copyright, Kellscraft Studio
(Return to Web Text-ures)
HOW THE COMRADES CAME OVER THE MARCHES OF FRANCE
AFTER passing Cahors, the party branched away from the main road, and
leaving the river to the north of them, followed a smaller track which wound
over a vast and desolate plain. This path led them amid marshes and woods, until
it brought them out into a glade with a broad stream swirling swiftly down the
centre of it. Through this the horses splashed their way, and on the farther
shore Sir Nigel announced to them that they were now within the borders of the
land of France. For some miles they
still followed the same lonely track, which led them through a dense wood, and
then widening out, curved down to an open rolling country, such as they had
traversed between Aiguillon and Cahors.
If it were grim and desolate upon the English border, however, what can
describe the hideous barrenness of this ten times harried tract of France?
The whole face of the country was scarred and disfigured, mottled over
with the black blotches of burned farm-steadings, and the gray, gaunt gable-ends
of what had been chateaux. Broken
fences, crumbling walls, vineyards littered with stones, the shattered arches of
bridges--look where you might, the signs of ruin and rapine met the eye.
Here and there only, on the farthest sky-line, the gnarled turrets of a
castle, or the graceful pinnacles of church or of monastery showed where the
forces of the sword or of the spirit had preserved some small islet of security
in this universal flood of misery. Moodily and in silence the little party rode
along the narrow and irregular track, their hearts weighed down by this
far-stretching land of despair. It
was indeed a stricken and a blighted country, and a man might have ridden from
Auvergne in the north to the marches of Foix, nor ever seen a smiling village or
a thriving homestead.
From time to time as they advanced they saw strange lean figures scraping
and scratching amid the weeds and thistles, who, on sight of the band of
horsemen, threw up their arms and dived in among the brushwood, as shy and as
swift as wild animals. More than once, however, they came on families by the
wayside, who were too weak from hunger and disease to fly, so that they could
but sit like hares on a tussock, with panting chests and terror in their eyes.
So gaunt were these poor folk, so worn and spent- -with bent and knotted
frames, and sullen, hopeless, mutinous faces--that it made the young Englishman
heart-sick to look upon them. Indeed,
it seemed as though all hope and light had gone so far from them that it was not
to be brought back; for when Sir Nigel threw down a handful of silver among them
there came no softening of their lined faces, but they clutched greedily at the
coins, peering questioningly at him, and champing with their animal jaws.
Here and there amid the brushwood the travellers saw the rude bundle of
sticks which served them as a home--more like a fowl's nest than the
dwelling-place of man. Yet why
should they build and strive, when the first adventurer who passed would set
torch to their thatch, and when their own feudal lord would wring from them with
blows and curses the last fruits of their toil?
They sat at the lowest depth of human misery, and hugged a bitter comfort
to their souls as they realized that they could go no lower.
Yet they had still the human gift of speech, and would take council among
themselves in their brushwood hovels, glaring with bleared eyes and pointing
with thin fingers at the great widespread chateaux which ate like a cancer into
the life of the country-side. When
such men, who are beyond hope and fear, begin in their dim minds to see the
source their woes, it may be an evil time for those who have wronged them. The weak man becomes strong when he has nothing, for then
only can he feel the wild, mad thrill of despair.
High and strong the chateaux, lowly and weak the brushwood hut; but God
help the seigneur and his lady when the men of the brushwood set their hands to
the work of revenge!
Through such country did the party ride for eight or it might be nine
miles, until the sun began to slope down in the west and their shadows to stream
down the road in front of them. Wary and careful they must be, with watchful
eyes to the right and the left, for this was no man's land, and their only
passports were those which hung from their belts.
