CHAPTER XIII. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY SET FORTH TO THE WARS.
St. Luke's day had come and had gone, and it was in the season ofMartinmas, when the oxen are driven in to the slaughter, that the WhiteCompany was ready for its journey. Loud shrieked the brazen bugles fromkeep and from gateway, and merry was the rattle of the war-drum, as themen gathered in the outer bailey, with torches to light them, for themorn had not yet broken. Alleyne, from the window of the armory, lookeddown upon the strange scene--the circles of yellow flickering light,the lines of stern and bearded faces, the quick shimmer of arms, and thelean heads of the horses. In front stood the bow-men, ten deep, with afringe of under-officers, who paced hither and thither marshalling theranks with curt precept or short rebuke. Behind were the little clumpof steel-clad horsemen, their lances raised, with long pensils droopingdown the oaken shafts. So silent and still were they, that they mighthave been metal-sheathed statues, were it not for the occasional quick,impatient stamp of their chargers, or the rattle of chamfron againstneck-plates as they tossed and strained. A spear's length in front ofthem sat the spare and long-limbed figure of Black Simon, the Norwichfighting man, his fierce, deep-lined face framed in steel, and thesilk guidon marked with the five scarlet roses slanting over his rightshoulder. All round, in the edge of the circle of the light, stood thecastle servants, the soldiers who were to form the garrison, and littleknots of women, who sobbed in their aprons and called shrilly to theirname-saints to watch over the Wat, or Will, or Peterkin who had turnedhis hand to the work of war.
The young squire was leaning forward, gazing at the stirring and martialscene, when he heard a short, quick gasp at his shoulder, and there wasthe Lady Maude, with her hand to her heart, leaning up against the wall,slender and fair, like a half-plucked lily. Her face was turned awayfrom him, but he could see, by the sharp intake of her breath, that shewas weeping bitterly.
"Alas! alas!" he cried, all unnerved at the sight, "why is it that youare so sad, lady?"
"It is the sight of these brave men," she answered; "and to think howmany of them go and how few are like to find their way back. I have seenit before, when I was a little maid, in the year of the Prince's greatbattle. I remember then how they mustered in the bailey, even as they donow, and my lady-mother holding me in her arms at this very window thatI might see the show."
"Please God, you will see them all back ere another year be out," saidhe.
She shook her head, looking round at him with flushed cheeks and eyesthat sparkled in the lamp-light. "Oh, but I hate myself for being awoman!" she cried, with a stamp of her little foot. "What can I do thatis good? Here I must bide, and talk and sew and spin, and spin and sewand talk. Ever the same dull round, with nothing at the end of it. Andnow you are going too, who could carry my thoughts out of these graywalls, and raise my mind above tapestry and distaffs. What can I do? Iam of no more use or value than that broken bowstave."
"You are of such value to me," he cried, in a whirl of hot, passionatewords, "that all else has become nought. You are my heart, my life, myone and only thought. Oh, Maude, I cannot live without you, I cannotleave you without a word of love. All is changed to me since I haveknown you. I am poor and lowly and all unworthy of you; but if greatlove may weigh down such defects, then mine may do it. Give me but oneword of hope to take to the wars with me--but one. Ah, you shrink, youshudder! My wild words have frightened you."
Twice she opened her lips, and twice no sound came from them. At lastshe spoke in a hard and measured voice, as one who dare not trustherself to speak too freely.
"This is over sudden," she said; "it is not so long since the world wasnothing to you. You have changed once; perchance you may change again."
"Cruel!" he cried, "who hath changed me?"
"And then your brother," she continued with a little laugh, disregardinghis question. "Methinks this hath become a family custom amongst theEdricsons. Nay, I am sorry; I did not mean a jibe. But, indeed, Alleyne,this hath come suddenly upon me, and I scarce know what to say."
"Say some word of hope, however distant--some kind word that I maycherish in my heart."
"Nay, Alleyne, it were a cruel kindness, and you have been too good andtrue a friend to me that I should use you despitefully. There cannot bea closer link between us. It is madness to think of it. Were there noother reasons, it is enough that my father and your brother would bothcry out against it."
"My brother, what has he to do with it? And your father----"
"Come, Alleyne, was it not you who would have me act fairly to all men,and, certes, to my father amongst them?"
"You say truly," he cried, "you say truly. But you do not reject me,Maude? You give me some ray of hope? I do not ask pledge or promise. Sayonly that I am not hateful to you--that on some happier day I may hearkinder words from you."
