XXIV. HOW NIGEL WAS CALLED TO HIS MASTER
My sweet ladye," wrote Nigel in a script which it would take the
eyes of love to read, "there hath been a most noble meeting in the
fourth sennight of Lent betwixt some of our own people and sundry
most worthy persons of this country, which ended, by the grace of
our Lady, in so fine a joust that no man living can call to mind
so fair an occasion. Much honor was gained by the Sieurde
Beaumanoir and also by an Almain named Croquart, with whom I hope
to have some speech when I am hale again, for he is a most
excellent person and very ready to advance himself or to relieve
another from a vow. For myself I had hoped, with Godde's help, to
venture that third small deed which might set me free to haste to
your sweet side, but things have gone awry with me, and I early
met with such scathe and was of so small comfort to my friends
that my heart is heavy within me, and in sooth I feel that I have
lost honour rather than gained it. Here I have lain since the
Feast of the Virgin, and here I am like still to be, for I can
move no limb, save only my hand; but grieve not, sweet lady, for
Saint Catharine hath been our friend since in so short a time I
had two such ventures as the Red Ferret and the intaking of the
Reaver's fortalice. It needs but one more deed, and sickerly when
I am hale once more it will not be long ere I seek it out. Till
then, if my eyes may not rest upon you, my heart at least is ever
at thy feet."
So he wrote from his sick-room in the Castle of Ploermel late in
the summer, but yet another summer had come before his crushed
head had mended and his wasted limbs had gained their strength
once more. With despair he heard of the breaking of the truce,
and of the fight at Mauron in which Sir Robert Knolles and Sir
Walter Bentley crushed the rising power of Brittany - a fight in
which many of the thirty champions of Josselin met their end.
Then, when with renewed strength and high hopes in his heart he
went forth to search for the famous Croquart who proclaimed
himself ever ready night or day to meet any man with any weapon,
it was only to find that in trying the paces of his new horse the
German had been cast into a ditch and had broken his neck. In the
same ditch perished Nigel's last chance of soon accomplishing that
deed which should free him from his vow.
There was truce once more over all Christendom, and mankind was
sated with war, so that only in far-off Prussia, where the
Teutonic knights waged ceaseless battle with the Lithuanian
heathen, could he hope to find his heart's desire. But money and
high knightly fame were needed ere a man could go upon the
northern crusade, and ten years were yet to pass ere Nigel should
look from the battlements of Marienberg on the waters of the
Frische Haff, or should endure the torture of the hot plate when
bound to the Holy Woden stone of Memel. Meanwhile, he chafed his
burning soul out through the long seasons of garrison life in
Brittany, broken only by one visit to the chateau of the father of
Raoul, when he carried to the Lord of Grosbois the news of how his
son had fallen like a gallant gentleman under the gateway of La
Brohiniere.
And then, then at last, when all hope was well-nigh dead in his
heart, there carne one glorious July morning which brought a
horseman bearing a letter to the Castle of Vannes, of which Nigel
now was seneschal. It contained but few words, short and clear as
the call of a war-trumpet. It was Chandos who wrote. He needed
his Squire at his side, for his pennon was in the breeze once
more. He was at Bordeaux. The Prince was starting at once for
Bergerac, whence he would make a great raid into France. It would
not end without a battle. They had sent word of their coming, and
the good French King had promised to be at great pains to receive
them. Let Nigel hasten at once. If the army had left, then let
him follow after with all speed. Chandos had three other squires,
but would very gladly see his fourth once again, for he had heard
much of him since he parted, and nothing which he might not have
expected to hear of his father's son. Such was the letter which
made the summer sun shine brighter and the blue sky seem of a
still fairer blue upon that happy morning in Vannes.
It is a weary way from Vannes to Bordeaux. Coastwise ships are
hard to find, and winds blow north when all brave hearts would
fain be speeding south. A full month has passed from the day when
Nigel received his letter before he stood upon the quay-side of
the Garonne amid the stacked barrels of Gascon wine and helped to
lead Pommers down the gang-planks. Not Aylward himself had a
worse opinion of the sea than the great yellow horse, and he
whinnied with joy as he thrust his muzzle into his master's
outstretched hand, and stamped his ringing hoofs upon the good
firm cobblestones. Beside him, slapping his tawny shoulder in
encouragement, was the lean spare form of Back Simon who had
remained ever under Nigel's pennon.
