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The White Company

A >> Arthur Conan Doyle >> The White Company




"I will venture a rover with you, or try long-butts or hoyles,"
said old Johnston. "To my mind the long-bow is a better weapon
than the arbalest, but it may be ill for me to prove it."

"So I think," quoth the other with a sneer. He drew his moulinet
from his girdle, and fixing it to the windlass, he drew back the
powerful double cord until it had clicked into the catch. Then
from his quiver he drew a short, thick quarrel, which he placed
with the utmost care upon the groove. Word had spread of what
was going forward, and the rivals were already surrounded, not
only by the English archers of the Company, but by hundreds of
arbalestiers and men-at-arms from the bands of Ortingo and La
Nuit, to the latter of which the Brabanter belonged.

"There is a mark yonder on the hill," said he; "mayhap you can
discern it."

"I see something," answered Johnston, shading his eyes with his
hand; "but it is a very long shoot."

"A fair shoot--a fair shoot! Stand aside, Arnaud, lest you find
a bolt through your gizzard. Now, comrade, I take no flight
shot, and I give you the vantage of watching my shaft."

As he spoke he raised his arbalest to his shoulder and was about
to pull the trigger, when a large gray stork flapped heavily into
view skimming over the brow of the hill, and then soaring up into
the air to pass the valley. Its shrill and piercing cries drew
all eyes upon it, and, as it came nearer, a dark spot which
circled above it resolved itself into a peregrine falcon, which
hovered over its head, poising itself from time to time, and
watching its chance of closing with its clumsy quarry. Nearer
and nearer came the two birds, all absorbed in their own contest,
the stork wheeling upwards, the hawk still fluttering above it,
until they were not a hundred paces from the camp. The Brabanter
raised his weapon to the sky, and there came the short, deep
twang of his powerful string. His bolt struck the stork just
where its wing meets the body, and the bird whirled aloft in a
last convulsive flutter before falling wounded and flapping to
the earth. A roar of applause burst from the crossbowmen; but at
the instant that the bolt struck its mark old Johnston, who had
stood listlessly with arrow on string, bent his bow and sped a
shaft through the body of the falcon. Whipping the other from
his belt, he sent it skimming some few feet from the earth with
so true an aim that it struck and transfixed the stork for the
second time ere it could reach the ground. A deep-chested shout
of delight burst from the archers at the sight of this double
feat, and Aylward, dancing with joy, threw his arms round the old
marksman and embraced him with such vigor that their mail tunics
clanged again.

"Ah! camarade," he cried, "you shall have a stoup with me for
this! What then, old dog, would not the hawk please thee, but
thou must have the stork as well. Oh, to my heart again!"

"It is a pretty piece of yew, and well strung," said Johnston
with a twinkle in his deep-set gray eyes. "Even an old broken
bowman might find the clout with a bow like this."

"You have done very well," remarked the Brabanter in a surly
voice. "But it seems to me that you have not yet shown yourself
to be a better marksman than I, for I have struck that at which I
aimed, and, by the three kings! no man can do more."

"It would ill beseem me to claim to be a better marksman,"
answered Johnston, "for I have heard great things of your skill.
I did but wish to show that the long-bow could do that which an
arbalest could not do, for you could not with your moulinet have
your string ready to speed another shaft ere the bird drop to the
earth."

"In that you have vantage," said the crossbowman. "By Saint
James! it is now my turn to show you where my weapon has the
better of you. I pray you to draw a flight shaft with all your
strength down the valley, that we may see the length of your
shoot."

"That is a very strong prod of yours," said Johnston, shaking his
grizzled head as he glanced at the thick arch and powerful
strings of his rival's arbalest. "I have little doubt that you
can overshoot me, and yet I have seen bowmen who could send a
cloth-yard arrow further than you could speed a quarrel."

"So I have heard," remarked the Brabanter; "and yet it is a
strange thing that these wondrous bowmen are never where I chance
to be. Pace out the distances with a wand at every five score,
and do you, Arnaud, stand at the fifth wand to carry back my
bolts to me."

A line was measured down the valley, and Johnston, drawing an
arrow to the very head, sent it whistling over the row of wands.

"Bravely drawn! A rare shoot!" shouted the bystanders.

"It is well up to the fourth mark."

"By my hilt! it is over it," cried Aylward. "I can see where
they have stooped to gather up the shaft."

"We shall hear anon," said Johnston quietly, and presently a
young archer came running to say that the arrow had fallen twenty
paces beyond the fourth wand.

