The White Company
man here as an Englishman and a friend. This gentleman hath shown me a
rough welcome, and if I have answered him in the same spirit he has but
himself to thank. I will pick the glove up; but, certes, I shall abide
what I have done unless he first crave my pardon for what he hath said
and done.”
Tranter shrugged his shoulders. “You have done what you could to save
him, Harcomb,” said he. “We had best settle at once.”
“So say I,” cried Alleyne.
“The council will not break up until the banquet,” remarked a
gray-haired squire. “You have a clear two hours.”
“And the place?”
“The tilting-yard is empty at this hour.”
“Nay; it must not be within the grounds of the court, or it may go hard
with all concerned if it come to the ears of the prince.”
“But there is a quiet spot near the river,” said one youth. “We have
but to pass through the abbey grounds, along the armory wall, past the
church of St. Remi, and so down the Rue des Apotres.”
“En avant, then!” cried Tranter shortly, and the whole assembly flocked
out into the open air, save only those whom the special orders of their
masters held to their posts. These unfortunates crowded to the small
casements, and craned their necks after the throng as far as they could
catch a glimpse of them.
Close to the banks of the Garonne there lay a little tract of green
sward, with the high wall of a prior's garden upon one side and an
orchard with a thick bristle of leafless apple-trees upon the other. The
river ran deep and swift up to the steep bank; but there were few boats
upon it, and the ships were moored far out in the centre of the stream.
Here the two combatants drew their swords and threw off their doublets,
for neither had any defensive armor. The duello with its stately
etiquette had not yet come into vogue, but rough and sudden encounters
were as common as they must ever be when hot-headed youth goes abroad
with a weapon strapped to its waist. In such combats, as well as in
the more formal sports of the tilting-yard, Tranter had won a name for
strength and dexterity which had caused Norbury to utter his well-meant
warning. On the other hand, Alleyne had used his weapons in constant
exercise and practice on every day for many months, and being by nature
quick of eye and prompt of hand, he might pass now as no mean swordsman.
A strangely opposed pair they appeared as they approached each other:
Tranter dark and stout and stiff, with hairy chest and corded arms,
Alleyne a model of comeliness and grace, with his golden hair and his
skin as fair as a woman's. An unequal fight it seemed to most; but there
were a few, and they the most experienced, who saw something in the
youth's steady gray eye and wary step which left the issue open to
doubt.
“Hold, sirs, hold!” cried Norbury, ere a blow had been struck. “This
gentleman hath a two-handed sword, a good foot longer than that of our
friend.”
“Take mine, Alleyne,” said Ford.
“Nay, friends,” he answered, “I understand the weight and balance of
mine own. To work, sir, for our lord may need us at the abbey!”
Tranter's great sword was indeed a mighty vantage in his favor. He stood
with his feet close together, his knees bent outwards, ready for a dash
inwards or a spring out. The weapon he held straight up in front of him
with blade erect, so that he might either bring it down with a swinging
blow, or by a turn of the heavy blade he might guard his own head and
body. A further protection lay in the broad and powerful guard which
crossed the hilt, and which was furnished with a deep and narrow notch,
in which an expert swordsman might catch his foeman's blade, and by
a quick turn of his wrist might snap it across. Alleyne, on the other
hand, must trust for his defence to his quick eye and active foot--for
his sword, though keen as a whetstone could make it, was of a light and
graceful build with a narrow, sloping pommel and a tapering steel.
Tranter well knew his advantage and lost no time in putting it to use.
As his opponent walked towards him he suddenly bounded forward and sent
in a whistling cut which would have severed the other in twain had he
not sprung lightly back from it. So close was it that the point ripped
a gash in the jutting edge of his linen cyclas. Quick as a panther,
Alleyne sprang in with a thrust, but Tranter, who was as active as he
was strong, had already recovered himself and turned it aside with a
movement of his heavy blade. Again he whizzed in a blow which made the
spectators hold their breath, and again Alleyne very quickly and swiftly
slipped from under it, and sent back two lightning thrusts which the
other could scarce parry. So close were they to each other that Alleyne
had no time to spring back from the next cut, which beat down his sword
and grazed his forehead, sending the blood streaming into his eyes and
down his cheeks. He sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair stood
breathing heavily, while the crowd of young squires buzzed their
applause.
“Bravely struck on both sides!” cried Roger Harcomb. “You have both
won honor from this meeting, and it would be sin and shame to let it go
further.”
“You have done enough, Edricson,” said Norbury.
“You have carried yourself well,” cried several of the older squires.
“For my part, I have no wish to slay this young man,” said Tranter,
wiping his heated brow.
“Does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me despitefully?”
asked Alleyne.
“Nay, not I.”
“Then stand on your guard, sir!” With a clatter and dash the two blades
met once more, Alleyne pressing in so as to keep within the full sweep
of the heavy blade, while Tranter as continually sprang back to have
space for one of his fatal cuts. A three-parts-parried blow drew blood
from Alleyne's left shoulder, but at the same moment he wounded Tranter
slightly upon the thigh. Next instant, however, his blade had slipped
into the fatal notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tinkling
upon the ground, and he found a splintered piece of steel fifteen inches
long was all that remained to him of his weapon.
