CHAPTER XXXIII.
HOW THE ARMY MADE THE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES.
The whole vast plain of Gascony and of Languedoc is an arid and
profitless expanse in winter save where the swift-flowing Adour
and her snow-fed tributaries, the Louts, the Oloron and the Pau,
run down to the sea of Biscay. South of the Adour the jagged
line of mountains which fringe the sky-line send out long granite
claws, running down into the lowlands and dividing them into
"gaves" or stretches of valley. Hillocks grow into hills, and
hills into mountains, each range overlying its neighbor, until
they soar up in the giant chain which raises its spotless and
untrodden peaks, white and dazzling, against the pale blue wintry
sky.
A quiet land is this--a land where the slow-moving Basque, with
his flat biretta-cap, his red sash and his hempen sandals, tills
his scanty farm or drives his lean flock to their hill-side
pastures. It is the country of the wolf and the isard, of the
brown bear and the mountain-goat, a land of bare rock and of
rushing water. Yet here it was that the will of a great prince
had now assembled a gallant army; so that from the Adour to the
passes of Navarre the barren valleys and wind-swept wastes were
populous with soldiers and loud with the shouting of orders and
the neighing of horses. For the banners of war had been flung to
the wind once more, and over those glistening peaks was the
highway along which Honor pointed in an age when men had chosen
her as their guide.
And now all was ready for the enterprise. From Dax to St. Jean
Pied-du-Port the country was mottled with the white tents of
Gascons, Aquitanians and English, all eager for the advance. From
all sides the free companions had trooped in, until not less than
twelve thousand of these veteran troops were cantoned along the
frontiers of Navarre. From England had arrived the prince's
brother, the Duke of Lancaster, with four hundred knights in his
train and a strong company of archers. Above all, an heir to the
throne had been born in Bordeaux, and the prince might leave his
spouse with an easy mind, for all was well with mother and with
child.
The keys of the mountain passes still lay in the hands of the
shifty and ignoble Charles of Navarre, who had chaffered and
bargained both with the English and with the Spanish, taking
money from the one side to hold them open and from the other to
keep them sealed. The mallet hand of Edward, however, had
shattered all the schemes and wiles of the plotter. Neither
entreaty nor courtly remonstrance came from the English prince;
but Sir Hugh Calverley passed silently over the border with his
company, and the blazing walls of the two cities of Miranda and
Puenta de la Reyna warned the unfaithful monarch that there were
other metals besides gold, and that he was dealing with a man to
whom it was unsafe to lie. His price was paid, his objections
silenced, and the mountain gorges lay open to the invaders. From
the Feast of the Epiphany there was mustering and massing, until,
in the first week of February--three days after the White Company
joined the army--the word was given for a general advance through
the defile of Roncesvalles. At five in the cold winter's morning
the bugles were blowing in the hamlet of St. Jean Pied-du-Port,
and by six Sir Nigel's Company, three hundred strong, were on
their way for the defile, pushing swiftly in the dim light up the
steep curving road; for it was the prince's order that they
should be the first to pass through, and that they should remain
on guard at the further end until the whole army had emerged from
the mountains. Day was already breaking in the east, and the
summits of the great peaks had turned rosy red, while the valleys
still lay in the shadow, when they found themselves with the
cliffs on either hand and the long, rugged pass stretching away
before them.
Sir Nigel rode his great black war-horse at the head of his
archers, dressed in full armor, with Black Simon bearing his
banner behind him, while Alleyne at his bridle-arm carried his
blazoned shield and his well-steeled ashen spear. A proud and
happy man was the knight, and many a time he turned in his saddle
to look at the long column of bowmen who swung swiftly along
behind him.
"By Saint Paul! Alleyne," said he, "this pass is a very perilous
place, and I would that the King of Navarre had held it against
us, for it would have been a very honorable venture had it fallen
to us to win a passage. I have heard the minstrels sing of one
Sir Roland who was slain by the infidels in these very parts."
"If it please you, my fair lord," said Black Simon, "I know
something of these parts, for I have twice served a term with the
King of Navarre. There is a hospice of monks yonder, where you
may see the roof among the trees, and there it was that Sir
Roland was slain. The village upon the left is Orbaiceta, and I
know a house therein where the right wine of Jurancon is to be
bought, if it would please you to quaff a morning cup,"
"There is smoke yonder upon the right."
"That is a village named Les Aldudes, and I know a hostel there
also where the wine is of the best. It is said that the inn-keeper
hath a buried treasure, and I doubt not, my fair lord, that if
you grant me leave I could prevail upon him to tell us where he
hath hid it."
"Nay, nay, Simon," said Sir Nigel curtly, "I pray you to forget
these free companion tricks. Ha! Edricson, I see that you stare
about you, and in good sooth these mountains must seem wondrous
indeed to one who hath but seen Butser or the Portsdown hill."