But Aylward, where was he? Alas! two years before he and the
whole of Knolles' company of archers had been drafted away on the
King's service to Guienne, and since he could not write the Squire
knew not whether he was alive or dead. Simon, indeed, had thrice
heard of him from wandering archers, each time that he was alive
and well and newly married, but as the wife in one case was a fair
maid, and in another a dark, while in the third she was a French
widow, it was hard to know the truth.
Already the army had been gone a month, but news of it came daily
to the town, and such news as all men could read, for through the
landward gates there rolled one constant stream of wagons, pouring
down the Libourne Road, and bearing the booty of Southern France.
The town was full of foot-soldiers, for none but mounted men had
been taken by the Prince. With sad faces and longing eyes they
watched the passing of the train of plunder-laden carts, piled
high with rich furniture, silks, velvets, tapestries, carvings,
and precious metals, which had been the pride of many a lordly
home in fair Auvergne or the wealthy Bourbonnais.
Let no man think that in these wars England alone was face to face
with France alone. There is glory and to spare without trifling
with the truth. Two Provinces in France, both rich and warlike,
had become English through a royal marriage, and these, Guienne
and Gascony, furnished many of the most valiant soldiers under the
island flag. So poor a country as England could not afford to
keep a great force overseas, and so must needs have lost the war
with France through want of power to uphold the struggle. The
feudal system enabled an army to be drawn rapidly together with
small expense, but at the end of a few weeks it dispersed again as
swiftly, and only by a well-filled money-chest could it be held
together. There was no such chest in England, and the King was
forever at his wits' end how to keep his men in the field.
But Guienne and Gascony were full of knights and squires who were
always ready to assemble from their isolated castles for a raid
into France, and these with the addition of those English
cavaliers who fought for honor, and a few thousand of the
formidable archers, hired for fourpence a day, made an army with
which a short campaign could be carried on. Such were the
materials of the Prince's force, some eight thousand strong, who
were now riding in a great circle through Southern France, leaving
a broad wale of blackened and ruined country behind them.
But France, even with her southwestern corner in English hands,
was still a very warlike power, far richer and more populous than
her rival. Single Provinces were so great that they were stronger
than many a kingdom. Normandy in the north, Burgundy in the east,
Brittany in the west and Languedoc in the south were each capable
of fitting out a great army of their own. Therefore the brave and
spirited John, watching from Paris this insolent raid into his
dominions, sent messengers in hot haste to all these great
feudatories as well as to Lorraine, Picardy, Auvergne, Hainault,
Vermandois, Champagne, and to the German mercenaries over his
eastern border, bidding all of them to ride hard, with bloody
spur, day and night, until they should gather to a head at
Chartres.
There a great army had assembled early in September, whilst the
Prince, all unconscious of its presence sacked towns and besieged
castles from Bourges to Issodun, passing Romorautin, and so onward
to Vierzon and to Tours. From week to week there were merry
skirmishes at barriers, brisk assaults of fortresses in which much
honor was won, knightly meetings with detached parties of
Frenchmen and occasional spear-runnings where noble champions
deigned to venture their persons. Houses, too, were to be
plundered, while wine and women were in plenty. Never had either
knights or archers had so pleasant and profitable an excursion, so
that it was with high heart and much hope of pleasant days at
Bordeaux with their pockets full of money that the army turned
south from the Loire and began to retrace its steps to the
seaboard city.
But now its pleasant and martial promenade changed suddenly to
very serious work of war. As the Prince moved south he found that
all, supplies had been cleared away from in front of him and that
there was neither fodder for the horses nor food for the men. Two
hundred wagons laden with spoil rolled at the head of the army,
but the starving soldiers would soon have gladly changed it all
for as many loads of bread and of meat. The light troops of the
French had preceded then and burned or destroyed everything that
could be of use. Now also for the first time the Prince and his
men became aware that a great army was moving upon the eastern
side of them, streaming southward in the hope of cutting off their
retreat to the sea. The sky glowed with their fires at night, and
the autumn sun twinkled and gleamed from one end of the horizon to
the other upon the steel caps and flashing weapons of a mighty
host.
Anxious to secure his plunder, and conscious that the levies of
France were far superior in number to his own force, the Prince
redoubled his attempts to escape; but his horses were exhausted
and his starving men were hardly to be kept in order. A few more
days would unfit them for battle. Therefore, when he found near
the village of Maupertuis a position in which a small force might
have a chance to hold its own, he gave up the attempt to outmarch
his pursuers, and he turned at bay, like a hunted boar, all tusks
and eyes of flame.
