The White Company
and visiting leech perhaps--or whether they might have a more sinister
meaning. But what danger could threaten them here in this strong castle,
under the care of famous warriors, with high walls and a broad moat
around them? Who was there that could injure them? He had well-nigh
persuaded himself that his fears were a foolish fancy, when his eyes
fell upon that which sent the blood cold to his heart and left him
gasping, with hands clutching at the counterpane.
Right in front of him was the broad window of the chamber, with the moon
shining brightly through it. For an instant something had obscured the
light, and now a head was bobbing up and down outside, the face looking
in at him, and swinging slowly from one side of the window to the other.
Even in that dim light there could be no mistaking those features.
Drawn, distorted and blood-stained, they were still those of the young
fellow-squire who had sat so recently upon his own couch. With a cry of
horror Alleyne sprang from his bed and rushed to the casement, while the
two archers, aroused by the sound, seized their weapons and stared about
them in bewilderment. One glance was enough to show Edricson that his
fears were but too true. Foully murdered, with a score of wounds upon
him and a rope round his neck, his poor friend had been cast from
the upper window and swung slowly in the night wind, his body rasping
against the wall and his disfigured face upon a level with the casement.
“My God!” cried Alleyne, shaking in every limb. “What has come upon us?
What devil's deed is this?”
“Here is flint and steel,” said John stolidly. “The lamp, Aylward! This
moonshine softens a man's heart. Now we may use the eyes which God hath
given us.”
“By my hilt!” cried Aylward, as the yellow flame flickered up, “it is
indeed young master Ford, and I think that this seneschal is a black
villain, who dare not face us in the day but would murther us in our
sleep. By the twang of string! if I do not soak a goose's feather with
his heart's blood, it will be no fault of Samkin Aylward of the White
Company.”
“But, Aylward, think of the men whom I saw yesternight,” said Alleyne.
“It may not be the seneschal. It may be that others have come into the
castle. I must to Sir Nigel ere it be too late. Let me go, Aylward, for
my place is by his side.”
“One moment, mon gar. Put that steel head-piece on the end of my
yew-stave. So! I will put it first through the door; for it is ill to
come out when you can neither see nor guard yourself. Now, camarades,
out swords and stand ready! Hola, by my hilt! it is time that we were
stirring!”
As he spoke, a sudden shouting broke forth in the castle, with the
scream of a woman and the rush of many feet. Then came the sharp clink
of clashing steel, and a roar like that of an angry lion--“Notre Dame Du
Guesclin! St. Ives! St. Ives!” The bow-man pulled back the bolt of the
door, and thrust out the headpiece at the end of the bow. A clash, the
clatter of the steel-cap upon the ground, and, ere the man who struck
could heave up for another blow, the archer had passed his sword through
his body. “On, camarades, on!” he cried; and, breaking fiercely past two
men who threw themselves in his way, he sped down the broad corridor in
the direction of the shouting.
A sharp turning, and then a second one, brought them to the head of a
short stair, from which they looked straight down upon the scene of the
uproar. A square oak-floored hall lay beneath them, from which opened
the doors of the principal guest-chambers. This hall was as light as
day, for torches burned in numerous sconces upon the walls, throwing
strange shadows from the tusked or antlered heads which ornamented them.
At the very foot of the stair, close to the open door of their chamber,
lay the seneschal and his wife: she with her head shorn from her
shoulders, he thrust through with a sharpened stake, which still
protruded from either side of his body. Three servants of the castle lay
dead beside them, all torn and draggled, as though a pack of wolves had
been upon them. In front of the central guest-chamber stood Du Guesclin
and Sir Nigel, half-clad and unarmored, with the mad joy of battle
gleaming in their eyes. Their heads were thrown back, their lips
compressed, their blood-stained swords poised over their right
shoulders, and their left feet thrown out. Three dead men lay huddled
together in front of them: while a fourth, with the blood squirting
from a severed vessel, lay back with updrawn knees, breathing in
wheezy gasps. Further back--all panting together, like the wind in a
tree--there stood a group of fierce, wild creatures, bare-armed and
bare-legged, gaunt, unshaven, with deep-set murderous eyes and wild
beast faces. With their flashing teeth, their bristling hair, their mad
leapings and screamings, they seemed to Alleyne more like fiends from
the pit than men of flesh and blood. Even as he looked, they broke
into a hoarse yell and dashed once more upon the two knights, hurling
themselves madly upon their sword-points; clutching, scrambling, biting,
tearing, careless of wounds if they could but drag the two soldiers to
earth. Sir Nigel was thrown down by the sheer weight of them, and Sir
Bertrand with his thunderous war-cry was swinging round his heavy sword
to clear a space for him to rise, when the whistle of two long English
arrows, and the rush of the squire and the two English archers down the
stairs, turned the tide of the combat. The assailants gave back, the
knights rushed forward, and in a very few moments the hall was cleared,
and Hordle John had hurled the last of the wild men down the steep steps
which led from the end of it.
“Do not follow them,” cried Du Guesclin. “We are lost if we scatter. For
myself I care not a denier, though it is a poor thing to meet one's end
at the hands of such scum; but I have my dear lady here, who must by no
means be risked. We have breathing-space now, and I would ask you, Sir
Nigel, what it is that you would counsel?”