The broken and rugged road had wound along the crests of low
hills, with wooded ridges on either side of it over which peeped
the loftier mountains, the distant Peak of the South and the vast
Altabisca, which towered high above them and cast its black
shadow from left to right across the valley. From where they now
stood they could look forward down a long vista of beech woods
and jagged rock-strewn wilderness, all white with snow, to where
the pass opened out upon the uplands beyond. Behind them they
could still catch a glimpse of the gray plains of Gascony, and
could see her rivers gleaming like coils of silver in the
sunshine. As far as eye could see from among the rocky gorges
and the bristles of the pine woods there came the quick twinkle
and glitter of steel, while the wind brought with it sudden
distant bursts of martial music from the great host which rolled
by every road and by-path towards the narrow pass of
Roncesvalles. On the cliffs on either side might also be seen
the flash of arms and the waving of pennons where the force of
Navarre looked down upon the army of strangers who passed
through their territories.
"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, blinking up at them, "I think
that we have much to hope for from these cavaliers, for they
cluster very thickly upon our flanks. Pass word to the men,
Aylward, that they unsling their bows, for I have no doubt that
there are some very worthy gentlemen yonder who may give us some
opportunity for honorable advancement."
"I hear that the prince hath the King of Navarre as hostage,"
said Alleyne, "and it is said that he hath sworn to put him to
death if there be any attack upon us."
"It was not so that war was made when good King Edward first
turned his hand to it," said Sir Nigel sadly. "Ah! Alleyne, I
fear that you will never live to see such things, for the minds
of men are more set upon money and gain than of old. By Saint
Paul! it was a noble sight when two great armies would draw
together upon a certain day, and all who had a vow would ride
forth to discharge themselves of it. What noble spear-runnings
have I not seen, and even in an humble way had a part in, when
cavaliers would run a course for the easing of their souls and
for the love of their ladies! Never a bad word have I for the
French, for, though I have ridden twenty times up to their array,
I have never yet failed to find some very gentle and worthy
knight or squire who was willing to do what he might to enable me
to attempt some small feat of arms. Then, when all cavaliers had
been satisfied, the two armies would come to hand-strokes, and
fight right merrily until one or other had the vantage. By Saint
Paul! it was not our wont in those days to pay gold for the
opening of passes, nor would we hold a king as hostage lest his
people come to thrusts with us. In good sooth, if the war is to
be carried out in such a fashion, then it is grief to me that I
ever came away from Castle Twynham, for I would not have left my
sweet lady had I not thought that there were deeds of arms to be
done."
"But surely, my fair lord," said Alleyne, "you have done some
great feats of arms since we left the Lady Loring."
"I cannot call any to mind," answered Sir Nigel.
"There was the taking of the sea-rovers, and the holding of the
keep against the Jacks."
"Nay, nay," said the knight, "these were not feats of arms, but
mere wayside ventures and the chances of travel. By Saint Paul!
if it were not that these hills are over-steep for Pommers, I
would ride to these cavaliers of Navarre and see if there were
not some among them who would help me to take this patch from
mine eye. It is a sad sight to see this very fine pass, which my
own Company here could hold against an army, and yet to ride
through it with as little profit as though it were the lane from
my kennels to the Avon."
All morning Sir Nigel rode in a very ill-humor, with his Company
tramping behind him. It was a toilsome march over broken ground
and through snow, which came often as high as the knee, yet ere
the sun had begun to sink they had reached the spot where the
gorge opens out on to the uplands of Navarre, and could see the
towers of Pampeluna jutting up against the southern sky-line.
Here the Company were quartered in a scattered mountain hamlet,
and Alleyne spent the day looking down upon the swarming army
which poured with gleam of spears and flaunt of standards through
the narrow pass.
"Hola, mon gar.," said Aylward, seating himself upon a boulder by
his side. "This is indeed a fine sight upon which it is good to
look, and a man might go far ere he would see so many brave men
and fine horses. By my hilt! our little lord is wroth because we
have come peacefully through the passes, but I will warrant him
that we have fighting enow ere we turn our faces northward again.
It is said that there are four-score thousand men behind the King
of Spain, with Du Guesclin and all the best lances of France, who
have sworn to shed their heart's blood ere this Pedro come again
to the throne."
"Yet our own army is a great one," said Alleyne.
"Nay, there are but seven-and-twenty thousand men. Chandos hath
persuaded the prince to leave many behind, and indeed I think
that he is right, for there is little food and less water in
these parts for which we are bound. A man without his meat or a
horse without his fodder is like a wet bow-string, fit for
little. But voila, mon petit, here comes Chandos and his
company, and there is many a pensil and banderole among yonder
squadrons which show that the best blood of England is riding
under his banners."