Her eyes softened upon him, and a kind answer was on her lips, when ahoarse shout, with the clatter of arms and stamping of steeds, rose upfrom the bailey below. At the sound her face set her eyes sparkled, andshe stood with flushed cheek and head thrown back--a woman's body, witha soul of fire.
"My father hath gone down," she cried. "Your place is by his side. Nay,look not at me, Alleyne. It is no time for dallying. Win my father'slove, and all may follow. It is when the brave soldier hath done hisdevoir that he hopes for his reward. Farewell, and may God be with you!"She held out her white, slim hand to him, but as he bent his lips overit she whisked away and was gone, leaving in his outstretched hand thevery green veil for which poor Peter Terlake had craved in vain. Againthe hoarse cheering burst out from below, and he heard the clang of therising portcullis. Pressing the veil to his lips, he thrust it into thebosom of his tunic, and rushed as fast as feet could bear him to armhimself and join the muster.
The raw morning had broken ere the hot spiced ale had been served roundand the last farewell spoken. A cold wind blew up from the sea andragged clouds drifted swiftly across the sky.
The Christchurch townsfolk stood huddled about the Bridge of Avon, thewomen pulling tight their shawls and the men swathing themselves intheir gaberdines, while down the winding path from the castle came thevan of the little army, their feet clanging on the hard, frozen road.First came Black Simon with his banner, bestriding a lean and powerfuldapple-gray charger, as hard and wiry and warwise as himself. After him,riding three abreast, were nine men-at-arms, all picked soldiers, whohad followed the French wars before, and knew the marches of Picardy asthey knew the downs of their native Hampshire. They were armed to theteeth with lance, sword, and mace, with square shields notched at theupper right-hand corner to serve as a spear-rest. For defence each manwore a coat of interlaced leathern thongs, strengthened at the shoulder,elbow, and upper arm with slips of steel. Greaves and knee-pieces werealso of leather backed by steel, and their gauntlets and shoes were ofiron plates, craftily jointed. So, with jingle of arms and clatter ofhoofs, they rode across the Bridge of Avon, while the burghers shoutedlustily for the flag of the five roses and its gallant guard.
Close at the heels of the horses came two-score archers bearded andburly, their round targets on their backs and their long yellow bows,the most deadly weapon that the wit of man had yet devised, thrustingforth from behind their shoulders. From each man's girdle hung sword oraxe, according to his humor, and over the right hip there jutted out theleathern quiver with its bristle of goose, pigeon, and peacock feathers.Behind the bowmen strode two trumpeters blowing upon nakirs, and twodrummers in parti-colored clothes. After them came twenty-seven sumpterhorses carrying tent-poles, cloth, spare arms, spurs, wedges, cookingkettles, horse-shoes, bags of nails and the hundred other things whichexperience had shown to be needful in a harried and hostile country. Awhite mule with red trappings, led by a varlet, carried Sir Nigel's ownnapery and table comforts. Then came two-score more archers, ten moremen-at-arms, and finally a rear guard of twenty bowmen, with big Johntowering in the front rank and the veteran Aylward marching by the side,his battered harness and faded surcoat in strange
contrast with thesnow-white jupons and shining brigandines of his companions. A quickcross-fire of greetings and questions and rough West Saxon jests flewfrom rank to rank, or were bandied about betwixt the marching archersand the gazing crowd.
"Hola, Gaffer Higginson!" cried Aylward, as he spied the portly figureof the village innkeeper. "No more of thy nut-brown, mon gar. We leaveit behind us."
"By St. Paul, no!" cried the other. "You take it with you. Devil a drophave you left in the great kilderkin. It was time for you to go."
"If your cask is leer, I warrant your purse is full, gaffer," shoutedHordle John. "See that you lay in good store of the best for ourhome-coming."
"See that you keep your throat whole for the drinking of it archer,"cried a voice, and the crowd laughed at the rough pleasantry.
"If you will warrant the beer, I will warrant the throat," said Johncomposedly.
"Close up the ranks!" cried Aylward. "En avant, mes enfants! Ah, by myfinger bones, there is my sweet Mary from the Priory Mill! Ma foi, butshe is beautiful! Adieu, Mary ma cherie! Mon coeur est toujours atoi. Brace your belt, Watkins, man, and swing your shoulders as a freecompanion should. By my hilt! your jerkins will be as dirty as mine ereyou clap eyes on Hengistbury Head again."
