CHAPTER XIX
HOW THERE WAS STIR AT THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREW'S.
The prince's reception-room, although of no great size, was
fitted up with all the state and luxury which the fame and power
of its owner demanded. A high dais at the further end was roofed
in by a broad canopy of scarlet velvet spangled with silver
fleurs-de-lis, and supported at either corner by silver rods.
This was approached by four steps carpeted with the same
material, while all round were scattered rich cushions, oriental
mats and costly rugs of fur. The choicest tapestries which the
looms of Arras could furnish draped the walls, whereon the
battles of Judas Maccabaeus were set forth, with the Jewish
warriors in plate of proof, with crest and lance and banderole,
as the naive artists of the day were wont to depict them. A few
rich settles and bancals, choicely carved and decorated with
glazed leather hangings of the sort termed _or basane_, completed
the furniture of the apartment, save that at one side of the dais
there stood a lofty perch, upon which a cast of three solemn
Prussian gerfalcons sat, hooded and jesseled, as silent and
motionless as the royal fowler who stood beside them.
In the centre of the dais were two very high chairs with
dorserets, which arched forwards over the heads of the occupants,
the whole covered with light-blue silk thickly powdered with
golden stars. On that to the right sat a very tall and well
formed man with red hair, a livid face, and a cold blue eye,
which had in it something peculiarly sinister and menacing. He
lounged back in a careless position, and yawned repeatedly as
though heartily weary of the proceedings, stooping from time to
time to fondle a shaggy Spanish greyhound which lay stretched at
his feet. On the other throne there was perched bolt upright,
with prim demeanor, as though he felt himself to be upon his
good behavior, a little, round, pippin faced person, who smiled
and bobbed to every one whose eye he chanced to meet. Between
and a little in front of them on a humble charette or stool, sat
a slim, dark young man, whose quiet attire and modest manner
would scarce proclaim him to be the most noted prince in Europe.
A jupon of dark blue cloth, tagged with buckles and pendants of
gold, seemed but a sombre and plain attire amidst the wealth of
silk and ermine and gilt tissue of fustian with which he was
surrounded. He sat with his two hands clasped round his knee,
his head slightly bent, and an expression of impatience and of
trouble upon his clear, well-chiselled features. Behind the
thrones there stood two men in purple gowns, with ascetic,
clean-shaven faces, and half a dozen other high dignitaries and
office-holders of Aquitaine. Below on either side of the steps
were forty or fifty barons, knights, and courtiers, ranged in a
triple row to the right and the left, with a clear passage in the
centre.
"There sits the prince," whispered Sir John Chandos, as they
entered. "He on the right is Pedro, whom we are about to put
upon the Spanish throne. The other is Don James, whom we purpose
with the aid of God to help to his throne in Majorca. Now follow
me, and take it not to heart if he be a little short in his
speech, for indeed his mind is full of many very weighty
concerns."
The prince, however, had already observed their entrance, and,
springing to his feet, he had advanced with a winning smile and
the light of welcome in his eyes.
"We do not need your good offices as herald here, Sir John," said
he in a low but clear voice; "these valiant knights are very well
known to me. Welcome to Aquitaine, Sir Nigel Loring and Sir
Oliver Buttesthorn. Nay, keep your knee for my sweet father at
Windsor. I would have your hands, my friends. We are like to
give you some work to do ere you see the downs of Hampshire once
more. Know you aught of Spain, Sir Oliver?"
"Nought, my sire, save that I have heard men say that there is a
dish named an olla which is prepared there, though I have never
been clear in my mind as to whether it was but a ragout such as
is to be found in the south, or whether there is some seasoning
such as fennel or garlic which is peculiar to Spain."
"Your doubts, Sir Oliver, shall soon be resolved," answered the
prince, laughing heartily, as did many of the barons who
surrounded them. "His majesty here will doubtless order that you
have this dish hotly seasoned when we are all safely in Castile."
"I will have a hotly seasoned dish for some folk I know of,"
answered Don Pedro with a cold smile.
"But my friend Sir Oliver can fight right hardily without either
bite or sup," remarked the prince. "Did I not see him at
Poictiers, when for two days we had not more than a crust of
bread and a cup of foul water, yet carrying himself most
valiantly. With my own eyes I saw him in the rout sweep the head
from a knight of Picardy with one blow of his sword."