Frenchmen and Englishmen, Gascon and Provencal, Brabanter, Tardvenu,
Scorcher, Flayer, and Free Companion, wandered and struggled over the whole of
this accursed district. So bare and
cheerless was the outlook, and so few and poor the dwellings, that Sir Nigel
began to have fears as to whether he might find food and quarters for his little
troop. It was a relief to him, therefore, when their narrow track opened out
upon a larger road, and they saw some little way down it a square white house
with a great bunch of holly hung out at the end of a stick from one of the upper
"By St. Paul!" said he, "I am right glad; for I had feared
that we might have neither provant nor herbergage.
Ride on, Alleyne, and tell this inn-keeper that an English knight with
his party will lodge with him this night."
Alleyne set spurs to his horse and reached the inn door a long bow-shot
before his companions. Neither varlet nor ostler could be seen, so he pushed open
the door and called loudly for the landlord.
Three times he shouted, but, receiving no reply, he opened an inner door
and advanced into the chief guest-room of the hostel.
A very cheerful wood-fire was sputtering and cracking in an open grate at
the further end of the apartment. At
one side of this fire, in a high-backed oak chair, sat a lady, her face turned
towards the door. The firelight
played over her features, and Alleyne thought that he had never seen such
queenly power, such dignity and strength, upon a woman's face.
She might have been five-and-thirty years of age, with aquiline nose,
firm yet sensitive mouth, dark curving brows, and deep-set eyes which shone and
sparkled with a shifting brilliancy. Beautiful
as she was, it was not her beauty which impressed itself upon the beholder; it
was her strength, her power, the sense of wisdom which hung over the broad white
brow, the decision which lay in the square jaw and delicately moulded chin.
A chaplet of pearls sparkled amid her black hair, with a gauze of silver
network flowing back from it over her shoulders; a black mantle was swathed
round her, and she leaned back in her chair as one who is fresh from a journey.
In the opposite corner there sat a very burly and broad- shouldered man,
clad in a black jerkin trimmed with sable, with a black velvet cap with curling
white feather cocked upon the side of his head.
A flask of red wine stood at his elbow, and he seemed to be very much at
his ease, for his feet were stuck up on a stool, and between his thighs he held
a dish full of nuts. These he cracked between his strong white teeth and chewed
in a leisurely way, casting the shells into the blaze.
As Alleyne gazed in at him he turned his face half round and cocked an
eye at him over his shoulder. It
seemed to the young Englishman that he had never seen so hideous a face, for the
eyes were of the lightest green, the nose was broken and driven inwards, while
the whole countenance was seared and puckered with wounds. The voice, too, when he spoke, was as deep and as fierce as
the growl of a beast of prey.
"Young man," said he, "I know not who you may be, and I am
not much inclined to bestir myself, but if it were not that I am bent upon
taking my ease, I swear, by the sword of Joshua! that I would lay my dog-whip
across your shoulders for daring to fill the air with these discordant
Taken aback at this ungentle speech, and scarce knowing how to answer it
fitly in the presence of the lady, Alleyne stood with his hand upon the handle
of the door, while Sir Nigel and his companions dismounted.
At the sound of these fresh voices, and of the tongue in which they
spoke, the stranger crashed his dish of nuts down upon the floor, and began
himself to call for the landlord until the whole house re-echoed with his
roarings. With an ashen face the white-aproned host came running at his call,
his hands shaking and his very hair bristling with apprehension. "For the
sake of God, sirs," he whispered as he passed, "speak him fair and do
not rouse him! For the love of the
Virgin, be mild with him!"
"Who is this, then?" asked Sir Nigel.
Alleyne was about to explain, when a fresh roar from the stranger
"Thou villain inn-keeper," he shouted, "did I not ask you
when I brought my lady here whether your inn was clean?"
"You did, sire."
"Did I not very particularly ask you whether there were any vermin
"You did, sire."
"And you answered me?"
"That there were not, sire."
"And yet ere I have been here an hour I find Englishmen crawling
about within it. Where are we to be
free from this pestilent race? Can
a Frenchman upon French land not sit down in a French auberge without having his
ears pained by the clack of their hideous talk?
