twenty or thirty hobblers or mounted bowmen, +together with several squires, unarmed themselves but leading spare horses upon +which the heavier part of their knights’ equipment was carried. A straggling +tail of falconers, harbingers, varlets, body-servants and huntsmen holding +hounds in leash completed the long and many-colored train which rose and dipped +on the low undulations of the moor. +</p> + +<p> +Many weighty things were on the mind of Edward the King. There was truce for +the moment with France, but it was a truce broken by many small deeds of arms, +raids, surprises and ambushes upon either side, and it was certain that it +would soon dissolve again into open war. Money must be raised, and it was no +light matter to raise it, now that the Commons had once already voted the tenth +lamb and the tenth sheaf. Besides, the Black Death had ruined the country, the +arable land was all turned to pasture, the laborer, laughing at statutes, would +not work under fourpence a day, and all society was chaos. In addition, the +Scotch were growling over the border, there was the perennial trouble in +half-conquered Ireland, and his allies abroad in Flanders and in Brabant were +clamoring for the arrears of their subsidies. +</p> + +<p> +All this was enough to make even a victorious monarch full of care; but now +Edward had thrown it all to the winds and was as light-hearted as a boy upon a +holiday. No thought had he for the dunning of Florentine bankers or the +vexatious conditions of those busybodies at Westminster. He was out with his +hawks, and his thoughts and his talk should be of nothing else. The varlets +beat the heather and bushes as they passed, and whooped loudly as the birds +flew out. +</p> + +<p> +“A magpie! A magpie!” cried the falconer. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, it is not worthy of your talons, my brown-eyed queen,” said the +King, looking up at the great bird which flapped from side to side above his +head, waiting for the whistle which should give her the signal. “The tercels, +falconer—a cast of tercels! Quick, man, quick! Ha! the rascal makes for wood! +He puts in! Well flown, brave peregrine! He makes his point. Drive him out to +thy comrade. Serve him, varlets! Beat the bushes! He breaks! He breaks! Nay, +come away then! You will see Master Magpie no more.” +</p> + +<p> +The bird had indeed, with the cunning of its race, flapped its way through +brushwood and bushes to the thicker woods beyond, so that neither the hawk amid +the cover nor its partner above nor the clamorous beaters could harm it. The +King laughed at the mischance and rode on. Continually birds of various sorts +were flushed, and each was pursued by the appropriate hawk, the snipe by the +tercel, the partridge by the goshawk, even the lark by the little merlin. But +the King soon tired of this petty sport and went slowly on his way, still with +the magnificent silent attendant flapping above his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Is she not a noble bird, fair son?” he asked, glancing up as her shadow fell +upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“She is indeed, sire. Surely no finer ever came from the isles of the north.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not, and yet I have had a hawk from Barbary as good a footer and a +swifter flyer. An Eastern bird in yarak has no peer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had one once from the Holy Land,” said de Manny. “It was fierce and keen and +swift as the Saracens themselves. They say of old Saladin that in his day his +breed of birds, of hounds and of horses had no equal on earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust, dear father, that the day may come when we shall lay our hands on all +three,” said the Prince, looking with shining eyes upon the King. “Is the Holy +Land to lie forever in the grasp of these unbelieving savages, or the Holy +Temple to be defiled by their foul presence? Ah! my dear and most sweet lord, +give to me a thousand lances with ten thousand bowmen like those I led at +Crécy, and I swear to you by God’s soul that within a year I will have done +homage to you for the Kingdom of Jerusalem!” +</p> + +<p> +The King laughed as he turned to Walter Manny. “Boys will still be boys,” said +he. +</p> + +<p> +“The French do not count me such!” cried the young Prince, flushing with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair son, there is no one sets you at a higher rate than your father. But +you have the nimble mind and quick fancy of youth, turning over from the thing +that is half done to a further task beyond. How would we fare in Brittany and +Normandy while my young paladin with his lances and his bowmen was besieging +Ascalon or battering at Jerusalem?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven would help in Heaven’s work.” +</p> + +<p> +“From what I have heard of the past,” said the King dryly, “I cannot see that +Heaven has counted for much as an ally in these wars of the East. I speak with +reverence, and yet it is but sooth to say that Richard of the Lion Heart or +Louis of France might have found the smallest earthly principality of greater +service to him than all the celestial hosts. How say you to that, my Lord +Bishop?” +</p> + +<p> +A stout churchman who had ridden behind the King on a solid bay cob, +well-suited to his weight and dignity, jogged up to the monarch’s elbow. “How +say you, sire? I was watching the goshawk on the partridge and heard you not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had I said that I would add two manors to the See of Chichester, I warrant +that you would have heard me, my Lord Bishop.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair lord, test the matter by saying so,” cried the jovial Bishop. +</p> + +<p> +The King laughed aloud. “A fair counter, your reverence. By the rood! you broke +your lance that passage. But the question I debated was this: How is it that +since the Crusades have manifestly been fought in God’s quarrel, we Christians +have had so little comfort or support in fighting them. After all our efforts +and the loss of more men than could be counted, we are at last driven from the +country, and even the military orders which were formed only for that one +purpose can scarce hold a footing in the islands of the Greek sea. There is not +one seaport nor one fortress in Palestine over which the flag of the Cross +still waves. Where then was our ally?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sire, you open a great debate which extends far beyond this question of +the Holy Land, though that may indeed be chosen as a fair example. It is the +question of all sin, of all suffering, of all injustice—why it should pass +without the rain of fire and the lightnings of Sinai. The wisdom of God is +beyond our understanding.” +</p> + +<p> +The King shrugged his shoulders. “This is an easy answer, my Lord Bishop. You +are a prince of the Church. It would fare ill with an earthly prince who could +give no better answer to the affairs which concerned his realm.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are other considerations which might be urged, most gracious sire. It is +true that the Crusades were a holy enterprise which might well expect the +immediate blessing of God; but the Crusaders—is it certain that they deserved +such a blessing? Have I not heard that their camp was the most dissolute ever +seen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Camps are camps all the world over, and you cannot in a moment change a bowman +into a saint. But the holy Louis was a crusader after your own heart. Yet his +men perished at Mansurah and he himself at Tunis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bethink you also that this world is but the antechamber of the next,” said the +prelate. “By suffering and tribulation the soul is cleansed, and the true +victor may be he who by the patient endurance of misfortune merits the +happiness to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“If that be the true meaning of the Church’s blessing, then I hope that it will +be long before it rests upon our banners in France,” said the King. “But +methinks that when one is out with a brave horse and a good hawk one might find +some other subject than theology. Back to the birds, Bishop, or Raoul the +falconer will come to interrupt thee in thy cathedral.” +</p> + +<p> +Straightway the conversation came back to the mystery of the woods and the +mystery of the rivers, to the dark-eyed hawks and the yellow-eyed, to hawks of +the lure and hawks of the fist. The Bishop was as steeped in the lore of +falconry as the King, and the others smiled as the two wrangled hard over +disputed and technical questions: if an eyas trained in the mews can ever +emulate the passage hawk taken wild, or how long the young hawks should be +placed at hack, and how long weathered before they are fully reclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Monarch and prelate were still deep in this learned discussion, the Bishop +speaking with a freedom and assurance which he would never have dared to use in +affairs of Church and State, for in all ages there is no such leveler as sport. +Suddenly, however, the Prince, whose keen eyes had swept from time to time over +the great blue heaven, uttered a peculiar call and reined up his palfrey, +pointing at the same time into the air. +</p> + +<p> +“A heron!” he cried. “A heron on passage!” +</p> + +<p> +To gain the full sport of hawking a heron must not be put up from its +feeding-ground, where it is heavy with its meal, and has no time to get its +pace on before it is pounced upon by the more active hawk, but it must be +aloft, traveling from point to point, probably from the fish-stream to the +heronry. Thus to catch the bird on passage was the prelude of all good sport. +The object to which the Prince had pointed was but a black dot in the southern +sky, but his strained eyes had not deceived him, and both Bishop and King +agreed that it was indeed a heron, which grew larger every instant as it flew +in their direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Whistle him off, sire! Whistle off the gerfalcon!” cried the Bishop. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, he is overfar. She would fly at check.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sire, now!” cried the Prince, as the great bird with the breeze behind +him came sweeping down the sky. +</p> + +<p> +The King gave the shrill whistle, and the well-trained hawk raked out to the +right and to the left to make sure which quarry she was to follow. Then, spying +the heron, she shot up in a swift ascending curve to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well flown, Margot! Good bird!” cried the King, clapping his hands to +encourage the hawk, while the falconers broke into the shrill whoop peculiar to +the sport. +</p> + +<p> +Going on her curve, the hawk would soon have crossed the path of the heron; but +the latter, seeing the danger in his front and confident in his own great +strength of wing and lightness of body, proceeded to mount higher in the air, +flying in such small rings that to the spectators it almost seemed as if the +bird was going perpendicularly upward. +</p> + +<p> +“He takes the air!” cried the King. “But strong as he flies, he cannot out fly +Margot. Bishop, I lay you ten gold pieces to one that the heron is mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cover your wager, sire,” said the Bishop. “I may not take gold so won, and +yet I warrant that there is an altar-cloth somewhere in need of repairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have good store of altar-cloths, Bishop, if all the gold I have seen you +win at tables goes to the mending of them,” said the King. “Ah! by the rood, +rascal, rascal! See how she flies at check!” +</p> + +<p> +The quick eyes of the Bishop had perceived a drift of rooks when on their +evening flight to the rookery were passing along the very line which divided +the hawk from the heron. A rook is a hard temptation for a hawk to resist. In +an instant the inconstant bird had forgotten all about the great heron above +her and was circling over the rooks, flying westward with them as she singled +out the plumpest for her stoop. +</p> + +<p> +“There is yet time, sire! Shall I cast off her mate?” cried the falconer. +</p> + +<p> +“Or shall I show you, sire, how a peregrine may win where a gerfalcon fails?” +said the Bishop. “Ten golden pieces to one upon my bird.” +</p> + +<p> +“Done with you, Bishop!” cried the King, his brow dark with vexation. “By the +rood! if you were as learned in the fathers as you are in hawks you would win +to the throne of Saint Peter! Cast off your peregrine and make your boasting +good.” +</p> + +<p> +Smaller than the royal gerfalcon, the Bishop’s bird was none the less a swift +and beautiful creature. From her perch upon his wrist she had watched with +fierce, keen eyes the birds in the heaven, mantling herself from time to time +in her eagerness. Now when the button was undone and the leash uncast the +peregrine dashed off with a whir of her sharp-pointed wings, whizzing round in +a great ascending circle which mounted swiftly upward, growing ever smaller as +she approached that lofty point where, a mere speck in the sky, the heron +sought escape from its enemies. Still higher and higher the two birds mounted, +while the horsemen, their faces upturned, strained their eyes in their efforts +to follow them. +</p> + +<p> +“She rings! She still rings!” cried the Bishop. “She is above him! She has +gained her pitch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, she is far below,” said the King. +</p> + +<p> +“By my soul, my Lord Bishop is right!” cried the Prince. “I believe she is +above. See! See! She swoops!” +</p> + +<p> +“She binds! She binds!” cried a dozen voices as the two dots blended suddenly +into one. +</p> + +<p> +There could be no doubt that they were falling rapidly. Already they grew +larger to the eye. Presently the heron disengaged himself and flapped heavily +away, the worse for that deadly embrace, while the peregrine, shaking her +plumage, ringed once more so as to get high above the quarry and deal it a +second and more fatal blow. The Bishop smiled, for nothing, as it seemed, could +hinder his victory. +</p> + +<p> +“Thy gold pieces shall be well spent, sire,” said he. “What is lost to the +Church is gained by the loser.” +</p> + +<p> +But a most unlooked-for chance deprived the Bishop’s altar cloth of its costly +mending. The King’s gerfalcon having struck down a rook, and finding the sport +but tame, bethought herself suddenly of that noble heron, which she still +perceived fluttering over Crooksbury Heath. How could she have been so weak as +to allow these silly, chattering rooks to entice her away from that lordly +bird? Even now it was not too late to atone for her mistake. In a great spiral +she shot upward until she was over the heron. But what was this? Every fiber of +her, from her crest to her deck feathers, quivered with jealousy and rage at +the sight of this creature, a mere peregrine, who had dared to come between a +royal gerfalcon and her quarry. With one sweep of her great wings she shot up +until she was above her rival. The next instant— +</p> + +<p> +“They crab! They crab!” cried the King, with a roar of laughter, following them +with his eyes as they bustled down through the air. “Mend thy own altar-cloths, +Bishop. Not a groat shall you have from me this journey. Pull them apart, +falconer, lest they do each other an injury. And now, masters, let us on, for +the sun sinks toward the west.” +</p> + +<p> +The two hawks, which had come to the ground interlocked with clutching talons +and ruffled plumes, were torn apart and brought back bleeding and panting to +their perches, while the heron after its perilous adventure flapped its way +heavily onward to settle safely in the heronry of Waverley. The cortege, who +had scattered in the excitement of the chase, came together again, and the +journey was once more resumed. +</p> + +<p> +A horseman who had been riding toward them across the moor now quickened his +pace and closed swiftly upon them. As he came nearer, the King and the Prince +cried out joyously and waved their hands in greeting. +</p> + +<p> +“It is good John Chandos!!” cried the King. “By the rood, John, I have missed +your merry songs this week or more! Glad I am to see that you have your citole +slung to your back. Whence come you then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I come from Tilford, sire, in the hope that I should meet your majesty.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was well thought of. Come, ride here between the Prince and me, and we will +believe that we are back in France with our war harness on our backs once more. +What is your news, Master John?” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos’ quaint face quivered with suppressed amusement and his one eye +twinkled like a star. “Have you had sport, my liege?” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor sport, John. We flew two hawks on the same heron. They crabbed, and the +bird got free. But why do you smile so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I hope to show you better sport ere you come to Tilford.” +</p> + +<p> +“For the hawk? For the hound?” +</p> + +<p> +“A nobler sport than either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this a riddle, John? What mean you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, to tell all would be to spoil all. I say again that there is rare sport +betwixt here and Tilford, and I beg you, dear lord, to mend your pace that we +make the most of the daylight.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus adjured, the King set spurs to his horse, and the whole cavalcade cantered +over the heath in the direction which Chandos showed. Presently as they came +over a slope they saw beneath them a winding river with an old high-backed +bridge across it. On the farther side was a village green with a fringe of +cottages and one dark manor house upon the side of the hill. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Tilford,” said Chandos. “Yonder is the house of the Lorings.” +</p> + +<p> +The King’s expectations had been aroused and his face showed his +disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this the sport that you have promised us, Sir John? How can you make good +your words?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will make them good, my liege.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where then is the sport?” +</p> + +<p> +On the high crown of the bridge a rider in armor was seated, lance in hand, +upon a great yellow steed. Chandos touched the King’s arm and pointed. “That is +the sport,” said he. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>IX.<br/> +HOW NIGEL HELD THE BRIDGE AT TILFORD</h2> + +<p> +The King looked at the motionless figure, at the little crowd of hushed +expectant rustics beyond the bridge, and finally at the face of Chandos, which +shone with amusement. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this, John?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember Sir Eustace Loring, sire?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I could never forget him nor the manner of his death.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was a knight errant in his day.” +</p> + +<p> +“That indeed he was—none better have I known.” +</p> + +<p> +“So is his son Nigel, as fierce a young war-hawk as ever yearned to use beak +and claws; but held fast in the mews up to now. This is his trial fight. There +he stands at the bridge-head, as was the wont in our fathers’ time, ready to +measure himself against all comers.” +</p> + +<p> +Of all Englishmen there was no greater knight errant than the King himself, and +none so steeped in every quaint usage of chivalry; so that the situation was +after his own heart. +</p> + +<p> +“He is not yet a knight?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sire, only a Squire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he must bear himself bravely this day if he is to make good what he has +done. Is it fitting that a young untried Squire should venture to couch his +lance against the best in England?” +</p> + +<p> +“He hath given me his cartel and challenge,” said Chandos, drawing a paper from +his tunic. “Have I your permission, sire, to issue it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, John, we have no cavalier more versed in the laws of chivalry than +yourself. You know this young man, and you are aware how far he is worthy of +the high honor which he asks. Let us hear his defiance.” +</p> + +<p> +The knights and squires of the escort, most of whom were veterans of the French +war, had been gazing with interest and some surprise at the steel-clad figure +in front of them. Now at a call from Sir Walter Manny they assembled round the +spot where the King and Chandos had halted. Chandos cleared his throat and read +from his paper— +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>A tous seigneurs, chevaliers et escuyers</i>,’ so it is headed, gentlemen. +It is a message from the good Squire Nigel Loring of Tilford, son of Sir +Eustace Loring, of honorable memory. Squire Loring awaits you in arms, +gentlemen, yonder upon the crown of the old bridge. Thus says he: ‘For the +great desire that I, a most humble and unworthy Squire, entertain, that I may +come to the knowledge of the noble gentlemen who ride with my royal master, I +now wait on the Bridge of the Way in the hope that some of them may condescend +to do some small deed of arms upon me, or that I may deliver them from any vow +which they may have taken. This I say out of no esteem for myself, but solely +that I may witness the noble bearing of these famous cavaliers and admire their +skill in the handling of arms. Therefore, with the help of Saint George, I will +hold the bridge with sharpened lances against any or all who may deign to +present themselves while daylight lasts.” +</p> + +<p> +“What say you to this, gentlemen?” asked the King, looking round with laughing +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly it is issued in very good form,” said the Prince. “Neither Claricieux +nor Red Dragon nor any herald that ever wore tabard could better it. Did he +draw it of his own hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“He hath a grim old grandmother who is one of the ancient breed,” said Chandos. +“I doubt not that the Dame Ermyntrude hath drawn a challenge or two before now. +But hark ye, sire, I would have a word in your ear—and yours too, most noble +Prince.” +</p> + +<p> +Leading them aside, Chandos whispered some explanations, which ended by them +all three bursting into a shout of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“By the rood! no honorable gentleman should be reduced to such straits,” said +the King. “It behooves me to look to it. But how now, gentlemen? This worthy +cavalier still waits his answer.” +</p> + +<p> +The soldiers had all been buzzing together; but now Walter Manny turned to the +King with the result of their counsel. +</p> + +<p> +“If it please your majesty,” said he, “we are of opinion that this Squire hath +exceeded all bounds in desiring to break a spear with a belted knight ere he +has given his proofs. We do him sufficient honor if a Squire ride against him, +and with your consent I have chosen my own body-squire, John Widdicombe, to +clear the path for us across the bridge.” +</p> + +<p> +“What you say, Walter, is right and fair,” said the King. “Master Chandos, you +will tell our champion yonder what hath been arranged. You will advise him also +that it is our royal will that this contest be not fought upon the bridge, +since it is very clear that it must end in one or both going over into the +river, but that he advance to the end of the bridge and fight upon the plain. +You will tell him also that a blunted lance is sufficient for such an +encounter, but that a hand-stroke or two with sword or mace may well be +exchanged, if both riders should keep their saddles. A blast upon Raoul’s horn +shall be the signal to close.” +</p> + +<p> +Such ventures as these where an aspirant for fame would wait for days at a +cross-road, a ford, or a bridge, until some worthy antagonist should ride that +way, were very common in the old days of adventurous knight erranty, and were +still familiar to the minds of all men because the stories of the romancers and +the songs of the trouveres were full of such incidents. Their actual occurrence +however had become rare. There was the more curiosity, not unmixed with +amusement, in the thoughts of the courtiers as they watched Chandos ride down +to the bridge and commented upon the somewhat singular figure of the +challenger. His build was strange, and so also was his figure, for the limbs +were short for so tall a man. His head also was sunk forward as if he were lost +in thought or overcome with deep dejection. +</p> + +<p> +“This is surely the Cavalier of the Heavy Heart,” said Manny. “What trouble has +he, that he should hang his head?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perchance he hath a weak neck,” said the King. +</p> + +<p> +“At least he hath no weak voice,” the Prince remarked, as Nigel’s answer to +Chandos came to their ears. “By our lady, he booms like a bittern.” +</p> + +<p> +As Chandos rode back again to the King, Nigel exchanged the old ash spear which +had been his father’s for one of the blunted tournament lances which he took +from the hands of a stout archer in attendance. He then rode down to the end of +the bridge where a hundred-yard stretch of greensward lay in front of him. At +the same moment the Squire of Sir Walter Manny, who had been hastily armed by +his comrades, spurred forward and took up his position. +</p> + +<p> +The King raised his hand; there was a clang from the falconer’s horn, and the +two riders, with a thrust of their heels and a shake of their bridles, dashed +furiously at each other. In the center the green strip of marshy meadowland, +with the water squirting from the galloping hoofs, and the two crouching men, +gleaming bright in the evening sun, on one side the half circle of motionless +horsemen, some in steel, some in velvet, silent and attentive, dogs, hawks, and +horses all turned to stone; on the other the old peaked bridge, the blue lazy +river, the group of openmouthed rustics, and the dark old manor-house with one +grim face which peered from the upper window. +</p> + +<p> +A good man was John Widdicombe, but he had met a better that day. Before that +yellow whirlwind of a horse and that rider who was welded and riveted to his +saddle his knees could not hold their grip. Nigel and Pommers were one flying +missile, with all their weight and strength and energy centered on the steady +end of the lance. Had Widdicombe been struck by a thunderbolt he could not have +flown faster or farther from his saddle. Two full somersaults did he make, his +plates clanging like cymbals, ere he lay prone upon his back. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment the King looked grave at that prodigious fall. Then smiling once +more as Widdicombe staggered to his feet, he clapped his hands loudly in +applause. “A fair course and fairly run!” he cried. “The five scarlet roses +bear themselves in peace even as I have seen them in war. How now, my good +Walter? Have you another Squire or will you clear a path for us yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +Manny’s choleric face had turned darker as he observed the mischance of his +representative. He beckoned now to a tall knight, whose gaunt and savage face +looked out from his open bassinet as an eagle might from a cage of steel. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Hubert,” said he, “I bear in mind the day when you overbore the Frenchman +at Caen. Will you not be our champion now?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I fought the Frenchman, Walter, it was with naked weapons,” said the +knight sternly. “I am a soldier and I love a soldier’s work, but I care not for +these tiltyard tricks which were invented for nothing but to tickle the fancies +of foolish women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, most ungallant speech!” cried the King. “Had my good-consort heard you she +would have arraigned you to appear at a Court of Love with a jury of virgins to +answer for your sins. But I pray you to take a tilting spear, good Sir Hubert!” +</p> + +<p> +“I had as soon take a peacock’s feather, my fair lord; but I will do it, if you +ask me. Here, page, hand me one of those sticks, and let me see what I can do.” +</p> + +<p> +But Sir Hubert de Burgh was not destined to test either his skill or his luck. +The great bay horse which he rode was as unused to this warlike play as was its +master, and had none of its master’s stoutness of heart; so that when it saw +the leveled lance, the gleaming figure and the frenzied yellow horse rushing +down upon it, it swerved, turned and galloped furiously down the river-bank. +Amid roars of laughter from the rustics on the one side and from the courtiers +on the other, Sir Hubert was seen, tugging vainly at his bridle, and bounding +onward, clearing gorse-bushes and heather-clumps, until he was but a +shimmering, quivering gleam upon the dark hillside. Nigel, who had pulled +Pommers on to his very haunches at the instant that his opponent turned, +saluted with his lance and trotted back to the bridge-head, where he awaited +his next assailant. +</p> + +<p> +“The ladies would say that a judgment hath fallen upon our good Sir Hubert for +his impious words,” said the King. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us hope that his charger may be broken in ere they venture to ride out +between two armies,” remarked the Prince. “They might mistake the hardness of +his horse’s mouth for a softness of the rider’s heart. See where he rides, +still clearing every bush upon his path.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the rood!” said the King, “if the bold Hubert has not increased his repute +as a jouster he has gained great honor as a horseman. But the bridge is still +closed, Walter. How say you now? Is this young Squire never to be unhorsed, or +is your King himself to lay lance in rest ere his way can be cleared? By the +head of Saint Thomas! I am in the very mood to run a course with this gentle +youth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, sire, too much honor hath already been done him!” said Manny, +looking angrily at the motionless horseman. “That this untried boy should be +able to say that in one evening he has unhorsed my Squire, and seen the back of +one of the bravest knights in England is surely enough to turn his foolish +head. Fetch me a spear, Robert! I will see what I can make of him.” +</p> + +<p> +The famous knight took the spear when it was brought to him as a master-workman +takes a tool. He balanced it, shook it once or twice in the air, ran his eyes +down it for a flaw in the wood, and then finally having made sure of its poise +and weight laid it carefully in rest under his arm. Then gathering up his +bridle so as to have his horse under perfect command, and covering himself with +the shield, which was slung round his neck, he rode out to do battle. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Nigel, young and inexperienced, all Nature’s aid will not help you against +the mixed craft and strength of such a warrior. The day will come when neither +Manny nor even Chandos could sweep you from your saddle; but now, even had you +some less cumbrous armor, your chance were small. Your downfall is near; but as +you see the famous black chevrons on a golden ground your gallant heart which +never knew fear is only filled with joy and amazement at the honor done you. +Your downfall is near, and yet in your wildest dreams you would never guess how +strange your downfall is to be. +</p> + +<p> +Again with a dull thunder of hoofs the horses gallop over the soft +water-meadow. Again with a clash of metal the two riders meet. It is Nigel now, +taken clean in the face of his helmet with the blunted spear, who flies +backward off his horse and falls clanging on the grass. +</p> + +<p> +But good heavens! what is this? Manny has thrown up his hands in horror and the +lance has dropped from his nerveless fingers. From all sides, with cries of +dismay, with oaths and shouts and ejaculations to the saints, the horsemen ride +wildly in. Was ever so dreadful, so sudden, so complete, an end to a gentle +passage at arms? Surely their eyes must be at fault? Some wizard’s trick has +been played upon them to deceive their senses. But no, it was only too clear. +There on the greensward lay the trunk of the stricken cavalier, and there, a +good dozen yards beyond, lay his helmeted head. +</p> + +<p> +“By the Virgin!” cried Manny wildly, as he jumped from his horse, “I would give +my last gold piece that the work of this evening should be undone! How came it? +What does it mean? Hither, my Lord Bishop, for surely it smacks of witchcraft +and the Devil.” +</p> + +<p> +With a white face the Bishop had sprung down beside the prostrate body, pushing +through the knot of horrified knights and squires. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear that the last offices of the Holy Church come too late,” said he in a +quivering voice. “Most unfortunate young man! How sudden an end! <i>In medio +vitæ</i>, as the Holy Book has it—one moment in the pride of his youth, the +next his head torn from his body. Now God and his saints have mercy upon me and +guard me from evil!” +</p> + +<p> +The last prayer was shot out of the Bishop with an energy and earnestness +unusual in his orisons. It was caused by the sudden outcry of one of the +Squires who, having lifted the helmet from the ground, cast it down again with +a scream of horror. +</p> + +<p> +“It is empty!” he cried. “It weighs as light as a feather.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Fore God, it is true!” cried Manny, laying his hand on it. “There is no one +in it. With what have I fought, father Bishop? Is it of this world or of the +next?” +</p> + +<p> +The Bishop had clambered on his horse the better to consider the point. “If the +foul fiend is abroad,” said he, “my place is over yonder by the King’s side. +Certes that sulphur-colored horse hath a very devilish look. I could have sworn +that I saw both smoke and flame from its nostrils. The beast is fit to bear a +suit of armor which rides and fights and yet hath no man within it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, not too fast, father Bishop,” said one of the knights. “It may be all +that you say and yet come from a human workshop. When I made a campaign in +South Germany I have seen at Nuremberg a cunning figure, devised by an armorer, +which could both ride and wield a sword. If this be such a one—” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you all for your very gentle courtesy,” said a booming voice from the +figure upon the ground. +</p> + +<p> +At the words even the valiant Manny sprang into his saddle. Some rode madly +away from the horrid trunk. A few of the boldest lingered. +</p> + +<p> +“Most of all,” said the voice, “would I thank the most noble knight, Sir Walter +Manny, that he should deign to lay aside his greatness and condescend to do a +deed of arms upon so humble a Squire.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Fore God!” said Manny, “if this be the Devil, then the Devil hath a very +courtly tongue. I will have him out of his armor, if he blast me!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying he sprang once more from his horse and plunging his hand down the +slit in the collapsed gorget he closed it tightly upon a fistful of Nigel’s +yellow curls. The groan that came forth was enough to convince him that it was +indeed a man who lurked within. At the same time his eyes fell upon the hole in +the mail corselet which had served the Squire as a visor, and he burst into +deep-chested mirth. The King, the Prince and Chandos, who had watched the scene +from a distance, too much amused by it to explain or interfere, rode up weary +with laughter, now that all was discovered. +</p> + +<p> +“Let him out!” said the King, with his hand to his side. “I pray you to unlace +him and let him out! I have shared in many a spear-running, but never have I +been nearer falling from my horse than as I watched this one. I feared the fall +had struck him senseless, since he lay so still.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had indeed lain with all the breath shaken from his body, and as he was +unaware that his helmet had been carried off, he had not understood either the +alarm or the amusement that he had caused. Now freed from the great hauberk in +which he had been shut like a pea in a pod, he stood blinking in the light, +blushing deeply with shame that the shifts to which his poverty had reduced him +should be exposed to all these laughing courtiers. It was the King who brought +him comfort. +</p> + +<p> +“You have shown that you can use your father’s weapons,” said he, “and you have +proved also that you are the worthy bearer of his name and his arms, for you +have within you that spirit for which he was famous. But I wot that neither he +nor you would suffer a train of hungry men to starve before your door; so lead +on, I pray you, and if the meat be as good as this grace before it, then it +will be a feast indeed.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>X.<br/> +HOW THE KING GREETED HIS SENESCHAL OF CALAIS</h2> + +<p> +It would have fared ill with the good name of Tilford Manor house and with the +housekeeping of the aged Dame Ermyntrude had the King’s whole retinue, with his +outer and inner marshal, his justiciar, his chamberlain and his guard, all +gathered under the one roof. But by the foresight and the gentle management of +Chandos this calamity was avoided, so that some were quartered at the great +Abbey and others passed on to enjoy the hospitality of Sir Roger FitzAlan at +Farnham Castle. Only the King himself, the Prince, Manny, Chandos, Sir Hubert +de Burgh, the Bishop and two or three more remained behind as the guests of the +Lorings. +</p> + +<p> +But small as was the party and humble the surroundings, the King in no way +relaxed that love of ceremony, of elaborate form and of brilliant coloring +which was one of his characteristics. The sumpter-mules were unpacked, squires +ran hither and thither, baths smoked in the bed-chambers, silks and satins were +unfolded, gold chains gleamed and clinked, so that when at last, to the long +blast of two court trumpeters, the company took their seats at the board, it +was the brightest, fairest scene which those old black rafters had ever +spanned. +</p> + +<p> +The great influx of foreign knights who had come in their splendor from all +parts of Christendom to take part in the opening of the Round Tower of Windsor +six years before, and to try their luck and their skill at the tournament +connected with it, had deeply modified the English fashions of dress. The old +tunic, over-tunic and cyclas were too sad and simple for the new fashions, so +now strange and brilliant cote-hardies, pourpoints, courtepies, paltocks, +hanselines and many other wondrous garments, parti-colored or diapered, with +looped, embroidered or escalloped edges, flamed and glittered round the King. +He himself, in black velvet and gold, formed a dark rich center to the finery +around him. On his right sat the Prince, on his left the Bishop, while Dame +Ermyntrude marshaled the forces of the household outside, alert and watchful, +pouring in her dishes and her flagons at the right moment, rallying her tired +servants, encouraging the van, hurrying the rear, hastening up her reserves, +the tapping of her oak stick heard everywhere the pressure was the greatest. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the King, clad in his best, but looking drab and sorry amid the +brilliant costumes round him, Nigel himself, regardless of an aching body and a +twisted knee, waited upon his royal guests, who threw many a merry jest at him +over their shoulders as they still chuckled at the adventure of the bridge. +</p> + +<p> +“By the rood!” said King Edward, leaning back, with a chicken bone held +daintily between the courtesy fingers of his left hand, “the play is too good +for this country stage. You must to Windsor with me, Nigel, and bring with you +this great suit of harness in which you lurk. There you shall hold the lists +with your eyes in your midriff, and unless some one cleave you to the waist I +see not how any harm can befall you. Never have I seen so small a nut in so +great a shell.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince, looking back with laughing eyes, saw by Nigel’s flushed and +embarrassed face that his poverty hung heavily upon him. “Nay,” said he kindly, +“such a workman is surely worthy of better tools.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it is for his master to see that he has them,” added the King. “The court +armorer will look to it that the next time your helmet is carried away, Nigel, +your head shall be inside it.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel, red to the roots of his flaxen hair, stammered out some words of thanks. +</p> + +<p> +John Chandos, however, had a fresh suggestion, and he cocked a roguish eye as +he made it: “Surely, my liege, your bounty is little needed in this case. It is +the ancient law of arms that if two cavaliers start to joust, and one either by +maladdress or misadventure fail to meet the shock, then his arms become the +property of him who still holds the lists. This being so, methinks, Sir Hubert +de Burgh, that the fine hauberk of Milan and the helmet of Bordeaux steel in +which you rode to Tilford should remain with our young host as some small +remembrance of your visit.” +</p> + +<p> +The suggestion raised a general chorus of approval and laughter, in which all +joined, save only Sir Hubert himself, who, flushed with anger, fixed his +baleful eyes upon Chandos’ mischievous and smiling face. +</p> + +<p> +“I said that I did not play that foolish game, and I know nothing of its laws,” +said he; “but you know well, John, that if you would have a bout with sharpened +spear or sword, where two ride to the ground, and only one away from it, you +have not far to go to find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, would you ride to the ground? Surely you had best walk, Hubert,” +said Chandos. “On your feet I know well that I should not see your back as we +have seen it to-day. Say what you will, your horse has played you false, and I +claim your suit of harness for Nigel Loring.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your tongue is overlong, John, and I am weary of its endless clack!” said Sir +Hubert, his yellow mustache bristling from a scarlet face. “If you claim my +harness, do you yourself come and take it. If there is a moon in the sky you +may try this very night when the board is cleared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sirs,” cried the King, smiling from one to the other, “this matter +must be followed no further. Do you fill a bumper of Gascony, John, and you +also, Hubert. Now pledge each other, I pray you, as good and loyal comrades who +would scorn to fight save in your King’s quarrel. We can spare neither of you +while there is so much work for brave hearts over the sea. As to this matter of +the harness, John Chandos speaks truly where it concerns a joust in the lists, +but we hold that such a law is scarce binding in this, which was but a wayside +passage and a gentle trial of arms. On the other hand, in the case of your +Squire, Master Manny, there can be no doubt that his suit is forfeit.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a grievous hearing for him, my liege,” said Walter Manny; “for he is a +poor man and hath been at sore pains to fit himself for the wars. Yet what you +say shall be done, fair sire. So, if you will come to me in the morning, Squire +Loring, John Widdicombe’s suit will be handed over to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then with the King’s leave, I will hand it back to him,” said Nigel, troubled +and stammering; “for indeed I had rather never ride to the wars than take from +a brave man his only suit of plate.” +</p> + +<p> +“There spoke your father’s spirit!” cried the King. “By the rood! Nigel, I like +you full well. Let the matter bide in my hands. But I marvel much that Sir +Aymery the Lombard hath not come to us yet from Windsor.” +</p> + +<p> +From the moment of his arrival at Tilford, again and again King Edward had +asked most eagerly whether Sir Aymery had come, and whether there was any news +of him, so that the courtiers glanced at each other in wonder. For Aymery was +known to all of them as a famous mercenary of Italy, lately appointed Governor +of Calais, and this sudden and urgent summons from the King might well mean +some renewal of the war with France, which was the dearest wish of every +soldier. Twice the King had stopped his meal and sat with sidelong head; his +wine-cup in his hand, listening attentively when some sound like the clatter of +hoofs was heard from outside; but the third time there could be no mistake. The +tramp and jingle of the horses broke loud upon the ear, and ended in hoarse +voices calling out of the darkness, which were answered by the archers posted +as sentries without the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Some traveler has indeed arrived, my liege,” said Nigel. “What is your royal +will?” +</p> + +<p> +“It can be but Aymery,” the King answered, “for it was only to him that I left +the message that he should follow me hither. Bid him come in, I pray you, and +make him very welcome at your board.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel cast open the door, plucking a torch from its bracket as he did so. Half +a dozen men-at-arms sat on their horses outside, but one had dismounted, a +short, squat, swarthy man with a rat face and quick, restless brown eyes which +peered eagerly past Nigel into the red glare of the well-lit hall. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Sir Aymery of Pavia,” he whispered. “For God’s sake, tell me! is the King +within?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is at table, fair sir, and he bids you to enter.” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, young man, one moment, and a secret word in your ear. Wot you why +it is that the King has sent for me?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel read terror in the dark cunning eyes which glanced in sidelong fashion +into his. “Nay, I know not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would I knew—I would I was sure ere I sought his presence.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have but to cross the threshold, fair sir, and doubtless you will learn +from the King’s own lips.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Aymery seemed to gather himself as one who braces for a spring into +ice-cold water. Then he crossed with a quick stride from the darkness into the +light. The King stood up and held out his hand with a smile upon his long +handsome face, and yet it seemed to the Italian that it was the lips which +smiled but not the eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome!” cried Edward. “Welcome to our worthy and faithful Seneschal of +Calais! Come, sit here before me at the board, for I have sent for you that I +may hear your news from over the sea, and thank you for the care that you have +taken of that which is as dear to me as wife or child. Set a place for Sir +Aymery there, and give him food and drink, for he has ridden fast and far in +our service to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +Throughout the long feast which the skill of the Lady Ermyntrude had arranged, +Edward chatted lightly with the Italian as well as with the barons near him. +Finally, when the last dish was removed and the gravy-soaked rounds of coarse +bread which served as plates had been cast to the dogs, the wine-flagons were +passed round; and old Weathercote the minstrel entered timidly with his harp in +the hope that he might be allowed to play before the King’s majesty. But Edward +had other sport afoot. +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, Nigel, to send out the servants, so that we may be alone. I would +have two men-at-arms at every door lest we be disturbed in our debate, for it +is a matter of privacy. And now, Sir Aymery, these noble lords as well as I, +your master, would fain hear from your own lips how all goes forward in +France.” +</p> + +<p> +The Italian’s face was calm; but he looked restlessly from one to another along +the line of his listeners. +</p> + +<p> +“So far as I know, my liege, all is quiet on the French marches,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“You have not heard then that they have mustered or gathered to a head with the +intention of breaking the truce and making some attempt upon our dominions?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sire, I have heard nothing of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You set my mind much at ease, Aymery,” said the King; “for if nothing has come +to your ears, then surely it cannot be. It was said that the wild Knight de +Chargny had come down to St. Omer with his eyes upon my precious jewel and his +mailed hands ready to grasp it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sire, let him come. He will find the jewel safe in its strong box, with a +goodly guard over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are the guard over my jewel, Aymery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sire, I am the guard.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you are a faithful guard and one whom I can trust, are you not? You would +not barter away that which is so dear to me when I have chosen you out of all +my army to hold it for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sire, what reasons can there be for such questions? They touch my honor +very nearly. You know that I would part with Calais only when I parted with my +soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you know nothing of de Chargny’s attempt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing sire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Liar and villain!” yelled the King, springing to his feet and dashing his fist +upon the table until the glasses rattled again. “Seize him, archers! Seize him +this instant! Stand close by either elbow, lest he do himself a mischief! Now +do you dare to tell me to my face, you perjured Lombard, that you know nothing +of de Chargny and his plans?” +</p> + +<p> +“As God is my witness I know nothing of him!” The man’s lips were white, and he +spoke in a thin, sighing, reedy voice, his eyes wincing away from the fell gaze +of the angry King. +</p> + +<p> +Edward laughed bitterly, and drew a paper from his breast. “You are the judges +in this case, you, my fair son, and you, Chandos, and you, Manny, and you, Sir +Hubert, and you also, my Lord Bishop. By my sovereign power I make you a court +that you may deal justice upon this man, for by God’s eyes I will not stir from +this room until I have sifted the matter to the bottom. And first I would read +you this letter. It is superscribed to Sir Aymery of Pavia, <i>nomme</i> Le +Lombard, Château de Calais. Is not that your name and style, you rogue?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my name, sire; but no such letter has come to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Else had your villainy never been disclosed. It is signed ‘Isidore de +Chargny’. What says my enemy de Chargny to my trusted servant? Listen! ‘We +could not come with the last moon, for we have not gathered sufficient +strength, nor have we been able to collect the twenty thousand crowns which are +your price. But with the next turn of the moon in the darkest hour we will come +and you will be paid your money at the small postern gate with the rowan-bush +beside it.’ Well, rogue, what say you now?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a forgery!” gasped the Italian. +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you that you will let me see it, sire,” said Chandos. “De Chargny was +my prisoner, and so many letters passed ere his ransom was paid that his script +is well-known to me. Yes, yes, I will swear that this is indeed his. If my +salvation were at stake I could swear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it were indeed written by de Chargny it was to dishonor me,” cried Sir +Aymery. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay!” said the young Prince. “We all know de Chargny and have fought +against him. Many faults he has, a boaster and a brawler, but a braver man and +one of greater heart and higher of enterprise does not ride beneath the lilies +of France. Such a man would never stoop to write a letter for the sake of +putting dishonor upon one of knightly rank. I, for one, will never believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +A gruff murmur from the others showed that they were of one mind with the +Prince. The light of the torches from the walls beat upon the line of stern +faces at the high table. They had sat like flint, and the Italian shrank from +their inexorable eyes. He looked swiftly round, but armed men choked every +entrance. The shadow of death had fallen athwart his soul. +</p> + +<p> +“This letter,” said the King, “was given by de Chargny to one Dom Beauvais, a +priest of St. Omer, to carry into Calais. The said priest, smelling a reward, +brought it to one who is my faithful servant, and so it came to me. Straightway +I sent for this man that he should come to me. Meanwhile the priest has +returned so that de Chargny may think that his message is indeed delivered.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of it,” said the Italian doggedly, licking his dry lips. +</p> + +<p> +A dark flush mounted to the King’s forehead, and his eyes were gorged with his +wrath. “No more of this, for God’s dignity!” he cried. “Had we this fellow at +the Tower, a few turns of the rack would tear a confession from his craven +soul. But why should we need his word for his own guilt? You have seen, my +lords, you have heard! How say you, fair son? Is the man guilty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sire, he is guilty.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, John? And you, Walter? And you, Hubert? And you, my Lord Bishop? You +are all of one mind, then. He is guilty of the betrayal of his trust. And the +punishment?” +</p> + +<p> +“It can only be death,” said the Prince, and each in turn the others nodded +their agreement. +</p> + +<p> +“Aymery of Pavia, you have heard your doom,” said Edward, leaning his chin upon +his hand and glooming at the cowering Italian. “Step forward, you archer at the +door, you with the black beard. Draw your sword! Nay, you white-faced rogue, I +would not dishonor this roof-tree by your blood. It is your heels, not your +head, that we want. Hack off these golden spurs of knighthood with your sword, +archer! ’Twas I who gave them, and I who take them back. Ha! they fly across +the hall, and with them every bond betwixt you and the worshipful order whose +sign and badge they are! Now lead him out on the heath afar from the house +where his carrion can best lie, and hew his scheming head from his body as a +warning to all such traitors!” +</p> + +<p> +The Italian, who had slipped from his chair to his knees, uttered a cry of +despair, as an archer seized him by either shoulder. Writhing out of their +grip, he threw himself upon the floor and clutched at the King’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Spare me, my most dread lord, spare me, I beseech you! In the name of Christ’s +passion, I implore your grace and pardon! Bethink you, my good and dear lord, +how many years I have served under your banners and how many services I have +rendered. Was it not I who found the ford upon the Seine two days before the +great battle? Was it not I also who marshaled the attack at the intaking of +Calais? I have a wife and four children in Italy, great King; and it was the +thought of them which led me to fall from my duty, for this money would have +allowed me to leave the wars and to see them once again. Mercy, my liege, +mercy, I implore!” +</p> + +<p> +The English are a rough race, but not a cruel one. The King sat with a face of +doom; but the others looked askance and fidgeted in their seats. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, my fair liege,” said Chandos, “I pray you that you will abate somewhat +of your anger.” +</p> + +<p> +Edward shook his head curtly. “Be silent, John. It shall be as I have said.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, my dear and honored liege, not to act with overmuch haste in the +matter,” said Manny. “Bind him and hold him until the morning, for other +counsels may prevail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I have spoken. Lead him out!” +</p> + +<p> +But the trembling man clung to the King’s knees in such a fashion that the +archers could not disengage his convulsive grip. “Listen to me a moment, I +implore you! Give me but one minute to plead with you, and then do what you +will.” +</p> + +<p> +The King leaned back in his chair. “Speak and have done,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“You must spare me, my noble liege. For your own sake I say that you must spare +me, for I can set you in the way of such a knightly adventure as will gladden +your heart. Bethink you, sire, that this de Chargny and his comrades know +nothing of their plans having gone awry. If I do but send them a message they +will surely come to the postern gate. Then, if we have placed our bushment with +skill we shall have such a capture and such a ransom as will fill your coffers. +He and his comrades should be worth a good hundred thousand crowns.” +</p> + +<p> +Edward spurned the Italian away from him with his foot until he sprawled among +the rushes, but even as he lay there like a wounded snake his dark eyes never +left the King’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“You double traitor! You would sell Calais to de Chargny, and then in turn you +would sell de Chargny to me. How dare you suppose that I or any noble knight +had such a huckster’s soul as to think only of ransoms where honor is to be +won? Could I or any true man be so caitiff and so thrall? You have sealed your +own doom. Lead him out!” +</p> + +<p> +“One instant, I pray you, my fair and most sweet lord,” cried the Prince. +“Assuage your wrath yet a little while, for this man’s rede deserves perhaps +more thought than we have given it. He has turned your noble soul sick with his +talk of ransoms; but look at it, I pray you, from the side of honor, and where +could we find such hope of worshipfully winning worship? I pray you to let me +put my body in this adventure, for it is one from which, if rightly handled, +much advancement is to be gained.” +</p> + +<p> +Edward looked with sparkling eyes at the noble youth at his side. “Never was +hound more keen on the track of a stricken hart than you on the hope of honor, +fair son,” said he. “How do you conceive the matter in your mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“De Chargny and his men will be such as are worth going far to meet, for he +will have the pick of France under his banner that night. If we did as this man +says and awaited him with the same number of lances, then I cannot think that +there is any spot in Christendom where one would rather be than in Calais that +night.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the rood, fair son, you are right!” cried the King, his face shining with +the thought. “Now which of you, John Chandos or Walter Manny, will take the +thing in charge?” He looked mischievously from one to the other like a master +who dangles a bone betwixt two fierce old hounds. All they had to say was in +their burning, longing eyes. “Nay, John, you must not take it amiss; but it is +Walter’s turn, and he shall have it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we not all go under your banner, sire, or that of the Prince?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it is not fitting that the royal banners of England should be advanced in +so small an adventure. And yet, if you have space in your ranks for two more +cavaliers, both the Prince and I would ride with you that night.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man stooped and kissed his father’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this man in your charge, Walter, and do with him as you will. Guard well +lest he betray us once again. Take him from my sight, for his breath poisons +the room. And now, Nigel, if that worthy graybeard of thine would fain twang +his harp or sing to us—but what in God’s name would you have?” +</p> + +<p> +He had turned, to find his young host upon his knee and his flaxen head bent in +entreaty. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, man? What do you crave?” +</p> + +<p> +“A boon, fair liege!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, am I to have no peace to-night, with a traitor kneeling to me in +front, and a true man on his knees behind? Out with it, Nigel. What would you +have?” +</p> + +<p> +“To come with you to Calais.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the rood! your request is fair enough, seeing that our plot is hatched +beneath your very roof. How say you, Walter? Will you take him, armor and all?” +asked King Edward. +</p> + +<p> +“Say rather will you take me?” said Chandos. “We two are rivals in honor, +Walter, but I am very sure that you would not hold me back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, John, I will be proud to have the best lance in Christendom beneath my +banner.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I to follow so knightly a leader. But Nigel Loring is my Squire, and so he +comes with us also.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that is settled,” said the King, “and now there is no need for hurry, +since there can be no move until the moon has changed. So I pray you to pass +the flagon once again, and to drink with me to the good knights of France. May +they be of great heart and high of enterprise when we all meet once more within +the castle wall of Calais!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>XI.<br/> +IN THE HALL OF THE KNIGHT OF DUPLIN</h2> + +<p> +The King had come and had gone. Tilford Manor house stood once more dark and +silent, but joy and contentment reigned within its walls. In one night every +trouble had fallen away like some dark curtain which had shut out the sun. A +princely sum of money had come from the King’s treasurer, given in such fashion +that there could be no refusal. With a bag of gold pieces at his saddle-bow +Nigel rode once more into Guildford, and not a beggar on the way who had not +cause to bless his name. +</p> + +<p> +There he had gone first to the goldsmith and had bought back cup and salver and +bracelet, mourning with the merchant over the evil chance that gold and +gold-work had for certain reasons which only those in the trade could fully +understand gone up in value during the last week, so that already fifty gold +pieces had to be paid more than the price which Nigel had received. In vain the +faithful Aylward fretted and fumed and muttered a prayer that the day would +come when he might feather a shaft in the merchant’s portly paunch. The money +had to be paid. +</p> + +<p> +Thence Nigel hurried to Wat the armorer’s and there he bought that very suit +for which he had yearned so short a time before. Then and there he tried it on +in the booth, Wat and his boy walking round him with spanner and wrench, fixing +bolts and twisting rivets. +</p> + +<p> +“How is that, my fair sir?” cried the armorer as he drew the bassinet over the +head and fastened it to the camail which extended to the shoulders. “I swear by +Tubal Cain that it fits you as the shell fits the crab! A finer suit never came +from Italy or Spain.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel stood in front of a burnished shield which served as a mirror, and he +turned this way and that, preening himself like a little shining bird. His +smooth breastplate, his wondrous joints with their deft protection by the disks +at knee and elbow and shoulder, the beautifully flexible gauntlets and +sollerets, the shirt of mail and the close-fitting greave-plates were all +things of joy and of beauty in his eyes. He sprang about the shop to show his +lightness, and then running out he placed his hand on the pommel and vaulted +into Pommers’ saddle, while Wat and his boy applauded in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +Then springing off and running into the shop again he clanked down upon his +knees before the image of the Virgin upon the smithy wall. There from his heart +he prayed that no shadow or stain should come upon his soul or his honor whilst +these arms incased his body, and that he might be strengthened to use them for +noble and godly ends. A strange turn this to a religion of peace, and yet for +many a century the sword and the faith had upheld each other and in a darkened +world the best ideal of the soldier had turned in some dim groping fashion +toward the light. “<i>Benedictus dominus deus meus qui docet manus meas ad +prælium et digitos meos ad bellum!</i>” There spoke the soul of the knightly +soldier. +</p> + +<p> +So the armor was trussed upon the armorer’s mule and went back with them to +Tilford, where Nigel put it on once more for the pleasure of the Lady +Ermyntrude, who clapped her skinny hands and shed tears of mingled pain and +joy—pain that she should lose him, joy that he should go so bravely to the +wars. As to her own future, it had been made easy for her, since it was +arranged that a steward should look to the Tilford estate whilst she had at her +disposal a suite of rooms in royal Windsor, where with other venerable dames of +her own age and standing she could spend the twilight of her days discussing +long-forgotten scandals and whispering sad things about the grandfathers and +the grandmothers of the young courtiers all around them. There Nigel might +leave her with an easy mind when he turned his face to France. +</p> + +<p> +But there was one more visit to be paid and one more farewell to be spoken ere +Nigel could leave the moorlands where he had dwelled so long. That evening he +donned his brightest tunic, dark purple velvet of Genoa, with trimming of +miniver, his hat with the snow-white feather curling round the front, and his +belt of embossed silver round his loins. Mounted on lordly Pommers, with his +hawk upon wrist and his sword by his side, never did fairer young gallant or +one more modest in mind set forth upon such an errand. It was but the old +Knight of Duplin to whom he would say farewell; but the Knight of Duplin had +two daughters, Edith and Mary, and Edith was the fairest maid in all the +heather-country. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John Buttesthorn, the Knight of Duplin, was so called because he had been +present at that strange battle, some eighteen years before, when the full power +of Scotland had been for a moment beaten to the ground by a handful of +adventurers and mercenaries, marching under the banner of no nation, but +fighting in their own private quarrel. Their exploit fills no pages of history, +for it is to the interest of no nation to record it, and yet the rumor and fame +of the great fight bulked large in those times, for it was on that day when the +flower of Scotland was left dead upon the field, that the world first +understood that a new force had arisen in war, and that the English archer, +with his robust courage and his skill with the weapon which he had wielded from +his boyhood, was a power with which even the mailed chivalry of Europe had +seriously to reckon. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John after his return from Scotland had become the King’s own head +huntsman, famous through all England for his knowledge of venery, until at +last, getting overheavy for his horses, he had settled in modest comfort into +the old house of Cosford upon the eastern slope of the Hindhead hill. Here, as +his face grew redder and his beard more white, he spent the evening of his +days, amid hawks and hounds, a flagon of spiced wine ever at his elbow, and his +swollen foot perched upon a stool before him. There it was that many an old +comrade broke his journey as he passed down the rude road which led from London +to Portsmouth, and thither also came the young gallants of the country to hear +the stout knight’s tales of old wars, or to learn, from him that lore of the +forest and the chase which none could teach so well as he. +</p> + +<p> +But sooth to say, whatever the old knight might think, it was not merely his +old tales and older wine which drew the young men to Cosford, but rather the +fair face of his younger daughter, or the strong soul and wise counsel of the +elder. Never had two more different branches sprung from the same trunk. Both +were tall and of a queenly graceful figure. But there all resemblance began and +ended. +</p> + +<p> +Edith was yellow as the ripe corn, blue-eyed, winning, mischievous, with a +chattering tongue, a merry laugh, and a smile which a dozen of young gallants, +Nigel of Tilford at their head, could share equally amongst them. Like a young +kitten she played with all things that she found in life, and some there were +who thought that already the claws could be felt amid the patting of her velvet +touch. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was dark as night, grave-featured, plain-visaged, with steady brown eyes +looking bravely at the world from under a strong black arch of brows. None +could call her beautiful, and when her fair sister cast her arm round her and +placed her cheek against hers, as was her habit when company was there, the +fairness of the one and the plainness of the other leaped visibly to the eyes +of all, each the clearer for that hard contrast. And yet, here and there, there +was one who, looking at her strange, strong face, and at the passing gleams far +down in her dark eyes, felt that this silent woman with her proud bearing and +her queenly grace had in her something of strength, of reserve and of mystery +which was more to them than all the dainty glitter of her sister. +</p> + +<p> +Such were the ladies of Cosford toward whom Nigel Loring rode that night with +doublet of Genoan velvet and the new white feather in his cap. +</p> + +<p> +He had ridden over Thursley Ridge past that old stone where in days gone by at +the place of Thor the wild Saxons worshiped their war-god. Nigel looked at it +with a wary eye and spurred Pommers onward as he passed it, for still it was +said that wild fires danced round it on the moonless nights, and they who had +ears for such things could hear the scream and sob of those whose lives had +been ripped from them that the fiend might be honored. Thor’s stone, Thor’s +jumps, Thor’s punch-bowl—the whole country-side was one grim monument to the +God of Battles, though the pious monks had changed his uncouth name for that of +the Devil his father, so that it was the Devil’s jumps and the Devil’s +punch-bowl of which they spoke. Nigel glanced back at the old gray boulder, and +he felt for an instant a shudder pass through his stout heart. Was it the chill +of the evening air, or was it that some inner voice had whispered to him of the +day when he also might lie bound on such a rock and have such a blood-stained +pagan crew howling around him. +</p> + +<p> +An instant later the rock and his vague fear and all things else had passed +from his mind, for there, down the yellow sandy path, the setting sun gleaming +on her golden hair, her lithe figure bending and swaying with every heave of +the cantering horse, was none other than the same fair Edith, whose face had +come so often betwixt him and his sleep. His blood rushed hot to his face at +the sight, for fearless of all else, his spirit was attracted and yet daunted +by the delicate mystery of woman. To his pure and knightly soul not Edith +alone, but every woman, sat high and aloof, enthroned and exalted, with a +thousand mystic excellencies and virtues which raised her far above the rude +world of man. There was joy in contact with them; and yet there was fear, fear +lest his own unworthiness, his untrained tongue or rougher ways should in some +way break rudely upon this delicate and tender thing. Such was his thought as +the white horse cantered toward him; but a moment later his vague doubts were +set at rest by the frank voice of the young girl, who waved her whip in merry +greeting. +</p> + +<p> +“Hail and well met, Nigel!” she cried. “Whither away this evening? Sure I am +that it is not to see your friends of Cosford, for when did you ever don so +brave a doublet for us? Come, Nigel, her name, that I may hate her for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Edith,” said the young Squire, laughing back at the laughing girl. “I was +indeed coming to Cosford.