"The rogue got between me and the nearest French victual wain,"
muttered Sir Oliver, amid a fresh titter from those who were near
enough to catch his words.
"How many have you in your train?" asked the prince, assuming a
graver mien.
"I have forty men-at-arms, sire," said Sir Oliver.
"And I have one hundred archers and a score of lancers, but there
are two hundred men who wait for me on this side of the water
upon the borders of Navarre."
"And who are they, Sir Nigel?"
"They are a free company, sire, and they are called the White
Company."
To the astonishment of the knight, his words provoked a burst of
merriment from the barons round, in which the two kings and the
prince were fain to join. Sir Nigel blinked mildly from one to
the other, until at last perceiving a stout black-bearded knight
at his elbow, whose laugh rang somewhat louder than the others,
he touched him lightly upon the sleeve.
"Perchance, my fair sir," he whispered, "there is some small vow
of which I may relieve you. Might we not have some honorable
debate upon the matter. Your gentle courtesy may perhaps grant
me an exchange of thrusts."
"Nay, nay, Sir Nigel," cried the prince, "fasten not the offence
upon Sir Robert Briquet, for we are one and all bogged in the
same mire. Truth to say, our ears have just been vexed by the
doings of the same company, and I have even now made vow to hang
the man who held the rank of captain over it. I little thought
to find him among the bravest of my own chosen chieftains. But
the vow is now nought, for, as you have never seen your company,
it would be a fool's act to blame you for their doings."
"My liege," said Sir Nigel, "it is a very small matter that I
should be hanged, albeit the manner of death is somewhat more
ignoble than I had hoped for. On the other hand, it would be a
very grievous thing that you, the Prince of England and the
flower of knighthood, should make a vow, whether in ignorance or
no, and fail to bring it to fulfilment."
"Vex not your mind on that," the prince answered, smiling. "We
have had a citizen from Montauban here this very day, who told us
such a tale of sack and murder and pillage that it moved our
blood; but our wrath was turned upon the man who was in authority
over them."
"My dear and honored master," cried Nigel, in great anxiety, "I
fear me much that in your gentleness of heart you are straining
this vow which you have taken. If there be so much as a shadow
of a doubt as to the form of it, it were a thousand times best----"
"Peace! peace!" cried the prince impatiently. "I am very well
able to look to my own vows and their performance. We hope to
see you both in the banquet-hall anon. Meanwhile you will attend
upon us with our train." He bowed, and Chandos, plucking Sir
Oliver by the sleeve, led them both away to the back of the press
of courtiers.
"Why, little coz," he whispered, "you are very eager to have your
neck in a noose. By my soul! had you asked as much from our new
ally Don Pedro, he had not baulked you. Between friends, there
is overmuch of the hangman in him, and too little of the prince.
But indeed this White Company is a rough band, and may take some
handling ere you find yourself safe in your captaincy."
"I doubt not, with the help of St. Paul, that I shall bring them
to some order," Sir Nigel answered. "But there are many faces
here which are new to me, though others have been before me since
first I waited upon my dear master, Sir Walter. I pray you to
tell me, Sir John, who are these priests upon the dais?"
"The one is the Archbishop of Bordeaux, Nigel, and the other the
Bishop of Agen."
"And the dark knight with gray-streaked beard? By my troth, he
seems to be a man of much wisdom and valor."
"He is Sir William Felton, who, with my unworthy self, is the
chief counsellor of the prince, he being high steward and I the
seneschal of Aquitaine."
"And the knights upon the right, beside Don Pedro?"
"They are cavaliers of Spain who have followed him in his exile.
The one at his elbow is Fernando de Castro, who is as brave and
true a man as heart could wish. In front to the right are the
Gascon lords. You may well tell them by their clouded brows, for
there hath been some ill-will of late betwixt the prince and
them. The tall and burly man is the Captal de Buch, whom I doubt
not that you know, for a braver knight never laid lance in rest.
