CHAPTER XXXVII.
HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.
Then up rose from the hill in the rugged Cantabrian valley a sound
such as had not been heard in those parts before, nor was again,
until the streams which rippled amid the rocks had been frozen by
over four hundred winters and thawed by as many returning
springs. Deep and full and strong it thundered down the ravine,
the fierce battle-call of a warrior race, the last stern welcome
to whoso should join with them in that world-old game where the
stake is death. Thrice it swelled forth and thrice it sank away,
echoing and reverberating amidst the crags. Then, with set
faces, the Company rose up among the storm of stones, and looked
down upon the thousands who sped swiftly up the slope against
them. Horse and spear had been set aside, but on foot, with
sword and battle-axe, their broad shields slung in front of them,
the chivalry of Spain rushed to the attack.
And now arose a struggle so fell, so long, so evenly sustained,
that even now the memory of it is handed down amongst the
Cantabrian mountaineers and the ill-omened knoll is still pointed
out by fathers to their children as the "Altura de los Inglesos,"
where the men from across the sea fought the great fight with the
knights of the south. The last arrow was quickly shot, nor could
the slingers hurl their stones, so close were friend and foe.
From side to side stretched the thin line of the English, lightly
armed and quick-footed, while against it stormed and raged the
pressing throng of fiery Spaniards and of gallant Bretons. The
clink of crossing sword-blades, the dull thudding of heavy blows,
the panting and gasping of weary and wounded men, all rose
together in a wild, long-drawn note, which swelled upwards to the
ears of the wondering peasants who looked down from the edges of
the cliffs upon the swaying turmoil of the battle beneath them.
Back and forward reeled the leopard banner, now borne up the
slope by the rush and weight of the onslaught, now pushing
downwards again as Sir Nigel, Burley, and Black Simon with their
veteran men-at arms, flung themselves madly into the fray.
Alleyne, at his lord's right hand, found himself swept hither and
thither in the desperate struggle, exchanging savage thrusts one
instant with a Spanish cavalier, and the next torn away by the
whirl of men and dashed up against some new antagonist. To the
right Sir Oliver, Aylward, Hordle John, and the bowmen of the
Company fought furiously against the monkish Knights of Santiago,
who were led up the hill by their prior--a great, deep-chested
man, who wore a brown monastic habit over his suit of mail.
Three archers he slew in three giant strokes, but Sir Oliver
flung his arms round him, and the two, staggering and straining,
reeled backwards and fell, locked in each other's grasp, over the
edge of the steep cliff which flanked the hill. In vain his
knights stormed and raved against the thin line which barred
their path: the sword of Aylward and the great axe of John
gleamed in the forefront of the battle and huge jagged pieces of
rock, hurled by the strong arms of the bowmen, crashed and
hurtled amid their ranks. Slowly they gave back down the hill,
the archers still hanging upon their skirts, with a long litter
of writhing and twisted figures to mark the course which they
had taken. At the same instant the Welshmen upon the left, led
on by the Scotch earl, had charged out from among the rocks which
sheltered them, and by the fury of their outfall had driven the
Spaniards in front of them in headlong flight down the hill. In
the centre only things seemed to be going ill with the defenders.
Black Simon was down--dying, as he would wish to have died, like
a grim old wolf in its lair with a ring of his slain around him.
Twice Sir Nigel had been overborne, and twice Alleyne had fought
over him until he had staggered to his feet once more. Burley
lay senseless, stunned by a blow from a mace, and half of the
men-at-arms lay littered upon the ground around him. Sir Nigel's
shield was broken, his crest shorn, his armor cut and smashed,
and the vizor torn from his helmet; yet he sprang hither and
thither with light foot and ready hand, engaging two Bretons and
a Spaniard at the same instant--thrusting, stooping, dashing in,
springing out--while Alleyne still fought by his side, stemming
with a handful of men the fierce tide which surged up against
them. Yet it would have fared ill with them had not the archers
from either side closed in upon the flanks of the attackers, and
pressed them very slowly and foot by foot down the long slope,
until they were on the plain once more, where their fellows were
already rallying for a fresh assault.
