CHAPTER XII.
HOW ALLEYNE LEARNED MORE THAN HE COULD TEACH.
And now there came a time of stir and bustle, of furbishing of
arms and clang of hammer from all the southland counties. Fast
spread the tidings from thorpe to thorpe and from castle to
castle, that the old game was afoot once more, and the lions and
lilies to be in the field with the early spring. Great news this
for that fierce old country, whose trade for a generation had
been war, her exports archers and her imports prisoners. For six
years her sons had chafed under an unwonted peace. Now they flew
to their arms as to their birthright. The old soldiers of Crecy,
of Nogent, and of Poictiers were glad to think that they might
hear the war-trumpet once more, and gladder still were the hot
youth who had chafed for years under the martial tales of their
sires. To pierce the great mountains of the south, to fight the
tamers of the fiery Moors, to follow the greatest captain of the
age, to find sunny cornfields and vineyards, when the marches of
Picardy and Normandy were as rare and bleak as the Jedburgh
forests--here was a golden prospect for a race of warriors. From
sea to sea there was stringing of bows in the cottage and clang
of steel in the castle.
Nor did it take long for every stronghold to pour forth its
cavalry, and every hamlet its footmen. Through the late autumn
and the early winter every road and country lane resounded with
nakir and trumpet, with the neigh of the war-horse and the
clatter of marching men. From the Wrekin in the Welsh marches to
the Cotswolds in the west or Butser in the south, there was no
hill-top from which the peasant might not have seen the bright
shimmer of arms, the toss and flutter of plume and of pensil.
From bye-path, from woodland clearing, or from winding moor-side
track these little rivulets of steel united in the larger roads
to form a broader stream, growing ever fuller and larger as it
approached the nearest or most commodious seaport. And there all
day, and day after day, there was bustle and crowding and labor,
while the great ships loaded up, and one after the other spread
their white pinions and darted off to the open sea, amid the
clash of cymbals and rolling of drums and lusty shouts of those
who went and of those who waited. From Orwell to the Dart there
was no port which did not send forth its little fleet, gay with
streamer and bunting, as for a joyous festival. Thus in the
season of the waning days the might of England put forth on to
the waters.
In the ancient and populous county of Hampshire there was no lack
of leaders or of soldiers for a service which promised either
honor or profit. In the north the Saracen's head of the Brocas
and the scarlet fish of the De Roches were waving over a strong
body of archers from Holt, Woolmer, and Harewood forests. De
Borhunte was up in the east, and Sir John de Montague in the
west. Sir Luke de Ponynges, Sir Thomas West, Sir Maurice de
Bruin, Sir Arthur Lipscombe, Sir Walter Ramsey, and stout Sir
Oliver Buttesthorn were all marching south with levies from
Andover, Arlesford, Odiham and Winchester, while from Sussex came
Sir John Clinton, Sir Thomas Cheyne, and Sir John Fallislee, with
a troop of picked men-at-arms, making for their port at
Southampton. Greatest of all the musters, however, was that of
Twynham Castle, for the name and the fame of Sir Nigel Loring
drew towards him the keenest and boldest spirits, all eager to
serve under so valiant a leader. Archers from the New Forest and
the Forest of Bere, billmen from the pleasant country which is
watered by the Stour, the Avon, and the Itchen, young cavaliers
from the ancient Hampshire houses, all were pushing for
Christchurch to take service under the banner of the five
scarlet roses.
And now, could Sir Nigel have shown the bachelles of land which
the laws of rank required, he might well have cut his forked
pennon into a square banner, and taken such a following into the
field as would have supported the dignity of a banneret. But
poverty was heavy upon him, his land was scant, his coffers
empty, and the very castle which covered him the holding of
another. Sore was his heart when he saw rare bowmen and
war-hardened spearmen turned away from his gates, for the lack of
the money which might equip and pay them. Yet the letter which
Aylward had brought him gave him powers which he was not slow to
use. In it Sir Claude Latour, the Gascon lieutenant of the White
Company, assured him that there remained in his keeping enough to
fit out a hundred archers and twenty men-at-arms, which, joined
to the three hundred veteran companions already in France, would
make a force which any leader might be proud to command.
Carefully and sagaciously the veteran knight chose out his men
from the swarm of volunteers. Many an anxious consultation he
held with Black Simon, Sam Aylward, and other of his more
experienced followers, as to who should come and who should stay.
