CHAPTER XX.
HOW ALLEYNE WON HIS PLACE IN AN HONORABLE GUILD.
Whilst the prince's council was sitting, Alleyne and Ford had
remained in the outer hall, where they were soon surrounded by a
noisy group of young Englishmen of their own rank, all eager to
hear the latest news from England.
"How is it with the old man at Windsor?" asked one.
"And how with the good Queen Philippa?"
"And how with Dame Alice Perrers?" cried a third.
"The devil take your tongue, Wat!" shouted a tall young man,
seizing the last speaker by the collar and giving him an
admonitory shake. "The prince would take your head off for those
words."
"By God's coif! Wat would miss it but little," said another. "It
is as empty as a beggar's wallet."
"As empty as an English squire, coz," cried the first speaker.
"What a devil has become of the maitre-des-tables and his sewers?
They have not put forth the trestles yet."
"Mon Dieu! if a man could eat himself into knighthood, Humphrey,
you had been a banneret at the least," observed another, amid a
burst of laughter.
"And if you could drink yourself in, old leather-head, you had
been first baron of the realm," cried the aggrieved Humphrey.
"But how of England, my lads of Loring?"
"I take it," said Ford, "that it is much as it was when you were
there last, save that perchance there is a little less noise
there."
"And why less noise, young Solomon?"
"Ah, that is for your wit to discover."
"Pardieu! here is a paladin come over, with the Hampshire mud
still sticking to his shoes. He means that the noise is less for
our being out of the country."
"They are very quick in these parts," said Ford, turning to
Alleyne.
"How are we to take this, sir?" asked the ruffling squire.
"You may take it as it comes," said Ford carelessly.
"Here is pertness!" cried the other.
"Sir, I honor your truthfulness," said Ford.
"Stint it, Humphrey," said the tall squire, with a burst of
laughter. "You will have little credit from this gentleman, I
perceive. Tongues are sharp in Hampshire, sir."
"And swords?"
"Hum! we may prove that. In two days' time is the vepres du
tournoi, when we may see if your lance is as quick as your wit."
"All very well, Roger Harcomb," cried a burly, bull-necked young
man, whose square shoulders and massive limbs told of exceptional
personal strength. "You pass too lightly over the matter. We
are not to be so easily overcrowed. The Lord Loring hath given
his proofs; but we know nothing of his squires, save that one of
them hath a railing tongue. And how of you, young sir?" bringing
his heavy hand down on Alleyne's shoulder.
"And what of me, young sir?"
"Ma foi! this is my lady's page come over. Your cheek will be
browner and your hand harder ere you see your mother again."
"If my hand is not hard, it is ready."
"Ready? Ready for what? For the hem of my lady's train?"
"Ready to chastise insolence, sir," cried Alleyne with hashing
eyes.
"Sweet little coz!" answered the burly squire. "Such a dainty
color! Such a mellow voice! Eyes of a bashful maid, and hair
like a three years' babe! Voila!" He passed his thick fingers
roughly through the youth's crisp golden curls.
"You seek to force a quarrel, sir," said the young man, white
with anger.
"And what then?"
"Why, you do it like a country boor, and not like a gentle
squire. Hast been ill bred and as ill taught. I serve a master
who could show you how such things should he done."
"And how would he do it, O pink of squires?"
"He would neither be loud nor would he be unmannerly, but rather
more gentle than is his wont. He would say, `Sir, I should take
it as an honor to do some small deed of arms against you, not for
mine own glory or advancement, but rather for the fame of my lady
and for the upholding of chivalry.' Then he would draw his
glove, thus, and throw it on the ground; or, if he had cause to
think that he had to deal with a churl, he might throw it in his
face--as I do now!"
A buzz of excitement went up from the knot of squires as Alleyne,
his gentle nature turned by this causeless attack into fiery
resolution, dashed his glove with all his strength into the
sneering face of his antagonist. From all parts of the hall
squires and pages came running, until a dense, swaying crowd
surrounded the disputants.
"Your life for this!" said the bully, with a face which was
distorted with rage.
"If you can take it," returned Alleyne.
"Good lad!" whispered Ford. "Stick to it close as wax."
"I shall see justice," cried Norbury, Sir Oliver's silent
attendant.
