The White Company
Then up rose from the hill in the rugged Cantabrian valley a sound such
as had not been heard in those parts before, nor was again, until
the streams which rippled amid the rocks had been frozen by over four
hundred winters and thawed by as many returning springs. Deep and full
and strong it thundered down the ravine, the fierce battle-call of a
warrior race, the last stern welcome to whoso should join with them in
that world-old game where the stake is death. Thrice it swelled forth
and thrice it sank away, echoing and reverberating amidst the crags.
Then, with set faces, the Company rose up among the storm of stones,
and looked down upon the thousands who sped swiftly up the slope against
them. Horse and spear had been set aside, but on foot, with sword and
battle-axe, their broad shields slung in front of them, the chivalry of
Spain rushed to the attack.
And now arose a struggle so fell, so long, so evenly sustained,
that even now the memory of it is handed down amongst the Cantabrian
mountaineers and the ill-omened knoll is still pointed out by fathers
to their children as the “Altura de los Inglesos,” where the men from
across the sea fought the great fight with the knights of the south. The
last arrow was quickly shot, nor could the slingers hurl their stones,
so close were friend and foe. From side to side stretched the thin line
of the English, lightly armed and quick-footed, while against it stormed
and raged the pressing throng of fiery Spaniards and of gallant Bretons.
The clink of crossing sword-blades, the dull thudding of heavy blows,
the panting and gasping of weary and wounded men, all rose together in
a wild, long-drawn note, which swelled upwards to the ears of the
wondering peasants who looked down from the edges of the cliffs upon the
swaying turmoil of the battle beneath them. Back and forward reeled the
leopard banner, now borne up the slope by the rush and weight of the
onslaught, now pushing downwards again as Sir Nigel, Burley, and Black
Simon with their veteran men-at arms, flung themselves madly into the
fray. Alleyne, at his lord's right hand, found himself swept hither and
thither in the desperate struggle, exchanging savage thrusts one instant
with a Spanish cavalier, and the next torn away by the whirl of men and
dashed up against some new antagonist. To the right Sir Oliver, Aylward,
Hordle John, and the bowmen of the Company fought furiously against the
monkish Knights of Santiago, who were led up the hill by their prior--a
great, deep-chested man, who wore a brown monastic habit over his suit
of mail. Three archers he slew in three giant strokes, but Sir Oliver
flung his arms round him, and the two, staggering and straining, reeled
backwards and fell, locked in each other's grasp, over the edge of the
steep cliff which flanked the hill. In vain his knights stormed and
raved against the thin line which barred their path: the sword of
Aylward and the great axe of John gleamed in the forefront of the battle
and huge jagged pieces of rock, hurled by the strong arms of the bowmen,
crashed and hurtled amid their ranks. Slowly they gave back down the
hill, the archers still hanging upon their skirts, with a long litter of
writhing and twisted figures to mark the course which they had taken. At
the same instant the Welshmen upon the left, led on by the Scotch earl,
had charged out from among the rocks which sheltered them, and by the
fury of their outfall had driven the Spaniards in front of them in
headlong flight down the hill. In the centre only things seemed to be
going ill with the defenders. Black Simon was down--dying, as he would
wish to have died, like a grim old wolf in its lair with a ring of his
slain around him. Twice Sir Nigel had been overborne, and twice Alleyne
had fought over him until he had staggered to his feet once more.
Burley lay senseless, stunned by a blow from a mace, and half of the
men-at-arms lay littered upon the ground around him. Sir Nigel's shield
was broken, his crest shorn, his armor cut and smashed, and the vizor
torn from his helmet; yet he sprang hither and thither with light
foot and ready hand, engaging two Bretons and a Spaniard at the same
instant--thrusting, stooping, dashing in, springing out--while Alleyne
still fought by his side, stemming with a handful of men the fierce tide
which surged up against them. Yet it would have fared ill with them
had not the archers from either side closed in upon the flanks of the
attackers, and pressed them very slowly and foot by foot down the long
slope, until they were on the plain once more, where their fellows were
already rallying for a fresh assault.
But terrible indeed was the cost at which the last had been repelled.
Of the three hundred and seventy men who had held the crest, one hundred
and seventy-two were left standing, many of whom were sorely wounded and
weak from loss of blood. Sir Oliver Buttesthorn, Sir Richard Causton,
Sir Simon Burley, Black Simon, Johnston, a hundred and fifty archers,
and forty-seven men-at-arms had fallen, while the pitiless hail of
stones was already whizzing and piping once more about their ears,
threatening every instant to further reduce their numbers.
Sir Nigel looked about him at his shattered ranks, and his face flushed
with a soldier's pride.
“By St. Paul!” he cried, “I have fought in many a little bickering, but
never one that I would be more loth to have missed than this. But you
are wounded, Alleyne?”
“It is nought,” answered his squire, stanching the blood which dripped
from a sword-cut across his forehead.
“These gentlemen of Spain seem to be most courteous and worthy people. I
see that they are already forming to continue this debate with us. Form
up the bowmen two deep instead of four. By my faith! some very brave men
have gone from among us. Aylward, you are a trusty soldier, for all
that your shoulder has never felt accolade, nor your heels worn the gold
spurs. Do you take charge of the right; I will hold the centre, and you,
my Lord of Angus, the left.”