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we shall ride back together, for I will go no farther. How think you that +I am looking?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel’s answer was in his eyes as he glanced at the fair flushed face, the +golden hair, the sparkling eyes and the daintily graceful figure set off in a +scarlet-and-black riding-dress. “You are as fair as ever, Edith.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, cold of speech! Surely you were bred for the cloisters, and not for a +lady’s bower, Nigel. Had I asked such a question from young Sir George Brocas +or the Squire of Fernhurst, he would have raved from here to Cosford. They are +both more to my taste than you are, Nigel.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the worse for me, Edith,” said Nigel ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, but you must not lose heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I not already lost it?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“That is better,” she cried, laughing. “You can be quick enough when you +choose, Master Malapert. But you are more fit to speak of high and weary +matters with my sister Mary. She will have none of the prattle and courtesy of +Sir George, and yet I love them well. But tell me, Nigel, why do you come to +Cosford to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“To bid you farewell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Edith, you and your sister Mary and the good knight your father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir George would have said that he had come for me alone. Indeed you are but a +poor courtier beside him. But is it true, Nigel, that you go to France?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Edith.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was so rumored after the King had been to Tilford. The story goes that the +King goes to France and you in his train. Is that true?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Edith, it is true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, then, to what part you go, and when?” +</p> + +<p> +“That, alas! I may not say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, in sooth!” She tossed her fair head and rode onward in silence, with +compressed lips and angry eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel glanced at her in surprise and dismay. “Surely, Edith,” said he at last, +“you have overmuch regard for my honor that you should wish me to break the +word that I have given?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your honor belongs to you, and my likings belong to me,” said she. “You hold +fast to the one, and I will do the same by the other.” +</p> + +<p> +They rode in silence through Thursley village. Then a thought came to her mind +and in an instant her anger was forgotten and she was hot on a new scent. +</p> + +<p> +“What would you do if I were injured, Nigel? I have heard my father say that +small as you are there is no man in these parts could stand against you. Would +you be my champion if I suffered wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely I or any man of gentle blood would be the champion of any woman who had +suffered wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“You or any and I or any—what sort of speech is that? Is it a compliment, think +you, to be mixed with a drove in that fashion? My question was of you and me. +If I were wronged would you be my man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Try me and see, Edith!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will do so, Nigel. Either Sir George Brocas or the Squire of Fernhurst +would gladly do what I ask, and yet I am of a mind, Nigel, to turn to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you to tell me what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know Paul de la Fosse of Shalford?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the small man with the twisted back?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is no smaller than yourself, Nigel, and as to his back there are many folk +that I know who would be glad to have his face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I am no judge of that, and I spoke out of no discourtesy. What of the +man?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has flouted me, Nigel, and I would have revenge.” +</p> + +<p> +“What—on that poor twisted creature?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you that he has flouted me!” +</p> + +<p> +“But how?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have thought that a true cavalier would have flown to my aid, +withouten all these questions. But I will tell you, since I needs must. Know +then that he was one of those who came around me and professed to be my own. +Then, merely because he thought that there were others who were as dear to me +as himself he left me, and now he pays court to Maude Twynham, the little +freckle-faced hussy in his village.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how has this hurt you, since he was no man of thine?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was one of my men, was he not? And he has made game of me to his wench. He +has told her things about me. He has made me foolish in her eyes. Yes, yes, I +can read it in her saffron face and in her watery eyes when we meet at the +church door on Sundays. She smiles—yes, smiles at me! Nigel, go to him! Do not +slay him, nor even wound him, but lay his face open with thy riding-whip, and +then come back to me and tell me how I can serve you.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel’s face was haggard with the strife within, for desire ran hot in every +vein, and yet reason shrank with horror. “By Saint Paul! Edith,” he cried, “I +see no honor nor advancement of any sort in this thing which you have asked me +to do. Is it for me to strike one who is no better than a cripple? For my +manhood I could not do such a deed, and I pray you, dear lady, that you will +set me some other task.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes flashed at him in contempt. “And you are a man-at-arms!” she cried, +laughing in bitter scorn. “You are afraid of a little man who can scarce walk. +Yes, yes, say what you will, I shall ever believe that you have heard of his +skill at fence and of his great spirit, and that your heart has failed you! You +are right, Nigel. He is indeed a perilous man. Had you done what I asked he +would have slain you, and so you have shown your wisdom.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel flushed and winced under the words, but he said no more, for his mind was +fighting hard within him, striving to keep that high image of woman which +seemed for a moment to totter on the edge of a fall. Together in silence, side +by side, the little man and the stately woman, the yellow charger and the white +jennet, passed up the sandy winding track with the gorse and the bracken +head-high on either side. Soon a path branched off through a gateway marked +with the boar-heads of the Buttesthorns, and there was the low widespread house +heavily timbered, loud with the barking of dogs. The ruddy Knight limped forth +with outstretched hand and roaring voice— +</p> + +<p> +“What how, Nigel! Good welcome and all hail! I had thought that you had given +over poor friends like us, now that the King had made so much of you. The +horses, varlets, or my crutch will be across you! Hush, Lydiard! Down, Pelamon! +I can scarce hear my voice for your yelping. Mary, a cup of wine for young +Squire Loring!” +</p> + +<p> +She stood framed in the doorway, tall, mystic, silent, with strange, wistful +face and deep soul shining in her dark, questioning eyes. Nigel kissed the hand +that she held out, and all his faith in woman and his reverence came back to +him as he looked at her. Her sister had slipped behind her and her fair elfish +face smiled her forgiveness of Nigel over Mary’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +The Knight of Duplin leaned his weight upon the young man’s arm and limped his +way across the great high-roofed hall to his capacious oaken chair. “Come, +come, the stool, Edith!” he cried. “As God is my help, that girl’s mind swarms +with gallants as a granary with rats. Well, Nigel, I hear strange tales of your +spear-running at Tilford and of the visit of the King. How seemed he? And my +old friend Chandos—many happy hours in the woodlands have we had together—and +Manny too, he was ever a bold and a hard rider—what news of them all?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel told to the old Knight all that had occurred, saying little of his own +success and much of his own failure, yet the eyes of the dark woman burned the +brighter as she sat at her tapestry and listened. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John followed the story with a running fire of oaths, prayers, thumps with +his great fist and flourishes of his crutch. “Well, well, lad, you could scarce +expect to hold your saddle against Manny, and you have carried yourself well. +We are proud of you, Nigel, for you are our own man, reared in the heather +country. But indeed I take shame that you are not more skilled in the mystery +of the woods, seeing that I have had the teaching of you, and that no one in +broad England is my master at the craft. I pray you to fill your cup again +whilst I make use of the little time that is left to us.” +</p> + +<p> +And straightway the old Knight began a long and weary lecture upon the times of +grace and when each beast and bird was seasonable, with many anecdotes, +illustrations, warnings and exceptions, drawn from his own great experience. He +spoke also of the several ranks and grades of the chase: how the hare, hart and +boar must ever take precedence over the buck, the doe, the fox, the marten and +the roe, even as a knight banneret does over a knight, while these in turn are +of a higher class to the badger, the wildcat or the otter, who are but the +common populace of the world of beasts. Of blood-stains also he spoke—how the +skilled hunter may see at a glance if blood be dark and frothy, which means a +mortal hurt, or thin and clear, which means that the arrow has struck a bone. +</p> + +<p> +“By such signs,” said he, “you will surely know whether to lay on the hounds +and cast down the blinks which hinder the stricken deer in its flight. But +above all I pray you, Nigel, to have a care in the use of the terms of the +craft, lest you should make some blunder at table, so that those who are wiser +may have the laugh of you, and we who love you may be shamed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Sir John,” said Nigel. “I think that after your teaching I can hold my +place with the others.” +</p> + +<p> +The old Knight shook his white head doubtfully. “There is so much to be learned +that there is no one who can be said to know all,” said he. “For example, +Nigel, it is sooth that for every collection of beasts of the forest, and for +every gathering of birds of the air, there is their own private name so that +none may be confused with another.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it, fair sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know it, Nigel, but you do not know each separate name, else are you a +wiser man than I had thought you. In truth—none can say that they know all, +though I have myself picked off eighty, and six for a wager at court, and it is +said that the chief huntsman of the Duke of Burgundy has counted over a +hundred—but it is in my mind that he may have found them as he went, for there +was none to say him nay. Answer me now, lad, how would you say if you saw ten +badgers together in the forest?” +</p> + +<p> +“A cete of badgers, fair sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good, Nigel—good, by my faith! And if you walk in Woolmer Forest and see a +swarm of foxes, how would you call it?” +</p> + +<p> +“A skulk of foxes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if they be lions?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sir, I am not like to meet several lions in Woolmer Forest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, lad, but there are other forests besides Woolmer, and other lands besides +England, and who can tell how far afield such a knight errant as Nigel of +Tilford may go, when he sees worship to be won? We will say that you were in +the deserts of Nubia, and that afterward at the court of the great Sultan you +wished to say that you had seen several lions, which is the first beast of the +chase, being the king of all animals. How then would you say it?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel scratched his head. “Surely, fair sir, I would be content to say that I +had seen a number of lions, if indeed I could say aught after so wondrous an +adventure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Nigel, a huntsman would have said that he had seen a pride of lions, and +so proved that he knew the language of the chase. Now had it been boars instead +of lions?” +</p> + +<p> +“One says a singular of boars.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if they be swine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely it is a herd of swine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, lad, it is indeed sad to see how little you know. Your hands, Nigel, +were always better than your head. No man of gentle birth would speak of a herd +of swine; that is the peasant speech. If you drive them it is a herd. If you +hunt them it is other. What call you them, then, Edith?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I know not,” said the girl listlessly. A crumpled note brought in by a +varlet was clinched in her right hand and her blue eyes looked afar into the +deep shadows of the roof. +</p> + +<p> +“But you can tell us, Mary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, sweet sir, one talks of a sounder of swine.” +</p> + +<p> +The old Knight laughed exultantly. “Here is a pupil who never brings me shame!” +he cried. “Be it lore—of chivalry or heraldry or woodcraft or what you will, I +can always turn to Mary. Many a man can she put to the blush.” +</p> + +<p> +“Myself among them,” said Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, lad, you are a Solomon to some of them. Hark ye! only last week that +jack-fool, the young Lord of Brocas, was here talking of having seen a covey of +pheasants in the wood. One such speech would have been the ruin of a young +Squire at the court. How would you have said it, Nigel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, fair sir, it should be a nye of pheasants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good, Nigel—a nye of pheasants, even as it is a gaggle of geese or a badling +of ducks, a fall of woodcock or a wisp of snipe. But a covey of pheasants! What +sort of talk is that? I made him sit even where you are sitting, Nigel, and I +saw the bottom of two pots of Rhenish ere I let him up. Even then I fear that +he had no great profit from his lesson, for he was casting his foolish eyes at +Edith when he should have been turning his ears to her father. But where is the +wench?” +</p> + +<p> +“She hath gone forth, father.” +</p> + +<p> +“She ever doth go forth when there is a chance of learning aught that is useful +indoors. But supper will soon be ready, and there is a boar’s ham fresh from +the forest with which I would ask your help, Nigel, and a side of venison from +the King’s own chase. The tinemen and verderers have not forgotten me yet, and +my larder is ever full. Blow three moots on the horn, Mary, that the varlets +may set the table, for the growing shadow and my loosening belt warn me that it +is time.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>XII.<br/> +HOW NIGEL FOUGHT THE TWISTED MAN OF SHALFORD</h2> + +<p> +In the days of which you read all classes, save perhaps the very poor, fared +better in meat and in drink than they have ever done since. The country was +covered with woodlands—there were seventy separate forests in England alone, +some of them covering half a shire. Within these forests the great beasts of +the chase were strictly preserved, but the smaller game, the hares, the +rabbits, the birds, which swarmed round the coverts, found their way readily +into the poor man’s pot. Ale was very cheap, and cheaper still was the mead +which every peasant could make for himself out of the wild honey in the +tree-trunks. There were many tea-like drinks also, which were brewed by the +poor at no expense: mallow tea, tansy tea, and others the secret of which has +passed. +</p> + +<p> +Amid the richer classes there was rude profusion, great joints ever on the +sideboard, huge pies, beasts of the field and beasts of the chase, with ale and +rough French or Rhenish wines to wash them down. But the very rich had attained +to a high pitch of luxury in their food, and cookery was a science in which the +ornamentation of the dish was almost as important as the dressing of the food. +It was gilded, it was silvered, it was painted, it was surrounded with flame. +From the boar and the peacock down to such strange food as the porpoise and the +hedgehog, every dish had its own setting and its own sauce, very strange and +very complex, with flavorings of dates, currants, cloves, vinegar, sugar and +honey, of cinnamon, ground ginger, sandalwood, saffron, brawn and pines. It was +the Norman tradition to eat in moderation, but to have a great profusion of the +best and of the most delicate from which to choose. From them came this complex +cookery, so unlike the rude and often gluttonous simplicity of the old Teutonic +stock. +</p> + +<p> +Sir John Buttesthorn was of that middle class who fared in the old fashion, and +his great oak supper-table groaned beneath the generous pastries, the mighty +joints and the great flagons. Below were the household, above on a raised dais +the family table, with places ever ready for those frequent guests who dropped +in from the high road outside. Such a one had just come, an old priest, +journeying from the Abbey of Chertsey to the Priory of Saint John at Midhurst. +He passed often that way, and never without breaking his journey at the +hospitable board of Cosford. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome again, good Father Athanasius!” cried the burly Knight. “Come sit here +on my right and give me the news of the country-side, for there is never a +scandal but the priests are the first to know it.” +</p> + +<p> +The priest, a kindly, quiet man, glanced at an empty place upon the farther +side of his host. “Mistress Edith?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye, where is the hussy?” cried her father impatiently. “Mary, I beg you +to have the horn blown again, that she may know that the supper is on the +table. What can the little owlet do abroad at this hour of the night?” +</p> + +<p> +There was trouble in the priest’s gentle eyes as he touched the Knight upon the +sleeve. “I have seen Mistress Edith within this hour,” said he. “I fear that +she will hear no horn that you may blow, for she must be at Milford ere now.” +</p> + +<p> +“At Milford? What does she there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, good Sir John, to abate your voice somewhat, for indeed this +matter is for our private discourse, since it touches the honor of a lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Her honor?” Sir John’s ruddy face had turned redder still, as he stared at the +troubled features of the priest. “Her honor, say you—the honor of my daughter? +Make good those words, or never set your foot over the threshold of Cosford +again!” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust that I have done no wrong, Sir John, but indeed I must say what I have +seen, else would I be a false friend and an unworthy priest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haste man, haste! What in the Devil’s name have you seen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Know you a little man, partly misshapen, named Paul de la Fosse?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know him well. He is a man of noble family and coat-armor, being the younger +brother of Sir Eustace de la Fosse of Shalford. Time was when I had thought +that I might call him son, for there was never a day that he did not pass with +my girls, but I fear that his crooked back sped him ill in his wooing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, Sir John! It is his mind that is more crooked than his back. He is a +perilous man with women, for the Devil hath given him such a tongue and such an +eye that he charms them even as the basilisk. Marriage may be in their mind, +but never in his, so that I could count a dozen and more whom he has led to +their undoing. It is his pride and his boast over the whole countryside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, and what is this to me or mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even now, Sir John, as I rode my mule up the road I met this man speeding +toward his home. A woman rode by his side, and though her face was hooded I +heard her laugh as she passed me. That laugh I have heard before, and it was +under this very roof, from the lips of Mistress Edith.” +</p> + +<p> +The Knight’s knife dropped from his hand. But the debate had been such that +neither Mary nor Nigel could fail to have heard it. Mid the rough laughter and +clatter of voices from below the little group at the high table had a privacy +of their own. +</p> + +<p> +“Fear not, father,” said the girl—“indeed, the good Father Athanasius hath +fallen into error, and Edith will be with us anon. I have heard her speak of +this man many times of late, and always with bitter words.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, sir,” cried Nigel eagerly. “It was only this very evening as we +rode over Thursley Moor that Mistress Edith told me that she counted him not a +fly, and that she would be glad if he were beaten for his evil deeds.” +</p> + +<p> +But the wise priest shook his silvery locks. “Nay, there is ever danger when a +woman speaks like that. Hot hate is twin brother to hot love. Why should she +speak so if there were not some bond between them?” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet,” said Nigel, “what can have changed her thoughts in three short +hours? She was here in the hall with us since I came. By Saint Paul, I will not +believe it!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s face darkened. “I call to mind,” said she, “that a note was brought her +by Hannekin the stable varlet when you were talking to us, fair sir, of the +terms of the chase. She read it and went forth.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir John sprang to his feet, but sank into his chair again with a groan. “Would +that I were dead,” he cried, “ere I saw dishonor come upon my house, and am so +tied with this accursed foot that I can neither examine if it be true, nor yet +avenge it! If my son Oliver were here, then all would be well. Send me this +stable varlet that I may question him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, fair and honored sir,” said Nigel, “that you will take me for your +son this night, that I may handle this matter in the way which seems best. On +jeopardy of my honor I will do all that a man may.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nigel, I thank you. There is no man in Christendom to whom I would sooner +turn.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I would lean your mind in one matter, fair sir. This man, Paul de la +Fosse, owns broad acres, as I understand, and comes of noble blood. There is no +reason if things be as we fear that he should not marry your daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, she could not wish for better.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well. And first I would question this Hannekin; but it shall be done in +such a fashion that none shall know, for indeed it is not a matter for the +gossip of servants. But if you will show me the man, Mistress Mary, I will take +him out to tend my own horse, and so I shall learn all that he has to tell.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel was absent for some time, and when he returned the shadow upon his face +brought little hope to the anxious hearts at the high table. “I have locked him +in the stable loft, lest he talk too much,” said he, “for my questions must +have shown him whence the wind blew. It was indeed from this man that the note +came, and he had brought with him a spare horse for the lady.” +</p> + +<p> +The old Knight groaned, and his face sank upon his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, father, they watch you!” whispered Mary. “For the honor of our house let +us keep a bold face to all.” Then, raising her young clear voice, so that it +sounded through the room: “If you ride eastward, Nigel, I would fain go with +you, that my sister may not come back alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will ride together, Mary,” said Nigel, rising; then in a lower voice: “But +we cannot go alone, and if we take a servant all is known. I pray you to stay +at home and leave the matter with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Nigel, she may sorely need a woman’s aid, and what woman should it be +save her own sister? I can take my tire-woman with us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I shall ride with you myself if your impatience can keep within the +powers of my mule,” said the old priest. +</p> + +<p> +“But it is not your road, father?” +</p> + +<p> +“The only road of a true priest is that which leads to the good of others. +Come, my children, and we will go together.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +And so it was that stout Sir John Buttesthorn, the aged Knight of Duplin, was +left alone at his own high table, pretending to eat, pretending to drink, +fidgeting in his seat, trying hard to seem unconcerned with his mind and body +in a fever, while below him his varlets and handmaids laughed and jested, +clattering their cups and clearing their trenchers, all unconscious of the dark +shadow which threw its gloom over the lonely man upon the dais above. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the Lady Mary upon the white jennet which her sister had ridden on the +same evening, Nigel on his war-horse, and the priest on the mule, clattered +down the rude winding road which led to London. The country on either side was +a wilderness of heather moors and of morasses from which came the strange +crying of night-fowl. A half-moon shone in the sky between the rifts of +hurrying clouds. The lady rode in silence, absorbed in the thought of the task +before them, the danger and the shame. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel chatted in a low tone with the priest. From him he learned more of the +evil name of this man whom they followed. His house at Shalford was a den of +profligacy and vice. No woman could cross that threshold and depart unstained. +In some strange fashion, inexplicable and yet common, the man, with all his +evil soul and his twisted body, had yet some strange fascination for women, +some mastery over them which compelled them to his will. Again and again he had +brought ruin to a household, again and again his adroit tongue and his cunning +wit had in some fashion saved him from the punishment of his deeds. His family +was great in the county, and his kinsmen held favor with the King, so that his +neighbors feared to push things too far against him. Such was the man, +malignant and ravenous, who had stooped like some foul night-hawk and borne +away to his evil nest the golden beauty of Cosford. Nigel said little as he +listened, but he raised his hunting-dagger to his tightened lips, and thrice he +kissed the cross of its handle. +</p> + +<p> +They had passed over the moors and through the village of Milford and the +little township of Godalming, until their path turned southward over the Pease +marsh and crossed the meadows of Shalford. There on the dark hillside glowed +the red points of light which marked the windows of the house which they +sought. A somber arched avenue of oak-trees led up to it, and then they were in +the moon-silvered clearing in front. +</p> + +<p> +From the shadow of the arched door there sprang two rough serving-men, bearded +and gruff, great cudgels in their hands, to ask them who they were and what +their errand. The Lady Mary had slipped from her horse and was advancing to the +door, but they rudely barred her way. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, our master needs no more!” cried one, with a hoarse laugh. “Stand +back, mistress, whoever you be! The house is shut, and our lord sees no guests +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fellow,” said Nigel, speaking low and clear, “stand back from us! Our errand +is with your master.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bethink you, my children,” cried the old priest, “would it not be best +perchance, that I go in to him and see whether the voice of the Church may not +soften this hard heart? I fear bloodshed if you enter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, father, I pray you to stay here for the nonce,” said Nigel. “And you, +Mary, do you bide with the good priest, for we know not what may be within.” +</p> + +<p> +Again he turned to the door, and again the two men barred his passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand back, I say, back for your lives!” said Nigel. “By Saint Paul! I should +think it shame to soil my sword with such as you, but my soul is set, and no +man shall bar my path this night.” +</p> + +<p> +The men shrank from the deadly menace of that gentle voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold!” said one of them, peering through the darkness, “is it not Squire +Loring of Tilford?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is indeed my name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had you spoken it I for one would not have stopped your way. Put down your +staff, Wat, for this is no stranger, but the Squire of Tilford.” +</p> + +<p> +“As well for him,” grumbled the other, lowering his cudgel with an inward +prayer of thanksgiving. “Had it been otherwise I should have had blood upon my +soul to-night. But our master said nothing of neighbors when he ordered us to +hold the door. I will enter and ask him what is his will.” +</p> + +<p> +But already Nigel was past them and had pushed open the outer door. Swift as he +was, the Lady Mary was at his very heels, and the two passed together into the +hall beyond. +</p> + +<p> +It was a great room, draped and curtained with black shadows, with one vivid +circle of light in the center, where two oil lamps shone upon a small table. A +meal was laid upon the table, but only two were seated at it, and there were no +servants in the room. At the near end was Edith, her golden hair loose and +streaming down over the scarlet and black of her riding-dress. +</p> + +<p> +At the farther end the light beat strongly upon the harsh face and the +high-drawn misshapen shoulders of the lord of the house. A tangle of black hair +surmounted a high rounded forehead, the forehead of a thinker, with two +deep-set cold gray eyes twinkling sharply from under tufted brows. His nose was +curved and sharp, like the beak of some cruel bird, but below the whole of his +clean-shaven powerful face was marred by the loose slabbing mouth and the round +folds of the heavy chin. His knife in one hand and a half-gnawed bone in the +other, he looked fiercely up, like some beast disturbed in his den, as the two +intruders broke in upon his hall. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Nigel stopped midway between the door and the table. His eyes and those of Paul +de la Fosse were riveted upon each other. But Mary, with her woman’s soul +flooded over with love and pity, had rushed forward and cast her arms round her +younger sister. Edith had sprung up from her chair, and with averted face tried +to push the other away from her. +</p> + +<p> +“Edith, Edith! By the Virgin, I implore you to come back with us, and to leave +this wicked man!” cried Mary. “Dear sister, you would not break our father’s +heart, nor bring his gray head in dishonor to the grave! Come back Edith, come +back and all is well.” +</p> + +<p> +But Edith pushed her away, and her fair cheeks were flushed with her anger. +“What right have you over me, Mary, you who are but two years older, that you +should follow me over the country-side as though I were a runagate villain and +you my mistress? Do you yourself go back, and leave me to do that which seems +best in my own eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mary still held her in her arms, and still strove to soften the hard and +angry heart. “Our mother is dead, Edith. I thank God that she died ere she saw +you under this roof! But I stand for her, as I have done all my life, since I +am indeed your elder. It is with her voice that I beg and pray you that you +will not trust this man further, and that you will come back ere it be too +late!” +</p> + +<p> +Edith writhed from her grasp, and stood flushed and defiant, with gleaming, +angry eyes fixed upon her sister. “You may speak evil of him now,” said she, +“but there was a time when Paul de la Fosse came to Cosford, and who so gentle +and soft-spoken to him then as wise, grave, sister Mary? But he has learned to +love another; so now he is the wicked man, and it is shame to be seen under his +roof! From what I see of my good pious sister and her cavalier it is sin for +another to ride at night with a man at your side, but it comes easy enough to +you. Look at your own eye, good sister, ere you would take the speck from that +of another.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary stood irresolute and greatly troubled, holding down her pride and her +anger, but uncertain how best to deal with this strong wayward spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not a time for bitter words, dear sister,” said she, and again she laid +her hand upon her sister’s sleeve. “All that you say may be true. There was +indeed a time when this man was friend to us both, and I know even as you do +the power which he may have to win a woman’s heart. But I know him now, and you +do not. I know the evil that he has wrought, the dishonor that he has brought, +the perjury that lies upon his soul, the confidence betrayed, the promise +unfulfilled—all this I know. Am I to see my own sister caught in the same +well-used trap? Has it shut upon you, child? Am I indeed already too late? For +God’s sake, tell me, Edith, that it is not so?” +</p> + +<p> +Edith plucked her sleeve from her sister and made two swift steps to the head +of the table. Paul de la Fosse still sat silent with his eyes upon Nigel. Edith +laid her hand upon his shoulder: “This is the man I love, and the only man that +I have ever loved. This is my husband,” said she. +</p> + +<p> +At the word Mary gave a cry of joy. +</p> + +<p> +“And is it so?” she cried. “Nay, then all is in honor, and God will see to the +rest. If you are man and wife before the altar, then indeed why should I, or +any other, stand between you? Tell me that it is indeed so, and I return this +moment to make your father a happy man.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Edith pouted like a naughty child. “We are man and wife in the eyes of God. +Soon also we shall be wedded before all the world. We do but wait until next +Monday when Paul’s brother, who is a priest at St. Albans, will come to wed us. +Already a messenger has sped for him, and he will come, will he not, dear +love?” +</p> + +<p> +“He will come,” said the master of Shalford, still with his eyes fixed upon the +silent Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a lie; he will not come,” said a voice from the door. +</p> + +<p> +It was the old priest, who had followed the others as far as the threshold. +</p> + +<p> +“He will not come,” he repeated as he advanced into the room. “Daughter, my +daughter, hearken to the words of one who is indeed old enough to be your +earthly father. This lie has served before. He has ruined others before you +with it. The man has no brother at Saint Albans. I know his brothers well, and +there is no priest among them. Before Monday, when it is all too late, you will +have found the truth as others have done before you. Trust him not, but come +with us!” +</p> + +<p> +Paul de la Fosse looked up at her with a quick smile and patted the hand upon +his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you speak to them, Edith,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes flashed with scorn as she surveyed them each in turn, the woman, the +youth and the priest. +</p> + +<p> +“I have but one word to say to them,” said she. “It is that they go hence and +trouble us no more. Am I not a free woman? Have I not said that this is the +only man I ever loved? I have loved him long. He did not know it, and in +despair he turned to another. Now he knows all and never again can doubt come +between us. Therefore I will stay here at Shalford and come to Cosford no more +save upon the arm of my husband. Am I so weak that I would believe the tales +you tell against him? Is it hard for a jealous woman and a wandering priest to +agree upon a lie? No, no, Mary, you can go hence and take your cavalier and +your priest with you, for here I stay, true to my love and safe in my trust +upon his honor!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well spoken, on my faith, my golden bird!” said the little master of Shalford. +“Let me add my own word to that which has been said. You would not grant me any +virtue in your unkindly speech, good Lady Mary, and yet you must needs confess +that at least I have good store of patience, since I have not set my dogs upon +your friends who have come between me and my ease. But even to the most +virtuous there comes at last a time when poor human frailty may prevail, and so +I pray you to remove both yourself, your priest and your valiant knight errant, +lest perhaps there be more haste and less dignity when at last you do take your +leave. Sit down, my fair love, and let us turn once more to our supper.” He +motioned her to her chair, and he filled her wine-cup as well as his own. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had said no word since he had entered the room, but his look had never +lost its set purpose, nor had his brooding eyes ever wandered from the sneering +face of the deformed master of Shalford. Now he turned with swift decision to +Mary and to the priest. +</p> + +<p> +“That is over,” said he in a low voice. “You have done all that you could, and +now it is for me to play my part as well as I am able. I pray you, Mary, and +you, good father, that you will await me outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Nigel, if there is danger—” +</p> + +<p> +“It is easier for me, Mary, if you are not there. I pray you to go. I can speak +to this man more at my ease.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him with questioning eyes and then obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel plucked at the priest’s gown. +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, father, have you your book of offices with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, Nigel, it is ever in my breast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have it ready, father!” +</p> + +<p> +“For what, my son?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are two places you may mark; there is the service of marriage and there +is the prayer for the dying. Go with her, father, and be ready at my call.” +</p> + +<p> +He closed the door behind them and was alone with this ill-matched couple. They +both turned in their chairs to look at him, Edith with a defiant face, the man +with a bitter smile upon his lips and malignant hatred in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What,” said he, “the knight errant still lingers? Have we not heard of his +thirst for glory? What new venture does he see that he should tarry here?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel walked to the table. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no glory and little venture,” said he; “but I have come for a purpose +and I must do it. I learn from your own lips, Edith, that you will not leave +this man.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you have ears you have heard it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are, as you have said, a free woman, and who can gainsay you? But I have +known you, Edith, since we played as boy and girl on the heather-hills +together. I will save you from this man’s cunning and from your own foolish +weakness.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a priest without. He will marry you now. I will see you married ere I +leave this hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or else?” sneered the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Or else you never leave this hall alive. Nay, call not for your servants or +your dogs! By Saint Paul! I swear to you that this matter lies between us +three, and that if any fourth comes at your call you, at least, shall never +live to see what comes of it! Speak then, Paul of Shalford! Will you wed this +woman now, or will you not?” +</p> + +<p> +Edith was on her feet with outstretched arms between them. “Stand back, Nigel! +He is small and weak. You would not do him a hurt! Did you not say so this very +day? For God’s sake, Nigel, do not look at him so! There is death in your +eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“A snake may be small and weak, Edith, yet every honest man would place his +heel upon it. Do you stand back yourself, for my purpose is set.” +</p> + +<p> +“Paul!” she turned her eyes to the pale sneering face. “Bethink you, Paul! Why +should you not do what he asks? What matter to you whether it be now or on +Monday? I pray you, dear Paul, for my sake let him have his way! Your brother +can read the service again if it so please him. Let us wed now, Paul, and then +all is well.” +</p> + +<p> +He had risen from his chair, and he dashed aside her appealing hands. “You +foolish woman,” he snarled, “and you, my savior of fair damsels, who are so +bold against a cripple, you have both to learn that if my body be weak there is +the soul of my breed within it! To marry because a boasting, ranting, country +Squire would have me do so—no, by the soul of God, I will die first! On Monday +I will marry, and no day sooner, so let that be your answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the answer that I wished,” said Nigel, “for indeed I see no happiness in +this marriage, and the other may well be the better way. Stand aside, Edith!” +He gently forced her to one side and drew his sword. +</p> + +<p> +De la Fosse cried aloud at the sight. “I have no sword. You would not murder +me?” said he, leaning back with haggard-face and burning eyes against his +chair. The bright steel shone in the lamp-light. Edith shrank back, her hand +over her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this sword!” said Nigel, and he turned the hilt to the cripple. “Now!” he +added, as he drew his hunting knife. “Kill me if you can, Paul de la Fosse, for +as God is my help I will do as much for you!” +</p> + +<p> +The woman, half swooning and yet spellbound and fascinated, looked on at that +strange combat. For a moment the cripple stood with an air of doubt, the sword +grasped in his nerveless fingers. Then as he saw the tiny blade in Nigel’s hand +the greatness of the advantage came home to him, and a cruel smile tightened +his loose lips. Slowly, step by step he advanced, his chin sunk upon his chest, +his eyes glaring from under the thick tangle of his brows like fires through +the brushwood. Nigel waited for him, his left hand forward, his knife down by +his hip, his face grave, still and watchful. +</p> + +<p> +Nearer and nearer yet, with stealthy step, and then with a bound and a cry of +hatred and rage Paul de la Fosse had sped his blow. It was well judged and well +swung, but point would have been wiser than edge against that supple body and +those active feet. Quick as a flash, Nigel had sprung inside the sweep of the +blade, taking a flesh wound on his left forearm, as he pressed it under the +hilt. The next instant the cripple was on the ground and Nigel’s dagger was at +his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“You dog!” he whispered. “I have you at my mercy! Quick ere I strike, and for +the last time! Will you marry or no?” +</p> + +<p> +The crash of the fall and the sharp point upon his throat had cowed the man’s +spirit. He looked up with a white face and the sweat gleamed upon his forehead. +There was terror in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, take your knife from me!” he cried. “I cannot die like a calf in the +shambles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you marry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, I will wed her! After all she is a good wench and I might do worse. +Let me up! I tell you I will marry her! What more would you have?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel stood above him with his foot upon his misshapen body. He had picked up +his sword, and the point rested upon the cripple’s breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, you will bide where you are! If you are to live—and my conscience cries +loud against it—at least your wedding will be such as your sins have deserved. +Lie there, like the crushed worm that you are!” Then he raised his voice. +“Father Athanasius!” he cried. “What ho! Father Athanasius!” +</p> + +<p> +The old priest ran to the cry, and so did the Lady Mary. A strange sight it was +that met them now in the circle of light, the frightened girl, half-unconscious +against the table, the prostrate cripple, and Nigel with foot and sword upon +his body. +</p> + +<p> +“Your book, father!” cried Nigel. “I know not if what we do is good or ill; but +we must wed them, for there is no way out.” +</p> + +<p> +But the girl by the table had given a great cry, and she was clinging and +sobbing with her arms round her sister’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mary, I thank the Virgin that you have come! I thank the Virgin that it is +not too late! What did he say? He said that he was a de la Fosse and that he +would not be married at the sword-point. My heart went out to him when he said +it. But I, am I not a Buttesthorn, and shall it be said that I would marry a +man who could be led to the altar with a knife at his throat? No, no, I see him +as he is! I know him now, the mean spirit, the lying tongue! Can I not read in +his eyes that he has indeed deceived me, that he would have left me as you say +that he has left others? Take me home, Mary, my sister, for you have plucked me +back this night from the very mouth of Hell!” +</p> + +<p> +And so it was that the master of Shalford, livid and brooding, was left with +his wine at his lonely table, while the golden beauty of Cosford, hot with +shame and anger, her fair face wet with tears, passed out safe from the house +of infamy into the great calm and peace of the starry night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>XIII.<br/> +HOW THE COMRADES JOURNEYED DOWN THE OLD, OLD ROAD</h2> + +<p> +And now the season of the moonless nights was drawing nigh and the King’s +design was ripe. Very secretly his preparations were made. Already the garrison +of Calais, which consisted of five hundred archers and two hundred men-at-arms, +could, if forewarned, resist any attack made upon it. But it was the King’s +design not merely to resist the attack, but to capture the attackers. Above all +it was his wish to find the occasion for one of those adventurous passages of +arms which had made his name famous throughout Christendom as the very pattern +and leader of knight-errant chivalry. +</p> + +<p> +But the affair wanted careful handling. The arrival of any, reinforcements, or +even the crossing of any famous soldier, would have alarmed the French and +warned them that their plot had been discovered. Therefore it was in twos and +threes in the creyers and provision ships which were continually passing from +shore to shore that the chosen warriors and their squires were brought to +Calais. There they were passed at night through the water-gate into the castle +where they could lie hidden, unknown to the townsfolk, until the hour for +action had come. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had received word from Chandos to join him at “The Sign of the Broom-Pod” +in Winchelsea. Three days beforehand he and Aylward rode from Tilford all armed +and ready for the wars. Nigel was in hunting-costume, blithe and gay, with his +precious armor and his small baggage trussed upon the back of a spare horse +which Aylward led by the bridle. The archer had himself a good black mare, +heavy and slow, but strong enough to be fit to carry his powerful frame. In his +brigandine of chain mail and his steel cap, with straight strong sword by his +side, his yellow long-bow jutting over his shoulder, and his quiver of arrows +supported by a scarlet baldric, he was such a warrior as any knight might well +be proud to have in his train. All Tilford trailed behind them, as they rode +slowly over the long slope of heath land which skirts the flank of Crooksbury +Hill. +</p> + +<p> +At the summit of the rise Nigel reined in Pommers and looked back at the little +village behind him. There was the old dark manor house, with one bent figure +leaning upon a stick and gazing dimly after him from beside the door. He looked +at the high-pitched roof, the timbered walls, the long trail of swirling blue +smoke which rose from the single chimney, and the group of downcast old +servants who lingered at the gate, John the cook, Weathercote the minstrel, and +Red Swire the broken soldier. Over the river amid the trees he could see the +grim, gray tower of Waverley, and even as he looked, the iron bell, which had +so often seemed to be the hoarse threatening cry of an enemy, clanged out its +call to prayer. Nigel doffed his velvet cap and prayed also—prayed that peace +might remain at home, and good warfare, in which honor and fame should await +him, might still be found abroad. Then, waving his hand to the people, he +turned his horse’s head and rode slowly eastward. A moment later Aylward broke +from the group of archers and laughing girls who clung to his bridle and his +stirrup straps, and rode on, blowing kisses over his shoulder. So at last the +two comrades, gentle and simple, were fairly started on their venture. +</p> + +<p> +There are two seasons of color in those parts: the yellow, when the +country-side is flaming with the gorse-blossoms, and the crimson, when all the +long slopes are smoldering with the heather. So it was now. Nigel looked back +from time to time, as he rode along the narrow track where the ferns and the +ling brushed his feet on either side, and as he looked it seemed to him that +wander where he might he would never see a fairer scene than that of his own +home. Far to the westward, glowing in the morning light, rolled billow after +billow of ruddy heather land, until they merged into the dark shadows of +Woolmer Forest and the pale clear green of the Butser chalk downs. Never in his +life had Nigel wandered far beyond these limits, and the woodlands, the down +and the heather were dear to his soul. It gave him a pang in his heart now as +he turned his face away from them; but if home lay to the westward, out there +to the eastward was the great world of adventure, the noble stage where each of +his kinsmen in turn had played his manly part and left a proud name behind. +</p> + +<p> +How often he had longed for this day! And now it had come with no shadow cast +behind it. Dame Ermyntrude was under the King’s protection. The old servants +had their future assured. The strife with the monks of Waverley had been +assuaged. He had a noble horse under him, the best of weapons, and a stout +follower at his back. Above all he was bound on a gallant errand with the +bravest knight in England as his leader. All these thoughts surged together in +his mind, and he whistled and sang, as he rode, out of the joy of his heart, +while Pommers sidled and curveted in sympathy with the mood of his master. +Presently, glancing back, he saw from Aylward’s downcast eyes and Puckered brow +that the archer was clouded with trouble. He reined his horse to let him come +abreast of him. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, Aylward?” said he. “Surely of all men in England you and I should be +the most blithe this morning, since we ride forward with all hopes of honorable +advancement. By Saint Paul! ere we see these heather hills once more we shall +either worshipfully win worship, or we shall venture our persons in the +attempt. These be glad thoughts, and why should you be downcast?” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward shrugged his broad shoulders, and a wry smile dawned upon his rugged +face. “I am indeed as limp as a wetted bowstring,” said he. “It is the nature +of a man that he should be sad when he leaves the woman he loves.” +</p> + +<p> +“In truth, yes!” cried Nigel, and in a flash the dark eyes of Mary Buttesthorn +rose before him, and he heard her low, sweet, earnest voice as he had heard it +that night when they brought her frailer sister back from Shalford Manor, a +voice which made all that was best and noblest in a man thrill within his soul. +“Yet, bethink you, archer, that what a woman loves in man is not his gross +body, but rather his soul, his honor, his fame, the deeds with which he has +made his life beautiful. Therefore you are winning love as well as glory when +you turn to the wars.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be so,” said Aylward; “but indeed it goes to my heart to see the pretty +dears weep, and I would fain weep as well to keep them company. When Mary—or +was it Dolly?—nay, it was Martha, the red-headed girl from the mill—when she +held tight to my baldric it was like snapping my heart-string to pluck myself +loose.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak of one name and then of another,” said Nigel. “How is she called +then, this maid whom you love?” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward pushed back his steel cap and scratched his bristling head with some +embarrassment. “Her name,” said he, “is Mary Dolly Martha Susan Jane Cicely +Theodosia Agnes Johanna Kate.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel laughed as Aylward rolled out this prodigious title. “I had no right to +take you to the wars,” said he; “for by Saint Paul! it is very clear that I +have widowed half the parish. But I saw your aged father the franklin. Bethink +you of the joy that will fill his heart when he hears that you have done some +small deed in France, and so won honor in the eyes of all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear that honor will not help him to pay his arrears of rent to the sacrist +of Waverley,” said Aylward. “Out he will go on the roadside, honor and all, if +he does not find ten nobles by next Epiphany. But if I could win a ransom or be +at the storming of a rich city, then indeed the old man would be proud of me. +‘Thy sword must help my spade, Samkin,’ said he as he kissed me goodby. Ah! it +would indeed be a happy day for him and for all if I could ride back with a +saddle-bag full of gold pieces, and please God, I shall dip my hand in +somebody’s pocket before I see Crooksbury Hill once more!” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel shook his head, for indeed it seemed hopeless to try to bridge the gulf +between them. Already they had made such good progress along the bridle-path +through the heather that the little hill of Saint Catharine and the ancient +shrine upon its summit loomed up before them. Here they crossed the road from +the south to London, and at the crossing two wayfarers were waiting who waved +their hands in greeting, the one a tall, slender, dark woman upon a white +jennet, the other a very thick and red-faced old man, whose weight seemed to +curve the back of the stout gray cob which he bestrode. +</p> + +<p> +“What how, Nigel!” he cried. “Mary has told me that you make a start this +morning, and we have waited here this hour and more on the chance of seeing you +pass. Come, lad, and have a last stoup of English ale, for many a time amid the +sour French wines you will long for the white foam under your nose, and the +good homely twang of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had to decline the draft, for it meant riding into Guildford town, a mile +out of his course, but very gladly he agreed with Mary that they should climb +the path to the old shrine and offer a last orison together. The knight and +Aylward waited below with the horses; and so it came about that Nigel and Mary +found themselves alone under the solemn old Gothic arches, in front of the dark +shadowed recess in which gleamed the golden reliquary of the saint. In silence +they knelt side by side in prayer, and then came forth once more out of the +gloom and the shadow into the fresh sunlit summer morning. They stopped ere +they descended the path, and looked to right and left at the fair meadows and +the blue Wey curling down the valley. +</p> + +<p> +“What have you prayed for, Nigel?” said she. +</p> + +<p> +“I have prayed that God and His saints will hold my spirit high and will send +me back from France in such a fashion that I may dare to come to you and to +claim you for my own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bethink you well what it is that you say, Nigel,” said she. “What you are to +me only my own heart can tell; but I would never set eyes upon your face again +rather than abate by one inch that height of honor and worshipful achievement +to which you may attain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my dear and most sweet lady, how should you abate it, since it is the +thought of you which will nerve my arm and uphold my heart?” +</p> + +<p> +“Think once more, my fair lord, and hold yourself bound by no word which you +have said. Let it be as the breeze which blows past our faces and is heard of +no more. Your soul yearns for honor. To that has it ever turned. Is there room +in it for love also? or is it possible that both shall live at their highest in +one mind? Do you not call to mind that Galahad and other great knights of old +have put women out of their lives that they might ever give their whole soul +and strength to the winning of honor? May it not be that I shall be a drag upon +you, that your heart may shrink from some honorable task, lest it should bring +risk and pain to me? Think well before you answer, my fair lord, for indeed my +very heart would break if it should ever happen that through love of me your +high hopes and great promise should miss fulfilment.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked at her with sparkling eyes. The soul which shone through her dark +face had transformed it for the moment into a beauty more lofty and more rare +than that of her shallow sister. He bowed before the majesty of the woman, and +pressed his lips to her hand. “You are like a star upon my path which guides me +on the upward way,” said he. “Our souls are set together upon the finding of +honor, and how shall we hold each other back when our purpose is the same?” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her proud head. “So it seems to you now, fair lord, but it may be +otherwise as the years pass. How shall you prove that I am indeed a help and +not a hindrance?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will prove it by my deeds, fair and dear lady,” said Nigel. “Here at the +shrine of the holy Catharine, on this, the Feast of Saint Margaret, I take my +oath that I will do three deeds in your honor as a proof of my high love before +I set eyes upon your face again, and these three deeds shall stand as a proof +to you that if I love you dearly, still I will not let the thought of you stand +betwixt me and honorable achievement!” +</p> + +<p> +Her face shone with her love and her pride. “I also make my oath,” said she, +“and I do it in the name of the holy Catharine whose shrine is hard by. I swear +that I will hold myself for you until these three deeds be done and we meet +once more; also that if—which may dear Christ forfend! you fall in doing them +then I shall take the veil in Shalford nunnery and look upon no man’s face +again! Give me your hand, Nigel.” +</p> + +<p> +She had taken a little bangle of gold filigree work from her arm and fastened +it upon his sunburnt wrist, reading aloud to him the engraved motto in old +French: “<i>Fais ce que dois, adviegne que pourra—c’est commandé au +chevalier</i>.” Then for one moment they fell into each other’s arms and with +kiss upon kiss, a loving man and a tender woman, they swore their troth to each +other. But the old knight was calling impatiently from below and together they +hurried down the winding path to where the horses waited under the sandy bluff. +</p> + +<p> +As far as the Shalford crossing Sir John rode by Nigel’s arm, and many were the +last injunctions which he gave him concerning woodcraft, and great his anxiety +lest he confuse a spay with a brocket, or either with a hind. At last when they +came to the reedy edge of the Wey the old knight and his daughter reined up +their horses. Nigel looked back at them ere he entered the dark Chantry woods, +and saw them still gazing after him and waving their hands. Then the path wound +amongst the trees and they were lost to sight; but long afterwards when a +clearing exposed once more the Shalford meadows Nigel saw that the old man upon +the gray cob was riding slowly toward Saint Catharine’s Hill, but that the girl +was still where he had seen her last, leaning forward in her saddle and +straining her eyes to pierce the dark forest which screened her lover from her +view. It was but a fleeting glance through a break in the foliage, and yet in +after days of stress and toil in far distant lands it was that one little +picture—the green meadow, the reeds, the slow blue-winding river, and the eager +bending graceful figure upon the white horse—which was the clearest and the +dearest image of that England which he had left behind him. +</p> + +<p> +But if Nigel’s friends had learned that this was the morning of his leaving, +his enemies too were on the alert. The two comrades had just emerged from the +Chantry woods and were beginning the ascent of that curving path which leads +upward to the old Chapel of the Martyr when with a hiss like an angry snake a +long white arrow streaked under Pommers and struck quivering in the grassy +turf. A second whizzed past Nigel’s ear, as he tried to turn; but Aylward +struck the great war-horse a sharp blow over the haunches, and it had galloped +some hundreds of yards before its rider could pull it up. Aylward followed as +hard as he could ride, bending low over his horse’s neck, while arrows whizzed +all around him. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul!” said Nigel, tugging at his bridle and white with anger, “they +shall not chase me across the country as though I was a frighted doe. Archer, +how dare you to lash my horse when I would have turned and ridden in upon +them?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well that I did so,” said Aylward, “or by these ten finger-bones! our +journey would have begun and ended on the same day. As I glanced round I saw a +dozen of them at the least amongst the brushwood. See now how the light +glimmers upon their steel caps yonder in the bracken under the great +beech-tree. Nay, I pray you, my fair lord, do not ride forward. What chance has +a man in the open against all these who lie at their ease in the underwood? If +you will not think of yourself, then consider your horse, which would have a +cloth-yard shaft feathered in its hide ere it could reach the wood.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel chafed in impotent anger. “Am I to be shot at like a popinjay at a fair, +by any reaver or outlaw that seeks a mark for his bow?” he cried. “By Saint +Paul! Aylward, I will put on my harness and go further into the matter. Help me +to untruss, I pray you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my fair lord, I will not help you to your own downfall. It is a match +with cogged dice betwixt a horseman on the moor and archers amid the forest. +But these men are no outlaws, or they would not dare to draw their bows within +a league of the sheriff of Guildford.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Aylward, I think that you speak truth,” said Nigel. “It may be that +these are the men of Paul de la Fosse of Shalford, whom I have given little +cause to love me. Ah! there is indeed the very man himself.” +</p> + +<p> +They sat their horses with their backs to the long slope which leads up to the +old chapel on the hill. In front of them was the dark ragged edge of the wood, +with a sharp twinkle of steel here and there in its shadows which spoke of +these lurking foes. But now there was a long moot upon a horn, and at once a +score of russet-clad bowmen ran forward from amid the trees, spreading out into +a scattered line and closing swiftly in upon the travelers. In the midst of +them, upon a great gray horse, sat a small misshapen man, waving and cheering +as one sets hounds on a badger, turning his head this way and that as he +whooped and pointed, urging his bowmen onward up the slope. +</p> + +<p> +“Draw them on, my fair lord! Draw them on until we have them out on the down!” +cried Aylward, his eyes shining with joy. “Five hundred paces more, and then we +may be on terms with them. Nay, linger not, but keep them always just clear of +arrowshot until our turn has come.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel shook and trembled with eagerness, as with his hand on his sword-hilt he +looked at the line of eager hurrying men. But it flashed through his mind what +Chandos had said of the cool head which is better for the warrior than the hot +heart. Aylward’s words were true and wise. He turned Pommers’ head therefore, +and amid a cry of derision from behind them the comrades trotted over the down. +The bowmen broke into a run, while their leader screamed and waved more madly +than before. Aylward cast many a glance at them over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet a little farther! Yet a little farther still!” he muttered. “The wind is +towards them and the fools have forgot that I can overshoot them by fifty +paces. Now, my good lord, I pray you for one instant to hold the horses, for my +weapon is of more avail this day, than thine can be. They may make sorry cheer +ere they gain the shelter of the wood once more.” +</p> + +<p> +He had sprung from his horse, and with a downward wrench of his arm and a push +with his knee he slipped the string into the upper nock of his mighty war-bow. +Then in a flash he notched his shaft and drew it to the pile, his keen blue +eyes glowing fiercely behind it from under his knotted brows. With thick legs +planted sturdily apart, his body laid to the bow, his left arm motionless as +wood, his right bunched into a double curve of swelling muscles as he stretched +the white well-waxed string, he looked so keen and fierce a fighter that the +advancing line stopped for an instant at the sight of him. Two or three loosed +off their arrows, but the shafts flew heavily against the head wind, and snaked +along the hard turf some score of paces short of the mark. One only, a short +bandy-legged man, whose squat figure spoke of enormous muscular strength, ran +swiftly in and then drew so strong a bow that the arrow quivered in the ground +at Aylward’s very feet. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Black Will of Lynchmere,” said the bowman. “Many a match have I shot +with him, and I know well that no other man on the Surrey marches could have +sped such a shaft. I trust that you are houseled and shriven, Will, for I have +known you so long that I would not have your damnation upon my soul.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his bow as he spoke, and the string twanged with a rich deep musical +note. Aylward leaned upon his bow-stave as he keenly watched the long swift +flight of his shaft, skimming smoothly down the wind. +</p> + +<p> +“On him, on him! No, over him, by my hilt!” he cried. “There is more wind than +I had thought. Nay, nay, friend, now that I have the length of you, you can +scarce hope to loose again.” +</p> + +<p> +Black Will had notched an arrow and was raising his bow when Aylward’s second +shaft passed through the shoulder of his drawing arm. With a shout of anger and +pain he dropped his weapon, and dancing in his fury he shook his fist and +roared curses at his rival. +</p> + +<p> +“I could slay him; but I will not, for good bowmen are not so common,” said +Aylward. “And now, fair sir, we must on, for they are spreading round on either +side, and if once they get behind us, then indeed our journey has come to a +sudden end. But ere we go I would send a shaft through yonder horseman who +leads them on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Aylward, I pray you to leave him,” said Nigel. “Villain as he is, he is +none the less a gentleman of coat-armor, and should die by some other weapon +than thine.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you will,” said Aylward, with a clouded brow. “I have been told that in the +late wars many a French prince and baron has not been too proud to take his +death wound from an English yeoman’s shaft, and that nobles of England have +been glad enough to stand by and see it done.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel shook his head sadly. “It is sooth you say, archer, and indeed it is no +new thing, for that good knight Richard of the Lion Heart met his end in such a +lowly fashion, and so also did Harold the Saxon. But this is a private matter, +and I would not have you draw your bow against him. Neither can I ride at him +myself, for he is weak in body, though dangerous in spirit. Therefore, we will +go upon our way, since there is neither profit nor honor to be gained, nor any +hope of advancement.” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward, having unstrung his bow, had remounted his horse during this +conversation, and the two rode swiftly past the little squat Chapel of the +Martyr and over the brow of the hill. From the summit they looked back. The +injured archer lay upon the ground, with several of his comrades gathered in a +knot around him. Others ran aimlessly up the hill, but were already far behind. +The leader sat motionless upon his horse, and as he saw them look back he +raised his hand and shrieked his curses at them. An instant later the curve of +the ground had hid them from view. So, amid love and hate, Nigel bade adieu to +the home of his youth. +</p> + +<p> +And now the comrades were journeying upon that old, old road which runs across +the south of England and yet never turns toward London, for the good reason +that the place was a poor hamlet when first the road was laid. From Winchester, +the Saxon capital, to Canterbury, the holy city of Kent, ran that ancient +highway, and on from Canterbury to the narrow straits where, on a clear day, +the farther shore can be seen. Along this track as far back as history can +trace the metals of the west have been carried and passed the pack-horses which +bore the goods which Gaul sent in exchange. Older than the Christian faith and +older than the Romans, is the old road. North and south are the woods and the +marshes, so that only on the high dry turf of the chalk land could a clear +track be found. The Pilgrim’s Way, it still is called; but the pilgrims were +the last who ever trod it, for it was already of immemorial age before the +death of Thomas a Becket gave a new reason why folk should journey to the scene +of his murder. +</p> + +<p> +From the hill of Weston Wood the travelers could see the long white band which +dipped and curved and rose over the green downland, its course marked even in +the hollows by the line of the old yew-trees which flanked it. Neither Nigel +nor Aylward had wandered far from their own country, and now they rode with +light hearts and eager eyes taking note of all the varied pictures of nature +and of man which passed before them. To their left was a hilly country, a land +of rolling heaths and woods, broken here and there into open spaces round the +occasional farm-house of a franklin. Hackhurst Down, Dunley Hill, and Ranmore +Common swelled and sank, each merging into the other. But on the right, after +passing the village of Shere and the old church of Gomshall, the whole south +country lay like a map at their feet. There was the huge wood of the Weald, one +unbroken forest of oak-trees stretching away to the South Downs, which rose +olive-green against the deep blue sky. Under this great canopy of trees strange +folk lived and evil deeds were done. In its recesses were wild tribes, little +changed from their heathen ancestors, who danced round the altar of Thor, and +well was it for the peaceful traveler that he could tread the high open road of +the chalk land with no need to wander into so dangerous a tract, where soft +clay, tangled forest and wild men all barred his progress. +</p> + +<p> +But apart from the rolling country upon the left and the great forest-hidden +plain upon the right, there was much upon the road itself to engage the +attention of the wayfarers. It was crowded with people. As far as their eyes +could carry they could see the black dots scattered thickly upon the thin white +band, sometimes single, sometimes several abreast, sometimes in moving crowds, +where a drove of pilgrims held together for mutual protection, or a nobleman +showed his greatness by the number of retainers who trailed at his heels. At +that time the main roads were very crowded, for there were many wandering +people in the land. Of all sorts and kinds, they passed in an unbroken stream +before the eyes of Nigel and of Aylward, alike only in the fact that one and +all were powdered from their hair to their shoes with the gray dust of the +chalk. +</p> + +<p> +There were monks journeying from one cell to another, Benedictines with their +black gowns looped up to show their white skirts, Carthusians in white, and +pied Cistercians. Friars also of the three wandering orders—Dominicans in +black, Carmelites in white and Franciscans in gray. There was no love lost +between the cloistered monks and the free friars, each looking on the other as +a rival who took from him the oblations of the faithful; so they passed on the +high road as cat passes dog, with eyes askance and angry faces. +</p> + +<p> +Then besides the men of the church there were the men of trade, the merchant in +dusty broadcloth and Flanders hat riding at the head of his line of +pack-horses. He carried Cornish tin, Welt-country wool, or Sussex iron if he +traded eastward, or if his head should be turned westward then he bore with him +the velvets of Genoa, the ware of Venice, the wine of France, or the armor of +Italy and Spain. Pilgrims were everywhere, poor people for the most part, +plodding wearily along with trailing feet and bowed heads, thick staves in +their hands and bundles over their shoulders. Here and there on a gaily +caparisoned palfrey, or in the greater luxury of a horse-litter, some +West-country lady might be seen making her easy way to the shrine of Saint +Thomas. +</p> + +<p> +Besides all these a constant stream of strange vagabonds drifted along the +road: minstrels who wandered from fair to fair, a foul and pestilent crew; +jugglers and acrobats, quack doctors and tooth-drawers, students and beggars, +free workmen in search of better wages, and escaped bondsmen who would welcome +any wages at all. Such was the throng which set the old road smoking in a haze +of white dust from Winchester to the narrow sea. +</p> + +<p> +But of all the wayfarers those which interested Nigel most were the soldiers. +Several times they passed little knots of archers or men-at-arms, veterans from +France, who had received their discharge and were now making their way to their +southland homes. They were half drunk all of them, for the wayfarers treated +them to beer at the frequent inns and ale-stakes which lined the road, so that +they cheered and sang lustily as they passed. They roared rude pleasantries at +Aylward, who turned in his saddle and shouted his opinion of them until they +were out of hearing. +</p> + +<p> +Once, late in the afternoon, they overtook a body of a hundred archers all +marching together with two knights riding at their head. They were passing from +Guildford Castle to Reigate Castle, where they were in garrison. Nigel rode +with the knights for some distance, and hinted that if either was in search of +honorable advancement, or wished to do some small deed, or to relieve himself +of any vow, it might be possible to find some means of achieving it. They were +both, however, grave and elderly men, intent upon their business and with no +mind for fond wayside adventures, so Nigel quickened his pace and left them +behind. +</p> + +<p> +They had left Boxhill and Headley Heath upon the left, and the towers of +Reigate were rising amid the trees in front of them, when they overtook a +large, cheery, red-faced man, with a forked beard, riding upon a good horse and +exchanging a nod or a merry word with all who passed him. With him they rode +nearly as far as Bletchingley, and Nigel laughed much to hear him talk; but +always under the raillery there was much earnestness and much wisdom in all his +words. He rode at his ease about the country, he said, having sufficient money +to keep him from want and to furnish him for the road. He could speak all the +three languages of England, the north, the middle and the south, so that he was +at home with the people of every shire and could hear their troubles and their +joys. In all parts in town and in country there was unrest, he said; for the +poor folk were weary of their masters both of the Church and State, and soon +there would be such doings in England as had never been seen before. +</p> + +<p> +But above all this man was earnest against the Church its enormous wealth, its +possession of nearly one-third of the whole land of the country, its insatiable +greed for more at the very time when it claimed to be poor and lowly. The monks +and friars, too, he lashed with his tongue: their roguish ways, their laziness +and their cunning. He showed how their wealth and that of the haughty lord must +always be founded upon the toil of poor humble Peter the Plowman, who worked +and strove in rain and cold out in the fields, the butt and laughing-stock of +everyone, and still bearing up the whole world upon his weary shoulders. He had +set it all out in a fair parable; so now as he rode he repeated some of the +verses, chanting them and marking time with his forefinger, while Nigel and +Aylward on either side of him with their heads inclined inward listened with +the same attention, but with very different feelings—Nigel shocked at such an +attack upon authority, and Aylward chuckling as he heard the sentiments of his +class so shrewdly expressed. At last the stranger halted his horse outside the +“Five Angels” at Gatton. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a good inn, and I know the ale of old,” said he. “When I had finished +that ‘Dream of Piers the Plowman’ from which I have recited to you, the last +verses were thus: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Now have I brought my little booke to an ende<br/> +God’s blessing be on him who a drinke will me sende’— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“I pray you come in with me and share it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Nigel, “we must on our way, for we have far to go. But give me your +name, my friend, for indeed we have passed a merry hour listening to your +words.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have a care!” the stranger answered, shaking his head. “You and your class +will not spend a merry hour when these words are turned into deeds and Peter +the Plowman grows weary of swinking in the fields and takes up his bow and his +staff in order to set this land in order.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul! I expect that we shall bring Peter to reason and also those who +have put such evil thoughts into his head,” said Nigel. “So once more I ask +your name, that I may know it if ever I chance to hear that you have been +hanged?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger laughed good-humoredly. “You can call me Thomas Lackland,” said +he. “I should be Thomas Lack-brain if I were indeed to give my true name, since +a good many robbers, some in black gowns and some in steel, would be glad to +help me upwards in the way you speak of. So good-day to you, Squire, and to you +also, archer, and may you find your way back with whole bones from the wars!” +</p> + +<p> +That night the comrades slept in Godstone Priory, and early next morning they +were well upon their road down the Pilgrim’s Way. At Titsey it was said that a +band of villeins were out in Westerham Wood and had murdered three men the day +before; so that Nigel had high hopes of an encounter; but the brigands showed +no sign, though the travelers went out of their way to ride their horses along +the edges of the forest. Farther on they found traces of their work, for the +path ran along the hillside at the base of a chalk quarry, and there in the +cutting a man was lying dead. From his twisted limbs and shattered frame it was +easy to see that he had been thrown over from above, while his pockets turned +outward showed the reason for his murder. The comrades rode past without too +close a survey, for dead men were no very uncommon objects on the King’s +highway, and if sheriff or bailiff should chance upon you near the body you +might find yourself caught in the meshes of the law. +</p> + +<p> +Near Sevenoaks their road turned out of the old Canterbury way and pointed +south toward the coast, leaving the chalk lands and coming down into the clay +of the Weald. It was a wretched, rutted mule-track running through thick +forests with occasional clearings in which lay the small Kentish villages, +where rude shock-headed peasants with smocks and galligaskins stared with bold, +greedy eyes at the travelers. Once on the right they caught a distant view of +the Towers of Penshurst, and once they heard the deep tolling of the bells of +Bayham Abbey, but for the rest of their day’s journey savage peasants and +squalid cottages were all that met their eyes, with endless droves of pigs who +fed upon the litter of acorns. The throng of travelers who crowded the old road +were all gone, and only here and there did they meet or overtake some +occasional merchant or messenger bound for Battle Abbey, Pevensey Castle or the +towns of the south. +</p> + +<p> +That night they slept in a sordid inn, overrun with rats and with fleas, one +mile south of the hamlet of Mayfield. Aylward scratched vigorously and cursed +with fervor. Nigel lay without movement or sound. To the man who had learned +the old rule of chivalry there were no small ills in life. It was beneath the +dignity of his soul to stoop to observe them. Cold and heat, hunger and thirst, +such things did not exist for the gentleman. The armor of his soul was so +complete that it was proof not only against the great ills of life but even +against the small ones; so the flea-bitten Nigel lay grimly still while Aylward +writhed upon his couch. +</p> + +<p> +They were now but a short distance from their destination; but they had hardly +started on their journey through the forest next morning, when an adventure +befell them which filled Nigel with the wildest hopes. +</p> + +<p> +Along the narrow winding path between the great oak trees there rode a dark +sallow man in a scarlet tabard who blew so loudly upon a silver trumpet that +they heard the clanging call long before they set eyes on him. Slowly he +advanced, pulling up every fifty paces to make the forest ring with another +warlike blast. The comrades rode forward to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you,” said Nigel, “to tell me who you are and why you blow upon this +trumpet.” +</p> + +<p> +The fellow shook his head, so Nigel repeated the question in French, the common +language of chivalry, spoken at that age by every gentleman in Western Europe. +</p> + +<p> +The man put his lips to the trumpet and blew another long note before he +answered. “I am Gaston de Castrier,” said he, “the humble Squire of the most +worthy and valiant knight Raoul de Tubiers, de Pestels, de Grimsard, de Mersac, +de Leoy, de Bastanac, who also writes himself Lord of Pons. It is his order +that I ride always a mile in front of him to prepare all to receive him, and he +desires me to blow upon a trumpet not out of vainglory, but out of greatness of +spirit, so that none may be ignorant of his coming should they desire to +encounter him.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel sprang from his horse with a cry of joy, and began to unbutton his +doublet. “Quick, Aylward, quick!” he said. “He comes, a knight errant comes! +Was there ever such a chance of worshipfully winning worship? Untruss the +harness whilst I loose my clothes! Good sir, I beg you to warn your noble and +valiant master that a poor Squire of England would implore him to take notice +of him and to do some small deed upon him as he passes.” +</p> + +<p> +But already the Lord of Pons had come in sight. He was a huge man upon an +enormous horse, so that together they seemed to fill up the whole long dark +archway under the oaks. He was clad in full armor of a brazen hue with only his +face exposed, and of this face there was little visible save a pair of arrogant +eyes and a great black beard, which flowed through the open visor and down over +his breastplate. To the crest of his helmet was tied a small brown glove, +nodding and swinging above him. He bore a long lance with a red square banner +at the end, charged with a black boar’s head, and the same symbol was engraved +upon his shield. Slowly he rode through the forest, ponderous, menacing, with +dull thudding of his charger’s hoofs and constant clank of metal, while always +in front of him came the distant peal of the silver trumpet calling all men to +admit his majesty and to clear his path ere they be cleared from it. +</p> + +<p> +Never in his dreams had so perfect a vision come to cheer Nigel’s heart, and as +he struggled with his clothes, glancing up continually at this wondrous +traveler, he pattered forth prayers of thanksgiving to the good Saint Paul who +had shown such loving-kindness to his unworthy servant and thrown him in the +path of so excellent and debonair a gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +But alas! how often at the last instant the cup is dashed from the lips! This +joyful chance was destined to change suddenly to unexpected and grotesque +disaster—disaster so strange and so complete that through all his life Nigel +flushed crimson when he thought of it. He was busily stripping his +hunting-costume, and with feverish haste he had doffed boots, hat, hose, +doublet and cloak, so that nothing remained save a pink jupon and pair of +silken drawers. At the same time Aylward was hastily unbuckling the load with +the intention of handing his master his armor piece by piece, when the Squire +gave one last challenging peal from his silver trumpet into the very ear of the +spare horse. +</p> + +<p> +In an instant it had taken to its heels, the precious armor upon its back, and +thundered away down the road which they had traversed. Aylward jumped upon his +mare, drove his prick spurs into her sides and galloped after the runaway as +hard as he could ride. Thus it came about that in an instant Nigel was shorn of +all his little dignity, had lost his two horses, his attendant and his outfit, +and found himself a lonely and unarmed man standing in his shirt and drawers +upon the pathway down which the burly figure of the Lord of Pons was slowly +advancing. +</p> + +<p> +The knight errant, whose mind had been filled by the thought of the maiden whom +he had left behind at St. Jean—the same whose glove dangled from his helmet—had +observed nothing that had occurred. Hence, all that met his eyes was a noble +yellow horse, which was tethered by the track, and a small young man, who +appeared to be a lunatic since he had undressed hastily in the heart of the +forest, and stood now with an eager anxious face clad in his underlinen amid +the scattered débris of his garments. Of such a person the high Lord of Pons +could take no notice, and so he pursued his inexorable way, his arrogant eyes +looking out into the distance and his thoughts set intently upon the maiden of +St. Jean. He was dimly aware that the little crazy man in the undershirt ran a +long way beside him in his stockings, begging, imploring and arguing. +</p> + +<p> +“Just one hour, most fair sir, just one hour at the longest, and a poor Squire +of England shall ever hold himself your debtor! Do but condescend to rein your +horse until my harness comes back to me! Will you not stoop to show me some +small deed of arms? I implore you, fair sir, to spare me a little of your time +and a handstroke or two ere you go upon your way!” +</p> + +<p> +Lord de Pons motioned impatiently with his gauntleted hand, as one might brush +away an importunate fly, but when at last Nigel became desperate in his clamor +he thrust his spurs into his great war-horse, and clashing like a pair of +cymbals he thundered off through the forest. So he rode upon his majestic way, +until two days later he was slain by Lord Reginald Cobham in a field near +Weybridge. +</p> + +<p> +When after a long chase Aylward secured the spare horse and brought it back, he +found his master seated upon a fallen tree, his face buried in his hands and +his mind clouded with humiliation and grief. Nothing was said, for the matter +was beyond words, and so in moody silence they rode upon their way. +</p> + +<p> +But soon they came upon a scene which drew Nigel’s thoughts away from his +bitter trouble, for in front of them there rose the towers of a great building +with a small gray sloping village around it, and they learned from a passing +hind that this was the hamlet and Abbey of Battle. Together they drew rein upon +the low ridge and looked down into that valley of death from which even now the +reek of blood seems to rise. Down beside that sinister lake and amid those +scattered bushes sprinkled over the naked flank of the long ridge was fought +that long-drawn struggle betwixt two most noble foes with broad England as the +prize of victory. Here, up and down the low hill, hour by hour the grim +struggle had waxed and waned, until the Saxon army had died where it stood, +King, court, house-carl and fyrdsman, each in their ranks even as they had +fought. And now, after all the stress and toil, the tyranny, the savage revolt, +the fierce suppression, God had made His purpose complete, for here were Nigel +the Norman and Aylward the Saxon with good-fellowship in their hearts and a +common respect in their minds, with the same banner and the same cause, riding +forth to do battle for their old mother England. +</p> + +<p> +And now the long ride drew to an end. In front of them was the blue sea, +flecked with the white sails of ships. Once more the road passed upward from +the heavy-wooded plain to the springy turf of the chalk downs. Far to the right +rose the grim fortalice of Pevensey, squat and powerful, like one great block +of rugged stone, the parapet twinkling with steel caps and crowned by the royal +banner of England. A flat expanse of reeded marshland lay before them, out of +which rose a single wooded hill, crowned with towers, with a bristle of masts +rising out of the green plain some distance to the south of it. Nigel looked at +it with his hand shading his eyes, and then urged Pommers to a trot. The town +was Winchelsea, and there amid that cluster of houses on the hill the gallant +Chandos must be awaiting him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>XIV.<br/> +HOW NIGEL CHASED THE RED FERRET</h2> + +<p> +They passed a ferry, wound upward by a curving path, and then, having satisfied +a guard of men-at-arms, were admitted through the frowning arch of the Pipewell +Gate. There waiting for them, in the middle of the east street, the sun +gleaming upon his lemon-colored beard, and puckering his single eye, stood +Chandos himself, his legs apart, his hands behind his back, and a welcoming +smile upon his quaint high-nosed face. Behind him a crowd of little boys were +gazing with reverent eyes at the famous soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, Nigel!” said he, “and you also, good archer! I chanced to be walking +on the city wall, and I thought from the color of your horse that it was indeed +you upon the Udimore Road. How have you fared, young squire errant? Have you +held bridges or rescued damsels or slain oppressors on your way from Tilford?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my fair lord, I have accomplished nothing; but I once had hopes—” Nigel +flushed at the remembrance. +</p> + +<p> +“I will give you more than hopes, Nigel. I will put you where you can dip both +arms to the elbow into danger and honor, where peril will sleep with you at +night and rise with you in the morning and the very air you breathe be laden +with it. Are you ready for that, young sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can but pray, fair lord, that my spirit will rise to it.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos smiled his approval and laid his thin brown hand on the youth’s +shoulder. “Good!” said he. “It is the mute hound which bites the hardest. The +babbler is ever the hang-back. Bide with me here, Nigel, and walk upon the +ramparts. Archer, do you lead the horses to the ‘Sign of the Broom Pod’ in the +high street, and tell my varlets to see them aboard the cog Thomas before +nightfall. We sail at the second hour after curfew. Come hither, Nigel, to the +crest of the corner turret, for from it I will show you what you have never +seen.” +</p> + +<p> +It was but a dim and distant white cloud upon the blue water seen far off over +the Dungeness Point, and yet the sight of it flushed the young Squire’s cheeks +and sent the blood hot through his veins. It was the fringe of France, that +land of chivalry and glory, the stage where name and fame were to be won. With +burning eyes he gazed across at it, his heart rejoicing to think that the hour +was at hand when he might tread that sacred soil. Then his gaze crossed the +immense stretch of the blue sea, dotted over with the sails of fishing-boats, +until it rested upon the double harbor beneath packed with vessels of every +size and shape, from the pessoners and creyers which plied up and down the +coast to the great cogs and galleys which were used either as war-ships or +merchantmen as the occasion served. One of them was at that instant passing out +to sea, a huge galleass, with trumpets blowing and nakers banging, the flag of +Saint George flaunting over the broad purple sail, and the decks sparkling from +end to end with steel. Nigel gave a cry of pleasure at the splendor of the +sight. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, lad,” said Chandos, “it is the Trinity of Rye, the very ship on which I +fought at Sluys. Her deck ran blood from stem to stern that day. But turn your +eyes this way, I beg you, and tell me if you see aught strange about this +town.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked down at the noble straight street, at the Roundel Tower, at the +fine church of Saint Thomas, and the other fair buildings of Winchelsea. “It is +all new,” said he—“church, castle, houses, all are new.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, fair son. My grandfather can call to mind the time when only +the conies lived upon this rock. The town was down yonder by the sea, until one +night the waves rose upon it and not a house was left. See, yonder is Rye, +huddling also on a hill, the two towns like poor sheep when the waters are out. +But down there under the blue water and below the Camber Sand lies the true +Winchelsea—tower, cathedral, walls and all, even as my grandfather knew it, +when the first Edward was young upon the throne.” +</p> + +<p> +For an hour or more Chandos paced upon the ramparts with his young Squire at +his elbow and talked to him of his duties and of the secrets and craft of +warfare, Nigel drinking in and storing in his memory every word from so revered +a teacher. Many a time in after life, in stress and in danger, he strengthened +himself by the memory of that slow walk with the blue sea on one side and the +fair town on the other, when the wise soldier and noble-hearted knight poured +forth his precept and advice as the master workman to the apprentice. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, fair son,” said he, “you are like so many other lads who ride to the +wars, and know so much already that it is waste of breath to advise them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my fair lord, I know nothing save that I would fain do my duty and either +win honorable advancement or die worshipful on the field.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are wise to be humble,” said Chandos; “for indeed he who knows most of war +knows best that there is much to learn. As there is a mystery of the rivers and +a mystery of woodcraft, even so there is a mystery of warfare by which battles +may be lost and gained; for all nations are brave, and where the brave meets +the brave it is he who is crafty and war-wise who will win the day. The best +hound will run at fault if he be ill laid on, and the best hawk will fly at +check if he be badly loosed, and even so the bravest army may go awry if it be +ill handled. There are not in Christendom better knights and squires than those +of the French, and yet we have had the better of them, for in our Scottish Wars +and elsewhere we have learned more of this same mystery of which I speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wherein lies our wisdom, honored sir?” asked Nigel. “I also would fain be +war-wise and learn to fight with my wits as well as with my sword.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos shook his head and smiled. “It is in the forest and on the down that +you learn to fly the hawk and loose the hound,” said he. “So also it is in camp +and on the field that the mystery of war can be learned. There only has every +great captain come to be its master. To start he must have a cool head, quick +to think, soft as wax before his purpose is formed, hard as steel when once he +sees it before him. Ever alert he must be, and cautious also, but with judgment +to turn his caution into rashness where a large gain may be put against a small +stake. An eye for country also, for the trend of the rivers, the slope of the +hills, the cover of the woods, and the light green of the bog-land.” +</p> + +<p> +Poor Nigel, who had trusted to his lance and to Pommers to break his path to +glory, stood aghast at this list of needs. “Alas!” he cried. “How am I to gain +all this?—I, who could scarce learn to read or write though the good Father +Matthew broke a hazel stick a day across my shoulders?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will gain it, fair son, where others have gained it before you. You have +that which is the first thing of all, a heart of fire from which other colder +hearts may catch a spark. But you must have knowledge also of that which +warfare has taught us in olden times. We know, par exemple, that horsemen alone +cannot hope to win against good foot-soldiers. Has it not been tried at +Courtrai, at Stirling, and again under my own eyes at Crécy, where the chivalry +of France went down before our bowmen?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel stared at him, with a perplexed brow. “Fair sir, my heart grows heavy as +I hear you. Do you then say that our chivalry can make no head against archers, +billmen and the like?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Nigel, for it has also been very clearly shown that the best +foot-soldiers unsupported cannot hold their own against the mailed horsemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom then is the victory?” asked Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“To him who can mix his horse and foot, using each to strengthen the other. +Apart they are weak. Together they are strong. The archer who can weaken the +enemy’s line, the horseman who can break it when it is weakened, as was done at +Falkirk and Duplin, there is the secret of our strength. Now touching this same +battle of Falkirk, I pray you for one instant to give it your attention.” +</p> + +<p> +With his whip he began to trace a plan of the Scottish battle upon the dust, +and Nigel with knitted brows was trying hard to muster his small stock of +brains and to profit by the lecture, when their conversation was interrupted by +a strange new arrival. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very stout little man, wheezy and purple with haste, who scudded down +the rampart as if he were blown by the wind, his grizzled hair flying and his +long black gown floating behind him. He was clad in the dress of a respectable +citizen, a black jerkin trimmed with sable, a black-velvet beaver hat and a +white feather. At the sight of Chandos he gave a cry of joy and quickened his +pace so that when he did at last reach him he could only stand gasping and +waving his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Give yourself time, good Master Wintersole, give yourself time!” said Chandos +in a soothing voice. +</p> + +<p> +“The papers!” gasped the little man. “Oh, my Lord Chandos, the papers—” +</p> + +<p> +“What of the papers, my worthy sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear by our good patron Saint Leonard, it is no fault of mine! I had locked +them in my coffer. But the lock was forced and the coffer rifled.” +</p> + +<p> +A shadow of anger passed over the soldier’s keen face. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, Master Mayor? Pull your wits together and do not stand there babbling +like a three-year child. Do you say that some one hath taken the papers?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is sooth, fair sir! Thrice I have been Mayor of the town, and fifteen years +burgess and jurat, but never once has any public matter gone awry through me. +Only last month there came an order from Windsor on a Tuesday for a Friday +banquet, a thousand soles, four thousand plaice, two thousand mackerel, five +hundred crabs, a thousand lobsters, five thousand whiting—” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt not, Master Mayor, that you are an excellent fishmonger; but the +matter concerns the papers I gave into your keeping. Where are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Taken, fair sir—gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“And who hath dared to take them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! I know not. It was but for as long as you would say an angelus that I +left the chamber, and when I came back there was the coffer, broken and empty, +upon my table.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suspect no one?” +</p> + +<p> +“There was a varlet who hath come with the last few days into my employ. He is +not to be found, and I have sent horsemen along both the Udimore road and that +to Rye, that they may seize him. By the help of Saint Leonard they can scarce +miss him, for one can tell him a bow-shot off by his hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it red?” asked Chandos eagerly. “Is it fox-red, and the man a small man +pocked with sun-spots, and very quick in his movements?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the man himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos shook his clenched hand with annoyance, and then set off swiftly down +the street. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Peter the Red Ferret once more!” said he. “I knew him of old in France, +where he has done us more harm than a company of men-at-arms. He speaks English +as he speaks French, and he is of such daring and cunning that nothing is +secret from him. In all France there is no more dangerous man, for though he is +a gentleman of blood and coat-armor he takes the part of a spy, because it hath +the more danger and therefore the more honor.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my fair lord,” cried the Mayor, as he hurried along, keeping pace with +the long strides of the soldier, “I knew that you warned me to take all care of +the papers; but surely there was no matter of great import in it? It was but to +say what stores were to be sent after you to Calais?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that not everything?” cried Chandos impatiently. “Can you not see, oh +foolish Master Wintersole, that the French suspect we are about to make some +attempt and that they have sent Peter the Red Ferret, as they have sent him +many times before, to get tidings of whither we are bound? Now that he knows +that the stores are for Calais, then the French near Calais will take his +warning, and so the King’s whole plan come to nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he will fly by water. We can stop him yet. He has not an hour’s start.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be that a boat awaits him at Rye or Hythe; but it is more like that he +has all ready to depart from here. Ah, see yonder! I’ll warrant that the Red +Ferret is on board!” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos had halted in front of his inn, and now he pointed down to the outer +harbor, which lay two miles off across the green plain. It was connected by a +long winding canal with the inner dock at the base of the hill, upon which the +town was built. Between the two horns formed by the short curving piers a small +schooner was running out to sea, dipping and rising before a sharp southerly +breeze. +</p> + +<p> +“It is no Winchelsea boat,” said the Mayor. “She is longer and broader in the +beam than ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Horses! bring horses!” cried Chandos. “Come, Nigel, let us go further into the +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +A busy crowd of varlets, archers, and men-at-arms swarmed round the gateway of +the “Sign of the Broom Pod,” singing, shouting, and jostling in rough +good-fellowship. The sight of the tall thin figure of Chandos brought order +amongst them, and a few minutes later the horses were ready and saddled. A +breakneck ride down a steep declivity, and then a gallop of two miles over the +sedgy plain carried them to the outer harbor. A dozen vessels were lying there, +ready to start for Bordeaux or Rochelle, and the quay was thick with sailors, +laborers and townsmen and heaped with wine-barrels and wool-packs. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is warden here?” asked Chandos, springing from his horse. +</p> + +<p> +“Badding! Where is Cock Badding? Badding is warden!” shouted the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later a short swarthy man, bull-necked and deep-chested, pushed +through the people. He was clad in rough russet wool with a scarlet cloth tied +round his black curly head. His sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, and +his brown arms, all stained with grease and tar, were like two thick gnarled +branches from an oaken stump. His savage brown face was fierce and frowning, +and was split from chin to temple with the long white wale of an ill-healed +wound. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, gentles, will you never wait your turn?” he rumbled in a deep angry +voice. “Can you not see that we are warping the Rose of Guienne into midstream +for the ebb-tide? Is this a time to break in upon us? Your goods will go aboard +in due season, I promise you; so ride back into the town and find such pleasure +as you may, while I and my mates do our work without let or hindrance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the gentle Chandos!” cried some one in the crowd. “It is the good Sir +John.” +</p> + +<p> +The rough harbor-master changed his gruffness to smiles in an instant. “Nay, +Sir John, what would you? I pray you to hold me excused if I was short of +speech, but we port-wardens are sore plagued with foolish young lordlings, who +get betwixt us and our work and blame us because we do not turn an ebb-tide +into a flood, or a south wind into a north. I pray you to tell me how I can +serve you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That boat!” said Chandos, pointing to the already distant sail rising and +falling on the waves. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Cock Badding shaded his keen eyes with his strong brows hand. “She has but just +gone out,” said he. “She is La Pucelle, a small wine-sloop from Gascony, +home-bound and laden with barrel-staves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you did any man join her at the very last?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I know not. I saw no one.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I know,” cried a seaman in the crowd. “I was standing at the wharf-side +and was nigh knocked into the water by a little red-headed fellow, who breathed +as though he had run from the town. Ere I had time to give him a cuff he had +jumped aboard, the ropes were cast off, and her nose was seaward.” +</p> + +<p> +In a few words Chandos made all clear to Badding, the crowd pressing eagerly +round. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye!” cried a seaman, “the good Sir John is right. See how she points. It +is Picardy and not Gascony that she will fetch this journey in spite of her +wine-staves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we must lay her aboard!” cried Cock Badding. “Come, lads, here is my own +Marie Rose ready to cast off. Who’s for a trip with a fight at the end of it?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a rush for the boat; but the stout little seaman picked his men. “Go +back, Jerry! Your heart is good, but you are overfat for the work. You, Luke, +and you, Thomas, and the two Deedes, and William of Sandgate. You will work the +boat. And now we need a few men of their hands. Do you come, little sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, my dear lord, to let me go!” cried Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Nigel, you can go, and I will bring your gear over to Calais this night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will join you there, fair sir, and with the help of Saint Paul I will bring +this Red Ferret with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aboard, aboard! Time passes!” cried Badding impatiently, while already his +seamen were hauling on the line and raising the mainsail. “Now then, sirrah! +who are you?” It was Aylward, who had followed Nigel and was pushing his way +aboard. +</p> + +<p> +“Where my master goes I go also,” cried Aylward, “so stand clear, +master-shipman, or you may come by a hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Leonard! archer,” said Cock Badding, “had I more time I would give +you a lesson ere I leave land. Stand back and give place to others!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, stand back and give place to me!” cried Aylward, and seizing Badding +round the waist he slung him into the dock. +</p> + +<p> +There was a cry of anger from the crowd, for Badding was the hero of all the +Cinque Ports and had never yet met his match in manhood. The epitaph still +lingers in which it was said that he “could never rest until he had foughten +his fill.” When, therefore, swimming like a duck, he reached a rope and pulled +himself hand over hand up to the quay, all stood aghast to see what fell fate +would befall this bold stranger. But Badding laughed loudly, dashing the +saltwater from his eyes and hair. +</p> + +<p> +“You have fairly won your place, archer,” said he. “You are the very man for +our work. Where is Black Simon of Norwich?” +</p> + +<p> +A tall dark young man with a long, stern, lean face came forward. “I am with +you, Cock,” said he, “and I thank you for my place.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can come, Hugh Baddlesmere, and you, Hal Masters, and you, Dicon of Rye. +That is enough. Now off, in God’s name, or it will be night ere we can come up +with them!” +</p> + +<p> +Already the head-sails and the main-sail had been raised, while a hundred +willing hands poled her off from the wharf. Now the wind caught her; heeling +over, and quivering with eagerness like an unleashed hound she flew through the +opening and out into the Channel. She was a famous little schooner, the Marie +Rose of Winchelsea, and under her daring owner Cock Badding, half trader and +half pirate, had brought back into port many a rich cargo taken in mid-Channel, +and paid for in blood rather than money. Small as she was, her great speed and +the fierce character of her master had made her a name of terror along the +French coast, and many a bulky Eastlander or Fleming as he passed the narrow +seas had scanned the distant Kentish shore, fearing lest that ill-omened purple +sail with a gold Christopher upon it should shoot out suddenly from the dim +gray cliffs. Now she was clear of the land, with the wind on her larboard +quarter, every inch of canvas set, and her high sharp bows smothered in foam, +as she dug through the waves. +</p> + +<p> +Cock Badding trod the deck with head erect and jaunty bearing, glancing up at +the swelling sails and then ahead at the little tilted white triangle, which +stood out clear and hard against the bright blue sky. Behind was the lowland of +the Camber marshes, with the bluffs of Rye and Winchelsea, and the line of +cliffs behind them. On the larboard bow rose the great white walls of +Folkestone and of Dover, and far on the distant sky-line the gray shimmer of +those French cliffs for which the fugitives were making. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul!” cried Nigel, looking with eager eyes over the tossing waters, +“it seems to me, Master Badding, that already we draw in upon them.” +</p> + +<p> +The master measured the distance with his keen steady gaze, and then looked up +at the sinking sun. “We have still four hours of daylight,” said he; “but if we +do not lay her aboard ere darkness falls she will save herself, for the nights +are as black as a wolf’s mouth, and if she alter her course I know not how we +may follow her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless, indeed, you might guess to which port she was bound and reach it +before her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well thought of, little master!” cried Badding. “If the news be for the French +outside Calais, then Ambleteuse would be nearest to Saint Omer. But my sweeting +sails three paces to that lubber’s two, and if the wind holds we shall have +time and to spare. How now, archer? You do not seem so eager as when you made +your way aboard this boat by slinging me into the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward sat on the upturned keel of a skiff which lay upon the deck. He groaned +sadly and held his green face between his two hands. “I would gladly sling you +into the sea once more, master-shipman,” said he, “if by so doing I could get +off this most accursed vessel of thine. Or if you would wish to have your turn, +then I would thank you if you would lend me a hand over the side, for indeed I +am but a useless weight upon your deck. Little did I think that Samkin Aylward +could be turned into a weakling by an hour of salt water. Alas the day that +ever my foot wandered from the good red heather of Crooksbury!” +</p> + +<p> +Cock Badding laughed loud and long. “Nay, take it not to heart, archer,” he +cried; “for better men than you or I have groaned upon this deck. The Prince +himself with ten of his chosen knights crossed with me once, and eleven sadder +faces I never saw. Yet within a month they had shown at Crécy that they were no +weaklings, as you will do also, I dare swear, when the time comes. Keep that +thick head of thine down upon the planks, and all will be well anon. But we +raise her, we raise her with every blast of the wind!” +</p> + +<p> +It was indeed evident, even to the inexperienced eyes of Nigel, that the Marie +Rose was closing in swiftly upon the stranger. She was a heavy, bluff-bowed, +broad-sterned vessel which labored clumsily through the seas. The swift, fierce +little Winchelsea boat swooping and hissing through the waters behind her was +like some keen hawk whizzing down wind at the back of a flapping heavy-bodied +duck. Half an hour before La Pucelle had been a distant patch of canvas. Now +they could see the black hull, and soon the cut of her sails and the lines of +her bulwarks. There were at least a dozen men upon her deck, and the twinkle of +weapons from amongst them showed that they were preparing to resist. Cock +Badding began to muster his own forces. +</p> + +<p> +He had a crew of seven rough, hardy mariners, who had been at his back in many +a skirmish. They were armed with short swords, but Cock Badding carried a +weapon peculiar to himself, a twenty-pound blacksmith’s hammer, the memory of +which, as “Badding’s cracker,” still lingers in the Cinque Ports. Then there +were the eager Nigel, the melancholy Aylward, Black Simon who was a tried +swordsman, and three archers, Baddlesmere, Masters and Dicon of Rye, all +veterans of the French War. The numbers in the two vessels might be about +equal; but Badding as he glanced at the bold harsh faces which looked to him +for orders had little fear for the result. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing round, however, he saw something which was more dangerous to his plans +than the resistance of the enemy. The wind, which had become more fitful and +feebler, now fell suddenly away, until the sails hung limp and straight above +them. A belt of calm lay along the horizon, and the waves around had smoothed +down into a long oily swell on which the two little vessels rose and fell. The +great boom of the Marie Rose rattled and jarred with every lurch, and the high +thin prow pointed skyward one instant and seaward the next in a way that drew +fresh groans from the unhappy Aylward. In vain Cock Badding pulled on his +sheets and tried hard to husband every little wandering gust which ruffled for +an instant the sleek rollers. The French master was as adroit a sailor, and his +boom swung round also as each breath of wind came up from astern. +</p> + +<p> +At last even these fitful puffs died finally away, and a cloudless sky overhung +a glassy sea. The sun was almost upon the horizon behind Dungeness Point, and +the whole western heaven was bright with the glory of the sunset, which blended +sea and sky in one blaze of ruddy light. Like rollers of molten gold, the long +swell heaved up Channel from the great ocean beyond. In the midst of the +immense beauty and peace of nature the two little dark specks with the white +sail and the purple rose and fell, so small upon the vast shining bosom of the +waters, and yet so charged with all the unrest and the passion of life. +</p> + +<p> +The experienced eye of the seaman told him that it was hopeless to expect a +breeze before nightfall. He looked across at the Frenchman, which lay less than +a quarter of a mile ahead, and shook his gnarled fist at the line of heads +which could be seen looking back over her stern. One of them waved a white +kerchief in derision, and Cock Badding swore a bitter oath at the sight. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Leonard of Winchelsea,” he cried, “I will rub my side up against her +yet! Out with the skiff, lads, and two of you to the oars. Make fast the line +to the mast, Will. Do you go in the boat, Hugh, and I’ll make the second. Now +if we bend our backs to it we may have them yet ere night cover them.” +</p> + +<p> +The little skiff was swiftly lowered over the side and the slack end of the +cable fastened to the after thwart. Cock Badding and his comrades pulled as if +they would snap their oars, and the little vessel began slowly to lurch forward +over the rollers. But the next moment a larger skiff had splashed over the side +of the Frenchman, and no less than four seamen were hard at work under her +bows. If the Marie Rose advanced a yard the Frenchman was going two. Again Cock +Badding raved and shook his fist. He clambered aboard, his face wet with sweat +and dark with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“Curse them! they have had the best of us!” he cried. “I can do no more. Sir +John has lost his papers, for indeed now that night is at hand I can see no way +in which we can gain them.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had leaned against the bulwark during these events, watching with keen +attention the doings of the sailors, and praying alternately to Saint Paul, +Saint George, and Saint Thomas for a slant of wind which would put them along +side their enemy. He was silent; but his hot heart was simmering within him. +His spirit had risen even above the discomfort of the sea, and his mind was too +absorbed in his mission to have a thought for that which had laid Aylward flat +upon the deck. He had never doubted that Cock Badding in one way or another +would accomplish his end, but when he heard his speech of despair he bounded +off the bulwark and stood before the seaman with his face flushed and all his +soul afire. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul! master-shipman,” he cried, “we should never hold up our heads +in honor if we did not go further into the matter! Let us do some small deed +this night upon the water, or let us never see land again, for indeed we could +not wish fairer prospect of winning honorable advancement.” +</p> + +<p> +“With your leave, little master, you speak like a fool,” said the gruff seaman. +“You and all your kind are as children when once the blue water is beneath you. +Can you not see that there is no wind, and that the Frenchman can warp her as +swiftly as we? What then would you do?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel pointed to the boat which towed astern. “Let us venture forth in her,” +said he, “and let us take this ship or die worshipful in the attempt.” +</p> + +<p> +His bold and fiery words found their echo in the brave rough hearts around him. +There was a deep-chested shout from both archers and seamen. Even Aylward sat +up, with a wan smile upon his green face. +</p> + +<p> +But Cock Badding shook his head. “I have never met the man who could lead where +I would not follow,” said he; “but by Saint Leonard! this is a mad business, +and I should be a fool if I were to risk my men and my ship. Bethink you, +little master, that the skiff can hold only five, though you load her to the +water’s edge. If there is a man yonder, there are fourteen, and you have to +climb their side from the boat. What chance would you have? Your boat stove and +you in the water—there is the end of it. No man of mine goes on such a fool’s +errand, and so I swear!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Master Badding, I must crave the loan of your skiff, for by Saint Paul! +the good Lord Chandos’ papers are not to be so lightly lost. If no one else +will come, then I will go alone.” +</p> + +<p> +The shipman smiled at the words; but the smile died away from his lips when +Nigel, with features set like ivory and eyes as hard as steel, pulled on the +rope so as to bring the skiff under the counter. It was very clear that he +would do even as he said. At the same time Aylward raised his bulky form from +the deck, leaned for a moment against the bulwarks, and then tottered aft to +his master’s side. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is one that will go with you,” said he, “or he would never dare show his +face to the girls of Tilford again. Come, archers, let us leave these salt +herrings in their pickle tub and try our luck out on the water.” +</p> + +<p> +The three archers at once ranged themselves on the same side as their comrade. +They were bronzed, bearded men, short in stature, as were most Englishmen of +that day, but hardy, strong and skilled with their weapons. Each drew his +string from its waterproof case and bent the huge arc of his war-bow as he +fitted it into the nocks. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, master, we are at your back,” said they as they pulled and tightened +their sword-belts. +</p> + +<p> +But already Cock Badding had been carried away by the hot lust of battle and +had thrown aside every fear and doubt which had clouded him. To see a fight and +not to be in it was more than he could bear. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, have it your own way!” he cried, “and may Saint Leonard help us, for a +madder venture I have never seen! And yet it may be worth the trial. But if it +be done let me have the handling of it, little master, for you know no more of +a boat than I do of a war-horse. The skiff can bear five and not a man more. +Now, who will come?” +</p> + +<p> +They had all caught fire, and there was not one who would be left out. +</p> + +<p> +Badding picked up his hammer. “I will come myself,” said he, “and you also, +little master, since it is your hot head that has planned it. Then there is +Black Simon, the best sword of the Cinque Ports. Two archers can pull on the +oars, and it may be that they can pick off two or three of these Frenchmen +before we close with them. Hugh Baddlesmere, and you, Dicon of Rye—into the +boat with you!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” cried Aylward. “Am I to be left behind? I, who am the Squire’s own man? +Ill fare the bowman who comes betwixt me and yonder boat!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Aylward,” said his master, “I order that you stay, for indeed you are a +sick man.” +</p> + +<p> +“But now that the waves have sunk I am myself again. Nay, fair sir, I pray that +you will not leave me behind.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must needs take the space of a better man; for what do you know of the +handling of a boat?” said Badding shortly. “No more fool’s talk, I pray you, +for the night will soon fall. Stand aside!” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward looked hard at the French boat. “I could swim ten times up and down +Frensham pond,” said he, “and it will be strange if I cannot go as far as that. +By these finger-bones, Samkin Aylward may be there as soon as you!” +</p> + +<p> +The little boat with its five occupants pushed off from the side of the +schooner, and dipping and rising, made its slow way toward the Frenchman. +Badding and one archer had single oars, the second archer was in the prow, +while Black Simon and Nigel huddled into the stern with the water lapping and +hissing at their very elbows. A shout of defiance rose from the Frenchmen, and +they stood in a line along the side of their vessel shaking their fists and +waving their weapons. Already the sun was level with Dungeness, and the gray of +evening was blurring sky and water into one dim haze. A great silence hung over +the broad expanse of nature, and no sound broke it save the dip and splash of +the oars and the slow deep surge of the boat upon the swell. Behind them their +comrades of the Marie Rose stood motionless and silent, watching their progress +with eager eyes. +</p> + +<p> +They were near enough now to have a good look at the Frenchmen. One was a big +swarthy man with a long black beard. He had a red cap and an ax over his +shoulder. There were ten other hardy-looking fellows, all of them well armed, +and there were three who seemed to be boys. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we try a shaft upon them?” asked Hugh Baddlesmere. “They are well within +our bowshot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only one of you can shoot at a time, for you have no footing,” said Badding. +“With one foot in the prow and one over the thwart you will get your stance. Do +what you may, and then we will close in upon them.” +</p> + +<p> +The archer balanced himself in the rolling boat with the deftness of a man who +has been trained upon the sea, for he was born and bred in the Cinque Ports. +Carefully he nocked his arrow, strongly he drew it, steadily he loosed it, but +the boat swooped at the instant, and it buried itself in the waves. The second +passed over the little ship, and the third struck in her black side. Then in +quick succession so quick that two shafts were often in the air at the same +instant—he discharged a dozen arrows, most of which just cleared the bulwarks +and dropped upon the deck. There was a cry on the Frenchman, and the heads +vanished from the side. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough!” cried Badding. “One is down, and it may be two. Close in, close in, +in God’s name, before they rally!” +</p> + +<p> +He and the other bent to their oars; but at the same instant there was a sharp +zip in the air and a hard clear sound like a stone striking a wall. Baddlesmere +clapped his hand to his head, groaned and fell forward out of the boat, leaving +a swirl of blood upon the surface. A moment later the same fierce hiss ended in +a loud wooden crash, and a short, thick crossbow-bolt was buried deep in the +side of their boat. +</p> + +<p> +“Close in, close in!” roared Badding, tugging at his oar. “Saint George for +England! Saint Leonard for Winchelsea! Close in!” +</p> + +<p> +But again that fatal crossbow twanged. Dicon of Rye fell back with a shaft +through his shoulder. “God help me, I can no more!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +Badding seized the oar from his hand; but it was only to sweep the boat’s head +round and pull her back to the Marie Rose. The attack had failed. +</p> + +<p> +“What now, master-shipman?” cried Nigel. “What has befallen to stop us? Surely +the matter does not end here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two down out of five,” said Badding, “and twelve at the least against us. The +odds are too long, little master. Let us at least go back, fill up once more, +and raise a mantelet against the bolts, for they have an arbalist which shoots +both straight and hard. But what we do we must do quickly, for the darkness +falls apace.” +</p> + +<p> +Their repulse had been hailed by wild yells of delight from the Frenchmen, who +danced with joy and waved their weapons madly over their heads. But before +their rejoicings had finished they saw the little boat creeping out once more +from the shadow of the Marie Rose, a great wooden screen in her bows to protect +her from the arrows. Without a pause she came straight and fast for her enemy. +The wounded archer had been put on board, and Aylward would have had his place +had Nigel been able to see him upon the deck. The third archer, Hal Masters, +had sprung in, and one of the seamen, Wat Finnis of Hythe. With their hearts +hardened to conquer or to die, the five ran alongside the Frenchman and sprang +upon her deck. At the same instant a great iron weight crashed through the +bottom of their skiff, and their feet had hardly left her before she was gone. +There was no hope and no escape save victory. +</p> + +<p> +The crossbowman stood under the mast, his terrible weapon at his shoulder, the +steel string stretched taut, the heavy bolt shining upon the nut. One life at +least he would claim out of this little band. Just for one instant too long did +he dwell upon his aim, shifting from the seaman to Cock Badding, whose +formidable appearance showed him to be the better prize. In that second of time +Hal Masters’ string twanged and his long arrow sped through the arbalister’s +throat. He dropped on the deck, with blood and curses pouring from his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later Nigel’s sword and Badding’s hammer had each claimed a victim and +driven back the rush of assailants. The five were safe upon the deck, but it +was hard for them to keep a footing there. The French seamen, Bretons and +Normans, were stout, powerful fellows, armed with axes and swords, fierce +fighters and brave men. They swarmed round the little band, attacking them from +all sides. Black Simon felled the black-bearded French Captain, and at the same +instant was cut over the head and lay with his scalp open upon the deck. The +seaman Wat of Hythe was killed by a crashing blow from an ax. Nigel was struck +down, but was up again like a flash, and drove his sword through the man who +had felled him. +</p> + +<p> +But Badding, Masters the archer and he had been hustled back to the bulwark and +were barely holding their own from minute to minute against the fierce crowd +who assailed them, when an arrow coming apparently from the sea struck the +foremost Frenchman to the heart. A moment later a boat dashed up alongside and +four more men from the Marie Rose scrambled on to the blood-stained deck. With +one fierce rush the remaining Frenchmen were struck down or were seized by +their assailants. Nine prostrate men upon the deck showed how fierce had been +the attack, how desperate the resistance. +</p> + +<p> +Badding leaned panting upon his blood-clotted hammer. “By Saint Leonard!” he +cried, “I thought that this little master had been the death of us all. God wot +you were but just in time, and how you came I know not. This archer has had a +hand in it, by the look of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward, still pale from his seasickness and dripping from head to foot with +water, had been the first man in the rescue party. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked at him in amazement. “I sought you aboard the ship, Aylward, but I +could not lay eyes on you,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“It was because I was in the water, fair sir, and by my hilt! it suits my +stomach better than being on it,” he answered. “When you first set forth I swam +behind you, for I saw that the Frenchman’s boat hung by a rope, and I thought +that while you kept him in play I might gain it. I had reached it when you were +driven back, so I hid behind it in the water and said my prayers as I have not +said them for many a day. Then you came again, and no one had an eye for me, so +I clambered into it, cut the rope, took the oars which I found there and +brought her back for more men.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul! you have acted very wisely and well,” said Nigel, “and I think +that of all of us it is you who have won most honor this day. But of all these +men dead and alive I see none who resembles that Red Ferret whom my Lord +Chandos has described and who has worked such despite upon us in the past: It +would indeed be an evil chance if he has in spite of all our pains made his way +to France in some other boat.” +</p> + +<p> +“That we shall soon find out,” said Badding. “Come with me and we will search +the ship from truck to keel ere he escapes us.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a scuttle at the base of the mast which led down into the body of the +vessel, and the Englishmen were approaching this when a strange sight brought +them to a stand. A round brazen head had appeared in the square dark opening. +An instant afterward a pair of shining shoulders followed. Then slowly the +whole figure of a man in complete plate-armor emerged on the deck. In his +gauntleted hand he carried a heavy steel mace. With this uplifted he moved +toward his enemies, silent save for the ponderous clank of his footfall. It was +an inhuman, machine-like figure, menacing and terrible, devoid of all +expression, slow-moving, inexorable and awesome. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A sudden wave of terror passed over the English seamen. One of them tried to +pass and get behind the brazen man, but he was pinned against the side by a +quick movement and his brains dashed out by a smashing blow from the heavy +mace. Wild panic seized the others, and they rushed back to the boat. Aylward +strung an arrow, but his bowstring was damp and the shaft rang loudly upon the +shining breast-plate and glanced off into the sea. Masters struck the brazen +head with a sword, but the blade snapped without injuring the helmet, and an +instant later the bowman was stretched senseless on the deck. The seamen shrank +from this terrible silent creature and huddled in the stern, all the fight gone +out of them. +</p> + +<p> +Again he raised his mace and was advancing on the helpless crowd where the +brave were encumbered and hampered by the weaklings, when Nigel shook himself +clear and bounded forward into the open, his sword in his hand and a smile of +welcome upon his lips. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had set, and one long mauve gash across the western Channel was closing +swiftly into the dull grays of early night. Above, a few stars began to faintly +twinkle; yet the twilight was still bright enough for an observer to see every +detail of the scene: the Marie Rose, dipping and rising on the long rollers +astern; the broad French boat with its white deck blotched with blood and +littered with bodies; the group of men in the stern, some trying to advance and +some seeking to escape—all a confused, disorderly, struggling rabble. +</p> + +<p> +Then betwixt them and the mast the two figures: the armed shining man of metal, +with hand upraised, watchful, silent, motionless, and Nigel, bareheaded and +crouching, with quick foot, eager eyes and fearless happy face, moving this way +and that, in and out, his sword flashing like a gleam of light as he sought at +all points for some opening in the brazen shell before him. +</p> + +<p> +It was clear to the man in armor that if he could but pen his antagonist in a +corner he would beat him down without fail. But it was not to be done. The +unhampered man had the advantage of speed. With a few quick steps he could +always glide to either side and escape the clumsy rush. Aylward and Badding had +sprung out to Nigel’s assistance; but he shouted to them to stand back, with +such authority and anger in his voice that their weapons dropped to their +sides. With staring eyes and set features they stood watching that unequal +fight. +</p> + +<p> +Once it seemed that all was over with the Squire, for in springing back from +his enemy he tripped over one of the bodies which strewed the deck and fell +flat upon his back, but with a swift wriggle he escaped the heavy blow which +thundered down upon him, and springing to his feet he bit deeply into the +Frenchman’s helmet with a sweeping cut in return. Again the mace fell, and this +time Nigel had not quite cleared himself. His sword was beaten down and the +blow fell partly upon his left shoulder. He staggered, and once more the iron +club whirled upward to dash him to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Quick as a flash it passed through his mind that he could not leap beyond its +reach. But he might get within it. In an instant he had dropped his sword, and +springing in he had seized the brazen man round the waist. The mace was +shortened and the handle jobbed down once upon the bare flaxen head. Then, with +a sonorous clang, and a yell of delight from the spectators, Nigel with one +mighty wrench tore his enemy from the deck and hurled him down upon his back. +His own head was whirling and he felt that his senses were slipping away, but +already his hunting-knife was out and pointing through the slit in the brazen +helmet. +</p> + +<p> +“Give yourself up, fair sir!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Never to fishermen and to archers! I am a gentleman of coat-armor. Kill me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I also am a gentleman of coat-armor. I promise you quarter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, sir, I surrender myself to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The dagger tinkled down upon the deck. Seamen and archers ran forward, to find +Nigel half senseless upon his face. They drew him off, and a few deft blows +struck off the helmet of his enemy. A head, sharp-featured, freckled and +foxy-red, disclosed itself beneath it. Nigel raised himself on his elbow for an +instant. +</p> + +<p> +“You are the Red Ferret?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“So my enemies call me,” said the Frenchman, with a smile. “I rejoice, sir, +that I have fallen to so valiant and honorable a gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, fair sir,” said Nigel feebly. “I also rejoice that I have +encountered so debonair a person, and I shall ever bear in mind the pleasure +which I have had from our meeting.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he laid his bleeding head upon his enemy’s brazen front and sank +into a dead faint. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>XV.<br/> +HOW THE RED FERRET CAME TO COSFORD</h2> + +<p> +The old chronicler in his “<i>Gestes du Sieur Nigel</i>” has bewailed his +broken narrative, which rose from the fact that out of thirty-one years of +warfare no less than seven were spent by his hero at one time or another in the +recovery from his wounds or from those illnesses which arose from privation and +fatigue. Here at the very threshold of his career, on the eve of a great +enterprise, this very fate befell him. +</p> + +<p> +Stretched upon a couch in a low-roofed and ill-furnished chamber, which looks +down from under the machicolated corner turret upon the inner court of the +Castle of Calais, he lay half-unconscious and impotent, while great deeds were +doing under his window. Wounded in three places, and with his head splintered +by the sharp pommel of the Ferret’s mace, he hovered betwixt life and death, +his shattered body drawing him downward, his youthful spirit plucking him up. +</p> + +<p> +As in some strange dream he was aware of that deed of arms within the courtyard +below. Dimly it came back to his memory afterwards the sudden startled shout, +the crash of metal, the slamming of great gates, the roar of many voices, the +clang, clang, clang, as of fifty lusty smiths upon their anvils, and then at +last the dwindling of the hubbub, the low groans and sudden shrill cries to the +saints, the measured murmur of many voices, the heavy clanking of armored feet. +</p> + +<p> +Sometime in that fell struggle he must have drawn his weakened body as far as +the narrow window, and hanging to the iron bars have looked down on the wild +scene beneath him. In the red glare of torches held from windows and from roof +he saw the rush and swirl of men below, the ruddy light shining back from +glowing brass and gleaming steel. As a wild vision it came to him afterward, +the beauty and the splendor, the flying lambrequins, the jeweled crests, the +blazonry and richness of surcoat and of shield, where sable and gules, argent +and vair, in every pattern of saltire, bend or chevron, glowed beneath him like +a drift of many-colored blossoms, tossing, sinking, stooping into shadow, +springing into light. There glared the blood-red gules of Chandos, and he saw +the tall figure of his master, a thunderbolt of war, raging in the van. There +too were the three black chevrons on the golden shield which marked the noble +Manny. That strong swordsman must surely be the royal Edward himself, since +only he and the black-armored swift-footed youth at his side were marked by no +symbol of heraldry. “Manny! Manny! George for England!” rose the deep-throated +bay, and ever the gallant counter-cry: “A Chargny! A Chargny! Saint Denis for +France!” thundered amid the clash and thudding of the battle. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the vague whirling memory still lingering in Nigel’s mind when at last +the mists cleared away from it and he found himself weak but clear on the low +couch in the corner turret. Beside him, crushing lavender betwixt his rough +fingers and strewing it over floor and sheets, was Aylward the archer. His +longbow leaned at the foot of the bed, and his steel cap was balanced on the +top of it, while he himself, sitting in his shirt sleeves, fanned off the flies +and scattered the fragrant herbs over his helpless master. +</p> + +<p> +“By my hilt!” he cried with a sudden shout, every tooth in his head gleaming +with joy, “I thank the Virgin and all the saints for this blessed sight! I had +not dared to go back to Tilford had I lost you. Three weeks have you lain there +and babbled like a babe, but now I see in your eyes that you are your own man +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have indeed had some small hurt,” said Nigel feebly; “but it is shame and +sorrow that I should lie here if there is work for my hands. Whither go you, +archer?” +</p> + +<p> +“To tell the good Sir John that you are mending.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, bide with me a little longer, Aylward. I can call to mind all that has +passed. There was a bickering of small boats, was there not, and I chanced upon +a most worthy person and exchanged handstrokes with him? He was my prisoner, +was he not?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was, fair sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where is he now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Below in the castle.” +</p> + +<p> +A smile stole over Nigel’s pale face. “I know what I will do with him,” said +he. +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you to rest, fair sir,” said Aylward anxiously. “The King’s own leech +saw you this morning, and he said that if the bandage was torn from your head +you would surely die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, good archer, I will not move. But tell me what befell upon the boat?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is little to tell, fair sir. Had this Ferret not been his own squire and +taken so long a time to don his harness it is likely that they would have had +the better of us. He did not reach the battle till his comrades were on their +backs. Him we took to the Marie Rose, because he was your man. The others were +of no worth, so we threw them into the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“The quick and the dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Every man of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was an evil deed.” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward shrugged his shoulders. “I tried to save one boy,” said he; “but Cock +Badding would not have it, and he had Black Simon and the others at his back. +‘It is the custom of the Narrow Seas,’ said they: ‘To-day for them; to-morrow +for us.’—Then they tore him from his hold and cast him screaming over the side. +By my hilt! I have no love for the sea and its customs, so I care not if I +never set foot on it again when it has once borne me back to England.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, there are great happenings upon the sea, and many worthy people to be +found upon ships,” said Nigel. “In all parts, if one goes far enough upon the +water, one would find those whom it would be joy to meet. If one crosses over +the Narrow Sea, as we have done, we come on the French who are so needful to +us; for how else would we win worship? Or if you go south, then in time one may +hope to come to the land of the unbelievers, where there is fine skirmishing +and much honor for him who will venture his person. Bethink you, archer, how +fair a life it must be when one can ride forth in search of advancement with +some hope of finding many debonair cavaliers upon the same quest, and then if +one be overborne one has died for the faith, and the gates of Heaven are open +before you. So also the sea to the north is a help to him who seeks honor, for +it leads to the country of the Eastlanders and to those parts where the heathen +still dwell who turn their faces from the blessed Gospel. There also a man +might find some small deeds to do, and by Saint Paul! Aylward, if the French +hold the truce and the good Sir John permits us, I would fain go down into +those parts. The sea is a good friend to the cavalier, for it takes him where +he may fulfil his vows.” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward shook his head, for his memories were too recent; but he said nothing, +because at this instant the door opened and Chandos entered. With joy in his +face he stepped forward to the couch and took Nigel’s hand in his. Then he +whispered a word in Aylward’s ear, who hurried from the room. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pardieu!</i> this is a good sight,” said the knight. “I trust that you will +soon be on your feet again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I crave your pardon, my honored lord, that I have been absent from your side,” +said Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“In truth my heart was sore for you, Nigel; for you have missed such a night as +comes seldom in any man’s life. All went even as we had planned. The postern +gate was opened, and a party made their way in; but we awaited them, and all +were taken or slain. But the greater part of the French had remained without +upon the plain of Nieullet, so we took horse and went out against them. When we +drew near them they were surprised, but they made good cheer among themselves, +calling out to each other: ‘If we fly we lose all. It is better to fight on, in +the hopes that the day may be ours.’ This was heard by our people in the van, +who cried out to them: ‘By Saint George! you speak truth. Evil befall him who +thinks of flying!’ So they held their ground like worthy people for the space +of an hour, and there were many there whom it is always good to meet: Sir +Geoffrey himself, and Sir Pepin de Werre, with Sir John de Landas, old Ballieul +of the Yellow Tooth, and his brother Hector the Leopard. But above all Sir +Eustace de Ribeaumont was at great pains to meet us worthily, and he was at +handstrokes with the King for a long time. Then, when we had slain or taken +them, all the prisoners were brought to a feast which was ready for them, and +the knights of England waited upon them at the table and made good cheer with +them. And all this, Nigel, we owe to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Squire flushed with pleasure at the words. “Nay, most honored lord, it was +but a small thing which I have been able to do. But I thank God and our Lady +that I have done some service, since it has pleased you to take me with you to +the wars. Should it chance—” +</p> + +<p> +But the words were cut short upon Nigel’s lips, and he lay back with amazed +eyes staring from his pallid face. The door of his little chamber had opened, +and who was this, the tall stately man with the noble presence, the high +forehead, the long handsome face, the dark, brooding eyes—who but the noble +Edward of England? +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, my little cock of Tilford Bridge, I still bear you in mind,” said he. +“Right glad I was to hear that you had found your wits again, and I trust that +I have not helped to make you take leave of them once more.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel’s stare of astonishment had brought a smile to the King’s lips. Now the +Squire stammered forth some halting words of gratitude at the honor done to +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, not a word,” said the King. “But in sooth it is a joy to my heart to see +the son of my old comrade Eustace Loring carry himself so bravely. Had this +boat got before us with news of our coming, then all our labor had been in +vain, and no Frenchman ventured to Calais that night. But above all I thank you +for that you have delivered into my hands one whom I had vowed to punish in +that he has caused us more scathe by fouler means than any living man. Twice +have I sworn that Peter the Red Ferret shall hang, for all his noble blood and +coat-armor, if ever he should fall into my hands. Now at last his time has +come; but I would not put him to death until you, who had taken him, could be +there to see it done. Nay, thank me not, for I could do no less, seeing that it +is to you that I owe him.” +</p> + +<p> +But it was not thanks which Nigel was trying to utter. It was hard to frame his +words, and yet they must be said. “Sire,” he murmured, “it ill becomes me to +cross your royal will—” +</p> + +<p> +The dark Plantagenet wrath gathered upon the King’s high brow and gloomed in +his fierce deep-set eyes. “By God’s dignity! no man has ever crossed it yet and +lived unscathed. How now, young sir, what mean such words, to which we are +little wont? Have a care, for this is no light thing which you venture.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sire,” said Nigel, “in all matters in which I am a free man I am ever your +faithful liege, but some things there are which may not be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” cried the King. “In spite of my will?” +</p> + +<p> +“In spite of your will, sire,” said Nigel, sitting up on his couch, with white +face and blazing eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“By the Virgin!” the angry King thundered, “we are come to a pretty pass! You +have been held too long at home, young man. The overstabled horse will kick. +The unweathered hawk will fly at check. See to it, Master Chandos! He is thine +to break, and I hold you to it that you break him. And what is it that Edward +of England may not do, Master Loring?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel faced the King with a face as grim as his own. “You may not put to death +the Red Ferret.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pardieu!</i> And why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he is not thine to slay, sire. Because he is mine. Because I promised +him his life, and it is not for you, King though you be, to constrain a man of +gentle blood to break his plighted word and lose his honor.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos laid his soothing hand upon his Squire’s shoulder. “Excuse him, sire; +he is weak from his wounds,” said he. “Perhaps we have stayed overlong, for the +leech has ordered repose.” +</p> + +<p> +But the angry King was not easily to be appeased. “I am not wont to be so +browbeat,” said he hotly. “This is your Squire, Master John. How comes it that +you can stand there and listen to his pert talk, and say no word to chide him? +Is this how you guide your household? Have you not taught him that every +promise given is subject to the King’s consent, and that with him only lie the +springs of life and death? If he is sick, you at least are hale. Why stand you +there in silence?” +</p> + +<p> +“My liege,” said Chandos gravely, “I have served you for over a score of years, +and have shed my blood through as many wounds in your cause, so that you should +not take my words amiss. But indeed I should feel myself to be no true man if I +did not tell you that my Squire Nigel, though perchance he has spoken more +bluntly than becomes him, is none the less right in this matter, and that you +are wrong. For bethink you, sire—” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough!” cried the King, more furious than ever. “Like master, like man, and I +might have known why it is that this saucy Squire dares to bandy words with his +sovereign lord. He does but give out what he hath taken in. John, John, you +grow overbold. But this I tell you, and you also, young man, that as God is my +help, ere the sun has set this night the Red Ferret will hang as a warning to +all spies and traitors from the highest tower of Calais, that every ship upon +the Narrow Seas, and every man for ten miles round may see him as he swings and +know how heavy is the hand of the English King. Do you bear it in mind, lest +you also may feel its weight!” With a glare like an angry lion he walked from +the room, and the iron-clamped door clanged loudly behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Chandos and Nigel looked ruefully at each other. Then the knight patted his +Squire upon his bandaged head. +</p> + +<p> +“You have carried yourself right well, Nigel. I could not wish for better. Fear +not. All will be well.” +</p> + +<p> +“My fair and honored lord,” cried Nigel, “I am heavy at heart, for indeed I +could do no other, and yet I have brought trouble upon you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, the clouds will soon pass. If he does indeed slay this Frenchman, you +have done all that lay within your power, and your mind may rest easy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray that it will rest easy in Paradise,” said Nigel; “for at the hour that +I hear that I am dishonored and my prisoner slain I tear this bandage from my +head and so end all things. I will not live when once my word is broken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair son, you take this thing too heavily,” said Chandos, with a grave +face. “When a man has done all he may there remains no dishonor; but the King +hath a kind heart for all his hot head, and it may be that if I see him I will +prevail upon him. Bethink you how he swore to hang the six burghers of this +very town, and yet he pardoned them. So keep a high heart, fair son, and I will +come with good news ere evening.” +</p> + +<p> +For three hours, as the sinking sun traced the shadow higher and ever higher +upon the chamber wall, Nigel tossed feverishly upon his couch, his ears +straining for the footfall of Aylward or of Chandos, bringing news of the fate +of the prisoner. At last the door flew open, and there before him stood the one +man whom he least expected, and yet would most gladly have seen. It was the Red +Ferret himself, free and joyous. +</p> + +<p> +With swift furtive steps he was across the room and on his knees beside the +couch, kissing the pendent hand. “You have saved me, most noble sir!” he cried. +“The gallows was fixed and the rope slung, when the good Lord Chandos told the +King that you would die by your own hand if I were slain. ‘Curse this +mule-headed Squire!’ he cried. ‘In God’s name let him have his prisoner, and +let him do what he will with him so long as he troubles me no more!’ So here I +have come, fair sir, to ask you what I shall do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you to sit beside me and be at your ease,” said Nigel. “In a few words +I will tell you what I would have you do. Your armor I will keep, that I may +have some remembrance of my good fortune in meeting so valiant a gentleman. We +are of a size, and I make little doubt that I can wear it. Of ransom I would +ask a thousand crowns.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay!” cried the Ferret. “It would be a sad thing if a man of my position +was worth less than five thousand.” +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand will suffice, fair sir, to pay my charges for the war. You will not +again play the spy, nor do us harm until the truce is broken.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I will swear.” +</p> + +<p> +“And lastly there is a journey that you shall make.” +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman’s face lengthened. “Where you order I must go,” said he; “but I +pray you that it is not to the Holy Land.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Nigel; “but it is to a land which is holy to me. You will make your +way back to Southampton.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it well. I helped to burn it down some years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I rede you to say nothing of that matter when you get there. You will then +journey as though to London until you come to a fair town named Guildford.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard of it. The King hath a hunt there.” +</p> + +<p> +“The same. You will then ask for a house named Cosford, two leagues from the +town on the side of a long hill.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will bear it in mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“At Cosford you will see a good knight named Sir John Buttesthorn, and you will +ask to have speech with his daughter, the Lady Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will do so; and what shall I say to the Lady Mary, who lives at Cosford on +the slope of a long hill two leagues from the fair town of Guildford?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say only that I sent my greeting, and that Saint Catharine has been my +friend—only that and nothing more. And now leave me, I pray you, for my head is +weary and I would fain have sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus it came about that a month later on the eve of the Feast of Saint Matthew, +the Lady Mary, as she walked front Cosford gates, met with a strange horseman, +richly clad, a serving-man behind him, looking shrewdly about him with quick +blue eyes, which twinkled from a red and freckled face. At sight of her he +doffed his hat and reined his horse. +</p> + +<p> +“This house should be Cosford,” said he. “Are you by chance the Lady Mary who +dwells there?” +</p> + +<p> +The lady bowed her proud dark head. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said he, “Squire Nigel Loring sends you greeting and tells you that +Saint Catharine has been his friend.” Then turning to his servant he cried: +“Heh, Raoul, our task is done! Your master is a free man once more. Come, lad, +come, the nearest port to France! Hola! Hola! Hola!” And so without a word more +the two, master and man, set spurs to their horses and galloped like madmen +down the long slope of Hindhead, until as she looked after them they were but +two dark dots in the distance, waist-high in the ling and the bracken. +</p> + +<p> +She turned back to the house, a smile upon her face. Nigel had sent her +greeting. A Frenchman had brought it. His bringing it had made him a freeman. +And Saint Catherine had been Nigel’s friend. It was at her shrine that he had +sworn that three deeds should be done ere he should set eyes upon her again. In +the privacy of her room the Lady Mary sank upon her prie-dieu and poured forth +the thanks of her heart to the Virgin that one deed was accomplished; but even +as she did so her joy was overcast by the thought of those two others which lay +before him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>XVI.<br/> +HOW THE KING’S COURT FEASTED IN CALAIS CASTLE</h2> + +<p> +It was a bright sunshiny morning when Nigel found himself at last able to leave +his turret chamber and to walk upon the rampart of the castle. There was a +brisk northern wind, heavy and wet with the salt of the sea, and he felt, as he +turned his face to it, fresh life and strength surging in his blood and bracing +his limbs. He took his hand from Aylward’s supporting arm and stood with his +cap off, leaning on the rampart and breathing in the cool strong air. Far off +upon the distant sky-line, half hidden by the heave of the waves, was the low +white fringe of cliffs which skirted England. Between him and them lay the +broad blue Channel, seamed and flecked with flashing foam, for a sharp sea was +running and the few ships in sight were laboring heavily. Nigel’s eyes +traversed the wide-spread view, rejoicing in the change from the gray wall of +his cramped chamber. Finally they settled upon a strange object at his very +feet. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long trumpet-shaped engine of leather and iron bolted into a rude +wooden stand and fitted with wheels. Beside it lay a heap of metal slugs and +lumps of stone. The end of the machine was raised and pointed over the +battlement. Behind it stood an iron box which Nigel opened. It was filled with +a black coarse powder, like gritty charcoal. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul!” said he, passing his hands over the engine, “I have heard men +talk of these things, but never before have I seen one. It is none other than +one of those wondrous new-made bombards.” +</p> + +<p> +“In sooth, it is even as you say,” Aylward answered, looking at it with +contempt and dislike in his face. “I have seen them here upon the ramparts, and +have also exchanged a buffet or two with him who had charge of them. He was +jack-fool enough to think that with this leather pipe he could outshoot the +best archer in Christendom. I lent him a cuff on the ear that laid him across +his foolish engine.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a fearsome thing,” said Nigel, who had stooped to examine it. “We live +in strange times when such things can be made. It is loosed by fire, is it not, +which springs from the black dust?” +</p> + +<p> +“By my hilt! fair sir, I know not. And yet I call to mind that ere we fell out +this foolish bombardman did say something of the matter. The fire-dust is +within and so also is the ball. Then you take more dust from this iron box and +place it in the hole at the farther end—so. It is now ready. I have never seen +one fired, but I wot that this one could be fired now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It makes a strange sound, archer, does it not?” said Nigel wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“So I have heard, fair sir—even as the bow twangs, so it also has a sound when +you loose it.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no one to hear, since we are alone upon the rampart, nor can it do +scathe, since it points to sea. I pray you to loose it and I will listen to the +sound.” He bent over the bombard with an attentive ear, while Aylward, stooping +his earnest brown face over the touch-hole, scraped away diligently with a +flint and steel. A moment later both he and Nigel were seated some distance off +upon the ground while amid the roar of the discharge and the thick cloud of +smoke they had a vision of the long black snakelike engine shooting back upon +the recoil. For a minute or more they were struck motionless with astonishment +while the reverberations died away and the smoke wreaths curled slowly up to +the blue heavens. +</p> + +<p> +“Good lack!” cried Nigel at last, picking himself up and looking round him. +“Good lack, and Heaven be my aid! I thank the Virgin that all stands as it did +before. I thought that the castle had fallen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such a bull’s bellow I have never heard,” cried Aylward, rubbing his injured +limbs. “One could hear it from Frensham Pond to Guildford Castle. I would not +touch one again—not for a hide of the best land in Puttenham!” +</p> + +<p> +“It may fare ill with your own hide, archer, if you do,” said an angry voice +behind them. Chandos had stepped from the open door of the corner turret and +stood looking at them with a harsh gaze. Presently, as the matter was made +clear to him his face relaxed into a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Hasten to the warden, archer, and tell him how it befell. You will have the +castle and the town in arms. I know not what the King may think of so sudden an +alarm. And you, Nigel, how in the name of the saints came you to play the child +like this?” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew not its power, fair lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“By my soul, Nigel, I think that none of us know its power. I can see the day +when all that we delight in, the splendor and glory of war, may all go down +before that which beats through the plate of steel as easily as the leathern +jacket. I have bestrode my warhorse in my armor and have looked down at the +sooty, smoky bombardman beside me, and I have thought that perhaps I was the +last of the old and he the first of the new; that there would come a time when +he and his engines would sweep you and me and the rest of us from the field.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not yet, I trust, honored sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not yet, Nigel. You are still in time to win your spurs even as your +fathers did. How is your strength?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am ready for any task, my good and honored lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well, for work awaits us—good work, pressing work, work of peril and of +honor. Your eyes shine and your face flushes, Nigel. I live my own youth over +again as I look at you. Know then that though there is truce with the French +here, there is not truce in Brittany where the houses of Blois and of Montfort +still struggle for the dukedom. Half Brittany fights for one, and half for the +other. The French have taken up the cause of Blois, and we of Montfort, and it +is such a war that many a great leader, such as Sir Walter Manny, has first +earned his name there. Of late the war has gone against us, and the bloody +hands of the Rohans, of Gaptooth Beaumanoir, of Oliver the Flesher and others +have been heavy upon our people. The last tidings have been of disaster, and +the King’s soul is dark with wrath for that his friend and comrade Gilles de +St. Pol has been done to death in the Castle of La Brohinière. He will send +succors to the country, and we go at their head. How like you that, Nigel?” +</p> + +<p> +“My honored lord, what could I ask for better?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then have your harness ready, for we start within the week. Our path by land +is blocked by the French, and we go by sea. This night the King gives a banquet +ere he returns to England, and your place is behind my chair. Be in my chamber +that you may help me to dress, and so we will to the hall together.” +</p> + +<p> +With satin and with samite, with velvet and with fur, the noble Chandos was +dressed for the King’s feast, and Nigel too had donned his best silk jupon, +faced with the five scarlet roses, that he might wait upon him. In the great +hall of Calais Castle the tables were set, a high table for the lords, a second +one for the less distinguished knights, and a third at which the squires might +feast when their masters were seated. +</p> + +<p> +Never had Nigel in his simple life at Tilford pictured a scene of such pomp and +wondrous luxury. The grim gray walls were covered from ceiling to floor with +priceless tapestry of Arras, where hart, hounds and huntsmen circled the great +hall with one long living image of the chase. Over the principal table drooped +a line of banners, and beneath them rows of emblazoned shields upon the wall +carried the arms of the high noblemen who sat beneath. The red light of +cressets and of torches burned upon the badges of the great captains of +England. The lions and lilies shone over the high dorseret chair in the center, +and the same august device marked with the cadency label indicated the seat of +the Prince, while glowing to right and to left were the long lines of noble +insignia, honored in peace and terrible in war. There shone the gold and sable +of Manny, the engrailed cross of Suffolk, the red chevron of Stafford, the +scarlet and gold of Audley, the blue lion rampant of the Percies, the silver +swallows of Arundel, the red roebuck of the Montacutes, the star of the de +Veres, the silver scallops of Russell, the purple lion of de Lacy, and the +black crosses of Clinton. +</p> + +<p> +A friendly Squire at Nigel’s elbow whispered the names of the famous warriors +beneath. “You are young Loring of Tilford, the Squire of Chandos, are you not?” +said he. “My name is Delves, and I come from Doddington in Cheshire. I am the +Squire of Sir James Audley, yonder round-backed man with the dark face and +close-cropped beard, who hath the Saracen head as a crest above him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard of him as a man of great valor,” said Nigel, gazing at him with +interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, you may well say so, Master Loring. He is the bravest knight in +England, and in Christendom also, as I believe. No man hath done such deeds of +valor.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked at his new acquaintance with hope in his eyes. “You speak as it +becomes you to speak when you uphold your own master,” said he. “For the same +reason, Master Delves, and in no spirit of ill-will to you, it behooves me to +tell you that he is not to be compared in name or fame with the noble knight on +whom I wait. Should you hold otherwise, then surely we can debate the matter in +whatever way or time may please you best.” +</p> + +<p> +Delves smiled good-humoredly. “Nay, be not so hot,” said he. “Had you upheld +any other knight, save perhaps Sir Walter Manny, I had taken you at your word, +and your master or mine would have had place for a new Squire. But indeed it is +only truth that no knight is second to Chandos, nor would I draw my sword to +lower his pride of place. Ha, Sir James’ cup is low! I must see to it!” He +darted off, a flagon of Gascony in his hand. “The King hath had good news +to-night,” he continued when he returned. “I have not seen him in so merry a +mind since the night when we took the Frenchmen and he laid his pearl chaplet +upon the head of de Ribeaumont. See how he laughs, and the Prince also. That +laugh bodes some one little good, or I am the more mistaken. Have a care! Sir +John’s plate is empty.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Nigel’s turn to dart away; but ever in the intervals he returned to the +corner whence he could look down the hall and listen to the words of the older +Squire. Delves was a short, thick-set man past middle age, weather-beaten and +scarred, with a rough manner and bearing which showed that he was more at his +ease in a tent than a hall. But ten years of service had taught him much, and +Nigel listened eagerly to his talk. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed the King hath some good tidings,” he continued. “See now, he has +whispered it to Chandos and to Manny. Manny spreads it on to Sir Reginald +Cobham, and he to Robert Knolles, each smiling like the Devil over a friar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which is Sir Robert Knolles?” asked Nigel with interest. “I have heard much of +him and his deeds.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is the tall hard-faced man in yellow silk, he with the hairless cheeks and +the split lip. He is little older than yourself, and his father was a cobbler +in Chester, yet he has already won the golden spurs. See how he dabs his great +hand in the dish and hands forth the gobbets. He is more used to a camp-kettle +than a silver plate. The big man with the black beard is Sir Bartholomew +Berghersh, whose brother is the Abbot of Beaulieu. Haste, haste! for the boar’s +head is come and the plate’s to be cleaned.” +</p> + +<p> +The table manners of our ancestors at this period would have furnished to the +modern eye the strangest mixture of luxury and of barbarism. Forks were still +unknown, and the courtesy fingers, the index and the middle of the left hand, +took their place. To use any others was accounted the worst of manners. A crowd +of dogs lay among the rushes growling at each other and quarreling over the +gnawed bones which were thrown to them by the feasters. A slice of coarse bread +served usually as a plate, but the King’s own high table was provided with +silver platters, which were wiped by the Squire or page after each course. On +the other hand the table-linen was costly, and the courses, served with a pomp +and dignity now unknown, comprised such a variety of dishes and such complex +marvels of cookery as no modern banquet could show. Besides all our domestic +animals and every kind of game, such strange delicacies as hedgehogs, bustards, +porpoises, squirrels, bitterns and cranes lent variety to the feast. +</p> + +<p> +Each new course, heralded by a flourish of silver trumpets, was borne in by +liveried servants walking two and two, with rubicund marshals strutting in +front and behind, bearing white wands in their hands, not only as badges of +their office, but also as weapons with which to repel any impertinent inroad +upon the dishes in the journey from the kitchen to the hall. Boar’s heads, +enarmed and endored with gilt tusks and flaming mouths, were followed by +wondrous pasties molded to the shape of ships, castles and other devices with +sugar seamen or soldiers who lost their own bodies in their fruitless defense +against the hungry attack. Finally came the great nef, a silver vessel upon +wheels laden with fruit and sweetmeats which rolled with its luscious cargo +down the line of guests. Flagons of Gascony, of Rhine wine, of Canary and of +Rochelle were held in readiness by the attendants; but the age, though +luxurious, was not drunken, and the sober habits of the Norman had happily +prevailed over the license of those Saxon banquets where no guest might walk +from the table without a slur upon his host. Honor and hardihood go ill with a +shaking hand or a blurred eye. +</p> + +<p> +Whilst wine, fruit and spices were handed round the high tables the squires had +been served in turn at the farther end of the hall. Meanwhile round the King +there had gathered a group of statesmen and soldiers, talking eagerly among +themselves. The Earl of Stafford, the Earl of Warwick, the Earl of Arundel, +Lord Beauchamp and Lord Neville were assembled at the back of his chair, with +Lord Percy and Lord Mowbray at either side. The little group blazed with golden +chains and jeweled chaplets, flame colored paltocks and purple tunics. +</p> + +<p> +Of a sudden the King said something over his shoulder to Sir William de +Pakyngton the herald, who advanced and stood by the royal chair. He was a tall +and noble-featured man, with long grizzled beard which rippled down to the +gold-linked belt girdling his many-colored tabard. On his head he had placed +the heraldic barret-cap which bespoke his dignity, and he slowly raised his +white wand high in the air, while a great hush fell upon the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“My lords of England,” said he, “knight bannerets, knights, squires, and all +others here present of gentle birth and coat-armor, know that your dread and +sovereign lord, Edward, King of England and of France, bids me give you +greeting and commands you to come hither that he may have speech with you.” +</p> + +<p> +In an instant the tables were deserted and the whole company had clustered in +front of the King’s chair. Those who had sat on either side of him crowded +inward so that his tall dark figure upreared itself amid the dense circle of +his guests. +</p> + +<p> +With a flush upon his olive cheeks and with pride smoldering in his dark eyes, +he looked round him at the eager faces of the men who had been his comrades +from Sluys and Cadsand to Crécy and Calais. They caught fire from that warlike +gleam in his masterful gaze, and a sudden wild, fierce shout pealed up to the +vaulted ceiling, a soldierly thanks for what was passed and a promise for what +was to come. The King’s teeth gleamed in a quick smile, and his large white +hand played with the jeweled dagger in his belt. +</p> + +<p> +“By the splendor of God!” said he in a loud clear voice, “I have little doubt +that you will rejoice with me this night, for such tidings have come to my ears +as may well bring joy to everyone of you. You know well that our ships have +suffered great scathe from the Spaniards, who for many years have slain without +grace or ruth all of my people who have fallen into their cruel hands. Of late +they have sent their ships into Flanders, and thirty great cogs and galleys lie +now at Sluys well-filled with archers and men-at-arms and ready in all ways for +battle. I have it to-day from a sure hand that, having taken their merchandise +aboard, these ships will sail upon the next Sunday and will make their way +through our Narrow Sea. We have for a great time been long-suffering to these +people, for which they have done us many contraries and despites, growing ever +more arrogant as we grow more patient. It is in my mind therefore that we hie +us to-morrow to Winchelsea, where we have twenty ships, and make ready to sally +out upon them as they pass. May God and Saint George defend the right!” +</p> + +<p> +A second shout, far louder and fiercer than the first, came like a thunderclap +after the King’s words. It was the bay of a fierce pack to their trusted +huntsman. +</p> + +<p> +Edward laughed again as he looked round at the gleaming eyes, the waving arms +and the flushed joyful faces of his liegemen. “Who hath fought against these +Spaniards?” he asked. “Is there anyone here who can tell us what manner of men +they be?” +</p> + +<p> +A dozen hands went up into the air; but the King turned to the Earl of Suffolk +at his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“You have fought them, Thomas?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sire, I was in the great sea-fight eight years ago at the Island of +Guernsey, when Lord Lewis of Spain held the sea against the Earl of Pembroke.” +</p> + +<p> +“How found you them, Thomas?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very excellent people, sire, and no man could ask for better. On every ship +they have a hundred crossbowmen of Genoa, the best in the world, and their +spearmen also are very hardy men. They would throw great cantles of iron from +the tops of the masts, and many of our people met their death through it. If we +can bar their way in the Narrow Sea, then there will be much hope of honor for +all of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your words are very welcome, Thomas,” said the King, “and I make no doubt that +they will show themselves to be very worthy of what we prepare for them. To you +I give a ship, that you may have the handling of it. You also, my dear son, +shall have a ship, that evermore honor may be thine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, my fair and sweet father,” said the Prince, with joy flushing his +handsome boyish face. +</p> + +<p> +“The leading ship shall be mine. But you shall have one, Walter Manny, and you, +Stafford, and you, Arundel, and you, Audley, and you, Sir Thomas Holland, and +you, Brocas, and you, Berkeley, and you, Reginald. The rest shall be awarded at +Winchelsea, whither we sail to-morrow. Nay, John, why do you pluck so at my +sleeve?” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos was leaning forward, with an anxious face. “Surely, my honored lord, I +have not served you so long and so faithfully that you should forget me now. Is +there then no ship for me?” +</p> + +<p> +The King smiled, but shook his head. “Nay, John, have I not given you two +hundred archers and a hundred men-at-arms to take with you into Brittany? I +trust that your ships will be lying in Saint Malo Bay ere the Spaniards are +abreast of Winchelsea. What more would you have, old war-dog? Wouldst be in two +battles at once?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would be at your side, my liege, when the lion banner is in the wind once +more. I have ever been there. Why should you cast me now? I ask little, dear +lord—a galley, a balinger, even a pinnace, so that I may only be there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, John, you shall come. I cannot find it in my heart to say you nay. I will +find you place in my own ship, that you may indeed be by my side.” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos stooped and kissed the King’s hand. “My Squire?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The King’s brows knotted into a frown. “Nay, let him go to Brittany with the +others,” said he harshly. “I wonder, John, that you should bring back to my +memory this youth whose pertness is too fresh that I should forget it. But some +one must go to Brittany in your stead, for the matter presses and our people +are hard put to it to hold their own.” He cast his eyes over the assembly, and +they rested upon the stern features of Sir Robert Knolles. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Robert,” he said, “though you are young in years you are already old in +war, and I have heard that you are as prudent in council as you are valiant in +the field. To you I commit the charge of this venture to Brittany in place of +Sir John Chandos, who will follow thither when our work has been done upon the +waters. Three ships lie in Calais port and three hundred men are ready to your +hand. Sir John will tell you what our mind is in the matter. And now, my +friends and good comrades, you will haste you each to his own quarters, and you +will make swiftly such preparations as are needful, for, as God is my aid, I +will sail with you to Winchelsea to-morrow!” +</p> + +<p> +Beckoning to Chandos, Manny and a few of his chosen leaders, the King led them +away to an inner chamber, where they might discuss the plans for the future. At +the same time the assembly broke up, the knights in silence and dignity, the +squires in mirth and noise, but all joyful at heart for the thought of the +great days which lay before them. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>XVII.<br/> +THE SPANIARDS ON THE SEA</h2> + +<p> +Day had not yet dawned when Nigel was in the chamber of Chandos preparing him +for his departure and listening to the last cheery words of advice and +direction from his noble master. That same morning, before the sun was half-way +up the heaven, the King’s great nef Philippa, bearing within it the most of +those present at his banquet the night before, set its huge sail, adorned with +the lions and the lilies, and turned its brazen beak for England. Behind it +went five smaller cogs crammed with squires, archers and men-at-arms. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel and his companions lined the ramparts of the castle and waved their caps +as the bluff, burly vessels, with drums beating and trumpets clanging, a +hundred knightly pennons streaming from their decks and the red cross of +England over all, rolled slowly out to the open sea. Then when they had watched +them until they were hull down they turned, with hearts heavy at being left +behind, to make ready for their own more distant venture. +</p> + +<p> +It took them four days of hard work ere their preparations were complete, for +many were the needs of a small force sailing to a strange country. Three ships +had been left to them, the cog Thomas of Romney, the Grace Dieu of Hythe, and +the Basilisk of Southampton, into each of which one hundred men were stowed, +besides the thirty seamen who formed the crew. In the hold were forty horses, +amongst them Pommers, much wearied by his long idleness, and homesick for the +slopes of Surrey where his great limbs might find the work he craved. Then the +food and the water, the bow-staves and the sheaves of arrows, the horseshoes, +the nails, the hammers, the knives, the axes, the ropes, the vats of hay, the +green fodder and a score of other things were packed aboard. Always by the side +of the ships stood the stern young knight Sir Robert, checking, testing, +watching and controlling, saying little, for he was a man of few words, but +with his eyes, his hands, and if need be his heavy dog-whip, wherever they were +wanted. +</p> + +<p> +The seamen of the Basilisk, being from a free port, had the old feud against +the men of the Cinque Ports, who were looked upon by the other mariners of +England as being unduly favored by the King. A ship of the West Country could +scarce meet with one from the Narrow Seas without blood flowing. Hence sprang +sudden broils on the quay side, when with yell and blow the Thomases and Grace +Dieus, Saint Leonard on their lips and murder in their hearts, would fall upon +the Basilisks. Then amid the whirl of cudgels and the clash of knives would +spring the tiger figure of the young leader, lashing mercilessly to right and +left like a tamer among his wolves, until he had beaten them howling back to +their work. Upon the morning of the fourth day all was ready, and the ropes +being cast off the three little ships were warped down the harbor by their own +pinnaces until they were swallowed up in the swirling folds of a Channel mist. +</p> + +<p> +Though small in numbers, it was no mean force which Edward had dispatched to +succor the hard-pressed English garrisons in Brittany. There was scarce a man +among them who was not an old soldier, and their leaders were men of note in +council and in war. Knolles flew his flag of the black raven aboard the +Basilisk. With him were Nigel and his own Squire John Hawthorn. Of his hundred +men, forty were Yorkshire Dalesmen and forty were men of Lincoln, all noted +archers, with old Wat of Carlisle, a grizzled veteran of border warfare, to +lead them. +</p> + +<p> +Already Aylward by his skill and strength had won his way to an +under-officership amongst them, and shared with Long Ned Widdington, a huge +North Countryman, the reputation of coming next to famous Wat Carlisle in all +that makes an archer. The men-at-arms too were war-hardened soldiers, with +Black Simon of Norwich, the same who had sailed from Winchelsea, to lead them. +With his heart filled with hatred for the French who had slain all who were +dear to him, he followed like a bloodhound over land and sea to any spot where +he might glut his vengeance. Such also were the men who sailed in the other +ships, Cheshire men from the Welsh borders in the cog Thomas, and Cumberland +men, used to Scottish warfare, in the Grace Dieu. +</p> + +<p> +Sir James Astley hung his shield of cinquefoil ermine over the quarter of the +Thomas. Lord Thomas Percy, a cadet of Alnwick, famous already for the high +spirit of that house which for ages was the bar upon the landward gate of +England, showed his blue lion rampant as leader of the Grace Dieu. Such was the +goodly company Saint-Malo bound, who warped from Calais Harbor to plunge into +the thick reek of a Channel mist. +</p> + +<p> +A slight breeze blew from the eastward, and the highended, round-bodied craft +rolled slowly down the Channel. The mist rose a little at times, so that they +had sight of each other dipping and rising upon a sleek, oily sea, but again it +would sink down, settling over the top, shrouding the great yard, and finally +frothing over the deck until even the water alongside had vanished from their +view and they were afloat on a little raft in an ocean of vapor. A thin cold +rain was falling, and the archers were crowded under the shelter of the +overhanging poop and forecastle, where some spent the hours at dice, some in +sleep, and many in trimming their arrows or polishing their weapons. +</p> + +<p> +At the farther end, seated on a barrel as a throne of honor, with trays and +boxes of feathers around him, was Bartholomew the bowyer and Fletcher, a fat, +bald-headed man, whose task it was to see that every man’s tackle was as it +should be, and who had the privilege of selling such extras as they might need. +A group of archers with their staves and quivers filed before him with +complaints or requests, while half a dozen of the seniors gathered at his back +and listened with grinning faces to his comments and rebukes. +</p> + +<p> +“Canst not string it?” he was saying to a young bowman. “Then surely the string +is overshort or the stave overlong. It could not by chance be the fault of thy +own baby arms more fit to draw on thy hosen than to dress a warbow. Thou lazy +lurdan, thus is it strung!” He seized the stave by the center in his right +hand, leaned the end on the inside of his right foot, and then, pulling the +upper nock down with the left hand, slid the eye of the string easily into +place. “Now I pray thee to unstring it again,” handing it to the bowman. +</p> + +<p> +The youth with an effort did so, but he was too slow in disengaging his +fingers, and the string sliding down with a snap from the upper nock caught and +pinched them sorely against the stave. A roar of laughter, like the clap of a +wave, swept down the deck as the luckless bowman danced and wrung his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Serve thee well right, thou redeless fool!” growled the old bowyer. “So fine a +bow is wasted in such hands. How now, Samkin? I can teach you little of your +trade, I trow. Here is a bow dressed as it should be; but it would, as you say, +be the better for a white band to mark the true nocking point in the center of +this red wrapping of silk. Leave it and I will tend to it anon. And you, Wat? A +fresh head on yonder stele? Lord, that a man should carry four trades under one +hat, and be bowyer, fletcher, stringer and headmaker! Four men’s work for old +Bartholomew and one man’s pay!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, say no more about that,” growled an old wizened bowman, with a +brown-parchment skin and little beady eyes. “It is better in these days to mend +a bow than to bend one. You who never looked a Frenchman in the face are +pricked off for ninepence a day, and I, who have fought five stricken fields, +can earn but fourpence.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is in my mind, John of Tuxford, that you have looked in the face more pots +of mead than Frenchmen,” said the old bowyer. “I am swinking from dawn to +night, while you are guzzling in an alestake. How now, youngster? Overbowed? +Put your bow in the tiller. It draws at sixty pounds—not a pennyweight too much +for a man of your inches. Lay more body to it, lad, and it will come to you. If +your bow be not stiff, how can you hope for a twenty-score flight. Feathers? +Aye, plenty and of the best. Here, peacock at a groat each. Surely a dandy +archer like you, Tom Beverley, with gold earrings in your ears, would have no +feathering but peacocks?” +</p> + +<p> +“So the shaft fly straight, I care not of the feather,” said the bowman, a tall +young Yorkshireman, counting out pennies on the palm of his horny hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Gray goose-feathers are but a farthing. These on the left are a halfpenny, for +they are of the wild goose, and the second feather of a fenny goose is worth +more than the pinion of a tame one. These in the brass tray are dropped +feathers, and a dropped feather is better than a plucked one. Buy a score of +these, lad, and cut them saddle-backed or swine-backed, the one for a dead +shaft and the other for a smooth flyer, and no man in the company will swing a +better-fletched quiver over his shoulder.” +</p> + +<p> +It chanced that the opinion of the bowyer on this and other points differed +from that of Long Ned of Widdington, a surly straw-bearded Yorkshireman, who +had listened with a sneering face to his counsel. Now he broke in suddenly upon +the bowyer’s talk. “You would do better to sell bows than to try to teach +others how to use them,” said he; “for indeed, Bartholomew, that head of thine +has no more sense within it than it has hairs without. If you had drawn string +for as many months as I have years you would know that a straight-cut feather +flies smoother than a swine-backed, and pity it is that these young bowmen have +none to teach them better!” +</p> + +<p> +This attack upon his professional knowledge touched the old bowyer on the raw. +His fat face became suffused with blood and his eyes glared with fury as he +turned upon the archer. “You seven-foot barrel of lies!” he cried. “All-hallows +be my aid, and I will teach you to open your slabbing mouth against me! Pluck +forth your sword and stand out on yonder deck, that we may see who is the man +of us twain. May I never twirl a shaft over my thumb nail if I do not put +Bartholomew’s mark upon your thick head!” +</p> + +<p> +A score of rough voices joined at once in the quarrel, some upholding the +bowyer and others taking the part of the North Countryman. A red-headed +Dalesman snatched up a sword, but was felled by a blow from the fist of his +neighbor. Instantly, with a buzz like a swarm of angry hornets, the bowmen were +out on the deck; but ere a blow was struck Knolles was amongst them with +granite face and eyes of fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand apart, I say! I will warrant you enough fighting to cool your blood ere +you see England once more. Loring, Hawthorn, cut any man down who raises his +hand. Have you aught to say, you fox-haired rascal?” He thrust his face within +two inches of that of the red man who had first seized his sword. The fellow +shrank back, cowed, from his fierce eyes. “Now stint your noise, all of you, +and stretch your long ears. Trumpeter, blow once more!” +</p> + +<p> +A bugle call had been sounded every quarter of an hour so as to keep in touch +with the other two vessels who were invisible in the fog. Now the high clear +note rang out once more, the call of a fierce sea-creature to its mates, but no +answer came back from the thick wall which pent them in. Again and again they +called, and again and again with bated breath they waited for an answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the Shipman?” asked Knolles. “What is your name, fellow? Do you dare +call yourself master-mariner?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Nat Dennis, fair sir,” said the gray-bearded old seaman. “It is +thirty years since first I showed my cartel and blew trumpet for a crew at the +water-gate of Southampton. If any man may call himself master-mariner, it is +surely I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are our two ships?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir, who can say in this fog?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fellow, it was your place to hold them together.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have but the eyes God gave me, fair sir, and they cannot see through a +cloud.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had it been fair, I, who am a soldier, could have kept them in company. Since +it was foul, we looked to you, who are called a mariner, to do so. You have not +done it. You have lost two of my ships ere the venture is begun.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sir, I pray you to consider—” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough words!” said Knolles sternly. “Words will not give me back my two +hundred men. Unless I find them before I come to Saint-Malo, I swear by Saint +Wilfrid of Ripon that it will be an evil day for you! Enough! Go forth and do +what you may!” +</p> + +<p> +For five hours with a light breeze behind them they lurched through the heavy +fog, the cold rain still matting their beards and shining on their faces. +Sometimes they could see a circle of tossing water for a bowshot or so in each +direction, and then the wreaths would crawl in upon them once more and bank +them thickly round. They had long ceased to blow the trumpet for their missing +comrades, but had hopes when clear weather came to find them still in sight. By +the shipman’s reckoning they were now about midway between the two shores. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel was leaning against the bulwarks, his thoughts away in the dingle at +Cosford and out on the heather-clad slopes of Hindhead, when something struck +his ear. It was a thin clear clang of metal, pealing out high above the dull +murmur of the sea, the creak of the boom and the flap of the sail. He listened, +and again it was borne to his ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark, my lord!” said he to Sir Robert. “Is there not a sound in the fog?” +</p> + +<p> +They both listened together with sidelong heads. Then it rang clearly forth +once more, but this time in another direction. It had been on the bow; now it +was on the quarter. Again it sounded, and again. Now it had moved to the other +bow; now back to the quarter again; now it was near; and now so far that it was +but a faint tinkle on the ear. By this time every man on board, seamen, archers +and men-at-arms, were crowding the sides of the vessel. All round them there +were noises in the darkness, and yet the wall of fog lay wet against their very +faces. And the noises were such as were strange to their ears, always the same +high musical clashing. +</p> + +<p> +The old shipman shook his head and crossed himself. +</p> + +<p> +“In thirty years upon the waters I have never heard the like,” said he. “The +Devil is ever loose in a fog. Well is he named the Prince of Darkness.” +</p> + +<p> +A wave of panic passed over the vessel, and these rough and hardy men who +feared no mortal foe shook with terror at the shadows of their own minds. They +stared into the cloud with blanched faces and fixed eyes, as though each +instant some fearsome shape might break in upon them. And as they stared there +came a gust of wind. For a moment the fog-bank rose and a circle of ocean lay +before them. +</p> + +<p> +It was covered with vessels. On all sides they lay thick upon its surface. They +were huge caracks, high-ended and portly, with red sides and bulwarks carved +and crusted with gold. Each had one great sail set and was driving down channel +on the same course at the Basilisk. Their decks were thick with men, and from +their high poops came the weird clashing which filled the air. For one moment +they lay there, this wondrous fleet, surging slowly forward, framed in gray +vapor. The next the clouds closed in and they had vanished from view. There was +a long hush, and then a buzz of excited voices. +</p> + +<p> +“The Spaniards!” cried a dozen bowmen and sailors. +</p> + +<p> +“I should have known it,” said the shipman. “I call to mind on the Biscay Coast +how they would clash their cymbals after the fashion of the heathen Moor with +whom they fight; but what would you have me do, fair sir? If the fog rises we +are all dead men.” +</p> + +<p> +“There were thirty ships at the least,” said Knolles, with a moody brow. “If we +have seen them I trow that they have also seen us. They will lay us aboard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sir, it is in my mind that our ship is lighter and faster than +theirs. If the fog hold another hour we should be through them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand to your arms!” yelled Knolles. “Stand to your arms—! They are on us!” +</p> + +<p> +The Basilisk had indeed been spied from the Spanish Admiral’s ship before the +fog closed down. With so light a breeze, and such a fog, he could not hope to +find her under sail. But by an evil chance not a bowshot from the great Spanish +carack was a low galley, thin and swift, with oars which could speed her +against wind or tide. She also had seen the Basilisk and it was to her that the +Spanish leader shouted his orders. For a few minutes she hunted through the +fog, and then sprang out of it like a lean and stealthy beast upon its prey. It +was the sight of the long dark shadow gliding after them which had brought that +wild shout of alarm from the lips of the English knight. In another instant the +starboard oars of the galley had been shipped, the sides of the two vessels +grated together, and a stream of swarthy, red-capped Spaniards were swarming up +the sides of the Basilisk and dropped with yells of triumph upon her deck. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment it seemed as if the vessel was captured without a blow being +struck, for the men of the English ship had run wildly in all directions to +look for their arms. Scores of archers might be seen under the shadow of the +forecastle and the poop bending their bowstaves to string them with the cords +from their waterproof cases. Others were scrambling over saddles, barrels and +cases in wild search of their quivers. Each as he came upon his arrows pulled +out a few to lend to his less fortunate comrades. In mad haste the men-at-arms +also were feeling and grasping in the dark corners, picking up steel caps which +would not fit them, hurling them down on the deck, and snatching eagerly at any +swords or spears that came their way. +</p> + +<p> +The center of the ship was held by the Spaniards; and having slain all who +stood before them, they were pressing up to either end before they were made to +understand that it was no fat sheep but a most fierce old wolf which they had +taken by the ears. +</p> + +<p> +If the lesson was late, it was the more thorough. Attacked on both sides and +hopelessly outnumbered, the Spaniards, who had never doubted that this little +craft was a merchant-ship, were cut off to the last man. It was no fight, but a +butchery. In vain the survivors ran screaming prayers to the saints and threw +themselves down into the galley alongside. It also had been riddled with arrows +from the poop of the Basilisk, and both the crew on the deck and the +galley-slaves in the outriggers at either side lay dead in rows under the +overwhelming shower from above. From stem to rudder every foot of her was +furred with arrows. It was but a floating coffin piled with dead and dying men, +which wallowed in the waves behind them as the Basilisk lurched onward and left +her in the fog. +</p> + +<p> +In their first rush on to the Basilisk, the Spaniards had seized six of the +crew and four unarmed archers. Their throats had been cut and their bodies +tossed overboard. Now the Spaniards who littered the deck, wounded and dead, +were thrust over the side in the same fashion. One ran down into the hold and +had to be hunted and killed squealing under the blows like a rat in the +darkness. Within half an hour no sign was left of this grim meeting in the fog +save for the crimson splashes upon bulwarks and deck. The archers, flushed and +merry, were unstringing their bows once more, for in spite of the water glue +the damp air took the strength from the cords. Some were hunting about for +arrows which might have stuck inboard, and some tying up small injuries +received in the scuffle. But an anxious shadow still lingered upon the face of +Sir Robert, and he peered fixedly about him through the fog. +</p> + +<p> +“Go among the archers, Hawthorne,” said he to his Squire. “Charge them on their +lives to make no sound! You also, Loring. Go to the afterguard and say the same +to them. We are lost if one of these great ships should spy us.” +</p> + +<p> +For an hour with bated breath they stole through the fleet, still hearing the +cymbals clashing all round them, for in this way the Spaniards held themselves +together. Once the wild music came from above their very prow, and so warned +them to change their course. Once also a huge vessel loomed for an instant upon +their quarter, but they turned two points away from her, and she blurred and +vanished. Soon the cymbals were but a distant tinkling, and at last they died +gradually away. +</p> + +<p> +“It is none too soon,” said the old shipman, pointing to a yellowish tint in +the haze above them. “See yonder! It is the sun which wins through. It will be +here anon. Ah! said I not so?” +</p> + +<p> +A sickly sun, no larger and far dimmer than the moon, had indeed shown its +face, with cloud-wreaths smoking across it. As they looked up it waxed larger +and brighter before their eyes—a yellow halo spread round it, one ray broke +through, and then a funnel of golden light poured down upon them, widening +swiftly at the base. A minute later they were sailing on a clear blue sea with +an azure cloud-flecked sky above their heads, and such a scene beneath it as +each of them would carry in his memory while memory remained. +</p> + +<p> +They were in mid-channel. The white and green coasts of Picardy and of Kent lay +clear upon either side of them. The wide channel stretched in front, deepening +from the light blue beneath their prow to purple on the far sky-line. Behind +them was that thick bank of cloud from which they had just burst. It lay like a +gray wall from east to west, and through it were breaking the high shadowy +forms of the ships of Spain. Four of them had already emerged, their red +bodies, gilded sides and painted sails shining gloriously in the evening sun. +Every instant a fresh golden spot grew out of the fog, which blazed like a star +for an instant, and then surged forward to show itself as the brazen beak of +the great red vessel which bore it. Looking back, the whole bank of cloud was +broken by the widespread line of noble ships which were bursting through it. +The Basilisk lay a mile or more in front of them and two miles clear of their +wing. Five miles farther off, in the direction of the French coast, two other +small ships were running down Channel. A cry of joy from Robert Knolles and a +hearty prayer of gratitude to the saints from the old shipman hailed them as +their missing comrades, the cog Thomas and the Grace Dieu. +</p> + +<p> +But fair as was the view of their lost friends, and wondrous the appearance of +the Spanish ships, it was not on those that the eyes of the men of the Basilisk +were chiefly bent. A greater sight lay before them—a sight which brought them +clustering to the forecastle with eager eyes and pointing fingers. The English +fleet was coming forth from the Winchelsea Coast. Already before the fog lifted +a fast galleass had brought the news down Channel that the Spanish were on the +sea, and the King’s fleet was under way. Now their long array of sails, gay +with the coats and colors of the towns which had furnished them, lay bright +against the Kentish coast from Dungeness Point to Rye. Nine and twenty ships +were there from Southampton, Shoreham, Winchelsea, Hastings, Rye, Hythe, +Romney, Folkestone, Deal, Dover and Sandwich. With their great sails slued +round to catch the wind they ran out, whilst the Spanish, like the gallant foes +that they have ever been, turned their heads landward to meet them. With +flaunting banners and painted sails, blaring trumpets and clashing cymbals, the +two glittering fleets, dipping and rising on the long Channel swell, drew +slowly together. +</p> + +<p> +King Edward had been lying all day in his great ship the Philippa, a mile out +from the Camber Sands, waiting for the coming of the Spaniards. Above the huge +sail which bore the royal arms flew the red cross of England. Along the +bulwarks were shown the shields of forty knights, the flower of English +chivalry, and as many pennons floated from the deck. The high ends of the ship +glittered with the weapons of the men-at-arms, and the waist was crammed with +the archers. From time to time a crash of nakers and blare of trumpets burst +from the royal ship, and was answered by her great neighbors, the Lion on which +the Black Prince flew his flag, the Christopher with the Earl of Suffolk, the +Salle du Roi of Robert of Namur, and the Grace Marie of Sir Thomas Holland. +Farther off lay the White Swan, bearing the arms of Mowbray, the Palmer of +Deal, flying the Black Head of Audley, and the Kentish man under the Lord +Beauchamp. The rest lay, anchored but ready, at the mouth of Winchelsea Creek. +</p> + +<p> +The King sat upon a keg in the fore part of his ship, with little John of +Richmond, who was no more than a schoolboy, perched upon his knee. Edward was +clad in the black velvet jacket which was his favorite garb, and wore a small +brown-beaver hat with a white plume at the side. A rich cloak of fur turned up +with miniver drooped from his shoulders. Behind him were a score of his +knights, brilliant in silks and sarcenets, some seated on an upturned boat and +some swinging their legs from the bulwark. +</p> + +<p> +In front stood John Chandos in a party-colored jupon, one foot raised upon the +anchor-stock, picking at the strings of his guitar and singing a song which he +had learned at Marienburg when last he helped the Teutonic knights against the +heathen. The King, his knights, and even the archers in the waist below them, +laughed at the merry lilt and joined lustily in the chorus, while the men of +the neighboring ships leaned over the side to hearken to the deep chant rolling +over the waters. +</p> + +<p> +But there came a sudden interruption to the song. A sharp, harsh shout came +down from the lookout stationed in the circular top at the end of the mast. “I +spy a sail—two sails!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +John Bunce the King’s shipman shaded his eyes and stared at the long fog-bank +which shrouded the northern channel. Chandos, with his fingers over the strings +of his guitar, the King, the knights, all gazed in the same direction. Two +small dark shapes had burst forth, and then after some minutes a third. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely they are the Spaniards?” said the King. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sire,” the seaman answered, “the Spaniards are greater ships and are +painted red. I know not what these may be.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I could hazard a guess!” cried Chandos. “Surely they are the three ships +with my own men on their way to Brittany.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have hit it, John,” said the King. “But look, I pray you! What in the name +of the Virgin is that?” +</p> + +<p> +Four brilliant stars of flashing light had shone out from different points of +the cloud-bank. The next instant as many tall ships had swooped forth into the +sunshine. A fierce shout rang from the King’s ship, and was taken up all down +the line, until the whole coast from Dungeness to Winchelsea echoed the warlike +greeting. The King sprang up with a joyous face. +</p> + +<p> +“The game is afoot, my friends!” said he. “Dress, John! Dress, Walter! Quick +all of you! Squires, bring the harness! Let each tend to himself, for the time +is short.” +</p> + +<p> +A strange sight it was to see these forty nobles tearing off their clothes and +littering the deck with velvets and satins, whilst the squire of each, as busy +as an ostler before a race, stooped and pulled and strained and riveted, +fastening the bassinets, the legpieces, the front and the back plates, until +the silken courtier had become the man of steel. When their work was finished, +there stood a stern group of warriors where the light dandies had sung and +jested round Sir John’s guitar. Below in orderly silence the archers were +mustering under their officers and taking their allotted stations. A dozen had +swarmed up to their hazardous post in the little tower in the tops. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring wine, Nicholas!” cried the King. “Gentlemen, ere you close your visors I +pray you to take a last rouse with me. You will be dry enough, I promise you, +before your lips are free once more. To what shall we drink, John?” +</p> + +<p> +“To the men of Spain,” said Chandos, his sharp face peering like a gaunt bird +through the gap in his helmet. “May their hearts be stout and their spirits +high this day!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, John!” cried the King, and the knights laughed joyously as they +drank. “Now, fair sirs, let each to his post! I am warden here on the +forecastle. Do you, John, take charge of the afterguard. Walter, James, +William, Fitzallan, Goldesborough, Reginald—you will stay with me! John, you +may pick whom you will and the others will bide with the archers. Now bear +straight at the center, master-shipman. Ere yonder sun sets we will bring a red +ship back as a gift to our ladies, or never look upon a lady’s face again.” +</p> + +<p> +The art of sailing into a wind had not yet been invented, nor was there any +fore-and-aft canvas, save for small headsails with which a vessel could be +turned. Hence the English fleet had to take a long slant down channel to meet +their enemies; but as the Spaniards coming before the wind were equally anxious +to engage there was the less delay. With stately pomp and dignity, the two +great fleets approached. +</p> + +<p> +It chanced that one fine carack had outstripped its consorts and came sweeping +along, all red and gold, with a fringe of twinkling steel, a good half-mile +before the fleet. Edward looked at her with a kindling eye, for indeed she was +a noble sight with the blue water creaming under her gilded prow. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a most worthy and debonair vessel, Master Bunce,” said he to the +shipman beside him. “I would fain have a tilt with her. I pray you to hold us +straight that we may bear her down.