"Four hundred paces and a score," cried Black Simon. "I' faith,
it is a very long flight. Yet wood and steel may do more than
flesh and blood."

The Brabanter stepped forward with a smile of conscious triumph,
and loosed the cord of his weapon. A shout burst from his
comrades as they watched the swift and lofty flight of the heavy
bolt.

"Over the fourth!" groaned Aylward. "By my hilt! I think that it
is well up to the fifth."

"It is over the fifth!" cried a Gascon loudly, and a comrade came
running with waving arms to say that the bolt had pitched eight
paces beyond the mark of the five hundred.

"Which weapon hath the vantage now?" cried the Brabanter,
Strutting proudly about with shouldered arbalest, amid the
applause of his companions.

"You can overshoot me," said Johnston gently.

"Or any other man who ever bent a long-bow," cried his victorious
adversary.

"Nay, not so fast," said a huge archer, whose mighty shoulders
and red head towered high above the throng of his comrades. "I
must have a word with you ere you crow so loudly. Where is my
little popper? By sainted Dick of Hampole! it will be a strange
thing if I cannot outshoot that thing of thine, which to my eyes
is more like a rat-trap than a bow. Will you try another flight,
or do you stand by your last?"

"Five hundred and eight paces will serve my turn," answered the
Brabanter, looking askance at this new opponent.

"Tut, John," whispered Aylward, "you never were a marksman. Why
must you thrust your spoon into this dish?"

"Easy and slow, Aylward. There are very many things which I
cannot do, but there are also one or two which I have the trick
of. It is in my mind that I can beat this shoot, if my bow will
but hold together."

"Go on, old babe of the woods!" "Have at it, Hampshire!" cried
the archers laughing.

"By my soul! you may grin," cried John. "But I learned how to
make the long shoot from old Hob Miller of Milford." He took up a
great black bow, as he spoke, and sitting down upon the ground he
placed his two feet on either end of the stave. With an arrow
fitted, he then pulled the string towards him with both hands
until the head of the shaft was level with the wood. The great
bow creaked and groaned and the cord vibrated with the tension.

"Who is this fool's-head who stands in the way of my shoot?" said
he, craning up his neck from the ground.

"He stands on the further side of my mark," answered the
Brabanter, "so he has little to fear from you."

"Well, the saints assoil him!" cried John. "Though I think he is
over-near to be scathed." As he spoke he raised his two feet,
with the bow-stave upon their soles, and his cord twanged with a
deep rich hum which might be heard across the valley. The
measurer in the distance fell flat upon his face, and then
jumping up again, he began to run in the opposite direction.

"Well shot, old lad! It is indeed over his head," cried the
bowmen.

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Brabanter, "who ever saw such a shoot?"

"It is but a trick," quoth John. "Many a time have I won a
gallon of ale by covering a mile in three flights down Wilverley
Chase."

"It fell a hundred and thirty paces beyond the fifth mark,"
shouted an archer in the distance.

"Six hundred and thirty paces! Mon Dieu! but that is a shoot!
And yet it says nothing for your weapon, mon gros camarade, for
it was by turning yourself into a crossbow that you did it."

"By my hilt! there is truth in that," cried Aylward. "And now,
friend, I will myself show you a vantage of the long-bow. I pray
you to speed a bolt against yonder shield with all your force.
It is an inch of elm with bull's hide over it."

"I scarce shot as many shafts at Brignais," growled the man of
Brabant; "though I found a better mark there than a cantle of
bull's hide. But what is this, Englishman? The shield hangs not
one hundred paces from me, and a blind man could strike it." He
screwed up his string to the furthest pitch, and shot his quarrel
at the dangling shield. Aylward, who had drawn an arrow from his
quiver, carefully greased the head of it, and sped it at the same
mark.

"Run, Wilkins," quoth he, "and fetch me the shield."

Long were the faces of the Englishmen and broad the laugh of the
crossbowmen as the heavy mantlet was carried towards them, for
there in the centre was the thick Brabant bolt driven deeply into
the wood, while there was neither sign nor trace of the
cloth-yard shaft.

"By the three kings!" cried the Brabanter, "this time at least
there is no gainsaying which is the better weapon, or which the
truer hand that held it. You have missed the shield,
Englishman."

"Tarry a bit! tarry a bit, mon gar.!" quoth Aylward, and turning
round the shield he showed a round clear hole in the wood at the
back of it. "My shaft has passed through it, camarade, and I
trow the one which goes through is more to be feared than that
which bides on the way,"

The Brabanter stamped his foot with mortification, and was about
to make some angry reply, when Alleyne Edricson came riding up to
the crowds of archers.

