The White Company
out of a monkish egg. I had feared that in gaining our debonair young
man-at-arms we had lost our soft-spoken clerk. In truth, I have noted
much change in you since we came from Twynham Castle.”
“Surely it would be strange else, seeing that I have lived in a world
so new to me. Yet I trust that there are many things in which I have not
changed. If I have turned to serve an earthly master, and to carry arms
for an earthly king, it would be an ill thing if I were to lose all
thought of the great high King and Master of all, whose humble and
unworthy servant I was ere ever I left Beaulieu. You, John, are also
from the cloisters, but I trow that you do not feel that you have
deserted the old service in taking on the new.”
“I am a slow-witted man,” said John, “and, in sooth, when I try to think
about such matters it casts a gloom upon me. Yet I do not look upon
myself as a worse man in an archer's jerkin than I was in a white cowl,
if that be what you mean.”
“You have but changed from one white company to the other,” quoth
Aylward. “But, by these ten finger-bones! it is a passing strange thing
to me to think that it was but in the last fall of the leaf that we
walked from Lyndhurst together, he so gentle and maidenly, and you,
John, like a great red-limbed overgrown moon-calf; and now here you
are as sprack a squire and as lusty an archer as ever passed down the
highway from Bordeaux, while I am still the same old Samkin Aylward,
with never a change, save that I have a few more sins on my soul and a
few less crowns in my pouch. But I have never yet heard, John, what the
reason was why you should come out of Beaulieu.”
“There were seven reasons,” said John thoughtfully. “The first of them
was that they threw me out.”
“Ma foi! camarade, to the devil with the other six! That is enough for
me and for thee also. I can see that they are very wise and discreet
folk at Beaulieu. Ah! mon ange, what have you in the pipkin?”
“It is milk, worthy sir,” answered the peasant-maid, who stood by the
door of a cottage with a jug in her hand. “Would it please you, gentles,
that I should bring you out three horns of it?”
“Nay, ma petite, but here is a two-sous piece for thy kindly tongue and
for the sight of thy pretty face. Ma foi! but she has a bonne mine. I
have a mind to bide and speak with her.”
“Nay, nay, Aylward,” cried Alleyne. “Sir Nigel will await us, and he in
haste.”
“True, true, camarade! Adieu, ma cherie! mon coeur est toujours a
toi. Her mother is a well-grown woman also. See where she digs by the
wayside. Ma foi! the riper fruit is ever the sweeter. Bon jour, ma belle
dame! God have you in his keeping! Said Sir Nigel where he would await
us?”
“At Marmande or Aiguillon. He said that we could not pass him, seeing
that there is but the one road.”
“Aye, and it is a road that I know as I know the Midhurst parish
butts,” quoth the bowman. “Thirty times have I journeyed it, forward and
backward, and, by the twang of string! I am wont to come back this way
more laden than I went. I have carried all that I had into France in
a wallet, and it hath taken four sumpter-mules to carry it back again.
God's benison on the man who first turned his hand to the making of war!
But there, down in the dingle, is the church of Cardillac, and you may
see the inn where three poplars grow beyond the village. Let us on, for
a stoup of wine would hearten us upon our way.”
The highway had lain through the swelling vineyard country, which
stretched away to the north and east in gentle curves, with many a
peeping spire and feudal tower, and cluster of village houses, all clear
cut and hard in the bright wintry air. To their right stretched the blue
Garonne, running swiftly seawards, with boats and barges dotted over its
broad bosom. On the other side lay a strip of vineyard, and beyond it
the desolate and sandy region of the Landes, all tangled with faded
gorse and heath and broom, stretching away in unbroken gloom to the blue
hills which lay low upon the furthest sky-line. Behind them might still
be seen the broad estuary of the Gironde, with the high towers of
Saint Andre and Saint Remi shooting up from the plain. In front, amid
radiating lines of poplars, lay the riverside townlet of Cardillac--gray
walls, white houses, and a feather of blue smoke.
“This is the 'Mouton d'Or,'” said Aylward, as they pulled up their
horses at a whitewashed straggling hostel. “What ho there!” he
continued, beating upon the door with the hilt of his sword. “Tapster,
ostler, varlet, hark hither, and a wannion on your lazy limbs! Ha!
Michel, as red in the nose as ever! Three jacks of the wine of the
country, Michel--for the air bites shrewdly. I pray you, Alleyne, to
take note of this door, for I have a tale concerning it.”
“Tell me, friend,” said Alleyne to the portly red-faced inn-keeper, “has
a knight and a squire passed this way within the hour?”
“Nay, sir, it would be two hours back. Was he a small man, weak in the
eyes, with a want of hair, and speaks very quiet when he is most to be
feared?”
“The same,” the squire answered. “But I marvel how you should know how
he speaks when he is in wrath, for he is very gentle-minded with those
who are beneath him.”
“Praise to the saints! it was not I who angered him,” said the fat
Michel.
“Who, then?”
“It was young Sieur de Crespigny of Saintonge, who chanced to be here,
and made game of the Englishman, seeing that he was but a small man and
hath a face which is full of peace. But indeed this good knight was a
very quiet and patient man, for he saw that the Sieur de Crespigny
was still young and spoke from an empty head, so he sat his horse
and quaffed his wine, even as you are doing now, all heedless of the
clacking tongue.”
“And what then, Michel?”
