CHAPTER XXXVI.
HOW SIR NIGEL TOOK THE PATCH FROM HIS EYE.
It was a cold, bleak morning in the beginning of March, and the
mist was drifting in dense rolling clouds through the passes of
the Cantabrian mountains. The Company, who had passed the night
in a sheltered gully, were already astir, some crowding round the
blazing fires and others romping or leaping over each other's
backs for their limbs were chilled and the air biting. Here and
there, through the dense haze which surrounded them, there loomed
out huge pinnacles and jutting boulders of rock: while high above
the sea of vapor there towered up one gigantic peak, with the
pink glow of the early sunshine upon its snow-capped head. The
ground was wet, the rocks dripping, the grass and ever-greens
sparkling with beads of moisture; yet the camp was loud with
laughter and merriment, for a messenger had ridden in from the
prince with words of heart-stirring praise for what they had
done, and with orders that they should still abide in the
forefront of the army.
Round one of the fires were clustered four or five of the leading
men of the archers, cleaning the rust from their weapons, and
glancing impatiently from time to time at a great pot which
smoked over the blaze. There was Aylward squatting cross-legged
in his shirt, while he scrubbed away at his chain-mail
brigandine, whistling loudly the while. On one side of him sat
old Johnston, who was busy in trimming the feathers of some
arrows to his liking; and on the other Hordle John, who lay with
his great limbs all asprawl, and his headpiece balanced upon his
uplifted foot. Black Simon of Norwich crouched amid the rocks,
crooning an Eastland ballad to himself, while he whetted his
sword upon a flat stone which lay across his knees; while beside
him sat Alleyne Edricson, and Norbury, the silent squire of Sir
Oliver, holding out their chilled hands towards the crackling
faggots
"Cast on another culpon, John, and stir the broth with thy
sword-sheath," growled Johnston, looking anxiously for the
twentieth time at the reeking pot.
"By my hilt!" cried Aylward, "now that John hath come by this
great ransom, he will scarce abide the fare of poor archer lads.
How say you, camarade? When you see Hordle once more, there will
be no penny ale and fat bacon, but Gascon wines and baked meats
every day of the seven."
"I know not about that," said John, kicking his helmet up into
the air and catching it in his hand. "I do but know that whether
the broth be ready or no, I am about to dip this into it."
"It simmers and it boils," cried Johnston, pushing his hard-lined
face through the smoke. In an instant the pot had been plucked
from the blaze, and its contents had been scooped up in half a
dozen steel head-pieces, which were balanced betwixt their
owners' knees, while, with spoon and gobbet of bread, they
devoured their morning meal.
"It is ill weather for bows," remarked John at last, when, with a
long sigh, he drained the last drop from his helmet. "My strings
are as limp as a cow's tail this morning."
"You should rub them with water glue," quoth Johnston. "You
remember, Samkin, that it was wetter than this on the morning of
Crecy, and yet I cannot call to mind that there was aught amiss
with our strings."
"It is in my thoughts," said Black Simon, still pensively
grinding his sword, "that we may have need of your strings ere
sundown. I dreamed of the red cow last night."
"And what is this red cow, Simon?" asked Alleyne.
"I know not, young sir; but I can only say that on the eve of
Cadsand, and on the eve of Crecy, and on the eve of Nogent, I
dreamed of a red cow; and now the dream has come upon me again,
so I am now setting a very keen edge to my blade."
"Well said, old war-dog!" cried Aylward. "By my hilt! I pray
that your dream may come true, for the prince hath not set us out
here to drink broth or to gather whortle-berries. One more fight,
and I am ready to hang up my bow, marry a wife, and take to the
fire corner. But how now, Robin? Whom is it that you seek?"
"The Lord Loring craves your attendance in his tent," said a
young archer to Alleyne.
The squire rose and proceeded to the pavilion, where he found the
knight seated upon a cushion, with his legs crossed in front of
him and a broad ribbon of parchment laid across his knees, over
which he was poring with frowning brows and pursed lips.
"It came this morning by the prince's messenger," said he, "and
was brought from England by Sir John Fallislee, who is new come
from Sussex. What make you of this upon the outer side?"
