The White Company
of sparks at every parry. Here and there bounded Sir Nigel, his head
erect, his jaunty plume fluttering in the air, while his dark opponent
sent in crashing blow upon blow, following fiercely up with cut and with
thrust, but never once getting past the practised blade of the skilled
swordsman. The crowd roared with delight as Sir Nigel would stoop his
head to avoid a blow, or by some slight movement of his body allow some
terrible thrust to glance harmlessly past him. Suddenly, however, his
time came. The Frenchman, whirling up his sword, showed for an instant
a chink betwixt his shoulder piece and the rerebrace which guarded his
upper arm. In dashed Sir Nigel, and out again so swiftly that the eye
could not follow the quick play of his blade, but a trickle of blood
from the stranger's shoulder, and a rapidly widening red smudge upon his
white surcoat, showed where the thrust had taken effect. The wound was,
however, but a slight one, and the Frenchman was about to renew his
onset, when, at a sign from the prince, Chandos threw down his baton,
and the marshals of the lists struck up the weapons and brought the
contest to an end.
“It were time to check it,” said the prince, smiling, “for Sir Nigel is
too good a man for me to lose, and, by the five holy wounds! if one of
those cuts came home I should have fears for our champion. What think
you, Pedro?”
“I think, Edward, that the little man was very well able to take care of
himself. For my part, I should wish to see so well matched a pair fight
on while a drop of blood remained in their veins.”
“We must have speech with him. Such a man must not go from my court
without rest or sup. Bring him hither, Chandos, and, certes, if the Lord
Loring hath resigned his claim upon this goblet, it is right and proper
that this cavalier should carry it to France with him as a sign of the
prowess that he has shown this day.”
As he spoke, the knight-errant, who had remounted his warhorse, galloped
forward to the royal stand, with a silken kerchief bound round his
wounded arm. The setting sun cast a ruddy glare upon his burnished
arms, and sent his long black shadow streaming behind him up the level
clearing. Pulling up his steed, he slightly inclined his head, and
sat in the stern and composed fashion with which he had borne himself
throughout, heedless of the applauding shouts and the flutter of
kerchiefs from the long lines of brave men and of fair women who were
looking down upon him.
“Sir knight,” said the prince, “we have all marvelled this day at this
great skill and valor with which God has been pleased to endow you.
I would fain that you should tarry at our court, for a time at least,
until your hurt is healed and your horses rested.”
“My hurt is nothing, sire, nor are my horses weary,” returned the
stranger in a deep, stern voice.
“Will you not at least hie back to Bordeaux with us, that you may drain
a cup of muscadine and sup at our table?”
“I will neither drink your wine nor sit at your table,” returned the
other. “I bear no love for you or for your race, and there is nought
that I wish at your hands until the day when I see the last sail which
bears you back to your island vanishing away against the western sky.”
“These are bitter words, sir knight,” said Prince Edward, with an angry
frown.
“And they come from a bitter heart,” answered the unknown knight. “How
long is it since there has been peace in my hapless country? Where are
the steadings, and orchards, and vineyards, which made France fair?
Where are the cities which made her great? From Providence to Burgundy
we are beset by every prowling hireling in Christendom, who rend and
tear the country which you have left too weak to guard her own marches.
Is it not a by-word that a man may ride all day in that unhappy land
without seeing thatch upon roof or hearing the crow of cock? Does not
one fair kingdom content you, that you should strive so for this other
one which has no love for you? Pardieu! a true Frenchman's words may
well be bitter, for bitter is his lot and bitter his thoughts as he
rides through his thrice unhappy country.”
“Sir knight,” said the prince, “you speak like a brave man, and our
cousin of France is happy in having a cavalier who is so fit to uphold
his cause either with tongue or with sword. But if you think such evil
of us, how comes it that you have trusted yourselves to us without
warranty or safe-conduct?”
“Because I knew that you would be here, sire. Had the man who sits upon
your right been ruler of this land, I had indeed thought twice before I
looked to him for aught that was knightly or generous.” With a soldierly
salute, he wheeled round his horse, and, galloping down the lists,
disappeared amid the dense crowd of footmen and of horsemen who were
streaming away from the scene of the tournament.
“The insolent villain!” cried Pedro, glaring furiously after him. “I
have seen a man's tongue torn from his jaws for less. Would it not be
well even now, Edward, to send horsemen to hale him back? Bethink you
that it may be one of the royal house of France, or at least some knight
whose loss would be a heavy blow to his master. Sir William Felton, you
are well mounted, gallop after the caitiff, I pray you.”
“Do so, Sir William,” said the prince, “and give him this purse of a
hundred nobles as a sign of the respect which I bear for him; for,
by St. George! he has served his master this day even as I would wish
liegeman of mine to serve me.” So saying, the prince turned his back
upon the King of Spain, and springing upon his horse, rode slowly
homewards to the Abbey of Saint Andrew's.
CHAPTER XXV. HOW SIR NIGEL WROTE TO TWYNHAM CASTLE.
On the morning after the jousting, when Alleyne Edricson went, as was
his custom, into his master's chamber to wait upon him in his dressing
and to curl his hair, he found him already up and very busily at work.
