บทที่ บทที่ 18 · HOW SIR NIGEL LORING PUT A PATCH UPON HIS EYE.

. HOW SIR NIGEL LORING PUT A PATCH UPON HIS EYE.

It was on the morning of Friday, the eight-and-twentieth day of

November, two days before the feast of St. Andrew, that the cog and her

two prisoners, after a weary tacking up the Gironde and the Garonne,

dropped anchor at last in front of the noble city of Bordeaux. With

wonder and admiration, Alleyne, leaning over the bulwarks, gazed at the

forest of masts, the swarm of boats darting hither and thither on the

bosom of the broad curving stream, and the gray crescent-shaped city

which stretched with many a tower and minaret along the western shore.

Never had he in his quiet life seen so great a town, nor was there in

the whole of England, save London alone, one which might match it in

size or in wealth. Here came the merchandise of all the fair countries

which are watered by the Garonne and the Dordogne--the cloths of the

south, the skins of Guienne, the wines of the Medoc--to be borne away to

Hull, Exeter, Dartmouth, Bristol or Chester, in exchange for the wools

and woolfels of England. Here too dwelt those famous smelters and

welders who had made the Bordeaux steel the most trusty upon earth, and

could give a temper to lance or to sword which might mean dear life to

its owner. Alleyne could see the smoke of their forges reeking up in the

clear morning air. The storm had died down now to a gentle breeze, which

wafted to his ears the long-drawn stirring bugle-calls which sounded

from the ancient ramparts.

“Hola, mon petit!” said Aylward, coming up to where he stood. “Thou art

a squire now, and like enough to win the golden spurs, while I am still

the master-bowman, and master-bowman I shall bide. I dare scarce wag

my tongue so freely with you as when we tramped together past Wilverley

Chase, else I might be your guide now, for indeed I know every house in

Bordeaux as a friar knows the beads on his rosary.”

“Nay, Aylward,” said Alleyne, laying his hand upon the sleeve of his

companion's frayed jerkin, “you cannot think me so thrall as to throw

aside an old friend because I have had some small share of good fortune.

I take it unkind that you should have thought such evil of me.”

“Nay, mon gar. 'Twas but a flight shot to see if the wind blew steady,

though I were a rogue to doubt it.”

“Why, had I not met you, Aylward, at the Lynhurst inn, who can say where

I had now been! Certes, I had not gone to Twynham Castle, nor become

squire to Sir Nigel, nor met----” He paused abruptly and flushed to his

hair, but the bowman was too busy with his own thoughts to notice his

young companion's embarrassment.

“It was a good hostel, that of the 'Pied Merlin,'” he remarked. “By my

ten finger bones! when I hang bow on nail and change my brigandine for a

tunic, I might do worse than take over the dame and her business.”

“I thought,” said Alleyne, “that you were betrothed to some one at

Christchurch.”

“To three,” Aylward answered moodily, “to three. I fear I may not go

back to Christchurch. I might chance to see hotter service in Hampshire

than I have ever done in Gascony. But mark you now yonder lofty turret

in the centre, which stands back from the river and hath a broad banner

upon the summit. See the rising sun flashes full upon it and sparkles

on the golden lions. 'Tis the royal banner of England, crossed by the

prince's label. There he dwells in the Abbey of St. Andrew, where he

hath kept his court these years back. Beside it is the minster of the

same saint, who hath the town under his very special care.”

“And how of yon gray turret on the left?”

“'Tis the fane of St. Michael, as that upon the right is of St. Remi.

There, too, above the poop of yonder nief, you see the towers of Saint

Croix and of Pey Berland. Mark also the mighty ramparts which are

pierced by the three water-gates, and sixteen others to the landward

side.”

“And how is it, good Aylward, that there comes so much music from the

town? I seem to hear a hundred trumpets, all calling in chorus.”

“It would be strange else, seeing that all the great lords of England

and of Gascony are within the walls, and each would have his trumpeter

blow as loud as his neighbor, lest it might be thought that his dignity

had been abated. Ma foi! they make as much louster as a Scotch army,

where every man fills himself with girdle-cakes, and sits up all night

to blow upon the toodle-pipe. See all along the banks how the pages

water the horses, and there beyond the town how they gallop them over

the plain! For every horse you see a belted knight hath herbergage in

the town, for, as I learn, the men-at-arms and archers have already gone

forward to Dax.”

“I trust, Aylward,” said Sir Nigel, coming upon deck, “that the men are

ready for the land. Go tell them that the boats will be for them within

the hour.”

