The White Company
disappointment and contempt.
“What ails the man?” asked Aylward in surprise.
“I have been cozened and bejaped,” quoth he gruffly.
“By whom, Sir Samson the strong?”
“By thee, Sir Balaam the false prophet.”
“By my hilt!” cried the archer, “though I be not Balaam, yet I hold
converse with the very creature that spake to him. What is amiss, then,
and how have I played you false?”
“Why, marry, did you not say, and Alleyne here will be my witness, that,
if I would hie to the wars with you, you would place me under a leader
who was second to none in all England for valor? Yet here you bring me
to a shred of a man, peaky and ill-nourished, with eyes like a moulting
owl, who must needs, forsooth, take counsel with his mother ere he
buckle sword to girdle.”
“Is that where the shoe galls?” cried the bowman, and laughed aloud.
“I will ask you what you think of him three months hence, if we be all
alive; for sure I am that----”
Aylward's words were interrupted by an extraordinary hubbub which broke
out that instant some little way down the street in the direction of the
Priory. There was deep-mouthed shouting of men, frightened shrieks of
women, howling and barking of curs, and over all a sullen, thunderous
rumble, indescribably menacing and terrible. Round the corner of the
narrow street there came rushing a brace of whining dogs with tails
tucked under their legs, and after them a white-faced burgher, with
outstretched hands and wide-spread fingers, his hair all abristle and
his eyes glinting back from one shoulder to the other, as though some
great terror were at his very heels. “Fly, my lady, fly!” he screeched,
and whizzed past them like bolt from bow; while close behind came
lumbering a huge black bear, with red tongue lolling from his mouth, and
a broken chain jangling behind him. To right and left the folk flew for
arch and doorway. Hordle John caught up the Lady Loring as though
she had been a feather, and sprang with her into an open porch; while
Aylward, with a whirl of French oaths, plucked at his quiver and tried
to unsling his bow. Alleyne, all unnerved at so strange and unwonted a
sight, shrunk up against the wall with his eyes fixed upon the frenzied
creature, which came bounding along with ungainly speed, looking the
larger in the uncertain light, its huge jaws agape, with blood and
slaver trickling to the ground. Sir Nigel alone, unconscious to all
appearance of the universal panic, walked with unfaltering step up
the centre of the road, a silken handkerchief in one hand and his gold
comfit-box in the other. It sent the blood cold through Alleyne's veins
to see that as they came together--the man and the beast--the creature
reared up, with eyes ablaze with fear and hate, and whirled its great
paws above the knight to smite him to the earth. He, however, blinking
with puckered eyes, reached up his kerchief, and flicked the beast twice
across the snout with it. “Ah, saucy! saucy,” quoth he, with gentle
chiding; on which the bear, uncertain and puzzled, dropped its four legs
to earth again, and, waddling back, was soon swathed in ropes by the
bear-ward and a crowd of peasants who had been in close pursuit.
A scared man was the keeper; for, having chained the brute to a stake
while he drank a stoup of ale at the inn, it had been baited by stray
curs, until, in wrath and madness, it had plucked loose the chain, and
smitten or bitten all who came in its path. Most scared of all was he
to find that the creature had come nigh to harm the Lord and Lady of the
castle, who had power to place him in the stretch-neck or to have the
skin scourged from his shoulders. Yet, when he came with bowed head
and humble entreaty for forgiveness, he was met with a handful of
small silver from Sir Nigel, whose dame, however, was less charitably
disposed, being much ruffled in her dignity by the manner in which she
had been hustled from her lord's side.
As they passed through the castle gate, John plucked at Aylward's
sleeve, and the two fell behind.
“I must crave your pardon, comrade,” said he, bluntly. “I was a fool not
to know that a little rooster may be the gamest. I believe that this man
is indeed a leader whom we may follow.”
CHAPTER XI. HOW A YOUNG SHEPHERD HAD A PERILOUS FLOCK.
Black was the mouth of Twynham Castle, though a pair of torches burning
at the further end of the gateway cast a red glare over the outer
bailey, and sent a dim, ruddy flicker through the rough-hewn arch,
rising and falling with fitful brightness. Over the door the travellers
could discern the escutcheon of the Montacutes, a roebuck gules on a
field argent, flanked on either side by smaller shields which bore the
red roses of the veteran constable. As they passed over the drawbridge,
Alleyne marked the gleam of arms in the embrasures to right and left,
and they had scarce set foot upon the causeway ere a hoarse blare
burst from a bugle, and, with screech of hinge and clank of chain, the
ponderous bridge swung up into the air, drawn by unseen hands. At the
same instant the huge portcullis came rattling down from above, and shut
off the last fading light of day. Sir Nigel and his lady walked on in
deep talk, while a fat under-steward took charge of the three comrades,
and led them to the buttery, where beef, bread, and beer were kept ever
in readiness for the wayfarer. After a hearty meal and a dip in the
trough to wash the dust from them, they strolled forth into the bailey,
where the bowman peered about through the darkness at wall and at keep,
with the carping eyes of one who has seen something of sieges, and is
not likely to be satisfied. To Alleyne and to John, however, it appeared
to be as great and as stout a fortress as could be built by the hands of
man.
