第 三十七 章 · HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.

. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.

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

comrade had fallen. Quickly now he sprang from rock to rock until his

feet were on the ground, and he had his hand stretched out for the

horse's rein, when a sling-stone struck him on the head, and he dropped

senseless upon the ground.

An evil blow it was for Alleyne, but a worse one still for him who

struck it. The Spanish slinger, seeing the youth lie slain, and judging

from his dress that he was no common man, rushed forward to plunder him,

knowing well that the bowmen above him had expended their last shaft.

He was still three paces, however, from his victim's side when John

upon the cliff above plucked up a huge boulder, and, poising it for

an instant, dropped it with fatal aim upon the slinger beneath him. It

struck upon his shoulder, and hurled him, crushed and screaming, to the

ground, while Alleyne, recalled to his senses by these shrill cries in

his very ear, staggered on to his feet, and gazed wildly about him. His

eyes fell upon the horses, grazing upon the scanty pasture, and in an

instant all had come back to him--his mission, his comrades, the need

for haste. He was dizzy, sick, faint, but he must not die, and he must

not tarry, for his life meant many lives that day. In an instant he

was in his saddle and spurring down the valley. Loud rang the swift

charger's hoofs over rock and reef, while the fire flew from the stroke

of iron, and the loose stones showered up behind him. But his head was

whirling round, the blood was gushing from his brow, his temple, his

mouth. Ever keener and sharper was the deadly pain which shot like a

red-hot arrow through his side. He felt that his eye was glazing, his

senses slipping from him, his grasp upon the reins relaxing. Then with

one mighty effort, he called up all his strength for a single minute.

Stooping down, he loosened the stirrup-straps, bound his knees tightly

to his saddle-flaps, twisted his hands in the bridle, and then, putting

the gallant horse's head for the mountain path, he dashed the spurs

in and fell forward fainting with his face buried in the coarse, black

mane.

Little could he ever remember of that wild ride. Half conscious, but

ever with the one thought beating in his mind, he goaded the horse

onwards, rushing swiftly down steep ravines over huge boulders, along

the edges of black abysses. Dim memories he had of beetling cliffs, of a

group of huts with wondering faces at the doors, of foaming, clattering

water, and of a bristle of mountain beeches. Once, ere he had ridden

far, he heard behind him three deep, sullen shouts, which told him that

his comrades had set their faces to the foe once more. Then all was

blank, until he woke to find kindly blue English eyes peering down upon

him and to hear the blessed sound of his country's speech. They were but

a foraging party--a hundred archers and as many men-at-arms--but their

leader was Sir Hugh Calverley, and he was not a man to bide idle when

good blows were to be had not three leagues from him. A scout was sent

flying with a message to the camp, and Sir Hugh, with his two hundred

men, thundered off to the rescue. With them went Alleyne, still bound to

his saddle, still dripping with blood, and swooning and recovering, and

swooning once again. On they rode, and on, until, at last, topping a

ridge, they looked down upon the fateful valley. Alas! and alas! for the

sight that met their eyes.

There, beneath them, was the blood-bathed hill, and from the highest

pinnacle there flaunted the yellow and white banner with the lions and

the towers of the royal house of Castile. Up the long slope rushed ranks

and ranks of men exultant, shouting, with waving pennons and brandished

arms. Over the whole summit were dense throngs of knights, with no enemy

that could be seen to face them, save only that at one corner of the

plateau an eddy and swirl amid the crowded mass seemed to show that all

resistance was not yet at an end. At the sight a deep groan of rage and

of despair went up from the baffled rescuers, and, spurring on their

horses, they clattered down the long and winding path which led to the

valley beneath.

But they were too late to avenge, as they had been too late to save.

Long ere they could gain the level ground, the Spaniards, seeing them

riding swiftly amid the rocks, and being ignorant of their numbers, drew

off from the captured hill, and, having secured their few prisoners,

rode slowly in a long column, with drum-beating and cymbal-clashing, out

of the valley. Their rear ranks were already passing out of sight ere

the new-comers were urging their panting, foaming horses up the slope

which had been the scene of that long drawn and bloody fight.

And a fearsome sight it was that met their eyes! Across the lower end

lay the dense heap of men and horses where the first arrow-storm had

burst. Above, the bodies of the dead and the dying--French, Spanish, and

Aragonese--lay thick and thicker, until they covered the whole ground

two and three deep in one dreadful tangle of slaughter. Above them lay

the Englishmen in their lines, even as they had stood, and higher yet

upon the plateau a wild medley of the dead of all nations, where the

last deadly grapple had left them. In the further corner, under the

shadow of a great rock, there crouched seven bowmen, with great John

in the centre of them--all wounded, weary, and in sorry case, but still

unconquered, with their blood-stained weapons waving and their voices

ringing a welcome to their countrymen. Alleyne rode across to John,

while Sir Hugh Calverley followed close behind him.

“By Saint George!” cried Sir Hugh, “I have never seen signs of so stern

a fight, and I am right glad that we have been in time to save you.”

“You have saved more than us,” said John, pointing to the banner which

leaned against the rock behind him.

“You have done nobly,” cried the old free companion, gazing with a

soldier's admiration at the huge frame and bold face of the archer. “But

why is it, my good fellow, that you sit upon this man.”

“By the rood! I had forgot him,” John answered, rising and dragging

from under him no less a person than the Spanish caballero, Don Diego

Alvarez. “This man, my fair lord, means to me a new house, ten cows,

one bull--if it be but a little one--a grindstone, and I know not what

besides; so that I thought it well to sit upon him, lest he should take

a fancy to leave me.”

“Tell me, John,” cried Alleyne faintly: “where is my dear lord, Sir

Nigel Loring?”

“He is dead, I fear. I saw them throw his body across a horse and ride

away with it, but I fear the life had gone from him.”

“Now woe worth me! And where is Aylward?”

“He sprang upon a riderless horse and rode after Sir Nigel to save him.

I saw them throng around him, and he is either taken or slain.”

“Blow the bugles!” cried Sir Hugh, with a scowling brow. “We must back

to camp, and ere three days I trust that we may see these Spaniards

again. I would fain have ye all in my company.”

“We are of the White Company, my fair lord,” said John.

“Nay, the White Company is here disbanded,” answered Sir Hugh solemnly,

looking round him at the lines of silent figures. “Look to the brave

squire, for I fear that he will never see the sun rise again.”