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I hold her straight, then one or other must sink, and it may be both,” the +seaman answered. +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt not that with the help of our Lady we shall do our part,” said the +King. “Hold her straight, master-shipman, as I have told you.” +</p> + +<p> +Now the two vessels were within arrow flight, and the bolts from the +crossbowmen pattered upon the English ship. These short thick devil’s darts +were everywhere humming like great wasps through the air, crashing against the +bulwarks, beating upon the deck, ringing loudly on the armor of the knights, or +with a soft muffled thud sinking to the socket in a victim. +</p> + +<p> +The bowmen along either side of the Philippa had stood motionless waiting for +their orders, but now there was a sharp shout from their leader, and every +string twanged together. The air was full of their harping, together with the +swish of the arrows, the long-drawn keening of the bowmen and the short deep +bark of the under-officers. “Steady, steady! Loose steady! Shoot wholly +together! Twelve score paces! Ten score! Now eight! Shoot wholly together!” +Their gruff shouts broke through the high shrill cry like the deep roar of a +wave through the howl of the wind. +</p> + +<p> +As the two great ships hurtled together the Spaniard turned away a few points +so that the blow should be a glancing one. None the less it was terrific. A +dozen men in the tops of the carack were balancing a huge stone with the +intention of dropping it over on the English deck. With a scream of horror they +saw the mast cracking beneath them. Over it went, slowly at first, then faster, +until with a crash it came down on its side, sending them flying like stones +from a sling far out into the sea. A swath of crushed bodies lay across the +deck where the mast had fallen. But the English ship had not escaped unscathed. +Her mast held, it is true, but the mighty shock not only stretched every man +flat upon the deck, but had shaken a score of those who lined her sides into +the sea. One bowman was hurled from the top, and his body fell with a dreadful +crash at the very side of the prostrate King upon the forecastle. Many were +thrown down with broken arms and legs from the high castles at either end into +the waist of the ship. Worst of all, the seams had been opened by the crash and +the water was gushing in at a dozen places. +</p> + +<p> +But these were men of experience and of discipline, men who had already fought +together by sea and by land, so that each knew his place and his duty. Those +who could staggered to their feet and helped up a score or more of knights who +were rolling and clashing in the scuppers unable to rise for the weight of +their armor. The bowmen formed up as before. The seamen ran to the gaping seams +with oakum and with tar. In ten minutes order had been restored and the +Philippa, though shaken and weakened, was ready for battle once more. The King +was glaring round him like a wounded boar. +</p> + +<p> +“Grapple my ship with that,” he cried, pointing to the crippled Spaniard, “for +I would have possession of her!” +</p> + +<p> +But already the breeze had carried them past it, and a dozen Spanish ships were +bearing down full upon them. +</p> + +<p> +“We cannot win back to her, lest we show our flank to these others,” said the +shipman. +</p> + +<p> +“Let her go her way!” cried the knights. “You shall have better than her.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint George! you speak the truth,” said the King, “for she is ours when we +have time to take her. These also seem very worthy ships which are drawing up +to us, and I pray you, master-shipman, that you will have a tilt with the +nearest.” +</p> + +<p> +A great carack was within a bowshot of them and crossing their bows. Bunce +looked up at his mast, and he saw that already it was shaken and drooping. +Another blow and it would be over the side and his ship a helpless log upon the +water. He jammed his helm round therefore, and ran his ship alongside the +Spaniard, throwing out his hooks and iron chains as he did so. +</p> + +<p> +They, no less eager, grappled the Philippa both fore and aft, and the two +vessels, linked tightly together, surged slowly over the long blue rollers. +Over their bulwarks hung a cloud of men locked together in a desperate +struggle, sometimes surging forward on to the deck of the Spaniard, sometimes +recoiling back on to the King’s ship, reeling this way and that, with the +swords flickering like silver flames above them, while the long-drawn cry of +rage and agony swelled up like a wolf’s howl to the calm blue heaven above +them. +</p> + +<p> +But now ship after ship of the English had come up, each throwing its iron over +the nearest Spaniard and striving to board her high red sides. Twenty ships +were drifting in furious single combat after the manner of the Philippa, until +the whole surface of the sea was covered with a succession of these desperate +duels. The dismasted carack, which the King’s ship had left behind it, had been +carried by the Earl of Suffolk’s Christopher, and the water was dotted with the +heads of her crew. An English ship had been sunk by a huge stone discharged +from an engine, and her men also were struggling in the waves, none having +leisure to lend them a hand. A second English ship was caught between two of +the Spanish vessels and overwhelmed by a rush of boarders so that not a man of +her was left alive. On the other hand, Mowbray and Audley had each taken the +caracks which were opposed to them, and the battle in the center, after swaying +this way and that, was turning now in favor of the Islanders. +</p> + +<p> +The Black Prince, with the Lion, the Grace Marie and four other ships had swept +round to turn the Spanish flank; but the movement was seen, and the Spaniards +had ten ships with which to meet it, one of them their great carack the St. +Iago di Compostella. To this ship the Prince had attached his little cog and +strove desperately to board her, but her side was so high and the defense so +desperate that his men could never get beyond her bulwarks but were hurled down +again and again with a clang and clash to the deck beneath. Her side bristled +with crossbowmen, who shot straight down on to the packed waist of the Lion, so +that the dead lay there in heaps. But the most dangerous of all was a swarthy +black-bearded giant in the tops, who crouched so that none could see him, but +rising every now and then with a huge lump of iron between his hands, hurled it +down with such force that nothing would stop it. Again and again these +ponderous bolts crashed through the deck and hurtled down into the bottom of +the ship, starting the planks and shattering all that came in their way. +</p> + +<p> +The Prince, clad in that dark armor which gave him his name, was directing the +attack from the poop when the shipman rushed wildly up to him with fear on his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Sire!” he cried. “The ship may not stand against these blows. A few more will +sink her! Already the water floods inboard.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince looked up, and as he did so the shaggy beard showed once more and +two brawny arms swept downward. A great slug, whizzing down, beat a gaping hole +in the deck, and fell rending and riving into the hold below. The +master-mariner tore his grizzled hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Another leak!” he cried. “I pray to Saint Leonard to bear us up this day! +Twenty of my shipmen are bailing with buckets, but the water rises on them +fast. The vessel may not float another hour.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince had snatched a crossbow from one of his attendants and leveled it at +the Spaniard’s tops. At the very instant when the seaman stood erect with a +fresh bar in his hands, the bolt took him full in the face, and his body fell +forward over the parapet, hanging there head downward. A howl of exultation +burst from the English at the sight, answered by a wild roar of anger from the +Spaniards. A seaman had run from the Lion’s hold and whispered in the ear of +the shipman. He turned an ashen face upon the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“It is even as I say, sire. The ship is sinking beneath our feet!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“The more need that we should gain another,” said he. “Sir Henry Stokes, Sir +Thomas Stourton, William, John of Clifton, here lies our road! Advance my +banner, Thomas de Mohun! On, and the day is ours!” +</p> + +<p> +By a desperate scramble a dozen men, the Prince at their head, gained a footing +on the edge of the Spaniard’s deck. Some slashed furiously to clear a space, +others hung over, clutching the rail with one hand and pulling up their +comrades from below. Every instant that they could hold their own their +strength increased, till twenty had become thirty and thirty forty, when of a +sudden the newcomers, still reaching forth to their comrades below, saw the +deck beneath them reel and vanish in a swirling sheet of foam. The Prince’s +ship had foundered. +</p> + +<p> +A yell went up from the Spaniards as they turned furiously upon the small band +who had reached their deck. Already the Prince and his men had carried the +poop, and from that high station they beat back their swarming enemies. But +crossbow darts pelted and thudded among their ranks till a third of their +number were stretched upon the planks. Lined across the deck they could hardly +keep an unbroken front to the leaping, surging crowd who pressed upon them. +Another rush, or another after that, must assuredly break them, for these dark +men of Spain, hardened by an endless struggle with the Moors, were fierce and +stubborn fighters. But hark to this sudden roar upon the farther side of them— +</p> + +<p> +“Saint George! Saint George! A Knolles to the rescue!” A small craft had run +alongside and sixty men had swarmed on the deck of the St. Iago. Caught between +two fires, the Spaniards wavered and broke. The fight became a massacre. Down +from the poop sprang the Prince’s men. Up from the waist rushed the +new-corners. There were five dreadful minutes of blows and screams and prayers +with struggling figures clinging to the bulwarks and sullen splashes into the +water below. Then it was over, and a crowd of weary, overstrained men leaned +panting upon their weapons, or lay breathless and exhausted upon the deck of +the captured carack. +</p> + +<p> +The Prince had pulled up his visor and lowered his beaver. He smiled proudly as +he gazed around him and wiped his streaming face. “Where is the shipman?” he +asked. “Let him lead us against another ship.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sire, the shipman and all his men have sunk in the Lion,” said Thomas de +Mohun, a young knight of the West Country, who carried the standard. “We have +lost our ship and the half of our following. I fear that we can fight no more.” +</p> + +<p> +“It matters the less since the day is already ours,” said the Prince, looking +over the sea. “My noble father’s royal banner flies upon yonder Spaniard. +Mowbray, Audley, Suffolk, Beauchamp, Namur, Tracey, Stafford, Arundel, each has +his flag over a scarlet carack, even as mine floats over this. See, yonder +squadron is already far beyond our reach. But surely we owe thanks to you who +came at so perilous a moment to our aid. Your face I have seen, and your +coat-armor also, young sir, though I cannot lay my tongue to your name. Let me +know that I may thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +He had turned to Nigel, who stood flushed and joyous at the head of the +boarders from the Basilisk. +</p> + +<p> +“I am but a Squire, sire, and can claim no thanks, for there is nothing that I +have done. Here is our leader.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince’s eyes fell upon the shield charged with the Black Raven and the +stern young face of him who bore it. “Sir Robert Knolles,” said he, “I had +thought you were on your way to Brittany.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was so, sire, when I had the fortune to see this battle as I passed.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince laughed. “It would indeed be to ask too much, Robert, that you +should keep on your course when much honor was to be gathered so close to you. +But now I pray you that you will come back with us to Winchelsea, for well I +know that my father would fain thank you for what you have done this day.” +</p> + +<p> +But Robert Knolles shook his head. “I have your father’s command, sire, and +without his order I may not go against it. Our people are hard-pressed in +Brittany, and it is not for me to linger on the way. I pray you, sire, if you +must needs mention me to the King, to crave his pardon that I should have +broken my journey thus.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, Robert. God-speed you on your way! And I would that I were +sailing under your banner, for I see clearly that you will take your people +where they may worshipfully win worship. Perchance I also maybe in Brittany +before the year is past.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince turned to the task of gathering his weary people together, and the +Basilisks passed over the side once more and dropped down on to their own +little ship. They poled her off from the captured Spaniard and set their sail +with their prow for the south. Far ahead of them were their two consorts, +beating towards them in the hope of giving help, while down Channel were a +score of Spanish ships with a few of the English vessels hanging upon their +skirts. The sun lay low on the water, and its level beams glowed upon the +scarlet and gold of fourteen great caracks, each flying the cross of Saint +George, and towering high above the cluster of English ships which, with brave +waving of flags and blaring of music, were moving slowly towards the Kentish +coast. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>XVIII.<br/> +HOW BLACK SIMON CLAIMED FORFEIT FROM THE KING OF SARK</h2> + +<p> +For a day and a half the small fleet made good progress, but on the second +morning, after sighting Cape de la Hague, there came a brisk land wind which +blew them out to sea. It grew into a squall with rain and fog so that they were +two more days beating back. Next morning they found themselves in a dangerous +rock studded sea with a small island upon their starboard quarter. It was +girdled with high granite cliffs of a reddish hue, and slopes of bright green +grassland lay above them. A second smaller island lay beside it. Dennis the +shipman shook his head as he looked. +</p> + +<p> +“That is Brechou,” said he, “and the larger one is the Island of Sark. If ever +I be cast away, I pray the saints that I may not be upon yonder coast!” +</p> + +<p> +Knolles gazed across at it. “You say well, master-shipman,” said he. “It does +appear to be a rocky and perilous spot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it is the rocky hearts of those who dwell upon it that I had in my mind,” +the old sailor answered. “We are well safe in three goodly vessels, but had we +been here in a small craft I make no doubt that they would have already had +their boats out against us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who then are these people, and how do they live upon so small and windswept an +island?” asked the soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“They do not live from the island, fair sir, but from what they can gather upon +the sea around it. They are broken folk from all countries, justice-fliers, +prison-breakers, reavers, escaped bondsmen, murderers and staff-strikers who +have made their way to this outland place and hold it against all comers. There +is one here who could tell you of them and of their ways, for he was long time +prisoner amongst them.” The seaman pointed to Black Simon, the dark man from +Norwich, who was leaning against the side lost in moody thought and staring +with a brooding eye at the distant shore. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, fellow?” asked Knolles. “What is this I hear? Is it indeed sooth that +you have been a captive upon this island?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, fair sir. For eight months I have been servant to the man whom +they call their King. His name is La Muette, and he comes from Jersey nor is +there under God’s sky a man whom I have more desire to see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he then mishandled you?” +</p> + +<p> +Black Simon gave a wry smile and pulled off his jerkin. His lean sinewy back +was waled and puckered with white scars. “He has left his sign of hand upon +me,” said he. “He swore that he would break me to his will, and thus he tried +to do it. But most I desire to see him because he hath lost a wager to me and I +would fain be paid.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a strange saying,” said Knolles. “What is this wager, and why should +he pay you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is but a small matter,” Simon answered; “but I am a poor man and the +payment would be welcome. Should it have chanced that we stopped at this island +I should have craved your leave that I go ashore and ask for that which I have +fairly won.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert Knolles laughed. “This business tickleth my fancy,” said he. “As to +stopping at the island, this shipman tells me that we must needs wait a day and +a night, for that we have strained our planks. But if you should go ashore, how +will you be sure that you will be free to depart, or that you will see this +King of whom you speak?” +</p> + +<p> +Black Simon’s dark face was shining with a fierce joy. “Fair sir, I will ever +be your debtor if you will let me go. Concerning what you ask, I know this +island even as I know the streets of Norwich, as you may well believe seeing +that it is but a small place and I upon it for near a year. Should I land after +dark, I could win my way to the King’s house, and if he be not dead or +distraught with drink I could have speech with him alone, for I know his ways +and his hours and how he may be found. I would ask only that Aylward the archer +may go with me, that I may have one friend at my side if things should chance +to go awry.” +</p> + +<p> +Knolles thought awhile. “It is much that you ask,” said he, “for by God’s truth +I reckon that you and this friend of yours are two of my men whom I would be +least ready to lose. I have seen you both at grips with the Spaniards and I +know you. But I trust you, and if we must indeed stop at this accursed place, +then you may do as you will. If you have deceived me, or if this is a trick by +which you design to leave me, then God be your friend when next we meet, for +man will be of small avail!” +</p> + +<p> +It proved that not only the seams had to be calked but that the cog Thomas was +out of fresh water. The ships moored therefore near the Isle of Brechou, where +springs were to be found. There were no people upon this little patch, but over +on the farther island many figures could be seen watching them, and the twinkle +of steel from among them showed that they were armed men. One boat had ventured +forth and taken a good look at them, but had hurried back with the warning that +they were too strong to be touched. +</p> + +<p> +Black Simon found Aylward seated under the poop with his back, against +Bartholomew the bowyer. He was whistling merrily as he carved a girl’s face +upon the horn of his bow. +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” said Simon, “will you come ashore to-night—for I have need of your +help?” +</p> + +<p> +Aylward crowed lustily. “Will I come, Simon? By my hilt, I shall be right glad +to put my foot on the good brown earth once more. All my life I have trod it, +and yet I would never have learned its worth had I not journeyed in these +cursed ships. We will go on shore together, Simon, and we will seek out the +women, if there be any there, for it seems a long year since I heard their +gentle voices, and my eyes are weary of such faces as Bartholomew’s or thine.” +</p> + +<p> +Simon’s grim features relaxed into a smile. “The only face that you will see +ashore, Samkin, will bring you small comfort,” said he, “and I warn you that +this is no easy errand, but one which may be neither sweet nor fair, for if +these people take us our end will be a cruel one.” +</p> + +<p> +“By my hilt,” said Aylward, “I am with you, gossip, wherever you may go! Say no +more, therefore, for I am weary of living like a cony in a hole, and I shall be +right glad to stand by you in your venture.” +</p> + +<p> +That night, two hours after dark, a small boat put forth from the Basilisk. It +contained Simon, Aylward and two seamen. The soldiers carried their swords, and +Black Simon bore a brown biscuit-bag over his shoulder. Under his direction the +rowers skirted the dangerous surf which beat against the cliffs until they came +to a spot where an outlying reef formed a breakwater. Within was a belt of calm +water and a shallow cover with a sloping beach. Here the boat was dragged up +and the seamen were ordered to wait, while Simon and Aylward started on their +errand. +</p> + +<p> +With the assured air of a man who knows exactly where he is and whither he is +going, the man-at-arms began to clamber up a narrow fern-lined cleft among the +rocks. It was no easy ascent in the darkness, but Simon climbed on like an old +dog hot upon a scent, and the panting Aylward struggled after as best he might. +At last they were at the summit and the archer threw himself down upon the +grass. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Simon, I have not enough breath to blow out a candle,” said he. “Stint +your haste for a minute, since we have a long night before us. Surely this man +is a friend indeed, if you hasten so to see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such a friend,” Simon answered, “that I have often dreamed of our next +meeting. Now before that moon has set it will have come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had it been a wench I could have understood it,” said Aylward. “By these ten +finger-bones, if Mary of the mill or little Kate of Compton had waited me on +the brow of this cliff, I should have come up it and never known it was there. +But surely I see houses and hear voices over yonder in the shadow?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is their town,” whispered Simon. “There are a hundred as bloody-minded +cutthroats as are to be found in Christendom beneath those roofs. Hark to +that!” +</p> + +<p> +A fierce burst of laughter came out of the darkness, followed by a long cry of +pain. +</p> + +<p> +“All-hallows be with us!” cried Aylward. “What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“As like as not some poor devil has fallen into their clutches, even as I did. +Come this way, Samkin, for there is a peat-cutting where we may hide. Aye, here +it is, but deeper and broader than of old. Now follow me close, for if we keep +within it we shall find ourselves a stone cast off the King’s house.” +</p> + +<p> +Together they crept along the dark cutting. Suddenly Simon seized Aylward by +the shoulder and pushed him into the shadow of the bank. Crouching in the +darkness, they heard footsteps and voices upon the farther side of the trench. +Two men sauntered along it and stopped almost at the very spot where the +comrades were lying. Aylward could see their dark figures outlined against the +starry sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you scold, Jacques,” said one of them, speaking a strange +half-French, half-English lingo. “<i>Le diable t’emporte</i> for a grumbling +rascal. You won a woman and I got nothing. What more would you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will have your chance off the next ship, <i>mon garçon</i>, but mine is +passed. A woman, it is true—an old peasant out of the fields, with a face as +yellow as a kite’s claw. But Gaston, who threw a nine against my eight, got as +fair a little Normandy lass as ever your eyes have seen. Curse the dice, I say! +And as to my woman, I will sell her to you for a firkin of Gascony.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no wine to spare, but I will give you a keg of apples,” said the other. +“I had it out of the Peter and Paul, the Falmouth boat that struck in Creux +Bay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well your apples may be the worse for keeping, but so is old Marie, and +we can cry quits on that. Come round and drink a cup over the bargain.” +</p> + +<p> +They shuffled onward in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“Heard you ever such villainy?” cried Aylward, breathing fierce and hard. “Did +you hear them, Simon? A woman for a keg of apples! And my heart’s root is sad +for the other one, the girl of Normandy. Surely we can land to-morrow and burn +all these water-rats out of their nest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Sir Robert will not waste time or strength ere he reach Brittany.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure I am that if my little master Squire Loring had the handling of it, every +woman on this island would be free ere another day had passed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt it not,” said Simon. “He is one who makes an idol of woman, after the +manner of those crazy knight errants. But Sir Robert is a true soldier and hath +only his purpose in view.” +</p> + +<p> +“Simon,” said Aylward, “the light is not overgood and the place is cramped for +sword-play, but if you will step out into the open I will teach you whether my +master is a true soldier or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, man! you are as foolish yourself,” said Simon. “Here we are with our work +in hand, and yet you must needs fall out with me on our way to it. I say +nothing against your master save that he hath the way of his fellows who follow +dreams and fancies. But Knolles looks neither to right nor left and walks +forward to his mark. Now, let us on, for the time passes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Simon, your words are neither good nor fair. When we are back on shipboard we +will speak further of this matter. Now lead on, I pray you, and let us see some +more of this ten-devil island.” +</p> + +<p> +For half a mile Simon led the way until they came to a large house which stood +by itself. Peering at it from the edge of the cutting, Aylward could see that +it was made from the wreckage of many vessels, for at each corner a prow was +thrust out. Lights blazed within, and there came the sound of a strong voice +singing a gay song which was taken up by a dozen others in the chorus. +</p> + +<p> +“All is well, lad!” whispered Simon in great delight. “That is the voice of the +King. It is the very song he used to sing. ‘<i>Les deux filles de Pierre</i>.’ +’Fore God, my back tingles at the very sound of it. Here we will wait until his +company take their leave.” +</p> + +<p> +Hour after hour they crouched in the peat-cutting, listening to the noisy songs +of the revelers within, some French, some English, and all growing fouler and +less articulate as the night wore on. Once a quarrel broke out and the clamor +was like a cageful of wild beasts at feeding-time. Then a health was drunk and +there was much stamping and cheering. +</p> + +<p> +Only once was the long vigil broken. A woman came forth from the house and +walked up and down, with her face sunk upon her breast. She was tall and +slender, but her features could not be seen for a wimple over her head. Weary +sadness could be read in her bowed back and dragging steps. Once only they saw +her throw her two hands up to Heaven as one who is beyond human aid. Then she +passed slowly into the house again. A moment later the door of the hall was +flung open, and a shouting stumbling throng came crowding forth, with whoop and +yell, into the silent night. Linking arms and striking up a chorus, they +marched past the peat-cutting, their voices dwindling slowly away as they made +for their homes. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Samkin, now!” cried Simon, and jumping out from the hiding-place he made +for the door. It had not yet been fastened. The two comrades sprang inside. +Then Simon drew the bolts so that none might interrupt them. +</p> + +<p> +A long table littered with flagons and beakers lay before them. It was lit up +by a line of torches, which flickered and smoked in their iron sconces. At the +farther end a solitary man was seated. His head rested upon his two hands, as +if he were befuddled with wine, but at the harsh sound of the snapping bolts he +raised his face and looked angrily around him. It was a strange powerful head, +tawny and shaggy like a lion’s, with a tangled beard and a large harsh face, +bloated and blotched with vice. He laughed as the newcomers entered, thinking +that two of his boon companions had returned to finish a flagon. Then he stared +hard and he passed his hand over his eyes like one who thinks he may be +dreaming. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” he cried. “Who are you and whence come you at this hour of +the night? Is this the way to break into our royal presence?” +</p> + +<p> +Simon approached up one side of the table and Aylward up the other. When they +were close to the King, the man-at-arms plucked a torch from its socket and +held it to his own face. The King staggered back with a cry, as he gazed at +that grim visage. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Le diable noir!</i>” he cried. “Simon, the Englishman! What make you here?” +</p> + +<p> +Simon put his hand upon his shoulder. “Sit here!” said he, and he forced the +King into his seat. “Do you sit on the farther side of him, Aylward. We make a +merry group, do we not? Often have I served at this table, but never did I hope +to drink at it. Fill your cup, Samkin, and pass the flagon.” +</p> + +<p> +The King looked from one to the other with terror in his bloodshot eyes. “What +would you do?” he asked. “Are you mad, that you should come here. One shout and +you are at my mercy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my friend, I have lived too long in your house not to know the ways of +it. No man-servant ever slept beneath your roof, for you feared lest your +throat would be cut in the night-time. You may shout and shout, if it so please +you. It chanced that I was passing on my way from England in those ships which +lie off La Brechou, and I thought I would come in and have speech with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Simon, I am right glad to see you,” said the King, cringing away from +the fierce eyes of the soldier. “We were good friends in the past, were we not, +and I cannot call to mind that I have ever done you injury. When you made your +way to England by swimming to the Levantine there was none more glad in heart +than I!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I cared to doff my doublet I could show you the marks of what your +friendship has done for me in the past,” said Simon. “It is printed on my back +as clearly as on my memory. Why, you foul dog, there are the very rings upon +the wall to which my hands were fastened, and there the stains upon the boards +on which my blood has dripped! Is it not so, you king of butchers?” +</p> + +<p> +The pirate chief turned whiter still. “It may be that life here was somewhat +rough, Simon, but if I have wronged you in anyway, I will surely make amends. +What do you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask only one thing, and I have come hither that I may get it. It is that you +pay me forfeit for that you have lost your wager.” +</p> + +<p> +“My wager, Simon! I call to mind no wager.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I will call it to your mind, and then I will take my payment. Often have +you sworn that you would break my courage. ‘By my head!’ you have cried to me. +‘You will crawl at my feet!’ and again: ‘I will wager my head that I will tame +you!’ Yes, yes, a score of times you have said so. In my heart, as I listened, +I have taken up your gage. And now, dog, you have lost and I am here to claim +the forfeit.” +</p> + +<p> +His long heavy sword flew from its sheath. The King, with a howl of despair, +flung his arms round him, and they rolled together under the table. Aylward sat +with a ghastly face, and his toes curled with horror at the sight, for he was +still new to scenes of strife and his blood was too cold for such a deed. When +Simon rose he tossed something into his bag and sheathed his bloody sword. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Samkin, our work is well done,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“By my hilt, if I had known what it was I would have been less ready to come +with you,” said the archer. “Could you not have clapped a sword in his fist and +let him take his chance in the hall?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Samkin, if you had such memories as I, you would have wished that he +should die like a sheep and not like a man. What chance did he give me when he +had the power? And why should I treat him better? But, Holy Virgin, what have +we here?” +</p> + +<p> +At the farther end of the table a woman was standing. An open door behind her +showed that she had come from the inner room of the house. By her tall figure +the comrades knew that she was the same that they had already seen. Her face +had once been fair, but now was white and haggard with wild dark eyes full of a +hopeless terror and despair. Slowly she paced up the room, her gaze fixed not +upon the comrades, but upon the dreadful thing beneath the table. Then as she +stooped and was sure she burst into loud laughter and clapped her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Who shall say there is no God?” she cried. “Who shall say that prayer is +unavailing? Great sir, brave sir, let me kiss that conquering hand!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, dame, stand back! Well, if you must needs have one of them, take +this which is the clean one.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the other I crave—that which is red with his blood! Oh! joyful night +when my lips have been wet with it! Now I can die in peace!” +</p> + +<p> +“We must go, Aylward,” said Simon. “In another hour the dawn will have broken. +In daytime a rat could not cross this island and pass unseen. Come, man, and at +once!” +</p> + +<p> +But Aylward was at the woman’s side. “Come with us, fair dame,” said he. +“Surely we can, at least, take you from this island, and no such change can be +for the worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said she, “the saints in Heaven cannot help me now until they take me to +my rest. There is no place for me in the world beyond, and all my friends were +slain on the day I was taken. Leave me, brave men, and let me care for myself. +Already it lightens in the east, and black will be your fate if you are taken. +Go, and may the blessing of one who was once a holy nun go with you and guard +you from danger!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert Knolles was pacing the deck in the early morning, when he heard the +sound of oars, and there were his two night-birds climbing up the side. +</p> + +<p> +“So, fellow,” said he, “have you had speech with the King of Sark?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fair sir, I have seen him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he has paid his forfeit?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has paid it, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Knolles looked with curiosity at the bag which Simon bore. “What carry you +there?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The stake that he has lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was it then? A goblet? A silver plate?” +</p> + +<p> +For answer Simon opened his bag and shook it on the deck. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert turned away with a whistle. “’Fore God!” said he, “it is in my mind +that I carry some hard men with me to Brittany.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>XIX.<br/> +HOW A SQUIRE OF ENGLAND MET A SQUIRE OF FRANCE</h2> + +<p> +Sir Robert Knolles with his little fleet had sighted the Breton coast near +Cancale; they had rounded the Point du Grouin, and finally had sailed past the +port of St. Malo and down the long narrow estuary of the Rance until they were +close to the old walled city of Dinan, which was held by that Montfort faction +whose cause the English had espoused. Here the horses had been disembarked, the +stores were unloaded, and the whole force encamped outside the city, whilst the +leaders waited for news as to the present state of affairs, and where there was +most hope of honor and profit. +</p> + +<p> +The whole of France was feeling the effects of that war with England which had +already lasted some ten years, but no Province was in so dreadful a condition +as this unhappy land of Brittany. In Normandy or Picardy the inroads of the +English were periodical with intervals of rest between; but Brittany was torn +asunder by constant civil war apart from the grapple of the two great +combatants, so that there was no surcease of her sufferings. The struggle had +begun in 1341 through the rival claims of Montfort and of Blois to the vacant +dukedom. England had taken the part of Montfort, France that of Blois. Neither +faction was strong enough to destroy the other, and so after ten years of +continual fighting, history recorded a long ineffectual list of surprises and +ambushes, of raids and skirmishes, of towns taken and retaken, of alternate +victory and defeat, in which neither party could claim a supremacy. It mattered +nothing that Montfort and Blois had both disappeared from the scene, the one +dead and the other taken by the English. Their wives caught up the swords which +had dropped from the hands of their lords, and the long struggle went on even +more savagely than before. +</p> + +<p> +In the south and east the Blois faction held the country, and Nantes the +capital was garrisoned and occupied by a strong French army. In the north and +west the Montfort party prevailed, for the island kingdom was at their back and +always fresh sails broke the northern sky-line bearing adventurers from over +the channel. +</p> + +<p> +Between these two there lay a broad zone comprising all the center of the +country which was a land of blood and violence, where no law prevailed save +that of the sword. From end to end it was dotted with castles, some held for +one side, some for the other, and many mere robber strongholds, the scenes of +gross and monstrous deeds, whose brute owners, knowing that they could never be +called to account, made war upon all mankind, and wrung with rack and with +flame the last shilling from all who fell into their savage hands. The fields +had long been untilled. Commerce was dead. From Rennes in the east to Hennebon +in the west, and from Dinan in the north to Nantes in the south, there was no +spot where a man’s life or a woman’s honor was safe. Such was the land, full of +darkness and blood, the saddest, blackest spot in Christendom, into which +Knolles and his men were now advancing. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no sadness in the young heart of Nigel, as he rode by the side of +Knolles at the head of a clump of spears, nor did it seem to him that Fate had +led him into an unduly arduous path. On the contrary, he blessed the good +fortune which had sent him into so delightful a country, and it seemed to him +as he listened to dreadful stories of robber barons, and looked round at the +black scars of war which lay branded upon the fair faces of the hills, that no +hero of romances or trouveur had ever journeyed through such a land of promise, +with so fair a chance of knightly venture and honorable advancement. +</p> + +<p> +The Red Ferret was one deed toward his vow. Surely a second, and perhaps a +better, was to be found somewhere upon this glorious countryside. He had borne +himself as the others had in the sea-fight, and could not count it to his +credit where he had done no more than mere duty. Something beyond this was +needed for such a deed as could be laid at the feet of the Lady Mary. But +surely it was to be found here in fermenting war-distracted Brittany. Then with +two done it would be strange if he could not find occasion for that third one, +which would complete his service and set him free to look her in the face once +more. With the great yellow horse curveting beneath him, his Guildford armor +gleaming in the sun, his sword clanking against his stirrup-iron, and his +father’s tough ash-spear in his hand, he rode with a light heart and a smiling +face, looking eagerly to right and to left for any chance which his good Fate +might send. +</p> + +<p> +The road from Dinan to Caulnes, along which the small army was moving, rose and +dipped over undulating ground, with a bare marshy plain upon the left where the +river Rance ran down to the sea, while upon the right lay a wooded country with +a few wretched villages, so poor and sordid that they had nothing with which to +tempt the spoiler. The peasants had left them at the first twinkle of a steel +cap, and lurked at the edges of the woods, ready in an instant to dive into +those secret recesses known only to themselves. These creatures suffered sorely +at the hands of both parties, but when the chance came they revenged their +wrongs on either in a savage way which brought fresh brutalities upon their +heads. +</p> + +<p> +The new-comers soon had a chance of seeing to what lengths they would go, for +in the roadway near to Caulnes they came upon an English man-at-arms who had +been waylaid and slain by them. How they had overcome him could not be told, +but how they had slain him within his armor was horribly apparent, for they had +carried such a rock as eight men could lift, and had dropped it upon him as he +lay, so that he was spread out in his shattered case like a crab beneath a +stone. Many a fist was shaken at the distant woods and many a curse hurled at +those who haunted them, as the column of scowling soldiers passed the murdered +man, whose badge of the Molene cross showed him to have been a follower of that +House of Bentley, whose head, Sir Walter, was at that time leader of the +British forces in the country. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert Knolles had served in Brittany before, and he marshaled his men on +the march with the skill and caution of the veteran soldier, the man who leaves +as little as possible to chance, having too steadfast a mind to heed the fool +who may think him overcautious. He had recruited a number of bowmen and +men-at-arms at Dinan; so that his following was now close upon five hundred +men. In front under his own leadership were fifty mounted lancers, fully armed +and ready for any sudden attack. Behind them on foot came the archers, and a +second body of mounted men closed up the rear. Out upon either flank moved +small bodies of cavalry, and a dozen scouts, spread fanwise, probed every gorge +and dingle in front of the column. So for three days he moved slowly down the +Southern Road. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Thomas Percy and Sir James Astley had ridden to the head of the column, and +Knolles conferred with them as they marched concerning the plan of their +campaign. Percy and Astley were young and hot-headed with wild visions of +dashing deeds and knight errantry, but Knolles with cold, clear brain and +purpose of iron held ever his object in view. +</p> + +<p> +“By the holy Dunstan and all the saints of Lindisfarne!” cried the fiery +Borderer, “it goes to my heart to ride forward when there are such honorable +chances on either side of us. Have I not heard that the French are at Evran +beyond the river, and is it not sooth that yonder castle, the towers of which I +see above the woods, is in the hands of a traitor, who is false to his liege +lord of Montford? There is little profit to be gained upon this road, for the +folk seem to have no heart for war. Had we ventured as far over the marches of +Scotland as we now are in Brittany, we should not have lacked some honorable +venture or chance of winning worship.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say truth, Thomas,” cried Astley, a red-faced and choleric young man. “It +is well certain that the French will not come to us, and surely it is the more +needful that we go to them. In sooth, any soldier who sees us would smile that +we should creep for three days along this road as though a thousand dangers lay +before us, when we have but poor broken peasants to deal with.” +</p> + +<p> +But Robert Knolles shook his head. “We know not what are in these woods, or +behind these hills,” said he, “and when I know nothing it is my wont to prepare +for the worst which may befall. It is but prudence so to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your enemies might find some harsher name for it,” said Astley with a sneer. +“Nay, you need not think to scare me by glaring at me, Sir Robert, nor will +your ill-pleasure change my thoughts. I have faced fiercer eyes than thine, and +I have not feared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your speech, Sir James, is neither courteous nor good,” said Knolles, “and if +I were a free man I would cram your words down your throat with the point of my +dagger. But I am here to lead these men in profit and honor, not to quarrel +with every fool who has not the wit to understand how soldiers should be led. +Can you not see that if I make attempts here and there, as you would have me +do, I shall have weakened my strength before I come to that part where it can +best be spent?” +</p> + +<p> +“And where is that?” asked Percy. “’Fore God, Astley, it is in my mind that we +ride with one who knows more of war than you or I, and that we would be wise to +be guided by his rede. Tell us then what is in your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty miles from here,” said Knolles, “there is, as I am told, a fortalice +named Ploermel, and within it is one Bambro, an Englishman, with a good +garrison. No great distance from him is the Castle of Josselin where dwells +Robert of Beaumanoir with a great following of Bretons. It is my intention that +we should join Bambro, and so be in such strength that we may throw ourselves +upon Josselin, and by taking it become the masters of all mid-Brittany, and +able to make head against the Frenchmen in the south.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I think that you can do no better,” said Percy heartily, “and I swear +to you on jeopardy of my soul that I will stand by you in the matter! I doubt +not that when we come deep into their land they will draw together and do what +they may to make head against us; but up to now I swear by all the saints of +Lindisfarne that I should have seen more war in a summer’s day in Liddesdale or +at the Forest of Jedburgh than any that Brittany has shown us. But see, yonder +horsemen are riding in. They are our own hobblers, are they not? And who are +these who are lashed to their stirrups?” +</p> + +<p> +A small troop of mounted bowmen had ridden out of an oak grove upon the left of +the road. They trotted up to where the three knights had halted. Two wretched +peasants whose wrists had been tied to their leathers came leaping and +straining beside the horses in their effort not to be dragged off their feet. +One was a tall, gaunt, yellow-haired man, the other short and swarthy, but both +so crusted with dirt, so matted and tangled and ragged, that they were more +like beasts of the wood than human beings. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” asked Knolles. “Have I not ordered you to leave the countryfolk +at peace?” +</p> + +<p> +The leader of the archers, old Wat of Carlisle, held up a sword, a girdle and a +dagger. “If it please you, fair sir,” said he, “I saw the glint of these, and I +thought them no fit tools for hands which were made for the spade and the plow. +But when we had ridden them down and taken them, there was the Bentley cross +upon each, and we knew that they had belonged to yonder dead Englishman upon +the road. Surely then, these are two of the villains who have slain him, and it +is right that we do justice upon them.” +</p> + +<p> +Sure enough, upon sword, girdle and dagger shone the silver Molene cross which +had gleamed on the dead man’s armor. Knolles looked at them and then at the +prisoners with a face of stone. At the sight of those fell eyes they had +dropped with inarticulate howls upon their knees, screaming out their protests +in a tongue which none could understand. +</p> + +<p> +“We must have the roads safe for wandering Englishmen,” said Knolles. “These +men must surely die. Hang them to yonder tree.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to a live-oak by the roadside, and rode onward upon his way in +converse with his fellow-knights. But the old bowman had ridden after him. +</p> + +<p> +“If it please you, Sir Robert, the bowmen would fain put these men to death in +their own fashion,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“So that they die, I care not how,” Knolles answered carelessly, and looked +back no more. +</p> + +<p> +Human life was cheap in those stern days when the footmen of a stricken army or +the crew of a captured ship were slain without any question or thought of mercy +by the victors. War was a rude game with death for the stake, and the forfeit +was always claimed on the one side and paid on the other without doubt or +hesitation. Only the knight might be spared, since his ransom made him worth +more alive than dead. To men trained in such a school, with death forever +hanging over their own heads, it may be well believed that the slaying of two +peasant murderers was a small matter. +</p> + +<p> +And yet there was special reason why upon this occasion the bowmen wished to +keep the deed in their own hands. Ever since their dispute aboard the Basilisk, +there had been ill-feeling betwixt Bartholomew the old bald-headed bowyer, and +long Ned Widdington the Dalesman, which had ended in a conflict at Dinan, in +which not only they, but a dozen of their friends had been laid upon the +cobble-stones. The dispute raged round their respective knowledge and skill +with the bow, and now some quick wit amongst the soldiers had suggested a grim +fashion in which it should be put to the proof, once for all, which could draw +the surer shaft. +</p> + +<p> +A thick wood lay two hundred paces from the road upon which the archers stood. +A stretch of smooth grassy sward lay between. The two peasants were led out +fifty yards from the road, with their faces toward the wood. There they stood, +held on a leash, and casting many a wondering frightened glance over their +shoulders at the preparations which were being made behind them. +</p> + +<p> +Old Bartholomew and the big Yorkshireman had stepped out of the ranks and stood +side by side each with his strung bow in his left hand and a single arrow in +his right. With care they had drawn on and greased their shooting-gloves and +fastened their bracers. They plucked and cast up a few blades of grass to +measure the wind, examined every small point of their tackle, turned their +sides to the mark, and widened their feet in a firmer stance. From all sides +came chaff and counsel from their comrades. +</p> + +<p> +“A three-quarter wind, bowyer!” cried one. “Aim a body’s breadth to the right!” +</p> + +<p> +“But not thy body’s breadth, bowyer,” laughed another. “Else may you be +overwide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, this wind will scarce turn a well-drawn shaft,” said a third. “Shoot dead +upon him and you will be clap in the clout.” +</p> + +<p> +“Steady, Ned, for the good name of the Dales,” cried a Yorkshireman. “Loose +easy and pluck not, or I am five crowns the poorer man.” +</p> + +<p> +“A week’s pay on Bartholomew!” shouted another. “Now, old fat-pate, fail me +not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough, enough! Stint your talk!” cried the old bowman, Wat of Carlisle. “Were +your shafts as quick as your tongues there would be no facing you. Do you shoot +upon the little one, Bartholomew, and you, Ned, upon the other. Give them law +until I cry the word, then loose in your own fashion and at your own time. Are +you ready! Hola, there, Hayward, Beddington, let them run!” +</p> + +<p> +The leashes were torn away, and the two men, stooping their heads, ran madly +for the shelter of the wood amid such a howl from the archers as beaters may +give when the hare starts from its form. The two bowmen, each with his arrow +drawn to the pile, stood like russet statues, menacing, motionless, their eager +eyes fixed upon the fugitives, their bow-staves rising slowly as the distance +between them lengthened. The Bretons were half-way to the wood, and still Old +Wat was silent. It may have been mercy or it may have been mischief, but at +least the chase should have a fair chance of life. At six score paces he turned +his grizzled head at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Loose!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +At the word the Yorkshireman’s bow-string twanged. It was not for nothing that +he had earned the name of being one of the deadliest archers of the North and +had twice borne away the silver arrow of Selby. Swift and true flew the fatal +shaft and buried itself to the feather in the curved back of the long +yellow-haired peasant. Without a sound he fell upon his face and lay stone-dead +upon the grass, the one short white plume between his dark shoulders to mark +where Death had smote him. +</p> + +<p> +The Yorkshireman threw his bowstave into the air and danced in triumph, whilst +his comrades roared their fierce delight in a shout of applause, which changed +suddenly into a tempest of hooting and of laughter. +</p> + +<p> +The smaller peasant, more cunning, than his comrade, had run more slowly, but +with many a backward glance. He had marked his companion’s fate and had waited +with keen eyes until he saw the bowyer loose his string. At the moment he had +thrown himself flat upon the grass and had heard the arrow scream above +him,—and seen it quiver in the turf beyond. Instantly he had sprung to his feet +again and amid wild whoops and halloos from the bowmen had made for the shelter +of the wood. Now he had reached it, and ten score good paces separated him from +the nearest of his persecutors. Surely they could not reach him here. With the +tangled brushwood behind him he was as safe as a rabbit at the mouth of his +burrow. In the joy of his heart he must needs dance in derision and snap his +fingers at the foolish men who had let him slip. He threw back his head, +howling at them like a dog, and at the instant an arrow struck him full in the +throat and laid him dead among the bracken. There was a hush of surprised +silence and then a loud cheer burst from the archers. +</p> + +<p> +“By the rood of Beverley!” cried old Wat, “I have not seen a finer roving shaft +this many a year. In my own best day I could not have bettered it. Which of you +loosed it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was Aylward of Tilford—Samkin Aylward,” cried a score of voices, and the +bowman, flushed at his own fame, was pushed to the front. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I would that it had been at a nobler mark,” said he. “He might have +gone free for me, but I could not keep my fingers from the string when he +turned to jeer at us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see well that you are indeed a master-bowman,” said old Wat, “and it is +comfort to my soul to think that if I fall I leave such a man behind me to hold +high the credit of our craft. Now gather your shafts and on, for Sir Robert +awaits us on the brow of the hill.” +</p> + +<p> +All day Knolles and his men marched through the same wild and deserted country, +inhabited only by these furtive creatures, hares to the strong and wolves to +the weak, who hovered in the shadows of the wood. Ever and anon upon the tops +of the hills they caught a glimpse of horsemen who watched them from a distance +and vanished when approached. Sometimes bells rang an alarm from villages +amongst the hills, and twice they passed castles which drew up their +drawbridges at their approach and lined their walls with hooting soldiers as +they passed. The Englishmen gathered a few oxen and sheep from the pastures of +each, but Knolles had no mind to break his strength upon stone walls, and so he +went upon his way. +</p> + +<p> +Once at St. Meen they passed a great nunnery, girt with a high gray lichened +wall, an oasis of peace in this desert of war, the black-robed nuns basking in +the sun or working in the gardens, with the strong gentle hand of Holy Church +shielding them ever from evil. The archers doffed caps to them as they passed, +for the boldest and roughest dared not cross that line guarded by the dire ban +and blight which was the one only force in the whole steel-ridden earth which +could stand betwixt the weakling and the spoiler. +</p> + +<p> +The little army halted at St. Meen and cooked its midday meal. It had gathered +into its ranks again and was about to start, when Knolles drew Nigel to one +side. +</p> + +<p> +“Nigel,” said he, “it seems to me that I have seldom set eyes upon a horse +which hath more power and promise of speed than this great beast of thine.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is indeed a noble steed, fair sir,” said Nigel. Betwixt him and his young +leader there had sprung up great affection and respect since the day that they +set foot in the Basilisk. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be the better if you stretch his limbs, for he grows overheavy,” said +the knight. “Now mark me, Nigel! Yonder betwixt the ash-tree and the red rock +what do you see on the side of the far hill?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a white dot upon it. Surely it is a horse.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have marked it all morning, Nigel. This horseman has kept ever upon our +flank, spying upon us or waiting to make some attempt upon us. Now I should be +right glad to have a prisoner, for it is my wish to know something of this +country-side, and these peasants can speak neither French nor English. I would +have you linger here in hiding when we go forward. This man will still follow +us. When he does so, yonder wood will lie betwixt you and him. Do you ride +round it and come upon him from behind. There is broad plain upon his left, and +we will cut him off upon the right. If your horse be indeed the swifter, then +you cannot fail to take him.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had already sprung down and was tightening Pommers’ girth. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, there is no need of haste, for you cannot start until we are two miles +upon our way. And above all I pray you, Nigel, none of your knight-errant ways. +It is this roan that I want, him and the news that he can bring me. Think +little of your own advancement and much of the needs of the army. When you get +him, ride westwards upon the sun, and you cannot fail to find the road.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel waited with Pommers under the shadow of the nunnery wall, horse and man +chafing with impatience, whilst above them six round-eyed innocent nun-faces +looked down on this strange and disturbing vision from the outer world. At last +the long column wound itself out of sight round a curve of the road, and the +white dot was gone from the bare green flank of the hill. Nigel bowed his steel +head to the nuns, gave his bridle a shake, and bounded off upon his welcome +mission. The round-eyed sisters saw yellow horse and twinkling man sweep round +the skirt of the wood, caught a last glimmer of him through the tree-trunks, +and paced slowly back to their pruning and their planting, their minds filled +with the beauty and the terror of that outer world beyond the high gray +lichen-mottled wall. +</p> + +<p> +Everything fell out even as Knolles had planned. As Nigel rounded the oak +forest, there upon the farther side of it, with only good greensward between, +was the rider upon the white horse. Already he was so near that Nigel could see +him clearly, a young cavalier, proud in his bearing, clad in purple silk tunic +with a red curling feather in his low black cap. He wore no armor, but his +sword gleamed at his side. He rode easily and carelessly, as one who cares for +no man, and his eyes were forever fixed upon the English soldiers on the road. +So intent was he upon them that he gave no thought to his own safety, and it +was only when the low thunder of the great horse’s hoofs broke upon his ears +that he turned in his saddle, looked very coolly and steadily at Nigel, then +gave his own bridle a shake and darted off, swift as a hawk, toward the hills +upon the left. +</p> + +<p> +Pommers had met his match that day. The white horse, two parts Arab, bore the +lighter weight, since Nigel was clad in full armor. For five miles over the +open neither gained a hundred yards upon the other. They had topped the hill +and flew down the farther side, the stranger continually turning in his saddle +to have a look at his pursuer. There was no panic in his flight, but rather the +amused rivalry with which a good horseman who is proud of his mount contends +with one who has challenged him. Below the hill was a marshy plain, studded +with great Druidic stones, some prostrate, some erect, some bearing others +across their tops like the huge doors of some vanished building. A path ran +through the marsh with green rushes as a danger signal on either side of it. +Across this path many of the huge stones were lying, but the white horse +cleared them in its stride and Pommers followed close upon his heels. Then came +a mile of soft ground where the lighter weight again drew to the front, but it +ended in a dry upland and once again Nigel gained. A sunken road crossed it, +but the white cleared it with a mighty spring, and again the yellow followed. +Two small hills lay before them with a narrow gorge of deep bushes between. +Nigel saw the white horse bounding chest-deep amid the underwood. +</p> + +<p> +Next instant its hind legs were high in the air, and the rider had been shot +from its back. A howl of triumph rose from amidst the bushes, and a dozen wild +figures armed with club and with spear, rushed upon the prostrate man. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>À moi, Anglais, à moi!</i>” cried a voice, and Nigel saw the young rider +stagger to his feet, strike round him with his sword, and then fall once more +before the rush of his assailants. +</p> + +<p> +There was a comradeship among men of gentle blood and bearing which banded them +together against all ruffianly or unchivalrous attack. These rude fellows were +no soldiers. Their dress and arms, their uncouth cries and wild assault, marked +them as banditti—such men as had slain the Englishman upon the road. Waiting in +narrow gorges with a hidden rope across the path, they watched for the lonely +horseman as a fowler waits by his bird-trap, trusting that they could overthrow +the steed and then slay the rider ere he had recovered from his fall. +</p> + +<p> +Such would have been the fate of the stranger, as of so many cavaliers before +him, had Nigel not chanced to be close upon his heels. In an instant Pommers +had burst through the group who struck at the prostrate man, and in another two +of the robbers had fallen before Nigel’s sword. A spear rang on his +breastplate, but one blow shore off its head, and a second that of him who held +it. In vain they thrust at the steel-girt man. His sword played round them like +lightning, and the fierce horse ramped and swooped above them with pawing +iron-shod hoofs and eyes of fire. With cries and shrieks they flew off to right +and left amidst the bushes, springing over boulders and darting under branches +where no horseman could follow them. The foul crew had gone as swiftly and +suddenly as it had come, and save for four ragged figures littered amongst the +trampled bushes, no sign remaining of their passing. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel tethered Pommers to a thorn-bush and then turned his attention to the +injured man. The white horse had regained his feet and stood whinnying gently +as he looked down on his prostrate master. A heavy blow, half broken by his +sword, had beaten him down and left a great raw bruise upon his forehead. But a +stream gurgled through the gorge, and a capful of water dashed over his face +brought the senses back to the injured man. He was a mere stripling, with the +delicate features of a woman, and a pair of great violet-blue eyes which looked +up presently with a puzzled stare into Nigel’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he asked. “Ah yes! I call you to mind. You are the young +Englishman who chased me on the great yellow horse. By our Lady of Rocamadour +whose vernicle is round my neck! I could not have believed that any horse could +have kept at the heels of Charlemagne so long. But I will wager you a hundred +crowns, Englishman, that I lead you over a five-mile course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Nigel, “we will wait till you can back a horse ere we talk of +racing it. I am Nigel of Tilford, of the family of Loring, a squire by rank and +the son of a knight. How are you called, young sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I also am a squire by rank and the son of a knight. I am Raoul de la Roche +Pierre de Bras, whose father writes himself Lord of Grosbois, a free vavasor of +the noble Count of Toulouse, with the right of fossa and of furca, the high +justice, the middle and the low.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Englishman, +you have saved my life as I would have saved yours, had I seen such yelping +dogs set upon a man of blood and of coat-armor. But now I am yours, and what is +your sweet will?” +</p> + +<p> +“When you are fit to ride, you will come back with me to my people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! I feared that you would say so. Had I taken you, Nigel—that is your +name, is it not?—had I taken you, I would not have acted thus.” +</p> + +<p> +“How then would you have ordered things?” asked Nigel, much taken with the +frank and debonair manner of his captive. +</p> + +<p> +“I would not have taken advantage of such a mischance as has befallen me which +has put me in your power. I would give you a sword and beat you in fair fight, +so that I might send you to give greeting to my dear lady and show her the +deeds which I do for her fair sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, your words are both good and fair,” said Nigel. “By Saint Paul! I +cannot call to mind that I have ever met a man who bore himself better. But +since I am in my armor and you without, I see not how we can debate the +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, gentle Nigel, you could doff your armor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then have I only my underclothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, there shall be no unfairness there, for I also will very gladly strip to +my underclothes.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked wistfully at the Frenchman; but he shook his head. “Alas! it may +not be,” said he. “The last words that Sir Robert said to me were that I was to +bring you to his side, for he would have speech with you. Would that I could do +what you ask, for I also have a fair lady to whom I would fain send you. What +use are you to me, Raoul, since I have gained no honor in the taking of you? +How is it with you now?” +</p> + +<p> +The young Frenchman had risen to his feet. “Do not take my sword,” he said. “I +am yours, rescue or no rescue. I think now that I could mount my horse, though +indeed my head still rings like a cracked bell.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had lost all traces of his comrades; but he remembered Sir Robert’s words +that he should ride upon the sun with the certainty that sooner or later he +would strike upon the road. As they jogged slowly along over undulating hills, +the Frenchman shook off his hurt and the two chatted merrily together. +</p> + +<p> +“I had but just come from France,” said he, “and I had hoped to win honor in +this country, for I have ever heard that the English are very hardy men and +excellent people to fight with. My mules and my baggage are at Evran; but I +rode forth to see what I could see, and I chanced upon your army moving down +the road, so I coasted it in the hopes of some profit or adventure. Then you +came after me and I would have given all the gold goblets upon my father’s +table if I had my harness so that I could have turned upon you. I have promised +the Countess Beatrice that I will send her an Englishman or two to kiss her +hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“One might perchance have a worse fate,” said Nigel. “Is this fair dame your +betrothed?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is my love,” answered the Frenchman. “We are but waiting for the Count to +be slain in the wars, and then we mean to marry. And this lady of thine, Nigel? +I would that I could see her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perchance you shall, fair sir,” said Nigel, “for all that I have seen of you +fills me with desire to go further with you. It is in my mind that we might +turn this thing to profit and to honor, for when Sir Robert has spoken with +you, I am free to do with you as I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what will you do, Nigel?” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall surely try some small deed upon each other, so that either I shall +see the Lady Beatrice, or you the Lady Mary. Nay, thank me not, for like +yourself, I have come to this country in search of honor, and I know not where +I may better find it than at the end of your sword-point. My good lord and +master, Sir John Chandos, has told me many times that never yet did he meet +French knight nor squire that he did not find great pleasure and profit from +their company, and now I very clearly see that he has spoken the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +For an hour these two friends rode together, the Frenchman pouring forth the +praises of his lady, whose glove he produced from one pocket, her garter from +his vest, and her shoe from his saddle-bag. She was blond, and when he heard +that Mary was dark, he would fain stop then and there to fight the question of +color. He talked too of his great château at Lauta, by the head waters of the +pleasant Garonne; of the hundred horses in the stables, the seventy hounds in +the kennels, the fifty hawks in the mews. His English friend should come there +when the wars were over, and what golden days would be theirs! Nigel too, with +his English coldness thawing before this young sunbeam of the South, found +himself talking of the heather slopes of Surrey, of the forest of Woolmer, even +of the sacred chambers of Cosford. +</p> + +<p> +But as they rode onward towards the sinking sun, their thoughts far away in +their distant homes, their horses striding together, there came that which +brought their minds back in an instant to the perilous hillsides of Brittany. +</p> + +<p> +It was the long blast of a trumpet blown from somewhere on the farther side of +a ridge toward which they were riding. A second long-drawn note from a distance +answered it. +</p> + +<p> +“It is your camp,” said the Frenchman. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Nigel; “we have pipes with us and a naker or two, but I have heard +no trumpet-call from our ranks. It behooves us to take heed, for we know not +what may be before us. Ride this way, I pray you, that we may look over and yet +be ourselves unseen.” +</p> + +<p> +Some scattered boulders crowned the height, and from behind them the two young +Squires could see the long rocky valley beyond. Upon a knoll was a small square +building with a battlement round it. Some distance from it towered a great dark +castle, as massive as the rocks on which it stood, with one strong keep at the +corner, and four long lines of machicolated walls. Above, a great banner flew +proudly in the wind, with some device which glowed red in the setting sun. +Nigel shaded his eyes and stared with wrinkled brow. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not the arms of England, nor yet the lilies of France, nor is it the +ermine of Brittany,” said he. “He who holds this castle fights for his own +hand, since his own device flies above it. Surely it is a head gules on an +argent field.” +</p> + +<p> +“The bloody head on a silver tray!” cried the Frenchman. “Was I not warned +against him? This is not a man, friend Nigel. It is a monster who wars upon +English, French and all Christendom. Have you not heard of the Butcher of La +Brohinière?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I have not heard of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“His name is accursed in France. Have I not been told also that he put to death +this very year Gilles de St. Pol, a friend of the English King?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in very truth it comes back to my mind now that I heard something of this +matter in Calais before we started.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then there he dwells, and God guard you if ever you pass under yonder portal, +for no prisoner has ever come forth alive! Since these wars began he hath been +a king to himself, and the plunder of eleven years lies in yonder cellars. How +can justice come to him, when no man knows who owns the land? But when we have +packed you all back to your island, by the Blessed Mother of God, we have a +heavy debt to pay to the man who dwells in yonder pile!” +</p> + +<p> +But even as they watched, the trumpet-call burst forth once more. It came not +from the castle but from the farther end of the valley. It was answered by a +second call from the walls. Then in a long, straggling line there came a wild +troop of marauders streaming homeward from some foray. In the van, at the head +of a body of spearmen, rode a tall and burly man, clad in brazen armor, so that +he shone like a golden image in the slanting rays of the sun. His helmet had +been loosened from his gorget and was held before him on his horse’s neck. A +great tangled beard flowed over his breastplate, and his hair hung down as far +behind. A squire at his elbow bore high the banner of the bleeding head. Behind +the spearmen were a line of heavily laden mules, and on either side of them a +drove of poor country folk, who were being herded into the castle. Lastly came +a second strong troop of mounted spearmen, who conducted a score or more of +prisoners who marched together in a solid body. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel stared at them and then, springing on his horse, he urged it along the +shelter of the ridge so as to reach unseen a spot which was close to the castle +gate. He had scarce taken up his new position when the cavalcade reached the +drawbridge, and amid yells of welcome from those upon the wall, filed in a thin +line across it. Nigel stared hard once more at the prisoners in the rear, and +so absorbed was he by the sight that he had passed the rocks and was standing +sheer upon the summit. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul!” he cried, “it must indeed be so. I see their russet jackets. +They are English archers!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, the hindmost one, a strongly built, broad-shouldered man, looked +round and saw the gleaming figure above him upon the hill, with open helmet, +and the five roses glowing upon his breast. With a sweep of his hands he had +thrust his guardians aside and for a moment was clear of the throng. +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Loring! Squire Loring!” he cried. “It is I, Aylward the archer! It is +I, Samkin Aylward!” The next minute a dozen hands had seized him, his cries +were muffled with a gag, and he was hurled, the last of the band, through the +black and threatening archway of the gate. Then with a clang the two iron wings +came together, the portcullis swung upward, and captives and captors, robbers +and booty, were all swallowed up within the grim and silent fortress. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>XX.<br/> +HOW THE ENGLISH ATTEMPTED THE CASTLE OF LA BROHINIÈRE</h2> + +<p> +For some minutes Nigel remained motionless upon the crest of the hill, his +heart, like lead within him, and his eyes fixed upon the huge gray walls which +contained his unhappy henchman. He was roused by a sympathetic hand upon his +shoulder and the voice of his young prisoner in his ear. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Peste!</i>” said he. “They have some of your birds in their cage, have they +not? What then, my friend? Keep your heart high! Is it not the chance of war, +to-day to them, to-morrow to thee, and death at last for us all? And yet I had +rather they were in any hands than those of Oliver the Butcher.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul, we cannot suffer it!” cried Nigel distractedly. “This man has +come with me from my own home. He has stood between me and death before now. It +goes to my very heart that he should call upon me in vain. I pray you, Raoul, +to use your wits, for mine are all curdled in my head. Tell me what I should do +and how I may bring him help.” +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. “As easy to get a lamb unscathed out of a +wolves’ lair as a prisoner safe from La Brohinière. Nay, Nigel, whither do you +go? Have you indeed taken leave of your wits?” +</p> + +<p> +The Squire had spurred his horse down the hillside and never halted until he +was within a bowshot of the gate. The French prisoner followed hard behind him, +with a buzz of reproaches and expostulations. +</p> + +<p> +“You are mad, Nigel!” he cried. “What do you hope to do then? Would you carry +the castle with your own hands? Halt, man, halt, in the name of the Virgin!” +</p> + +<p> +But Nigel had no plan in his head and only obeyed the fevered impulse to do +something to ease his thoughts. He paced his horse up and down, waving his +spear, and shouting insults and challenges to the garrison. Over the high wall +a hundred jeering faces looked down upon him. So rash and wild was his action +that it seemed to those within to mean some trap, so the drawbridge was still +held high and none ventured forth to seize him. A few long-range arrows +pattered on the rocks, and then with a deep booming sound a huge stone, hurled +from a mangonel, sang over the head of the two Squires and crushed into +splinters amongst the boulders behind them. The Frenchman seized Nigel’s bridle +and forced him farther from the gateway. +</p> + +<p> +“By the dear Virgin!” he cried, “I care not to have those pebbles about my +ears, yet I cannot go back alone, so it is very clear, my crazy comrade, that +you must come also. Now we are beyond their reach! But see, my friend Nigel, +who are those who crown the height?” +</p> + +<p> +The sun had sunk behind the western ridge, but the glowing sky was fringed at +its lower edge by a score of ruddy twinkling points. A body of horsemen showed +hard and black upon the bare hill. Then they dipped down the slope into the +valley, whilst a band of footmen followed behind. +</p> + +<p> +“They are my people,” cried Nigel joyously. “Come, my friend, hasten, that we +may take counsel what we shall do.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Robert Knolles rode a bowshot in front of his men, and his brow was as +black as night. Beside him, with crestfallen face, his horse bleeding, his +armor dinted and soiled, was the hot-headed knight, Sir James Astley. A fierce +discussion raged between them. +</p> + +<p> +“I have done my devoir as best I might,” said Astley. “Alone I had ten of them +at my sword-point. I know not how I have lived to tell it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is your devoir to me? Where are my thirty bowmen?” cried Knolles in +bitter wrath. “Ten lie dead upon the ground and twenty are worse than dead in +yonder castle. And all because you must needs show all men how bold you are, +and ride into a bushment such as a child could see. Alas for my own folly that +ever I should have trusted such a one as you with the handling of men!” +</p> + +<p> +“By God, Sir Robert, you shall answer to me for those words!” cried Astley with +a choking voice. “Never has a man dared to speak to me as you have done this +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“As long as I hold the King’s order I shall be master, and by the Lord I will +hang you, James, on a near tree if I have further cause of offense! How now, +Nigel? I see by yonder white horse that you at least have not failed me. I will +speak with you anon. Percy, bring up your men, and let us gather round this +castle, for, as I hope for my soul’s salvation, I win not leave it until I have +my archers, or the head of him who holds them.” +</p> + +<p> +That night the English lay thick round the fortress of La Brohinière so that +none might come forth from it. But if none could come forth it was hard to see +how any could win their way in, for it was full of men, the walls were high and +strong, and a deep dry ditch girt it round. But the hatred and fear which its +master had raised over the whole country-side could now be plainly seen, for +during the night the brushwood men and the villagers came in from all parts +with offers of such help as they could give for the intaking of the castle. +Knolles set them cutting bushes and tying them into fagots. When morning came +he rode out before the wall and he held counsel with his knights and squires as +to how he should enter in. +</p> + +<p> +“By noon,” said he, “we shall have so many fagots that we may make our way over +the ditch. Then we will beat in the gates and so win a footing.” +</p> + +<p> +The young Frenchman had come with Nigel to the conference, and now, amid the +silence which followed the leader’s proposal, he asked if he might be heard. He +was clad in the brazen armor which Nigel had taken from the Red Ferret. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be that it is not for me to join in your counsel,” said he, “seeing +that I am a prisoner and a Frenchman. But this man is the enemy of all, and we +of France owe him a debt even as you do, since many a good Frenchman has died +in his cellars. For this reason I crave to be heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will hear you,” said Knolles. +</p> + +<p> +“I have come from Evran yesterday,” said he. “Sir Henry Spinnefort, Sir Peter +La Roye and many other brave knights and squires lie there, with a good company +of men, all of whom would very gladly join with you to destroy this butcher and +his castle, for it is well known amongst us that his deeds are neither good nor +fair. There are also bombards which we could drag over the hills, and so beat +down this iron gate. If you so order it I will ride to Evran and bring my +companions back with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Robert,” said Percy, “it is in my mind that this Frenchman speaks very +wisely and well.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when we have taken the castle—what then?” asked Knolles. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you could go upon your way, fair sir, and we upon ours. Or if it please +you better you could draw together on yonder hill and we on this one, so that +the valley lies between us. Then if any cavalier wished to advance himself or +to shed a vow and exalt his lady, an opening might be found for him. Surely it +would be shame if so many brave men drew together and no small deed were to +come of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel clasped his captive’s hand to show his admiration and esteem, but Knolles +shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Things are not ordered thus, save in the tales of the minstrels,” said he. “I +have no wish that your people at Evran should know our numbers or our plans. I +am not in this land for knight errantry, but I am here to make head against the +King’s enemies. Has no one aught else to say?” +</p> + +<p> +Percy pointed to the small outlying fortalice upon the knoll, on which also +flew the flag of the bloody head. “This smaller castle, Robert, is of no great +strength and cannot hold more than fifty men. It is built, as I conceive it, +that no one should seize the high ground and shoot down into the other. Why +should we not turn all our strength upon it, since it is the weaker of the +twain?” +</p> + +<p> +But again the young leader shook his head. “If I should take it,” said he, “I +am still no nearer to my desire, nor will it avail me in getting back my +bowmen. It may cost a score of men, and what profit shall I have from it? Had I +bombards, I might place them on yonder hill, but having none it is of little +use to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be,” said Nigel, “that they have scant food or water, and so must come +forth to fight us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have made inquiry of the peasants,” Knolles answered, “and they are of one +mind that there is a well within the castle, and good store of food. Nay, +gentlemen, there is no way before us save to take it by arms, and no spot where +we can attempt it save through the great gate. Soon we will have so many fagots +that we can cast them down into the ditch, and so win our way across. I have +ordered them to cut a pine-tree on the hill and shear the branches so that we +may beat down the gate with it. But what is now amiss, and why do they run +forward to the castle?” +</p> + +<p> +A buzz had risen from the soldiers in the camp, and they all crowded in one +direction, rushing toward the castle wall. The knights and squires rode after +them, and when in view of the main gate, the cause of the disturbance lay +before them. On the tower above the portal three men were standing in the garb +of English archers, ropes round their necks and their hands bound behind them. +Their comrades surged below them with cries of recognition and of pity. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Ambrose!” cried one. “Surely it is Ambrose of Ingleton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, in truth, I see his yellow hair. And the other, him with the beard, it is +Lockwood of Skipton. Alas for his wife who keeps the booth by the bridge-head +of Ribble! I wot not who the third may be.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is little Johnny Alspaye, the youngest man in the company,” cried old Wat, +with the tears running down his cheeks, “’Twas I who brought him from his home. +Alas! Alas! Foul fare the day that ever I coaxed him from his mother’s side +that he might perish in a far land.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a sudden flourish of a trumpet and the drawbridge fell. Across it +strode a portly man with a faded herald’s coat. He halted warily upon the +farther side and his voice boomed like a drum. “I would speak with your +leader.” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +Knolles rode forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I your knightly word that I may advance unscathed with all courteous +entreaty as befits a herald?” +</p> + +<p> +Knolles nodded his head. +</p> + +<p> +The man came slowly and pompously forward. “I am the messenger and liege +servant,” said he, “of the high baron, Oliver de St. Yvon, Lord of La +Brohinière. He bids me to say that if you continue your journey and molest him +no further he will engage upon his part to make no further attack upon you. As +to the men whom he holds, he will enroll them in his own honorable service, for +he has need of longbowmen, and has heard much of their skill. But if you +constrain him or cause him further displeasure by remaining before his castle +he hereby gives you warning that he will hang these three men over his gateway +and every morning another three until all have been slain. This he has sworn +upon the rood of Calvary, and as he has said so he will do upon jeopardy of his +soul.” +</p> + +<p> +Robert Knolles looked grimly at the messenger. “You may thank the saints that +you have had my promise,” said he, “else would I have stripped that lying +tabard from thy back and the skin beneath it from thy bones, that thy master +might have a fitting answer to his message. Tell him that I hold him and all +that are within his castle as hostage for the lives of my men, and that should +he dare to do them scathe he and every man that is with him shall hang upon his +battlements. Go, and go quickly, lest my patience fail.” +</p> + +<p> +There was that in Knolles’ cold gray eyes and in his manner of speaking those +last words which sent the portly envoy back at a quicker gait than he had come. +As he vanished into the gloomy arch of the gateway the drawbridge swung up with +creak and rattle behind him. +</p> + +<p> +A few minutes later a rough-bearded fellow stepped out over the portal where +the condemned archers stood and seizing the first by the shoulders he thrust +him over the wall. A cry burst from the man’s lips and a deep groan from those +of his comrades below as he fell with a jerk which sent him half-way up to the +parapet again, and then after dancing like a child’s toy swung slowly backward +and forward with limp limbs and twisted neck. +</p> + +<p> +The hangman turned and bowed in mock reverence to the spectators beneath him. +He had not yet learned in a land of puny archers how sure and how strong is the +English bow. Half a dozen men, old Wat amongst them, had run forward toward the +wall. They were too late to save their comrades, but at least their deaths were +speedily avenged. +</p> + +<p> +The man was in the act of pushing off the second prisoner when an arrow crashed +through his head, and he fell stone dead upon the parapet. But even in falling +he had given the fatal thrust and a second russet figure swung beside the first +against the dark background of the castle wall. +</p> + +<p> +There only remained the young lad, Johnny Alspaye, who stood shaking with fear, +an abyss below him, and the voices of those who would hurl him over it behind. +There was a long pause before anyone would come forth to dare those deadly +arrows. Then a fellow, crouching double, ran forward from the shelter, keeping +the young archer’s body as a shield between him and danger. +</p> + +<p> +“Aside, John! Aside!” cried his comrades from below. +</p> + +<p> +The youth sprang as far as the rope would allow him, and slipped it half over +his face in the effort. Three arrows flashed past his side, and two of them +buried themselves in the body of the man behind. A howl of delight burst from +the spectators as he dropped first upon his knees and then upon his face. A +life for a life was no bad bargain. +</p> + +<p> +But it was only a short respite which the skill of his comrades had given to +the young archer. Over the parapet there appeared a ball of brass, then a pair +of great brazen shoulders, and lastly the full figure of an armored man. He +walked to the edge and they heard his hoarse guffaw of laughter as the arrows +clanged and clattered against his impenetrable mail. He slapped his +breast-plate, as he jeered at them. Well he knew that at the distance no dart +ever sped by mortal hands could cleave through his plates of metal. So he +stood, the great burly Butcher of La Brohinière, with head uptossed, laughing +insolently at his foes. Then with slow and ponderous tread he walked toward his +boy victim, seized him by the ear, and dragged him across so that the rope +might be straight. Seeing that the noose had slipped across the face, he tried +to push it down, but the mail glove hampering him he pulled it off, and grasped +the rope above the lad’s head with his naked hand. +</p> + +<p> +Quick as a flash old Wat’s arrow had sped, and the Butcher sprang back with a +howl of pain, his hand skewered by a cloth-yard shaft. As he shook it furiously +at his enemies a second grazed his knuckles. With a brutal kick of his +metal-shod feet he hurled young Alspaye over the edge, looked down for a few +moments at his death agonies, and then walked slowly from the parapet, nursing +his dripping hand, the arrows still ringing loudly upon his back-piece as he +went. +</p> + +<p> +The archers below, enraged at the death of their comrades, leaped and howled +like a pack of ravening wolves. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Dunstan,” said Percy, looking round at their flushed faces, “if ever +we are to carry it now is the moment, for these men will not be stopped if hate +can take them forward.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, Thomas!” cried Knolles. “Gather together twenty men-at-arms +each with his shield to cover him. Astley, do you place the bowmen so that no +head may show at window or parapet. Nigel, I pray you to order the countryfolk +forward with their fardels of fagots. Let the others bring up the lopped +pine-tree which lies yonder behind the horse lines. Ten men-at-arms can bear it +on the right, and ten on the left, having shields over their heads. The gate +once down, let every man rush in. And God help the better cause!” +</p> + +<p> +Swiftly and yet quietly the dispositions were made, for these were old soldiers +whose daily trade was war. In little groups the archers formed in front of each +slit or crevice in the walls, whilst others scanned the battlements with wary +eyes, and sped an arrow at every face which gleamed for an instant above them. +The garrison shot forth a shower of crossbow bolts and an occasional stone from +their engine, but so deadly was the hail which rained upon them that they had +no time to dwell upon their aim, and their discharges were wild and harmless. +Under cover of the shafts of the bowmen a line of peasants ran unscathed to the +edge of the ditch, each hurling in the bundle which he bore in his arms, and +then hurrying back for another one. In twenty minutes a broad pathway of fagots +lay level with the ground upon one side and the gate upon the other. With the +loss of two peasants slain by bolts and one archer crushed by a stone, the +ditch had been filled up. All was ready for the battering-ram. +</p> + +<p> +With a shout, twenty picked men rushed forward with the pine-tree under their +arms, the heavy end turned toward the gate. The arbalesters on the tower leaned +over and shot into the midst of them, but could not stop their advance. Two +dropped, but the others raising their shields ran onward still shouting, +crossed the bridge of fagots, and came with a thundering crash against the +door. It splintered from base to arch, but kept its place. +</p> + +<p> +Swinging their mighty weapon, the storming party thudded and crashed upon the +gate, every blow loosening and widening the cracks which rent it from end to +end. The three knights, with Nigel, the Frenchman Raoul and the other squires, +stood beside the ram, cheering on the men, and chanting to the rhythm of the +swing with a loud “Ha!” at every blow. A great stone loosened from the parapet +roared through the air and struck Sir James Astley and another of the +attackers, but Nigel and the Frenchman had taken their places in an instant, +and the ram thudded and smashed with greater energy than ever. Another blow and +another! the lower part was staving inward, but the great central bar still +held firm. Surely another minute would beat it from its sockets. +</p> + +<p> +But suddenly from above there came a great deluge of liquid. A hogshead of it +had been tilted from the battlement until soldiers, bridge, and ram were +equally drenched in yellow slime. Knolles rubbed his gauntlet in it, held it to +his visor, and smelled it. +</p> + +<p> +“Back, back!” he cried. “Back before it is too late!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a small barred window above their heads at the side of the gate. A +ruddy glare shone through it, and then a blazing torch was tossed down upon +them. In a moment the oil had caught and the whole place was a sheet of flame. +The fir-tree that they carried, the fagots beneath them, their very weapons, +were all in a blaze. +</p> + +<p> +To right and left the men sprang down into the dry ditch, rolling with screams +upon the ground in their endeavor to extinguish the flames. The knights and +squires protected by their armor strove hard, stamping and slapping, to help +those who had but leather jacks to shield their bodies. From above a ceaseless +shower of darts and of stones were poured down upon them, while on the other +hand the archers, seeing the greatness of the danger, ran up to the edge of the +ditch, and shot fast and true at every face which showed above the wall. +</p> + +<p> +Scorched, wearied and bedraggled, the remains of the storming party clambered +out of the ditch as best they could, clutching at the friendly hands held down +to them, and so limped their way back amid the taunts and howls of their +enemies. A long pile of smoldering cinders was all that remained of their +bridge, and on it lay Astley and six other red-hot men glowing in their armor. +</p> + +<p> +Knolles clinched his hands as he looked back at the ruin that was wrought, and +then surveyed the group of men who stood or lay around him nursing their burned +limbs and scowling up at the exultant figures who waved on the castle wall. +Badly scorched himself, the young leader had no thought for his own injuries in +the rage and grief which racked his soul. “We will build another bridge,” he +cried. “Set the peasants binding fagots once more.” +</p> + +<p> +But a thought had flashed through Nigel’s mind. “See, fair sir,” said he. “The +nails of yonder door are red-hot and the wood as white as ashes. Surely we can +break our way through it.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the Virgin, you speak truly!” cried the French Squire. “If we can cross the +ditch the gate will not stop us. Come, Nigel, for our fair ladies’ sakes, I +will race you who will reach it first, England or France.” +</p> + +<p> +Alas for all the wise words of the good Chandos! Alas for all the lessons in +order and discipline learned from the wary Knolles. In an instant, forgetful of +all things but this noble challenge, Nigel was running at the top of his speed +for the burning gate. Close at his heels was the Frenchman, blowing and +gasping, as he rushed along in his brazen armor. Behind came a stream of +howling archers and men-at-arms, like a flood which has broken its dam. Down +they slipped into the ditch, rushed across it, and clambered on each other’s +backs up the opposite side. Nigel, Raoul and two archers gained a foothold in +front of the burning gate at the same moment. With blows and kicks they burst +it to pieces, and dashed with a yell of triumph through the dark archway +beyond. For a moment they thought with mad rapture that the castle was carried. +A dark tunnel lay before them, down which they rushed. But alas! at the farther +end it was blocked by a second gateway as strong as that which had been burned. +In vain they beat upon it with their swords and axes. On each side the tunnel +was pierced with slits, and the crossbow bolts discharged at only a few yards’ +distance crashed through armor as if it were cloth and laid man after man upon +the stones. They raged and leaped before the great iron-clamped barrier, but +the wall itself was as easy to tear down. +</p> + +<p> +It was bitter to draw back; but it was madness to remain. Nigel looked round +and saw that half his men were down. At the same moment Raoul sank with a gasp +at his feet, a bolt driven to its socket through the links of the camail which +guarded his neck. Some of the archers, seeing that certain death awaited them, +were already running back to escape from the fatal passage. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul!” cried Nigel hotly. “Would you leave our wounded where this +butcher may lay his hands upon them? Let the archers shoot inwards and hold +them back from the slits. Now let each man raise one of our comrades, lest we +leave our honor in the gate of this castle.” +</p> + +<p> +With a mighty effort he had raised Raoul upon his shoulders and staggered with +him to the edge of the ditch. Several men were waiting below where the steep +bank shield them from the arrows, and to them Nigel handed down his wounded +friend, and each archer in turn did the same. Again and again Nigel went back +until no one lay in the tunnel save seven who had died there. Thirteen wounded +were laid in the shelter of the ditch, and there they must remain until night +came to cover them. Meanwhile the bowmen on the farther side protected them +from attack, and also prevented the enemy from all attempts to build up the +outer gate. The gaping smoke-blackened arch was all that they could show for a +loss of thirty men, but that at least Knolles was determined to keep. +</p> + +<p> +Burned and bruised, but unconscious of either pain or fatigue for the turmoil +of his spirit within him, Nigel knelt by the Frenchman and loosened his helmet. +The girlish face of the young Squire was white as chalk, and the haze of death +was gathering over his violet eyes, but a faint smile played round his lips as +he looked up at his English comrade. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never see Beatrice again,” he whispered. “I pray you, Nigel, that when +there is a truce you will journey as far as my father’s château and tell him +how his son died. Young Gaston will rejoice, for to him come the land and the +coat, the war-cry and the profit. See them, Nigel, and tell them that I was as +forward as the others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed Raoul, no man could have carried himself with more honor or won more +worship than you have done this day. I will do your behest when the time +comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you are happy, Nigel,” the dying Squire murmured, “for this day has +given you one more deed which you may lay at the feet of your lady-love.” +</p> + +<p> +“It might have been so had we carried the gate,” Nigel answered sadly; “but by +Saint Paul! I cannot count it a deed where I have come back with my purpose +unfulfilled. But this is no time, Raoul, to talk of my small affairs. If we +take the castle and I bear a good part in it, then perchance all this may +indeed avail.” +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman sat up with that strange energy which comes often as the +harbinger of death. “You will win your Lady Mary, Nigel, and your great deeds +will be not three but a score, so that in all Christendom there shall be no man +of blood and coat-armor who has not heard your name and your fame. This I tell +you—I, Raoul de la Roche Pierre de Bras, dying upon the field of honor. And now +kiss me, sweet friend, and lay me back, for the mists close round me and I am +gone!” +</p> + +<p> +With tender hands the Squire lowered his comrade’s head, but even as he did so +there came a choking rush of blood, and the soul had passed. So died a gallant +cavalier of France, and Nigel as he knelt in the ditch beside him prayed that +his own end might be as noble and as debonair. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>XXI.<br/> +HOW THE SECOND MESSENGER WENT TO COSFORD</h2> + +<p> +Under cover of night the wounded men were lifted from the ditch and carried +back, whilst pickets of archers were advanced to the very gate so that none +should rebuild it. Nigel, sick at heart over his own failure, the death of his +prisoner and his fears for Aylward, crept back into the camp, but his cup was +not yet full, for Knolles was waiting for him with a tongue which cut like a +whip-lash. Who was he, a raw squire, that he should lead an attack without +orders? See what his crazy knight errantry had brought about. Twenty men had +been destroyed by it and nothing gained. Their blood was on his head. Chandos +should hear of his conduct. He should be sent back to England when the castle +had fallen. +</p> + +<p> +Such were the bitter words of Knolles, the more bitter because Nigel felt in +his heart that he had indeed done wrong, and that Chandos would have said the +same though, perchance, in kinder words. He listened in silent respect, as his +duty was, and then having saluted his leader he withdrew apart, threw himself +down amongst the bushes, and wept the hottest tears of his life, sobbing +bitterly with his face between his hands. He had striven hard, and yet +everything had gone wrong with him. He was bruised, burned and aching from head +to foot. Yet so high is the spirit above the body that all was nothing compared +to the sorrow and shame which racked his soul. +</p> + +<p> +But a little thing changed the current of his thoughts and brought some peace +to his mind. He had slipped off his mail gauntlets, and as he did so his +fingers lighted upon the tiny bangle which Mary had fastened there when they +stood together upon St. Catharine’s Hill on the Guildford Road. He remembered +the motto curiously worked in filigree of gold. It ran: “<i>Fais ce que dois, +adviegne que pourra—c’est commandé au chevalier</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +The words rang in his weary brain. He had done what seemed right, come what +might. It had gone awry, it is true; but all things human may do that. If he +had carried the castle, he felt that Knolles would have forgiven and forgotten +all else. If he had not carried it, it was no fault of his. No man could have +done more. If Mary could see she would surely have approved. Dropping into +sleep, he saw her dark face, shining with pride and with pity, stooping over +him as he lay. She stretched out her hand in his dream and touched him on the +shoulder. He sprang up and rubbed his eyes, for fact had woven itself into +dream in the strange way that it does, and some one was indeed leaning over him +in the gloom, and shaking him from his slumbers. But the gentle voice and soft +touch of the Lady Mary had changed suddenly to the harsh accents and rough grip +of Black Simon, the fierce Norfolk man-at-arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you are the Squire Loring,” he said, peering close to his face in the +darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“I am he. What then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have searched through the camp for you, but when I saw the great horse +tethered near these bushes, I thought you would be found hard by. I would have +a word with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak on.” +</p> + +<p> +“This man Aylward the bowman was my friend, and it is the nature that God has +given me to love my friends even as I hate my foes. He is also thy servant, and +it has seemed to me that you love him also.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have good cause so to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you and I, Squire Loring, have more reason to strive on his behalf than +any of these others, who think more of taking the castle than of saving those +who are captives within. Do you not see that such a man as this robber lord +would, when all else had failed him, most surely cut the throats of his +prisoners at the last instant before the castle fell, knowing well that come +what might he would have short shrift himself? Is that not certain?” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul! I had not thought of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was with you, hammering at the inner gate,” said Simon, “and yet once when I +thought that it was giving way I said in my heart: ‘Good-by, Samkin! I shall +never see you more.’ This Baron has gall in his soul, even as I have myself, +and do you think that I would give up my prisoners alive, if I were constrained +so to do? No, no; had we won our way this day it would have been the +death-stroke for them all.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be that you are right, Simon,” said Nigel, “and the thought of it +should assuage our grief. But if we cannot save them by taking the castle, then +surely they are lost indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be so, or it may not,” Simon answered slowly. “It is in my mind that if +the castle were taken very suddenly, and in such a fashion that they could not +foresee it, then perchance we might get the prisoners before they could do them +scathe.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel bent forward eagerly, his hand on the soldier’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“You have some plan in your mind, Simon. Tell me what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had wished to tell Sir Robert, but he is preparing the assault for to-morrow +and will not be turned from his purpose. I have indeed a plan, but whether it +be good or not I cannot say until I have tried it. But first I will tell you +what put it into my thoughts. Know then that this morning when I was in yonder +ditch I marked one of their men upon the wall. He was a big man with a white +face, red hair and a touch of Saint Anthony’s fire upon the cheek.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what has this to do with Aylward?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will show you. This evening after the assault I chanced to walk with some of +my fellows, round yonder small fort upon the knoll to see if we could spy a +weak spot in it. Some of them came to the wall to curse us, and among them whom +should I see but a big man with a white face, red hair and a touch of Anthony’s +fire upon his cheek? What make you of that, Squire Nigel?” +</p> + +<p> +“That this man had crossed from the castle to the fort.” +</p> + +<p> +“In good sooth, it must indeed be so. There are not two such ken-speckled men +in the world. But if he crossed from the castle to the fort, it was not above +the ground, for our own people were between.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Paul! I see your meaning!” cried Nigel. “It is in your mind that +there is a passage under the earth from one to the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am well sure of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then if we should take the small fort we may pass down this tunnel, and so +carry the great castle also.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such a thing might happen,” said Simon, “and yet it is dangerous also, for +surely those in the castle would hear our assault upon the fort and so be +warned to bar the passage against us, and to slay the prisoners before we could +come.” +</p> + +<p> +“What then is your rede?” +</p> + +<p> +“Could we find where the tunnel lay, Squire Nigel, I know not what is to +prevent us from digging down upon it and breaking into it so that both fort and +castle are at our mercy before either knows that we are there.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel clapped his hands with joy. “’Fore God!” he cried. “It is a most noble +plan! But alas! Simon, I see not how we can tell the course of this passage or +where we should dig.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have peasants yonder with spades,” said Simon. “There are two of my friends, +Harding of Barnstable and West-country John who are waiting for us with their +gear. If you will come to lead us, Squire Nigel, we are ready to venture our +bodies in the attempt.” +</p> + +<p> +What would Knolles say in case they failed? The thought flashed through Nigel’s +mind, but another came swiftly behind it. He would not venture further unless +he found hopes of success. And if he did venture further he would put his life +upon it. Giving that, he made amends for all errors. And if on the other hand +success crowned their efforts, then Knolles would forgive his failure at the +gateway. A minute later, every doubt banished from his mind, he was making his +way through the darkness under the guidance of Black Simon. +</p> + +<p> +Outside the camp the two other men-at-arms were waiting for them, and the four +advanced together. Presently a little group of figures loomed up in the +darkness. It was a cloudy night, and a thin rain was falling which obscured +both the castle and the fort; but a stone had been placed by Simon in the +daytime which assured that they were between the two. +</p> + +<p> +“Is blind Andreas there?” asked Simon. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, kind sir, I am here,” said a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“This man,” said Simon, “was once rich and of good repute, but he was beggared +by this robber lord, who afterwards put out his eyes so that he has lived for +many years in darkness at the charity of others.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can he help us in our enterprise if he be indeed blind?” asked Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“It is for that very reason, fair lord, that he can be of greater service than +any other man,” Simon answered; “for it often happens that when a man has lost +a sense the good God will strengthen those that remain. Hence it is that +Andreas has such ears that he can hear the sap in the trees or the cheep of the +mouse in its burrow. He has come to help us to find the tunnel.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I have found it,” said the blind man proudly. “Here I have placed my staff +upon the line of it. Twice as I lay there with my ear to the ground I have +heard footsteps pass beneath me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust you make no mistake, old man,” said Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +For answer the blind man raised his staff and smote twice upon the ground, once +to the right and once to the left. The one gave a dull thud, the other a hollow +boom. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you not hear that?” he asked. “Will you ask me now if I make a mistake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, we are much beholden to you!” cried Nigel. “Let the peasants dig then, +and as silently as they may. Do you keep your ear upon the ground, Andreas, so +that if anyone pass beneath us we shall be warned.” +</p> + +<p> +So, amid the driving rain, the little group toiled in the darkness. The blind +man lay silent, flat upon his face, and twice they heard his warning hiss and +stopped their work, whilst some one passed beneath. In an hour they had dug +down to a stone arch which was clearly the outer side of the tunnel roof. Here +was a sad obstacle, for it might take long to loosen a stone, and if their work +was not done by the break of day then their enterprise was indeed hopeless. +They loosened the mortar with a dagger, and at last dislodged one small stone +which enabled them to get at the others. Presently a dark hole blacker than the +night around them yawned at their feet, and their swords could touch no bottom +to it. They had opened the tunnel. +</p> + +<p> +“I would fain enter it first,” said Nigel. “I pray you to lower me down.” They +held him to the full length of their arms and then letting him drop they heard +him land safely beneath them. An instant later the blind man started up with a +low cry of alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear steps coming,” said he. “They are far off, but they draw nearer.” +</p> + +<p> +Simon thrust his head and neck down the hole. “Squire Nigel,” he whispered, +“can you hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can hear you, Simon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Andreas says that some one comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then cover over the hole,” came the answer. “Quick, I pray you, cover it +over!” +</p> + +<p> +A mantle was stretched across it, so that no glimmer of light should warn the +new-comer. The fear was that he might have heard, the sound of Nigel’s descent. +But soon it was clear that he had not done so, for Andreas announced that he +was still advancing. Presently Nigel could hear the distant thud of his feet. +If he bore a lantern all was lost. But no gleam of light appeared in the black +tunnel, and still the footsteps drew nearer. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel breathed a prayer of thanks to all his guardian saints as he crouched +close to the slimy wall and waited breathless, his dagger in his hand. Nearer +yet and nearer came the steps. He could hear the stranger’s coarse breathing in +the darkness. Then as he brushed past Nigel bounded upon him with a tiger +spring. There was one gasp of astonishment, and not a sound more, for the +Squire’s grip was on the man’s throat and his body was pinned motionless +against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Simon! Simon!” cried Nigel loudly. +</p> + +<p> +The mantle was moved from the hole. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you a cord? Or your belts linked together may serve.” +</p> + +<p> +One of the peasants had a rope, and Nigel soon felt it dangling against his +hand. He listened and there was no sound in the passage. For an instant he +released his captive’s throat. A torrent of prayers and entreaties came forth. +The man was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Nigel pressed the point of his +dagger against his face and dared him to open his lips. Then he slipped the +rope beneath his arms and tied it. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull him up!” he whispered, and for an instant the gray glimmer above him was +obscured. +</p> + +<p> +“We have him, fair sir,” said Simon. +</p> + +<p> +“Then drop me the rope and hold it fast.” +</p> + +<p> +A moment later Nigel stood among the group of men who had gathered round their +captive. It was too dark to see him, and they dare not strike flint and steel. +</p> + +<p> +Simon passed his hand roughly over him and felt a fat clean-shaven face, and a +cloth gabardine which hung to the ankles. “Who are you?” he whispered. “Speak +the truth and speak it low, if you would ever speak again.” +</p> + +<p> +The man’s teeth chattered in his head with cold and fright. “I speak no +English,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“French, then,” said Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a holy priest of God. You court the ban of holy Church when you lay hands +upon me. I pray you let me go upon my way, for there are those whom I would +shrive and housel. If they should die in sin, their damnation is upon you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How are you called then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Dom Peter de Cervolles.” +</p> + +<p> +“De Cervolles, the arch-priest, he who heated the brazier when they burned out +my eyes,” cried old Andreas. “Of all the devils in hell there is none fouler +than this one. Friends, friends, if I have done aught for you this night, I ask +but one reward, that ye let me have my will of this man.” +</p> + +<p> +But Nigel pushed the old man back. “There is no time for this,” he said. “Now +hark you, priest—if priest indeed you be—your gown and tonsure will not save +you if you play us false, for we are here of a set purpose and we will go +forward with it, come what may. Answer me and answer me truly or it will be an +ill night for you. In what part of the Castle does this tunnel enter?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the lower cellar.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is at the end?” +</p> + +<p> +“An oaken door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it barred?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is barred.” +</p> + +<p> +“How would you have entered?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would have given the password.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who then would have opened?” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a guard within.” +</p> + +<p> +“And beyond him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Beyond him are the prison cells and the jailers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who else would be afoot?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one save a guard at the gate and another on the battlement.” +</p> + +<p> +“What then is the password?” +</p> + +<p> +The man was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“The password, fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +The cold points of two daggers pricked his throat; but still he would not +speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the blind man?” asked Nigel. “Here, Andreas, you can have him and do +what you will with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay,” the priest whimpered. “Keep him off me. Save me from blind Andreas! +I will tell you everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“The password then, this instant?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is ‘<i>Benedicite!</i>’” +</p> + +<p> +“We have the password, Simon,” cried Nigel. “Come then, let us on to the +farther end. These peasants will guard the priest, and they will remain here +lest we wish to send a message.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sir, it is in my mind that we can do better,” said Simon. “Let us +take the priest with us, so that he who is within may know his voice.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well thought of,” said Nigel, “and first let us pray together, for +indeed this night may well be our last.” +</p> + +<p> +He and the three men-at-arms knelt in the rain and sent up their simple +orisons, Simon still clutching tight to his prisoner’s wrist. +</p> + +<p> +The priest fumbled in his breast and drew something forth. “It is the heart of +the blessed confessor Saint Enogat,” said he. “It may be that it will ease and +assoil your souls if you would wish to handle it.” +</p> + +<p> +The four Englishmen passed the flat silver case from hand to hand, each +pressing his lips devoutly upon it. Then they rose to their feet. Nigel was the +first to lower himself down the hole; then Simon; then the priest, who was +instantly seized by the other two. The men-at-arms followed them. They had +scarcely moved away from the hole when Nigel stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely some one else came after us,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +They listened, but no whisper or rustle came from behind them. For a minute +they paused and then resumed their journey through the dark. It seemed a long, +long way, though in truth it was but a few hundred yards before they came to a +door with a glimmer of yellow light around it, which barred their passage. +Nigel struck upon it with his hand. +</p> + +<p> +There was the rasping of a bolt and then a loud voice “Is that you, priest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it is I,” said the prisoner in a quavering voice. “Open, Arnold!” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was enough. There was no question of passwords. The door swung +inward, and in an instant the janitor was cut down by Nigel and Simon. So +sudden and so fierce was the attack that save for the thud of his body no sound +was heard. A flood of light burst outward into the passage, and the Englishmen +stood with blinking eyes in its glare. +</p> + +<p> +In front of them lay a stone-flagged corridor, across which lay the dead body +of the janitor. It had doors on either side of it, and another grated door at +the farther end. A strange hubbub, a kind of low droning and whining filled the +air. The four men were standing listening, full of wonder as to what this might +mean, when a sharp cry came from behind them. The priest lay in a shapeless +heap upon the ground, and the blood was rushing from his gaping throat. Down +the passage, a black shadow in the yellow light, there fled a crouching man, +who clattered with a stick as he went. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Andreas,” cried West-country Will. “He has slain him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it was he that I heard behind us,” said Nigel. “Doubtless he was at our +very heels in the darkness. I fear that the priest’s cry has been heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Simon, “there are so many cries that one more may well pass. Let us +take this lamp from the wall and see what sort of devil’s den we have around +us.” +</p> + +<p> +They opened the door upon the right, and so horrible a smell issued from it +that they were driven back from it. The lamp which Simon held forward showed a +monkeylike creature mowing and grimacing in the corner, man or woman none could +tell, but driven crazy by loneliness and horror. In the other cell was a +graybearded man fettered to the wall, looking blankly before him, a body +without a soul, yet with life still in him, for his dull eyes turned slowly in +their direction. But it was from behind the central door at the end of the +passage that the chorus of sad cries came which filled the air. +</p> + +<p> +“Simon,” said Nigel, “before we go farther we will take this outer door from +its hinges. With it we will block this passage so that at the worst we may hold +our ground here until help comes. Do you back to the camp as fast as your feet +can bear you. The peasants will draw you upward through the hole. Give my +greetings to Sir Robert and tell him that the castle is taken without fail if +he comes this way with fifty men. Say that we have made a lodgment within the +walls. And tell him also, Simon, that I would counsel him to make a stir before +the gateway so that the guard may be held there whilst we make good our footing +behind them. Go, good Simon, and lose not a moment!” +</p> + +<p> +But the man-at-arms shook his head. “It is I who have brought you here, fair +sir, and here I bide through fair and foul. But you speak wisely and well, for +Sir Robert should indeed be told what is going forward now that we have gone so +far. Harding, do you go with all speed and bear the gentle Nigel’s message.” +</p> + +<p> +Reluctantly the man-at-arms sped upon his errand. They could hear the racing of +his feet and the low jingle of his harness until they died away in the tunnel. +Then the three companions approached the door at the end. It was their +intention to wait where they were until help should come, but suddenly amid the +babel of cries within there broke forth an English voice, shouting in torment. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” it cried, “I pray you, comrades, for a cup of water, as you hope for +Christ’s mercy!” +</p> + +<p> +A shout of laughter and the thud of a heavy blow followed the appeal. +</p> + +<p> +All the hot blood rushed to Nigel’s head at the sound, buzzing in his ears and +throbbing in his temples. There are times when the fiery heart of a man must +overbear the cold brain of a soldier. With one bound he was at the door, with +another he was through it, the men-at-arms at his heels. So strange was the +scene before them that for an instant all three stood motionless with horror +and surprise. +</p> + +<p> +It was a great vaulted chamber, brightly lit by many torches. At the farther +end roared a great fire. In front of it three naked men were chained to posts +in such a way that flinch as they might they could never get beyond the range +of its scorching heat. Yet they were so far from it that no actual burn would +be inflicted if they could but keep turning and shifting so as continually to +present some fresh portion of their flesh to the flames. Hence they danced and +whirled in front of the fire, tossing ceaselessly this way and that within the +compass of their chains, wearied to death, their protruding tongues cracked and +blackened with thirst, but unable for one instant to rest from their writhings +and contortions. +</p> + +<p> +Even stranger was the sight at each side of the room, whence came that chorus +of groans which had first struck upon the ears of Nigel and his companions. A +line of great hogsheads were placed alongside the walls, and within each sat a +man, his head protruding from the top. As they moved within there was a +constant splashing and washing of water. The white wan faces all turned +together as the door flew open, and a cry of amazement and of hope took the +place of those long-drawn moans of despair. +</p> + +<p> +At the same instant two fellows clad in black, who had been seated with a +flagon of wine between them at a table near the fire, sprang wildly to their +feet, staring with blank amazement at this sudden inrush. That instant of delay +deprived them of their last chance of safety. Midway down the room was a flight +of stone steps which led to the main door. +</p> + +<p> +Swift as a wildcat Nigel bounded toward it and gained the steps a stride or two +before the jailers. They turned and made for the other which led to the +passage, but Simon and his comrades were nearer to it than they. Two sweeping +blows, two dagger thrusts into writhing figures, and the ruffians who worked +the will of the Butcher lay dead upon the floor of their slaughter-house. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, the buzz of joy and of prayer from all those white lips! Oh, the light of +returning hope in all those sunken weary eyes! One wild shout would have gone +up had not Nigel’s outstretched hands and warning voice hushed them to silence. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door behind him. A curving newel staircase wound upward into the +darkness. He listened, but no sound came down. There was a key in the outer +lock of the iron door. He whipped it out and turned it on the inner side. The +ground that they had gained was safe. Now they could turn to the relief of +these poor fellows beside them. A few strong blows struck off the irons and +freed the three dancers before the fire. With a husky croak of joy, they rushed +across to their comrades’ water-barrels, plunged their heads in like horses, +and drank and drank and drank. Then in turn the poor shivering wretches were +taken out of the barrels, their skins bleached and wrinkled with long soaking. +Their bonds were torn from them; but, cramped and fixed, their limbs refused to +act, and they tumbled and twisted upon the floor in their efforts to reach +Nigel and to kiss his hand. +</p> + +<p> +In a corner lay Aylward, dripping from his barrel and exhausted with cold and +hunger. Nigel ran to his side and raised his head. The jug of wine from which +the two jailers had drunk still stood upon their table. The Squire placed it to +the archer’s lips and he took a hearty pull at it. +</p> + +<p> +“How is it with you now, Aylward?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better, Squire, better, but may I never touch water again as long as I live! +Alas! poor Dicon has gone, and Stephen also—the life chilled out of them. The +cold is in the very marrow of my bones. I pray you, let me lean upon your arm +as far as the fire, that I may warm the frozen blood and set it running in my +veins once more.” +</p> + +<p> +A strange sight it was to see these twenty naked men crouching in a half-circle +round the fire with their trembling hands extended to the blaze. Soon their +tongues at least were thawed, and they poured out the story of their troubles +with many a prayer and ejaculation to the saints for their safe delivery. No +food had crossed their lips since they had been taken. The Butcher had +commanded them to join his garrison and to shoot upon their comrades from the +wall. When they refused he had set aside three of them for execution. +</p> + +<p> +The others had been dragged to the cellar, whither the leering tyrant had +followed them. Only one question he had asked them, whether they were of a +hot-blooded nature or of a cold. Blows were showered upon them until they +answered. Three had said cold, and had been condemned to the torment of the +fire. The rest who had said hot were delivered up to the torture of the +water-cask. Every few hours this man or fiend had come down to exult over their +sufferings and to ask them whether they were ready yet to enter his service. +Three had consented and were gone. But the others had all of them stood firm, +two of them even to their death. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the tale to which Nigel and his comrades listened whilst they waited +impatiently for the coming of Knolles and his men. Many an anxious look did +they cast down the black tunnel, but no glimmer of light and no clash of steel +came from its depths. Suddenly, however, a loud and measured sound broke upon +their ears. It was a dull metallic clang, ponderous and slow, growing louder +and ever louder—the tread of an armored man. The poor wretches round the fire, +all unnerved by hunger and suffering, huddled together with wan, scared faces, +their eyes fixed in terror on the door. +</p> + +<p> +“It is he!” they whispered. “It is the Butcher himself!” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel had darted to the door and listened intently. There were no footfalls +save those of one man. Once sure of that, he softly turned the key in the lock. +At the same instant there came a bull’s bellow from without. +</p> + +<p> +“Ives! Bertrand!” cried the voice. “Can you not hear me coming, you drunken +varlets? You shall cool your own heads in the water-casks, you lazy rascals! +What, not even now! Open, you dogs. Open, I say!” +</p> + +<p> +He had thrust down the latch, and with a kick he flung the door wide and rushed +inward. For an instant he stood motionless, a statue of dull yellow metal, his +eyes fixed upon the empty casks and the huddle of naked men. Then with the roar +of a trapped lion, he turned, but the door had slammed behind him, and Black +Simon, with grim figure and sardonic face, stood between. +</p> + +<p> +The Butcher looked round him helplessly, for he was unarmed save for his +dagger. Then his eyes fell upon Nigel’s roses. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a gentleman of coat-armor,” he cried. “I surrender myself to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not take your surrender, you black villain,” said Nigel. “Draw and +defend yourself. Simon, give him your sword.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, this is madness,” said the blunt man-at-arms. “Why should I give the wasp +a sting?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it him, I say. I cannot kill him in cold blood.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can!” yelled Aylward, who had crept up from the fire. “Come, comrades! +By these ten finger-bones! has he not taught us how cold blood should be +warmed?” +</p> + +<p> +Like a pack of wolves they were on him, and he clanged upon the floor with a +dozen frenzied naked figures clutching and clinging above him. In vain Nigel +tried to pull them off. They were mad with rage, these tortured starving men, +their eyes fixed and glaring, their hair on end, their teeth gnashing with +fury, while they tore at the howling, writhing man. Then with a rattle and +clatter they pulled him across the room by his two ankles and dragged him into +the fire. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel shuddered and turned away his eyes as he saw the brazen figure roll out +and stagger to his knees, only to be hurled once more into the heart of the +blaze. His prisoners screamed with joy and clapped their hands as they pushed +him back with their feet until the armor was too hot for them to touch. Then at +last he lay still and glowed darkly red, whilst the naked men danced in a wild +half-circle round the fire. +</p> + +<p> +But now at last the supports had come. Lights flashed and armor gleamed down +the tunnel. The cellar filled with armed men, while from above came the cries +and turmoil of the feigned assault upon the gate. Led by Knolles and Nigel, the +storming party rushed upward and seized the courtyard. The guard of the gate +taken in the rear threw down their weapons and cried for mercy. The gate was +thrown open and the assailants rushed in, with hundreds of furious peasants at +their heels. Some of the robbers died in hot blood, many in cold; but all died, +for Knolles had vowed to give no quarter. Day was just breaking when the last +fugitive had been hunted out and slain. From all sides came the yells and +whoops of the soldiers with the rending and riving of doors as they burst into +the store-rooms and treasure-chambers. There was a joyous scramble amongst +them, for the plunder of eleven years, gold and jewels, satins and velvets, +rich plate and noble hangings were all to be had for the taking. +</p> + +<p> +The rescued prisoners, their hunger appeased and their clothes restored, led +the search for booty. Nigel, leaning on his sword by the gateway, saw Aylward +totter past, a huge bundle under each arm, another slung over his back and a +smaller packet hanging from his mouth. He dropped it for a moment as he passed +his young master. +</p> + +<p> +“By these ten finger-bones! I am right glad that I came to the war, and no man +could ask for a more goodly life,” said he. “I have a present here for every +girl in Tilford, and my father need never fear the frown of the sacrist of +Waverley again. But how of you, Squire Loring? It standeth not aright that we +should gather the harvest whilst you, who sowed it, go forth empty-handed. +Come, gentle sir, take these things that I have gathered, and I will go back +and find more.” +</p> + +<p> +But Nigel smiled and shook his head. “You have gained what your heart desired, +and perchance I have done so also,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +An instant later Knolles strode up to him with outstretched hand. “I ask your +pardon, Nigel,” said he. “I have spoken too hotly in my wrath.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sir, I was at fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“If we stand here now within this castle, it is to you that I owe it. The King +shall know of it, and Chandos also. Can I do aught else, Nigel, to prove to you +the high esteem in which I hold you?” +</p> + +<p> +The Squire flushed with pleasure. “Do you send a messenger home to England, +fair sir, with news of these doings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, I must do so. But do not tell me, Nigel, that you would be that +messenger. Ask me some other favor, for indeed I cannot let you go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now God forbid!” cried Nigel. “By Saint Paul! I would not be so caitiff and so +thrall as to leave you, when some small deed might still be done. But I would +fain send a message by your messenger.” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is to the Lady Mary, daughter of old Sir John Buttesthorn who dwells near +Guildford.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you will write the message, Nigel. Such greetings as a cavalier sends to +his lady-love should be under seal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, he can carry my message by word of mouth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall tell him for he goes this morning. What message, then, shall he +say to the lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“He will give her my very humble greeting, and he will say to her that for the +second time Saint Catharine has been our friend.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>XXII.<br/> +HOW ROBERT OF BEAUMANOIR CAME TO PLOERMEL</h2> + +<p> +Sir Robert Knolles and his men passed onward that day, looking back many a time +to see the two dark columns of smoke, one thicker and one more slender, which +arose from the castle and from the fort of La Brohinière. There was not an +archer nor a man-at-arms who did not bear a great bundle of spoil upon his +back, and Knolles frowned darkly as he looked upon them. Gladly would he have +thrown it all down by the roadside, but he had tried such matters before, and +he knew that it was as safe to tear a half-gnawed bone from a bear as their +blood-won plunder from such men as these. In any case it was but two days’ +march to Ploermel, where he hoped to bring his journey to an end. +</p> + +<p> +That night they camped at Mauron, where a small English and Breton garrison +held the castle. Right glad were the bowmen to see some of their own countrymen +once more, and they spent the night over wine and dice, a crowd of Breton girls +assisting, so that next morning their bundles were much lighter, and most of +the plunder of La Brohinière was left with the men and women of Mauron. Next +day their march lay with a fair sluggish river upon their right, and a great +rolling forest upon their left which covered the whole country. At last toward +evening the towers of Ploermel rose before them and they saw against a +darkening sky the Red Cross of England waving in the wind. So blue was the +river Duc which skirted the road, and so green its banks, that they might +indeed have been back beside their own homely streams, the Oxford Thames or the +Midland Trent, but ever as the darkness deepened there came in wild gusts the +howling of wolves from the forest to remind them that they were in a land of +war. So busy had men been for many years in hunting one another that the beasts +of the chase had grown to a monstrous degree, until the streets of the towns +were no longer safe from the wild inroads of the fierce creatures, the wolves +and the bears, who swarmed around them. +</p> + +<p> +It was nightfall when the little army entered the outer gate of the Castle of +Ploermel and encamped in the broad Bailey yard. Ploermel was at that time the +center of British power in Mid-Brittany, as Hennebon was in the West, and it +was held by a garrison of five hundred men under an old soldier, Richard of +Bambro, a rugged Northumbrian, trained in that great school of warriors, the +border wars. He who had ridden the marches of the most troubled frontier in +Europe, and served his time against the Liddlesdale and Nithsdale raiders was +hardened for a life in the field. +</p> + +<p> +Of late, however, Bambro had been unable to undertake any enterprise, for his +reinforcements had failed him, and amid his following he had but three English +knights and seventy men. The rest were a mixed crew of Bretons, Hainaulters and +a few German mercenary soldiers, brave men individually, as those of that stock +have ever been, but lacking interest in the cause, and bound together by no +common tie of blood or tradition. +</p> + +<p> +On the other hand, the surrounding castles, and especially that of Josselin, +were held by strong forces of enthusiastic Bretons, inflamed by a common +patriotism, and full of warlike ardor. Robert of Beaumanoir, the fierce +seneschal of the house of Rohan, pushed constant forays and excursions against +Ploermel so that town and castle were both in daily dread of being surrounded +and besieged. Several small parties of the English faction had been cut off and +slain to a man, and so straitened were the others that it was difficult for +them to gather provisions from the country round. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the state of Bambro’s garrison when on that March evening Knolles and +his men streamed into the bailey-yard of his Castle. +</p> + +<p> +In the glare of the torches at the inner gate Bambro was waiting to receive +them, a dry, hard, wizened man, small and fierce, with beady black eyes and +quick furtive ways. +</p> + +<p> +Beside him, a strange contrast, stood his Squire, Croquart, a German, whose +name and fame as a man-at-arms were widespread, though like Robert Knolles +himself he had begun as a humble page. He was a very tall man, with an enormous +spread of shoulders, and a pair of huge hands with which he could crack a +horse-shoe. He was slow and lethargic, save in moments of excitement, and his +calm blond face, his dreamy blue eyes and his long fair hair gave him so gentle +an appearance that none save those who had seen him in his berserk mood, +raging, an iron giant, in the forefront of the battle, could ever guess how +terrible a warrior he might be. Little knight and huge squire stood together +under the arch of the donjon and gave welcome to the newcomers, whilst a swarm +of soldiers crowded round to embrace their comrades and to lead them off where +they might feed and make merry together. +</p> + +<p> +Supper had been set in the hall of Ploermel wherein the knights and squires +assembled. Bambro and Croquart were there with Sir Hugh Calverly, an old +friend of Knolles and a fellow-townsman, for both were men of Chester. Sir Hugh +was a middle-sized flaxen man, with hard gray eyes and fierce large-nosed face +sliced across with the scar of a sword-cut. There too were Geoffrey D’Ardaine, +a young Breton seigneur, Sir Thomas Belford, a burly thick-set Midland +Englishman, Sir Thomas Walton, whose surcoat of scarlet martlets showed that he +was of the Surrey Waltons, James Marshall and John Russell, young English +squires, and the two brothers, Richard and Hugh Le Galliard, who were of Gascon +blood. Besides these were several squires, unknown to fame, and of the +new-comers, Sir Robert Knolles, Sir Thomas Percy, Nigel Loring and two other +squires, Allington and Parsons. These were the company who gathered in the +torch-light round the table of the Seneschal of Ploermel, and kept high revel +with joyous hearts because they thought that much honor and noble deeds lay +before them. +</p> + +<p> +But one sad face there was at the board, and that belonged to him at the head +of it. Sir Robert Bambro sat with his chin leaning upon his hand and his eyes +downcast upon the cloth, whilst all round him rose the merry clatter of voices, +everyone planning some fresh enterprise which might now be attempted. Sir +Robert Knolles was for an immediate advance upon Josselin. Calverly thought +that a raid might be made into the South where the main French power lay. +Others spoke of an attack upon Vannes. +</p> + +<p> +To all these eager opinions Bambro listened in a moody silence, which he broke +at last by a fierce execration which drew a hushed attention from the company. +“Say no more, fair sirs,” he cried; “for indeed your words are like so many +stabs in my heart. All this and more we might indeed have done. But of a truth +you are too late.