The White Company
bowmen, there floated the red banner of Merlin with the boars'-heads of
the Buttesthorns. Gravely and sedately they stood beneath the morning
sun waiting for the onslaught of their foemen.
“By Saint Paul!” said Sir Nigel, gazing with puckered eye down the
valley, “there appear to be some very worthy people among them. What is
this golden banner which waves upon the left?”
“It is the ensign of the Knights of Calatrava,” answered Felton.
“And the other upon the right?”
“It marks the Knights of Santiago, and I see by his flag that their
grand-master rides at their head. There too is the banner of Castile
amid yonder sparkling squadron which heads the main battle. There are
six thousand men-at-arms with ten squadrons of slingers as far as I may
judge their numbers.”
“There are Frenchmen among them, my fair lord,” remarked Black Simon.
“I can see the pennons of De Couvette, De Brieux, Saint Pol, and many
others who struck in against us for Charles of Blois.”
“You are right,” said Sir William, “for I can also see them. There is
much Spanish blazonry also, if I could but read it. Don Diego, you know
the arms of your own land. Who are they who have done us this honor?”
The Spanish prisoner looked with exultant eyes upon the deep and serried
ranks of his countrymen.
“By Saint James!” said he, “if ye fall this day ye fall by no mean
hands, for the flower of the knighthood of Castile ride under the banner
of Don Tello, with the chivalry of Asturias, Toledo, Leon, Cordova,
Galicia, and Seville. I see the guidons of Albornez, Cacorla, Rodriguez,
Tavora, with the two great orders, and the knights of France and of
Aragon. If you will take my rede you will come to a composition with
them, for they will give you such terms as you have given me.”
“Nay, by Saint Paul! it were pity if so many brave men were drawn
together, and no little deed of arms to come of it. Ha! William, they
advance upon us; and, by my soul! it is a sight that is worth coming
over the seas to see.”
As he spoke, the two wings of the Spanish host, consisting of the
Knights of Calatrava on the one side and of Santiago upon the other,
came swooping swiftly down the valley, while the main body followed more
slowly behind. Five hundred paces from the English the two great bodies
of horse crossed each other, and, sweeping round in a curve, retired
in feigned confusion towards their centre. Often in bygone wars had the
Moors tempted the hot-blooded Spaniards from their places of strength by
such pretended flights, but there were men upon the hill to whom every
ruse and trick of war were as their daily trade and practice. Again and
even nearer came the rallying Spaniards, and again with cry of fear
and stooping bodies they swerved off to right and left, but the English
still stood stolid and observant among their rocks. The vanguard halted
a long bow shot from the hill, and with waving spears and vaunting
shouts challenged their enemies to come forth, while two cavaliers,
pricking forward from the glittering ranks, walked their horses slowly
between the two arrays with targets braced and lances in rest like the
challengers in a tourney.
“By Saint Paul!” cried Sir Nigel, with his one eye glowing like an
ember, “these appear to be two very worthy and debonair gentlemen. I do
not call to mind when I have seen any people who seemed of so great a
heart and so high of enterprise. We have our horses, Sir William: shall
we not relieve them of any vow which they may have upon their souls?”
Felton's reply was to bound upon his charger, and to urge it down the
slope, while Sir Nigel followed not three spears'-lengths behind him.
It was a rugged course, rocky and uneven, yet the two knights, choosing
their men, dashed onwards at the top of their speed, while the gallant
Spaniards flew as swiftly to meet them. The one to whom Felton found
himself opposed was a tall stripling with a stag's head upon his shield,
while Sir Nigel's man was broad and squat with plain steel harness, and
a pink and white torse bound round his helmet. The first struck Felton
on the target with such force as to split it from side to side, but Sir
William's lance crashed through the camail which shielded the Spaniard's
throat, and he fell, screaming hoarsely, to the ground. Carried away by
the heat and madness of fight, the English knight never drew rein, but
charged straight on into the array of the knights of Calatrava. Long
time the silent ranks upon the hill could see a swirl and eddy deep down
in the heart of the Spanish column, with a circle of rearing chargers
and flashing blades. Here and there tossed the white plume of the
English helmet, rising and falling like the foam upon a wave, with the
fierce gleam and sparkle ever circling round it until at last it had
sunk from view, and another brave man had turned from war to peace.
Sir Nigel, meanwhile, had found a foeman worthy of his steel for his
opponent was none other than Sebastian Gomez, the picked lance of
the monkish Knights of Santiago, who had won fame in a hundred bloody
combats with the Moors of Andalusia. So fierce was their meeting that
their spears shivered up to the very grasp, and the horses reared
backwards until it seemed that they must crash down upon their riders.
