The White Company
soldiers, it would be hard indeed for a leader to seek for a choicer
following. Here and there in the ranks were old soldiers of the French
wars, grizzled and lean, with fierce, puckered features and shaggy,
bristling brows. The most, however, were young and dandy archers, with
fresh English faces, their beards combed out, their hair curling from
under their close steel hufkens, with gold or jewelled earrings gleaming
in their ears, while their gold-spangled baldrics, their silken belts,
and the chains which many of them wore round their thick brown necks,
all spoke of the brave times which they had had as free companions. Each
had a yew or hazel stave slung over his shoulder, plain and serviceable
with the older men, but gaudily painted and carved at either end with
the others. Steel caps, mail brigandines, white surcoats with the red
lion of St. George, and sword or battle-axe swinging from their belts,
completed this equipment, while in some cases the murderous maule or
five-foot mallet was hung across the bowstave, being fastened to their
leathern shoulder-belt by a hook in the centre of the handle. Sir
Nigel's heart beat high as he looked upon their free bearing and
fearless faces.
For two hours they marched through forest and marshland, along the left
bank of the river Aveyron; Sir Nigel riding behind his Company, with
Alleyne at his right hand, and Johnston, the old master bowman, walking
by his left stirrup. Ere they had reached their journey's end the knight
had learned all that he would know of his men, their doings and their
intentions. Once, as they marched, they saw upon the further bank of the
river a body of French men-at-arms, riding very swiftly in the direction
of Villefranche.
“It is the Seneschal of Toulouse, with his following,” said Johnston,
shading his eyes with his hand. “Had he been on this side of the water
he might have attempted something upon us.”
“I think that it would be well that we should cross,” said Sir Nigel.
“It were pity to balk this worthy seneschal, should he desire to try
some small feat of arms.”
“Nay, there is no ford nearer than Tourville,” answered the old archer.
“He is on his way to Villefranche, and short will be the shrift of any
Jacks who come into his hands, for he is a man of short speech. It
was he and the Seneschal of Beaucaire who hung Peter Wilkins, of the
Company, last Lammastide; for which, by the black rood of Waltham! they
shall hang themselves, if ever they come into our power. But here are
our comrades, Sir Nigel, and here is our camp.”
As he spoke, the forest pathway along which they marched opened out into
a green glade, which sloped down towards the river. High, leafless trees
girt it in on three sides, with a thick undergrowth of holly between
their trunks. At the farther end of this forest clearing there stood
forty or fifty huts, built very neatly from wood and clay, with the
blue smoke curling out from the roofs. A dozen tethered horses and mules
grazed around the encampment, while a number of archers lounged about:
some shooting at marks, while others built up great wooden fires in the
open, and hung their cooking kettles above them. At the sight of their
returning comrades there was a shout of welcome, and a horseman, who
had been exercising his charger behind the camp, came cantering down
to them. He was a dapper, brisk man, very richly clad, with a round,
clean-shaven face, and very bright black eyes, which danced and sparkled
with excitement.
“Sir Nigel!” he cried. “Sir Nigel Loring, at last! By my soul we have
awaited you this month past. Right welcome, Sir Nigel! You have had my
letter?”
“It was that which brought me here,” said Sir Nigel. “But indeed, Sir
Claude Latour, it is a great wonder to me that you did not yourself lead
these bowmen, for surely they could have found no better leader?”
“None, none, by the Virgin of L'Esparre!” he cried, speaking in the
strange, thick Gascon speech which turns every _v_ into a _b_. “But you
know what these islanders of yours are, Sir Nigel. They will not be led
by any save their own blood and race. There is no persuading them.
Not even I, Claude Latour Seigneur of Montchateau, master of the high
justice, the middle and the low, could gain their favor. They must needs
hold a council and put their two hundred thick heads together, and then
there comes this fellow Aylward and another, as their spokesmen, to say
that they will disband unless an Englishman of good name be set over
them. There are many of them, as I understand, who come from some great
forest which lies in Hampi, or Hampti--I cannot lay my tongue to the
name. Your dwelling is in those parts, and so their thoughts turned to
you as their leader. But we had hoped that you would bring a hundred men
with you.”
“They are already at Dax, where we shall join them,” said Sir Nigel.
“But let the men break their fast, and we shall then take counsel what
to do.”
“Come into my hut,” said Sir Claude. “It is but poor fare that I can lay
before you--milk, cheese, wine, and bacon--yet your squire and yourself
will doubtless excuse it. This is my house where the pennon flies before
the door--a small residence to contain the Lord of Montchateau.”
Sir Nigel sat silent and distrait at his meal, while Alleyne hearkened
to the clattering tongue of the Gascon, and to his talk of the glories
of his own estate, his successes in love, and his triumphs in war.
“And now that you are here, Sir Nigel,” he said at last, “I have many
fine ventures all ready for us. I have heard that Montpezat is of no
great strength, and that there are two hundred thousand crowns in the
castle. At Castelnau also there is a cobbler who is in my pay, and who
will throw us a rope any dark night from his house by the town wall. I
promise you that you shall thrust your arms elbow-deep among good silver
pieces ere the nights are moonless again; for on every hand of us are
fair women, rich wine, and good plunder, as much as heart could wish.”