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too late?” cried Knolles. “What mean you, Richard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas; that I should have to say it, but you and all these fair soldiers might +be back in England once more for all the profit that I am like to have from +your coming. Saw you a rider on a white horse ere you reached the Castle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I saw him not?” +</p> + +<p> +“He came by the western road from Hennebon. Would that he had broken his neck +ere he came here. Not an hour ago he left his message and now hath ridden on to +warn the garrison of Malestroit. A truce has been proclaimed for a year betwixt +the French King and the English, and he who breaks it forfeits life and +estate.” +</p> + +<p> +“A truce!” Here was an end to all their fine dreams. They looked blankly at +each other all round the table, whilst Croquart brought his great fist down +upon the board until the glasses rattled again. Knolles sat with clenched hands +as if he were a figure of stone, while Nigel’s heart turned cold and heavy +within him. A truce! Where then was his third deed, and how might he return +without it? +</p> + +<p> +Even as they sat in moody silence there was the call of a bugle from somewhere +out in the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Richard looked up with surprise. “We are not wont to be summoned after once +the portcullis is up,” said he. “Truce or no truce, we must let no man within +our walls until we have proved him. Croquart, see to it!” +</p> + +<p> +The huge German left the room. The company were still seated in despondent +silence when he returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Richard,” said he, “the brave knight Robert of Beaumanoir and his Squire +William de Montaubon are without the gate, and would fain have speech with +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Bambro started in his chair. What could the fierce leader of the Bretons, a +man who was red to the elbow with English blood, have to say to them? On what +errand had he left his castle of Josselin to pay this visit to his deadly +enemies? +</p> + +<p> +“Are they armed?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“They are unarmed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then admit them and bring them hither, but double the guards and take all heed +against surprise.” +</p> + +<p> +Places were set at the farther end of the table for these most unexpected +guests. Presently the door was swung open, and Croquart with all form and +courtesy announced the two Bretons, who entered with the proud and lofty air of +gallant warriors and high-bred gentlemen. +</p> + +<p> +Beaumanoir was a tall dark man with raven hair and long swarthy beard. He was +strong and straight as a young oak, with fiery black eyes, and no flaw in his +comely features save that his front teeth had been dashed from their sockets. +His Squire, William of Montaubon, was also tall, with a thin hatchet face, and +two small gray eyes set very close upon either side of a long fierce nose. In +Beaumanoir’s expression one read only gallantry and frankness; in Montaubon’s +there was gallantry also, but it was mixed with the cruelty and cunning of the +wolf. They bowed as they entered, and the little English seneschal advanced +with outstretched hand to meet them. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, Robert, so long as you are beneath this roof,” said he. “Perhaps the +time may come in another place when we may speak to each other in another +fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I hope, Richard,” said Beaumanoir; “but indeed we of Josselin bear you in +high esteem and are much beholden to you and to your men for all that you have +done for us. We could not wish better neighbors nor any from whom more honor is +to be gained. I learn that Sir Robert Knolles and others have joined you, and +we are heavy-hearted to think that the orders of our Kings should debar us from +attempting a venture.” He and his squire sat down at the places set for them, +and filling their glasses drank to the company. +</p> + +<p> +“What you say is true, Robert,” said Bambro, “and before you came we were +discussing the matter among ourselves and grieving that it should be so. When +heard you of the truce?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yester-evening a messenger rode from Nantes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our news came to-night from Hennebon. The King’s own seal was on the order. So +I fear that for a year at least you will bide at Josselin and we at Ploermel, +and kill time as we may. Perchance we may hunt the wolf together in the great +forest, or fly our hawks on the banks of the Duc.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless we shall do all this, Richard,” said Beaumanoir; “but by Saint Cadoc +it is in my mind that with good-will upon both sides we may please ourselves +and yet stand excused before our Kings.” +</p> + +<p> +Knights and squires leaned forward in their chairs, their eager eyes, fixed +upon him. He broke into a gap-toothed smile as he looked round at the circle, +the wizened seneschal, the blond giant, Nigel’s fresh young face, the grim +features of Knolles, and the yellow hawk-like Calverly, all burning with the +same desire. +</p> + +<p> +“I see that I need not doubt the good-will,” said he, “and of that I was very +certain before I came upon this errand. Bethink you then that this order +applies to war but not to challenges, spear-runnings, knightly exchanges or the +like. King Edward is too good a knight, and so is King John, that either of +them should stand in the way of a gentleman who desires to advance himself or +to venture his body for the exaltation of his lady. Is this not so?” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur of eager assent rose from the table. +</p> + +<p> +“If you as the garrison of Ploermel march upon the garrison of Josselin, then +it is very plain that we have broken the truce and upon our heads be it. But if +there be a private bickering betwixt me, for example, and this young squire +whose eyes show that he is very eager for honor, and if thereafter others on +each side join in and fight upon the quarrel, it is in no sense war, but rather +our own private business which no king can alter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Robert,” said Bambro, “all that you say is very good and fair.” +</p> + +<p> +Beaumanoir leaned forward toward Nigel, his brimming glass in his hand. “Your +name, squire?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Nigel Loring.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see that you are young and eager, so I choose you as I would fain have been +chosen when I was of your age.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, fair sir,” said Nigel. “It is great honor that one so famous as +yourself should condescend to do some small deed upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we must have cause for quarrel, Nigel. Now here I drink to the ladies of +Brittany, who of all ladies upon this earth are the most fair and the most +virtuous, so that the least worthy-amongst them is far above the best of +England. What say you to that, young sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel dipped his finger in his glass and leaning over he placed its wet impress +on the Breton’s hand. “This in your face!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +Beaumanoir swept off the red drop of moisture and smiled his approval. “It +could not have been better done,” said he. “Why spoil my velvet paltock as many +a hot-headed fool would have done. It is in my mind, young sir, that you will +go far. And now, who follows up this quarrel?” +</p> + +<p> +A growl ran round the table. +</p> + +<p> +Beaumanoir ran his eye round and shook his head. “Alas!” said he, “there are +but twenty of you here, and I have thirty at Josselin who are so eager to +advance themselves that if I return without hope for all of them there will be +sore hearts amongst them. I pray you, Richard, since we have been at these +pains to arrange matters, that you in turn will do what you may. Can you not +find ten more men?” +</p> + +<p> +“But not of gentle blood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it matters not, if they will only fight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of that there can be no doubt, for the castle is full of archers and +men-at-arms who would gladly play a part in the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then choose ten,” said Beaumanoir. +</p> + +<p> +But for the first time the wolf-like squire opened his thin lips. “Surely, my +lord, you will not allow archers,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear not any man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sir, consider that this is a trial of weapons betwixt us where man +faces man. You have seen these English archers, and you know how fast and how +strong are their shafts. Bethink you that if ten of them were against us it is +likely that half of us would be down before ever we came to handstrokes.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Cadoc, William, I think that you are right,” cried the Breton. “If we +are to have such a fight as will remain in the memories of men, you will bring +no archers and we no crossbows. Let it be steel upon steel. How say you then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely we can bring ten men-at-arms to make up the thirty that you desire, +Robert. It is agreed then that we fight on no quarrel of England and France, +but over this matter of the ladies in which you and Squire Loring have fallen +out. And now the time?” +</p> + +<p> +“At once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely at once, or perchance a second messenger may come and this also be +forbidden. We will be ready with to-morrow’s sunrise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, a day later,” cried the Breton Squire. “Bethink you, my lord, that the +three lances of Radenac would take time to come over.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are not of our garrison, and they shall not have a place.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, fair sir, of all the lances of Brittany—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, William, I will not have it an hour later. To-morrow it shall be, +Richard.” +</p> + +<p> +“And where?” +</p> + +<p> +“I marked a fitting place even as I rode here this evening. If you cross the +river and take the bridle-path through the fields which leads to Josselin you +come midway upon a mighty oak standing at the corner of a fair and level +meadow. There let us meet at midday to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Agreed!” cried Bambro. “But I pray you not to rise, Robert! The night is +still young and the spices and hippocras will soon be served. Bide with us, I +pray you, for if you would fain hear the latest songs from England, these +gentlemen have doubtless brought them. To some of us perchance it is the last +night, so we would make it a full one.” +</p> + +<p> +But the gallant Breton shook his head. “It may indeed be the last night for +many,” said he, “and it is but right that my comrades should know it. I have no +need of monk or friar, for I cannot think that harm will ever come beyond the +grave to one who has borne himself as a knight should, but others have other +thoughts upon these matters and would fain have time for prayer and penitence. +Adieu, fair sirs, and I drink a last glass to a happy meeting at the midway +oak.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>XXIII.<br/> +HOW THIRTY OF JOSSELIN ENCOUNTERED THIRTY OF PLOERMEL</h2> + +<p> +All night the Castle of Ploermel rang with warlike preparations, for the smiths +were hammering and filing and riveting, preparing the armor for the champions. +In the stable yard hostlers were testing and grooming the great war-horses, +whilst in the chapel knights and squires were easing their souls at the knees +of old Father Benedict. +</p> + +<p> +Down in the courtyard, meanwhile, the men-at-arms had been assembled, and the +volunteers weeded out until the best men had been selected. Black Simon had +obtained a place, and great was the joy which shone upon his grim visage. With +him were chosen young Nicholas Dagsworth, a gentleman adventurer who was nephew +to the famous Sir Thomas, Walter the German, Hulbitee—a huge peasant whose +massive frame gave promise which his sluggish spirit failed to fulfil—John +Alcock, Robin Adey and Raoul Provost. These with three others made up the +required thirty. Great was the grumbling and evil the talk amongst the archers +when it was learned that none of them were to be included, but the bow had been +forbidden on either side. It is true that many of them were expert fighters +both with ax and with sword, but they were unused to carry heavy armor, and a +half-armed man would have short shrift in such a hand-to-hand struggle as lay +before them. +</p> + +<p> +It was two hours after tierce, or one hour before noon, on the fourth Wednesday +of Lent in the year of Christ 1351 that the men of Ploermel rode forth from +their castle-gate and crossed the bridge of the Due. In front was Bambro with +his Squire Croquart, the latter on a great roan horse bearing the banner of +Ploermel, which was a black rampant lion holding a blue flag upon a field of +ermine. Behind him came Robert Knolles and Nigel Loring, with an attendant at +their side, who carried the pennon of the black raven. Then rode Sir Thomas +Percy with his blue lion flaunting above him, and Sir Hugh Calverly, whose +banner bore a silver owl, followed by the massive Belford who carried a huge +iron club, weighing sixty pounds, upon his saddlebow, and Sir Thomas Walton the +knight of Surrey. Behind them were four brave Anglo-Bretons, Perrot de +Commelain, Le Gaillart, d’Aspremont and d’Ardaine, who fought against their own +countrymen because they were partisans of the Countess of Montfort. Her +engrailed silver cross upon a blue field was carried at their head. In the rear +were five German or Hainault mercenaries, the tall Hulbitee, and the +men-at-arms. Altogether of these combatants twenty were of English birth, four +were Breton and six were of German blood. +</p> + +<p> +So, with glitter of armor and flaunting of pennons, their warhorses tossing and +pawing, the champions rode down to the midway oak. Behind them streamed +hundreds of archers and men-at-arms whose weapons had been wisely taken from +them lest a general battle should ensue. With them also went the townsfolk, men +and women, together with wine-sellers, provisions merchants, armorers, grooms +and heralds, with surgeons to tend the wounded and priests to shrive the dying. +The path was blocked by this throng, but all over the face of the country +horsemen and footmen, gentle and simple, men and women, could be seen speeding +their way to the scene of the encounter. +</p> + +<p> +The journey was not a long one, for presently, as they threaded their way +through the fields, there appeared before them a great gray oak which spread +its gnarled leafless branches over the corner of a green and level meadow. The +tree was black with the peasants who had climbed into it, and all round it was +a huge throng, chattering and calling like a rookery at sunset. A storm of +hooting broke out from them at the approach of the English, for Bambro was +hated in the country where he raised money for the Montfort cause by putting +every parish to ransom and maltreating those who refused to pay. There was +little amenity in the warlike ways which had been learned upon the Scottish +border. The champions rode onward without deigning to take notice of the taunts +of the rabble, but the archers turned that way and soon beat the mob to +silence. Then they resolved themselves into the keepers of the ground, and +pressed the people back until they formed a dense line along the edge of the +field, leaving the whole space clear for the warriors. +</p> + +<p> +The Breton champions had not yet arrived, so the English tethered their horses +at one side of the ground, and then gathered round their leader. Every man had +his shield slung round his neck, and had cut his spear to the length of five +feet so that it might be more manageable for fighting on foot. Besides the +spear a sword or a battle-ax hung at the side of each. They were clad from head +to foot in armor, with devices upon the crests and surcoats to distinguish them +from their antagonists. At present their visors were still up and they chatted +gayly with each other. +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Dunstan!” cried Percy, slapping his gauntleted hands together and +stamping his steel feet. “I shall be right glad to get to work, for my blood is +chilled.” +</p> + +<p> +“I warrant you will be warm enough ere you get through,” said Calverly. +</p> + +<p> +“Or cold forever. Candle shall burn and bell toll at Alnwick Chapel if I leave +this ground alive, but come what may, fair sirs, it should be a famous joust +and one which will help us forward. Surely each of us will have worshipfully +won worship, if we chance to come through.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say truth, Thomas,” said Knolles, bracing his girdle. “For my own part I +have no joy in such encounters when there is warfare to be carried out, for it +standeth not aright that a man should think of his own pleasure and advancement +rather than of the King’s cause and the weal of the army. But in times of truce +I can think of no better way in which a day may be profitably spent. Why so +silent, Nigel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, fair sir, I was looking toward Josselin, which lies as I understand +beyond those woods. I see no sign of this debonair gentleman and of his +following. It would be indeed grievous pity if any cause came to hold them +back.” +</p> + +<p> +Hugh Calverly laughed at the words. “You need have no fear, young sir,” said +he. “Such a spirit lies in Robert de Beaumanoir that if he must come alone he +would ride against us none the less. I warrant that if he were on a bed of +death he would be borne here and die on the green field.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say truly, Hugh,” said Bambro. “I know him and those who ride behind him. +Thirty stouter men or more skilled in arms are not to be found in Christendom. +It is in my mind that come what may there will be much honor for all of us this +day. Ever in my head I have a rhyme which the wife of a Welsh archer gave me +when I crossed her hand with a golden bracelet after the intaking of Bergerac. +She was of the old blood of Merlin with the power of sight. Thus she said— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“’Twixt the oak-tree and the river<br/> +Knightly fame aid brave endeavor<br/> +Make an honored name forever.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Methinks I see the oak-tree, and yonder is the river. Surely this should +betide some good to us.” +</p> + +<p> +The huge German Squire betrayed some impatience during this speech of his +leader. Though his rank was subordinate, no man present had more experience of +warfare or was more famous as a fighter than he. He new broke brusquely into +the talk. “We should be better employed in ordering our line and making our +plans than in talking of the rhymes of Merlin or such old wives’ tales,” said +he. “It is to our own strong arms and good weapons that we must trust this day. +And first I would ask you, Sir Richard, what is your will if perchance you +should fall in the midst of the fight?” +</p> + +<p> +Bambro turned to the others. “If such should be the case, fair sirs, I desire +that my Squire Croquart should command.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause while the knights looked with some chagrin at each other. The +silence was broken by Knolles. +</p> + +<p> +“I will do what you say, Richard,” said he, “though indeed it is bitter that we +who are knights should serve beneath a squire. Yet it is not for us to fall out +among ourselves now at this last moment, and I have ever heard that Croquart is +a very worthy and valiant man. Therefore, I will pledge you on jeopardy of my +soul that I will accept him as leader if you fall.” +</p> + +<p> +“So will I also, Richard,” said Calverly. +</p> + +<p> +“And I too!” cried Belford. “But surely I hear music, and yonder are their +pennons amid the trees.” +</p> + +<p> +They all turned, leaning upon their short spears, and watched the advance of +the men of Josselin, as their troop wound its way out from the woodlands. In +front rode three heralds with tabards of the ermine of Brittany, blowing loudly +upon silver trumpets. Behind them a great man upon a white horse bore the +banner of Josselin which carries nine golden torteaus upon a scarlet field. +Then came the champions riding two and two, fifteen knights and fifteen +squires, each with his pennon displayed. Behind them on a litter was borne an +aged priest, the Bishop of Rennes, carrying in his hands the viaticum and the +holy oils that he might give the last aid and comfort of the Church to those +who were dying. The procession was terminated by hundreds of men and women from +Josselin, Guegon, and Helleon, and by the entire garrison of the fortress, who +came, as the English had done, without their arms. The head of this long column +had reached the field before the rear were clear of the wood, but as they +arrived the champions picketed their horses on the farther side, behind which +their banner was planted and the people lined up until they had inclosed the +whole lists with a dense wall of spectators. +</p> + +<p> +With keen eyes the English party had watched the armorial blazonry of their +antagonists, for those fluttering pennons and brilliant surcoats carried a +language which all men could read. In front was the banner of Beaumanoir, blue +with silver frets. His motto “<i>J’ayme qui m’ayme</i>” was carried on a second +flag by a little page. +</p> + +<p> +“Whose is the shield behind him—silver with scarlet drops?” asked Knolles. +</p> + +<p> +“It is his Squire, William of Montaubon,” Calverly answered. “And there are the +golden lion of Rochefort and the silver cross of Du Bois the Strong. I would +not wish to meet a better company than are before us this day. See, there are +the blue rings of young Tintiniac, who slew my Squire Hubert last Lammastide. +With the aid of Saint George I will avenge him ere nightfall.” +</p> + +<p> +“By the three kings of Almain,” growled Croquart, “we will need to fight hard +this day, for never have I seen so many good soldiers gathered together. Yonder +is Yves Cheruel, whom they call the man of iron, Caro de Bodegat also with whom +I have had more than one bickering—that is he with the three ermine circles on +the scarlet shield. There too is left-handed Alain de Karanais; bear in mind +that his stroke comes on the side where there is no shield.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the small stout man”—asked Nigel—“he with the black and silver shield? +By Saint Paul! he seems a very worthy person and one from whom much might be +gained, for he is nigh as broad as he is long.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is Sir Robert Raguenel,” said Calverly, whose long spell of service in +Brittany had made him familiar with the people. “It is said that he can lift a +horse upon his back. Beware a full stroke of that steel mace, for the armor is +not made that can abide it. But here is the good Beaumanoir, and surely it is +time that we came to grips.” +</p> + +<p> +The Breton leader had marshaled his men in a line opposite to the English, and +now he strode forward and shook Bambro by the hand. “By Saint Cadoc! this is a +very joyous meeting, Richard,” said he, “and we have certainly hit upon a very +excellent way of keeping a truce.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Robert,” said Bambro, “we owe you much thanks, for I can see that you +have been at great pains to bring a worthy company against us this day. Surely +if all should chance to perish there will be few noble houses in Brittany who +will not mourn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, we have none of the highest of Brittany,” Beaumanoir answered. “Neither a +Blois, nor a Leon, nor a Rohan, nor a Conan, fights in our ranks this day. And +yet we are all men of blood and coat-armor, who are ready to venture our +persons for the desire of our ladies and the love of the high order of +knighthood. And now, Richard, what is your sweet will concerning this fight?” +</p> + +<p> +“That we continue until one or other can endure no longer, for since it is +seldom that so many brave men draw together it is fitting that we see as much +as is possible of each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Richard, your words are fair and good. It shall be even as you say. For the +rest, each shall fight as pleases him best from the time that the herald calls +the word. If any man from without shall break in upon us he shall be hanged on +yonder oak.” +</p> + +<p> +With a salute he drew down his visor and returned to his own men, who were +kneeling in a twinkling, many colored group whilst the old bishop gave them his +blessing. +</p> + +<p> +The heralds rode round with a warning to the spectators. Then they halted at +the side of the two bands of men who now stood in a long line facing each other +with fifty yards of grass between. The visors had been closed, and every man +was now cased in metal from head to foot, some few glowing in brass, the +greater number shining in steel. Only their fierce eyes could be seen +smoldering in the dark shadow of their helmets. So for an instant they stood +glaring and crouching. +</p> + +<p> +Then with a loud cry of “<i>Allez!</i>” the herald dropped his upraised hand, +and the two lines of men shuffled as fast as their heavy armor would permit +until they met with a sharp clang of metal in the middle of the field. There +was a sound as of sixty smiths working upon their anvils. Then the babel of +yells and shouts from the spectators, cheering on this party or that, rose and +swelled until even the uproar of the combat was drowned in that mighty surge. +</p> + +<p> +So eager were the combatants to engage that in a few moments all order had been +lost and the two bands were mixed up in one furious scrambling, clattering +throng, each man tossed hither and thither, thrown against one adversary and +then against another, beaten and hustled and buffeted, with only the one +thought in his mind to thrust with his spear or to beat with his ax against +anyone who came within the narrow slit of vision left by his visor. +</p> + +<p> +But alas for Nigel and his hopes of some great deed! His was at least the fate +of the brave, for he was the first to fall. With a high heart he had placed +himself in the line as nearly opposite to Beaumanoir as he could, and had made +straight for the Breton leader, remembering that in the out set the quarrel had +been so ordered that it lay between them. But ere he could reach his goal he +was caught in the swirl of his own comrades, and being the lighter man was +swept aside and dashed into the arms of Alain de Karanais, the left-handed +swordsman, with such a crash that the two rolled upon the ground together. +Light footed as a cat, Nigel had sprung up first, and was stooping over the +Breton Squire when the powerful dwarf Raguenel brought his mace thudding down +upon the exposed back of his helmet. With a groan Nigel fell upon his face, +blood gushing from his mouth, nose, and ears. There he lay, trampled over by +either party, while that great fight for which his fiery soul had panted was +swaying back and forward above his unconscious form. +</p> + +<p> +But Nigel was not long unavenged. The huge iron club of Belford struck the +dwarf Raguenel to the ground, while Belford in turn was felled by a sweeping +blow from Beaumanoir. Sometimes a dozen were on the ground at one time, but so +strong was the armor, and so deftly was the force of a blow broken by guard and +shield, that the stricken men were often pulled to their feet once more by +their comrades, and were able to continue the fight. +</p> + +<p> +Some, however, were beyond all aid. Croquart had cut at a Breton knight named +Jean Rousselot and had shorn away his shoulder-piece, exposing his neck and the +upper part of his arm. Vainly he tried to cover this vulnerable surface with +his shield. It was his right side, and he could not stretch it far enough +across, nor could he get away on account of the press of men around him. For a +time he held his foemen at bay, but that bare patch of white shoulder was a +mark for every weapon, until at last a hatchet sank up to the socket in the +knight’s chest. Almost at the same moment a second Breton, a young Squire named +Geoffrey Mellon, was slain by a thrust from Black Simon which found the weak +spot beneath the armpit. Three other Bretons, Evan Cheruel, Caro de Bodegat, +and Tristan de Pestivien, the first two knights and the latter a squire, became +separated from their comrades, and were beaten to the ground with English all +around them, so that they had to choose between instant death and surrender. +They handed their swords to Bambro and stood apart, each of them sorely +wounded, watching with hot and bitter hearts the melee which still surged up +and down the field. +</p> + +<p> +But now the combat had lasted half an hour without stint or rest, until the +warriors were so exhausted with the burden of their armor, the loss of blood, +the shock of blows, and their own furious exertions, that they could scarce +totter or raise their weapons. There must be a pause if the combat was to have +any decisive end. “<i>Cessez! Cessez! Retirez!</i>” cried the heralds, as they +spurred their horses between the exhausted men. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly the gallant Beaumanoir led the twenty-five men who were left to their +original station, where they opened their visors and threw themselves down upon +the grass, panting like weary dogs, and wiping the sweat from their bloodshot +eyes. A pitcher of wine of Anjou was carried round by a page, and each in turn +drained a cup, save only Beaumanoir who kept his Lent with such strictness that +neither food nor drink might pass his lips before sunset. He paced slowly +amongst his men, croaking forth encouragement from his parched lips and +pointing out to them that among the English there was scarce a man who was not +wounded, and some so sorely that they could hardly stand. If the fight so far +had gone against them, there were still five hours of daylight, and much might +happen before the last of them was laid upon his back. +</p> + +<p> +Varlets had rushed forth to draw away the two dead Bretons, and a brace of +English archers had carried Nigel from the field. With his own hands Aylward +had unlaced the crushed helmet and had wept to see the bloodless and +unconscious face of his young master. He still breathed, however, and stretched +upon the grass by the riverside the bowman tended him with rude surgery, until +the water upon his brow and the wind upon his face had coaxed back the life +into his battered frame. He breathed with heavy gasps, and some tinge of blood +crept hack into his cheeks, but still he lay unconscious of the roar of the +crowd and of that great struggle which his comrades were now waging once again. +</p> + +<p> +The English had lain for a space bleeding and breathless, in no better case +than their rivals, save that they were still twenty-nine in number. But of this +muster there were not nine who were hale men, and some were so weak from loss +of blood that they could scarce keep standing. Yet, when the signal was at last +given to reengage there was not a man upon either side who did not totter to +his feet and stagger forward toward his enemies. +</p> + +<p> +But the opening of this second phase of the combat brought one great misfortune +and discouragement to the English. Bambro like the others, had undone his +visor, but with his mind full of many cares he had neglected to make it fast +again. There was an opening an inch broad betwixt it and the beaver. As the two +lines met the left-handed Breton squire, Alain de Karanais, caught sight of +Bambro’s face, and in an instant thrust his short spear through the opening. +The English leader gave a cry of pain and fell on his knees, but staggered to +his feet again, too weak to raise his shield. As he stood exposed the Breton +knight, Geoffrey Dubois the Strong, struck him such a blow with his ax that he +beat in the whole breast-plate with the breast behind it. Bambro fell dead +upon the ground and for a few minutes a fierce fight raged round his body. +</p> + +<p> +Then the English drew back, sullen and dogged, bearing Bambro with them, and +the Bretons, breathing hard, gathered again in their own quarter. At the same +instant the three prisoners picked up such weapons as were scattered upon the +grass and ran over to join their own party. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay!” cried Knolles, raising his visor and advancing. “This may not be. +You have been held to mercy when we might have slain you, and by the Virgin I +will hold you dishonored, all three, if you stand not back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say not so, Robert Knolles,” Evan Cheruel answered. “Never yet has the word +dishonor been breathed with my name, but I should count myself faineant if I +did not fight beside my comrades when chance has made it right and proper that +I should do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Cadoc! he speaks truly,” croaked Beaumanoir, advancing in front of +his men. “You are well aware, Robert, that it is the law of war and the usage +of chivalry that if the knight to whom you have surrendered is himself slain +the prisoners thereby become released.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer to this and Knolles, weary and spent, returned to his +comrades. “I would that we had slain them,” said he. “We have lost our leader +and they have gained three men by the same stroke.” +</p> + +<p> +“If any more lay down their arms it is my order that you slay them forthwith,” +said Croquart, whose bent sword and bloody armor showed how manfully he had +borne himself in the fray. “And now, comrades, do not be heavy-hearted because +we have lost our leader. Indeed, his rhymes of Merlin have availed him little. +By the three kings of Almain! I can teach you what is better than an old +woman’s prophecies, and that is that you should keep your shoulders together +and your shields so close that none can break between them. Then you will know +what is on either side of you, and you can fix your eyes upon the front. Also, +if any be so weak or wounded that he must sink his hands his comrades on right +and left can bear him up. Now advance all together in God’s name, for the +battle is still ours if we bear ourselves like men.” +</p> + +<p> +In a solid line the English advanced, while the Bretons ran forward as before +to meet them. The swiftest of these was a certain Squire, Geoffrey Poulart, who +bore a helmet which was fashioned as a cock’s head, with high comb above, and +long pointed beak in front pierced with the breathing-holes. He thrust with his +sword at Calverly, but Belford who was the next in the line raised his giant +club and struck him a crushing blow from the side. He staggered, and then +pushing forth from the crowd, he ran round and round in circles as one whose +brain is stricken, the blood dripping from the holes of his brazen beak. So for +a long time he ran, the crowd laughing and cock-crowing at the sight, until at +last he stumbled and fell stone-dead upon his face. But the fighters had seen +nothing of his fate, for desperate and unceasing was the rush of the Bretons +and the steady advance of the English line. +</p> + +<p> +For a time it seemed as if nothing would break it, but gap-toothed Beaumanoir +was a general as well as a warrior. Whilst his weary, bleeding, hard-breathing +men still flung themselves upon the front of the line, he himself with +Raguenel, Tentiniac, Alain de Karanais, and Dubois rushed round the flank and +attacked the English with fury from behind. There was a long and desperate +melee until once more the heralds, seeing the combatants stand gasping and +unable to strike a blow, rode in and called yet another interval of truce. +</p> + +<p> +But in those few minutes whilst they had been assaulted upon both sides, the +losses of the English party had been heavy. The Anglo-Breton D’Ardaine had +fallen before Beaumanoir’s sword, but not before he had cut deeply into his +enemy’s shoulder. Sir Thomas Walton, Richard of Ireland one of the Squires, and +Hulbitee the big peasant had all fallen before the mace of the dwarf Raguenel +or the swords of his companions. Some twenty men were still left standing upon +either side, but all were in the last state of exhaustion, gasping, reeling, +hardly capable of striking a blow. +</p> + +<p> +It was strange to see them as they staggered with many a lurch and stumble +toward each other once again, for they moved like drunken men, and the scales +of their neck-armor and joints were as red as fishes’ gills when they raised +them They left foul wet footprints behind them on the green grass as they moved +forward once more to their endless contest. +</p> + +<p> +Beaumanoir, faint with the drain of his blood and with a tongue of leather, +paused as he advanced. “I am fainting, comrades,” he cried. “I must drink.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drink your own blood, Beaumanoir!” cried Dubois, and the weary men all croaked +together in dreadful laughter. +</p> + +<p> +But now the English had learned from experience, and under the guidance of +Croquart they fought no longer in a straight line, but in one so bent that at +last it became a circle. As the Bretons still pushed and staggered against it +they thrust it back on every side, until they had turned it into the most +dangerous formation of all, a solid block of men, their faces turned outward, +their weapons bristling forth to meet every attack. Thus the English stood, and +no assault could move them. They could lean against each other back to back +while they waited and allowed their foemen to tire themselves out. Again and +again the gallant Bretons tried to make a way through. Again and again they +were beaten back by a shower of blows. +</p> + +<p> +Beaumanoir, his head giddy with fatigue, opened his helmet and gazed in despair +at this terrible, unbreakable circle. Only too clearly he could see the +inevitable result. His men were wearing themselves out. Already many of them +could scarce stir hand or foot, and might be dead for any aid which they could +give him in winning the fight. Soon all would be in the same plight. Then these +cursed English would break their circle to swarm over his helpless men and to +strike them down. Do what he might, he could see no way by which such an end +might be prevented. He cast his eyes round in his agony, and there was one of +his Bretons slinking away to the side of the lists. He could scarce credit his +senses when he saw by the scarlet and silver that the deserter was his own +well-tried squire, William of Montaubon. +</p> + +<p> +“William! William!” he cried. “Surely you would not leave me?” +</p> + +<p> +But the other’s helmet was closed and he could hear nothing. Beaumanoir saw +that he was staggering away as swiftly as he could. With a cry of bitter +despair, he drew into a knot as many of his braves as could still move, and +together they made a last rush upon the English spears. This time he was firmly +resolved, deep in his gallant soul, that he would come no foot back, but would +find his death there amongst his foemen or carve a path into the heart of their +ranks. The fire in his breast spread from man to man of his followers, and amid +the crashing of blows they still locked themselves against the English shields +and drove hard for an opening in their ranks. +</p> + +<p> +But all was vain! Beaumanoir’s head reeled. His senses were leaving him. In +another minute he and his men would have been stretched senseless before this +terrible circle of steel, when suddenly the whole array fell in pieces before +his eyes, his enemies Croquart, Knolles, Calverly, Belford, all were stretched +upon the ground together, their weapons dashed from their hands and their +bodies too exhausted to rise. The surviving Bretons had but strength to fall +upon them dagger in hands, and to wring from them their surrender with the +sharp point stabbing through their visors. Then victors and vanquished lay +groaning and panting in one helpless and blood-smeared heap. +</p> + +<p> +To Beaumanoir’s simple mind it had seemed that at the supreme moment the Saints +of Brittany had risen at their country’s call. Already, as he lay gasping, his +heart was pouring forth its thanks to his patron Saint Cadoc. But the +spectators had seen clearly enough the earthly cause of this sudden victory, +and a hurricane of applause from one side, with a storm of hooting from the +other showed how different was the emotion which it raised in minds which +sympathized with the victors or the vanquished. +</p> + +<p> +William of Montaubon, the cunning squire, had made his way across to the spot +where the steeds were tethered, and had mounted his own great roussin. At first +it was thought that he was about to ride from the field, but the howl of +execration from the Breton peasants changed suddenly to a yell of applause and +delight as he turned the beast’s head for the English circle and thrust his +long prick spurs into its side. Those who faced him saw this sudden and +unexpected appearance. Time was when both horse and rider must have winced away +from the shower of their blows. But now they were in no state to meet such a +rush. They could scarce raise their arms. Their blows were too feeble to hurt +this mighty creature. In a moment it had plunged through the ranks, and seven +of them were on the grass. It turned and rushed through them again, leaving +five others helpless beneath its hoofs. No need to do more! Already Beaumanoir +and his companions were inside the circle, the prostrate men were helpless, and +Josselin had won. +</p> + +<p> +That night a train of crestfallen archers, bearing many a prostrate figure, +marched sadly into Ploermel Castle. Behind them rode ten men, all weary, all +wounded, and all with burning hearts against William of Montaubon for the foul +trick that he had served them. +</p> + +<p> +But over at Josselin, yellow gorse-blossoms in their helmets, the victors were +borne in on the shoulders of a shouting mob, amid the fanfare of trumpets and +the beating of drums. Such was the combat of the Midway Oak, where brave men +met brave men, and such honor was gained that from that day he who had fought +in the Battle of the Thirty was ever given the highest place and the post of +honor, nor was it easy for any man to pretend to have been there, for it has +been said by that great chronicler who knew them all, that not one on either +side failed to carry to his grave the marks of that stern encounter. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>XXIV.<br/> +HOW NIGEL WAS CALLED TO HIS MASTER</h2> + +<p> +“My sweet ladye,” wrote Nigel in a script which it would take the eyes of love +to read, “there hath been a most noble meeting in the fourth sennight of Lent +betwixt some of our own people and sundry most worthy persons of this country, +which ended, by the grace of our Lady, in so fine a joust that no man living +can call to mind so fair an occasion. Much honor was gained by the Sieurde +Beaumanoir and also by an Almain named Croquart, with whom I hope to have some +speech when I am hale again, for he is a most excellent person and very ready +to advance himself or to relieve another from a vow. For myself I had hoped, +with Godde’s help, to venture that third small deed which might set me free to +haste to your sweet side, but things have gone awry with me, and I early met +with such scathe and was of so small comfort to my friends that my heart is +heavy within me, and in sooth I feel that I have lost honor rather than gained +it. Here I have lain since the Feast of the Virgin, and here I am like still to +be, for I can move no limb, save only my hand; but grieve not, sweet lady, for +Saint Catharine hath been our friend since in so short a time I had two such +ventures as the Red Ferret and the intaking of the Reaver’s fortalice. It needs +but one more deed, and sickerly when I am hale once more it will not be long +ere I seek it out. Till then, if my eyes may not rest upon you, my heart at +least is ever at thy feet.” +</p> + +<p> +So he wrote from his sick-room in the Castle of Ploermel late in the summer, +but yet another summer had come before his crushed head had mended and his +wasted limbs had gained their strength once more. With despair he heard of the +breaking of the truce, and of the fight at Mauron in which Sir Robert Knolles +and Sir Walter Bentley crushed the rising power of Brittany—a fight in which +many of the thirty champions of Josselin met their end. Then, when with renewed +strength and high hopes in his heart he went forth to search for the famous +Croquart who proclaimed himself ever ready night or day to meet any man with +any weapon, it was only to find that in trying the paces of his new horse the +German had been cast into a ditch and had broken his neck. In the same ditch +perished Nigel’s last chance of soon accomplishing that deed which should free +him from his vow. +</p> + +<p> +There was truce once more over all Christendom, and mankind was sated with war, +so that only in far-off Prussia, where the Teutonic knights waged ceaseless +battle with the Lithuanian heathen, could he hope to find his heart’s desire. +But money and high knightly fame were needed ere a man could go upon the +northern crusade, and ten years were yet to pass ere Nigel should look from the +battlements of Marienberg on the waters of the Frische Haff, or should endure +the torture of the hot plate when bound to the Holy Woden stone of Memel. +Meanwhile, he chafed his burning soul out through the long seasons of garrison +life in Brittany, broken only by one visit to the château of the father of +Raoul, when he carried to the Lord of Grosbois the news of how his son had +fallen like a gallant gentleman under the gateway of La Brohinière. +</p> + +<p> +And then, then at last, when all hope was well-nigh dead in his heart, there +came one glorious July morning which brought a horseman bearing a letter to the +Castle of Vannes, of which Nigel now was seneschal. It contained but few words, +short and clear as the call of a war-trumpet. It was Chandos who wrote. He +needed his Squire at his side, for his pennon was in the breeze once more. He +was at Bordeaux. The Prince was starting at once for Bergerac, whence he would +make a great raid into France. It would not end without a battle. They had sent +word of their coming, and the good French King had promised to be at great +pains to receive them. Let Nigel hasten at once. If the army had left, then let +him follow after with all speed. Chandos had three other squires, but would +very gladly see his fourth once again, for he had heard much of him since he +parted, and nothing which he might not have expected to hear of his father’s +son. Such was the letter which made the summer sun shine brighter and the blue +sky seem of a still fairer blue upon that happy morning in Vannes. +</p> + +<p> +It is a weary way from Vannes to Bordeaux. Coastwise ships are hard to find, +and winds blow north when all brave hearts would fain be speeding south. A full +month has passed from the day when Nigel received his letter before he stood +upon the quay-side of the Garonne amid the stacked barrels of Gascon wine and +helped to lead Pommers down the gang-planks. Not Aylward himself had a worse +opinion of the sea than the great yellow horse, and he whinnied with joy as he +thrust his muzzle into his master’s outstretched hand, and stamped his ringing +hoofs upon the good firm cobblestones. Beside him, slapping his tawny shoulder +in encouragement, was the lean spare form of Back Simon who had remained ever +under Nigel’s pennon. +</p> + +<p> +But Aylward, where was he? Alas! two years before he and the whole of Knolles’ +company of archers had been drafted away on the King’s service to Guienne, and +since he could not write the Squire knew not whether he was alive or dead. +Simon, indeed, had thrice heard of him from wandering archers, each time that +he was alive and well and newly married, but as the wife in one case was a fair +maid, and in another a dark, while in the third she was a French widow, it was +hard to know the truth. +</p> + +<p> +Already the army had been gone a month, but news of it came daily to the town, +and such news as all men could read, for through the landward gates there +rolled one constant stream of wagons, pouring down the Libourne Road, and +bearing the booty of Southern France. The town was full of foot-soldiers, for +none but mounted men had been taken by the Prince. With sad faces and longing +eyes they watched the passing of the train of plunder-laden carts, piled high +with rich furniture, silks, velvets, tapestries, carvings, and precious metals, +which had been the pride of many a lordly home in fair Auvergne or the wealthy +Bourbonnais. +</p> + +<p> +Let no man think that in these wars England alone was face to face with France +alone. There is glory and to spare without trifling with the truth. Two +Provinces in France, both rich and warlike, had become English through a royal +marriage, and these, Guienne and Gascony, furnished many of the most valiant +soldiers under the island flag. So poor a country as England could not afford +to keep a great force overseas, and so must needs have lost the war with France +through want of power to uphold the struggle. The feudal system enabled an army +to be drawn rapidly together with small expense, but at the end of a few weeks +it dispersed again as swiftly, and only by a well-filled money-chest could it +be held together. There was no such chest in England, and the King was forever +at his wits’ end how to keep his men in the field. +</p> + +<p> +But Guienne and Gascony were full of knights and squires who were always ready +to assemble from their isolated castles for a raid into France, and these with +the addition of those English cavaliers who fought for honor, and a few +thousand of the formidable archers, hired for fourpence a day, made an army +with which a short campaign could be carried on. Such were the materials of the +Prince’s force, some eight thousand strong, who were now riding in a great +circle through Southern France, leaving a broad wale of blackened and ruined +country behind them. +</p> + +<p> +But France, even with her southwestern corner in English hands, was still a +very warlike power, far richer and more populous than her rival. Single +Provinces were so great that they were stronger than many a kingdom. Normandy +in the north, Burgundy in the east, Brittany in the west and Languedoc in the +south were each capable of fitting out a great army of their own. Therefore the +brave and spirited John, watching from Paris this insolent raid into his +dominions, sent messengers in hot haste to all these great feudatories as well +as to Lorraine, Picardy, Auvergne, Hainault, Vermandois, Champagne, and to the +German mercenaries over his eastern border, bidding all of them to ride hard, +with bloody spur, day and night, until they should gather to a head at +Chartres. +</p> + +<p> +There a great army had assembled early in September, whilst the Prince, all +unconscious of its presence sacked towns and besieged castles from Bourges to +Issodun, passing Romorautin, and so onward to Vierzon and to Tours. From week +to week there were merry skirmishes at barriers, brisk assaults of fortresses +in which much honor was won, knightly meetings with detached parties of +Frenchmen and occasional spear-runnings where noble champions deigned to +venture their persons. Houses, too, were to be plundered, while wine and women +were in plenty. Never had either knights or archers had so pleasant and +profitable an excursion, so that it was with high heart and much hope of +pleasant days at Bordeaux with their pockets full of money that the army turned +south from the Loire and began to retrace its steps to the seaboard city. +</p> + +<p> +But now its pleasant and martial promenade changed suddenly to very serious +work of war. As the Prince moved south he found that all supplies had been +cleared away from in front of him and that there was neither fodder for the +horses nor food for the men. Two hundred wagons laden with spoil rolled at the +head of the army, but the starving soldiers would soon have gladly changed it +all for as many loads of bread and of meat. The light troops of the French had +preceded then and burned or destroyed everything that could be of use. Now also +for the first time the Prince and his men became aware that a great army was +moving upon the eastern side of them, streaming southward in the hope of +cutting off their retreat to the sea. The sky glowed with their fires at night, +and the autumn sun twinkled and gleamed from one end of the horizon to the +other upon the steel caps and flashing weapons of a mighty host. +</p> + +<p> +Anxious to secure his plunder, and conscious that the levies of France were far +superior in number to his own force, the Prince redoubled his attempts to +escape; but his horses were exhausted and his starving men were hardly to be +kept in order. A few more days would unfit them for battle. Therefore, when he +found near the village of Maupertuis a position in which a small force might +have a chance to hold its own, he gave up the attempt to outmarch his pursuers, +and he turned at bay, like a hunted boar, all tusks and eyes of flame. +</p> + +<p> +Whilst these high events had been in progress, Nigel with Black Simon and four +other men-at-arms from Bordeaux, was hastening northward to join the army. As +far as Bergerac they were in a friendly land, but thence onward they rode over +a blackened landscape with many a roofless house, its two bare gable-ends +sticking upward—a “Knolles’ miter” as it was afterward called when Sir Robert +worked his stern will upon the country. For three days they rode northward, +seeing many small parties of French in all directions, but too eager to reach +the army to ease their march in the search of adventures. +</p> + +<p> +Then at last after passing Lusignan they began to come in touch with English +foragers, mounted bowmen for the most part, who were endeavoring to collect +supplies either for the army or for themselves. From them Nigel learned that +the Prince, with Chandos ever at his side, was hastening south and might be met +within a short day’s march. As he still advanced these English stragglers +became more and more numerous, until at last he overtook a considerable column +of archers moving in the same direction as his own party. These were men whose +horses had failed them and who had therefore been left behind on the advance, +but were now hastening to be in time for the impending battle. A crowd of +peasant girls accompanied them upon their march, and a whole train of laden +mules were led beside them. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel and his little troop of men-at-arms were riding past the archers when +Black Simon with a sudden exclamation touched his leader upon the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“See yonder, fair sir,” he cried, with gleaming eyes, “there where the wastrel +walks with the great fardel upon his back! Who is he who marches behind him?” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel looked, and was aware of a stunted peasant who bore upon his rounded back +an enormous bundle very much larger than himself. Behind him walked a burly +broad-shouldered archer, whose stained jerkin and battered headpiece gave token +of long and hard service. His bow was slung over his shoulder, and his arms +were round the waists of two buxom Frenchwomen, who tripped along beside him +with much laughter and many saucy answers flung back over their shoulders to a +score of admirers behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“Aylward!” cried Nigel, spurring forward. +</p> + +<p> +The archer turned his bronzed face, stared for an instant with wild eyes, and +then, dropping his two ladies, who were instantly carried off by his comrades, +he rushed to seize the hand which his young master held down to him. “Now, by +my hilt, Squire Nigel, this is the fairest sight of my lifetime!” he cried. +“And you, old leather-face! Nay, Simon, I would put my arms round your dried +herring of a body, if I could but reach you. Here is Pommers too, and I read in +his eye that he knows me well and is as ready to put his teeth into me as when +he stood in my father’s stall.” +</p> + +<p> +It was like a whiff of the heather-perfumed breezes of Hankley to see his +homely face once more. Nigel laughed with sheer joy as he looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“It was an ill day when the King’s service called you from my side,” said he, +“and by Saint Paul! I am right glad to set eyes upon you once more! I see well +that you are in no wise altered, but the same Aylward that I have ever known. +But who is this varlet with the great bundle who waits upon your movements?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is no less than a feather-bed, fair sir, which he bears upon his back, for +I would fain bring it to Tilford, and yet it is overlarge for me when I take my +place with my fellows in the ranks. But indeed this war has been a most +excellent one, and I have already sent half a wagonload of my gear back to +Bordeaux to await my homecoming. Yet I have my fears when I think of all the +rascal foot-archers who are waiting there, for some folk have no grace or +honesty in their souls, and cannot keep their hands from that which belongs to +another. But if I may throw my leg over yonder spare horse I will come on with +you, fair sir, for indeed it would be joy to my heart to know that I was riding +under your banner once again.” +</p> + +<p> +So Aylward, having given instructions to the bearer of his feather-bed, rode +away in spite of shrill protests from his French companions, who speedily +consoled themselves with those of his comrades who seemed to have most to give. +Nigel’s party was soon clear of the column of archers and riding hard in the +direction of the Prince’s army. They passed by a narrow and winding track, +through the great wood of Nouaille, and found before them a marshy valley down +which ran a sluggish stream. Along its farther bank hundreds of horses were +being watered, and beyond was a dense block of wagons. Through these the +comrades passed, and then topped a small mound from which the whole strange +scene lay spread before them. +</p> + +<p> +Down the valley the slow stream meandered with marshy meadows on either side. A +mile or two lower a huge drove of horses were to be seen assembled upon the +bank. They were the steeds of the French cavalry, and the blue haze of a +hundred fires showed where King John’s men were camping. In front of the mound +upon which they stood the English line was drawn, but there were few fires, for +indeed, save their horses, there was little for them to cook. Their right +rested upon the river, and their array stretched across a mile of ground until +the left was in touch with a tangled forest which guarded it from flank attack. +In front was a long thick hedge and much broken ground, with a single deeply +rutted country road cutting through it in the middle. Under the hedge and along +the whole front of the position lay swarms of archers upon the grass, the +greater number slumbering peacefully with sprawling limbs in the warm rays of +the September sun. Behind were the quarters of the various knights, and from +end to end flew the banners and pennons marked with the devices of the chivalry +of England and Guienne. +</p> + +<p> +With a glow in his heart Nigel saw those badges of famous captains and leaders +and knew that now at last he also might show his coat-armor in such noble +company. There was the flag of Jean Grailly, the Captal de Buch, five silver +shells on a black cross, which marked the presence of the most famous soldier +of Gascony, while beside it waved the red lion of the noble Knight of Hainault, +Sir Eustace d’Ambreticourt. These two coats Nigel knew, as did every warrior in +Europe, but a dense grove of pennoned lances surrounded them, bearing charges +which were strange to him, from which he understood that these belonged to the +Guienne division of the army. Farther down the line the famous English ensigns +floated on the wind, the scarlet and gold of Warwick, the silver star of +Oxford, the golden cross of Suffolk, the blue and gold of Willoughby, and the +gold-fretted scarlet of Audley. In the very center of them all was one which +caused all others to pass from his mind, for close to the royal banner of +England, crossed with the label of the Prince, there waved the war-worn flag +with the red wedge upon the golden field which marked the quarters of the noble +Chandos. +</p> + +<p> +At the sight Nigel set spurs to his horse, and a few minutes later had reached +the spot. Chandos, gaunt from hunger and want of sleep, but with the old fire +lurking in his eye, was standing by the Prince’s tent, gazing down at what +could be seen of the French array, and heavy with thought. Nigel sprang from +his horse and was within touch of his master when the silken hanging of the +royal tent was torn violently aside and Edward rushed out. +</p> + +<p> +He was without his armor and clad in a sober suit of black, but the high +dignity of his bearing and the imperious anger which flushed his face +proclaimed the leader and the Prince. At his heels was a little white-haired +ecclesiastic in a flowing gown of scarlet sendal, expostulating and arguing in +a torrent of words. +</p> + +<p> +“Not another word, my Lord Cardinal,” cried the angry prince. “I have listened +to you overlong, and by God’s dignity! that which you say is neither good nor +fair in my ears. Hark you, John, I would have your counsel. What think you is +the message which my Lord Cardinal of Perigord has carried from the King of +France? He says that of his clemency he will let my army pass back to Bordeaux +if we will restore to him all that we have taken, remit all ransoms, and +surrender my own person with that of a hundred nobles of England and Guienne to +be held as prisoners. What think you, John?” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos smiled. “Things are not done in that fashion,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“But my Lord Chandos,” cried the Cardinal, “I have made it clear to the Prince +that indeed it is a scandal to all Christendom and a cause of mocking to the +heathen, that two great sons of the Church should turn their swords thus upon +each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then bid the King of France keep clear of us,” said the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“Fair son, you are aware that you are in the heart of his country and that it +standeth not aright that he should suffer you to go forth as you came. You have +but a small army, three thousand bowmen and five thousand men-at-arms at the +most, who seem in evil case for want of food and rest. The King has thirty +thousand men at his back, of which twenty thousand are expert men-at-arms. It +is fitting therefore that you make such terms as you may, lest worse befall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give my greetings to the King of France and tell him that England will never +pay ransom for me. But it seems to me, my Lord Cardinal, that you have our +numbers and condition very ready upon your tongue, and I would fain know how +the eye of a Churchman can read a line of battle so easily. I have seen that +these knights of your household have walked freely to and fro within our camp, +and I much fear that when I welcomed you as envoys I have in truth given my +protection to spies. How say you, my Lord Cardinal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fair Prince, I know not how you can find it in your heart or conscience to say +such evil words.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is this red-bearded nephew of thine, Robert de Duras. See where he +stands yonder, counting and prying. Hark hither, young sir! I have been saying +to your uncle the Cardinal that it is in my mind that you and your comrades +have carried news of our dispositions to the French King. How say you?” +</p> + +<p> +The knight turned pale and sank his eyes. “My lord,” he murmured, “it may be +that I have answered some questions.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how will such answers accord with your honor, seeing that we have trusted +you since you came in the train of the Cardinal?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, it is true that I am in the train of the Cardinal, and yet I am liege +man of King John and a knight of France, so I pray you to assuage your wrath +against me.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince ground his teeth and his piercing eyes blazed upon the youth. “By my +father’s soul! I can scarce forbear to strike you to the earth! But this I +promise you, that if you show that sign of the Red Griffin in the field and if +you be taken alive in to-morrow’s battle, your head shall most assuredly be +shorn from your shoulders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fair son, indeed you speak wildly,” cried the Cardinal. “I pledge you my word +that neither my nephew Robert nor any of my train will take part in the battle. +And now I leave you, sire, and may God assoil your soul, for indeed in all this +world no men stand in greater peril than you and those who are around you, and +I rede you that you spend the night in such ghostly exercises as may best +prepare you for that which may befall.” So saying the Cardinal bowed, and with +his household walking behind him set off for the spot where they had left +their’ horses, whence they rode to the neighboring Abbey. +</p> + +<p> +The angry Prince turned upon his heel and entered his tent once more, whilst +Chandos, glancing round, held out a warm welcoming hand to Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard much of your noble deeds,” said he. “Already your name rises as a +squire errant. I stood no higher, nor so high, at your age.” +</p> + +<p> +Nigel flushed with pride and pleasure. “Indeed, my dear lord, it is very little +that I have done. But now that I am back at your side I hope that in truth I +shall learn to bear myself in worthy fashion, for where else should I win honor +if it be not under your banner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, Nigel, you have come at a very good time for advancement. I cannot see +how we can leave this spot without a great battle which will live in men’s +minds forever. In all our fights in France I cannot call to mind any in which +they have been so strong or we so weak as now, so that there will be the more +honor to be gained. I would that we had two thousand more archers. But I doubt +not that we shall give them much trouble ere they drive us out from amidst +these hedges. Have you seen the French?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sir, I have but this moment arrived.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was about to ride forth myself to coast their army and observe their +countenance, so come with me ere the night fall, and we shall see what we can +of their order and dispositions.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a truce betwixt the two forces for the day, on account of the +ill-advised and useless interposition of the Cardinal of Perigord, Hence when +Chandos and Nigel had pushed their horses through the long hedge which fronted +the position they found that many small parties of the knights of either army +were riding up and down on the plain outside. The greater number of these +groups were French, since it was very necessary for them to know as much as +possible of the English defenses; and many of their scouts had ridden up to +within a hundred yards of the hedge, where they were sternly ordered back by +the pickets of archers on guard. +</p> + +<p> +Through these scattered knots of horsemen Chandos rode, and as many of them +were old antagonists it was “Ha, John!” on the one side, and “Ha, Raoul!” “Ha, +Nicholas!” “Ha, Guichard!” upon the other, as they brushed past them. Only one +cavalier greeted them amiss, a large, red-faced man, the Lord Clermont, who by +some strange chance bore upon his surcoat a blue virgin standing amid golden +sunbeams, which was the very device which Chandos had donned for the day. The +fiery Frenchman dashed across their path and drew his steed back on to its +haunches. +</p> + +<p> +“How long is it, my Lord Chandos,” said he hotly, “since you have taken it upon +yourself to wear my arms?” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos smiled. “It is surely you who have mine,” said he, “since this surcoat +was worked for thee by the good nuns of Windsor a long year ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it were not for the truce,” said Clermont, “I would soon show you that you +have no right to wear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look for it then in the battle to-morrow, and I also will look for yours,” +Chandos answered. “There we can very honorably settle the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +But the Frenchman was choleric and hard to appease. “You English can invent +nothing,” said he, “and you take for your own whatever you see handsome +belonging to others.” So, grumbling and fuming, he rode upon his way, while +Chandos, laughing gayly, spurred onward across the plain. +</p> + +<p> +The immediate front of the English line was shrouded with scattered trees and +bushes which hid the enemy; but when they had cleared these a fair view of the +great French army lay before them. In the center of the huge camp was a long +and high pavilion of red silk, with the silver lilies of the King at one end of +it, and the golden oriflamme, the battle-flag of old France, at the other. Like +the reeds of a pool from side to side of the broad array, and dwindling away as +far as their eyes could see, were the banners and pennons of high barons and +famous knights, but above them all flew the ducal standards which showed that +the feudal muster of all the warlike provinces of France was in the field +before them. +</p> + +<p> +With a kindling eye Chandos looked across at the proud ensigns of Normandy, or +Burgundy, of Auvergne, of Champagne, of Vermandois, and of Berry, flaunting and +gleaming in the rays of the sinking sun. Riding slowly down the line he marked +with attentive gaze the camp of the crossbowmen, the muster of the German +mercenaries, the numbers of the foot-soldiers, the arms of every proud vassal +or vavasor which might give some guide as to the power of each division. From +wing to wing and round the flanks he went, keeping ever within crossbow-shot of +the army, and then at last having noted all things in his mind he turned his +horse’s head and rode slowly back, heavy with thought, to the English lines. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>XXV.<br/> +HOW THE KING OF FRANCE HELD COUNSEL AT MAUPERTUIS</h2> + +<p> +The morning of Sunday, the nineteenth of September, in the year of our Lord +1356, was cold and fine. A haze which rose from the marshy valley of Muisson +covered both camps and set the starving Englishmen shivering, but it cleared +slowly away as the sun rose. In the red silken pavilion of the French King—the +same which had been viewed by Nigel and Chandos the evening before—a solemn +mass was held by the Bishop of Chalons, who prayed for those who were about to +die, with little thought in his mind that his own last hour was so near at +hand. Then, when communion had been taken by the King and his four young sons +the altar was cleared away, and a great red-covered table placed lengthwise +down the tent, round which John might assemble his council and determine how +best he should proceed. With the silken roof, rich tapestries of Arras round +the walls and Eastern rugs beneath the feet, his palace could furnish no fairer +chamber. +</p> + +<p> +King John, who sat upon the canopied dais at the upper end, was now in the +sixth year of his reign and the thirty-sixth of his life. He was a short burly +man, ruddy-faced and deep-chested, with dark kindly eyes and a most noble +bearing. It did not need the blue cloak sewed with silver lilies to mark him as +the King. Though his reign had been short, his fame was already widespread over +all Europe as a kindly gentleman and a fearless soldier—a fit leader for a +chivalrous nation. His elder son, the Duke of Normandy, still hardly more than +a boy, stood beside him, his hand upon the King’s shoulder, and John half +turned from time to time to fondle him. On the right, at the same high dais, +was the King’s younger brother, the Duke of Orleans, a pale heavy-featured man, +with a languid manner and intolerant eyes. On the left was the Duke of Bourbon, +sad-faced and absorbed, with that gentle melancholy in his eyes and bearing +which comes often with the premonition of death. All these were in their armor, +save only for their helmets, which lay upon the board before them. +</p> + +<p> +Below, grouped around the long red table, was an assembly of the most famous +warriors in Europe. At the end nearest the King was the veteran soldier the +Duke of Athens, son of a banished father, and now High Constable of France. On +one side of him sat the red-faced and choleric Lord Clermont, with the same +blue Virgin in golden rays upon his surcoat which had caused his quarrel with +Chandos the night before. On the other was a noble-featured grizzly-haired +soldier, Arnold d’Andreghen, who shared with Clermont the honor of being +Marshal of France. Next to them sat Lord James of Bourbon, a brave warrior who +was afterwards slain by the White Company at Brignais, and beside him a little +group of German noblemen, including the Earl of Salzburg and the Earl of +Nassau, who had ridden over the frontier with their formidable mercenaries at +the bidding of the French King. The ridged armor and the hanging nasals of +their bassinets were enough in themselves to tell every soldier that they were +from beyond the Rhine. At the other side of the table were a line of proud and +warlike Lords, Fiennes, Chatillon, Nesle, de Landas, de Beaujeu, with the +fierce knight errant de Chargny, he who had planned the surprise of Calais, and +Eustace de Ribeaumont, who had upon the same occasion won the prize of valor +from the hands of Edward of England. Such were the chiefs to whom the King now +turned for assistance and advice. +</p> + +<p> +“You have already heard, my friends,” said he, “that the Prince of Wales has +made no answer to the proposal which we sent by the Lord Cardinal of Perigord. +Certes this is as it should be, and though I have obeyed the call of Holy +Church I had no fears that so excellent a Prince as Edward of England would +refuse to meet us in battle. I am now of opinion that we should fall upon them +at once, lest perchance the Cardinal’s cross should again come betwixt our +swords and our enemies.” +</p> + +<p> +A buzz of joyful assent arose from the meeting, and even from the attendant +men-at-arms who guarded the door. When it had died away the Duke of Orleans +rose in his place beside the King. +</p> + +<p> +“Sire,” said he, “you speak as we would have you do, and I for one am of +opinion that the Cardinal of Perigord has been an ill friend of France, for why +should we bargain for a part when we have but to hold out our hand in order to +grasp the whole? What need is there for words? Let us spring to horse forthwith +and ride over this handful of marauders who have dared to lay waste your fair +dominions. If one of them go hence save as our prisoner we are the more to +blame.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Denis, brother!” said the King, smiling, “if words could slay you +would have had them all upon their backs ere ever we left Chartres. You are new +to war, but when you have had experience of a stricken field or two you would +know that things must be done with forethought and in order or they may go +awry. In our father’s time we sprang to horse and spurred upon these English at +Crécy and elsewhere as you advise, but we had little profit from it, and now we +are grown wiser. How say you, Sieur de Ribeaumont? You have coasted their lines +and observed their countenance. Would you ride down upon them, as my brother +has advised, or how would you order the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +De Ribeaumont, a tall dark-eyed handsome man, paused ere he answered. “Sire,” +he said at last, “I have indeed ridden along their front and down their flanks, +in company with Lord Landas and Lord de Beaujeu, who are here at your council +to witness to what I say. Indeed, sire, it is in my mind that though the +English are few in number yet they are in such a position amongst these hedges +and vines that you would be well-advised if you were to leave them alone, for +they have no food and must retreat, so that you will be able to follow them and +to fight them to better advantage.” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur of disapproval rose from the company, and the Lord Clermont, Marshal +of the army, sprang to his feet, his face red with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“Eustace; Eustace,” said he, “I bear in mind the days when you were of great +heart and high enterprise, but since King Edward gave you yonder chaplet of +pearls you have ever been backward against the English!” +</p> + +<p> +“My Lord Clermont,” said de Ribeaumont sternly, “it is not for me to brawl at +the King’s council and in the face of the enemy, but we will go further into +this matter at some other time. Meanwhile, the King has asked me for my advice +and I have given it as best I might.” +</p> + +<p> +“It had been better for your honor, Sir Eustace, had you held your peace,” said +the Duke of Orleans. “Shall we let them slip from our fingers when we have them +here and are fourfold their number? I know not where we should dwell +afterwards, for I am very sure that we should be ashamed to ride back to Paris, +or to look our ladies in the eyes again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Eustace, you have done well to say what is in your mind,” said the +King; “but I have already said that we shall join battle this morning, so that +there is no room here for further talk. But I would fain have heard from you +how it would be wisest and best that we attack them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will advise you, sire, to the best of my power. Upon their right is a river +with marshes around it, and upon their left a great wood, so that we can +advance only upon the center. Along their front is a thick hedge, and behind it +I saw the green jerkins of their archers, as thick as the sedges by the river. +It is broken by one road where only four horsemen could ride abreast, which +leads through the position. It is clear then that if we are to drive them back +we must cross the great hedge, and I am very sure that the horses will not face +it with such a storm of arrows beating from behind it. Therefore, it is my +council that we fight upon foot, as the English did at Crécy, for indeed we may +find that our horses will be more hindrance than help to us this day.” +</p> + +<p> +“The same thought was in my own mind, sire,” said Arnold d’Andreghen the +veteran Marshal. “At Crécy the bravest had to turn their backs, for what can a +man do with a horse which is mad with pain and fear? If we advance upon foot we +are our own masters, and if we stop the shame is ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“The counsel is good,” said the Duke of Athens, turning his shrewd wizened face +to the King; “but one thing only I would add to it. The strength of these +people lies in their archers, and if we could throw them into disorder, were it +only for a short time, we should win the hedge; else they will shoot so +strongly that we must lose many men before we reach it, for indeed we have +learned that no armor will keep out their shafts when they are close.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your words, fair sir, are both good and wise,” said the King, “but I pray you +to tell us how you would throw these archers into disorder?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would choose three hundred horsemen, sire, the best and most forward in the +army. With these I would ride up the narrow road, and so turn to right and +left, falling upon the archers behind the hedge. It may be that the three +hundred would suffer sorely, but what are they among so great a host, if a road +may be cleared for their companions?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would say a word to that, sire,” cried the German Count of Nassau, “I have +come here with my comrades to venture our persons in your quarrel; but we claim +the right to fight in our own fashion, and we would count it dishonor to +dismount from our steeds out of fear of the arrows of the English. Therefore, +with your permission, we will ride to the front, as the Duke of Athens has +advised, and so clear a path for the rest of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“This may not be!” cried the Lord Clermont angrily. “It would be strange indeed +if Frenchmen could not be found to clear a path for the army of the King of +France. One would think to hear you talk, my Lord Count, that your hardihood +was greater than our own, but by our Lady of Rocamadour you will learn before +nightfall that it is not so. It is for me, who am a Marshal of France; to lead +these three hundred, since it is an honorable venture.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I claim the same right for the same reason,” said Arnold of Andreghen. +</p> + +<p> +The German Count struck the table with his mailed fist. “Do what you like!” +said he. “But this only I can promise you, that neither I nor any of my German +riders will descend from our horses so long as they are able to carry us, for +in our country it is only people of no consequence who fight upon their feet.” +</p> + +<p> +The Lord Clermont was leaning angrily forward with some hot reply when King +John intervened. “Enough, enough!” he said. “It is for you to give your +opinions, and for me to tell you what you will do. Lord Clermont, and you, +Arnold, you will choose three hundred of the bravest cavaliers in the army and +you will endeavor to break these archers. As to you and your Germans, my Lord +Nassau, you will remain upon horseback, since you desire it, and you will +follow the Marshals and support them as best you may. The rest of the army will +advance upon foot, in three other divisions as arranged: yours, Charles,” and +he patted his son, the Duke of Normandy, affectionately upon the hand; “yours, +Philip,” he glanced at the Duke of Orleans; “and the main battle which is my +own. To you, Geoffrey de Chargny, I intrust the oriflamme this day. But who is +this knight and what does he desire?” +</p> + +<p> +A young knight, ruddy-bearded and tall, a red griffin upon his surcoat, had +appeared in the opening of the tent. His flushed face and disheveled dress +showed that he had come in haste. “Sire,” said he, “I am Robert de Duras, of +the household of the Cardinal de Perigord. I have told you yesterday all that I +have learned of the English camp. This morning I was again admitted to it, and +I have seen their wagons moving to the rear. Sire, they are in flight for +Bordeaux.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Fore God, I knew it!” cried the Duke of Orleans in a voice of fury. “Whilst +we have been talking they have slipped through our fingers. Did I not warn +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be silent, Philip!” said the King angrily. “But you, sir, have you seen this +with your own eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +“With my own eyes, sire, and I have ridden straight from their camp.” +</p> + +<p> +King John looked at him with a stern gaze. “I know not how it accords with your +honor to carry such tidings in such a fashion,” said he; “but we cannot choose +but take advantage of it. Fear not, brother Philip, it is in my mind that you +will see all that you would wish of the Englishmen before nightfall. Should we +fall upon them whilst they cross the ford it will be to our advantage. Now, +fair sirs, I pray you to hasten to your posts and to carry out all that we have +agreed. Advance the oriflamme, Geoffrey, and do you marshal the divisions, +Arnold. So may God and Saint Denis have us in their holy keeping this day!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The Prince of Wales stood upon that little knoll where Nigel had halted the day +before. Beside him were Chandos, and a tall sun-burned warrior of middle age, +the Gascon Captal de Buch. The three men were all attentively watching the +distant French lines, while behind them a column of wagons wound down to the +ford of the Muisson. +</p> + +<p> +Close in the rear four knights in full armor with open visors sat their horses +and conversed in undertones with each other. A glance at their shields would +have given their names to any soldier, for they were all men of fame who had +seen much warfare. At present they were awaiting their orders, for each of them +commanded the whole or part of a division of the army. The youth upon the left, +dark, slim and earnest, was William Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, only +twenty-eight years of age and yet a veteran of Crécy. How high he stood in +reputation is shown by the fact that the command of the rear, the post of honor +in a retreating army, had been given to him by the Prince. He was talking to a +grizzled harsh-faced man, somewhat over middle age, with lion features and +fierce light-blue eyes which gleamed as they watched the distant enemy. It was +the famous Robert de Ufford, Earl of Suffolk, who had fought without a break +from Cadsand onward through the whole Continental War. The other tall silent +soldier, with the silver star gleaming upon his surcoat, was John de Vere, Earl +of Oxford, and he listened to the talk of Thomas Beauchamp, a burly, jovial, +ruddy nobleman and a tried soldier, who leaned forward and tapped his mailed +hand upon the other’s steel-clad thigh. They were old battle-companions, of the +same age and in the very prime of life, with equal fame and equal experience of +the wars. Such was the group of famous English soldiers who sat their horses +behind the Prince and waited for their orders. +</p> + +<p> +“I would that you had laid hands upon him,” said the Prince angrily, continuing +his conversation with Chandos, “and yet, perchance, it was wiser to play this +trick and make them think that we were retreating.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has certainly carried the tidings,” said Chandos, with a smile. “No sooner +had the wagons started than I saw him gallop down the edge of the wood.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was well thought of, John,” the Prince remarked, “for it would indeed be +great comfort if we could turn their own spy against them. Unless they advance +upon us, I know not how we can hold out another day, for there is not a loaf +left in the army; and yet if we leave this position where shall we hope to find +such another?” +</p> + +<p> +“They will stoop, fair sir, they will stoop to our lure. Even now Robert de +Duras will be telling them that the wagons are on the move, and they will +hasten to overtake us lest we pass the ford. But who is this, who rides so +fast? Here perchance may be tidings.” +</p> + +<p> +A horseman had spurred up to the knoll. He sprang from the saddle, and sank on +one knee before the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, my Lord Audley,” said Edward. “What would you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said the knight, still kneeling with bowed head before his leader, “I +have a boon to ask of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, James, rise! Let me hear what I can do.” +</p> + +<p> +The famous knight errant, pattern of chivalry for all time; rose and turned his +swarthy face and dark earnest eyes upon his master. “Sir,” said he, “I have +ever served most loyally my lord your father and yourself, and shall continue +so to do so long as I have life. Dear sir, I must now acquaint you that +formerly I made a vow if ever I should be in any battle under your command that +I would be foremost or die in the attempt. I beg therefore that you will +graciously permit me to honorably quit my place among the others, that I may +post myself in such wise as to accomplish my vow.” +</p> + +<p> +The Prince smiled, for it was very sure that vow or no vow, permission or no +permission, Lord James Audley would still be in the van. “Go, James,” said he, +shaking his hand, “and God grant that this day you may shine in valor above all +knights. But hark, John, what is that?” +</p> + +<p> +Chandos cast up his fierce nose like the eagle which smells slaughter afar. +“Surely, sir, all is forming even as we had planned it.” +</p> + +<p> +From far away there came a thunderous shout. Then another and yet another. +</p> + +<p> +“See, they are moving!” cried the Captal de Buch. +</p> + +<p> +All morning they had watched the gleam of the armed squadrons who were drawn up +in front of the French camp. Now whilst a great blare of trumpets was borne to +their ears, the distant masses flickered and twinkled in the sunlight. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, they are moving!” cried the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“They are moving! They are moving!” Down the line the murmur ran. And then with +a sudden impulse the archers at the hedge sprang to their feet and the knights +behind them waved their weapons in the air, while one tremendous shout of +warlike joy carried their defiance to the approaching enemy. Then there fell +such a silence that the pawing of the horses or the jingle of their harness +struck loud upon the ear, until amid the hush there rose a low deep roar like +the sound of the tide upon the beach, ever growing and deepening as the host of +France drew near. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>XXVI.<br/> +HOW NIGEL FOUND HIS THIRD DEED</h2> + +<p> +Four archers lay behind a clump of bushes ten yards in front of the thick hedge +which shielded their companions. Amid the long line of bowmen those behind them +were their own company, and in the main the same who were with Knolles in +Brittany. The four in front were their leaders: old Wat of Carlisle, Ned +Widdington the red-headed Dalesman, the bald bowyer Bartholomew, and Samkin +Alyward, newly rejoined after a week’s absence. All four were munching bread +and apples, for Aylward had brought in a full haversack and divided them freely +amongst his starving comrades. The old Borderer and the Yorkshireman were gaunt +and hollow-eyed with privation, while the bowyer’s round face had fallen in so +that the skin hung in loose pouches under his eyes and beneath his jaws. +</p> + +<p> +Behind them lines of haggard, wolfish men glared through the underwood, silent +and watchful save that they burst into a fierce yelp of welcome when Chandos +and Nigel galloped up, sprang from their horses and took their station beneath +them. All along the green fringe of bowmen might be seen the steel-clad figures +of knights and squires who had pushed their way into the front line to share +the fortune of the archers. +</p> + +<p> +“I call to mind that I once shot six ends with a Kentish woldsman at Ashford—” +began the Bowyer. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, we have heard that story!” said old Wat impatiently. “Shut thy clap, +Bartholomew, for it is no time for redeless gossip! Walk down the line, I pray +you, and see if there be no frayed string, nor broken nock nor loosened +whipping to be mended.” +</p> + +<p> +The stout bowyer passed down the fringe of bowmen, amidst a running fire of +rough wit. Here and there a bow was thrust out at him through the hedge for his +professional advice. +</p> + +<p> +“Wax your heads!” he kept crying. “Pass down the wax-pot and wax your heads. A +waxed arrow will pass where a dry will be held. Tom Beverley, you jack-fool! +where is your bracer-guard? Your string will flay your arm ere you reach your +up-shot this day. And you, Watkin, draw not to your mouth, as is your wont, but +to your shoulder. You are so used to the wine-pot that the string must needs +follow it. Nay, stand loose, and give space for your drawing arms, for they +will be on us anon.” +</p> + +<p> +He ran back and joined his comrades in the front, who had now risen to their +feet. Behind them a half-mile of archers stood behind the hedge, each with his +great warbow strung, half a dozen shafts loose behind him, and eighteen more in +the quiver slung across his front. With arrow on string, their feet +firm-planted, their fierce eager faces peering through the branches, they +awaited the coming storm. +</p> + +<p> +The broad flood of steel, after oozing slowly forward, had stopped about a mile +from the English front. The greater part of the army had then descended from +their horses, while a crowd of varlets and hostlers led them to the rear. The +French formed themselves now into three great divisions, which shimmered in the +sun like silvery pools, reed-capped with many a thousand of banners and +pennons. A space of several hundred yards divided each. At the same time two +bodies of horsemen formed themselves in front. The first consisted of three +hundred men in one thick column, the second of a thousand, riding in a more +extended line. +</p> + +<p> +The Prince had ridden up to the line of archers. He was in dark armor, his +visor open, and his handsome aquiline face all glowing with spirit and martial +fire. The bowmen yelled at him, and he waved his hands to them as a huntsman +cheers his hounds. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, John, what think you now?” he asked. “What would my noble father not +give to be by our side this day? Have you seen that they have left their +horses?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my fair lord, they have learned their lesson,” said Chandos. “Because we +have had good fortune upon our feet at Crécy and elsewhere they think that they +have found the trick of it. But it is in my mind that it is very different to +stand when you are assailed, as we have done, and to assail others when you +must drag your harness for a mile and come weary to the fray.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak wisely, John. But these horsemen who form in front and ride slowly +towards us, what make you of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless they hope to cut the strings of our bowmen and so clear a way for +the others. But they are indeed a chosen band, for mark you, fair sir, are not +those the colors of Clermont upon the left, and of d’Andreghen upon the right, +so that both marshals ride with the vanguard?” +</p> + +<p> +“By God’s soul, John!” cried the Prince, “it is very sure that you can see more +with one eye than any man in this army with two. But it is even as you say. And +this larger band behind?” +</p> + +<p> +“They should be Germans, fair sir, by the fashion of their harness.” +</p> + +<p> +The two bodies of horsemen had moved slowly over the plain, with a space of +nearly a quarter of a mile between them. Now, having come two bowshots from the +hostile line, they halted. All that they could see of the English was the long +hedge, with an occasional twinkle of steel through its leafy branches, and +behind that the spear-heads of the men-at-arms rising from amidst the brushwood +and the vines. A lovely autumn countryside with changing many-tinted foliage +lay stretched before them, all bathed in peaceful sunshine, and nothing save +those flickering fitful gleams to tell of the silent and lurking enemy who +barred their way. But the bold spirit of the French cavaliers rose the higher +to the danger. The clamor of their war-cries filled the air, and they tossed +their pennoned spears over their heads in menace and defiance. From the English +line it was a noble sight, the gallant, pawing, curveting horses, the +many-colored twinkling riders, the swoop and wave and toss of plume and banner. +</p> + +<p> +Then a bugle rang forth. With a sudden yell every spur struck deep, every lance +was laid in rest, and the whole gallant squadron flew like a glittering +thunderbolt for the center of the English line. +</p> + +<p> +A hundred yards they had crossed, and yet another hundred, but there was no +movement in front of them, and no sound save their own hoarse battle-cries and +the thunder of their horses. Ever swifter and swifter they flew. From behind +the hedge it was a vision of horses, white, bay and black, their necks +stretched, their nostrils distended, their bellies to the ground, whilst of the +rider one could but see a shield with a plume-tufted visor above it, and a +spear-head twinkling in front. +</p> + +<p> +Then of a sudden the Prince raised his hand and gave a cry. Chandos echoed it, +it swelled down the line, and with one mighty chorus of twanging strings and +hissing shafts the long-pent storm broke at last. +</p> + +<p> +Alas for the noble steeds! Alas for the gallant men. When the lust of battle is +over who would not grieve to see that noble squadron break into red ruin before +the rain of arrows beating upon the faces and breasts of the horses? The front +rank crashed down, and the others piled themselves upon the top of them, unable +to check their speed, or to swerve aside from the terrible wall of their +shattered comrades which had so suddenly sprung up before them. Fifteen feet +high was that blood-spurting mound of screaming, kicking horses and writhing, +struggling men. Here and there on the flanks a horseman cleared himself and +dashed for the hedge, only to have his steed slain under him and to be hurled +from his saddle. Of all the three hundred gallant riders, not one ever reached +that fatal hedge. +</p> + +<p> +But now in a long rolling wave of steel the German battalion roared swiftly +onward. They opened in the center to pass that terrible mound of death, and +then spurred swiftly in upon the archers. They were brave men, well led, and in +their open lines they could avoid the clubbing together which had been the ruin +of the vanguard; yet they perished singly even as the others had perished +together. A few were slain by the arrows. The greater number had their horses +killed under them, and were so shaken and shattered by the fall that they could +not raise their limbs, over-weighted with iron, from the spot where they lay. +</p> + +<p> +Three men riding together broke through the bushes which sheltered the leaders +of the archers, cut down Widdington the Dalesman, spurred onward through the +hedge, dashed over the bowmen behind it, and made for the Prince. One fell with +an arrow through his head, a second was beaten from his saddle by Chandos, and +the third was slain by the Prince’s own hand. A second band broke through near +the river, but were cut off by Lord Audley and his squires, so that all were +slain. A single horseman whose steed was mad with pain, an arrow in its eye and +a second in its nostril, sprang over the hedge and clattered through the whole +army, disappearing amid whoops and laughter into the woods behind. But none +others won as far as the hedge. The whole front of the position was fringed +with a litter of German wounded or dead, while one great heap in the center +marked the downfall of the gallant French three hundred. +</p> + +<p> +Whilst these two waves of the attack had broken in front of the English +position, leaving this blood-stained wreckage behind them, the main divisions +had halted and made their last preparations for their own assault. They had not +yet begun their advance, and the nearest was still half a mile distant, when +the few survivors from the forlorn hope, their maddened horses bristling with +arrows, flew past them on either flank. +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment the English archers and men-at-arms dashed through the +hedge, and dragged all who were living out of that tangled heap of shattered +horses and men. It was a mad wild rush, for in a few minutes the fight must be +renewed, and yet there was a rich harvest of wealth for the lucky man who could +pick a wealthy prisoner from amid the crowd. The nobler spirits disdained to +think of ransoms whilst the fight was still unsettled; but a swarm of needy +soldiers, Gascons and English, dragged the wounded out by the leg or the arm, +and with daggers at their throats demanded their names, title and means. He who +had made a good prize hurried him to the rear where his own servants could +guard him, while he who was disappointed too often drove the dagger home and +then rushed once more into the tangle in the hope of better luck. Clermont, +with an arrow through the sky-blue Virgin on his surcoat, lay dead within ten +paces of the hedge; d’Andreghen was dragged by a penniless squire from under a +horse and became his prisoner. The Earl of Salzburg and of Nassau were both +found helpless on the ground and taken to the rear. Aylward cast his thick arms +round Count Otto von Langenbeck, and laid him, helpless from a broken leg, +behind his bush. Black Simon had made prize of Bernard, Count of Ventadour, and +hurried him through the hedge. Everywhere there was rushing and shouting, +brawling and buffeting, while amidst it all a swarm of archers were seeking +their shafts, plucking them from the dead, and sometimes even from the wounded. +Then there was a sudden cry of warning. In a moment every man was back in his +place once more, and the line of the hedge was clear. +</p> + +<p> +It was high time; for already the first division of the French was close upon +them. If the charge of the horsemen had been terrible from its rush and its +fire, this steady advance of a huge phalanx of armored footmen was even more +fearsome to the spectator. They moved very slowly, on account of the weight of +their armor, but their progress was the more regular and inexorable. With +elbows touching—their shields slung in front, their short five-foot spears +carried in their right hands, and their maces or swords ready at their belts, +the deep column of men-at-arms moved onward. Again the storm of arrows beat +upon them clinking and thudding on the armor. They crouched double behind their +shields as they met it. Many fell, but still the slow tide lapped onward. +Yelling, they surged up to the hedge, and lined it for half a mile, struggling +hard to pierce it. +</p> + +<p> +For five minutes the long straining ranks faced each other with fierce stab of +spear on one side and heavy beat of ax or mace upon the other. In many parts +the hedge was pierced or leveled to the ground, and the French men-at-arms were +raging amongst the archers, hacking and hewing among the lightly armed men. For +a moment it seemed as if the battle was on the turn. +</p> + +<p> +But John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, cool, wise and crafty in war, saw and seized +his chance. On the right flank a marshy meadow skirted the river. So soft was +it that a heavily-armed man would sink to his knees. At his order a spray of +light bowmen was thrown out from the battle line and forming upon the flank of +the French poured their arrows into them. At the same moment Chandos, with +Audley, Nigel, Bartholomew Burghersh, the Captal de Buch, and a score of other +knights sprang upon their horses, and charging down the narrow lane rode over +the French line in front of them. Once through it they spurred to left and +right, trampling down the dismounted men-at-arms. +</p> + +<p> +A fearsome sight was Pommers that day, his red eyes rolling, his nostrils +gaping, his tawny mane tossing, and his savage teeth gnashing in fury, as he +tore and smashed and ground beneath his ramping hoofs all that came before him. +Fearsome too was the rider, ice-cool; alert, concentrated of purpose, with, +heart of fire and muscles of steel. A very angel of battle he seemed as he +drove his maddened horse through the thickest of the press, but strive as he +would: the tall figure of his master upon his coal-black steed was ever half a +length before him. +</p> + +<p> +Already the moment of danger was passed. The French line had given back. Those +who had pierced the hedge had fallen like brave men amid the ranks of their +foemen. The division of Warwick had hurried up from the vineyards to fill the +gaps of Salisbury’s battle-line. Back rolled the shining tide, slowly at first, +even as it had advanced, but quicker now as the bolder fell and the weaker +shredded out and shuffled with ungainly speed for a place of safety. Again +there was a rush from behind the hedge. Again there was a reaping of that +strange crop of bearded arrows which grew so thick upon the ground, and again +the wounded prisoners were seized and dragged in brutal haste to the rear. Then +the line was restored, and the English, weary, panting and shaken, awaited the +next attack. +</p> + +<p> +But a great good fortune had come to them—so great that as they looked down the +valley they could scarce credit their own senses. Behind the division of the +Dauphin, which had pressed them so hard, stood a second division hardly less +numerous, led by the Duke of Orleans. The fugitives from in front, +blood-smeared and bedraggled, blinded with sweat and with fear, rushed amidst +its ranks in their flight, and in a moment, without a blow being struck, had +carried them off in their wild rout. This vast array, so solid and so martial, +thawed suddenly away like a snow-wreath in the sun. It was gone, and in its +place thousands of shining dots scattered over the whole plain as each man made +his own way to the spot where he could find his horse and bear himself from the +field. For a moment it seemed that the battle was won, and a thundershout of +joy pealed up from the English line. +</p> + +<p> +But as the curtain of the Duke’s division was drawn away it was only to +disclose stretching far behind it, and spanning the valley from side to side, +the magnificent array of the French King, solid, unshaken, and preparing its +ranks for the attack. Its numbers were as great as those of the English army; +it was unscathed by all that was past, and it had a valiant monarch to lead it +to the charge. With the slow deliberation of the man who means to do or to die, +its leader marshaled its ranks for the supreme effort of the day. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile during that brief moment of exultation when the battle appeared to be +won, a crowd of hot-headed young knights and squires swarmed and clamored round +the Prince, beseeching that he would allow them to ride forth. +</p> + +<p> +“See this insolent fellow who bears three martlets upon a field gales!” cried +Sir Maurice Berkeley. “He stands betwixt the two armies as though he had no +dread of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, sir, that I may ride out to him, since he seems ready to attempt +some small deed,” pleaded Nigel. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair sirs, it is an evil thing that we should break our line, seeing that +we still have much to do,” said the Prince. “See! he rides away, and so the +matter is settled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair prince,” said the young knight who had spoken first. “My gray horse, +Lebryte, could run him down ere he could reach shelter. Never since I left +Severn side have I seen steed so fleet as mine. Shall I not show you?” In an +instant he had spurred the charger and was speeding across the plain. +</p> + +<p> +The Frenchman, John de Helennes, a squire of Picardy, had waited with a burning +heart, his soul sick at the flight of the division in which he had ridden. In +the hope of doing some redeeming exploit, or of meeting his own death, he had +loitered betwixt the armies, but no movement had come from the English lines. +Now he had turned his horse’s head to join the King’s array, when the low +drumming of hoofs sounded behind him, and he turned to find a horseman hard +upon his heels. Each had drawn his sword, and the two armies paused to view the +fight. In the first bout Sir Maurice Berkeley’s lance was struck from his hand, +and as he sprang down to recover it the Frenchman ran him through the thigh, +dismounted from his horse, and received his surrender. As the unfortunate +Englishman hobbled away at the side of his captor a roar of laughter burst from +both armies at the spectacle. +</p> + +<p> +“By my ten finger-bones!” cried Aylward, chuckling behind the remains of his +bush, “he found more on his distaff that time than he knew how to spin. Who was +the knight?” +</p> + +<p> +“By his arms,” said old Wat, “he should either be a Berkeley of the West or a +Popham of Kent.” +</p> + +<p> +“I call to mind that I shot a match of six ends once with a Kentish woldsman—” +began the fat Bowyer. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, stint thy talk, Bartholomew!” cried old Wat. “Here is poor Ned with +his head cloven, and it would be more fitting if you were saying aves for his +soul, instead of all this bobance and boasting. Now, now, Tom of Beverley?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have suffered sorely in this last bout, Wat. There are forty of our men +upon their backs, and the Dean Foresters on the right are in worse case still.” +</p> + +<p> +“Talking will not mend it, Tom, and if all but one were on their backs he must +still hold his ground.” +</p> + +<p> +Whilst the archers were chatting, the leaders of the army were in solemn +conclave just behind them. Two divisions of the French had been repulsed, and +yet there was many an anxious face as the older knights looked across the plain +at the unbroken array of the French King moving slowly toward them. The line of +the archers was much thinned and shredded. Many knights and squires had been +disabled in the long and fierce combat at the hedge. Others, exhausted by want +of food, had no strength left and were stretched panting upon the ground. Some +were engaged in carrying the wounded to the rear and laying them under the +shelter of the trees, whilst others were replacing their broken swords or +lances from the weapons of the slain. The Captal de Buch, brave and experienced +as he was, frowned darkly and whispered his misgivings to Chandos. +</p> + +<p> +But the Prince’s courage flamed the higher as the shadow fell, while his dark +eyes gleamed with a soldier’s pride as he glanced round him at his weary +comrades, and then at the dense masses of the King’s battle which now, with a +hundred trumpets blaring and a thousand pennons waving, rolled slowly over the +plain. “Come what may, John, this has been a most noble meeting,” said he. +“They will not be ashamed of us in England. Take heart, my friends, for if we +conquer we shall carry the glory ever with us; but if we be slain then we die +most worshipfully and in high honor, as we have ever prayed that we might die, +and we leave behind us our brothers and kinsmen who will assuredly avenge us. +It is but one more effort, and all will be well. Warwick, Oxford, Salisbury, +Suffolk, every man to the front! My banner to the front also! Your horses, fair +sirs! The archers are spent, and our own good lances must win the field this +day. Advance, Walter, and may God and Saint George be with England!” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Walter Woodland, riding a high black horse, took station by the Prince, +with the royal banner resting in a socket by his saddle. From all sides the +knights and squires crowded in upon it, until they formed a great squadron +containing the survivors of the battalions of Warwick and Salisbury as well as +those of the Prince. Four hundred men-at-arms who had been held in reserve were +brought up and thickened the array, but even so Chandos’ face was grave as he +scanned it and then turned his eyes upon the masses of the Frenchmen. +</p> + +<p> +“I like it not, fair sir. The weight is overgreat,” he whispered to the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“How would you order it, John? Speak what is in your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“We should attempt something upon their flank whilst we hold them in front. How +say you, Jean?” He turned to the Captal de Buch, whose dark, resolute face +reflected the same misgivings. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, John, I think as you do,” said he. “The French King is a very valiant +man, and so are those who are about him, and I know not how we may drive them +back unless we can do as you advise. If you will give me only a hundred men I +will attempt it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely the task is mine, fair sir, since the thought has come from me,” said +Chandos. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, John, I would keep you at my side. But you speak well, Jean, and you +shall do even as you have said. Go ask the Earl of Oxford for a hundred +men-at-arms and as many hobblers, that you may ride round the mound yonder, and +so fall upon them unseen. Let all that are left of the archers gather on each +side, shoot away their arrows, and then fight as best they may. Wait till they +are past yonder thorn-bush and then, Walter, bear my banner straight against +that of the King of France. Fair sirs, may God and the thought of your ladies +hold high your hearts!” +</p> + +<p> +The French monarch, seeing that his footmen had made no impression upon the +English, and also that the hedge had been well-nigh leveled to the ground in +the course of the combat, so that it no longer presented an obstacle, had +ordered his followers to remount their horses, and it was as a solid mass of +cavalry that the chivalry of France advanced to their last supreme effort. The +King was in the center of the front line, Geoffrey de Chargny with the golden +oriflamme upon his right, and Eustace de Ribeaumont with the royal lilies upon +the left. At his elbow was the Duke of Athens, High Constable of France, and +round him were the nobles of the court, fiery and furious, yelling their +warcries as they waved their weapons over their heads. Six thousand gallant men +of the bravest race in Europe, men whose very names are like blasts of a +battle-trumpet—Beaujeus and Chatillons, Tancarvilles and Ventadours—pressed +hard behind the silver lilies. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly they moved at first, walking their horses that they might be the fresher +for the shock. Then they broke into a trot which was quickening into a gallop +when the remains of the hedge in front of them was beaten in an instant to the +ground and the broad line of the steel-clad chivalry of England swept grandly +forth to the final shock. With loose rein and busy spur the two lines of +horsemen galloped at the top of their speed straight and hard for each other. +An instant later they met with a thunder-crash which was heard by the burghers +on the wall of Poitiers, seven good miles away. +</p> + +<p> +Under that frightful impact horses fell dead with broken necks, and many a +rider, held in his saddle by the high pommel, fractured his thighs with the +shock. Here and there a pair met breast to breast, the horses rearing straight +upward and falling back upon their masters. But for the most part the line had +opened in the gallop, and the cavaliers, flying through the gaps, buried +themselves in the enemy’s ranks. Then the flanks shredded out, and the thick +press in the center loosened until there was space to swing a sword and to +guide a steed. For ten acres there was one wild tumultuous swirl of tossing +heads, of gleaming weapons which rose and fell, of upthrown hands, of tossing +plumes and of lifted shields, whilst the din of a thousand war-cries and the +clash-clash of metal upon metal rose and swelled like the roar and beat of an +ocean surge upon a rock-bound coast. Backward and forward swayed the mighty +throng, now down the valley and now up, as each side in turn put forth its +strength for a fresh rally. Locked in one long deadly grapple, great England +and gallant France with iron hearts and souls of fire strove and strove for +mastery. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Walter Woodland, riding hard upon his high black horse, had plunged into +the swelter and headed for the blue and silver banner of King John. Close at +his heels in a solid wedge rode the Prince, Chandos, Nigel, Lord Reginald +Cobham, Audley with his four famous squires, and a score of the flower of the +English and Gascon knighthood. Holding together and bearing down opposition by +a shower of blows and by the weight of their powerful horses, their progress +was still very slow, for ever fresh waves of French cavaliers surged up against +them and broke in front only to close in again upon their rear. Sometimes they +were swept backward by the rush, sometimes they gained a few paces, sometimes +they could but keep their foothold, and yet from minute to minute that blue and +silver flag which waved above the press grew ever a little closer. A dozen +furious hard-breathing French knights had broken into their ranks, and clutched +at Sir Walter Woodland’s banner, but Chandos and Nigel guarded it on one side, +Audley with his squires on the other, so that no man laid his hand upon it and +lived. +</p> + +<p> +But now there was a distant crash and a roar of “Saint George for Guienne!” +from behind. The Captal de Buch had charged home. “Saint George for England!” +yelled the main attack, and ever the counter-cry came back to them from afar. +The ranks opened in front of them. The French were giving way. A small knight +with golden scroll-work upon his armor threw himself upon the Prince and was +struck dead by his mace. It was the Duke of Athens, Constable of France, but +none had time to note it, and the fight rolled on over his body. Looser still +were the French ranks. Many were turning their horses, for that ominous roar +from the rear had shaken their resolution. The little English wedge poured +onward, the Prince, Chandos, Audley and Nigel ever in the van. +</p> + +<p> +A huge warrior in black, bearing a golden banner, appeared suddenly in a gap of +the shredding ranks. He tossed his precious burden to a squire, who bore it +away. Like a pack of hounds on the very haunch of a deer the English rushed +yelling for the oriflamme. But the black warrior flung himself across their +path. “Chargny! Chargny <i>à la recousse!</i>” he roared with a voice of +thunder. Sir Reginald Cobham dropped before his battle-ax, so did the Gascon de +Clisson. Nigel was beaten down on to the crupper of his horse by a sweeping +blow; but at the same instant Chandos’ quick blade passed through the +Frenchman’s camail and pierced his throat. So died Geoffrey de Chargny; but the +oriflamme was saved. +</p> + +<p> +Dazed with the shock, Nigel still kept his saddle, and Pommers, his yellow hide +mottled with blood, bore him onward with the others. The French horsemen were +now in full flight; but one stern group of knights stood firm, like a rock in a +rushing torrent, beating off all, whether friend or foe, who tried to break +their ranks. The oriflamme had gone, and so had the blue and silver banner, but +here were desperate men ready to fight to the death. In their ranks honor was +to be reaped. The Prince and his following hurled themselves upon them, while +the rest of the English horsemen swept onward to secure the fugitives and to +win their ransoms. But the nobler spirits—Audley, Chandos and the others—would +have thought it shame to gain money whilst there was work to be done or honor +to be won. Furious was the wild attack, desperate the prolonged defense. Men +fell from their saddles for very exhaustion. +</p> + +<p> +Nigel, still at his place near Chandos’ elbow, was hotly attacked by a short +broad-shouldered warrior upon a stout white cob, but Pommers reared with pawing +fore feet and dashed the smaller horse to the ground. The falling rider +clutched Nigel’s arm and tore him from the saddle, so that the two rolled upon +the grass under the stamping hoofs, the English squire on the top, and his +shortened sword glimmered before the visor of the gasping, breathless +Frenchman. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Je me rends! je me rends!</i>” he panted. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment a vision of rich ransoms passed through Nigel’s brain. That noble +palfrey, that gold-flecked armor, meant fortune to the captor. Let others have +it! There was work still to be done. How could he desert the Prince and his +noble master for the sake of a private gain? Could he lead a prisoner to the +rear when honor beckoned him to the van? He staggered to his feet, seized +Pommers by the mane, and swung himself into the saddle. +</p> + +<p> +An instant later he was by Chandos’ side once more and they were bursting +together through the last ranks of the gallant group who had fought so bravely +to the end. Behind them was one long swath of the dead and the wounded. In +front the whole wide plain was covered with the flying French and their +pursuers. +</p> + +<p> +The Prince reined up his steed and opened his visor, whilst his followers +crowded round him with waving weapons and frenzied shouts of victory. “What +now, John!” cried the smiling Prince, wiping his streaming face with his +ungauntleted hand. “How fares it then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am little hurt, fair lord, save for a crushed hand and a spear-prick in the +shoulder. But you, sir? I trust you have no scathe?” +</p> + +<p> +“In truth, John, with you at one elbow and Lord Audley at the other, I know not +how I could come to harm. But alas! I fear that Sir James is sorely stricken.” +</p> + +<p> +The gallant Lord Audley had dropped upon the ground and the blood oozed from +every crevice of his battered armor. His four brave Squires—Dutton of Dutton, +Delves of Doddington, Fowlhurst of Crewe and Hawkstone of Wainhill—wounded and +weary themselves, but with no thought save for their master, unlaced his helmet +and bathed his pallid blood-stained face. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up at the Prince with burning eyes. “I thank you, sir, for deigning +to consider so poor a knight as myself,” said he in a feeble voice. +</p> + +<p> +The Prince dismounted and bent over him. “I am bound to honor you very much, +James,” said he, “for by your valor this day you have won glory and renown +above us all, and your prowess has proved you to be the bravest knight.” +</p> + +<p> +“My Lord,” murmured the wounded man, “you have a right to say what you please; +but I wish it were as you say.” +</p> + +<p> +“James,” said the Prince, “from this time onward I make you a knight of my own +household, and I settle upon you five hundred marks of yearly income from my +own estates in England.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” the knight answered, “God make me worthy of the good fortune you bestow +upon me. Your knight I will ever be, and the money I will divide with your +leave amongst these four squires who have brought me whatever glory I have won +this day.” So saying his head fell back, and he lay white and silent upon the +grass. +</p> + +<p> +“Bring water!” said the Prince. “Let the royal leech see to him; for I had +rather lose many men than the good Sir James. Ha, Chandos, what have we here?” +</p> + +<p> +A knight lay across the path with his helmet beaten down upon his shoulders. On +his surcoat and shield were the arms of a red griffin. +</p> + +<p> +“It is Robert de Duras the spy,” said Chandos. +</p> + +<p> +“Well for him that he has met his end,” said the angry Prince. “Put him on his +shield, Hubert, and let four archers bear him to the monastery. Lay him at the +feet of the Cardinal and say that by this sign I greet him. Place my flag on +yonder high bush, Walter, and let my tent be raised there, that my friends may +know where to seek me.” +</p> + +<p> +The flight and pursuit had thundered far away, and the field was deserted save +for the numerous groups of weary horsemen who were making their way back, +driving their prisoners before them. The archers were scattered over the whole +plain, rifling the saddle-bags and gathering the armor of those who had fallen, +or searching for their own scattered arrows. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, however, as the Prince was turning toward the bush which he had +chosen for his headquarters, there broke out from behind him an extraordinary +uproar and a group of knights and squires came pouring toward him, all arguing, +swearing and abusing each other in French and English at the tops of their +voices. In the midst of them limped a stout little man in gold-spangled armor, +who appeared to be the object of the contention, for one would drag him one way +and one another, as though they would pull him limb from limb. “Nay, fair sirs, +gently, gently, I pray you!” he pleaded. “There is enough for all, and no need +to treat me so rudely.” But ever the hubbub broke out again, and swords gleamed +as the angry disputants glared furiously at each other. The Prince’s eyes fell +upon the small prisoner, and he staggered back with a gasp of astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“King John!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +A shout of joy rose from the warriors around him. “The King of France! The King +of France a prisoner!” they cried in an ecstasy. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, fair sirs, let him not hear that we rejoice! Let no word bring pain +to his soul!” Running forward the Prince clasped the French King by the two +hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Most welcome, sire!” he cried. “Indeed it is good for us that so gallant a +knight should stay with us for some short time, since the chance of war has so +ordered it. Wine there! Bring wine for the King!” +</p> + +<p> +But John was flushed and angry. His helmet had been roughly torn off, and blood +was smeared upon his cheek. His noisy captors stood around him in a circle, +eying him hungrily like dogs who have been beaten from their quarry. There were +Gascons and English, knights, squires and archers, all pushing and straining. +</p> + +<p> +“I pray you, fair Prince, to get rid of these rude fellows,” said King John, +“for indeed they have plagued me sorely. By Saint Denis! my arm has been +well-nigh pulled from its socket.” +</p> + +<p> +“What wish you then?” asked the Prince, turning angrily upon the noisy swarm of +his followers. +</p> + +<p> +“We took him, fair lord. He is ours!” cried a score of voices. They closed in, +all yelping together like a pack of wolves. “It was I, fair lord!”—“Nay, it was +I!”—“You lie, you rascal, it was I!” Again their fierce eyes glared and their +blood-stained hands sought the hilts of their weapons. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, this must be settled here and now!” said the Prince. “I crave your +patience, fair and honored sir, for a few brief minutes, since indeed much +ill-will may spring from this if it be not set at rest. Who is this tall knight +who can scarce keep his hands from the King’s shoulder?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is Denis de Morbecque, my lord, a knight of St. Omer, who is in our +service, being an outlaw from France.” +</p> + +<p> +“I call him to mind. How then, Sir Denis? What say you in this matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“He gave himself to me, fair lord. He had fallen in the press, and I came upon +him and seized him. I told him that I was a knight from Artois, and he gave me +his glove. See here, I bear it in my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, fair lord! It is true!” cried a dozen French voices. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir, judge not too soon!” shouted an English squire, pushing his way to +the front. “It was I who had him at my mercy, and he is my prisoner, for he +spoke to this man only because he could tell by his tongue that he was his own +countryman. I took him, and here are a score to prove it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, fair lord. We saw it and it was even so,” cried a chorus of +Englishmen. +</p> + +<p> +At all times there was growling and snapping betwixt the English and their +allies of France. The Prince saw how easily this might set a light to such a +flame as could not readily be quenched. It must be stamped out now ere it had +time to mount. +</p> + +<p> +“Fair and honored lord,” he said to the King, “again I pray you for a moment of +patience. It is your word and only yours which can tell us what is just and +right. To whom were you graciously pleased to commit your royal person?” +</p> + +<p> +King John looked up from the flagon which had been brought to him and wiped his +lips with the dawnings of a smile upon his ruddy face. +</p> + +<p> +“It was not this Englishman,” he said, and a cheer burst from the Gascons, “nor +was it this bastard Frenchman,” he added. “To neither of them did I surrender.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a hush of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“To whom then, sir?” asked the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +The King looked slowly round. “There was a devil of a yellow horse,” said he. +“My poor palfrey went over like a skittle-pin before a ball. Of the rider I +know nothing save that he bore red roses on a silver shield. Ah! by Saint +Denis, there is the man himself, and there his thrice-accursed horse!” +</p> + +<p> +His head swimming, and moving as if in a dream, Nigel found himself the center +of the circle of armed and angry men. +</p> + +<p> +The Prince laid his hand upon his shoulder. “It is the little cock of Tilford +Bridge,” said he. “On my father’s soul, I have ever said that you would win +your way. Did you receive the King’s surrender?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair lord, I did not receive it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear him give it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard, sir, but I did not know that it was the King. My master Lord Chandos +had gone on, and I followed after.” +</p> + +<p> +“And left him lying. Then the surrender was not complete, and by the laws of +war the ransom goes to Denis de Morbecque, if his story be true.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true,” said the King. “He was the second.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the ransom is yours, Denis. But for my part I swear by my father’s soul +that I had rather have the honor this Squire has gathered than all the richest +ransoms of France.” +</p> + +<p> +At these words spoken before that circle of noble warriors Nigel’s heart gave +one great throb, and he dropped upon his knee before the Prince. “Fair lord, +how can I thank you?” he murmured. “These words at least are more than any +ransom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rise up!” said the smiling Prince, and he smote with his sword upon his +shoulder. “England has lost a brave Squire, and has gained a gallant knight. +Nay, linger not, I pray! Rise up, Sir Nigel!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>XXVII.<br/> +HOW THE THIRD MESSENGER CAME TO COSFORD</h2> + +<p> +Two months have passed, and the long slopes of Hindhead are russet with the +faded ferns—the fuzzy brown pelt which wraps the chilling earth. With whoop and +scream the wild November wind sweeps over the great rolling downs, tossing the +branches of the Cosford beeches, and rattling at the rude latticed windows. The +stout old knight of Duplin, grown even a little stouter, with whiter beard to +fringe an ever redder face, sits as of yore at the head of his own board. A +well-heaped platter flanked by a foaming tankard stands before him. At his +right sits the Lady Mary, her dark, plain, queenly face marked deep with those +years of weary waiting, but bearing the gentle grace and dignity which only +sorrow and restraint can give. On his left is Matthew, the old priest. Long ago +the golden-haired beauty had passed from Cosford to Fernhurst, where the young +and beautiful Lady Edith Brocas is the belle of all Sussex, a sunbeam of smiles +and merriment, save perhaps when her thoughts for an instant fly back to that +dread night when she was plucked from under the very talons of the foul hawk of +Shalford. +</p> + +<p> +The old knight looked up as a fresh gust of wind with a dash of rain beat +against the window behind him. “By Saint Hubert, it is a wild night!” said he. +“I had hoped to-morrow to have a flight at a heron of the pool or a mallard in +the brook. How fares it with little Katherine the peregrine, Mary?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have joined the wing, father, and I have imped the feathers; but I fear it +will be Christmas ere she can fly again.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a hard saying,” said Sir John; “for indeed I have seen no bolder +better bird. Her wing was broken by a heron’s beak last Sabbath sennight, holy +father, and Mary has the mending of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust, my son, that you had heard mass ere you turned to worldly pleasure +upon God’s holy day,” Father Matthew answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut!” said the old knight, laughing. “Shall I make confession at the head +of my own table? I can worship the good God amongst his own works, the woods +and the fields, better than in yon pile of stone and wood. But I call to mind a +charm for a wounded hawk which was taught me by the fowler of Gaston de Foix. +How did it run? ‘The lion of the Tribe of Judah, the root of David, has +conquered.’ Yes, those were the words to be said three times as you walk round +the perch where the bird is mewed.” +</p> + +<p> +The old priest shook his head. “Nay, these charms are tricks of the Devil,” +said he. “Holy Church lends them no countenance, for they are neither good nor +fair. But how is it now with your tapestry, Lady Mary? When last I was beneath +this roof you had half done in five fair colors the story of Theseus and +Ariadne.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is half done still, holy father.” +</p> + +<p> +“How is this, my daughter? Have you then so many calls?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, holy father, her thoughts are otherwhere,” Sir John answered. “She will +sit an hour at a time, the needle in her hand and her soul a hundred leagues +from Cosford House. Ever since the Prince’s battle—” +</p> + +<p> +“Good father, I beg you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Mary, none can hear me, save your own confessor, Father Matthew. Ever +since the Prince’s battle, I say, when we heard that young Nigel had won such +honor she is brain-wode, and sits ever—well, even as you see her now.” +</p> + +<p> +An intent look had come into Mary’s eyes; her gaze was fixed upon the dark +rain-splashed window. It was a face carved from ivory, white-lipped and rigid, +on which the old priest looked. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, my daughter? What do you see?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see nothing, father.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it then that disturbs you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hear, father.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are horsemen on the road.” +</p> + +<p> +The old knight laughed. “So it goes on, father. What day is there that a +hundred horsemen do not pass our gate, and yet every clink of hoofs sets her +poor heart a-trembling. So strong and steadfast she has ever been, my Mary, and +now no sound too slight to shake her to the soul! Nay, daughter, nay, I pray +you!” +</p> + +<p> +She had half-risen from her chair, her hands clenched and her dark, startled +eyes still fixed upon the window. “I hear them, father! I hear them amid the +wind and the rain! Yes, yes, they are turning—they have turned! My God, they +are at our very door!” +</p> + +<p> +“By Saint Hubert, the girl is right!” cried old Sir John, beating his fist upon +the board. “Ho, varlets, out with you to the yard! Set the mulled wine on the +blaze once more! There are travelers at the gate, and it is no night to keep a +dog waiting at our door. Hurry, Hannekin! Hurry, I say, or I will haste you +with my cudgel!” +</p> + +<p> +Plainly to the ears of all men could be heard the stamping of the horses. Mary +had stood up, quivering in every limb. An eager step at the threshold, the door +was flung wide, and there in the opening stood Nigel, the rain gleaming upon +his smiling face, his cheeks flushed with the beating of the wind, his blue +eyes shining with tenderness and love. Something held her by the throat, the +light of the torches danced up and down; but her strong spirit rose at the +thought that others should see that inner holy of holies of her soul. There is +a heroism of women to which no valor of man can attain. Her eyes only carried +him her message as she held out her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, Nigel!” said she. +</p> + +<p> +He stooped and kissed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Saint Catharine has brought me home,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +A merry supper it was at Cosford Manor that night, with Nigel at the head +betwixt the jovial old knight and the Lady Mary, whilst at the farther end +Samkin Aylward, wedged between two servant maids, kept his neighbors in +alternate laughter and terror as he told his tales of the French Wars. Nigel +had to turn his doeskin heels and show his little golden spurs. As he spoke of +what was passed Sir John clapped him on the shoulder, while Mary took his +strong right hand in hers, and the good old priest smiling blessed them both. +Nigel had drawn a little golden ring from his pocket, and it twinkled in the +torchlight. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you say that you must go on your way to-morrow, father?” he asked the +priest. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, fair son, the matter presses.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you may bide the morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will suffice if I start at noon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much may be done in a morning.” He looked at Mary, who blushed and smiled. “By +Saint Paul! I have waited long enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good, good!” chuckled the old knight, with wheezy laughter. “Even so I wooed +your mother, Mary. Wooers were brisk in the olden time. To-morrow is Tuesday, +and Tuesday is ever a lucky day. Alas! that the good Dame Ermyntrude is no +longer with us to see it done! The old hound must run us down, Nigel, and I +hear its bay upon my own heels; but my heart will rejoice that before the end I +may call you son. Give me your hand, Mary, and yours, Nigel. Now, take an old +man’s blessing, and may God keep and guard you both, and give you your desert, +for I believe on my soul that in all this broad land there dwells no nobler man +nor any woman more fitted to be his mate!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There let us leave them, their hearts full of gentle joy, the golden future of +hope and promise stretching out before their youthful eyes. Alas for those +green spring dreaming! How often do they fade and wither until they fall and +rot, a dreary sight, by the wayside of life! But here, by God’s blessing, it +was not so, for they burgeoned and they grew, ever fairer and more noble, until +the whole wide world might marvel at the beauty of it. +</p> + +<p> +It has been told elsewhere how as the years passed Nigel’s name rose higher in +honor; but still Mary’s would keep pace with it, each helping and sustaining +the other upon an ever higher path. In many lands did Nigel carve his fame, and +ever as he returned spent and weary from his work he drank fresh strength and +fire and craving for honor from her who glorified his home. At Twynham Castle +they dwelled for many years, beloved and honored by all. Then in the fullness +of time they came back to the Tilford Manor-house and spent their happy, +healthy age amid those heather downs where Nigel had passed his first lusty +youth, ere ever he turned his face to the wars. Thither also came Aylward when +he had left the “Pied Merlin” where for many a year he sold ale to the men of +the forest. +</p> + +<p> +But the years pass; the old wheel turns and ever the thread runs out. The wise +and the good, the noble and the brave, they come from the darkness, and into +the darkness they go, whence, whither and why, who may say? Here is the slope +of Hindhead. The fern still glows russet in November, the heather still burns +red in July; but where now is the Manor of Cosford? Where is the old house of +Tilford? Where, but for a few scattered gray stones, is the mighty pile of +Waverley? And yet even gnawing Time has not eaten all things away. Walk with me +toward Guildford, reader, upon the busy highway. Here, where the high green +mound rises before us, mark yonder roofless shrine which still stands +foursquare to the winds. It is St. Catharine’s, where Nigel and Mary plighted +their faith. Below lies the winding river, and over yonder you still see the +dark Chantry woods which mount up to the bare summit, on which, roofed and +whole, stands that Chapel of the Martyr where the comrades beat off the archers +of the crooked Lord of Shalford. Down yonder on the flanks of the long chalk +hills one traces the road by which they made their journey to the wars. And now +turn hither to the north, down this sunken winding path! It is all unchanged +since Nigel’s day. Here is the Church of Compton. Pass under the aged and +crumbling arch. Before the steps of that ancient altar, unrecorded and +unbrassed, lies the dust of Nigel and of Mary. Near them is that of Maude their +daughter, and of Alleyne Edricson, whose spouse she was; their children and +children’s children are lying by their side. Here too, near the old yew in the +churchyard, is the little mound which marks where Samkin Aylward went back to +that good soil from which he sprang. +</p> + +<p> +So lie the dead leaves; but they and such as they nourish forever that great +old trunk of England, which still sheds forth another crop and another, each as +strong and as fair as the last. The body may lie in moldering chancel, or in +crumbling vault, but the rumor of noble lives, the record of valor and truth, +can never die, but lives on in the soul of the people. Our own work lies ready +to our hands; and yet our strength may be the greater and our faith the firmer +if we spare an hour from present toils to look back upon the women who were +gentle and strong, or the men who loved honor more than life, on this green +stage of England where for a few short years we play our little part. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR NIGEL ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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