Yet with consummate horsemanship they both swung round in a long curvet,
and then plucking out their swords they lashed at each other like two
lusty smiths hammering upon an anvil. The chargers spun round each
other, biting and striking, while the two blades wheeled and whizzed and
circled in gleams of dazzling light. Cut, parry, and thrust followed
so swiftly upon each other that the eye could not follow them, until at
last coming thigh to thigh, they cast their arms around each other
and rolled off their saddles to the ground. The heavier Spaniard threw
himself upon his enemy, and pinning him down beneath him raised his
sword to slay him, while a shout of triumph rose from the ranks of his
countrymen. But the fatal blow never fell, for even as his arm quivered
before descending, the Spaniard gave a shudder, and stiffening himself
rolled heavily over upon his side, with the blood gushing from his
armpit and from the slit of his vizor. Sir Nigel sprang to his feet with
his bloody dagger in his left hand and gazed down upon his adversary,
but that fatal and sudden stab in the vital spot, which the Spaniard had
exposed by raising his arm, had proved instantly mortal. The Englishman
leaped upon his horse and made for the hill, at the very instant that a
yell of rage from a thousand voices and the clang of a score of bugles
announced the Spanish onset.
But the islanders were ready and eager for the encounter. With feet
firmly planted, their sleeves rolled back to give free play to their
muscles, their long yellow bow-staves in their left hands, and their
quivers slung to the front, they had waited in the four-deep harrow
formation which gave strength to their array, and yet permitted every
man to draw his arrow freely without harm to those in front. Aylward and
Johnston had been engaged in throwing light tufts of grass into the air
to gauge the wind force, and a hoarse whisper passed down the ranks from
the file-leaders to the men, with scraps of advice and admonition.
“Do not shoot outside the fifteen-score paces,” cried Johnston. “We may
need all our shafts ere we have done with them.”
“Better to overshoot than to undershoot,” added Aylward. “Better to
strike the rear guard than to feather a shaft in the earth.”
“Loose quick and sharp when they come,” added another. “Let it be the
eye to the string, the string to the shaft, and the shaft to the mark.
By Our Lady! their banners advance, and we must hold our ground now if
ever we are to see Southampton Water again.”
Alleyne, standing with his sword drawn amidst the archers, saw a long
toss and heave of the glittering squadrons. Then the front ranks began
to surge slowly forward, to trot, to canter, to gallop, and in an
instant the whole vast array was hurtling onward, line after line, the
air full of the thunder of their cries, the ground shaking with the beat
of their hoofs, the valley choked with the rushing torrent of steel,
topped by the waving plumes, the slanting spears and the fluttering
banderoles. On they swept over the level and up to the slope, ere they
met the blinding storm of the English arrows. Down went the whole ranks
in a whirl of mad confusion, horses plunging and kicking, bewildered men
falling, rising, staggering on or back, while ever new lines of horsemen
came spurring through the gaps and urged their chargers up the fatal
slope. All around him Alleyne could hear the stern, short orders of the
master-bowmen, while the air was filled with the keen twanging of the
strings and the swish and patter of the shafts. Right across the foot
of the hill there had sprung up a long wall of struggling horses and
stricken men, which ever grew and heightened as fresh squadrons poured
on the attack. One young knight on a gray jennet leaped over his fallen
comrades and galloped swiftly up the hill, shrieking loudly upon Saint
James, ere he fell within a spear-length of the English line, with the
feathers of arrows thrusting out from every crevice and joint of his
armor. So for five long minutes the gallant horsemen of Spain and of
France strove ever and again to force a passage, until the wailing
note of a bugle called them back, and they rode slowly out of bow-shot,
leaving their best and their bravest in the ghastly, blood-mottled heap
behind them.
But there was little rest for the victors. Whilst the knights had
charged them in front the slingers had crept round upon either flank and
had gained a footing upon the cliffs and behind the outlying rocks.
A storm of stones broke suddenly upon the defenders, who, drawn up in
lines upon the exposed summit, offered a fair mark to their hidden
foes. Johnston, the old archer, was struck upon the temple and fell dead
without a groan, while fifteen of his bowmen and six of the men-at-arms
were struck down at the same moment. The others lay on their faces to
avoid the deadly hail, while at each side of the plateau a fringe of
bowmen exchanged shots with the slingers and crossbowmen among the
rocks, aiming mainly at those who had swarmed up the cliffs, and
bursting into laughter and cheers when a well-aimed shaft brought one of
their opponents toppling down from his lofty perch.
“I think, Nigel,” said Sir Oliver, striding across to the little knight,
“that we should all acquit ourselves better had we our none-meat, for
the sun is high in the heaven.”
“By Saint Paul!” quoth Sir Nigel, plucking the patch from his eye,
“I think that I am now clear of my vow, for this Spanish knight was a
person from whom much honor might be won. Indeed, he was a very worthy
gentleman, of good courage, and great hardiness, and it grieves me that
he should have come by such a hurt. As to what you say of food, Oliver,
it is not to be thought of, for we have nothing with us upon the hill.”
“Nigel!” cried Sir Simon Burley, hurrying up with consternation upon his
face, “Aylward tells me that there are not ten-score arrows left in all
their sheaves. See! they are springing from their horses, and cutting
their sollerets that they may rush upon us. Might we not even now make a
retreat?”
“My soul will retreat from my body first!” cried the little knight.
“Here I am, and here I bide, while God gives me strength to lift a
sword.”
“And so say I!” shouted Sir Oliver, throwing his mace high into the air
and catching it again by the handle.
“To your arms, men!” roared Sir Nigel. “Shoot while you may, and then
out sword, and let us live or die together!”
CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.