The White Company
“They have come in two great galleys,” answered the mayor, “with two
bank of oars on either side, and great store of engines of war and
of men-at-arms. At Weymouth and at Portland they have murdered and
ravished. Yesterday morning they were at Cowes, and we saw the smoke
from the burning crofts. To-day they lie at their ease near Freshwater,
and we fear much lest they come upon us and do us a mischief.”
“We cannot tarry,” said Sir Nigel, riding towards the town, with the
mayor upon his left side; “the Prince awaits us at Bordeaux, and we may
not be behind the general muster. Yet I will promise you that on our way
we shall find time to pass Freshwater and to prevail upon these rovers
to leave you in peace.”
“We are much beholden to you!” cried the mayor “But I cannot see, my
lord, how, without a war-ship, you may venture against these men. With
your archers, however, you might well hold the town and do them great
scath if they attempt to land.”
“There is a very proper cog out yonder,” said Sir Nigel, “it would be a
very strange thing if any ship were not a war-ship when it had such men
as these upon her decks. Certes, we shall do as I say, and that no later
than this very day.”
“My lord,” said a rough-haired, dark-faced man, who walked by the
knight's other stirrup, with his head sloped to catch all that he was
saying. “By your leave, I have no doubt that you are skilled in land
fighting and the marshalling of lances, but, by my soul! you will find
it another thing upon the sea. I am the master-shipman of this yellow
cog, and my name is Goodwin Hawtayne. I have sailed since I was as high
as this staff, and I have fought against these Normans and against the
Genoese, as well as the Scotch, the Bretons, the Spanish, and the Moors.
I tell you, sir, that my ship is over light and over frail for such
work, and it will but end in our having our throats cut, or being sold
as slaves to the Barbary heathen.”
“I also have experienced one or two gentle and honorable ventures upon
the sea,” quoth Sir Nigel, “and I am right blithe to have so fair a task
before us. I think, good master-shipman, that you and I may win great
honor in this matter, and I can see very readily that you are a brave
and stout man.”
“I like it not,” said the other sturdily. “In God's name, I like it not.
And yet Goodwin Hawtayne is not the man to stand back when his fellows
are for pressing forward. By my soul! be it sink or swim, I shall
turn her beak into Freshwater Bay, and if good Master Witherton, of
Southampton, like not my handling of his ship then he may find another
master-shipman.”
They were close by the old north gate of the little town, and Alleyne,
half turning in his saddle, looked back at the motley crowd who
followed. The bowmen and men-at-arms had broken their ranks and were
intermingled with the fishermen and citizens, whose laughing faces
and hearty gestures bespoke the weight of care from which this welcome
arrival had relieved them. Here and there among the moving throng of
dark jerkins and of white surcoats were scattered dashes of scarlet and
blue, the whimples or shawls of the women. Aylward, with a fishing lass
on either arm, was vowing constancy alternately to her on the right and
her on the left, while big John towered in the rear with a little chubby
maiden enthroned upon his great shoulder, her soft white arm curled
round his shining headpiece. So the throng moved on, until at the very
gate it was brought to a stand by a wondrously fat man, who came darting
forth from the town with rage in every feature of his rubicund face.
“How now, Sir Mayor?” he roared, in a voice like a bull. “How now, Sir
Mayor? How of the clams and the scallops?”
“By Our Lady! my sweet Sir Oliver,” cried the mayor. “I have had so much
to think of, with these wicked villains so close upon us, that it had
quite gone out of my head.”
“Words, words!” shouted the other furiously. “Am I to be put off with
words? I say to you again, how of the clams and scallops?”
“My fair sir, you flatter me,” cried the mayor. “I am a peaceful trader,
and I am not wont to be so shouted at upon so small a matter.”
“Small!” shrieked the other. “Small! Clams and scallops! Ask me to your
table to partake of the dainty of the town, and when I come a barren
welcome and a bare board! Where is my spear-bearer?”
“Nay, Sir Oliver, Sir Oliver!” cried Sir Nigel, laughing.
“Let your anger be appeased, since instead of this dish you come upon an
old friend and comrade.”
“By St. Martin of Tours!” shouted the fat knight, his wrath all changed
in an instant to joy, “if it is not my dear little game rooster of the
Garonne. Ah, my sweet coz, I am right glad to see you. What days we have
seen together!”
“Aye, by my faith,” cried Sir Nigel, with sparkling eyes, “we have
seen some valiant men, and we have shown our pennons in some noble
skirmishes. By St. Paul! we have had great joys in France.”
“And sorrows also,” quoth the other. “I have some sad memories of the
land. Can you recall that which befell us at Libourne?”
“Nay, I cannot call to mind that we ever so much as drew sword at the
place.”
“Man, man,” cried Sir Oliver, “your mind still runs on nought but blades
and bassinets. Hast no space in thy frame for the softer joys. Ah,
even now I can scarce speak of it unmoved. So noble a pie, such tender
pigeons, and sugar in the gravy instead of salt! You were by my side
that day, as were Sir Claude Latour and the Lord of Pommers.”
“I remember it,” said Sir Nigel, laughing, “and how you harried the cook
down the street, and spoke of setting fire to the inn. By St. Paul! most
worthy mayor, my old friend is a perilous man, and I rede you that you
compose your difference with him on such terms as you may.”