“Your life is in my hands!” cried Tranter, with a bitter smile.
“Nay, nay, he makes submission!” broke in several squires.
“Another sword!” cried Ford.
“Nay, sir,” said Harcomb, “that is not the custom.”
“Throw down your hilt, Edricson,” cried Norbury.
“Never!” said Alleyne. “Do you crave my pardon, sir?”
“You are mad to ask it.”
“Then on guard again!” cried the young squire, and sprang in with a fire
and a fury which more than made up for the shortness of his weapon. It
had not escaped him that his opponent was breathing in short, hoarse
gasps, like a man who is dizzy with fatigue. Now was the time for the
purer living and the more agile limb to show their value. Back and back
gave Tranter, ever seeking time for a last cut. On and on came Alleyne,
his jagged point now at his foeman's face, now at his throat, now at
his chest, still stabbing and thrusting to pass the line of steel which
covered him. Yet his experienced foeman knew well that such efforts
could not be long sustained. Let him relax for one instant, and his
death-blow had come. Relax he must! Flesh and blood could not stand
the strain. Already the thrusts were less fierce, the foot less ready,
although there was no abatement of the spirit in the steady gray eyes.
Tranter, cunning and wary from years of fighting, knew that his chance
had come. He brushed aside the frail weapon which was opposed to him,
whirled up his great blade, sprang back to get the fairer sweep--and
vanished into the waters of the Garonne.
So intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators, been on
the matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank and swift still
stream had gone from their minds. It was not until Tranter, giving back
before the other's fiery rush, was upon the very brink, that a general
cry warned him of his danger. That last spring, which he hoped would
have brought the fight to a bloody end, carried him clear of the edge,
and he found himself in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-cold
stream. Once and twice his gasping face and clutching fingers broke up
through the still green water, sweeping outwards in the swirl of the
current. In vain were sword-sheaths, apple-branches and belts linked
together thrown out to him by his companions. Alleyne had dropped his
shattered sword and was standing, trembling in every limb, with his rage
all changed in an instant to pity. For the third time the drowning man
came to the surface, his hands full of green slimy water-plants, his
eyes turned in despair to the shore. Their glance fell upon Alleyne,
and he could not withstand the mute appeal which he read in them. In an
instant he, too, was in the Garonne, striking out with powerful strokes
for his late foeman.
Yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer as he was, it
was no easy task which Alleyne had set himself. To clutch at Tranter and
to seize him by the hair was the work of a few seconds, but to hold his
head above water and to make their way out of the current was another
matter. For a hundred strokes he did not seem to gain an inch. Then at
last, amid a shout of joy and praise from the bank, they slowly drew
clear into more stagnant water, at the instant that a rope, made of a
dozen sword-belts linked together by the buckles, was thrown by
Ford into their very hands. Three pulls from eager arms, and the two
combatants, dripping and pale, were dragged up the bank, and lay panting
upon the grass.
John Tranter was the first to come to himself, for although he had been
longer in the water, he had done nothing during that fierce battle with
the current. He staggered to his feet and looked down upon his rescuer,
who had raised himself upon his elbow, and was smiling faintly at the
buzz of congratulation and of praise which broke from the squires around
him.
“I am much beholden to you, sir,” said Tranter, though in no very
friendly voice. “Certes, I should have been in the river now but for
you, for I was born in Warwickshire, which is but a dry county, and
there are few who swim in those parts.”
“I ask no thanks,” Alleyne answered shortly. “Give me your hand to rise,
Ford.”
“The river has been my enemy,” said Tranter, “but it hath been a good
friend to you, for it has saved your life this day.”
“That is as it may be,” returned Alleyne.
“But all is now well over,” quoth Harcomb, “and no scath come of it,
which is more than I had at one time hoped for. Our young friend here
hath very fairly and honestly earned his right to be craftsman of
the Honorable Guild of the Squires of Bordeaux. Here is your doublet,
Tranter.”
“Alas for my poor sword which lies at the bottom of the Garonne!” said
the squire.
“Here is your pourpoint, Edricson,” cried Norbury. “Throw it over your
shoulders, that you may have at least one dry garment.”
“And now away back to the abbey!” said several.
“One moment, sirs,” cried Alleyne, who was leaning on Ford's shoulder,
with the broken sword, which he had picked up, still clutched in his
right hand. “My ears may be somewhat dulled by the water, and perchance
what has been said has escaped me, but I have not yet heard this
gentleman crave pardon for the insults which he put upon me in the
hall.”
“What! do you still pursue the quarrel?” asked Tranter.
“And why not, sir? I am slow to take up such things, but once afoot I
shall follow it while I have life or breath.”
“Ma foi! you have not too much of either, for you are as white as
marble,” said Harcomb bluntly. “Take my rede, sir, and let it drop, for
you have come very well out from it.”
“Nay,” said Alleyne, “this quarrel is none of my making; but, now that I
am here, I swear to you that I shall never leave this spot until I have