The archer raised his hand in salute, and hastened forward. In the

meantime Sir Oliver had followed his brother knight, and the two paced

the poop together, Sir Nigel in his plum-colored velvet suit with flat

cap of the same, adorned in front with the Lady Loring's glove and girt

round with a curling ostrich feather. The lusty knight, on the other

hand, was clad in the very latest mode, with cote-hardie, doublet,

pourpoint, court-pie, and paltock of olive-green, picked out with

pink and jagged at the edges. A red chaperon or cap, with long hanging

cornette, sat daintily on the back of his black-curled head, while his

gold-hued shoes were twisted up _a la poulaine_, as though the toes

were shooting forth a tendril which might hope in time to entwine itself

around his massive leg.

“Once more, Sir Oliver,” said Sir Nigel, looking shorewards with

sparkling eyes, “do we find ourselves at the gate of honor, the door

which hath so often led us to all that is knightly and worthy. There

flies the prince's banner, and it would be well that we haste ashore and

pay our obeisance to him. The boats already swarm from the bank.”

“There is a goodly hostel near the west gate, which is famed for the

stewing of spiced pullets,” remarked Sir Oliver. “We might take the edge

of our hunger off ere we seek the prince, for though his tables are

gay with damask and silver he is no trencherman himself, and hath no

sympathy for those who are his betters.”

“His betters!”

“His betters before the tranchoir, lad. Sniff not treason where none is

meant. I have seen him smile in his quiet way because I had looked for

the fourth time towards the carving squire. And indeed to watch

him dallying with a little gobbet of bread, or sipping his cup of

thrice-watered wine, is enough to make a man feel shame at his own

hunger. Yet war and glory, my good friend, though well enough in their

way, will not serve to tighten such a belt as clasps my waist.”

“How read you that coat which hangs over yonder galley, Alleyne?” asked

Sir Nigel.

“Argent, a bend vert between cotises dancette gules.”

“It is a northern coat. I have seen it in the train of the Percies. From

the shields, there is not one of these vessels which hath not knight or

baron aboard. I would mine eyes were better. How read you this upon the

left?”

“Argent and azure, a barry wavy of six.”

“Ha, it is the sign of the Wiltshire Stourtons! And there beyond I see

the red and silver of the Worsleys of Apuldercombe, who like myself are

of Hampshire lineage. Close behind us is the moline cross of the gallant

William Molyneux, and beside it the bloody chevrons of the Norfork

Woodhouses, with the amulets of the Musgraves of Westmoreland. By St.

Paul! it would be a very strange thing if so noble a company were to

gather without some notable deed of arms arising from it. And here is

our boat, Sir Oliver, so it seems best to me that we should go to the

abbey with our squires, leaving Master Hawtayne to have his own way in

the unloading.”

The horses both of knights and squires were speedily lowered into a

broad lighter, and reached the shore almost as soon as their masters.

Sir Nigel bent his knee devoutly as he put foot on land, and taking a

small black patch from his bosom he bound it tightly over his left eye.

“May the blessed George and the memory of my sweet lady-love raise high

my heart!” quoth he. “And as a token I vow that I will not take this

patch from my eye until I have seen something of this country of Spain,

and done such a small deed as it lies in me to do. And this I swear upon

the cross of my sword and upon the glove of my lady.”

“In truth, you take me back twenty years, Nigel,” quoth Sir Oliver, as

they mounted and rode slowly through the water-gate. “After Cadsand,

I deem that the French thought that we were an army of the blind, for

there was scarce a man who had not closed an eye for the greater love

and honor of his lady. Yet it goes hard with you that you should darken

one side, when with both open you can scarce tell a horse from a mule.

In truth, friend, I think that you step over the line of reason in this

matter.”

“Sir Oliver Buttesthorn,” said the little knight shortly, “I would have

you to understand that, blind as I am, I can yet see the path of honor

very clearly, and that that is the road upon which I do not crave

another man's guidance.”

“By my soul,” said Sir Oliver, “you are as tart as verjuice this

morning! If you are bent upon a quarrel with me I must leave you to your

humor and drop into the 'Tete d'Or' here, for I marked a varlet pass

the door who bare a smoking dish, which had, methought, a most excellent

smell.”

“Nenny, nenny,” cried his comrade, laying his hand upon his knee; “we

have known each other over long to fall out, Oliver, like two raw pages

at their first epreuves. You must come with me first to the prince, and

then back to the hostel; though sure I am that it would grieve his heart

that any gentle cavalier should turn from his board to a common tavern.

But is not that my Lord Delewar who waves to us? Ha! my fair lord, God

and Our Lady be with you! And there is Sir Robert Cheney. Good-morrow,

Robert! I am right glad to see you.”

The two knights walked their horses abreast, while Alleyne and Ford,

with John Norbury, who was squire to Sir Oliver, kept some paces behind

them, a spear's-length in front of Black Simon and of the Winchester

guidon-bearer. Norbury, a lean, silent man, had been to those parts

before, and sat his horse with a rigid neck; but the two young squires

gazed eagerly to right or left, and plucked each other's sleeves to call

attention to the many strange things on every side of them.