"Sir Nigel will be here anon," said he, "and it is his wish to
speak with the Company."

In an instant order and method took the place of general
confusion. Bows, steel caps, and jacks were caught up from the
grass. A long cordon cleared the camp of all strangers, while
the main body fell into four lines with under-officers and
file-leaders in front and on either flank. So they stood, silent
and motionless, when their leader came riding towards them, his
face shining and his whole small figure swelling with the news
which he bore.

"Great honor has been done to us, men," cried he: "for, of all
the army, the prince has chosen us out that we should ride
onwards into the lands of Spain to spy upon our enemies. Yet, as
there are many of us, and as the service may not be to the liking
of all, I pray that those will step forward from the ranks who
have the will to follow me."

There was a rustle among the bowmen, but when Sir Nigel looked up
at them no man stood forward from his fellows, but the four lines
of men stretched unbroken as before. Sir Nigel blinked at them
in amazement, and a look of the deepest sorrow shadowed his face.

"That I should live to see the day!" he cried, "What! not one----"

"My fair lord," whispered Alleyne, "they have all stepped
forward."

"Ah, by Saint Paul! I see how it is with them. I could not think
that they would desert me. We start at dawn to-morrow, and ye
are to have the horses of Sir Robert Cheney's company. Be ready,
I pray ye, at early cock-crow."

A buzz of delight burst from the archers, as they broke their
ranks and ran hither and thither, whooping and cheering like boys
who have news of a holiday. Sir Nigel gazed after them with a
smiling face, when a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.

"What ho! my knight-errant of Twynham!" said a voice, "You are
off to Ebro, I hear; and, by the holy fish of Tobias! you must
take me under your banner."

"What! Sir Oliver Buttesthorn!" cried Sir Nigel. "I had heard
that you were come into camp, and had hoped to see you. Glad and
proud shall I be to have you with me."

"I have a most particular and weighty reason for wishing to go,"
said the sturdy knight.

"I can well believe it," returned Sir Nigel; "I have met no man
who is quicker to follow where honor leads."

"Nay, it is not for honor that I go, Nigel."

"For what then?"

"For pullets."

"Pullets?"

"Yes, for the rascal vanguard have cleared every hen from the
country-side. It was this very morning that Norbury, my squire,
lamed his horse in riding round in quest of one, for we have a
bag of truffles, and nought to eat with them. Never have I seen
such locusts as this vanguard of ours. Not a pullet shall we see
until we are in front of them; so I shall leave my Winchester
runagates to the care of the provost-marshal, and I shall hie
south with you, Nigel, with my truffles at my saddle-bow."

"Oliver, Oliver, I know you over-well," said Sir Nigel, shaking
his head, and the two old soldiers rode off together to their
pavilion.



CHAPTER XXXV.

HOW SIR NIGEL HAWKED AT AN EAGLE.


To the south of Pampeluna in the kingdom of Navarre there
stretched a high table-land, rising into bare, sterile hills,
brown or gray in color, and strewn with huge boulders of granite.
On the Gascon side of the great mountains there had been running
streams, meadows, forests, and little nestling villages. Here, on
the contrary, were nothing but naked rocks, poor pasture, and
savage, stone-strewn wastes. Gloomy defiles or barrancas
intersected this wild country with mountain torrents dashing and
foaming between their rugged sides. The clatter of waters, the
scream of the eagle, and the howling of wolves the only sounds
which broke upon the silence in that dreary and inhospitable
region.

Through this wild country it was that Sir Nigel and his Company
pushed their way, riding at times through vast defiles where the
brown, gnarled cliffs shot up on either side of them, and the sky
was but a long winding blue slit between the clustering lines of
box which fringed the lips of the precipices; or, again leading
their horses along the narrow and rocky paths worn by the
muleteers upon the edges of the chasm, where under their very
elbows they could see the white streak which marked the _gave_
which foamed a thousand feet below them. So for two days they
pushed their way through the wild places of Navarre, past Fuente,
over the rapid Ega, through Estella, until upon a winter's
evening the mountains fell away from in front of them, and they
saw the broad blue Ebro curving betwixt its double line or
homesteads and of villages. The fishers of Viana were aroused
that night by rough voices speaking in a strange tongue, and ere
morning Sir Nigel and his men had ferried the river and were safe
upon the land of Spain.