“Ho! for Sir Samkin Aylward!” cried a rough voice among the archers, and
a roar of laughter greeted their new leader.
“By my hilt!” said the old bowman, “I never thought to lead a wing in a
stricken field. Stand close, camarades, for, by these finger-bones! we
must play the man this day.”
“Come hither, Alleyne,” said Sir Nigel, walking back to the edge of the
cliff which formed the rear of their position. “And you, Norbury,” he
continued, beckoning to the squire of Sir Oliver, “do you also come
here.”
The two squires hurried across to him, and the three stood looking down
into the rocky ravine which lay a hundred and fifty feet beneath them.
“The prince must hear of how things are with us,” said the knight.
“Another onfall we may withstand, but they are many and we are few, so
that the time must come when we can no longer form line across the hill.
Yet if help were brought us we might hold the crest until it comes. See
yonder horses which stray among the rocks beneath us?”
“I see them, my fair lord.”
“And see yonder path which winds along the hill upon the further end of
the valley?”
“I see it.”
“Were you on those horses, and riding up yonder track, steep and rough
as it is, I think that ye might gain the valley beyond. Then on to the
prince, and tell him how we fare.”
“But, my fair lord, how can we hope to reach the horses?” asked Norbury.
“Ye cannot go round to them, for they would be upon ye ere ye could come
to them. Think ye that ye have heart enough to clamber down this cliff?”
“Had we but a rope.”
“There is one here. It is but one hundred feet long, and for the rest ye
must trust to God and to your fingers. Can you try it, Alleyne?”
“With all my heart, my dear lord, but how can I leave you in such a
strait?”
“Nay, it is to serve me that ye go. And you, Norbury?”
The silent squire said nothing, but he took up the rope, and, having
examined it, he tied one end firmly round a projecting rock. Then he
cast off his breast-plate, thigh pieces, and greaves, while Alleyne
followed his example.
“Tell Chandos, or Calverley, or Knolles, should the prince have gone
forward,” cried Sir Nigel. “Now may God speed ye, for ye are brave and
worthy men.”
It was, indeed, a task which might make the heart of the bravest sink
within him. The thin cord dangling down the face of the brown cliff
seemed from above to reach little more than half-way down it. Beyond
stretched the rugged rock, wet and shining, with a green tuft here and
there thrusting out from it, but little sign of ridge or foothold. Far
below the jagged points of the boulders bristled up, dark and menacing.
Norbury tugged thrice with all his strength upon the cord, and then
lowered himself over the edge, while a hundred anxious faces peered over
at him as he slowly clambered downwards to the end of the rope. Twice he
stretched out his foot, and twice he failed to reach the point at which
he aimed, but even as he swung himself for a third effort a stone from
a sling buzzed like a wasp from amid the rocks and struck him full upon
the side of his head. His grasp relaxed, his feet slipped, and in
an instant he was a crushed and mangled corpse upon the sharp ridges
beneath him.
“If I have no better fortune,” said Alleyne, leading Sir Nigel aside. “I
pray you, my dear lord, that you will give my humble service to the Lady
Maude, and say to her that I was ever her true servant and most unworthy
cavalier.”
The old knight said no word, but he put a hand on either shoulder, and
kissed his squire, with the tears shining in his eyes. Alleyne sprang to
the rope, and sliding swiftly down, soon found himself at its extremity.
From above it seemed as though rope and cliff were well-nigh touching,
but now, when swinging a hundred feet down, the squire found that he
could scarce reach the face of the rock with his foot, and that it was
as smooth as glass, with no resting-place where a mouse could stand.
Some three feet lower, however, his eye lit upon a long jagged crack
which slanted downwards, and this he must reach if he would save not
only his own poor life, but that of the eight-score men above him. Yet
it were madness to spring for that narrow slit with nought but the wet,
smooth rock to cling to. He swung for a moment, full of thought, and
even as he hung there another of the hellish stones sang through his
curls, and struck a chip from the face of the cliff. Up he clambered
a few feet, drew up the loose end after him, unslung his belt, held on
with knee and with elbow while he spliced the long, tough leathern belt
to the end of the cord: then lowering himself as far as he could go, he
swung backwards and forwards until his hand reached the crack, when he
left the rope and clung to the face of the cliff. Another stone struck
him on the side, and he heard a sound like a breaking stick, with a keen
stabbing pain which shot through his chest. Yet it was no time now to
think of pain or ache. There was his lord and his eight-score comrades,
and they must be plucked from the jaws of death. On he clambered, with
his hand shuffling down the long sloping crack, sometimes bearing all
his weight upon his arms, at others finding some small shelf or tuft
on which to rest his foot. Would he never pass over that fifty feet? He
dared not look down and could but grope slowly onwards, his face to
the cliff, his fingers clutching, his feet scraping and feeling for a
support. Every vein and crack and mottling of that face of rock remained
forever stamped upon his memory. At last, however, his foot came upon
a broad resting-place and he ventured to cast a glance downwards. Thank
God! he had reached the highest of those fatal pinnacles upon which his