But terrible indeed was the cost at which the last had been
repelled. Of the three hundred and seventy men who had held the
crest, one hundred and seventy-two were left standing, many of
whom were sorely wounded and weak from loss of blood. Sir Oliver
Buttesthorn, Sir Richard Causton, Sir Simon Burley, Black Simon,
Johnston, a hundred and fifty archers, and forty-seven
men-at-arms had fallen, while the pitiless hail of stones
was already whizzing and piping once more about their ears,
threatening every instant to further reduce their numbers.
Sir Nigel looked about him at his shattered ranks, and his face
flushed with a soldier's pride.
"By St. Paul!" he cried, "I have fought in many a little
bickering, but never one that I would be more loth to have missed
than this. But you are wounded, Alleyne?"
"It is nought," answered his squire, stanching the blood which
dripped from a sword-cut across his forehead.
"These gentlemen of Spain seem to be most courteous and worthy
people. I see that they are already forming to continue this
debate with us. Form up the bowmen two deep instead of four. By
my faith! some very brave men have gone from among us. Aylward,
you are a trusty soldier, for all that your shoulder has never
felt accolade, nor your heels worn the gold spurs. Do you take
charge of the right; I will hold the centre, and you, my Lord of
Angus, the left."
"Ho! for Sir Samkin Aylward!" cried a rough voice among the
archers, and a roar of laughter greeted their new leader.
"By my hilt!" said the old bowman, "I never thought to lead a
wing in a stricken field. Stand close, camarades, for, by these
finger-bones! we must play the man this day."
"Come hither, Alleyne," said Sir Nigel, walking back to the edge
of the cliff which formed the rear of their position. "And you,
Norbury," he continued, beckoning to the squire of Sir Oliver,
"do you also come here."
The two squires hurried across to him, and the three stood
looking down into the rocky ravine which lay a hundred and fifty
feet beneath them.
"The prince must hear of how things are with us," said the
knight. "Another onfall we may withstand, but they are many and
we are few, so that the time must come when we can no longer form
line across the hill. Yet if help were brought us we might hold
the crest until it comes. See yonder horses which stray among
the rocks beneath us?"
"I see them, my fair lord."
"And see yonder path which winds along the hill upon the further
end of the valley?"
"I see it."
"Were you on those horses, and riding up yonder track, steep and
rough as it is, I think that ye might gain the valley beyond.
Then on to the prince, and tell him how we fare."
"But, my fair lord, how can we hope to reach the horses?" asked
Norbury.
"Ye cannot go round to them, for they would be upon ye ere ye
could come to them. Think ye that ye have heart enough to
clamber down this cliff?"
"Had we but a rope."
"There is one here. It is but one hundred feet long, and for the
rest ye must trust to God and to your fingers. Can you try it,
Alleyne?"
"With all my heart, my dear lord, but how can I leave you in such
a strait?"
"Nay, it is to serve me that ye go. And you, Norbury?"
The silent squire said nothing, but he took up the rope, and,
having examined it, he tied one end firmly round a projecting
rock. Then he cast off his breast-plate, thigh pieces, and
greaves, while Alleyne followed his example.
"Tell Chandos, or Calverley, or Knolles, should the prince have
gone forward," cried Sir Nigel. "Now may God speed ye, for ye
are brave and worthy men."
It was, indeed, a task which might make the heart of the bravest
sink within him. The thin cord dangling down the face of the
brown cliff seemed from above to reach little more than half-way
down it. Beyond stretched the rugged rock, wet and shining, with
a green tuft here and there thrusting out from it, but little
sign of ridge or foothold. Far below the jagged points of the
boulders bristled up, dark and menacing. Norbury tugged thrice
with all his strength upon the cord, and then lowered himself
over the edge, while a hundred anxious faces peered over at him
as he slowly clambered downwards to the end of the rope. Twice
he stretched out his foot, and twice he failed to reach the point
at which he aimed, but even as he swung himself for a third
effort a stone from a sling buzzed like a wasp from amid the
rocks and struck him full upon the side of his head. His grasp
relaxed, his feet slipped, and in an instant he was a crushed and
mangled corpse upon the sharp ridges beneath him.
"If I have no better fortune," said Alleyne, leading Sir Nigel
aside. "I pray you, my dear lord, that you will give my humble
service to the Lady Maude, and say to her that I was ever her
true servant and most unworthy cavalier."