"You brought it upon yourself, John Tranter," said the tall
squire, who had been addressed as Roger Harcomb. "You must ever
plague the new-comers. But it were shame if this went further.
The lad hath shown a proper spirit."
"But a blow! a blow!" cried several of the older squires. "There
must be a finish to this."
"Nay; Tranter first laid hand upon his head," said Harcomb. "How
say you, Tranter? The matter may rest where it stands?"
"My name is known in these parts," said Tranter, proudly, "I can
let pass what might leave a stain upon another. Let him pick up
his glove and say that he has done amiss."
"I would see him in the claws of the devil first," whispered
Ford.
"You hear, young sir?" said the peacemaker. "Our friend will
overlook the matter if you do but say that you have acted in heat
and haste."
"I cannot say that," answered Alleyne.
"It is our custom, young sir, when new squires come amongst us
from England, to test them in some such way. Bethink you that if
a man have a destrier or a new lance he will ever try it in time
of peace, lest in days of need it may fail him. How much more
then is it proper to test those who are our comrades in arms."
"I would draw out if it may honorably be done," murmured Norbury
in Alleyne's ear. "The man is a noted swordsman and far above
your strength."
Edricson came, however, of that sturdy Saxon blood which is very
slowly heated, but once up not easily to be cooled. The hint of
danger which Norbury threw out was the one thing needed to harden
his resolution.
"I came here at the back of my master," he said, "and I looked on
every man here as an Englishman and a friend. This gentleman
hath shown me a rough welcome, and if I have answered him in the
same spirit he has but himself to thank. I will pick the glove
up; but, certes, I shall abide what I have done unless he first
crave my pardon for what he hath said and done."
Tranter shrugged his shoulders. "You have done what you could to
save him, Harcomb," said he. "We had best settle at once."
"So say I," cried Alleyne.
"The council will not break up until the banquet," remarked a
gray-haired squire. "You have a clear two hours."
"And the place?"
"The tilting-yard is empty at this hour."
"Nay; it must not be within the grounds of the court, or it may
go hard with all concerned if it come to the ears of the prince."
"But there is a quiet spot near the river," said one youth. "We
have but to pass through the abbey grounds, along the armory wall,
past the church of St. Remi, and so down the Rue des Apotres."
"En avant, then!" cried Tranter shortly, and the whole assembly
flocked out into the open air, save only those whom the special
orders of their masters held to their posts. These unfortunates
crowded to the small casements, and craned their necks after the
throng as far as they could catch a glimpse of them.
Close to the banks of the Garonne there lay a little tract of
green sward, with the high wall of a prior's garden upon one side
and an orchard with a thick bristle of leafless apple-trees upon
the other. The river ran deep and swift up to the steep bank;
but there were few boats upon it, and the ships were moored far
out in the centre of the stream. Here the two combatants drew
their swords and threw off their doublets, for neither had any
defensive armor. The duello with its stately etiquette had not
yet come into vogue, but rough and sudden encounters were as
common as they must ever be when hot-headed youth goes abroad
with a weapon strapped to its waist. In such combats, as well as
in the more formal sports of the tilting-yard, Tranter had won a
name for strength and dexterity which had caused Norbury to utter
his well-meant warning. On the other hand, Alleyne had used his
weapons in constant exercise and practice for every day for many
months, and being by nature quick of eye and prompt of hand, he
might pass now as no mean swordsman. A strangely opposed pair
they appeared as they approached each other: Tranter dark and
stout and stiff, with hairy chest and corded arms, Alleyne a
model of comeliness and grace, with his golden hair and his skin
as fair as a woman's. An unequal fight it seemed to most; but
there were a few, and they the most experienced, who saw
something in the youth's steady gray eye and wary step which left
the issue open to doubt.
"Hold, sirs, hold!" cried Norbury, ere a blow had been struck.
"This gentleman hath a two-handed sword, a good foot longer than
that of our friend."
"Take mine, Alleyne," said Ford.
"Nay, friends," he answered, "I understand the weight and balance
of mine own. To work, sir, for our lord may need us at the
abbey!"
Tranter's great sword was indeed a mighty vantage in his favor.