“By St. Paul!” answered Sir Nigel, “I can by no means understand what
hath befallen us, save that I have been woken up by your battle-cry,
and, rushing forth, found myself in the midst of this small bickering.
Harrow and alas for the lady and the seneschal! What dogs are they who
have done this bloody deed?”
“They are the Jacks, the men of the brushwood. They have the castle,
though I know not how it hath come to pass. Look from this window into
the bailey.”
“By heaven!” cried Sir Nigel, “it is as bright as day with the torches.
The gates stand open, and there are three thousand of them within the
walls. See how they rush and scream and wave! What is it that they
thrust out through the postern door? My God! it is a man-at-arms, and
they pluck him limb from limb like hounds on a wolf. Now another, and
yet another. They hold the whole castle, for I see their faces at the
windows. See, there are some with great bundles on their backs.”
“It is dried wood from the forest. They pile them against the walls and
set them in a blaze. Who is this who tries to check them? By St. Ives!
it is the good priest who spake for them in the hall. He kneels, he
prays, he implores! What! villains, would ye raise hands against those
who have befriended you? Ah, the butcher has struck him! He is down!
They stamp him under their feet! They tear off his gown and wave it in
the air! See now, how the flames lick up the walls! Are there none left
to rally round us? With a hundred men we might hold our own.”
“Oh, for my Company!” cried Sir Nigel. “But where is Ford, Alleyne?”
“He is foully murdered, my fair lord.”
“The saints receive him! May he rest in peace! But here come some at
last who may give us counsel, for amid these passages it is ill to stir
without a guide.”
As he spoke, a French squire and the Bohemian knight came rushing down
the steps, the latter bleeding from a slash across his forehead.
“All is lost!” he cried. “The castle is taken and on fire, the seneschal
is slain, and there is nought left for us.”
“On the contrary,” quoth Sir Nigel, “there is much left to us, for there
is a very honorable contention before us, and a fair lady for whom to
give our lives. There are many ways in which a man might die, but none
better than this.”
“You can tell us, Godfrey,” said Du Guesclin to the French squire: “how
came these men into the castle, and what succors can we count upon? By
St. Ives! if we come not quickly to some counsel we shall be burned like
young rooks in a nest.”
The squire, a dark, slender stripling, spoke firmly and quickly, as one
who was trained to swift action. “There is a passage under the earth
into the castle,” said he, “and through it some of the Jacks made their
way, casting open the gates for the others. They have had help from
within the walls, and the men-at-arms were heavy with wine: they must
have been slain in their beds, for these devils crept from room to room
with soft step and ready knife. Sir Amory the Hospitaller was struck
down with an axe as he rushed before us from his sleeping-chamber. Save
only ourselves, I do not think that there are any left alive.”
“What, then, would you counsel?”
“That we make for the keep. It is unused, save in time of war, and the
key hangs from my poor lord and master's belt.”
“There are two keys there.”
“It is the larger. Once there, we might hold the narrow stair; and at
least, as the walls are of a greater thickness, it would be longer ere
they could burn them. Could we but carry the lady across the bailey, all
might be well with us.”
“Nay; the lady hath seen something of the work of war,” said Tiphaine
coming forth, as white, as grave, and as unmoved as ever. “I would not
be a hamper to you, my dear spouse and gallant friend. Rest assured of
this, that if all else fail I have always a safeguard here”--drawing a
small silver-hilted poniard from her bosom--“which sets me beyond the
fear of these vile and blood-stained wretches.”
“Tiphaine,” cried Du Guesclin, “I have always loved you; and now, by Our
Lady of Rennes! I love you more than ever. Did I not know that your hand
will be as ready as your words I would myself turn my last blow upon
you, ere you should fall into their hands. Lead on, Godfrey! A new
golden pyx will shine in the minster of Dinan if we come safely through
with it.”
The attention of the insurgents had been drawn away from murder to
plunder, and all over the castle might be heard their cries and whoops
of delight as they dragged forth the rich tapestries, the silver
flagons, and the carved furniture. Down in the courtyard half-clad
wretches, their bare limbs all mottled with blood-stains, strutted
about with plumed helmets upon their heads, or with the Lady Rochefort's
silken gowns girt round their loins and trailing on the ground behind
them. Casks of choice wine had been rolled out from the cellars, and
starving peasants squatted, goblet in hand, draining off vintages which
De Rochefort had set aside for noble and royal guests. Others, with
slabs of bacon and joints of dried meat upon the ends of their pikes,
held them up to the blaze or tore at them ravenously with their teeth.
Yet all order had not been lost amongst them, for some hundreds of the
better armed stood together in a silent group, leaning upon their rude
weapons and looking up at the fire, which had spread so rapidly as to
involve one whole side of the castle. Already Alleyne could hear the
crackling and roaring of the flames, while the air was heavy with heat
and full of the pungent whiff of burning wood.
CHAPTER XXXI. HOW FIVE MEN HELD THE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE
Under the guidance of the French squire the party passed down two narrow
corridors. The first was empty, but at the head of the second stood a