By All Saints' day, however ere the last leaves had fluttered to
earth in the Wilverley and Holmesley glades, he had filled up his
full numbers, and mustered under his banner as stout a following
of Hampshire foresters as ever twanged their war-bows. Twenty
men-at-arms, too, well mounted and equipped, formed the cavalry
of the party, while young Peter Terlake of Fareham, and Walter
Ford of Botley, the martial sons of martial sires, came at their
own cost to wait upon Sir Nigel and to share with Alleyne
Edricson the duties of his squireship.
Yet, even after the enrolment, there was much to be done ere the
party could proceed upon its way. For armor, swords, and lances,
there was no need to take much forethought, for they were to be
had both better and cheaper in Bordeaux than in England. With
the long-bow, however, it was different. Yew staves indeed might
be got in Spain, but it was well to take enough and to spare with
them. Then three spare cords should be carried for each bow,
with a great store of arrow-heads, besides the brigandines of
chain mail, the wadded steel caps, and the brassarts or arm-guards,
which were the proper equipment of the archer. Above
all, the women for miles round were hard at work cutting the
white surcoats which were the badge of the Company, and adorning
them with the red lion of St. George upon the centre of the
breast. When all was completed and the muster called in the
castle yard the oldest soldier of the French wars was fain to
confess that he had never looked upon a better equipped or more
warlike body of men, from the old knight with his silk jupon,
sitting his great black war-horse in the front of them, to Hordle
John, the giant recruit, who leaned carelessly upon a huge black
bow-stave in the rear. Of the six score, fully half had seen
service before, while a fair sprinkling were men who had followed
the wars all their lives, and had a hand in those battles which
had made the whole world ring with the fame and the wonder of the
island infantry.
Six long weeks were taken in these preparations, and it was close
on Martinmas ere all was ready for a start. Nigh two months had
Alleyne Edricson been in Castle Twynham--months which were fated
to turn the whole current of his life, to divert it from that
dark and lonely bourne towards which it tended, and to guide it
into freer and more sunlit channels. Already he had learned to
bless his father for that wise provision which had made him seek
to know the world ere he had ventured to renounce it.
For it was a different place from that which he had pictured--very
different from that which he had heard described when the
master of the novices held forth to his charges upon she ravening
wolves who lurked for them beyond the peaceful folds of Beaulieu.
There was cruelty in it, doubtless, and lust and sin and sorrow;
but were there not virtues to atone, robust positive virtues
which did not shrink from temptation, which held their own in all
the rough blasts of the work-a-day world? How colorless by
contrast appeared the sinlessness which came from inability to
sin, the conquest which was attained by flying from the enemy!
Monk-bred as he was, Alleyne had native shrewdness and a mind
which was young enough to form new conclusions and to outgrow old
ones. He could not fail to see that the men with whom he was
thrown in contact, rough-tongued, fierce and quarrelsome as they
were, were yet of deeper nature and of more service in the world
than the ox-eyed brethren who rose and ate and slept from year's
end to year's end in their own narrow, stagnant circle of
existence. Abbot Berghersh was a good man, but how was he better
than this kindly knight, who lived as simple a life, held as
lofty and inflexible an ideal of duty, and did with all his
fearless heart whatever came to his hand to do? In turning from
the service of the one to that of the other, Alleyne could not
feel that he was lowering his aims in life. True that his gentle
and thoughtful nature recoiled from the grim work of war, yet in
those days of martial orders and militant brotherhoods there was
no gulf fixed betwixt the priest and the soldier. The man of God
and the man of the sword might without scandal be united in the
same individual. Why then should he, a mere clerk, have scruples
when so fair a chance lay in his way of carrying out the spirit
as well as the letter of his father's provision. Much struggle
it cost him, anxious spirit-questionings and midnight prayings,
with many a doubt and a misgiving; but the issue was that ere he
had been three days in Castle Twynham he had taken service under
Sir Nigel, and had accepted horse and harness, the same to be
paid for out of his share of the profits of the expedition.
Henceforth for seven hours a day he strove in the tilt-yard to
qualify himself to be a worthy squire to so worthy a knight.
Young, supple and active, with all the pent energies from years
of pure and healthy living, it was not long before he could
manage his horse and his weapon well enough to earn an approving
nod from critical men-at-arms, or to hold his own against Terlake
and Ford, his fellow-servitors.