"It is fairly and clearly written," Alleyne answered, "and it
signifies To Sir Nigel Loring, Knight Constable of Twynham
Castle, by the hand of Christopher, the servant of God at the
Priory of Christchurch."
"So I read it," said Sir Nigel. "Now I pray you to read what is
set forth within."
Alleyne turned to the letter, and, as his eyes rested upon it,
his face turned pale and a cry of surprise and grief burst from
his lips.
"What then?" asked the knight, peering up at him anxiously.
"There is nought amiss with the Lady Mary or with the Lady
Maude?"
"It is my brother--my poor unhappy brother!" cried Alleyne, with
his hand to his brow. "He is dead."
"By Saint Paul! I have never heard that he had shown so much
love for you that you should mourn him so."
"Yet he was my brother--the only kith or kin that I had upon
earth. Mayhap he had cause to be bitter against me, for his land
was given to the abbey for my upbringing. Alas! alas! and I
raised my staff against him when last we met! He has been
slain--and slain, I fear, amidst crime and violence."
"Ha!" said Sir Nigel. "Read on, I pray you."
"`God be with thee, my honored lord, and have thee in his holy
keeping. The Lady Loring hath asked me to set down in writing
what hath befallen at Twynham, and all that concerns the death of
thy ill neighbor the Socman of Minstead. For when ye had left
us, this evil man gathered around him all outlaws, villeins, and
masterless men, until they were come to such a force that they
slew and scattered the king's men who went against them. Then,
coming forth from the woods, they laid siege to thy castle, and
for two days they girt us in and shot hard against us, with such
numbers as were a marvel to see. Yet the Lady Loring held the
place stoutly, and on the second day the Socman was slain--by his
own men, as some think--so that we were delivered from their
hands; for which praise be to all the saints, and more especially
to the holy Anselm, upon whose feast it came to pass. The Lady
Loring, and the Lady Maude, thy fair daughter, are in good
health; and so also am I, save for an imposthume of the toe-joint,
which hath been sent me for my sins. May all the saints
preserve thee!'"
"It was the vision of the Lady Tiphaine," said Sir Nigel, after a
pause. "Marked you not how she said that the leader was one with
a yellow beard, and how he fell before the gate. But how came
it, Alleyne, that this woman, to whom all things are as crystal,
and who hath not said one word which has not come to pass, was
yet so led astray as to say that your thoughts turned to Twynham
Castle even more than my own?"
"My fair lord," said Alleyne, with a flush on his weather-stained
cheeks, "the Lady Tiphaine may have spoken sooth when she said
it; for Twynham Castle is in my heart by day and in my dreams by
night."
"Ha!" cried Sir Nigel, with a sidelong glance.
"Yes, my fair lord; for indeed I love your daughter, the Lady
Maude; and, unworthy as I am, I would give my heart's blood to
serve her."
"By St. Paul! Edricson," said the knight coldly, arching his
eyebrows, "you aim high in this matter. Our blood is very old."
"And mine also is very old," answered the squire.
"And the Lady Maude is our single child. All our name and lands
centre upon her."
"Alas! that I should say it, but I also am now the only
Edricson."
"And why have I not heard this from you before, Alleyne? In
sooth, I think that you have used me ill."
"Nay, my fair lord, say not so; for I know not whether your
daughter loves me, and there is no pledge between us."
Sir Nigel pondered for a few moments, and then burst out a-laughing.
"By St. Paul!" said he, "I know not why I should mix in the matter;
for I have ever found that the Lady Maude was very well able to
look to her own affairs. Since first she could stamp her little
foot, she hath ever been able to get that for which she craved;
and if she set her heart on thee, Alleyne, and thou on her, I do
not think that this Spanish king, with his three-score thousand
men, could hold you apart. Yet this I will say, that I would see
you a full knight ere you go to my daughter with words of love.
I have ever said that a brave lance should wed her; and, by my
soul! Edricson, if God spare you, I think that you will acquit
yourself well. But enough of such trifles, for we have our work
before us, and it will be time to speak of this matter when we
see the white cliffs of England once more. Go to Sir William
Felton, I pray you, and ask him to come hither, for it is time
that we were marching. There is no pass at the further end of the
valley, and it is a perilous place should an enemy come upon us."