Erected by Sir Balwin de Redvers in the old fighting days of the twelfth
century, when men thought much of war and little of comfort, Castle
Twynham had been designed as a stronghold pure and simple, unlike those
later and more magnificent structures where warlike strength had been
combined with the magnificence of a palace. From the time of the Edwards
such buildings as Conway or Caernarvon castles, to say nothing of Royal
Windsor, had shown that it was possible to secure luxury in peace as
well as security in times of trouble. Sir Nigel's trust, however, still
frowned above the smooth-flowing waters of the Avon, very much as the
stern race of early Anglo-Normans had designed it. There were the broad
outer and inner bailies, not paved, but sown with grass to nourish the
sheep and cattle which might be driven in on sign of danger. All round
were high and turreted walls, with at the corner a bare square-faced
keep, gaunt and windowless, rearing up from a lofty mound, which made it
almost inaccessible to an assailant. Against the bailey-walls were rows
of frail wooden houses and leaning sheds, which gave shelter to the
archers and men-at-arms who formed the garrison. The doors of these
humble dwellings were mostly open, and against the yellow glare from
within Alleyne could see the bearded fellows cleaning their harness,
while their wives would come out for a gossip, with their needlework in
their hands, and their long black shadows streaming across the yard.
The air was full of the clack of their voices and the merry prattling of
children, in strange contrast to the flash of arms and constant warlike
challenge from the walls above.
“Methinks a company of school lads could hold this place against an
army,” quoth John.
“And so say I,” said Alleyne.
“Nay, there you are wide of the clout,” the bowman said gravely. “By my
hilt! I have seen a stronger fortalice carried in a summer evening.
I remember such a one in Picardy, with a name as long as a Gascon's
pedigree. It was when I served under Sir Robert Knolles, before the days
of the Company; and we came by good plunder at the sacking of it. I had
myself a great silver bowl, with two goblets, and a plastron of Spanish
steel. Pasques Dieu! there are some fine women over yonder! Mort de ma
vie! see to that one in the doorway! I will go speak to her. But whom
have we here?”
“Is there an archer here hight Sam Aylward?” asked a gaunt man-at-arms,
clanking up to them across the courtyard.
“My name, friend,” quoth the bowman.
“Then sure I have no need to tell thee mine,” said the other.
“By the rood! if it is not Black Simon of Norwich!” cried Aylward. “A
mon coeur, camarade, a mon coeur! Ah, but I am blithe to see thee!” The
two fell upon each other and hugged like bears.
“And where from, old blood and bones?” asked the bowman.
“I am in service here. Tell me, comrade, is it sooth that we shall have
another fling at these Frenchmen? It is so rumored in the guard-room,
and that Sir Nigel will take the field once more.”
“It is like enough, mon gar., as things go.”
“Now may the Lord be praised!” cried the other. “This very night will I
set apart a golden ouche to be offered on the shrine of my name-saint. I
have pined for this, Aylward, as a young maid pines for her lover.”
“Art so set on plunder then? Is the purse so light that there is not
enough for a rouse? I have a bag at my belt, camarade, and you have but
to put your fist into it for what you want. It was ever share and share
between us.”
“Nay, friend, it is not the Frenchman's gold, but the Frenchman's blood
that I would have. I should not rest quiet in the grave, coz, if I had
not another turn at them. For with us in France it has ever been fair
and honest war--a shut fist for the man, but a bended knee for the
woman. But how was it at Winchelsea when their galleys came down upon it
some few years back? I had an old mother there, lad, who had come down
thither from the Midlands to be the nearer her son. They found her
afterwards by her own hearthstone, thrust through by a Frenchman's bill.
My second sister, my brother's wife, and her two children, they were but
ash-heaps in the smoking ruins of their house. I will not say that we
have not wrought great scath upon France, but women and children have
been safe from us. And so, old friend, my heart is hot within me, and I
long to hear the old battle-cry again, and, by God's truth! if Sir
Nigel unfurls his pennon, here is one who will be right glad to feel the
saddle-flaps under his knees.”
“We have seen good work together, old war-dog,” quoth Aylward; “and,
by my hilt! we may hope to see more ere we die. But we are more like to
hawk at the Spanish woodcock than at the French heron, though certes
it is rumored that Du Guesclin with all the best lances of France have
taken service under the lions and towers of Castile. But, comrade, it is
in my mind that there is some small matter of dispute still open between
us.”
“'Fore God, it is sooth!” cried the other; “I had forgot it. The
provost-marshal and his men tore us apart when last we met.”
“On which, friend, we vowed that we should settle the point when next we
came together. Hast thy sword, I see, and the moon throws glimmer enough
for such old night-birds as we. On guard, mon gar.! I have not heard
clink of steel this month or more.”
“Out from the shadow then,” said the other, drawing his sword. “A vow is
a vow, and not lightly to be broken.”
“A vow to the saints,” cried Alleyne, “is indeed not to be set aside;
but this is a devil's vow, and, simple clerk as I am, I am yet the
mouthpiece of the true church when I say that it were mortal sin to
fight on such a quarrel. What! shall two grown men carry malice for
years, and fly like snarling curs at each other's throats?”
“No malice, my young clerk, no malice,” quoth Black Simon. “I have not
a bitter drop in my heart for mine old comrade; but the quarrel, as he
hath told you, is still open and unsettled. Fall on, Aylward!”