Whilst these high events had been in progress, Nigel with Black
Simon and four other men-at-arms from Bordeaux, was hastening
northward to join the army. As far as Bergerac they were in a
friendly land, but thence onward they rode over a blackened
landscape with many a roofless house, its two bare gable-ends
sticking upward - a "Knolles' miter" as it was afterward called
when Sir Robert worked his stern will upon the country. For three
days they rode northward, seeing many small parties of French in
all directions, but too eager to reach the army to ease their
march in the search of adventures.
Then at last after passing Lusignan they began to come in touch
with English foragers, mounted bowmen for the most part, who were
endeavoring to collect supplies either for the army or for
themselves. From them Nigel learned that the Prince, with Chandos
ever at his side, was hastening south and might be met within a
short day's march. As he still advanced these English stragglers
became more and more numerous, until at last he overtook a
considerable column of archers moving in the same direction as his
own party. These were men whose horses had failed them and who
had therefore been left behind on the advance, but were now
hastening to be in time for the impending battle. A crowd of
peasant girls accompanied them upon their march, and a whole train
of laden mules were led beside them.
Nigel and his little troop of men-at-arms were riding past the
archers when Black Simon with a sudden exclamation touched his
leader upon the arm.
"See yonder, fair sir," he cried, with gleaming eyes, "there where
the wastrel walks with the great fardel upon his back! Who is he
who marches behind him?"
Nigel looked, and was aware of a stunted peasant who bore upon his
rounded back an enormous bundle very much larger than himself.
Behind him walked a burly broad-shouldered archer, whose stained
jerkin and battered headpiece gave token of long and hard service.
His bow was slung over his shoulder, and his arms were round the
waists of two buxom Frenchwomen, who tripped along beside him with
much laughter and many saucy answers flung back over their
shoulders to a score of admirers behind them.
"Aylward!" cried Nigel, spurring forward.
The archer turned his bronzed face, stared for an instant with
wild eyes, and then, dropping his two ladies, who were instantly
carried off by his comrades, he rushed to seize the hand which his
young master held down to him. "Now, by my hilt, Squire Nigel,
this is the fairest sight of my lifetime!" he cried. "And you,
old leather-face! Nay, Simon, I would put my arms round your
dried herring of a body, if I could but reach you. Here is
Pommers too, and I read in his eye that he knows me well and is as
ready to put his teeth into me as when he stood in my father's
stall."
It was like a whiff of the heather-perfumed breezes of Hankley to
see his homely face once more. Nigel laughed with sheer joy as he
looked at him.
"It was an ill day when the King's service called you from my
side," said he, "and by Saint Paul! I am right glad to set eyes
upon you once more! I see well that you are in no wise altered,
but the same Aylward that I have ever known. But who is this
varlet with the great bundle who waits upon your movements?"
"It is no less than a feather-bed, fair sir, which he bears upon
his back, for I would fain bring it to Tilford, and yet it is
overlarge for me when I take my place with my fellows in the
ranks. But indeed this war has been a most excellent one, and I
have already sent half a wagonload of my gear back to Bordeaux to
await my homecoming. Yet I have my fears when I think of all the
rascal foot-archers who are waiting there, for some folk have no
grace or honesty in their souls, and cannot keep their hands from
that which belongs to another. But if I may throw my leg over
yonder spare horse I will come on with you, fair sir, for indeed
it would be joy to my heart to know that I was riding under your
banner once again."
So Aylward, having given instructions to the bearer of his
feather-bed, rode away in spite of shrill protests from his French
companions, who speedily consoled themselves with those of his
comrades who seemed to have most to give. Nigel's party was soon
clear of the column of archers and riding hard in the direction of
the Prince's army. They passed by a narrow and winding track,
through the great wood of Nouaille, and found before them a marshy
valley down which ran a sluggish stream. Along its farther bank
hundreds of horses were being watered, and beyond was a dense
block of wagons. Through these the comrades passed, and then
topped a small mound from which the whole strange scene lay spread
before them.
Down the valley the slow stream meandered with marshy meadows on
either side. A mile or two lower a huge drove of horses were to
be seen assembled upon the bank. They were the steeds of the
French cavalry, and the blue haze of a hundred fires showed where
King John's men were camping. In front of the mound upon which
they stood the English line was drawn, but there were few fires,
for indeed, save their horses, there was little for them to cook.
Their right rested upon the river, and their array stretched
across a mile of ground until the left was in touch with a tangled
forest which guarded it from flank attack. In front was a long
thick hedge and much broken ground, with a single deeply rutted
country road cutting through it in the middle. Under the hedge
and along the Whole front of the position lay swarms of archers
upon the grass, the greater number slumbering peacefully with
sprawling limbs in the warm rays of the September sun. Behind
were the quarters of the various knights, and from end to end flew
the banners and pennons marked with the devices of the chivalry of
England and Guienne.