Send them packing, inn-keeper, or it may be the worse for them and for
"I will, sire, I will!" cried the frightened host, and bustled
from the room, while the soft, soothing voice of the woman was heard
remonstrating with her furious companion.
"Indeed, gentlemen, you had best go," said mine host.
"It is but six miles to Villefranche, where there are very good
quarters at the sign of the 'Lion Rouge.' "
"Nay," answered Sir Nigel, "I cannot go until I have seen
more of this person, for he appears to be a man from whom much is to be hoped.
What is his name and title?"
"It is not for my lips to name it unless by his desire.
But I beg and pray you, gentlemen, that you will go from my house, for I
know not what may come of it if his rage should gain the mastery of him."
"By Saint Paul!" lisped Sir Nigel, "this is certainly a
man whom it is worth journeying far to know.
Go tell him that a humble knight of England would make his further
honorable acquaintance, not from any presumption, pride, or ill-will, but for
the advancement of chivalry and the glory of our ladies.
Give him greeting from Sir Nigel Loring, and say that the glove which I
bear in my cap belongs to the most peerless and lovely of her sex, whom I am now
ready to uphold against any lady whose claim he might be desirous of
The landlord was hesitating whether to carry this message or no, when the
door of the inner room was flung open, and the stranger bounded out like a
panther from its den, his hair bristling and his deformed face convulsed with
"Still here!" he snarled.
"Dogs of England, must ye be lashed hence?
Tiphaine, my sword!" He turned to seize his weapon, but as he did so
his gaze fell upon the blazonry of sir Nigel's shield, and he stood staring,
while the fire in his strange green eyes softened into a sly and humorous
"Mort Dieu!" cried he, "it is my little swordsman of
Bordeaux. I should remember that coat-armor, seeing that it is but three days
since I looked upon it in the lists by Garonne. Ah!
Sir Nigel, Sir Nigel! you
owe me a return for this," and he touched his right arm, which was girt
round just under the shoulder with a silken kerchief.
But the surprise of the stranger at the sight of Sir Nigel was as nothing
compared with the astonishment and the delight which shone upon the face of the
knight of Hampshire as he looked upon the strange face of the Frenchman.
Twice he opened his mouth and twice he peered again, as though to assure
himself that his eyes had not played him a trick.
"Bertrand!" he gasped at last.
"Bertrand du Guesclin!"
"By Saint Ives!" shouted the French soldier, with a hoarse roar
of laughter, "it is well that I should ride with my vizor down, for he that
has once seen my face does not need to be told my name.
It is indeed I, Sir Nigel, and here is my hand! I give you my word that
there are but three Englishmen in this world whom I would touch save with the
sharp edge of the sword: the prince is one, Chandos the second, and you the
third; for I have heard much that is good of you."
"I am growing aged, and am somewhat spent in the wars," quoth
Sir Nigel; "but I can lay by my sword now with an easy mind, for I can say
that I have crossed swords with him who hath the bravest heart and the strongest
arm of all this great kingdom of France. I have longed for it, I have dreamed of
it, and now I can scarce bring my mind to understand that this great honor hath
indeed been mine."
"By the Virgin of Rennes! you have given me cause to be very certain
of it," said Du Guesclin, with a gleam of his broad white teeth.
"And perhaps, most honored sir, it would please you to continue the
debate. Perhaps you would
condescend to go farther into the matter. God
He knows that I am unworthy of such honor, yet I can show my four-and-sixty
quarterings, and I have been present at some bickerings and scufflings during
these twenty years."
"Your fame is very well known to me, and I shall ask my lady to
enter your name upon my tablets," said Sir Bertrand. "There are many
who wish to advance themselves, and who bide their turn, for I refuse no man who
comes on such an errand. At present
it may not be, for mine arm is stiff from this small touch, and I would fain do
you full honor when we cross swords again.
