第 三十二 章 · HOW THE COMPANY TOOK COUNSEL ROUND THE FALLEN TREE.

. HOW THE COMPANY TOOK COUNSEL ROUND THE FALLEN TREE.

“Where is Sir Claude Latour?” asked Sir Nigel, as his feet touched

ground.

“He is in camp, near Montpezat, two hours' march from here, my fair

lord,” said Johnston, the grizzled bowman who commanded the archers.

“Then we shall march thither, for I would fain have you all back at Dax

in time to be in the prince's vanguard.”

“My lord,” cried Alleyne, joyfully, “here are our chargers in the field,

and I see your harness amid the plunder which these rogues have left

behind them.”

“By Saint Ives! you speak sooth, young squire,” said Du Guesclin. “There

is my horse and my lady's jennet. The knaves led them from the stables,

but fled without them. Now, Nigel, it is great joy to me to have seen

one of whom I have often heard. Yet we must leave you now, for I must be

with the King of Spain ere your army crosses the mountains.”

“I had thought that you were in Spain with the valiant Henry of

Trastamare.”

“I have been there, but I came to France to raise succor for him. I

shall ride back, Nigel, with four thousand of the best lances of France

at my back, so that your prince may find he hath a task which is worthy

of him. God be with you, friend, and may we meet again in better times!”

“I do not think,” said Sir Nigel, as he stood by Alleyne's side looking

after the French knight and his lady, “that in all Christendom you will

meet with a more stout-hearted man or a fairer and sweeter dame. But

your face is pale and sad, Alleyne! Have you perchance met with some

hurt during the ruffle?”

“Nay, my fair lord, I was but thinking of my friend Ford, and how he sat

upon my couch no later than yesternight.”

Sir Nigel shook his head sadly. “Two brave squires have I lost,” said

he. “I know not why the young shoots should be plucked, and an old weed

left standing, yet certes there must be some good reason, since God hath

so planned it. Did you not note, Alleyne, that the Lady Tiphaine did

give us warning last night that danger was coming upon us?”

“She did, my lord.”

“By Saint Paul! my mind misgives me as to what she saw at Twynham

Castle. And yet I cannot think that any Scottish or French rovers could

land in such force as to beleaguer the fortalice. Call the Company

together, Aylward; and let us on, for it will be shame to us if we are

not at Dax upon the trysting day.”

The archers had spread themselves over the ruins, but a blast upon a

bugle brought them all back to muster, with such booty as they could

bear with them stuffed into their pouches or slung over their shoulders.

As they formed into ranks, each man dropping silently into his place,

Sir Nigel ran a questioning eye over them, and a smile of pleasure

played over his face. Tall and sinewy, and brown, clear-eyed,

hard-featured, with the stern and prompt bearing of experienced

soldiers, it would be hard indeed for a leader to seek for a choicer

following. Here and there in the ranks were old soldiers of the French

wars, grizzled and lean, with fierce, puckered features and shaggy,

bristling brows. The most, however, were young and dandy archers, with

fresh English faces, their beards combed out, their hair curling from

under their close steel hufkens, with gold or jewelled earrings gleaming

in their ears, while their gold-spangled baldrics, their silken belts,

and the chains which many of them wore round their thick brown necks,

all spoke of the brave times which they had had as free companions. Each

had a yew or hazel stave slung over his shoulder, plain and serviceable

with the older men, but gaudily painted and carved at either end with

the others. Steel caps, mail brigandines, white surcoats with the red

lion of St. George, and sword or battle-axe swinging from their belts,

completed this equipment, while in some cases the murderous maule or

five-foot mallet was hung across the bowstave, being fastened to their

leathern shoulder-belt by a hook in the centre of the handle. Sir

Nigel's heart beat high as he looked upon their free bearing and

fearless faces.

For two hours they marched through forest and marshland, along the left

bank of the river Aveyron; Sir Nigel riding behind his Company, with

Alleyne at his right hand, and Johnston, the old master bowman, walking

by his left stirrup. Ere they had reached their journey's end the knight

had learned all that he would know of his men, their doings and their

intentions. Once, as they marched, they saw upon the further bank of the

river a body of French men-at-arms, riding very swiftly in the direction

of Villefranche.

“It is the Seneschal of Toulouse, with his following,” said Johnston,

shading his eyes with his hand. “Had he been on this side of the water

he might have attempted something upon us.”

“I think that it would be well that we should cross,” said Sir Nigel.

“It were pity to balk this worthy seneschal, should he desire to try

some small feat of arms.”

“Nay, there is no ford nearer than Tourville,” answered the old archer.