That heavy-faced cavalier who plucks his skirts and whispers in
his ear is Lord Oliver de Clisson, known also as the butcher. He
it is who stirs up strife, and forever blows the dying embers
into flame. The man with the mole upon his cheek is the Lord
Pommers, and his two brothers stand behind him, with the Lord
Lesparre, Lord de Rosem, Lord de Mucident, Sir Perducas d'Albret,
the Souldich de la Trane, and others. Further back are knights
from Quercy, Limousin, Saintonge, Poitou, and Aquitaine, with the
valiant Sir Guiscard d'Angle. That is he in the rose-colored
doublet with the ermine."
"And the knights upon this side?"
"They are all Englishmen, some of the household and others who
like yourself, are captains of companies. There is Lord Neville,
Sir Stephen Cossington, and Sir Matthew Gourney, with Sir Walter
Huet, Sir Thomas Banaster, and Sir Thomas Felton, who is the
brother of the high steward. Mark well the man with the high
nose and flaxen beard who hath placed his hand upon the shoulder
of the dark hard-faced cavalier in the rust-stained jupon."
"Aye, by St. Paul!" observed Sir Nigel, "they both bear the print
of their armor upon their cotes-hardies. Methinks they are men
who breathe freer in a camp than a court."
"There are many of us who do that, Nigel," said Chandos, "and the
head of the court is, I dare warrant, among them. But of these
two men the one is Sir Hugh Calverley, and the other is Sir
Robert Knolles."
Sir Nigel and Sir Oliver craned their necks to have the clearer
view of these famous warriors, the one a chosen leader of free
companies, the other a man who by his fierce valor and energy had
raised himself from the lowest ranks until he was second only to
Chandos himself in the esteem of the army.
"He hath no light hand in war, hath Sir Robert," said Chandos.
"If he passes through a country you may tell it for some years to
come. I have heard that in the north it is still the use to call
a house which hath but the two gable ends left, without walls or
roof, a Knolles' mitre."
"I have often heard of him," said Nigel, "and I have hoped to be
so far honored as to run a course with him. But hark, Sir John,
what is amiss with the prince?"
Whilst Chandos had been conversing with the two knights a
continuous stream of suitors had been ushered in, adventurers
seeking to sell their swords and merchants clamoring over some
grievance, a ship detained for the carriage of troops, or a tun
of sweet wine which had the bottom knocked out by a troop of
thirsty archers. A few words from the prince disposed of each
case, and, if the applicant liked not the judgment, a quick
glance from the prince's dark eyes sent him to the door with the
grievance all gone out of him. The younger ruler had sat
listlessly upon his stool with the two puppet monarchs enthroned
behind him, but of a sudden a dark shadow passed over his face,
and he sprang to his feet in one of those gusts of passion which
were the single blot upon his noble and generous character.
"How now, Don Martin de la Carra?" he cried. "How now, sirrah?
What message do you bring to us from our brother of Navarre?"
The new-comer to whom this abrupt query had been addressed was a
tall and exceedingly handsome cavalier who had just been ushered
into the apartment. His swarthy cheek and raven black hair spoke
of the fiery south, and he wore his long black cloak swathed
across his chest and over his shoulders in a graceful sweeping
fashion, which was neither English nor French. With stately
steps and many profound bows, he advanced to the foot of the dais
before replying to the prince's question.
"My powerful and illustrious master," he began, "Charles, King of
Navarre, Earl of Evreux, Count of Champagne, who also writeth
himself Overlord of Bearn, hereby sends his love and greetings to
his dear cousin Edward, the Prince of Wales, Governor of
Aquitaine, Grand Commander of----"
"Tush! tush! Don Martin!" interrupted the prince, who had been
beating the ground with his foot impatiently during this stately
preamble. "We already know our cousin's titles and style, and,
certes, we know our own. To the point, man, and at once, Are the
passes open to us, or does your master go back from his word
pledged to me at Libourne no later than last Michaelmas?"
"It would ill become my gracious master, sire, to go back from
promise given. He does but ask some delay and certain conditions
and hostages----"
"Conditions! Hostages! Is he speaking to the Prince of England,
or is it to the bourgeois provost of some half-captured town!
Conditions, quotha? He may find much to mend in his own
condition ere long. The passes are, then, closed to us?"
"Nay, sire----"
"They are open, then?"