The old knight said no word, but he put a hand on either
shoulder, and kissed his squire, with the tears shining in his
eyes. Alleyne sprang to the rope, and sliding swiftly down, soon
found himself at its extremity. From above it seemed as though
rope and cliff were well-nigh touching, but now, when swinging a
hundred feet down, the squire found that he could scarce reach
the face of the rock with his foot, and that it was as smooth as
glass, with no resting-place where a mouse could stand. Some
three feet lower, however, his eye lit upon a long jagged crack
which slanted downwards, and this he must reach if he would save
not only his own poor life, but that of the eight-score men
above him. Yet it were madness to spring for that narrow slit
with nought but the wet, smooth rock to cling to. He swung for a
moment, full of thought, and even as he hung there another of the
hellish stones sang through his curls, and struck a chip from the
face of the cliff. Up he clambered a few feet, drew up the loose
end after him, unslung his belt, held on with knee and with elbow
while he spliced the long, tough leathern belt to the end of the
cord: then lowering himself as far as he could go, he swung
backwards and forwards until his hand reached the crack, when he
left the rope and clung to the face of the cliff. Another stone
struck him on the side, and he heard a sound like a breaking
stick, with a keen stabbing pain which shot through his chest.
Yet it was no time now to think of pain or ache. There was his
lord and his eight-score comrades, and they must be plucked from
the jaws of death. On he clambered, with his hand shuffling down
the long sloping crack, sometimes bearing all his weight upon his
arms, at others finding some small shelf or tuft on which to rest
his foot. Would he never pass over that fifty feet? He dared not
look down and could but grope slowly onwards, his face to the
cliff, his fingers clutching, his feet scraping and feeling for a
support. Every vein and crack and mottling of that face of rock
remained forever stamped upon his memory. At last, however, his
foot came upon a broad resting-place and he ventured to cast a
glance downwards. Thank God! he had reached the highest of those
fatal pinnacles upon which his comrade had fallen. Quickly now he
sprang from rock to rock until his feet were on the ground, and
he had his hand stretched out for the horse's rein, when a
sling-stone struck him on the head, and he dropped senseless upon
the ground.
An evil blow it was for Alleyne, but a worse one still for him
who struck it. The Spanish slinger, seeing the youth lie slain,
and judging from his dress that he was no common man, rushed
forward to plunder him, knowing well that the bowmen above him
had expended their last shaft. He was still three paces,
however, from his victim's side when John upon the cliff above
plucked up a huge boulder, and, poising it for an instant,
dropped it with fatal aim upon the slinger beneath him. It
struck upon his shoulder, and hurled him, crushed and screaming,
to the ground, while Alleyne, recalled to his senses by these
shrill cries in his very ear, staggered on to his feet, and gazed
wildly about him. His eyes fell upon the horses, grazing upon
the scanty pasture, and in an instant all had come back to
him--his mission, his comrades, the need for haste. He was
dizzy, sick, faint, but he must not die, and he must not tarry,
for his life meant many lives that day. In an instant he was in
his saddle and spurring down the valley. Loud rang the swift
charger's hoofs over rock and reef, while the fire flew from the
stroke of iron, and the loose stones showered up behind him. But
his head was whirling round, the blood was gushing from his brow,
his temple, his mouth. Ever keener and sharper was the deadly
pain which shot like a red-hot arrow through his side. He felt
that his eye was glazing, his senses slipping from him, his grasp
upon the reins relaxing. Then with one mighty effort, he called
up all his strength for a single minute. Stooping down, he
loosened the stirrup-straps, bound his knees tightly to his
saddle-flaps, twisted his hands in the bridle, and then, putting
the gallant horse's head for the mountain path, he dashed the
spurs in and fell forward fainting with his face buried in the
coarse, black mane.
Little could he ever remember of that wild ride. Half conscious,
but ever with the one thought beating in his mind, he goaded the
horse onwards, rushing swiftly down steep ravines over huge
boulders, along the edges of black abysses. Dim memories he had
of beetling cliffs, of a group of huts with wondering faces at
the doors, of foaming, clattering water, and of a bristle of
mountain beeches. Once, ere he had ridden far, he heard behind
him three deep, sullen shouts, which told him that his comrades
had set their faces to the foe once more. Then all was blank,
until he woke to find kindly blue English eyes peering down upon
him and to hear the blessed sound of his country's speech.