Alleyne delivered his message, and then wandered forth from the
camp, for his mind was all in a whirl with this unexpected news,
and with his talk with Sir Nigel. Sitting upon a rock, with his
burning brow resting upon his hands, he thought of his brother,
of their quarrel, of the Lady Maude in her bedraggled riding-dress,
of the gray old castle, of the proud pale face in the armory,
and of the last fiery words with which she had sped him on his way.
Then he was but a penniless, monk-bred lad, unknown and unfriended.
Now he was himself Socman of Minstead, the head of an old stock,
and the lord of an estate which, if reduced from its former size,
was still ample to preserve the dignity of his family. Further,
he had become a man of experience, was counted brave among brave
men, had won the esteem and confidence of her father, and, above
all, had been listened to by him when he told him the secret of
his love. As to the gaining of knighthood, in such stirring times
it was no great matter for a brave squire of gentle birth to aspire
to that honor. He would leave his bones among these Spanish
ravines, or he would do some deed which would call the eyes of
men upon him.
Alleyne was still seated on the rock, his griefs and his joys
drifting swiftly over his mind like the shadow of clouds upon a
sunlit meadow, when of a sudden he became conscious of a low,
deep sound which came booming up to him through the fog. Close
behind him he could hear the murmur of the bowmen, the occasional
bursts of hoarse laughter, and the champing and stamping of their
horses. Behind it all, however, came that low-pitched, deep-toned
hum, which seemed to come from every quarter and to fill the whole
air. In the old monastic days he remembered to have heard such a
sound when he had walked out one windy night at Bucklershard, and
had listened to the long waves breaking upon the shingly shore.
Here, however, was neither wind nor sea, and yet the dull murmur
rose ever louder and stronger out of the heart of the rolling sea
of vapor. He turned and ran to the camp, shouting an alarm at the
top of his voice.
It was but a hundred paces, and yet ere he had crossed it every
bowman was ready at his horse's head, and the group of knights
were out and listening intently to the ominous sound.
"It is a great body of horse," said Sir William Felton, "and they
are riding very swiftly hitherwards."
"Yet they must be from the prince's army," remarked Sir Richard
Causton, "for they come from the north."
"Nay," said the Earl of Angus, "it is not so certain; for the
peasant with whom we spoke last night said that it was rumored
that Don Tello, the Spanish king's brother, had ridden with six
thousand chosen men to beat up the prince's camp. It may be that
on their backward road they have come this way."
"By St. Paul!" cried Sir Nigel, "I think that it is even as you
say, for that same peasant had a sour face and a shifting eye, as
one who bore us little good will. I doubt not that he has
brought these cavaliers upon us."
"But the mist covers us," said Sir Simon Burley. "We have yet
time to ride through the further end of the pass."
"Were we a troop of mountain goats we might do so," answered Sir
William Felton, "but it is not to be passed by a company of
horsemen. If these be indeed Don Tello and his men, then we must
bide where we are, and do what we can to make them rue the day
that they found us in their path."
"Well spoken, William!" cried Sir Nigel, in high delight. "If
there be so many as has been said, then there will be much honor
to be gained from them and every hope of advancement. But the
sound has ceased, and I fear that they have gone some other way."
"Or mayhap they have come to the mouth of the gorge, and are
marshalling their ranks. Hush and hearken! for they are no great
way from us."
The Company stood peering into the dense fog-wreath, amidst a
silence so profound that the dripping of the water from the rocks
and the breathing of the horses grew loud upon the ear. Suddenly
from out the sea of mist came the shrill sound of a neigh,
followed by a long blast upon a bugle.
"It is a Spanish call, my fair lord," said Black Simon. "It is
used by their prickers and huntsmen when the beast hath not fled,
but is still in its lair."
"By my faith!" said Sir Nigel, smiling, "if they are in a humor
for venerie we may promise them some sport ere they sound the
mort over us. But there is a hill in the centre of the gorge on
which we might take our stand."
"I marked it yester-night," said Felton, "and no better spot
could be found for our purpose, for it is very steep at the back.
It is but a bow-shot to the left, and, indeed, I can see the
shadow of it."
The whole Company, leading their horses, passed across to the
small hill which loomed in front of them out of the mist. It was
indeed admirably designed for defence, for it sloped down in
front, all jagged and boulder-strewn, while it fell away in a
sheer cliff of a hundred feet or more. On the summit was a small
uneven plateau, with a stretch across of a hundred paces, and a
depth of half as much again.