“See to the brave stalls!” cried Alleyne. “See to the noble armor set

forth, and the costly taffeta--and oh, Ford, see to where the scrivener

sits with the pigments and the ink-horns, and the rolls of sheepskin as

white as the Beaulieu napery! Saw man ever the like before?”

“Nay, man, there are finer stalls in Cheapside,” answered Ford, whose

father had taken him to London on occasion of one of the Smithfield

joustings. “I have seen a silversmith's booth there which would serve to

buy either side of this street. But mark these houses, Alleyne, how they

thrust forth upon the top. And see to the coats-of-arms at every window,

and banner or pensil on the roof.”

“And the churches!” cried Alleyne. “The Priory at Christchurch was a

noble pile, but it was cold and bare, methinks, by one of these, with

their frettings, and their carvings, and their traceries, as though some

great ivy-plant of stone had curled and wantoned over the walls.”

“And hark to the speech of the folk!” said Ford. “Was ever such a

hissing and clacking? I wonder that they have not wit to learn English

now that they have come under the English crown. By Richard of Hampole!

there are fair faces amongst them. See the wench with the brown whimple!

Out on you, Alleyne, that you would rather gaze upon dead stone than on

living flesh!”

It was little wonder that the richness and ornament, not only of church

and of stall, but of every private house as well, should have impressed

itself upon the young squires. The town was now at the height of its

fortunes. Besides its trade and its armorers, other causes had combined

to pour wealth into it. War, which had wrought evil upon so many fair

cities around, had brought nought but good to this one. As her French

sisters decayed she increased, for here, from north, and from east,

and from south, came the plunder to be sold and the ransom money to be

spent. Through all her sixteen landward gates there had set for many

years a double tide of empty-handed soldiers hurrying Francewards, and

of enriched and laden bands who brought their spoils home. The prince's

court, too, with its swarm of noble barons and wealthy knights, many of

whom, in imitation of their master, had brought their ladies and their

children from England, all helped to swell the coffers of the burghers.

Now, with this fresh influx of noblemen and cavaliers, food and lodging

were scarce to be had, and the prince was hurrying forward his forces to

Dax in Gascony to relieve the overcrowding of his capital.

In front of the minster and abbey of St. Andrew's was a large square

crowded with priests, soldiers, women, friars, and burghers, who made it

their common centre for sight-seeing and gossip. Amid the knot of noisy

and gesticulating townsfolk, many small parties of mounted knights and

squires threaded their way towards the prince's quarters, where the

huge iron-clamped doors were thrown back to show that he held audience

within. Two-score archers stood about the gateway, and beat back from

time to time with their bow-staves the inquisitive and chattering crowd

who swarmed round the portal. Two knights in full armor, with lances

raised and closed visors, sat their horses on either side, while in the

centre, with two pages to tend upon him, there stood a noble-faced man

in flowing purple gown, who pricked off upon a sheet of parchment the

style and title of each applicant, marshalling them in their due order,

and giving to each the place and facility which his rank demanded. His

long white beard and searching eyes imparted to him an air of masterful

dignity, which was increased by his tabardlike vesture and the heraldic

barret cap with triple plume which bespoke his office.

“It is Sir William de Pakington, the prince's own herald and scrivener,”

whispered Sir Nigel, as they pulled up amid the line of knights who

waited admission. “Ill fares it with the man who would venture to

deceive him. He hath by rote the name of every knight of France or of

England; and all the tree of his family, with his kinships, coat-armor,

marriages, augmentations, abatements, and I know not what beside. We

may leave our horses here with the varlets, and push forward with our

squires.”

Following Sir Nigel's counsel, they pressed on upon foot until they were

close to the prince's secretary, who was in high debate with a young and

foppish knight, who was bent upon making his way past him.

“Mackworth!” said the king-at-arms. “It is in my mind, young sir, that

you have not been presented before.”

“Nay, it is but a day since I set foot in Bordeaux, but I feared lest

the prince should think it strange that I had not waited upon him.”

“The prince hath other things to think upon,” quoth Sir William de

Pakington; “but if you be a Mackworth you must be a Mackworth of

Normanton, and indeed I see now that your coat is sable and ermine.”

“I am a Mackworth of Normanton,” the other answered, with some

uneasiness of manner.

“Then you must be Sir Stephen Mackworth, for I learn that when old

Sir Guy died he came in for the arms and the name, the war-cry and the

profit.”

“Sir Stephen is my elder brother, and I am Arthur, the second son,” said

the youth.

“In sooth and in sooth!” cried the king-at-arms with scornful eyes. “And

pray, sir second son, where is the cadency mark which should mark your

rank. Dare you to wear your brother's coat without the crescent which

should stamp you as his cadet. Away to your lodgings, and come not

nigh the prince until the armorer hath placed the true charge upon your

shield.” As the youth withdrew in confusion, Sir William's keen eye

singled out the five red roses from amid the overlapping shields and

cloud of pennons which faced him.