With a glow in his heart Nigel saw those badges of famous captains
and leaders and knew that now at last he also might show his
coat-armor in such noble company. There was the flag of jean
Grailly, the Captal de Buch, five silver shells on a black cross,
which marked the presence of the most famous soldier of Gascony,
while beside it waved the red lion of the noble Knight of
Hainault, Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt. These two coats Nigel knew,
as did every warrior in Europe, but a dense grove of pennoned
lances surrounded them, bearing charges which were strange to him,
from which he understood that these belonged to the Guienne
division of the army. Farther down the line the famous English
ensigns floated on the wind, the scarlet and gold of Warwick, the
silver star of Oxford, the golden cross of Suffolk, the blue and
gold of Willoughby, and the gold-fretted scarlet of Audley. In
the very center of them, all was one which caused all others to
pass from his mind, for close to the royal banner of England,
crossed with the label of the Prince, there waved the war-worn
flag with the red wedge upon the golden field which marked the
quarters of the noble Chandos.
At the sight Nigel set spurs to his horse, and a few minutes later
had reached the spot. Chandos, gaunt from hunger and want of
sleep, but with the old fire lurking in his eye, was standing by
the Prince's tent, gazing down at what could be seen of the French
array, and heavy with thought. Nigel sprang from his horse and
was within touch of his master when the silken hanging of the
royal tent was torn violently aside and Edward rushed out.
He was without his armor and clad in a sober suit of black, but
the high dignity of his bearing and the imperious anger which
flushed his face proclaimed the leader and the Prince. At his
heels was a little white-haired ecclesiastic in a flowing gown of
scarlet sendal, expostulating and arguing in a torrent of words.
"Not another word, my Lord Cardinal," cried the angry prince. "I
have listened to you overlong, and by God's dignity! that which
you say is neither good nor fair in my ears. Hark you, John, I
would have your counsel. What think you is the message which my
Lord Cardinal of Perigord has carried from the King of France? He
says that of his clemency he will let my army pass back to
Bordeaux if we will restore to him all that we have taken, remit
all ransoms, and surrender my own person with that of a hundred
nobles of England and Guienne to be held as prisoners. What think
you, John?"
Chandos smiled. "Things are not done in that fashion," said he.
"But my Lord Chandos," cried the Cardinal, "I have made it clear
to the Prince that indeed it is a scandal to all Christendom and a
cause of mocking to the heathen, that two great sons of the Church
should turn their swords thus upon each other."
"Then bid the King of France keep clear of us," said the Prince.
"Fair son, you are aware that you are in the heart of his country
and that it standeth not aright that he should suffer you to go
forth as you came. You have but a small army, three thousand
bowmen and five thousand men-at-arms at the most, who seem in evil
case for want of food and rest. The King has thirty thousand men
at his back, of which twenty thousand are expert men-at-arms. It
is fitting therefore that you make such terms as you may, lest
worse befall."
"Give my greetings to the King of France and tell him that England
will never pay ransom for me. But it seems to me, my Lord
Cardinal, that you have our numbers and condition very ready upon
your tongue, and I would fain know how the eye of a Churchman can
read a line of battle so easily. I have seen that these knights
of your household have walked freely to and fro within our camp,
and I much fear that when I welcomed you as envoys I have in truth
given my protection to spies. How say you, my Lord Cardinal?"
"Fair Prince, I know not how you can find it in your heart or
conscience to say such evil words."
"There is this red-bearded nephew of thine, Robert de Duras. See
where he stands yonder, counting and prying. Hark hither, young
sir! I have been saying to your uncle the Cardinal that it is in
my mind that you and your comrades have carried news of our
dispositions to the French King. How say you?"
The knight turned pale and sank his eyes. "My lord," he murmured,
"it may be that I have answered some questions."
"And how will such answers accord with your honor, seeing that we
have trusted you since you came in the train of the Cardinal?"
"My lord, it is true that I am in the train of the Cardinal, and
yet I am liege man of King John and a knight of France, so I pray
you to assuage your wrath against me."
The Prince ground his teeth and his piercing eyes blazed upon the
youth. "By my father's soul! I can scarce forbear to strike you
to the earth! But this I promise you, that if you show that sign
of the Red Griffin in the field and if you be taken alive in
to-morrow's battle, your head shall most assuredly be shorn from
your shoulders."
