The White Company
water the horses, and there beyond the town how they gallop them over
the plain! For every horse you see a belted knight hath herbergage in
the town, for, as I learn, the men-at-arms and archers have already gone
forward to Dax.”
“I trust, Aylward,” said Sir Nigel, coming upon deck, “that the men are
ready for the land. Go tell them that the boats will be for them within
the hour.”
The archer raised his hand in salute, and hastened forward. In the
meantime Sir Oliver had followed his brother knight, and the two paced
the poop together, Sir Nigel in his plum-colored velvet suit with flat
cap of the same, adorned in front with the Lady Loring's glove and girt
round with a curling ostrich feather. The lusty knight, on the other
hand, was clad in the very latest mode, with cote-hardie, doublet,
pourpoint, court-pie, and paltock of olive-green, picked out with
pink and jagged at the edges. A red chaperon or cap, with long hanging
cornette, sat daintily on the back of his black-curled head, while his
gold-hued shoes were twisted up _a la poulaine_, as though the toes
were shooting forth a tendril which might hope in time to entwine itself
around his massive leg.
“Once more, Sir Oliver,” said Sir Nigel, looking shorewards with
sparkling eyes, “do we find ourselves at the gate of honor, the door
which hath so often led us to all that is knightly and worthy. There
flies the prince's banner, and it would be well that we haste ashore and
pay our obeisance to him. The boats already swarm from the bank.”
“There is a goodly hostel near the west gate, which is famed for the
stewing of spiced pullets,” remarked Sir Oliver. “We might take the edge
of our hunger off ere we seek the prince, for though his tables are
gay with damask and silver he is no trencherman himself, and hath no
sympathy for those who are his betters.”
“His betters!”
“His betters before the tranchoir, lad. Sniff not treason where none is
meant. I have seen him smile in his quiet way because I had looked for
the fourth time towards the carving squire. And indeed to watch
him dallying with a little gobbet of bread, or sipping his cup of
thrice-watered wine, is enough to make a man feel shame at his own
hunger. Yet war and glory, my good friend, though well enough in their
way, will not serve to tighten such a belt as clasps my waist.”
“How read you that coat which hangs over yonder galley, Alleyne?” asked
Sir Nigel.
“Argent, a bend vert between cotises dancette gules.”
“It is a northern coat. I have seen it in the train of the Percies. From
the shields, there is not one of these vessels which hath not knight or
baron aboard. I would mine eyes were better. How read you this upon the
left?”
“Argent and azure, a barry wavy of six.”
“Ha, it is the sign of the Wiltshire Stourtons! And there beyond I see
the red and silver of the Worsleys of Apuldercombe, who like myself are
of Hampshire lineage. Close behind us is the moline cross of the gallant
William Molyneux, and beside it the bloody chevrons of the Norfork
Woodhouses, with the amulets of the Musgraves of Westmoreland. By St.
Paul! it would be a very strange thing if so noble a company were to
gather without some notable deed of arms arising from it. And here is
our boat, Sir Oliver, so it seems best to me that we should go to the
abbey with our squires, leaving Master Hawtayne to have his own way in
the unloading.”
The horses both of knights and squires were speedily lowered into a
broad lighter, and reached the shore almost as soon as their masters.
Sir Nigel bent his knee devoutly as he put foot on land, and taking a
small black patch from his bosom he bound it tightly over his left eye.
“May the blessed George and the memory of my sweet lady-love raise high
my heart!” quoth he. “And as a token I vow that I will not take this
patch from my eye until I have seen something of this country of Spain,
and done such a small deed as it lies in me to do. And this I swear upon
the cross of my sword and upon the glove of my lady.”
“In truth, you take me back twenty years, Nigel,” quoth Sir Oliver, as
they mounted and rode slowly through the water-gate. “After Cadsand,
I deem that the French thought that we were an army of the blind, for
there was scarce a man who had not closed an eye for the greater love
and honor of his lady. Yet it goes hard with you that you should darken
one side, when with both open you can scarce tell a horse from a mule.
In truth, friend, I think that you step over the line of reason in this
matter.”
“Sir Oliver Buttesthorn,” said the little knight shortly, “I would have
you to understand that, blind as I am, I can yet see the path of honor
very clearly, and that that is the road upon which I do not crave
another man's guidance.”
“By my soul,” said Sir Oliver, “you are as tart as verjuice this
morning! If you are bent upon a quarrel with me I must leave you to your
humor and drop into the 'Tete d'Or' here, for I marked a varlet pass
the door who bare a smoking dish, which had, methought, a most excellent
smell.”
“Nenny, nenny,” cried his comrade, laying his hand upon his knee; “we
have known each other over long to fall out, Oliver, like two raw pages
at their first epreuves. You must come with me first to the prince, and
then back to the hostel; though sure I am that it would grieve his heart
that any gentle cavalier should turn from his board to a common tavern.
But is not that my Lord Delewar who waves to us? Ha! my fair lord, God
and Our Lady be with you! And there is Sir Robert Cheney. Good-morrow,
Robert! I am right glad to see you.”
