The White Company
Sir Nigel shook his head and laughed softly to himself, “I see how it
is with you,” he said. “Have I not noted your frequent sighs and vacant
eye? Is she fair?”
“She is indeed,” cried Alleyne from his heart, all tingling at this
sudden turn of the talk.
“And good?”
“As an angel.”
“And yet she loves you not?”
“Nay, I cannot say that she loves another.”
“Then you have hopes?”
“I could not live else.”
“Then must you strive to be worthy of her love. Be brave and pure,
fearless to the strong and humble to the weak; and so, whether this love
prosper or no, you will have fitted yourself to be honored by a maiden's
love, which is, in sooth, the highest guerdon which a true knight can
hope for.”
“Indeed, my lord, I do so strive,” said Alleyne; “but she is so sweet,
so dainty, and of so noble a spirit, that I fear me that I shall never
be worthy of her.”
“By thinking so you become worthy. Is she then of noble birth?”
“She is, my lord,” faltered Alleyne.
“Of a knightly house?”
“Yes.”
“Have a care, Alleyne, have a care!” said Sir Nigel, kindly. “The higher
the steed the greater the fall. Hawk not at that which may be beyond thy
flight.”
“My lord, I know little of the ways and usages of the world,” cried
Alleyne, “but I would fain ask your rede upon the matter. You have known
my father and my kin: is not my family one of good standing and repute?”
“Beyond all question.”
“And yet you warn me that I must not place my love too high.”
“Were Minstead yours, Alleyne, then, by St. Paul! I cannot think that
any family in the land would not be proud to take you among them, seeing
that you come of so old a strain. But while the Socman lives----Ha, by
my soul! if this is not Sir Oliver's step I am the more mistaken.”
As he spoke, a heavy footfall was heard without, and the portly knight
flung open the door and strode into the room.
“Why, my little coz,” said he, “I have come across to tell you that
I live above the barber's in the Rue de la Tour, and that there is a
venison pasty in the oven and two flasks of the right vintage on the
table. By St. James! a blind man might find the place, for one has but
to get in the wind from it, and follow the savory smell. Put on your
cloak, then, and come, for Sir Walter Hewett and Sir Robert Briquet,
with one or two others, are awaiting us.”
“Nay, Oliver, I cannot be with you, for I must to Montaubon this day.”
“To Montaubon? But I have heard that your Company is to come with my
forty Winchester rascals to Dax.”
“If you will take charge of them, Oliver. For I will go to Montaubon
with none save my two squires and two archers. Then, when I have found
the rest of my Company I shall lead them to Dax. We set forth this
morning.”
“Then I must back to my pasty,” said Sir Oliver. “You will find us at
Dax, I doubt not, unless the prince throw me into prison, for he is very
wroth against me.”
“And why, Oliver?”
“Pardieu! because I have sent my cartel, gauntlet, and defiance to Sir
John Chandos and to Sir William Felton.”
“To Chandos? In God's name, Oliver, why have you done this?”
“Because he and the other have used me despitefully.”
“And how?”
“Because they have passed me over in choosing those who should joust for
England. Yourself and Audley I could pass, coz, for you are mature men;
but who are Wake, and Percy, and Beauchamp? By my soul! I was prodding
for my food into a camp-kettle when they were howling for their pap. Is
a man of my weight and substance to be thrown aside for the first three
half-grown lads who have learned the trick of the tilt-yard? But hark
ye, coz, I think of sending my cartel also to the prince.”
“Oliver! Oliver! You are mad!”
“Not I, i' faith! I care not a denier whether he be prince or no. By
Saint James! I see that your squire's eyes are starting from his head
like a trussed crab. Well, friend, we are all three men of Hampshire,
and not lightly to be jeered at.”
“Has he jeered at you than?”
“Pardieu! yes, 'Old Sir Oliver's heart is still stout,' said one of his
court. 'Else had it been out of keeping with the rest of him,' quoth the
prince. 'And his arm is strong,' said another. 'So is the backbone of
his horse,' quoth the prince. This very day I will send him my cartel
and defiance.”
“Nay, nay, my dear Oliver,” said Sir Nigel, laying his hand upon his
angry friend's arm. “There is naught in this, for it was but saying that
you were a strong and robust man, who had need of a good destrier. And
as to Chandos and Felton, bethink you that if when you yourself were
young the older lances had ever been preferred, how would you then have
had the chance to earn the good name and fame which you now bear? You do
not ride as light as you did, Oliver, and I ride lighter by the weight
of my hair, but it would be an ill thing if in the evening of our lives
we showed that our hearts were less true and loyal than of old. If such
a knight as Sir Oliver Buttesthorn may turn against his own prince for
the sake of a light word, then where are we to look for steadfast faith
and constancy?”
“Ah! my dear little coz, it is easy to sit in the sunshine and preach to
the man in the shadow. Yet you could ever win me over to your side with
that soft voice of yours. Let us think no more of it then. But, holy
Mother! I had forgot the pasty, and it will be as scorched as Judas
Iscariot! Come, Nigel, lest the foul fiend get the better of me again.”
“For one hour, then; for we march at mid-day. Tell Aylward, Alleyne,
that he is to come with me to Montaubon, and to choose one archer for
his comrade. The rest will to Dax when the prince starts, which will be
before the feast of the Epiphany. Have Pommers ready at mid-day with my
sycamore lance, and place my harness on the sumpter mule.”