“Well, messieurs, it chanced that the Sieur de Crespigny, having said
this and that, for the laughter of the varlets, cried out at last about
the glove that the knight wore in his coif, asking if it was the custom
in England for a man to wear a great archer's glove in his cap. Pardieu!
I have never seen a man get off his horse as quick as did that stranger
Englishman. Ere the words were past the other's lips he was beside him,
his face nigh touching, and his breath hot upon his cheeks. 'I think,
young sir,' quoth he softly, looking into the other's eyes, 'that now
that I am nearer you will very clearly see that the glove is not an
archer's glove.' 'Perchance not,' said the Sieur de Crespigny with a
twitching lip. 'Nor is it large, but very small,' quoth the Englishman.
'Less large than I had thought,' said the other, looking down, for the
knight's gaze was heavy upon his eyelids. 'And in every way such a glove
as might be worn by the fairest and sweetest lady in England,' quoth
the Englishman. 'It may be so,' said the Sieur de Crespigny, turning his
face from him. 'I am myself weak in the eyes, and have often taken one
thing for another,' quoth the knight, as he sprang back into his saddle
and rode off, leaving the Sieur de Crespigny biting his nails before the
door. Ha! by the five wounds, many men of war have drunk my wine, but
never one was more to my fancy than this little Englishman.”
“By my hilt! he is our master, Michel,” quoth Aylward, “and such men as
we do not serve under a laggart. But here are four deniers, Michel, and
God be with you! En avant, camarades! for we have a long road before
us.”
At a brisk trot the three friends left Cardillac and its wine-house
behind them, riding without a halt past St. Macaire, and on by ferry
over the river Dorpt. At the further side the road winds through La
Reolle, Bazaille, and Marmande, with the sunlit river still gleaming
upon the right, and the bare poplars bristling up upon either side. John
and Alleyne rode silent on either side, but every inn, farm-steading,
or castle brought back to Aylward some remembrance of love, foray, or
plunder, with which to beguile the way.
“There is the smoke from Bazas, on the further side of Garonne,” quoth
he. “There were three sisters yonder, the daughters of a farrier, and,
by these ten finger-bones! a man might ride for a long June day and
never set eyes upon such maidens. There was Marie, tall and grave, and
Blanche petite and gay, and the dark Agnes, with eyes that went through
you like a waxed arrow. I lingered there as long as four days, and was
betrothed to them all; for it seemed shame to set one above her sisters,
and might make ill blood in the family. Yet, for all my care, things
were not merry in the house, and I thought it well to come away. There,
too, is the mill of Le Souris. Old Pierre Le Caron, who owned it, was a
right good comrade, and had ever a seat and a crust for a weary archer.
He was a man who wrought hard at all that he turned his hand to; but he
heated himself in grinding bones to mix with his flour, and so through
over-diligence he brought a fever upon himself and died.”
“Tell me, Aylward,” said Alleyne, “what was amiss with the door of
yonder inn that you should ask me to observe it.”
“Pardieu! yes, I had well-nigh forgot. What saw you on yonder door?”
“I saw a square hole, through which doubtless the host may peep when he
is not too sure of those who knock.”
“And saw you naught else?”
“I marked that beneath this hole there was a deep cut in the door, as
though a great nail had been driven in.”
“And naught else?”
“No.”
“Had you looked more closely you might have seen that there was a stain
upon the wood. The first time that I ever heard my comrade Black Simon
laugh was in front of that door. I heard him once again when he slew a
French squire with his teeth, he being unarmed and the Frenchman having
a dagger.”
“And why did Simon laugh in front of the inn-door!” asked John.
“Simon is a hard and perilous man when he hath the bitter drop in him;
and, by my hilt! he was born for war, for there is little sweetness or
rest in him. This inn, the 'Mouton d'Or,' was kept in the old days by
one Francois Gourval, who had a hard fist and a harder heart. It was
said that many and many an archer coming from the wars had been served
with wine with simples in it, until he slept, and had then been stripped
of all by this Gourval. Then on the morrow, if he made complaint, this
wicked Gourval would throw him out upon the road or beat him, for he
was a very lusty man, and had many stout varlets in his service. This
chanced to come to Simon's ears when we were at Bordeaux together, and
he would have it that we should ride to Cardillac with a good hempen
cord, and give this Gourval such a scourging as he merited. Forth we
rode then, but when we came to the 'Mouton d'Or,' Gourval had had word of
our coming and its purpose, so that the door was barred, nor was there
any way into the house. 'Let us in, good Master Gourval!' cried Simon,
and 'Let us in, good Master Gourval!' cried I, but no word could we get
through the hole in the door, save that he would draw an arrow upon us
unless we went on our way. 'Well, Master Gourval,' quoth Simon at last,
'this is but a sorry welcome, seeing that we have ridden so far just to
shake you by the hand.' 'Canst shake me by the hand without coming in,'
said Gourval. 'And how that?' asked Simon. 'By passing in your hand
through the hole,' said he. 'Nay, my hand is wounded,' quoth Simon, 'and
of such a size that I cannot pass it in.' 'That need not hinder,' said
Gourval, who was hot to be rid of us, 'pass in your left hand.' 'But I
have something for thee, Gourval,' said Simon. 'What then?' he asked.
'There was an English archer who slept here last week of the name of
Hugh of Nutbourne.' 'We have had many rogues here,' said Gourval. 'His
conscience hath been heavy within him because he owes you a debt of