They were but a foraging party--a hundred archers and as many
men-at-arms--but their leader was Sir Hugh Calverley, and he was
not a man to bide idle when good blows were to be had not three
leagues from him. A scout was sent flying with a message to the
camp, and Sir Hugh, with his two hundred men, thundered off to the
rescue. With them went Alleyne, still bound to his saddle, still
dripping with blood, and swooning and recovering, and swooning
once again. On they rode, and on, until, at last, topping a
ridge, they looked down upon the fateful valley. Alas! and alas!
for the sight that met their eyes.
There, beneath them, was the blood-bathed hill, and from the
highest pinnacle there flaunted the yellow and white banner with
the lions and the towers of the royal house of Castile. Up the
long slope rushed ranks and ranks of men exultant, shouting, with
waving pennons and brandished arms. Over the whole summit were
dense throngs of knights, with no enemy that could be seen to
face them, save only that at one corner of the plateau an eddy
and swirl amid the crowded mass seemed to show that all
resistance was not yet at an end. At the sight a deep groan of
rage and of despair went up from the baffled rescuers, and,
spurring on their horses, they clattered down the long and
winding path which led to the valley beneath.
But they were too late to avenge, as they had been too late to
save. Long ere they could gain the level ground, the Spaniards,
seeing them riding swiftly amid the rocks, and being ignorant of
their numbers, drew off from the captured hill, and, having
secured their few prisoners, rode slowly in a long column, with
drum-beating and cymbal-clashing, out of the valley. Their rear
ranks were already passing out of sight ere the new-comers were
urging their panting, foaming horses up the slope which had been
the scene of that long drawn and bloody fight.
And a fearsome sight it was that met their eyes! Across the
lower end lay the dense heap of men and horses where the first
arrow-storm had burst. Above, the bodies of the dead and the
dying--French, Spanish, and Aragonese--lay thick and thicker,
until they covered the whole ground two and three deep in one
dreadful tangle of slaughter. Above them lay the Englishmen in
their lines, even as they had stood, and higher yet upon the
plateau a wild medley of the dead of all nations, where the last
deadly grapple had left them. In the further corner, under the
shadow of a great rock, there crouched seven bowmen, with great
John in the centre of them--all wounded, weary, and in sorry
case, but still unconquered, with their blood-stained weapons
waving and their voices ringing a welcome to their countrymen.
Alleyne rode across to John, while Sir Hugh Calverley followed
close behind him.
"By Saint George!" cried Sir Hugh, "I have never seen signs of so
stern a fight, and I am right glad that we have been in time to
save you."
"You have saved more than us," said John, pointing to the banner
which leaned against the rock behind him.
"You have done nobly," cried the old free companion, gazing with
a soldier's admiration at the huge frame and bold face of the
archer. "But why is it, my good fellow, that you sit upon this
man."
"By the rood! I had forgot him," John answered, rising and
dragging from under him no less a person than the Spanish
caballero, Don Diego Alvarez. "This man, my fair lord, means to
me a new house, ten cows, one bull--if it be but a little one--a
grindstone, and I know not what besides; so that I thought it
well to sit upon him, lest he should take a fancy to leave me."
"Tell me, John," cried Alleyne faintly: "where is my dear lord,
Sir Nigel Loring?"
"He is dead, I fear. I saw them throw his body across a horse
and ride away with it, but I fear the life had gone from him."
"Now woe worth me! And where is Aylward?"
"He sprang upon a riderless horse and rode after Sir Nigel to
save him. I saw them throng around him, and he is either taken
or slain."
"Blow the bugles!" cried Sir Hugh, with a scowling brow. "We must
back to camp, and ere three days I trust that we may see these
Spaniards again. I would fain have ye all in my company."
"We are of the White Company, my fair lord," said John.
"Nay, the White Company is here disbanded," answered Sir Hugh
solemnly, looking round him at the lines of silent figures, "Look
to the brave squire, for I fear that he will never see the sun
rise again."