All the next day they lay in a pine wood near to the town of
Logrono, resting their horses and taking counsel as to what
they should do. Sir Nigel had with him Sir William Felton,
Sir Oliver Buttesthorn, stout old Sir Simon Burley, the Scotch
knight-errant, the Earl of Angus, and Sir Richard Causton, all
accounted among the bravest knights in the army, together with
sixty veteran men-at-arms, and three hundred and twenty archers.
Spies had been sent out in the morning, and returned after
nightfall to say that the King of Spain was encamped some
fourteen miles off in the direction of Burgos, having with him
twenty thousand horse and forty-five thousand foot.

A dry-wood fire had been lit, and round this the leaders
crouched, the glare beating upon their rugged faces, while the
hardy archers lounged and chatted amid the tethered horses, while
they munched their scanty provisions.

"For my part," said Sir Simon Burley, "I am of opinion that we
have already done that which we have come for. For do we not now
know where the king is, and how great a following he hath, which
was the end of our journey."

"True," answered Sir William Felton, "but I have come on this
venture because it is a long time since I have broken a spear in
war, and, certes, I shall not go back until I have run a course
with some cavalier of Spain. Let those go back who will, but I
must see more of these Spaniards ere I turn."

"I will not leave you, Sir William," returned Sir Simon Burley;
"and yet, as an old soldier and one who hath seen much of war, I
cannot but think that it is an ill thing for four hundred men to
find themselves between an army of sixty thousand on the one side
and a broad river on the other."

"Yet," said Sir Richard Causton, "we cannot for the honor of
England go back without a blow struck."

"Nor for the honor of Scotland either," cried the Earl of Angus.
"By Saint Andrew! I wish that I may never set eyes upon the water
of Leith again, if I pluck my horse's bridle ere I have seen this
camp of theirs."

"By Saint Paul! you have spoken very well," said Sir Nigel, "and
I have always heard that there were very worthy gentlemen among
the Scots, and fine skirmishing to be had upon their border.
Bethink you, Sir Simon, that we have this news from the lips of
common spies, who can scarce tell us as much of the enemy and of
his forces as the prince would wish to hear."

"You are the leader in this venture, Sir Nigel," the other
answered, "and I do but ride under your banner."

"Yet I would fain have your rede and counsel, Sir Simon. But,
touching what you say of the river, we can take heed that we
shall not have it at the back of us, for the prince hath now
advanced to Salvatierra, and thence to Vittoria, so that if we
come upon their camp from the further side we can make good our
retreat."

"What then would you propose?" asked Sir Simon, shaking his
grizzled head as one who is but half convinced.

"That we ride forward ere the news reach them that we have
crossed the river. In this way we may have sight of their army,
and perchance even find occasion for some small deed against
them."

"So be it, then," said Sir Simon Burley; and the rest of the
council having approved, a scanty meal was hurriedly snatched,
and the advance resumed under the cover of the darkness. All
night they led their horses, stumbling and groping through wild
defiles and rugged valleys, following the guidance of a
frightened peasant who was strapped by the wrist to Black Simon's
stirrup-leather. With the early dawn they found themselves in a
black ravine, with others sloping away from it on either side,
and the bare brown crags rising in long bleak terraces all round
them.

"If it please you, fair lord," said Black Simon, "this man hath
misled us, and since there is no tree upon which we may hang him,
it might be well to hurl him over yonder cliff."

The peasant, reading the soldier's meaning in his fierce eyes and
harsh accents dropped upon his knees, screaming loudly for mercy.

"How comes it, dog?" asked Sir William Felton in Spanish. "Where
is this camp to which you swore that you would lead us?"

"By the sweet Virgin! By the blessed Mother of God! cried the
trembling peasant, "I swear to you that in the darkness I have
myself lost the path."

"Over the cliff with him!" shouted half a dozen voices; but ere
the archers could drag him from the rocks to which he clung Sir
Nigel had ridden up and called upon them to stop.

"How is this, sirs?" said he. "As long as the prince doth me the
honor to entrust this venture to me, it is for me only to give
orders; and, by Saint Paul! I shall be right blithe to go very
deeply into the matter with any one to whom my words may give
offence. How say you, Sir William? Or you, my Lord of Angus?
Or you, Sir Richard?"

"Nay, nay, Nigel!" cried Sir William. "This base peasant is too
small a matter for old comrades to quarrel over. But he hath
betrayed us, and certes he hath merited a dog's death."

