Chapter Chapter 20 · HOW ALLEYNE WON HIS PLACE IN AN HONORABLE GUILD.

. HOW ALLEYNE WON HIS PLACE IN AN HONORABLE GUILD.

Whilst the prince's council was sitting, Alleyne and Ford had remained

in the outer hall, where they were soon surrounded by a noisy group of

young Englishmen of their own rank, all eager to hear the latest news

from England.

“How is it with the old man at Windsor?” asked one.

“And how with the good Queen Philippa?”

“And how with Dame Alice Perrers?” cried a third.

“The devil take your tongue, Wat!” shouted a tall young man, seizing

the last speaker by the collar and giving him an admonitory shake. “The

prince would take your head off for those words.”

“By God's coif! Wat would miss it but little,” said another. “It is as

empty as a beggar's wallet.”

“As empty as an English squire, coz,” cried the first speaker. “What a

devil has become of the maitre-des-tables and his sewers? They have not

put forth the trestles yet.”

“Mon Dieu! if a man could eat himself into knighthood, Humphrey, you

had been a banneret at the least,” observed another, amid a burst of

laughter.

“And if you could drink yourself in, old leather-head, you had been

first baron of the realm,” cried the aggrieved Humphrey. “But how of

England, my lads of Loring?”

“I take it,” said Ford, “that it is much as it was when you were there

last, save that perchance there is a little less noise there.”

“And why less noise, young Solomon?”

“Ah, that is for your wit to discover.”

“Pardieu! here is a paladin come over, with the Hampshire mud still

sticking to his shoes. He means that the noise is less for our being out

of the country.”

“They are very quick in these parts,” said Ford, turning to Alleyne.

“How are we to take this, sir?” asked the ruffling squire.

“You may take it as it comes,” said Ford carelessly.

“Here is pertness!” cried the other.

“Sir, I honor your truthfulness,” said Ford.

“Stint it, Humphrey,” said the tall squire, with a burst of laughter.

“You will have little credit from this gentleman, I perceive. Tongues

are sharp in Hampshire, sir.”

“And swords?”

“Hum! we may prove that. In two days' time is the vepres du tournoi,

when we may see if your lance is as quick as your wit.”

“All very well, Roger Harcomb,” cried a burly, bull-necked young man,

whose square shoulders and massive limbs told of exceptional personal

strength. “You pass too lightly over the matter. We are not to be so

easily overcrowed. The Lord Loring hath given his proofs; but we know

nothing of his squires, save that one of them hath a railing tongue.

And how of you, young sir?” bringing his heavy hand down on Alleyne's

shoulder.

“And what of me, young sir?”

“Ma foi! this is my lady's page come over. Your cheek will be browner

and your hand harder ere you see your mother again.”

“If my hand is not hard, it is ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what? For the hem of my lady's train?”

“Ready to chastise insolence, sir,” cried Alleyne with flashing eyes.

“Sweet little coz!” answered the burly squire. “Such a dainty color!

Such a mellow voice! Eyes of a bashful maid, and hair like a three

years' babe! Voila!” He passed his thick fingers roughly through the

youth's crisp golden curls.

“You seek to force a quarrel, sir,” said the young man, white with

anger.

“And what then?”

“Why, you do it like a country boor, and not like a gentle squire. Hast

been ill bred and as ill taught. I serve a master who could show you how

such things should be done.”

“And how would he do it, O pink of squires?”

“He would neither be loud nor would he be unmannerly, but rather more

gentle than is his wont. He would say, 'Sir, I should take it as an

honor to do some small deed of arms against you, not for mine own glory

or advancement, but rather for the fame of my lady and for the upholding

of chivalry.' Then he would draw his glove, thus, and throw it on the

ground; or, if he had cause to think that he had to deal with a churl,

he might throw it in his face--as I do now!”

A buzz of excitement went up from the knot of squires as Alleyne, his

gentle nature turned by this causeless attack into fiery resolution,

dashed his glove with all his strength into the sneering face of his

antagonist. From all parts of the hall squires and pages came running,

until a dense, swaying crowd surrounded the disputants.

“Your life for this!” said the bully, with a face which was distorted

with rage.

“If you can take it,” returned Alleyne.

“Good lad!” whispered Ford. “Stick to it close as wax.”

“I shall see justice,” cried Norbury, Sir Oliver's silent attendant.

