Kabanata Kabanata 25 · HOW SIR NIGEL WROTE TO TWYNHAM CASTLE.

. HOW SIR NIGEL WROTE TO TWYNHAM CASTLE.

On the morning after the jousting, when Alleyne Edricson went, as was

his custom, into his master's chamber to wait upon him in his dressing

and to curl his hair, he found him already up and very busily at work.

He sat at a table by the window, a deer-hound on one side of him and a

lurcher on the other, his feet tucked away under the trestle on which

he sat, and his tongue in his cheek, with the air of a man who is much

perplexed. A sheet of vellum lay upon the board in front of him, and

he held a pen in his hand, with which he had been scribbling in a rude

schoolboy hand. So many were the blots, however, and so numerous the

scratches and erasures, that he had at last given it up in despair, and

sat with his single uncovered eye cocked upwards at the ceiling, as one

who waits upon inspiration.

“By Saint Paul!” he cried, as Alleyne entered, “you are the man who will

stand by me in this matter. I have been in sore need of you, Alleyne.”

“God be with you, my fair lord!” the squire answered. “I trust that you

have taken no hurt from all that you have gone through yesterday.”

“Nay; I feel the fresher for it, Alleyne. It has eased my joints, which

were somewhat stiff from these years of peace. I trust, Alleyne, that

thou didst very carefully note and mark the bearing and carriage of

this knight of France; for it is time, now when you are young, that you

should see all that is best, and mould your own actions in accordance.

This was a man from whom much honor might be gained, and I have seldom

met any one for whom I have conceived so much love and esteem. Could

I but learn his name, I should send you to him with my cartel, that we

might have further occasion to watch his goodly feats of arms.”

“It is said, my fair lord, that none know his name save only the Lord

Chandos, and that he is under vow not to speak it. So ran the gossip at

the squires' table.”

“Be he who he might, he was a very hardy gentleman. But I have a task

here, Alleyne, which is harder to me than aught that was set before me

yesterday.”

“Can I help you, my lord?”

“That indeed you can. I have been writing my greetings to my sweet wife;

for I hear that a messenger goes from the prince to Southampton within

the week, and he would gladly take a packet for me. I pray you, Alleyne,

to cast your eyes upon what I have written, and see it they are such

words as my lady will understand. My fingers, as you can see, are more

used to iron and leather than to the drawing of strokes and turning of

letters. What then? Is there aught amiss, that you should stare so?”

“It is this first word, my lord. In what tongue were you pleased to

write?”

“In English; for my lady talks it more than she doth French.

“Yet this is no English word, my sweet lord. Here are four t's and never

a letter betwixt them.”

“By St. Paul! it seemed strange to my eye when I wrote it,” said Sir

Nigel. “They bristle up together like a clump of lances. We must break

their ranks and set them farther apart. The word is 'that.' Now I will

read it to you, Alleyne, and you shall write it out fair; for we leave

Bordeaux this day, and it would be great joy to me to think that the

Lady Loring had word from me.”

Alleyne sat down as ordered, with a pen in his hand and a fresh sheet

of parchment before him, while Sir Nigel slowly spelled out his letter,

running his forefinger on from word to word.

“That my heart is with thee, my dear sweeting, is what thine own heart

will assure thee of. All is well with us here, save that Pepin hath

the mange on his back, and Pommers hath scarce yet got clear of his

stiffness from being four days on ship-board, and the more so because

the sea was very high, and we were like to founder on account of a hole

in her side, which was made by a stone cast at us by certain sea-rovers,

who may the saints have in their keeping, for they have gone from

amongst us, as has young Terlake, and two-score mariners and archers,

who would be the more welcome here as there is like to be a very fine

war, with much honor and all hopes of advancement, for which I go to

gather my Company together, who are now at Montaubon, where they pillage

and destroy; yet I hope that, by God's help, I may be able to show that

I am their master, even as, my sweet lady, I am thy servant.”

“How of that, Alleyne?” continued Sir Nigel, blinking at his squire,

with an expression of some pride upon his face. “Have I not told her all

that hath befallen us?”

“You have said much, my fair lord; and yet, if I may say so, it is

somewhat crowded together, so that my Lady Loring can, mayhap, scarce

follow it. Were it in shorter periods----”

“Nay, it boots me not how you marshal them, as long as they are all

there at the muster. Let my lady have the words, and she will place

them in such order as pleases her best. But I would have you add what it

would please her to know.”

“That will I,” said Alleyne, blithely, and bent to the task.

“My fair lady and mistress,” he wrote, “God hath had us in His keeping,

and my lord is well and in good cheer. He hath won much honor at the

jousting before the prince, when he alone was able to make it good

against a very valiant man from France. Touching the moneys, there is

enough and to spare until we reach Montaubon. Herewith, my fair lady,

I send my humble regards, entreating you that you will give the same

to your daughter, the Lady Maude. May the holy saints have you both in

their keeping is ever the prayer of thy servant,

“ALLEYNE EDRICSON.”

“That is very fairly set forth,” said Sir Nigel, nodding his bald head

as each sentence was read to him. “And for thyself, Alleyne, if there be

any dear friend to whom you would fain give greeting, I can send it for

thee within this packet.”

“There is none,” said Alleyne, sadly.

“Have you no kinsfolk, then?”

“None, save my brother.”

“Ha! I had forgotten that there was ill blood betwixt you. But are there

none in all England who love thee?”

“None that I dare say so.”

“And none whom you love?”

“Nay, I will not say that,” said Alleyne.