The Company had marched to the turn of the road ere Sir Nigel Loringrode out from the gateway, mounted on Pommers, his great blackwar-horse, whose ponderous footfall on the wooden drawbridge echoedloudly from the gloomy arch which spanned it. Sir Nigel was still in hisvelvet dress of peace, with flat velvet cap of maintenance, and curlingostrich feather clasped in a golden brooch. To his three squires ridingbehind him it looked as though he bore the bird's egg as well as itsfeather, for the back of his bald pate shone like a globe of ivory. Hebore no arms save the long and heavy sword which hung at his saddle-bow;but Terlake carried in front of him the high wivern-crested bassinet,Ford the heavy ash spear with swallow-tail pennon, while Alleyne wasentrusted with the emblazoned shield. The Lady Loring rode her palfreyat her lord's bridle-arm, for she would see him as far as the edgeof the forest, and ever and anon she turned her hard-lined faceup wistfully to him and ran a questioning eye over his apparel andappointments.
"I trust that there is nothing forgot," she said, beckoning to Alleyneto ride on her further side. "I trust him to you, Edricson. Hosen,shirts, cyclas, and under-jupons are in the brown basket on the leftside of the mule. His wine he takes hot when the nights are cold,malvoisie or vernage, with as much spice as would cover the thumb-nail.See that he hath a change if he come back hot from the tilting. There isgoose-grease in a box, if the old scars ache at the turn of the weather.Let his blankets be dry and----"
"Nay, my heart's life," the little knight interrupted, "trouble not nowabout such matters. Why so pale and wan, Edricson? Is it not enowto make a man's heart dance to see this noble Company, such valiantmen-at-arms, such lusty archers? By St. Paul! I would be ill to pleaseif I were not blithe to see the red roses flying at the head of so noblea following!"
"The purse I have already given you, Edricson," continued the lady."There are in it twenty-three marks, one noble, three shillings andfourpence, which is a great treasure for one man to carry. And I prayyou to bear in mind, Edricson, that he hath two pair of shoes, those ofred leather for common use, and the others with golden toe-chains,which he may wear should he chance to drink wine with the Prince or withChandos."
"My sweet bird," said Sir Nigel, "I am right loth to part from you,but we are now at the fringe of the forest, and it is not right that Ishould take the chatelaine too far from her trust."
"But oh, my dear lord," she cried with a trembling lip, "let me bidewith you for one furlong further--or one and a half perhaps. You mayspare me this out of the weary miles that you will journey along."
"Come, then, my heart's comfort," he answered. "But I must crave a gagefrom thee. It is my custom, dearling, and hath been since I havefirst known thee, to proclaim by herald in such camps, townships, orfortalices as I may chance to visit, that my lady-love, being beyondcompare the fairest and sweetest in Christendom, I should deem it greathonor and kindly condescension if any cavalier would run three coursesagainst me with sharpened lances, should he chance to have a lady whoseclaim he was willing to advance. I pray you then my fair dove, that youwill vouchsafe to me one of those doeskin gloves, that I may wear it asthe badge of her whose servant I shall ever be."
"Alack and alas for the fairest and sweetest!" she cried. "Fair andsweet I would fain be for your dear sake, my lord, but old I am andugly, and the knights would laugh should you lay lance in rest in such acause."
"Edricson," quoth Sir Nigel, "you have young eyes, and mine are somewhatbedimmed. Should you chance to see a knight laugh, or smile, or even,look you, arch his brows, or purse his mouth, or in any way showsurprise that I should uphold the Lady Mary, you will take particularnote of his name, his coat-armor, and his lodging. Your glove, my life'sdesire!"
The Lady Mary Loring slipped her hand from her yellow leather gauntlet,and he, lifting it with dainty reverence, bound it to the front of hisvelvet cap.
"It is with mine other guardian angels," quoth he, pointing at thesaints' medals which hung beside it. "And now, my dearest, you have comefar enow. May the Virgin guard and prosper thee! One kiss!" He bent downfrom his saddle, and then, striking spurs into his horse's sides, hegalloped at top speed after his men, with his three squires at hisheels. Half a mile further, where the road topped a hill, they lookedback, and the Lady Mary on her white palfrey was still where they hadleft her. A moment later they were on the downward slope, and she hadvanished from their view.