But were there no other considerations which swayed him from the
cloisters towards the world? So complex is the human spirit that
it can itself scarce discern the deep springs which impel it to
action. Yet to Alleyne had been opened now a side of life of
which he had been as innocent as a child, but one which was of
such deep import that it could not fail to influence him in
choosing his path. A woman, in monkish precepts, had been the
embodiment and concentration of what was dangerous and evil--a
focus whence spread all that was to be dreaded and avoided. So
defiling was their presence that a true Cistercian might not
raise his eyes to their face or touch their finger-tips under ban
of church and fear of deadly sin. Yet here, day after day for an
hour after nones, and for an hour before vespers, he found
himself in close communion with three maidens, all young, all
fair, and all therefore doubly dangerous from the monkish
standpoint. Yet he found that in their presence he was conscious
of a quick sympathy, a pleasant ease, a ready response to all
that was most gentle and best in himself, which filled his soul
with a vague and new-found joy.
And yet the Lady Maude Loring was no easy pupil to handle. An
older and more world-wise man might have been puzzled by her
varying moods, her sudden prejudices, her quick resentment at all
constraint and authority. Did a subject interest her was there
space in it for either romance or imagination, she would fly
through it with her subtle, active mind, leaving her two
fellow-students and even her teacher toiling behind her. On the
other hand, were there dull patience needed with steady toil and
strain of memory, no single fact could by any driving be fixed in
her mind. Alleyne might talk to her of the stories of old gods
and heroes, of gallant deeds and lofty aims, or he might hold
forth upon moon and stars, and let his fancy wander over the
hidden secrets of the universe, and he would have a rapt listener
with flushed cheeks and eloquent eyes, who could repeat after him
the very words which had fallen from his lips. But when it came
to almagest and astrolabe, the counting of figures and reckoning
of epicycles, away would go her thoughts to horse and hound, and
a vacant eye and listless face would warn the teacher that he had
lost his hold upon his scholar. Then he had but to bring out the
old romance book from the priory, with befingered cover of
sheepskin and gold letters upon a purple ground, to entice her
wayward mind back to the paths of learning.
At times, too, when the wild fit was upon her, she would break
into pertness and rebel openly against Alleyne's gentle firmness.
Yet he would jog quietly on with his teachings, taking no heed to
her mutiny, until suddenly she would be conquered by his
patience, and break into self-revilings a hundred times stronger
than her fault demanded. It chanced however that, on one of
these mornings when the evil mood was upon her, Agatha the young
tire-woman, thinking to please her mistress, began also to toss
her head and make tart rejoinder to the teacher's questions. In
an instant the Lady Maude had turned upon her two blazing eyes
and a face which was blanched with anger.
"You would dare!" said she. "You would dare!" The frightened
tire-woman tried to excuse herself. "But my fair lady," she
stammered, "what have I done? I have said no more than I heard."
"You would dare!" repeated the lady in a choking voice. "You, a
graceless baggage, a foolish lack-brain, with no thought above
the hemming of shifts. And he so kindly and hendy and
long-suffering! You would--ha, you may well flee the room!"
She had spoken with a rising voice, and a clasping and opening of
her long white fingers, so that it was no marvel that ere the
speech was over the skirts of Agatha were whisking round the door
and the click of her sobs to be heard dying swiftly away down the
corridor.
Alleyne stared open-eyed at this tigress who had sprung so
suddenly to his rescue. "There is no need for such anger," he
said mildly. "The maid's words have done me no scath. It is you
yourself who have erred."
"I know it," she cried, "I am a most wicked woman. But it is bad
enough that one should misuse you. Ma foi! I will see that there
is not a second one."
"Nay, nay, no one has misused me," he answered. "But the fault
lies in your hot and bitter words. You have called her a baggage
and a lack-brain, and I know not what."
"And you are he who taught me to speak the truth," she cried.
"Now I have spoken it, and yet I cannot please you. Lack-brain
she is, and lack-brain I shall call her."
Such was a sample of the sudden janglings which marred the peace
of that little class. As the weeks passed, however, they became
fewer and less violent, as Alleyne's firm and constant nature
gained sway and influence over the Lady Maude. And yet, sooth to
say, there were times when he had to ask himself whether it was
not the Lady Maude who was gaining sway and influence over him.
If she were changing, so was he. In drawing her up from the
world, he was day by day being himself dragged down towards it.
In vain he strove and reasoned with himself as to the madness of
letting his mind rest upon Sir Nigel's daughter. What was he--a
younger son, a penniless clerk, a squire unable to pay for his
own harness--that he should dare to raise his eyes to the
fairest maid in Hampshire? So spake reason; but, in spite of all,
her voice was ever in his ears and her image in his heart.