Come in with me, and let your squires come also, that my sweet spouse,
the Lady Tiphaine, may say that she hath seen so famed and gentle a
Into the chamber they went in all peace and concord, where the Lady
Tiphaine sat like queen on throne for each in turn to be presented to her.
Sooth to say, the stout heart of Sir Nigel, which cared little for the
wrath of her lion-like spouse, was somewhat shaken by the calm, cold face of
this stately dame, for twenty years of camp-life had left him more at ease in
the lists than in a lady's boudoir. He
bethought him, too, as he looked at her set lips and deep-set questioning eyes,
that he had heard strange tales of this same Lady Tiphaine du Guesclin. Was it
not she who was said to lay hands upon the sick and raise them from their
couches when the leeches had spent their last nostrums? Had she not forecast the
future, and were there not times when in the loneliness of her chamber she was
heard to hold converse with some being upon whom mortal eye never rested--some
dark familiar who passed where doors were barred and windows high?
Sir Nigel sunk his eye and marked a cross on the side of his leg as he
greeted this dangerous dame, and yet ere five minutes had passed he was hers,
and not he only but his two young squires as well. The mind had gone out of
them, and they could but look at this woman and listen to the words which fell
from her lips--words which thrilled through their nerves and stirred their souls
like the battle-call of a bugle.
Often in peaceful after-days was Alleyne to think of that scene of the
wayside inn of Auvergne. The shadows of evening had fallen, and the corners of the
long, low, wood-panelled room were draped in darkness. The sputtering wood fire threw out a circle of red flickering
light which played over the little group of wayfarers, and showed up every line
and shadow upon their faces. Sir Nigel sat with elbows upon knees, and chin upon
hands, his patch still covering one eye, but his other shining like a star,
while the ruddy light gleamed upon his smooth white head.
Ford was seated at his left, his lips parted, his eyes staring, and a
fleck of deep color on either cheek, his limbs all rigid as one who fears to
move. On the other side the famous
French captain leaned back in his chair, a litter of nut-shells upon his lap,
his huge head half buried in a cushion, while his eyes wandered with an amused
gleam from his dame to the staring, enraptured Englishmen.
Then, last of all, that pale clear-cut face, that sweet clear voice, with
its high thrilling talk of the deathlessness of glory, of the worthlessness of
life, of the pain of ignoble joys, and of the joy which lies in all pains which
lead to a noble end. Still, as the
shadows deepened, she spoke of valor and virtue, of loyalty, honor, and fame,
and still they sat drinking in her words while the fire burned down and the red
ash turned to gray.
"By the sainted Ives!" cried Du Guesclin at last, "it is
time that we spoke of what we are to do this night, for I cannot think that in
this wayside auberge there are fit quarters for an honorable company."
Sir Nigel gave a long sigh as he came back from the dreams of chivalry
and hardihood into which this strange woman's words had wafted him.
"I care not where I sleep," said he; "but these are indeed
somewhat rude lodgings for this fair lady."
"What contents my lord contents me," quoth she.
"I perceive, Sir Nigel, that you are under vow," she added,
glancing at his covered eye.
"It is my purpose to attempt some small deed," he answered.
"And the glove--is it your lady's?"
"It is indeed my sweet wife's."
"Who is doubtless proud of you."
"Say rather I of her," quoth he quickly.
"God He knows that I am not worthy to be her humble servant.
It is easy, lady, for a man to ride forth in the light of day, and do his
devoir when all men have eyes for him. But
in a woman's heart there is a strength and truth which asks no praise, and can
but be known to him whose treasure it is."
The Lady Tiphaine smiled across at her husband.
"You have often told me, Bertrand, that there were very gentle
knights amongst the English," quoth she.
"Aye, aye," said he moodily.
"But to horse, Sir Nigel, you and yours and we shall seek the
chateau of Sir Tristram de Rochefort, which is two miles on this side of
Villefranche. He is Seneschal of
Auvergne, and mine old war companion."