"Unloose the horses!" said Sir Nigel. "We have no space for
them, and if we hold our own we shall have horses and to spare
when this day's work is done. Nay, keep yours, my fair sirs, for
we may have work for them. Aylward, Johnston, let your men form
a harrow on either side of the ridge. Sir Oliver and you, my
Lord Angus, I give you the right wing, and the left to you, Sir
Simon, and to you, Sir Richard Causton. I and Sir William Felton
will hold the centre with our men-at-arms. Now order the ranks,
and fling wide the banners, for our souls are God's and our
bodies the king's, and our swords for Saint George and for
England!"
Sir Nigel had scarcely spoken when the mist seemed to thin in the
valley, and to shred away into long ragged clouds which trailed
from the edges of the cliffs. The gorge in which they had camped
was a mere wedge-shaped cleft among the hills, three-quarters of
a mile deep, with the small rugged rising upon which they stood
at the further end, and the brown crags walling it in on three
sides. As the mist parted, and the sun broke through, it gleamed
and shimmered with dazzling brightness upon the armor and
headpieces of a vast body of horsemen who stretched across the
barranca from one cliff to the other, and extended backwards
until their rear guard were far out upon the plain beyond. Line
after line, and rank after rank, they choked the neck of the
valley with a long vista of tossing pennons, twinkling lances,
waving plumes and streaming banderoles, while the curvets and
gambades of the chargers lent a constant motion and shimmer to
the glittering, many-colored mass. A yell of exultation, and a
forest of waving steel through the length and breadth of their
column, announced that they could at last see their entrapped
enemies, while the swelling notes of a hundred bugles and drums,
mixed with the clash of Moorish cymbals, broke forth into a proud
peal of martial triumph. Strange it was to these gallant and
sparkling cavaliers of Spain to look upon this handful of men
upon the hill, the thin lines of bowmen, the knots of knights and
men-at-arms with armor rusted and discolored from long service,
and to learn that these were indeed the soldiers whose fame and
prowess had been the camp-fire talk of every army in Christendom.
Very still and silent they stood, leaning upon their bows, while
their leaders took counsel together in front of them. No clang
of bugle rose from their stern ranks, but in the centre waved the
leopards of England, on the right the ensign of their Company
with the roses of Loring, and on the left, over three score of
Welsh bowmen, there floated the red banner of Merlin with the
boars'-heads of the Buttesthorns. Gravely and sedately they
stood beneath the morning sun waiting for the onslaught of their
foemen.
"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, gazing with puckered eye down
the valley, "there appear to be some very worthy people among
them. What is this golden banner which waves upon the left?"
"It is the ensign of the Knights of Calatrava," answered Felton.
"And the other upon the right?"
"It marks the Knights of Santiago, and I see by his flag that
their grand-master rides at their head. There too is the banner
of Castile amid yonder sparkling squadron which heads the main
battle. There are six thousand men-at-arms with ten squadrons of
slingers as far as I may judge their numbers."
"There are Frenchmen among them, my fair lord," remarked Black
Simon. "I can see the pennons of De Couvette, De Brieux, Saint
Pol, and many others who struck in against us for Charles of
Blois."
"You are right," said Sir William, "for I can also see them.
There is much Spanish blazonry also, if I could but read it. Don
Diego, you know the arms of your own land. Who are they who have
done us this honor?"
The Spanish prisoner looked with exultant eyes upon the deep and
serried ranks of his countrymen.
"By Saint James!" said he, "if ye fall this day ye fall by no
mean hands, for the flower of the knighthood of Castile ride
under the banner of Don Tello, with the chivalry of Asturias,
Toledo, Leon, Cordova, Galicia, and Seville. I see the guidons
of Albornez, Cacorla, Rodriguez, Tavora, with the two great
orders, and the knights of France and of Aragon. If you will
take my rede you will come to a composition with them, for they
will give you such terms as you have given me."
"Nay, by Saint Paul! it were pity if so many brave men were drawn
together, and no little deed of arms to come of it. Ha! William,
they advance upon us; and, by my soul! it is a sight that is
worth coming over the seas to see."