Whilst Aylward had been speaking, a strong column of archers had
defiled through the pass beneath them. They were followed by a
banner-bearer who held high the scarlet wedge upon a silver field
which proclaimed the presence of the famous warrior. He rode
himself within a spear's-length of his standard, clad from neck
to foot in steel, but draped in the long linen gown or parement
which was destined to be the cause of his death. His plumed
helmet was carried behind him by his body-squire, and his head
was covered by a small purple cap, from under which his snow-white
hair curled downwards to his shoulders. With his long beak-like
nose and his single gleaming eye, which shone brightly from under
a thick tuft of grizzled brow, he seemed to Alleyne to have
something of the look of some fierce old bird of prey. For a
moment he smiled, as his eye lit upon the banner of the five
roses waving from the hamlet; but his course lay for Pampeluna,
and he rode on after the archers.
Close at his heels came sixteen squires, all chosen from the
highest families, and behind them rode twelve hundred English
knights, with gleam of steel and tossing of plumes, their harness
jingling, their long straight swords clanking against their
stirrup-irons, and the beat of their chargers' hoofs like the low
deep roar of the sea upon the shore. Behind them marched six
hundred Cheshire and Lancashire archers, bearing the badge of the
Audleys, followed by the famous Lord Audley himself, with the
four valiant squires, Dutton of Dutton, Delves of Doddington,
Fowlehurst of Crewe, and Hawkestone of Wainehill, who had all won
such glory at Poictiers. Two hundred heavily-armed cavalry rode
behind the Audley standard, while close at their heels came the
Duke of Lancaster with a glittering train, heralds tabarded with
the royal arms riding three deep upon cream-colored chargers in
front of him. On either side of the young prince rode the two
seneschals of Aquitaine, Sir Guiscard d'Angle and Sir Stephen
Cossington, the one bearing the banner of the province and the
other that of Saint George. Away behind him as far as eye could
reach rolled the far-stretching, unbroken river of steel-rank
after rank and column after column, with waving of plumes,
glitter of arms, tossing of guidons, and flash and flutter of
countless armorial devices. All day Alleyne looked down upon the
changing scene, and all day the old bowman stood by his elbow,
pointing out the crests of famous warriors and the arms of noble
houses. Here were the gold mullets of the Pakingtons, the sable
and ermine of the Mackworths, the scarlet bars of the Wakes,
the gold and blue of the Grosvenors, the cinque-foils of the
Cliftons, the annulets of the Musgraves, the silver pinions of
the Beauchamps, the crosses of the Molineaux, the bloody chevron of
the Woodhouses, the red and silver of the Worsleys, the swords of
the Clarks, the boars'-heads of the Lucies, the crescents of the
Boyntons, and the wolf and dagger of the Lipscombs. So through
the sunny winter day the chivalry of England poured down through
the dark pass of Roncesvalles to the plains of Spain.
It was on a Monday that the Duke of Lancaster's division passed
safely through the Pyrenees. On the Tuesday there was a bitter
frost, and the ground rung like iron beneath the feet of the
horses; yet ere evening the prince himself, with the main battle
of his army, had passed the gorge and united with his vanguard at
Pampeluna. With him rode the King of Majorca, the hostage King
of Navarre, and the fierce Don Pedro of Spain, whose pale blue
eyes gleamed with a sinister light as they rested once more upon
the distant peaks of the land which had disowned him. Under the
royal banners rode many a bold Gascon baron and many a hot-blooded
islander. Here were the high stewards of Aquitaine, of Saintonge,
of La Rochelle, of Quercy, of Limousin, of Agenois, of Poitou,
and of Bigorre, with the banners and musters of their provinces.
Here also were the valiant Earl of Angus, Sir Thomas Banaster
with his garter over his greave, Sir Nele Loring, second cousin
to Sir Nigel, and a long column of Welsh footmen who marched under
the red banner of Merlin. From dawn to sundown the long train
wound through the pass, their breath reeking up upon the frosty air
like the steam from a cauldron.
The weather was less keen upon the Wednesday, and the rear-guard
made good their passage, with the bombards and the wagon-train.
Free companions and Gascons made up this portion of the army to
the number of ten thousand men. The fierce Sir Hugh Calverley,
with his yellow mane, and the rugged Sir Robert Knolles, with
their war-hardened and veteran companies of English bowmen,
headed the long column; while behind them came the turbulent
bands of the Bastard of Breteuil, Nandon de Bagerant, one-eyed
Camus, Black Ortingo, La Nuit and others whose very names seem to
smack of hard hands and ruthless deeds. With them also were the
pick of the Gascon chivalry--the old Duc d'Armagnac, his nephew
Lord d'Albret, brooding and scowling over his wrongs, the giant
Oliver de Clisson, the Captal de Buch, pink of knighthood, the
sprightly Sir Perducas d'Albret, the red-bearded Lord d'Esparre,
and a long train of needy and grasping border nobles, with long
pedigrees and short purses, who had come down from their hill-side
strongholds, all hungering for the spoils and the ransoms of Spain.
By the Thursday morning the whole army was encamped in the Vale
of Pampeluna, and the prince had called his council to meet him
in the old palace of the ancient city of Navarre.