“I have other plans,” answered Sir Nigel curtly; “for I have come hither
to lead these bowmen to the help of the prince, our master, who may have
sore need of them ere he set Pedro upon the throne of Spain. It is my
purpose to start this very day for Dax upon the Adour, where he hath now
pitched his camp.”
The face of the Gascon darkened, and his eyes flashed with resentment.
“For me,” he said, “I care little for this war, and I find the life
which I lead a very joyous and pleasant one. I will not go to Dax.”
“Nay, think again, Sir Claude,” said Sir Nigel gently; “for you have
ever had the name of a true and loyal knight. Surely you will not hold
back now when your master hath need of you.”
“I will not go to Dax,” the other shouted.
“But your devoir--your oath of fealty?”
“I say that I will not go.”
“Then, Sir Claude, I must lead the Company without you.”
“If they will follow,” cried the Gascon with a sneer. “These are not
hired slaves, but free companions, who will do nothing save by their own
good wills. In very sooth, my Lord Loring, they are ill men to trifle
with, and it were easier to pluck a bone from a hungry bear than to lead
a bowman out of a land of plenty and of pleasure.”
“Then I pray you to gather them together,” said Sir Nigel, “and I will
tell them what is in my mind; for if I am their leader they must to Dax,
and if I am not then I know not what I am doing in Auvergne. Have my
horse ready, Alleyne; for, by St. Paul! come what may, I must be upon
the homeward road ere mid-day.”
A blast upon the bugle summoned the bowmen to counsel, and they gathered
in little knots and groups around a great fallen tree which lay athwart
the glade. Sir Nigel sprang lightly upon the trunk, and stood with
blinking eye and firm lips looking down at the ring of upturned warlike
faces.
“They tell me, bowmen,” said he, “that ye have grown so fond of ease and
plunder and high living that ye are not to be moved from this pleasant
country. But, by Saint Paul! I will believe no such thing of you, for
I can readily see that you are all very valiant men, who would scorn to
live here in peace when your prince hath so great a venture before him.
Ye have chosen me as a leader, and a leader I will be if ye come with
me to Spain; and I vow to you that my pennon of the five roses shall, if
God give me strength and life, be ever where there is most honor to
be gained. But if it be your wish to loll and loiter in these glades,
bartering glory and renown for vile gold and ill-gotten riches, then
ye must find another leader; for I have lived in honor, and in honor I
trust that I shall die. If there be forest men or Hampshire men amongst
ye, I call upon them to say whether they will follow the banner of
Loring.”
“Here's a Romsey man for you!” cried a young bowman with a sprig of
evergreen set in his helmet.
“And a lad from Alresford!” shouted another.
“And from Milton!”
“And from Burley!”
“And from Lymington!”
“And a little one from Brockenhurst!” shouted a huge-limbed fellow who
sprawled beneath a tree.
“By my hilt! lads,” cried Aylward, jumping upon the fallen trunk, “I
think that we could not look the girls in the eyes if we let the prince
cross the mountains and did not pull string to clear a path for him.
It is very well in time of peace to lead such a life as we have had
together, but now the war-banner is in the wind once more, and, by these
ten finger-bones! if he go alone, old Samkin Aylward will walk beside
it.”
These words from a man as popular as Aylward decided many of the
waverers, and a shout of approval burst from his audience.
“Far be it from me,” said Sir Claude Latour suavely, “to persuade you
against this worthy archer, or against Sir Nigel Loring; yet we have
been together in many ventures, and perchance it may not be amiss if I
say to you what I think upon the matter.”
“Peace for the little Gascon!” cried the archers. “Let every man have
his word. Shoot straight for the mark, lad, and fair play for all.”
“Bethink you, then,” said Sir Claude, “that you go under a hard rule,
with neither freedom nor pleasure--and for what? For sixpence a day,
at the most; while now you may walk across the country and stretch out
either hand to gather in whatever you have a mind for. What do we not
hear of our comrades who have gone with Sir John Hawkwood to Italy? In
one night they have held to ransom six hundred of the richest noblemen
of Mantua. They camp before a great city, and the base burghers come
forth with the keys, and then they make great spoil; or, if it please
them better, they take so many horse-loads of silver as a composition;
and so they journey on from state to state, rich and free and feared by
all. Now, is not that the proper life for a soldier?”
“The proper life for a robber!” roared Hordle John, in his thundering
voice.
“And yet there is much in what the Gascon says,” said a swarthy fellow
in a weather-stained doublet; “and I for one would rather prosper in
Italy than starve in Spain.”
“You were always a cur and a traitor, Mark Shaw,” cried Aylward. “By
my hilt! if you will stand forth and draw your sword I will warrant you
that you will see neither one nor the other.”
“Nay, Aylward,” said Sir Nigel, “we cannot mend the matter by broiling.
Sir Claude, I think that what you have said does you little honor, and
if my words aggrieve you I am ever ready to go deeper into the matter
with you. But you shall have such men as will follow you, and you may
go where you will, so that you come not with us. Let all who love
their prince and country stand fast, while those who think more of a
well-lined purse step forth upon the farther side.”
Thirteen bowmen, with hung heads and sheepish faces, stepped forward