"Nay, sire, if you would but----"
"Enough, enough, Don Martin," cried the prince. "It is a sorry
sight to see so true a knight pleading in so false a cause. We
know the doings of our cousin Charles. We know that while with
the right hand he takes our fifty thousand crowns for the holding
of the passes open, he hath his left outstretched to Henry of
Trastamare, or to the King of France, all ready to take as many
more for the keeping them closed. I know our good Charles, and,
by my blessed name-saint the Confessor, he shall learn that I
know him. He sets his kingdom up to the best bidder, like some
scullion farrier selling a glandered horse. He is----"
"My lord," cried Don Martin, "I cannot stand there to hear such
words of my master. Did they come from other lips, I should know
better how to answer them."
Don Pedro frowned and curled his lip, but the prince smiled and
nodded his approbation.
"Your bearing and your words, Don Martin, are such I should have
looked for in you," he remarked. "You will tell the king, your
master, that he hath been paid his price and that if he holds to
his promise he hath my word for it that no scath shall come to
his people, nor to their houses or gear. If, however, we have
not his leave, I shall come close at the heels of this message
without his leave, and bearing a key with me which shall open all
that he may close." He stooped and whispered to Sir Robert
Knolles and Sir Huge Calverley, who smiled as men well pleased,
and hastened from the room.
"Our cousin Charles has had experience of our friendship," the
prince continued, "and now, by the Saints! he shall feel a touch
of our displeasure. I send now a message to our cousin Charles
which his whole kingdom may read. Let him take heed lest worse
befall him. Where is my Lord Chandos? Ha, Sir John, I commend
this worthy knight to your care. You will see that he hath
refection, and such a purse of gold as may defray his charges,
for indeed it is great honor to any court to have within it so
noble and gentle a cavalier. How say you, sire?" he asked,
turning to the Spanish refugee, while the herald of Navarre was
conducted from the chamber by the old warrior.
"It is not our custom in Spain to reward pertness in a
messenger," Don Pedro answered, patting the head of his
greyhound. "Yet we have all heard the lengths to which your
royal generosity runs."
"In sooth, yes," cried the King of Majorca.
"Who should know it better than we?" said Don Pedro bitterly,
"since we have had to fly to you in our trouble as to the natural
protector of all who are weak."
"Nay, nay, as brothers to a brother," cried the prince, with
sparkling eyes. "We doubt not, with the help of God, to see you
very soon restored to those thrones from which you have been so
traitorously thrust."
"When that happy day comes," said Pedro, "then Spain shall be to
you as Aquitaine, and, be your project what it may, you may ever
count on every troop and every ship over which flies the banner
of Castile."
"And," added the other, "upon every aid which the wealth and
power of Majorca can bestow."
"Touching the hundred thousand crowns in which I stand your
debtor," continued Pedro carelessly, "it can no doubt----"
"Not a word, sire, not a word!" cried the prince. "It is not now
when you are in grief that I would vex your mind with such base
and sordid matters. I have said once and forever that I am yours
with every bow-string of my army and every florin in my coffers."
"Ah! here is indeed a mirror of chivalry," said Don Pedro. "I
think, Sir Fernando, since the prince's bounty is stretched so
far, that we may make further use of his gracious goodness to the
extent of fifty thousand crowns. Good Sir William Felton, here,
will doubtless settle the matter with you."
The stout old English counsellor looked somewhat blank at this
prompt acceptance of his master's bounty.
"If it please you, sire," he said, "the public funds are at their
lowest, seeing that I have paid twelve thousand men of the
companies, and the new taxes--the hearth-tax and the
wine-tax--not yet come in. If you could wait until the promised
help from England comes----"
"Nay, nay, my sweet cousin," cried Don Pedro. "Had we known that
your own coffers were so low, or that this sorry sum could have
weighed one way or the other, we had been loth indeed----"
"Enough, sire, enough!" said the prince, flushing with vexation.
"If the public funds be, indeed, so backward, Sir William, there
is still, I trust, my own private credit, which hath never been
drawn upon for my own uses, but is now ready in the cause of a
friend in adversity. Go, raise this money upon our own jewels,
if nought else may serve, and see that it be paid over to Don
Fernando."
"In security I offer----" cried Don Pedro.
