The White Company
Sir John de Montague in the west. Sir Luke de Ponynges, Sir Thomas West,
Sir Maurice de Bruin, Sir Arthur Lipscombe, Sir Walter Ramsey, and stout
Sir Oliver Buttesthorn were all marching south with levies from Andover,
Arlesford, Odiham and Winchester, while from Sussex came Sir John
Clinton, Sir Thomas Cheyne, and Sir John Fallislee, with a troop of
picked men-at-arms, making for their port at Southampton. Greatest of
all the musters, however, was that of Twynham Castle, for the name and
the fame of Sir Nigel Loring drew towards him the keenest and boldest
spirits, all eager to serve under so valiant a leader. Archers from the
New Forest and the Forest of Bere, billmen from the pleasant country
which is watered by the Stour, the Avon, and the Itchen, young cavaliers
from the ancient Hampshire houses, all were pushing for Christchurch to
take service under the banner of the five scarlet roses.
And now, could Sir Nigel have shown the bachelles of land which the laws
of rank required, he might well have cut his forked pennon into a
square banner, and taken such a following into the field as would have
supported the dignity of a banneret. But poverty was heavy upon him, his
land was scant, his coffers empty, and the very castle which covered him
the holding of another. Sore was his heart when he saw rare bowmen and
war-hardened spearmen turned away from his gates, for the lack of the
money which might equip and pay them. Yet the letter which Aylward had
brought him gave him powers which he was not slow to use. In it Sir
Claude Latour, the Gascon lieutenant of the White Company, assured him
that there remained in his keeping enough to fit out a hundred archers
and twenty men-at-arms, which, joined to the three hundred veteran
companions already in France, would make a force which any leader might
be proud to command. Carefully and sagaciously the veteran knight chose
out his men from the swarm of volunteers. Many an anxious consultation
he held with Black Simon, Sam Aylward, and other of his more experienced
followers, as to who should come and who should stay. By All Saints'
day, however ere the last leaves had fluttered to earth in the Wilverley
and Holmesley glades, he had filled up his full numbers, and mustered
under his banner as stout a following of Hampshire foresters as ever
twanged their war-bows. Twenty men-at-arms, too, well mounted and
equipped, formed the cavalry of the party, while young Peter Terlake of
Fareham, and Walter Ford of Botley, the martial sons of martial sires,
came at their own cost to wait upon Sir Nigel and to share with Alleyne
Edricson the duties of his squireship.
Yet, even after the enrolment, there was much to be done ere the party
could proceed upon its way. For armor, swords, and lances, there was no
need to take much forethought, for they were to be had both better and
cheaper in Bordeaux than in England. With the long-bow, however, it was
different. Yew staves indeed might be got in Spain, but it was well to
take enough and to spare with them. Then three spare cords should be
carried for each bow, with a great store of arrow-heads, besides the
brigandines of chain mail, the wadded steel caps, and the brassarts or
arm-guards, which were the proper equipment of the archer. Above all,
the women for miles round were hard at work cutting the white surcoats
which were the badge of the Company, and adorning them with the red lion
of St. George upon the centre of the breast. When all was completed and
the muster called in the castle yard the oldest soldier of the French
wars was fain to confess that he had never looked upon a better equipped
or more warlike body of men, from the old knight with his silk jupon,
sitting his great black war-horse in the front of them, to Hordle John,
the giant recruit, who leaned carelessly upon a huge black bow-stave in
the rear. Of the six score, fully half had seen service before, while a
fair sprinkling were men who had followed the wars all their lives, and
had a hand in those battles which had made the whole world ring with the
fame and the wonder of the island infantry.
Six long weeks were taken in these preparations, and it was close on
Martinmas ere all was ready for a start. Nigh two months had Alleyne
Edricson been in Castle Twynham--months which were fated to turn the
whole current of his life, to divert it from that dark and lonely bourne
towards which it tended, and to guide it into freer and more sunlit
channels. Already he had learned to bless his father for that wise
provision which had made him seek to know the world ere he had ventured
to renounce it.
For it was a different place from that which he had pictured--very
different from that which he had heard described when the master of the
novices held forth to his charges upon the ravening wolves who lurked
for them beyond the peaceful folds of Beaulieu. There was cruelty in it,
doubtless, and lust and sin and sorrow; but were there not virtues to
atone, robust positive virtues which did not shrink from temptation,
which held their own in all the rough blasts of the work-a-day world?
How colorless by contrast appeared the sinlessness which came from
inability to sin, the conquest which was attained by flying from the
enemy! Monk-bred as he was, Alleyne had native shrewdness and a mind
which was young enough to form new conclusions and to outgrow old
ones. He could not fail to see that the men with whom he was thrown in
contact, rough-tongued, fierce and quarrelsome as they were, were yet of
deeper nature and of more service in the world than the ox-eyed brethren
who rose and ate and slept from year's end to year's end in their own
narrow, stagnant circle of existence. Abbot Berghersh was a good man,
but how was he better than this kindly knight, who lived as simple a
life, held as lofty and inflexible an ideal of duty, and did with all
his fearless heart whatever came to his hand to do? In turning from the
service of the one to that of the other, Alleyne could not feel that
he was lowering his aims in life. True that his gentle and thoughtful
nature recoiled from the grim work of war, yet in those days of martial
orders and militant brotherhoods there was no gulf fixed betwixt the
priest and the soldier. The man of God and the man of the sword might
without scandal be united in the same individual. Why then should he,
a mere clerk, have scruples when so fair a chance lay in his way of
carrying out the spirit as well as the letter of his father's provision.