“You brought it upon yourself, John Tranter,” said the tall squire,

who had been addressed as Roger Harcomb. “You must ever plague the

new-comers. But it were shame if this went further. The lad hath shown a

proper spirit.”

“But a blow! a blow!” cried several of the older squires. “There must be

a finish to this.”

“Nay; Tranter first laid hand upon his head,” said Harcomb. “How say

you, Tranter? The matter may rest where it stands?”

“My name is known in these parts,” said Tranter, proudly, “I can let

pass what might leave a stain upon another. Let him pick up his glove

and say that he has done amiss.”

“I would see him in the claws of the devil first,” whispered Ford.

“You hear, young sir?” said the peacemaker. “Our friend will overlook

the matter if you do but say that you have acted in heat and haste.”

“I cannot say that,” answered Alleyne.

“It is our custom, young sir, when new squires come amongst us from

England, to test them in some such way. Bethink you that if a man have

a destrier or a new lance he will ever try it in time of peace, lest in

days of need it may fail him. How much more then is it proper to test

those who are our comrades in arms.”

“I would draw out if it may honorably be done,” murmured Norbury

in Alleyne's ear. “The man is a noted swordsman and far above your

strength.”

Edricson came, however, of that sturdy Saxon blood which is very slowly

heated, but once up not easily to be cooled. The hint of danger which

Norbury threw out was the one thing needed to harden his resolution.

“I came here at the back of my master,” he said, “and I looked on every

man here as an Englishman and a friend. This gentleman hath shown me a

rough welcome, and if I have answered him in the same spirit he has but

himself to thank. I will pick the glove up; but, certes, I shall abide

what I have done unless he first crave my pardon for what he hath said

and done.”

Tranter shrugged his shoulders. “You have done what you could to save

him, Harcomb,” said he. “We had best settle at once.”

“So say I,” cried Alleyne.

“The council will not break up until the banquet,” remarked a

gray-haired squire. “You have a clear two hours.”

“And the place?”

“The tilting-yard is empty at this hour.”

“Nay; it must not be within the grounds of the court, or it may go hard

with all concerned if it come to the ears of the prince.”

“But there is a quiet spot near the river,” said one youth. “We have

but to pass through the abbey grounds, along the armory wall, past the

church of St. Remi, and so down the Rue des Apotres.”

“En avant, then!” cried Tranter shortly, and the whole assembly flocked

out into the open air, save only those whom the special orders of their

masters held to their posts. These unfortunates crowded to the small

casements, and craned their necks after the throng as far as they could

catch a glimpse of them.

Close to the banks of the Garonne there lay a little tract of green

sward, with the high wall of a prior's garden upon one side and an

orchard with a thick bristle of leafless apple-trees upon the other. The

river ran deep and swift up to the steep bank; but there were few boats

upon it, and the ships were moored far out in the centre of the stream.

Here the two combatants drew their swords and threw off their doublets,

for neither had any defensive armor. The duello with its stately

etiquette had not yet come into vogue, but rough and sudden encounters

were as common as they must ever be when hot-headed youth goes abroad

with a weapon strapped to its waist. In such combats, as well as in

the more formal sports of the tilting-yard, Tranter had won a name for

strength and dexterity which had caused Norbury to utter his well-meant

warning. On the other hand, Alleyne had used his weapons in constant

exercise and practice on every day for many months, and being by nature

quick of eye and prompt of hand, he might pass now as no mean swordsman.

A strangely opposed pair they appeared as they approached each other:

Tranter dark and stout and stiff, with hairy chest and corded arms,

Alleyne a model of comeliness and grace, with his golden hair and his

skin as fair as a woman's. An unequal fight it seemed to most; but there

were a few, and they the most experienced, who saw something in the

youth's steady gray eye and wary step which left the issue open to

doubt.

“Hold, sirs, hold!” cried Norbury, ere a blow had been struck. “This

gentleman hath a two-handed sword, a good foot longer than that of our

friend.”

“Take mine, Alleyne,” said Ford.

“Nay, friends,” he answered, “I understand the weight and balance of

mine own. To work, sir, for our lord may need us at the abbey!”