“Ha!” he cried, “there are charges here which are above counterfeit.

The roses of Loring and the boar's head of Buttesthorn may stand back

in peace, but by my faith! they are not to be held back in war. Welcome,

Sir Oliver, Sir Nigel! Chandos will be glad to his very heart-roots when

he sees you. This way, my fair sirs. Your squires are doubtless worthy

the fame of their masters. Down this passage, Sir Oliver! Edricson! Ha!

one of the old strain of Hampshire Edricsons, I doubt not. And Ford,

they are of a south Saxon stock, and of good repute. There are Norburys

in Cheshire and in Wiltshire, and also, as I have heard, upon the

borders. So, my fair sirs, and I shall see that you are shortly

admitted.”

He had finished his professional commentary by flinging open a folding

door, and ushering the party into a broad hall, which was filled with

a great number of people who were waiting, like themselves, for an

audience. The room was very spacious, lighted on one side by three

arched and mullioned windows, while opposite was a huge fireplace in

which a pile of faggots was blazing merrily. Many of the company had

crowded round the flames, for the weather was bitterly cold; but the

two knights seated themselves upon a bancal, with their squires standing

behind them. Looking down the room, Alleyne marked that both floor and

ceiling were of the richest oak, the latter spanned by twelve arching

beams, which were adorned at either end by the lilies and the lions of

the royal arms. On the further side was a small door, on each side of

which stood men-at-arms. From time to time an elderly man in black with

rounded shoulders and a long white wand in his hand came softly forth

from this inner room, and beckoned to one or other of the company, who

doffed cap and followed him.

The two knights were deep in talk, when Alleyne became aware of a

remarkable individual who was walking round the room in their direction.

As he passed each knot of cavaliers every head turned to look after

him, and it was evident, from the bows and respectful salutations on

all sides, that the interest which he excited was not due merely to his

strange personal appearance. He was tall and straight as a lance, though

of a great age, for his hair, which curled from under his velvet cap of

maintenance, was as white as the new-fallen snow. Yet, from the swing of

his stride and the spring of his step, it was clear that he had not yet

lost the fire and activity of his youth. His fierce hawk-like face was

clean shaven like that of a priest, save for a long thin wisp of white

moustache which drooped down half way to his shoulder. That he had

been handsome might be easily judged from his high aquiline nose and

clear-cut chin; but his features had been so distorted by the seams and

scars of old wounds, and by the loss of one eye which had been torn

from the socket, that there was little left to remind one of the dashing

young knight who had been fifty years ago the fairest as well as the

boldest of the English chivalry. Yet what knight was there in that hall

of St. Andrew's who would not have gladly laid down youth, beauty, and

all that he possessed to win the fame of this man? For who could be

named with Chandos, the stainless knight, the wise councillor, the

valiant warrior, the hero of Crecy, of Winchelsea, of Poictiers, of

Auray, and of as many other battles as there were years to his life?

“Ha, my little heart of gold!” he cried, darting forward suddenly and

throwing his arms round Sir Nigel. “I heard that you were here and have

been seeking you.”

“My fair and dear lord,” said the knight, returning the warrior's

embrace, “I have indeed come back to you, for where else shall I go that

I may learn to be a gentle and a hardy knight?”

“By my troth!” said Chandos with a smile, “it is very fitting that we

should be companions, Nigel, for since you have tied up one of your

eyes, and I have had the mischance to lose one of mine, we have but a

pair between us. Ah, Sir Oliver! you were on the blind side of me and I

saw you not. A wise woman hath made prophecy that this blind side will

one day be the death of me. We shall go in to the prince anon; but in

truth he hath much upon his hands, for what with Pedro, and the King of

Majorca, and the King of Navarre, who is no two days of the same mind,

and the Gascon barons who are all chaffering for terms like so many

hucksters, he hath an uneasy part to play. But how left you the Lady

Loring?”

“She was well, my fair lord, and sent her service and greetings to you.”

“I am ever her knight and slave. And your journey, I trust that it was

pleasant?”

“As heart could wish. We had sight of two rover galleys, and even came

to have some slight bickering with them.”

“Ever in luck's way, Nigel!” quoth Sir John. “We must hear the tale

anon. But I deem it best that ye should leave your squires and come with

me, for, howsoe'er pressed the prince may be, I am very sure that he

would be loth to keep two old comrades-in-arms upon the further side of

the door. Follow close behind me, and I will forestall old Sir William,

though I can scarce promise to roll forth your style and rank as is

his wont.” So saying, he led the way to the inner chamber, the two

companions treading close at his heels, and nodding to right and left as

they caught sight of familiar faces among the crowd.