Much struggle it cost him, anxious spirit-questionings and midnight
prayings, with many a doubt and a misgiving; but the issue was that ere
he had been three days in Castle Twynham he had taken service under Sir
Nigel, and had accepted horse and harness, the same to be paid for out
of his share of the profits of the expedition. Henceforth for seven
hours a day he strove in the tilt-yard to qualify himself to be a worthy
squire to so worthy a knight. Young, supple and active, with all the
pent energies from years of pure and healthy living, it was not long
before he could manage his horse and his weapon well enough to earn
an approving nod from critical men-at-arms, or to hold his own against
Terlake and Ford, his fellow-servitors.
But were there no other considerations which swayed him from the
cloisters towards the world? So complex is the human spirit that it can
itself scarce discern the deep springs which impel it to action. Yet
to Alleyne had been opened now a side of life of which he had been as
innocent as a child, but one which was of such deep import that it could
not fail to influence him in choosing his path. A woman, in monkish
precepts, had been the embodiment and concentration of what was
dangerous and evil--a focus whence spread all that was to be dreaded and
avoided. So defiling was their presence that a true Cistercian might
not raise his eyes to their face or touch their finger-tips under ban of
church and fear of deadly sin. Yet here, day after day for an hour
after nones, and for an hour before vespers, he found himself in close
communion with three maidens, all young, all fair, and all therefore
doubly dangerous from the monkish standpoint. Yet he found that in their
presence he was conscious of a quick sympathy, a pleasant ease, a ready
response to all that was most gentle and best in himself, which filled
his soul with a vague and new-found joy.
And yet the Lady Maude Loring was no easy pupil to handle. An older and
more world-wise man might have been puzzled by her varying moods, her
sudden prejudices, her quick resentment at all constraint and authority.
Did a subject interest her, was there space in it for either romance
or imagination, she would fly through it with her subtle, active mind,
leaving her two fellow-students and even her teacher toiling behind her.
On the other hand, were there dull patience needed with steady toil and
strain of memory, no single fact could by any driving be fixed in her
mind. Alleyne might talk to her of the stories of old gods and heroes,
of gallant deeds and lofty aims, or he might hold forth upon moon and
stars, and let his fancy wander over the hidden secrets of the universe,
and he would have a rapt listener with flushed cheeks and eloquent eyes,
who could repeat after him the very words which had fallen from his
lips. But when it came to almagest and astrolabe, the counting of
figures and reckoning of epicycles, away would go her thoughts to horse
and hound, and a vacant eye and listless face would warn the teacher
that he had lost his hold upon his scholar. Then he had but to bring out
the old romance book from the priory, with befingered cover of sheepskin
and gold letters upon a purple ground, to entice her wayward mind back
to the paths of learning.
At times, too, when the wild fit was upon her, she would break into
pertness and rebel openly against Alleyne's gentle firmness. Yet he
would jog quietly on with his teachings, taking no heed to her mutiny,
until suddenly she would be conquered by his patience, and break into
self-revilings a hundred times stronger than her fault demanded. It
chanced however that, on one of these mornings when the evil mood was
upon her, Agatha the young tire-woman, thinking to please her mistress,
began also to toss her head and make tart rejoinder to the teacher's
questions. In an instant the Lady Maude had turned upon her two blazing
eyes and a face which was blanched with anger.
“You would dare!” said she. “You would dare!” The frightened tire-woman
tried to excuse herself. “But my fair lady,” she stammered, “what have I
done? I have said no more than I heard.”
“You would dare!” repeated the lady in a choking voice. “You, a
graceless baggage, a foolish lack-brain, with no thought above the
hemming of shifts. And he so kindly and hendy and long-suffering! You
would--ha, you may well flee the room!”
She had spoken with a rising voice, and a clasping and opening of her
long white fingers, so that it was no marvel that ere the speech was
over the skirts of Agatha were whisking round the door and the click of
her sobs to be heard dying swiftly away down the corridor.
Alleyne stared open-eyed at this tigress who had sprung so suddenly
to his rescue. “There is no need for such anger,” he said mildly. “The
maid's words have done me no scath. It is you yourself who have erred.”
“I know it,” she cried, “I am a most wicked woman. But it is bad enough
that one should misuse you. Ma foi! I will see that there is not a
second one.”
“Nay, nay, no one has misused me,” he answered. “But the fault lies
in your hot and bitter words. You have called her a baggage and a
lack-brain, and I know not what.”
“And you are he who taught me to speak the truth,” she cried. “Now I