He stood with his feet close together, his knees bent outwards,
ready for a dash inwards or a spring out. The weapon he held
straight up in front of him with blade erect, so that he might
either bring it down with a swinging blow, or by a turn of the
heavy blade he might guard his own head and body. A further
protection lay in the broad and powerful guard which crossed the
hilt, and which was furnished with a deep and narrow notch, in
which an expert swordsman might catch his foeman's blade, and by
a quick turn of his wrist might snap it across. Alleyne, on the
other hand, must trust for his defence to his quick eye and
active foot--for his sword, though keen as a whetstone could
make it, was of a light and graceful build with a narrow, sloping
pommel and a tapering steel.
Tranter well knew his advantage and lost no time in putting it to
use. As his opponent walked towards him he suddenly bounded
forward and sent in a whistling cut which would have severed the
other in twain had he not sprung lightly back from it. So close
was it that the point ripped a gash in the jutting edge of his
linen cyclas. Quick as a panther, Alleyne sprang in with a
thrust, but Tranter, who was as active as he was strong, had
already recovered himself and turned it aside with a movement of
his heavy blade. Again he whizzed in a blow which made the
spectators hold their breath, and again Alleyne very quickly and
swiftly slipped from under it, and sent back two lightning
thrusts which the other could scarce parry. So close were they
to each other that Alleyne had no time to spring back from the
next cut, which beat down his sword and grazed his forehead,
sending the blood streaming into his eyes and down his cheeks.
He sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair stood breathing
heavily, while the crowd of young squires buzzed their applause.
"Bravely struck on both sides!" cried Roger Harcomb. "You have
both won honor from this meeting, and it would be sin and shame
to let it go further."
"You have done enough, Edricson," said Norbury.
"You have carried yourself well," cried several of the older
squires.
"For my part, I have no wish to slay this young man," said
Tranter, wiping his heated brow.
"Does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me
despitefully?" asked Alleyne.
"Nay, not I."
"Then stand on your guard, sir!" With a clatter and dash the
two blades met once more, Alleyne pressing in so as to keep
within the full sweep of the heavy blade, while Tranter as
continually sprang back to have space for one of his fatal cuts.
A three-parts-parried blow drew blood from Alleyne's left shoulder,
but at the same moment he wounded Tranter slightly upon the thigh.
Next instant, however, his blade had slipped into the fatal
notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tinkling upon the
ground, and he found a splintered piece of steel fifteen inches
long was all that remained to him of his weapon.
"Your life is in my hands!" cried Tranter, with a bitter smile.
"Nay, nay, he makes submission!" broke in several squires.
Another sword!" cried Ford.
"Nay, sir," said Harcomb, "that is not the custom."
"Throw down your hilt, Edricson," cried Norbury.
"Never!" said Alleyne. "Do you crave my pardon, sir?"
"You are mad to ask it."
"Then on guard again!" cried the young squire, and sprang in with
a fire and a fury which more than made up for the shortness of
his weapon. It had not escaped him that his opponent was
breathing in short, hoarse gasps, like a man who is dizzy with
fatigue. Now was the time for the purer living and the more
agile limb to show their value. Back and back gave Tranter, ever
seeking time for a last cut. On and on came Alleyne, his jagged
point now at his foeman's face, now at his throat, now at his
chest, still stabbing and thrusting to pass the line of steel
which covered him. Yet his experienced foeman knew well that
such efforts could not be long sustained. Let him relax for one
instant, and his death-blow had come. Relax he must! Flesh and
blood could not stand the strain. Already the thrusts were less
fierce, the foot less ready, although there was no abatement of
the spirit in the steady gray eyes. Tranter, cunning and wary
from years of fighting, knew that his chance had come. He
brushed aside the frail weapon which was opposed to him, whirled
up his great blade, sprang back to get the fairer sweep--and
vanished into the waters of the Garonne.
So intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators, been
on the matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank and
swift still stream had gone from their minds. It was not until
Tranter, giving back before the other's fiery rush, was upon the
very brink, that a general cry warned him of his danger. That
last spring, which he hoped would have brought the fight to a
bloody end, carried him clear of the edge, and he found himself
in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-cold stream. Once and
twice his gasping face and clutching fingers broke up through the
still green water, sweeping outwards in the swirl of the current.