"Hark ye, fellow," said Sir Nigel. "We give you one more chance
to find the path. We are about to gain much honor, Sir William,
in this enterprise, and it would be a sorry thing if the first
blood shed were that of an unworthy boor. Let us say our morning
orisons, and it may chance that ere we finish he may strike upon
the track."

With bowed heads and steel caps in hand, the archers stood at
their horse's heads, while Sir Simon Burley repeated the Pater,
the Ave, and the Credo. Long did Alleyne bear the scene in
mind--the knot of knights in their dull leaden-hued armor, the
ruddy visage of Sir Oliver, the craggy features of the Scottish
earl, the shining scalp of Sir Nigel, with the dense ring of
hard, bearded faces and the long brown heads of the horses, all
topped and circled by the beetling cliffs. Scarce had the last
deep "amen" broken from the Company, when, in an instant, there
rose the scream of a hundred bugles, with the deep rolling of
drums and the clashing of cymbals, all sounding together in one
deafening uproar. Knights and archers sprang to arms, convinced
that some great host was upon them; but the guide dropped upon
his knees and thanked Heaven for its mercies.

"We have found them, caballeros!" he cried. "This is their
morning call. If ye will but deign to follow me, I will set them
before you ere a man might tell his beads."

As he spoke he scrambled down one of the narrow ravines, and,
climbing over a low ridge at the further end, he led them into a
short valley with a stream purling down the centre of it and a
very thick growth of elder and of box upon either side. Pushing
their way through the dense brushwood, they looked out upon a
scene which made their hearts beat harder and their breath come
faster.

In front of them there lay a broad plain, watered by two winding
streams and covered with grass, stretching away to where, in the
furthest distance, the towers of Burgos bristled up against the
light blue morning sky. Over all this vast meadow there lay a
great city of tents--thousands upon thousands of them, laid out
in streets and in squares like a well-ordered town. High silken
pavilions or colored marquees, shooting up from among the crowd
of meaner dwellings, marked where the great lords and barons of
Leon and Castile displayed their standards, while over the white
roofs, as far as eye could reach, the waving of ancients, pavons,
pensils, and banderoles, with flash of gold and glow of colors,
proclaimed that all the chivalry of Iberia were mustered in the
plain beneath them. Far off, in the centre of the camp, a huge
palace of red and white silk, with the royal arms of Castile
waiving from the summit, announced that the gallant Henry lay
there in the midst of his warriors.

As the English adventurers, peeping out from behind their
brushwood screen, looked down upon this wondrous sight they could
see that the vast army in front of them was already afoot. The
first pink light of the rising sun glittered upon the steel caps
and breastplates of dense masses of slingers and of crossbowmen,
who drilled and marched in the spaces which had been left for
their exercise. A thousand columns of smoke reeked up into the
pure morning air where the faggots were piled and the camp-kettles
already simmering. In the open plain clouds of light horse
galloped and swooped with swaying bodies and waving javelins,
after the fashion which the Spanish had adopted from their
Moorish enemies. All along by the sedgy banks of the rivers
long lines of pages led their masters' chargers down to water,
while the knights themselves lounged in gayly-dressed groups
about the doors of their pavilions, or rode out, with their
falcons upon their wrists and their greyhounds behind them,
in quest of quail or of leveret.

"By my hilt! mon gar.!" whispered Aylward to Alleyne, as the
young squire stood with parted lips and wondering eyes, gazing
down at the novel scene before him, "we have been seeking them
all night, but now that we have found them I know not what we are
to do with them."

"You say sooth, Samkin," quoth old Johnston. "I would that we
were upon the far side of Ebro again, for there is neither honor
nor profit to be gained here. What say you, Simon?"

"By the rood!" cried the fierce man-at-arms, "I will see the
color of their blood ere I turn my mare's head for the mountains.
Am I a child, that I should ride for three days and nought but
words at the end of it?"

"Well said, my sweet honeysuckle!" cried Hordle John. "I am with
you, like hilt to blade. Could I but lay hands upon one of those
gay prancers yonder, I doubt not that I should have ransom enough
from him to buy my mother a new cow."

"A cow!" said Aylward. "Say rather ten acres and a homestead on
the banks of Avon."

"Say you so? Then, by our Lady! here is for yonder one in the red
jerkin!"

He was about to push recklessly forward into the open, when Sir
Nigel himself darted in front of him, with his hand upon his
breast.

"Back!" said he. "Our time is not yet come, and we must lie here
until evening. Throw off your jacks and headpieces, least their
eyes catch the shine, and tether the horses among the rocks."

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