Sir Nigel shook his head and laughed softly to himself, “I see how it

is with you,” he said. “Have I not noted your frequent sighs and vacant

eye? Is she fair?”

“She is indeed,” cried Alleyne from his heart, all tingling at this

sudden turn of the talk.

“And good?”

“As an angel.”

“And yet she loves you not?”

“Nay, I cannot say that she loves another.”

“Then you have hopes?”

“I could not live else.”

“Then must you strive to be worthy of her love. Be brave and pure,

fearless to the strong and humble to the weak; and so, whether this love

prosper or no, you will have fitted yourself to be honored by a maiden's

love, which is, in sooth, the highest guerdon which a true knight can

hope for.”

“Indeed, my lord, I do so strive,” said Alleyne; “but she is so sweet,

so dainty, and of so noble a spirit, that I fear me that I shall never

be worthy of her.”

“By thinking so you become worthy. Is she then of noble birth?”

“She is, my lord,” faltered Alleyne.

“Of a knightly house?”

“Yes.”

“Have a care, Alleyne, have a care!” said Sir Nigel, kindly. “The higher

the steed the greater the fall. Hawk not at that which may be beyond thy

flight.”

“My lord, I know little of the ways and usages of the world,” cried

Alleyne, “but I would fain ask your rede upon the matter. You have known

my father and my kin: is not my family one of good standing and repute?”

“Beyond all question.”

“And yet you warn me that I must not place my love too high.”

“Were Minstead yours, Alleyne, then, by St. Paul! I cannot think that

any family in the land would not be proud to take you among them, seeing

that you come of so old a strain. But while the Socman lives----Ha, by

my soul! if this is not Sir Oliver's step I am the more mistaken.”

As he spoke, a heavy footfall was heard without, and the portly knight

flung open the door and strode into the room.

“Why, my little coz,” said he, “I have come across to tell you that

I live above the barber's in the Rue de la Tour, and that there is a

venison pasty in the oven and two flasks of the right vintage on the

table. By St. James! a blind man might find the place, for one has but

to get in the wind from it, and follow the savory smell. Put on your

cloak, then, and come, for Sir Walter Hewett and Sir Robert Briquet,

with one or two others, are awaiting us.”

“Nay, Oliver, I cannot be with you, for I must to Montaubon this day.”

“To Montaubon? But I have heard that your Company is to come with my

forty Winchester rascals to Dax.”

“If you will take charge of them, Oliver. For I will go to Montaubon

with none save my two squires and two archers. Then, when I have found

the rest of my Company I shall lead them to Dax. We set forth this

morning.”

“Then I must back to my pasty,” said Sir Oliver. “You will find us at

Dax, I doubt not, unless the prince throw me into prison, for he is very

wroth against me.”

“And why, Oliver?”

“Pardieu! because I have sent my cartel, gauntlet, and defiance to Sir

John Chandos and to Sir William Felton.”

“To Chandos? In God's name, Oliver, why have you done this?”

“Because he and the other have used me despitefully.”

“And how?”

“Because they have passed me over in choosing those who should joust for

England. Yourself and Audley I could pass, coz, for you are mature men;

but who are Wake, and Percy, and Beauchamp? By my soul! I was prodding

for my food into a camp-kettle when they were howling for their pap. Is

a man of my weight and substance to be thrown aside for the first three

half-grown lads who have learned the trick of the tilt-yard? But hark

ye, coz, I think of sending my cartel also to the prince.”

“Oliver! Oliver! You are mad!”

“Not I, i' faith! I care not a denier whether he be prince or no. By

Saint James! I see that your squire's eyes are starting from his head

like a trussed crab. Well, friend, we are all three men of Hampshire,

and not lightly to be jeered at.”

“Has he jeered at you than?”

“Pardieu! yes, 'Old Sir Oliver's heart is still stout,' said one of his

court. 'Else had it been out of keeping with the rest of him,' quoth the

prince. 'And his arm is strong,' said another. 'So is the backbone of

his horse,' quoth the prince. This very day I will send him my cartel

and defiance.”

“Nay, nay, my dear Oliver,” said Sir Nigel, laying his hand upon his

angry friend's arm. “There is naught in this, for it was but saying that

you were a strong and robust man, who had need of a good destrier. And

as to Chandos and Felton, bethink you that if when you yourself were

young the older lances had ever been preferred, how would you then have

had the chance to earn the good name and fame which you now bear? You do

not ride as light as you did, Oliver, and I ride lighter by the weight

of my hair, but it would be an ill thing if in the evening of our lives

we showed that our hearts were less true and loyal than of old. If such

a knight as Sir Oliver Buttesthorn may turn against his own prince for

the sake of a light word, then where are we to look for steadfast faith

and constancy?”

“Ah! my dear little coz, it is easy to sit in the sunshine and preach to

the man in the shadow. Yet you could ever win me over to your side with

that soft voice of yours. Let us think no more of it then. But, holy

Mother! I had forgot the pasty, and it will be as scorched as Judas

Iscariot! Come, Nigel, lest the foul fiend get the better of me again.”

“For one hour, then; for we march at mid-day. Tell Aylward, Alleyne,

that he is to come with me to Montaubon, and to choose one archer for

his comrade. The rest will to Dax when the prince starts, which will be

before the feast of the Epiphany. Have Pommers ready at mid-day with my

sycamore lance, and place my harness on the sumpter mule.”

With these brief directions, the two old soldiers strode off together,

while Alleyne hastened to get all in order for their journey.