“He is on his way to Villefranche, and short will be the shrift of any

Jacks who come into his hands, for he is a man of short speech. It

was he and the Seneschal of Beaucaire who hung Peter Wilkins, of the

Company, last Lammastide; for which, by the black rood of Waltham! they

shall hang themselves, if ever they come into our power. But here are

our comrades, Sir Nigel, and here is our camp.”

As he spoke, the forest pathway along which they marched opened out into

a green glade, which sloped down towards the river. High, leafless trees

girt it in on three sides, with a thick undergrowth of holly between

their trunks. At the farther end of this forest clearing there stood

forty or fifty huts, built very neatly from wood and clay, with the

blue smoke curling out from the roofs. A dozen tethered horses and mules

grazed around the encampment, while a number of archers lounged about:

some shooting at marks, while others built up great wooden fires in the

open, and hung their cooking kettles above them. At the sight of their

returning comrades there was a shout of welcome, and a horseman, who

had been exercising his charger behind the camp, came cantering down

to them. He was a dapper, brisk man, very richly clad, with a round,

clean-shaven face, and very bright black eyes, which danced and sparkled

with excitement.

“Sir Nigel!” he cried. “Sir Nigel Loring, at last! By my soul we have

awaited you this month past. Right welcome, Sir Nigel! You have had my

letter?”

“It was that which brought me here,” said Sir Nigel. “But indeed, Sir

Claude Latour, it is a great wonder to me that you did not yourself lead

these bowmen, for surely they could have found no better leader?”

“None, none, by the Virgin of L'Esparre!” he cried, speaking in the

strange, thick Gascon speech which turns every _v_ into a _b_. “But you

know what these islanders of yours are, Sir Nigel. They will not be led

by any save their own blood and race. There is no persuading them.

Not even I, Claude Latour Seigneur of Montchateau, master of the high

justice, the middle and the low, could gain their favor. They must needs

hold a council and put their two hundred thick heads together, and then

there comes this fellow Aylward and another, as their spokesmen, to say

that they will disband unless an Englishman of good name be set over

them. There are many of them, as I understand, who come from some great

forest which lies in Hampi, or Hampti--I cannot lay my tongue to the

name. Your dwelling is in those parts, and so their thoughts turned to

you as their leader. But we had hoped that you would bring a hundred men

with you.”

“They are already at Dax, where we shall join them,” said Sir Nigel.

“But let the men break their fast, and we shall then take counsel what

to do.”

“Come into my hut,” said Sir Claude. “It is but poor fare that I can lay

before you--milk, cheese, wine, and bacon--yet your squire and yourself

will doubtless excuse it. This is my house where the pennon flies before

the door--a small residence to contain the Lord of Montchateau.”

Sir Nigel sat silent and distrait at his meal, while Alleyne hearkened

to the clattering tongue of the Gascon, and to his talk of the glories

of his own estate, his successes in love, and his triumphs in war.

“And now that you are here, Sir Nigel,” he said at last, “I have many

fine ventures all ready for us. I have heard that Montpezat is of no

great strength, and that there are two hundred thousand crowns in the

castle. At Castelnau also there is a cobbler who is in my pay, and who

will throw us a rope any dark night from his house by the town wall. I

promise you that you shall thrust your arms elbow-deep among good silver

pieces ere the nights are moonless again; for on every hand of us are

fair women, rich wine, and good plunder, as much as heart could wish.”

“I have other plans,” answered Sir Nigel curtly; “for I have come hither

to lead these bowmen to the help of the prince, our master, who may have

sore need of them ere he set Pedro upon the throne of Spain. It is my

purpose to start this very day for Dax upon the Adour, where he hath now

pitched his camp.”

The face of the Gascon darkened, and his eyes flashed with resentment.

“For me,” he said, “I care little for this war, and I find the life

which I lead a very joyous and pleasant one. I will not go to Dax.”

“Nay, think again, Sir Claude,” said Sir Nigel gently; “for you have

ever had the name of a true and loyal knight. Surely you will not hold

back now when your master hath need of you.”

“I will not go to Dax,” the other shouted.

“But your devoir--your oath of fealty?”

“I say that I will not go.”

“Then, Sir Claude, I must lead the Company without you.”

“If they will follow,” cried the Gascon with a sneer. “These are not

hired slaves, but free companions, who will do nothing save by their own

good wills. In very sooth, my Lord Loring, they are ill men to trifle

with, and it were easier to pluck a bone from a hungry bear than to lead

a bowman out of a land of plenty and of pleasure.”