"Tush! tush!" said the prince. "I am not a Lombard, sire. Your
kingly pledge is my security, without bond or seal. But I have
tidings for you, my lords and lieges, that our brother of
Lancaster is on his way for our capital with four hundred lances
and as many archers to aid us in our venture. When he hath come,
and when our fair consort is recovered in her health, which I
trust by the grace of God may be ere many weeks be past, we shall
then join the army at Dax, and set our banners to the breeze once
more."
A buzz of joy at the prospect of immediate action rose up from
the group of warriors. The prince smiled at the martial ardor
which shone upon every face around him.
"It will hearten you to know," he continued, "that I have sure
advices that this Henry is a very valiant leader, and that he has
it in his power to make such a stand against us as promises to
give us much honor and pleasure. Of his own people he hath
brought together, as I learn, some fifty thousand, with twelve
thousand of the French free companies, who are, as you know very
valiant and expert men-at-arms. It is certain also, that the
brave and worthy Bertrand de Guesclin hath ridden into France to
the Duke of Anjou, and purposes to take back with him great
levies from Picardy and Brittany. We hold Bertrand in high
esteem, for he has oft before been at great pains to furnish us
with an honorable encounter. What think you of it, my worthy
Captal? He took you at Cocherel, and, by my soul I you will have
the chance now to pay that score."
The Gascon warrior winced a little at the allusion, nor were his
countrymen around him better pleased, for on the only occasion
when they had encountered the arms of France without English aid
they had met with a heavy defeat.
"There are some who say, sire," said the burly De Clisson, "that
the score is already overpaid, for that without Gascon help
Bertrand had not been taken at Auray, nor had King John been
overborne at Poictiers."
"By heaven! but this is too much," cried an English nobleman.
"Methinks that Gascony is too small a cock to crow so lustily."
"The smaller cock, my Lord Audley, may have the longer spur,"
remarked the Captal de Buch.
"May have its comb clipped if it make over-much noise," broke in
an Englishman.
"By our Lady of Rocamadour!" cried the Lord of Mucident, "this is
more than I can abide. Sir John Charnell, you shall answer to me
for those words!"
"Freely, my lord, and when you will," returned the Englishman
carelessly.
"My Lord de Clisson," cried Lord Audley, "you look some, what
fixedly in my direction. By God's soul! I should be right glad
to go further into the matter with you."
"And you, my Lord of Pommers," said Sir Nigel, pushing his way to
the front, "it is in my mind that we might break a lance in
gentle and honorable debate over the question."
For a moment a dozen challenges flashed backwards and forwards at
this sudden bursting of the cloud which had lowered so long
between the knights of the two nations. Furious and
gesticulating the Gascons, white and cold and sneering the
English, while the prince with a half smile glanced from one
party to the other, like a man who loved to dwell upon a fiery
scene, and yet dreaded least the mischief go so far that he might
find it beyond his control.
"Friends, friends!" he cried at last, "this quarrel must go no
further. The man shall answer to me, be he Gascon or English,
who carries it beyond this room. I have overmuch need for your
swords that you should turn them upon each other. Sir John
Charnell, Lord Audley, you do not doubt the courage of our
friends of Gascony?"
"Not I, sire," Lord Audley answered. "I have seen them fight too
often not to know that they are very hardy and valiant
gentlemen."
"And so say I," quoth the other Englishman; "but, certes, there
is no fear of our forgetting it while they have a tongue in their
heads."
"Nay, Sir John," said the prince reprovingly, "all peoples have
their own use and customs. There are some who might call us cold
and dull and silent. But you hear, my lords of Gascony, that
these gentlemen had no thought to throw a slur upon your honor or
your valor, so let all anger fade from your mind. Clisson,
Captal, De Pommers, I have your word?"
"We are your subjects, sire," said the Gascon barons, though with
no very good grace. "Your words are our law."
"Then shall we bury all cause of unkindness in a flagon of
Malvoisie," said the prince, cheerily. "Ho, there! the doors of
the banquet-hall! I have been over long from my sweet spouse but
I shall be back with you anon. Let the sewers serve and the
minstrels play, while we drain a cup to the brave days that are
before us in the south!" He turned away, accompanied by the two
monarchs, while the rest of the company, with many a compressed
lip and menacing eye, filed slowly through the side-door to the
great chamber in which the royal tables were set forth.