He sat at a table by the window, a deer-hound on one side of him and a
lurcher on the other, his feet tucked away under the trestle on which
he sat, and his tongue in his cheek, with the air of a man who is much
perplexed. A sheet of vellum lay upon the board in front of him, and
he held a pen in his hand, with which he had been scribbling in a rude
schoolboy hand. So many were the blots, however, and so numerous the
scratches and erasures, that he had at last given it up in despair, and
sat with his single uncovered eye cocked upwards at the ceiling, as one
who waits upon inspiration.
“By Saint Paul!” he cried, as Alleyne entered, “you are the man who will
stand by me in this matter. I have been in sore need of you, Alleyne.”
“God be with you, my fair lord!” the squire answered. “I trust that you
have taken no hurt from all that you have gone through yesterday.”
“Nay; I feel the fresher for it, Alleyne. It has eased my joints, which
were somewhat stiff from these years of peace. I trust, Alleyne, that
thou didst very carefully note and mark the bearing and carriage of
this knight of France; for it is time, now when you are young, that you
should see all that is best, and mould your own actions in accordance.
This was a man from whom much honor might be gained, and I have seldom
met any one for whom I have conceived so much love and esteem. Could
I but learn his name, I should send you to him with my cartel, that we
might have further occasion to watch his goodly feats of arms.”
“It is said, my fair lord, that none know his name save only the Lord
Chandos, and that he is under vow not to speak it. So ran the gossip at
the squires' table.”
“Be he who he might, he was a very hardy gentleman. But I have a task
here, Alleyne, which is harder to me than aught that was set before me
yesterday.”
“Can I help you, my lord?”
“That indeed you can. I have been writing my greetings to my sweet wife;
for I hear that a messenger goes from the prince to Southampton within
the week, and he would gladly take a packet for me. I pray you, Alleyne,
to cast your eyes upon what I have written, and see it they are such
words as my lady will understand. My fingers, as you can see, are more
used to iron and leather than to the drawing of strokes and turning of
letters. What then? Is there aught amiss, that you should stare so?”
“It is this first word, my lord. In what tongue were you pleased to
write?”
“In English; for my lady talks it more than she doth French.
“Yet this is no English word, my sweet lord. Here are four t's and never
a letter betwixt them.”
“By St. Paul! it seemed strange to my eye when I wrote it,” said Sir
Nigel. “They bristle up together like a clump of lances. We must break
their ranks and set them farther apart. The word is 'that.' Now I will
read it to you, Alleyne, and you shall write it out fair; for we leave
Bordeaux this day, and it would be great joy to me to think that the
Lady Loring had word from me.”
Alleyne sat down as ordered, with a pen in his hand and a fresh sheet
of parchment before him, while Sir Nigel slowly spelled out his letter,
running his forefinger on from word to word.
“That my heart is with thee, my dear sweeting, is what thine own heart
will assure thee of. All is well with us here, save that Pepin hath
the mange on his back, and Pommers hath scarce yet got clear of his
stiffness from being four days on ship-board, and the more so because
the sea was very high, and we were like to founder on account of a hole
in her side, which was made by a stone cast at us by certain sea-rovers,
who may the saints have in their keeping, for they have gone from
amongst us, as has young Terlake, and two-score mariners and archers,
who would be the more welcome here as there is like to be a very fine
war, with much honor and all hopes of advancement, for which I go to
gather my Company together, who are now at Montaubon, where they pillage
and destroy; yet I hope that, by God's help, I may be able to show that
I am their master, even as, my sweet lady, I am thy servant.”
“How of that, Alleyne?” continued Sir Nigel, blinking at his squire,
with an expression of some pride upon his face. “Have I not told her all
that hath befallen us?”
“You have said much, my fair lord; and yet, if I may say so, it is
somewhat crowded together, so that my Lady Loring can, mayhap, scarce
follow it. Were it in shorter periods----”
“Nay, it boots me not how you marshal them, as long as they are all
there at the muster. Let my lady have the words, and she will place
them in such order as pleases her best. But I would have you add what it
would please her to know.”
“That will I,” said Alleyne, blithely, and bent to the task.
“My fair lady and mistress,” he wrote, “God hath had us in His keeping,
and my lord is well and in good cheer. He hath won much honor at the
jousting before the prince, when he alone was able to make it good
against a very valiant man from France. Touching the moneys, there is
enough and to spare until we reach Montaubon. Herewith, my fair lady,
I send my humble regards, entreating you that you will give the same
to your daughter, the Lady Maude. May the holy saints have you both in
their keeping is ever the prayer of thy servant,
“ALLEYNE EDRICSON.”
“That is very fairly set forth,” said Sir Nigel, nodding his bald head
as each sentence was read to him. “And for thyself, Alleyne, if there be
any dear friend to whom you would fain give greeting, I can send it for
thee within this packet.”
“There is none,” said Alleyne, sadly.
“Have you no kinsfolk, then?”
“None, save my brother.”
“Ha! I had forgotten that there was ill blood betwixt you. But are there
none in all England who love thee?”
“None that I dare say so.”
“And none whom you love?”
“Nay, I will not say that,” said Alleyne.