In vain were sword-sheaths, apple-branches and belts linked
together thrown out to him by his companions. Alleyne had
dropped his shattered sword and was standing, trembling in every
limb, with his rage all changed in an instant to pity. For the
third time the drowning man came to the surface, his hands full
of green slimy water-plants, his eyes turned in despair to the
shore. Their glance fell upon Alleyne, and he could not
withstand the mute appeal which he read in them. In an instant
he, too, was in the Garonne, striking out with powerful strokes
for his late foeman,
Yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer as he
was, it was no easy task which Alleyne had set himself. To
clutch at Tranter and to seize him by the hair was the work of a
few seconds, but to hold his head above water and to make their
way out of the current was another matter. For a hundred strokes
he did not seem to gain an inch. Then at last, amid a shout of
joy and praise from the bank, they slowly drew clear into more
stagnant water, at the instant that a rope, made of a dozen
sword-belts linked together by the buckles, was thrown by Ford
into their very hands. Three pulls from eager arms, and the two
combatants, dripping and pale, were dragged up the bank, and lay
panting upon the grass.
John Tranter was the first to come to himself, for although he
had been longer in the water, he had done nothing during that
fierce battle with the current. He staggered to his feet and
looked down upon his rescuer, who had raised himself upon his
elbow, and was smiling faintly at the buzz of congratulation and
of praise which broke from the squires around him.
"I am much beholden to you, sir," said Tranter, though in no very
friendly voice. "Certes, I should have been in the river now but
for you, for I was born in Warwickshire, which is but a dry
county, and there are few who swim in those parts."
"I ask no thanks," Alleyne answered shortly. "Give me your hand
to rise, Ford."
"The river has been my enemy," said Tranter, "but it hath been a
good friend to you, for it has saved your life this day."
"That is as it may be," returned Alleyne.
"But all is now well over," quoth Harcomb, "and no scath come of
it, which is more than I had at one time hoped for. Our young
friend here hath very fairly and honestly earned his right to be
craftsman of the Honorable Guild of the Squires of Bordeaux.
Here is your doublet, Tranter."
"Alas for my poor sword which lies at the bottom of the Garonne!"
said the squire.
"Here is your pourpoint, Edricson," cried Norbury. "Throw it
over your shoulders, that you may have at least one dry garment."
"And now away back to the abbey!" said several.
"One moment, sirs," cried Alleyne, who was leaning on Ford's
shoulder, with the broken sword, which he had picked up, still
clutched in his right hand. "My ears may be somewhat dulled by
the water, and perchance what has been said has escaped me, but I
have not yet heard this gentleman crave pardon for the insults
which he put upon me in the hall."
"What! do you still pursue the quarrel?" asked Tranter.
"And why not, sir? I am slow to take up such things, but once
afoot I shall follow it while I have life or breath."
"Ma foi! you have not too much of either, for you are as white as
marble," said Harcomb bluntly. "Take my rede, sir, and let it
drop, for you have come very well out from it."
"Nay," said Alleyne, "this quarrel is none of my making; but, now
that I am here, I swear to you that I shall never leave this spot
until I have that which I have come for: so ask my pardon, sir,
or choose another glaive and to it again."
The young squire was deadly white from his exertions, both on the
land and in the water. Soaking and stained, with a smear of
blood on his white shoulder and another on his brow, there was
still in his whole pose and set of face the trace of an
inflexible resolution. His opponent's duller and more material
mind quailed before the fire and intensity of a higher spiritual
nature.
"I had not thought that you had taken it so amiss," said he
awkwardly. "It was but such a jest as we play upon each other,
and, if you must have it so, I am sorry for it."
"Then I am sorry too," quoth Alleyne warmly, "and here is my hand
upon it."
"And the none-meat horn has blown three times," quoth Harcomb, as
they all streamed in chattering groups from the ground. "I know
not what the prince's maitre-de-cuisine will say or think. By my
troth! master Ford, your friend here is in need of a cup of wine,
for he hath drunk deeply of Garonne water. I had not thought
from his fair face that he had stood to this matter so shrewdly."
"Faith," said Ford, "this air of Bordeaux hath turned our
turtle-dove into a game-cock. A milder or more courteous youth
never came out of Hampshire."
"His master also, as I understand, is a very mild and courteous
gentleman," remarked Harcomb; "yet I do not think that they are
either of them men with whom it is very safe to trifle."