“Then I pray you to gather them together,” said Sir Nigel, “and I will

tell them what is in my mind; for if I am their leader they must to Dax,

and if I am not then I know not what I am doing in Auvergne. Have my

horse ready, Alleyne; for, by St. Paul! come what may, I must be upon

the homeward road ere mid-day.”

A blast upon the bugle summoned the bowmen to counsel, and they gathered

in little knots and groups around a great fallen tree which lay athwart

the glade. Sir Nigel sprang lightly upon the trunk, and stood with

blinking eye and firm lips looking down at the ring of upturned warlike

faces.

“They tell me, bowmen,” said he, “that ye have grown so fond of ease and

plunder and high living that ye are not to be moved from this pleasant

country. But, by Saint Paul! I will believe no such thing of you, for

I can readily see that you are all very valiant men, who would scorn to

live here in peace when your prince hath so great a venture before him.

Ye have chosen me as a leader, and a leader I will be if ye come with

me to Spain; and I vow to you that my pennon of the five roses shall, if

God give me strength and life, be ever where there is most honor to

be gained. But if it be your wish to loll and loiter in these glades,

bartering glory and renown for vile gold and ill-gotten riches, then

ye must find another leader; for I have lived in honor, and in honor I

trust that I shall die. If there be forest men or Hampshire men amongst

ye, I call upon them to say whether they will follow the banner of

Loring.”

“Here's a Romsey man for you!” cried a young bowman with a sprig of

evergreen set in his helmet.

“And a lad from Alresford!” shouted another.

“And from Milton!”

“And from Burley!”

“And from Lymington!”

“And a little one from Brockenhurst!” shouted a huge-limbed fellow who

sprawled beneath a tree.

“By my hilt! lads,” cried Aylward, jumping upon the fallen trunk, “I

think that we could not look the girls in the eyes if we let the prince

cross the mountains and did not pull string to clear a path for him.

It is very well in time of peace to lead such a life as we have had

together, but now the war-banner is in the wind once more, and, by these

ten finger-bones! if he go alone, old Samkin Aylward will walk beside

it.”

These words from a man as popular as Aylward decided many of the

waverers, and a shout of approval burst from his audience.

“Far be it from me,” said Sir Claude Latour suavely, “to persuade you

against this worthy archer, or against Sir Nigel Loring; yet we have

been together in many ventures, and perchance it may not be amiss if I

say to you what I think upon the matter.”

“Peace for the little Gascon!” cried the archers. “Let every man have

his word. Shoot straight for the mark, lad, and fair play for all.”

“Bethink you, then,” said Sir Claude, “that you go under a hard rule,

with neither freedom nor pleasure--and for what? For sixpence a day,

at the most; while now you may walk across the country and stretch out

either hand to gather in whatever you have a mind for. What do we not

hear of our comrades who have gone with Sir John Hawkwood to Italy? In

one night they have held to ransom six hundred of the richest noblemen

of Mantua. They camp before a great city, and the base burghers come

forth with the keys, and then they make great spoil; or, if it please

them better, they take so many horse-loads of silver as a composition;

and so they journey on from state to state, rich and free and feared by

all. Now, is not that the proper life for a soldier?”

“The proper life for a robber!” roared Hordle John, in his thundering

voice.

“And yet there is much in what the Gascon says,” said a swarthy fellow

in a weather-stained doublet; “and I for one would rather prosper in

Italy than starve in Spain.”

“You were always a cur and a traitor, Mark Shaw,” cried Aylward. “By

my hilt! if you will stand forth and draw your sword I will warrant you

that you will see neither one nor the other.”

“Nay, Aylward,” said Sir Nigel, “we cannot mend the matter by broiling.

Sir Claude, I think that what you have said does you little honor, and

if my words aggrieve you I am ever ready to go deeper into the matter

with you. But you shall have such men as will follow you, and you may

go where you will, so that you come not with us. Let all who love

their prince and country stand fast, while those who think more of a

well-lined purse step forth upon the farther side.”

Thirteen bowmen, with hung heads and sheepish faces, stepped forward

with Mark Shaw and ranged themselves behind Sir Claude. Amid the

hootings and hissings of their comrades, they marched off together to

the Gascon's hut, while the main body broke up their meeting and set

cheerily to work packing their possessions, furbishing their weapons,

and preparing for the march which lay before them. Over the Tarn and the

Garonne, through the vast quagmires of Armagnac, past the swift-flowing

Losse, and so down the long valley of the Adour, there was many a

long league to be crossed ere they could join themselves to that dark

war-cloud which was drifting slowly southwards to the line of the snowy

peaks, beyond which the banner of England had never yet been seen.