As he spoke, the two wings of the Spanish host, consisting of the
Knights of Calatrava on the one side and of Santiago upon the
other, came swooping swiftly down the valley, while the main body
followed more slowly behind. Five hundred paces from the English
the two great bodies of horse crossed each other, and, sweeping
round in a curve, retired in feigned confusion towards their
centre. Often in bygone wars had the Moors tempted the hot-blooded
Spaniards from their places of strength by such pretended flights,
but there were men upon the hill to whom every ruse an trick of
war were as their daily trade and practice. Again and even nearer
came the rallying Spaniards, and again with cry of fear and
stooping bodies they swerved off to right and left, but the
English still stood stolid and observant among their rocks.
The vanguard halted a long bow shot from the hill, and with
waving spears and vaunting shouts challenged their enemies to
come forth, while two cavaliers, pricking forward from the
glittering ranks, walked their horses slowly between the two
arrays with targets braced and lances in rest like the
challengers in a tourney.
"By Saint Paul!" cried Sir Nigel, with his one eye glowing like
an ember, "these appear to be two very worthy and debonair
gentlemen. I do not call to mind when I have seen any people who
seemed of so great a heart and so high of enterprise. We have our
horses, Sir William: shall we not relieve them of any vow which
they may have upon their souls?"
Felton's reply was to bound upon his charger, and to urge it down
the slope, while Sir Nigel followed not three spears'-lengths
behind him. It was a rugged course, rocky and uneven, yet the
two knights, choosing their men, dashed onwards at the top of
their speed, while the gallant Spaniards flew as swiftly to meet
them. The one to whom Felton found himself opposed was a tall
stripling with a stag's head upon his shield, while Sir Nigel's
man was broad and squat with plain steel harness, and a pink and
white torse bound round his helmet. The first struck Felton on
the target with such force as to split it from side to side, but
Sir William's lance crashed through the camail which shielded
the Spaniard's throat, and he fell, screaming hoarsely, to the
ground. Carried away by the heat and madness of fight, the
English knight never drew rein, but charged straight on into the
array of the knights of Calatrava. Long time the silent ranks
upon the hill could see a swirl and eddy deep down in the heart
of the Spanish column, with a circle of rearing chargers and
flashing blades, Here and there tossed the white plume of the
English helmet, rising and falling like the foam upon a wave,
with the fierce gleam and sparkle ever circling round it until at
last it had sunk from view, and another brave man had turned from
war to peace.
Sir Nigel, meanwhile, had found a foeman worthy of his steel for
his opponent was none other than Sebastian Gomez, the picked
lance of the monkish Knights of Santiago, who had won fame in a
hundred bloody combats with the Moors of Andalusia. So fierce was
their meeting that their spears shivered up to the very grasp,
and the horses reared backwards until it seemed that they must
crash down upon their riders. Yet with consummate horsemanship
they both swung round in a long curvet, and then plucking out
their swords they lashed at each other like two lusty smiths
hammering upon an anvil. The chargers spun round each other,
biting and striking, while the two blades wheeled and whizzed and
circled in gleams of dazzling light. Cut, parry, and thrust
followed so swiftly upon each other that the eye could not follow
them, until at last coming thigh to thigh, they cast their arms
around each other and rolled off their saddles to the ground.
The heavier Spaniard threw himself upon his enemy, and pinning
him down beneath him raised his sword to slay him, while a shout
of triumph rose from the ranks of his countrymen. But the fatal
blow never fell, for even as his arm quivered before descending,
the Spaniard gave a shudder, and stiffening himself rolled
heavily over upon his side, with the blood gushing from his
armpit and from the slit of his vizor. Sir Nigel sprang to his
feet with his bloody dagger in his left hand and gazed down upon
his adversary, but that fatal and sudden stab in the vital spot,
which the Spaniard had exposed by raising his arm, had proved
instantly mortal. The Englishman leaped upon his horse and made
for the hill, at the very instant that a yell of rage from a
thousand voices and the clang of a score of bugles announced the
Spanish onset.