Tranter's great sword was indeed a mighty vantage in his favor. He stood

with his feet close together, his knees bent outwards, ready for a dash

inwards or a spring out. The weapon he held straight up in front of him

with blade erect, so that he might either bring it down with a swinging

blow, or by a turn of the heavy blade he might guard his own head and

body. A further protection lay in the broad and powerful guard which

crossed the hilt, and which was furnished with a deep and narrow notch,

in which an expert swordsman might catch his foeman's blade, and by

a quick turn of his wrist might snap it across. Alleyne, on the other

hand, must trust for his defence to his quick eye and active foot--for

his sword, though keen as a whetstone could make it, was of a light and

graceful build with a narrow, sloping pommel and a tapering steel.

Tranter well knew his advantage and lost no time in putting it to use.

As his opponent walked towards him he suddenly bounded forward and sent

in a whistling cut which would have severed the other in twain had he

not sprung lightly back from it. So close was it that the point ripped

a gash in the jutting edge of his linen cyclas. Quick as a panther,

Alleyne sprang in with a thrust, but Tranter, who was as active as he

was strong, had already recovered himself and turned it aside with a

movement of his heavy blade. Again he whizzed in a blow which made the

spectators hold their breath, and again Alleyne very quickly and swiftly

slipped from under it, and sent back two lightning thrusts which the

other could scarce parry. So close were they to each other that Alleyne

had no time to spring back from the next cut, which beat down his sword

and grazed his forehead, sending the blood streaming into his eyes and

down his cheeks. He sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair stood

breathing heavily, while the crowd of young squires buzzed their

applause.

“Bravely struck on both sides!” cried Roger Harcomb. “You have both

won honor from this meeting, and it would be sin and shame to let it go

further.”

“You have done enough, Edricson,” said Norbury.

“You have carried yourself well,” cried several of the older squires.

“For my part, I have no wish to slay this young man,” said Tranter,

wiping his heated brow.

“Does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me despitefully?”

asked Alleyne.

“Nay, not I.”

“Then stand on your guard, sir!” With a clatter and dash the two blades

met once more, Alleyne pressing in so as to keep within the full sweep

of the heavy blade, while Tranter as continually sprang back to have

space for one of his fatal cuts. A three-parts-parried blow drew blood

from Alleyne's left shoulder, but at the same moment he wounded Tranter

slightly upon the thigh. Next instant, however, his blade had slipped

into the fatal notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tinkling

upon the ground, and he found a splintered piece of steel fifteen inches

long was all that remained to him of his weapon.

“Your life is in my hands!” cried Tranter, with a bitter smile.

“Nay, nay, he makes submission!” broke in several squires.

“Another sword!” cried Ford.

“Nay, sir,” said Harcomb, “that is not the custom.”

“Throw down your hilt, Edricson,” cried Norbury.

“Never!” said Alleyne. “Do you crave my pardon, sir?”

“You are mad to ask it.”

“Then on guard again!” cried the young squire, and sprang in with a fire

and a fury which more than made up for the shortness of his weapon. It

had not escaped him that his opponent was breathing in short, hoarse

gasps, like a man who is dizzy with fatigue. Now was the time for the

purer living and the more agile limb to show their value. Back and back

gave Tranter, ever seeking time for a last cut. On and on came Alleyne,

his jagged point now at his foeman's face, now at his throat, now at

his chest, still stabbing and thrusting to pass the line of steel which

covered him. Yet his experienced foeman knew well that such efforts

could not be long sustained. Let him relax for one instant, and his

death-blow had come. Relax he must! Flesh and blood could not stand

the strain. Already the thrusts were less fierce, the foot less ready,

although there was no abatement of the spirit in the steady gray eyes.

Tranter, cunning and wary from years of fighting, knew that his chance

had come. He brushed aside the frail weapon which was opposed to him,

whirled up his great blade, sprang back to get the fairer sweep--and

vanished into the waters of the Garonne.

So intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators, been on

the matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank and swift still

stream had gone from their minds. It was not until Tranter, giving back

before the other's fiery rush, was upon the very brink, that a general

cry warned him of his danger. That last spring, which he hoped would

have brought the fight to a bloody end, carried him clear of the edge,

and he found himself in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-cold

stream. Once and twice his gasping face and clutching fingers broke up

through the still green water, sweeping outwards in the swirl of the

current. In vain were sword-sheaths, apple-branches and belts linked

together thrown out to him by his companions. Alleyne had dropped his

shattered sword and was standing, trembling in every limb, with his rage

all changed in an instant to pity. For the third time the drowning man

came to the surface, his hands full of green slimy water-plants, his

eyes turned in despair to the shore. Their glance fell upon Alleyne,

and he could not withstand the mute appeal which he read in them. In an

instant he, too, was in the Garonne, striking out with powerful strokes

for his late foeman.

Yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer as he was, it

was no easy task which Alleyne had set himself. To clutch at Tranter and

to seize him by the hair was the work of a few seconds, but to hold his

head above water and to make their way out of the current was another

matter. For a hundred strokes he did not seem to gain an inch. Then at

last, amid a shout of joy and praise from the bank, they slowly drew

clear into more stagnant water, at the instant that a rope, made of a

dozen sword-belts linked together by the buckles, was thrown by

Ford into their very hands. Three pulls from eager arms, and the two

combatants, dripping and pale, were dragged up the bank, and lay panting

upon the grass.

John Tranter was the first to come to himself, for although he had been

longer in the water, he had done nothing during that fierce battle with

the current. He staggered to his feet and looked down upon his rescuer,

who had raised himself upon his elbow, and was smiling faintly at the

buzz of congratulation and of praise which broke from the squires around

him.

“I am much beholden to you, sir,” said Tranter, though in no very

friendly voice. “Certes, I should have been in the river now but for

you, for I was born in Warwickshire, which is but a dry county, and

there are few who swim in those parts.”

“I ask no thanks,” Alleyne answered shortly. “Give me your hand to rise,

Ford.”

“The river has been my enemy,” said Tranter, “but it hath been a good

friend to you, for it has saved your life this day.”

“That is as it may be,” returned Alleyne.

“But all is now well over,” quoth Harcomb, “and no scath come of it,

which is more than I had at one time hoped for. Our young friend here

hath very fairly and honestly earned his right to be craftsman of

the Honorable Guild of the Squires of Bordeaux. Here is your doublet,

Tranter.”

“Alas for my poor sword which lies at the bottom of the Garonne!” said

the squire.

“Here is your pourpoint, Edricson,” cried Norbury. “Throw it over your

shoulders, that you may have at least one dry garment.”

“And now away back to the abbey!” said several.

“One moment, sirs,” cried Alleyne, who was leaning on Ford's shoulder,

with the broken sword, which he had picked up, still clutched in his

right hand. “My ears may be somewhat dulled by the water, and perchance

what has been said has escaped me, but I have not yet heard this

gentleman crave pardon for the insults which he put upon me in the

hall.”

“What! do you still pursue the quarrel?” asked Tranter.

“And why not, sir? I am slow to take up such things, but once afoot I

shall follow it while I have life or breath.”

“Ma foi! you have not too much of either, for you are as white as

marble,” said Harcomb bluntly. “Take my rede, sir, and let it drop, for

you have come very well out from it.”

“Nay,” said Alleyne, “this quarrel is none of my making; but, now that I

am here, I swear to you that I shall never leave this spot until I have

that which I have come for: so ask my pardon, sir, or choose another

glaive and to it again.”

The young squire was deadly white from his exertions, both on the land

and in the water. Soaking and stained, with a smear of blood on his

white shoulder and another on his brow, there was still in his whole

pose and set of face the trace of an inflexible resolution. His

opponent's duller and more material mind quailed before the fire and

intensity of a higher spiritual nature.

“I had not thought that you had taken it so amiss,” said he awkwardly.

“It was but such a jest as we play upon each other, and, if you must

have it so, I am sorry for it.”

“Then I am sorry too,” quoth Alleyne warmly, “and here is my hand upon

it.”

“And the none-meat horn has blown three times,” quoth Harcomb, as they

all streamed in chattering groups from the ground. “I know not what the

prince's maitre-de-cuisine will say or think. By my troth! master Ford,

your friend here is in need of a cup of wine, for he hath drunk deeply

of Garonne water. I had not thought from his fair face that he had stood

to this matter so shrewdly.”

“Faith,” said Ford, “this air of Bordeaux hath turned our turtle-dove

into a game-cock. A milder or more courteous youth never came out of

Hampshire.”

“His master also, as I understand, is a very mild and courteous

gentleman,” remarked Harcomb; “yet I do not think that they are either

of them men with whom it is very safe to trifle.”