“The clams and scallops shall be ready within the hour,” the mayor
answered. “I had asked Sir Oliver Buttesthorn to do my humble board
the honor to partake at it of the dainty upon which we take some little
pride, but in sooth this alarm of pirates hath cast such a shadow on my
wits that I am like one distrait. But I trust, Sir Nigel, that you will
also partake of none-meat with me?”
“I have overmuch to do,” Sir Nigel answered, “for we must be aboard,
horse and man, as early as we may. How many do you muster, Sir Oliver?”
“Three and forty. The forty are drunk, and the three are but indifferent
sober. I have them all safe upon the ship.”
“They had best find their wits again, for I shall have work for every
man of them ere the sun set. It is my intention, if it seems good to
you, to try a venture against these Norman and Genoese rovers.”
“They carry caviare and certain very noble spices from the Levant aboard
of ships from Genoa,” quoth Sir Oliver. “We may come to great profit
through the business. I pray you, master-shipman, that when you go on
board you pour a helmetful of sea-water over any of my rogues whom you
may see there.”
Leaving the lusty knight and the Mayor of Lepe, Sir Nigel led the
Company straight down to the water's edge, where long lines of flat
lighters swiftly bore them to their vessel. Horse after horse was slung
by main force up from the barges, and after kicking and plunging in
empty air was dropped into the deep waist of the yellow cog, where rows
of stalls stood ready for their safe keeping. Englishmen in those days
were skilled and prompt in such matters, for it was so not long before
that Edward had embarked as many as fifty thousand men in the port
of Orwell, with their horses and their baggage, all in the space of
four-and-twenty hours. So urgent was Sir Nigel on the shore, and so
prompt was Goodwin Hawtayne on the cog, that Sir Oliver Buttesthorn had
scarce swallowed his last scallop ere the peal of the trumpet and clang
of nakir announced that all was ready and the anchor drawn. In the last
boat which left the shore the two commanders sat together in the sheets,
a strange contrast to one another, while under the feet of the rowers
was a litter of huge stones which Sir Nigel had ordered to be carried to
the cog. These once aboard, the ship set her broad mainsail, purple
in color, and with a golden St. Christopher bearing Christ upon his
shoulder in the centre of it. The breeze blew, the sail bellied, over
heeled the portly vessel, and away she plunged through the smooth blue
rollers, amid the clang of the minstrels on her poop and the shouting of
the black crowd who fringed the yellow beach. To the left lay the green
Island of Wight, with its long, low, curving hills peeping over each
other's shoulders to the sky-line; to the right the wooded Hampshire
coast as far as eye could reach; above a steel-blue heaven, with a
wintry sun shimmering down upon them, and enough of frost to set the
breath a-smoking.
“By St. Paul!” said Sir Nigel gayly, as he stood upon the poop and
looked on either side of him, “it is a land which is very well worth
fighting for, and it were pity to go to France for what may be had at
home. Did you not spy a crooked man upon the beach?”
“Nay, I spied nothing,” grumbled Sir Oliver, “for I was hurried down
with a clam stuck in my gizzard and an untasted goblet of Cyprus on the
board behind me.”
“I saw him, my fair lord,” said Terlake, “an old man with one shoulder
higher than the other.”
“'Tis a sign of good fortune,” quoth Sir Nigel. “Our path was also
crossed by a woman and by a priest, so all should be well with us. What
say you, Edricson?”
“I cannot tell, my fair lord. The Romans of old were a very wise people,
yet, certes, they placed their faith in such matters. So, too, did
the Greeks, and divers other ancient peoples who were famed for their
learning. Yet of the moderns there are many who scoff at all omens.”
“There can be no manner of doubt about it,” said Sir Oliver Buttesthorn.
“I can well remember that in Navarre one day it thundered on the left
out of a cloudless sky. We knew that ill would come of it, nor had we
long to wait. Only thirteen days after, a haunch of prime venison was
carried from my very tent door by the wolves, and on the same day two
flasks of old vernage turned sour and muddy.”
“You may bring my harness from below,” said Sir Nigel to his squires,
“and also, I pray you, bring up Sir Oliver's and we shall don it here.
Ye may then see to your own gear; for this day you will, I hope, make a
very honorable entrance into the field of chivalry, and prove yourselves
to be very worthy and valiant squires. And now, Sir Oliver, as to our
dispositions: would it please you that I should order them or will you?”
“You, my cockerel, you. By Our Lady! I am no chicken, but I cannot claim
to know as much of war as the squire of Sir Walter Manny. Settle the
matter to your own liking.”
“You shall fly your pennon upon the fore part, then, and I upon the
poop. For foreguard I shall give you your own forty men, with two-score
archers. Two-score men, with my own men-at-arms and squires, will serve
as a poop-guard. Ten archers, with thirty shipmen, under the master, may
hold the waist while ten lie aloft with stones and arbalests. How like
you that?”
“Good, by my faith, good! But here comes my harness, and I must to work,
for I cannot slip into it as I was wont when first I set my face to the
wars.”
Meanwhile there had been bustle and preparation in all parts of the
great vessel. The archers stood in groups about the decks, new-stringing
their bows, and testing that they were firm at the nocks. Among them
moved Aylward and other of the older soldiers, with a few whispered
words of precept here and of warning there.
“Stand to it, my hearts of gold,” said the old bowman as he passed from
knot to knot. “By my hilt! we are in luck this journey. Bear in mind the
old saying of the Company.”