With these brief directions, the two old soldiers strode off together,
while Alleyne hastened to get all in order for their journey.
CHAPTER XXVI. HOW THE THREE COMRADES GAINED A MIGHTY TREASURE
It was a bright, crisp winter's day when the little party set off from
Bordeaux on their journey to Montaubon, where the missing half of their
Company had last been heard of. Sir Nigel and Ford had ridden on in
advance, the knight upon his hackney, while his great war-horse trotted
beside his squire. Two hours later Alleyne Edricson followed; for he had
the tavern reckoning to settle, and many other duties which fell to him
as squire of the body. With him came Aylward and Hordle John, armed
as of old, but mounted for their journey upon a pair of clumsy Landes
horses, heavy-headed and shambling, but of great endurance, and capable
of jogging along all day, even when between the knees of the huge
archer, who turned the scale at two hundred and seventy pounds. They
took with them the sumpter mules, which carried in panniers the wardrobe
and table furniture of Sir Nigel; for the knight, though neither fop nor
epicure, was very dainty in small matters, and loved, however bare the
board or hard the life, that his napery should still be white and his
spoon of silver.
There had been frost during the night, and the white hard road rang loud
under their horses' irons as they spurred through the east gate of the
town, along the same broad highway which the unknown French champion
had traversed on the day of the jousts. The three rode abreast, Alleyne
Edricson with his eyes cast down and his mind distrait, for his thoughts
were busy with the conversation which he had had with Sir Nigel in the
morning. Had he done well to say so much, or had he not done better to
have said more? What would the knight have said had he confessed to his
love for the Lady Maude? Would he cast him off in disgrace, or might he
chide him as having abused the shelter of his roof? It had been ready
upon his tongue to tell him all when Sir Oliver had broken in upon them.
Perchance Sir Nigel, with his love of all the dying usages of chivalry,
might have contrived some strange ordeal or feat of arms by which his
love should be put to the test. Alleyne smiled as he wondered what
fantastic and wondrous deed would be exacted from him. Whatever it was,
he was ready for it, whether it were to hold the lists in the court of
the King of Tartary, to carry a cartel to the Sultan of Baghdad, or to
serve a term against the wild heathen of Prussia. Sir Nigel had said
that his birth was high enough for any lady, if his fortune could but
be amended. Often had Alleyne curled his lip at the beggarly craving for
land or for gold which blinded man to the higher and more lasting issues
of life. Now it seemed as though it were only by this same land and gold
that he might hope to reach his heart's desire. But then, again, the
Socman of Minstead was no friend to the Constable of Twynham Castle. It
might happen that, should he amass riches by some happy fortune of war,
this feud might hold the two families aloof. Even if Maude loved him, he
knew her too well to think that she would wed him without the blessing
of her father. Dark and murky was it all, but hope mounts high in youth,
and it ever fluttered over all the turmoil of his thoughts like a white
plume amid the shock of horsemen.
If Alleyne Edricson had enough to ponder over as he rode through the
bare plains of Guienne, his two companions were more busy with the
present and less thoughtful of the future. Aylward rode for half a mile
with his chin upon his shoulder, looking back at a white kerchief which
fluttered out of the gable window of a high house which peeped over the
corner of the battlements. When at last a dip of the road hid it from
his view, he cocked his steel cap, shrugged his broad shoulders, and
rode on with laughter in his eyes, and his weather-beaten face all
ashine with pleasant memories. John also rode in silence, but his eyes
wandered slowly from one side of the road to the other, and he stared
and pondered and nodded his head like a traveller who makes his notes
and saves them up for the re-telling.
“By the rood!” he broke out suddenly, slapping his thigh with his great
red hand, “I knew that there was something a-missing, but I could not
bring to my mind what it was.”
“What was it then?” asked Alleyne, coming with a start out of his
reverie.
“Why, it is the hedgerows,” roared John, with a shout of laughter. “The
country is all scraped as clear as a friar's poll. But indeed I cannot
think much of the folk in these parts. Why do they not get to work and
dig up these long rows of black and crooked stumps which I see on every
hand? A franklin of Hampshire would think shame to have such litter upon
his soil.”
“Thou foolish old John!” quoth Aylward. “You should know better, since
I have heard that the monks of Beaulieu could squeeze a good cup of
wine from their own grapes. Know then that if these rows were dug up
the wealth of the country would be gone, and mayhap there would be dry
throats and gaping mouths in England, for in three months' time these
black roots will blossom and shoot and burgeon, and from them will come
many a good ship-load of Medoc and Gascony which will cross the narrow
seas. But see the church in the hollow, and the folk who cluster in the
churchyard! By my hilt! it is a burial, and there is a passing bell!”
He pulled off his steel cap as he spoke and crossed himself, with a
muttered prayer for the repose of the dead.
“There too,” remarked Alleyne, as they rode on again, “that which seems
to the eye to be dead is still full of the sap of life, even as the
vines were. Thus God hath written Himself and His laws very broadly on
all that is around us, if our poor dull eyes and duller souls could but
read what He hath set before us.”
“Ha! mon petit,” cried the bowman, “you take me back to the days when
you were new fledged, as sweet a little chick as ever pecked his way