Stronger than reason, stronger than cloister teachings, stronger
than all that might hold him back, was that old, old tyrant who
will brook no rival in the kingdom of youth.
And yet it was a surprise and a shock to himself to find how
deeply she had entered into his life; how completely those vague
ambitions and yearnings which had filled his spiritual nature
centred themselves now upon this thing of earth. He had scarce
dared to face the change which had come upon him, when a few
sudden chance words showed it all up hard and clear, like a
lightning flash in the darkness.
He had ridden over to Poole, one November day, with his
fellow-squire, Peter Terlake, in quest of certain yew-staves from
Wat Swathling, the Dorsetshire armorer. The day for their
departure had almost come, and the two youths spurred it over the
lonely downs at the top of their speed on their homeward course,
for evening had fallen and there was much to be done. Peter was
a hard, wiry, brown faced, country-bred lad who looked on the
coming war as the schoolboy looks on his holidays This day,
however, he had been sombre and mute, with scarce a word a mile
to bestow upon his comrade.
"Tell me Alleyne Edricson," he broke out, suddenly, as they
clattered along the winding track which leads over the
Bournemouth hills, "has it not seemed to you that of late the
Lady Maude is paler and more silent than is her wont?"
"It may be so," the other answered shortly.
"And would rather sit distrait by her oriel than ride gayly to
the chase as of old. Methinks, Alleyne, it is this learning
which you have taught her that has taken all the life and sap
from her. It is more than she can master, like a heavy spear to a
light rider."
"Her lady-mother has so ordered it," said Alleyne.
"By our Lady! and withouten disrespect," quoth Terlake, "it is in
my mind that her lady-mother is more fitted to lead a company to
a storming than to have the upbringing of this tender and
milk-white maid. Hark ye, lad Alleyne, to what I never told man
or woman yet. I love the fair Lady Maude, and would give the
last drop of my heart's blood to serve her." He spoke with a
gasping voice, and his face flushed crimson in the moonlight.
Alleyne said nothing, but his heart seemed to turn to a lump of
ice in his bosom.
"My father has broad acres," the other continued, "from Fareham
Creek to the slope of the Portsdown Hill. There is filling of
granges, hewing of wood, malting of grain, and herding of sheep
as much as heart could wish, and I the only son. Sure am I that
Sir Nigel would be blithe at such a match."
"But how of the lady?" asked Alleyne, with dry lips.
"Ah, lad, there lies my trouble. It is a toss of the head and a
droop of the eyes if I say one word of what is in my mind.
'Twere as easy to woo the snow-dame that we shaped last winter in
our castle yard. I did but ask her yesternight for her green
veil, that I might bear it as a token or lambrequin upon my helm;
but she flashed out at me that she kept it for a better man, and
then all in a breath asked pardon for that she had spoke so
rudely. Yet she would not take back the words either, nor would
she grant the veil. Has it seemed to thee, Alleyne, that she
loves any one?"
"Nay, I cannot say," said Alleyne, with a wild throb of sudden
hope in his heart.
"I have thought so, and yet I cannot name the man. Indeed, gave
myself, and Walter Ford, and you, who are half a clerk, and
Father Christopher of the Priory, and Bertrand the page, who is
there whom she sees?"
"I cannot tell," quoth Alleyne shortly; and the two squires rode
on again, each intent upon his own thoughts.
Next day at morning lesson the teacher observed that his pupil
was indeed looking pale and jaded, with listless eyes and a weary
manner. He was heavy-hearted to note the grievous change in her.
"Your mistress, I fear, is ill, Agatha," he said to the tire-woman,
when the Lady Maude had sought her chamber.
The maid looked aslant at him with laughing eyes. "It is not an
illness that kills," quoth she.
"Pray God not!" he cried. "But tell me, Agatha, what it is that
ails her?"
"Methinks that I could lay my hand upon another who is smitten
with the same trouble," said she, with the same sidelong look.
"Canst not give a name to it, and thou so skilled in leech-craft?"
"Nay, save that she seems aweary."
"Well, bethink you that it is but three days ere you will all be
gone, and Castle Twynham be as dull as the Priory. Is there not
enough there to cloud a lady's brow?"
"In sooth, yes," he answered; "I had forgot that she is about to
lose her father."
"Her father!" cried the tire-woman, with a little trill of
laughter. "Oh simple, simple!" And she was off down the passage
like arrow from bow, while Alleyne stood gazing after her,
betwixt hope and doubt, scarce daring to put faith in the meaning
which seemed to underlie her words.
