The White Company
“Ha!” he cried, “there are charges here which are above counterfeit.
The roses of Loring and the boar's head of Buttesthorn may stand back
in peace, but by my faith! they are not to be held back in war. Welcome,
Sir Oliver, Sir Nigel! Chandos will be glad to his very heart-roots when
he sees you. This way, my fair sirs. Your squires are doubtless worthy
the fame of their masters. Down this passage, Sir Oliver! Edricson! Ha!
one of the old strain of Hampshire Edricsons, I doubt not. And Ford,
they are of a south Saxon stock, and of good repute. There are Norburys
in Cheshire and in Wiltshire, and also, as I have heard, upon the
borders. So, my fair sirs, and I shall see that you are shortly
admitted.”
He had finished his professional commentary by flinging open a folding
door, and ushering the party into a broad hall, which was filled with
a great number of people who were waiting, like themselves, for an
audience. The room was very spacious, lighted on one side by three
arched and mullioned windows, while opposite was a huge fireplace in
which a pile of faggots was blazing merrily. Many of the company had
crowded round the flames, for the weather was bitterly cold; but the
two knights seated themselves upon a bancal, with their squires standing
behind them. Looking down the room, Alleyne marked that both floor and
ceiling were of the richest oak, the latter spanned by twelve arching
beams, which were adorned at either end by the lilies and the lions of
the royal arms. On the further side was a small door, on each side of
which stood men-at-arms. From time to time an elderly man in black with
rounded shoulders and a long white wand in his hand came softly forth
from this inner room, and beckoned to one or other of the company, who
doffed cap and followed him.
The two knights were deep in talk, when Alleyne became aware of a
remarkable individual who was walking round the room in their direction.
As he passed each knot of cavaliers every head turned to look after
him, and it was evident, from the bows and respectful salutations on
all sides, that the interest which he excited was not due merely to his
strange personal appearance. He was tall and straight as a lance, though
of a great age, for his hair, which curled from under his velvet cap of
maintenance, was as white as the new-fallen snow. Yet, from the swing of
his stride and the spring of his step, it was clear that he had not yet
lost the fire and activity of his youth. His fierce hawk-like face was
clean shaven like that of a priest, save for a long thin wisp of white
moustache which drooped down half way to his shoulder. That he had
been handsome might be easily judged from his high aquiline nose and
clear-cut chin; but his features had been so distorted by the seams and
scars of old wounds, and by the loss of one eye which had been torn
from the socket, that there was little left to remind one of the dashing
young knight who had been fifty years ago the fairest as well as the
boldest of the English chivalry. Yet what knight was there in that hall
of St. Andrew's who would not have gladly laid down youth, beauty, and
all that he possessed to win the fame of this man? For who could be
named with Chandos, the stainless knight, the wise councillor, the
valiant warrior, the hero of Crecy, of Winchelsea, of Poictiers, of
Auray, and of as many other battles as there were years to his life?
“Ha, my little heart of gold!” he cried, darting forward suddenly and
throwing his arms round Sir Nigel. “I heard that you were here and have
been seeking you.”
“My fair and dear lord,” said the knight, returning the warrior's
embrace, “I have indeed come back to you, for where else shall I go that
I may learn to be a gentle and a hardy knight?”
“By my troth!” said Chandos with a smile, “it is very fitting that we
should be companions, Nigel, for since you have tied up one of your
eyes, and I have had the mischance to lose one of mine, we have but a
pair between us. Ah, Sir Oliver! you were on the blind side of me and I
saw you not. A wise woman hath made prophecy that this blind side will
one day be the death of me. We shall go in to the prince anon; but in
truth he hath much upon his hands, for what with Pedro, and the King of
Majorca, and the King of Navarre, who is no two days of the same mind,
and the Gascon barons who are all chaffering for terms like so many
hucksters, he hath an uneasy part to play. But how left you the Lady
Loring?”
“She was well, my fair lord, and sent her service and greetings to you.”
“I am ever her knight and slave. And your journey, I trust that it was
pleasant?”
“As heart could wish. We had sight of two rover galleys, and even came
to have some slight bickering with them.”
“Ever in luck's way, Nigel!” quoth Sir John. “We must hear the tale
anon. But I deem it best that ye should leave your squires and come with
me, for, howsoe'er pressed the prince may be, I am very sure that he
would be loth to keep two old comrades-in-arms upon the further side of
the door. Follow close behind me, and I will forestall old Sir William,
though I can scarce promise to roll forth your style and rank as is
his wont.” So saying, he led the way to the inner chamber, the two
companions treading close at his heels, and nodding to right and left as
they caught sight of familiar faces among the crowd.
CHAPTER XIX. HOW THERE WAS STIR AT THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREW'S.