The two knights walked their horses abreast, while Alleyne and Ford,
with John Norbury, who was squire to Sir Oliver, kept some paces behind
them, a spear's-length in front of Black Simon and of the Winchester
guidon-bearer. Norbury, a lean, silent man, had been to those parts
before, and sat his horse with a rigid neck; but the two young squires
gazed eagerly to right or left, and plucked each other's sleeves to call
attention to the many strange things on every side of them.
“See to the brave stalls!” cried Alleyne. “See to the noble armor set
forth, and the costly taffeta--and oh, Ford, see to where the scrivener
sits with the pigments and the ink-horns, and the rolls of sheepskin as
white as the Beaulieu napery! Saw man ever the like before?”
“Nay, man, there are finer stalls in Cheapside,” answered Ford, whose
father had taken him to London on occasion of one of the Smithfield
joustings. “I have seen a silversmith's booth there which would serve to
buy either side of this street. But mark these houses, Alleyne, how they
thrust forth upon the top. And see to the coats-of-arms at every window,
and banner or pensil on the roof.”
“And the churches!” cried Alleyne. “The Priory at Christchurch was a
noble pile, but it was cold and bare, methinks, by one of these, with
their frettings, and their carvings, and their traceries, as though some
great ivy-plant of stone had curled and wantoned over the walls.”
“And hark to the speech of the folk!” said Ford. “Was ever such a
hissing and clacking? I wonder that they have not wit to learn English
now that they have come under the English crown. By Richard of Hampole!
there are fair faces amongst them. See the wench with the brown whimple!
Out on you, Alleyne, that you would rather gaze upon dead stone than on
living flesh!”
It was little wonder that the richness and ornament, not only of church
and of stall, but of every private house as well, should have impressed
itself upon the young squires. The town was now at the height of its
fortunes. Besides its trade and its armorers, other causes had combined
to pour wealth into it. War, which had wrought evil upon so many fair
cities around, had brought nought but good to this one. As her French
sisters decayed she increased, for here, from north, and from east,
and from south, came the plunder to be sold and the ransom money to be
spent. Through all her sixteen landward gates there had set for many
years a double tide of empty-handed soldiers hurrying Francewards, and
of enriched and laden bands who brought their spoils home. The prince's
court, too, with its swarm of noble barons and wealthy knights, many of
whom, in imitation of their master, had brought their ladies and their
children from England, all helped to swell the coffers of the burghers.
Now, with this fresh influx of noblemen and cavaliers, food and lodging
were scarce to be had, and the prince was hurrying forward his forces to
Dax in Gascony to relieve the overcrowding of his capital.
In front of the minster and abbey of St. Andrew's was a large square
crowded with priests, soldiers, women, friars, and burghers, who made it
their common centre for sight-seeing and gossip. Amid the knot of noisy
and gesticulating townsfolk, many small parties of mounted knights and
squires threaded their way towards the prince's quarters, where the
huge iron-clamped doors were thrown back to show that he held audience
within. Two-score archers stood about the gateway, and beat back from
time to time with their bow-staves the inquisitive and chattering crowd
who swarmed round the portal. Two knights in full armor, with lances
raised and closed visors, sat their horses on either side, while in the
centre, with two pages to tend upon him, there stood a noble-faced man
in flowing purple gown, who pricked off upon a sheet of parchment the
style and title of each applicant, marshalling them in their due order,
and giving to each the place and facility which his rank demanded. His
long white beard and searching eyes imparted to him an air of masterful
dignity, which was increased by his tabardlike vesture and the heraldic
barret cap with triple plume which bespoke his office.
“It is Sir William de Pakington, the prince's own herald and scrivener,”
whispered Sir Nigel, as they pulled up amid the line of knights who
waited admission. “Ill fares it with the man who would venture to
deceive him. He hath by rote the name of every knight of France or of
England; and all the tree of his family, with his kinships, coat-armor,
marriages, augmentations, abatements, and I know not what beside. We
may leave our horses here with the varlets, and push forward with our
squires.”
Following Sir Nigel's counsel, they pressed on upon foot until they were
close to the prince's secretary, who was in high debate with a young and
foppish knight, who was bent upon making his way past him.
“Mackworth!” said the king-at-arms. “It is in my mind, young sir, that
you have not been presented before.”
“Nay, it is but a day since I set foot in Bordeaux, but I feared lest
the prince should think it strange that I had not waited upon him.”
“The prince hath other things to think upon,” quoth Sir William de
Pakington; “but if you be a Mackworth you must be a Mackworth of
Normanton, and indeed I see now that your coat is sable and ermine.”
“I am a Mackworth of Normanton,” the other answered, with some
uneasiness of manner.
“Then you must be Sir Stephen Mackworth, for I learn that when old
Sir Guy died he came in for the arms and the name, the war-cry and the
profit.”
“Sir Stephen is my elder brother, and I am Arthur, the second son,” said
the youth.
“In sooth and in sooth!” cried the king-at-arms with scornful eyes. “And
pray, sir second son, where is the cadency mark which should mark your
rank. Dare you to wear your brother's coat without the crescent which
should stamp you as his cadet. Away to your lodgings, and come not
nigh the prince until the armorer hath placed the true charge upon your
shield.” As the youth withdrew in confusion, Sir William's keen eye
singled out the five red roses from amid the overlapping shields and
cloud of pennons which faced him.