But the islanders were ready and eager for the encounter. With
feet firmly planted, their sleeves rolled back to give free play
to their muscles, their long yellow bow-staves in their left
hands, and their quivers slung to the front, they had waited in
the four-deep harrow formation which gave strength to their
array, and yet permitted every man to draw his arrow freely
without harm to those in front. Aylward and Johnston had been
engaged in throwing light tufts of grass into the air to gauge
the wind force, and a hoarse whisper passed down the ranks from
the file-leaders to the men, with scraps of advice and
admonition.
"Do not shoot outside the fifteen-score paces," cried Johnston.
"We may need all our shafts ere we have done with them."
"Better to overshoot than to undershoot," added Aylward. "Better
to strike the rear guard than to feather a shaft in the earth."
"Loose quick and sharp when they come," added another. "Let it be
the eye to the string, the string to the shaft, and the shaft to
the mark. By Our Lady! their banners advance, and we must hold
our ground now if ever we are to see Southampton Water again."
Alleyne, standing with his sword drawn amidst the archers, saw a
long toss and heave of the glittering squadrons. Then the front
ranks began to surge slowly forward, to trot, to canter, to
gallop, and in an instant the whole vast array was hurtling
onward, line after line, the air full of the thunder of their
cries, the ground shaking with the beat of their hoots, the
valley choked with the rushing torrent of steel, topped by the
waving plumes, the slanting spears and the fluttering banderoles.
On they swept over the level and up to the slope, ere they met
the blinding storm of the English arrows. Down went the whole
ranks in a whirl of mad confusion, horses plunging and kicking,
bewildered men falling, rising, staggering on or back, while ever
new lines of horsemen came spurring through the gaps and urged
their chargers up the fatal slope. All around him Alleyne could
hear the stern, short orders of the master-bowmen, while the air
was filled with the keen twanging of the strings and the swish
and patter of the shafts. Right across the foot of the hill
there had sprung up a long wall of struggling horses and stricken
men, which ever grew and heightened as fresh squadrons poured on
the attack. One young knight on a gray jennet leaped over his
fallen comrades and galloped swiftly up the hill, shrieking
loudly upon Saint James, ere he fell within a spear-length of the
English line, with the feathers of arrows thrusting out from
every crevice and joint of his armor. So for five long minutes
the gallant horsemen of Spain and of France strove ever and again
to force a passage, until the wailing note of a bugle called them
back, and they rode slowly out of bow-shot, leaving their best
and their bravest in the ghastly, blood-mottled heap behind them.
But there was little rest for the victors. Whilst the knights
had charged them in front the slingers had crept round upon
either flank and had gained a footing upon the cliffs and behind
the outlying rocks. A storm of stones broke suddenly upon the
defenders, who, drawn up in lines upon the exposed summit,
offered a fair mark to their hidden foes. Johnston, the old
archer, was struck upon the temple and fell dead without a groan,
while fifteen of his bowmen and six of the men-at-arms were
struck down at the same moment. The others lay on their faces to
avoid the deadly hail, while at each side of the plateau a fringe
of bowmen exchanged shots with the slingers and crossbowmen
among the rocks, aiming mainly at those who had swarmed up the
cliffs, and bursting into laughter and cheers when a well-aimed
shaft brought one of their opponents toppling down from his lofty
perch.
"I think, Nigel," said Sir Oliver, striding across to the little
knight, "that we should all acquit ourselves better had we our
none-meat, for the sun is high in the heaven."
"By Saint Paul!" quoth Sir Nigel, plucking the patch from his
eye, "I think that I am now clear of my vow, for this Spanish
knight was a person from whom much honor might be won. Indeed, he
was a very worthy gentleman, of good courage, and great
hardiness, and it grieves me that he should have come by such a
hurt. As to what you say of food, Oliver, it is not to be
thought of, for we have nothing with us upon the hill."
"Nigel!" cried Sir Simon Burley, hurrying up with consternation
upon his face, "Aylward tells me that there are not ten-score
arrows left in all their sheaves. See! they are springing from
their horses, and cutting their sollerets that they may rush upon
us. Might we not even now make a retreat?"
"My soul will retreat from my body first!" cried the little
knight. "Here I am, and here I bide, while God gives me strength
to lift a sword."
"And so say I!" shouted Sir Oliver, throwing his mace high into
the air and catching it again by the handle.
"To your arms, men!" roared Sir Nigel. "Shoot while you may, and
then out sword, and let us live or die together!"