The prince's reception-room, although of no great size, was fitted up
with all the state and luxury which the fame and power of its owner
demanded. A high dais at the further end was roofed in by a broad canopy
of scarlet velvet spangled with silver fleurs-de-lis, and supported at
either corner by silver rods. This was approached by four steps carpeted
with the same material, while all round were scattered rich cushions,
oriental mats and costly rugs of fur. The choicest tapestries which the
looms of Arras could furnish draped the walls, whereon the battles of
Judas Maccabaeus were set forth, with the Jewish warriors in plate of
proof, with crest and lance and banderole, as the naive artists of the
day were wont to depict them. A few rich settles and bancals, choicely
carved and decorated with glazed leather hangings of the sort termed _or
basane_, completed the furniture of the apartment, save that at one side
of the dais there stood a lofty perch, upon which a cast of three solemn
Prussian gerfalcons sat, hooded and jesseled, as silent and motionless
as the royal fowler who stood beside them.
In the centre of the dais were two very high chairs with dorserets,
which arched forwards over the heads of the occupants, the whole covered
with light-blue silk thickly powdered with golden stars. On that to the
right sat a very tall and well formed man with red hair, a livid face,
and a cold blue eye, which had in it something peculiarly sinister and
menacing. He lounged back in a careless position, and yawned repeatedly
as though heartily weary of the proceedings, stooping from time to time
to fondle a shaggy Spanish greyhound which lay stretched at his feet. On
the other throne there was perched bolt upright, with prim demeanor, as
though he felt himself to be upon his good behavior, a little, round,
pippin faced person, who smiled and bobbed to every one whose eye he
chanced to meet. Between and a little in front of them on a humble
charette or stool, sat a slim, dark young man, whose quiet attire and
modest manner would scarce proclaim him to be the most noted prince in
Europe. A jupon of dark blue cloth, tagged with buckles and pendants of
gold, seemed but a sombre and plain attire amidst the wealth of silk and
ermine and gilt tissue of fustian with which he was surrounded. He sat
with his two hands clasped round his knee, his head slightly bent,
and an expression of impatience and of trouble upon his clear,
well-chiselled features. Behind the thrones there stood two men in
purple gowns, with ascetic, clean-shaven faces, and half a dozen other
high dignitaries and office-holders of Aquitaine. Below on either side
of the steps were forty or fifty barons, knights, and courtiers, ranged
in a triple row to the right and the left, with a clear passage in the
centre.
“There sits the prince,” whispered Sir John Chandos, as they entered.
“He on the right is Pedro, whom we are about to put upon the Spanish
throne. The other is Don James, whom we purpose with the aid of God to
help to his throne in Majorca. Now follow me, and take it not to heart
if he be a little short in his speech, for indeed his mind is full of
many very weighty concerns.”
The prince, however, had already observed their entrance, and, springing
to his feet, he had advanced with a winning smile and the light of
welcome in his eyes.
“We do not need your good offices as herald here, Sir John,” said he in
a low but clear voice; “these valiant knights are very well known to me.
Welcome to Aquitaine, Sir Nigel Loring and Sir Oliver Buttesthorn. Nay,
keep your knee for my sweet father at Windsor. I would have your hands,
my friends. We are like to give you some work to do ere you see the
downs of Hampshire once more. Know you aught of Spain, Sir Oliver?”
“Nought, my sire, save that I have heard men say that there is a dish
named an olla which is prepared there, though I have never been clear in
my mind as to whether it was but a ragout such as is to be found in the
south, or whether there is some seasoning such as fennel or garlic which
is peculiar to Spain.”
“Your doubts, Sir Oliver, shall soon be resolved,” answered the prince,
laughing heartily, as did many of the barons who surrounded them. “His
majesty here will doubtless order that you have this dish hotly seasoned
when we are all safely in Castile.”
“I will have a hotly seasoned dish for some folk I know of,” answered
Don Pedro with a cold smile.
“But my friend Sir Oliver can fight right hardily without either bite or
sup,” remarked the prince. “Did I not see him at Poictiers, when for two
days we had not more than a crust of bread and a cup of foul water, yet
carrying himself most valiantly. With my own eyes I saw him in the rout
sweep the head from a knight of Picardy with one blow of his sword.”
“The rogue got between me and the nearest French victual wain,” muttered
Sir Oliver, amid a fresh titter from those who were near enough to catch
his words.
“How many have you in your train?” asked the prince, assuming a graver
mien.
“I have forty men-at-arms, sire,” said Sir Oliver.
“And I have one hundred archers and a score of lancers, but there are
two hundred men who wait for me on this side of the water upon the
borders of Navarre.”
“And who are they, Sir Nigel?”
“They are a free company, sire, and they are called the White Company.”
To the astonishment of the knight, his words provoked a burst of
merriment from the barons round, in which the two kings and the prince
were fain to join. Sir Nigel blinked mildly from one to the other, until
at last perceiving a stout black-bearded knight at his elbow, whose
laugh rang somewhat louder than the others, he touched him lightly upon
the sleeve.
“Perchance, my fair sir,” he whispered, “there is some small vow of
which I may relieve you. Might we not have some honorable debate upon
the matter. Your gentle courtesy may perhaps grant me an exchange of
thrusts.”
“Nay, nay, Sir Nigel,” cried the prince, “fasten not the offence upon
Sir Robert Briquet, for we are one and all bogged in the same mire.
Truth to say, our ears have just been vexed by the doings of the same
company, and I have even now made vow to hang the man who held the rank
of captain over it. I little thought to find him among the bravest of my
own chosen chieftains. But the vow is now nought, for, as you have