"Fair son, indeed you speak wildly," cried the Cardinal. "I
pledge you my word that neither my nephew Robert nor any of my
train will take part in the battle. And now I leave you, sire,
and may God assoil your soul, for indeed in all this world no men
stand in greater peril than you and those who are around you, and
I rede you that you spend the night in such ghostly exercises as
may best prepare you for that which may befall." So saying the
Cardinal bowed, and with his household walking behind him set off
for the spot where they had left their' horses, whence they rode
to the neighboring Abbey.
The angry Prince turned upon his heel and entered his tent once
more, whilst Chandos, glancing round, held out a warm welcoming
hand to Nigel.
"I have heard much of your noble deeds," said he. "Already your
name rises as a squire errant. I stood no higher, nor so high, at
your age."
Nigel flushed with pride and pleasure. "Indeed, my dear lord, it
is very little that I have done. But now that I am back at your
side I hope that in truth I shall learn to bear myself in worthy
fashion, for where else should I win honor if it be not under your
banner."
"Truly, Nigel, you have come at a very good time for advancement.
I cannot see how we can leave this spot without a great battle
which will live in men's minds forever. In all our fights in
France I cannot call to mind any in which they have been so strong
or we so weak as now, so that there will be the more honor to be
gained. I would that we had two thousand more archers. But I
doubt not that we shall give them much trouble ere they drive us
out from amidst these hedges. Have you seen the French?"
"Nay, fair sir, I have but this moment arrived."
"I was about to ride forth myself to coast their army and observe
their countenance, so come with me ere the night fall, and we
shall see what we can of their order and dispositions."
There was a truce betwixt the two forces for the day, on account
of the ill-advised and useless interposition of the Cardinal of
Perigord, Hence when Chandos and Nigel had pushed their horses
through the long hedge which fronted the position they found that
many small parties of the knights of either army were riding up
and down on the plain outside. The greater number of these groups
were French, since it was very necessary for them to know as much
as possible of the English defenses; and many of their scouts had
ridden up to within a hundred yards of the hedge, where they were
sternly ordered back by the pickets of archers on guard.
Through these scattered knots of horsemen Chandos rode, and as
many of them were old antagonists it was "Ha, John!" on the one
side, and "Ha, Raoul!" "Ha, Nicholas!" "Ha, Guichard!" upon the
other, as they brushed past them. Only one cavalier greeted them
amiss, a large, red-faced man, the Lord Clermont, who by some
strange chance bore upon his surcoat a blue virgin standing amid
golden sunbeams, which was the very device which Chandos had
donned for the day. The fiery Frenchman dashed across their path
and drew his steed back on to its haunches.
"How long is it, my Lord Chandos," said he hotly, "since you have
taken it upon yourself to wear my arms?"
Chandos smiled. "It is surely you who have mine," said he, "since
this surcoat was worked for the by the good nuns of Windsor a long
year ago."
"If it were not for the truce," said Clermont, "I would soon show
you that you have no right to wear it."
"Look for it then in the battle to-morrow, and I also will look
for yours," Chandos answered. "There we can very honorably settle
the matter."
But the Frenchman was choleric and hard to appease. "You English
can invent nothing," said he, "and you take for your own whatever
you see handsome belonging to others." So, grumbling and fuming,
he rode upon his way, while Chandos, laughing gayly, spurred
onward across the plain.
The immediate front of the English line was shrouded with
scattered trees and bushes which hid the enemy; but when they had
cleared these a fair view of the great French army lay before
them. In the center of the huge camp was a long and high pavilion
of red silk, with the silver lilies of the King at one end of it,
and the golden oriflamme, the battle-flag of old France, at the
other. Like the reeds of a pool from side to side of the broad
array, and dwindling away as far as their eyes could see, were the
banners and pennons of high barons and famous knights, but above
them all flew the ducal standards which showed that the feudal
muster of all the warlike provinces of France was in the field
before them.
With a kindling eye Chandos looked across at the proud ensigns of
Normandy, or Burgundy, of Auvergne, of Champagne, of Vermandois,
and of Berry, flaunting and gleaming in the rays of the sinking
sun. Riding slowly down the line he marked with attentive gaze
the camp of the crossbowmen, the muster of the German mercenaries,
the numbers of the foot-soldiers, the arms of every proud vassal
or vavasor which might give some guide as to the power of each
division. From wing to wing and round the flanks he went, keeping
ever within crossbow-shot of the army, and then at last having
noted all things in his mind he turned his horse's head and rode
slowly back, heavy with thought, to the English lines.