"Certes, he would have a welcome for you," quoth Sir Nigel;
"but indeed he might look askance at one who comes without permit over the
"By the Virgin! when he
learns that you have come to draw away these rascals he will be very blithe to
look upon your face. Inn- keeper, here are ten gold pieces.
What is over and above your reckoning you may take off from your charges
to the next needy knight who comes this way.
Come then, for it grows late and the horses are stamping in the
The Lady Tiphaine and her spouse sprang upon their steeds without setting
feet to stirrup, and away they jingled down the white moonlit highway, with Sir
Nigel at the lady's bridle-arm, and Ford a spear's length behind them.
Alleyne had lingered for an instant in the passage, and as he did so
there came a wild outcry from a chamber upon the left, and out there ran Aylward
and John, laughing together like two schoolboys who are bent upon a prank. At
sight of Alleyne they slunk past him with somewhat of a shame- faced air, and
springing upon their horses galloped after their party.
The hubbub within the chamber did not cease, however, but rather
increased, with yells of: "A moi, mes amis! A moi, camarades! A
moi, l'honorable champion de l'Eveque de Montaubon! A la recouse de l'eglise
sainte!" So shrill was the outcry that both the inn-keeper and Alleyne,
with every varlet within hearing, rushed wildly to the scene of the uproar.
It was indeed a singular scene which met their eyes.
The room was a long and lofty one, stone floored and bare, with a fire at
the further end upon which a great pot was boiling.
A deal table ran down the centre, with a wooden wine-pitcher upon it and
two horn cups. Some way from it was
a smaller table with a single beaker and a broken wine-bottle.
From the heavy wooden rafters which formed the roof there hung rows of
hooks which held up sides of bacon, joints of smoked beef, and strings of onions
for winter use. In the very centre
of all these, upon the largest hook of all, there hung a fat little red-faced
man with enormous whiskers, kicking madly in the air and clawing at rafters,
hams, and all else that was within hand-grasp.
The huge steel hook had been passed through the collar of his leather
jerkin, and there he hung like a fish on a line, writhing, twisting, and
screaming, but utterly unable to free himself from his extraordinary position.
It was not until Alleyne and the landlord had mounted on the table that
they were able to lift him down, when he sank gasping with rage into a seat, and
rolled his eyes round in every direction.
"Has he gone?" quoth he.
"He, the man with the red head, the giant man."
"Yes," said Alleyne, "he hath gone."
"And comes not back?"
"The better for him!" cried the little man, with a long sigh of
relief. "Mon Dieu!
What! am I not the champion of the Bishop of Montaubon?
Ah, could I have descended, could I have come down, ere he fled!
Then you would have seen. You
would have beheld a spectacle then. There
would have been one rascal the less upon earth.
Ma, foi, yes!"
"Good master Pelligny," said the landlord, "these
gentlemen have not gone very fast, and I have a horse in the stable at your
disposal, for I would rather have such bloody doings as you threaten outside the
four walls of mine auberge."
"I hurt my leg and cannot ride," quoth the bishop's champion.
"I strained a sinew on the day that I slew the three men at
"God save you, master Pelligny!" cried the landlord.
"It must be an awesome thing to have so much blood upon one's soul. And yet I do not wish to see so valiant a man mishandled, and
so I will, for friendship's sake, ride after this Englishman and bring him back
"You shall not stir," cried the champion, seizing the
inn-keeper in a convulsive grasp. "I
have a love for you, Gaston, and I would not bring your house into ill repute,
nor do such scath to these walls and chattels as must befall if two such men as
this Englishman and I fall to work here."
"Nay, think not of me!" cried the inn-keeper.
"What are my walls when set against the honor of Francois
Poursuivant d'Amour Pelligny, champion of the Bishop of Montaubon.
My horse, Andre!"
"By the saints, no! Gaston,
I will not have it! You have said
truly that it is an awesome thing to have such rough work upon one's soul.
I am but a rude soldier, yet I have a mind. Mon Dieu!
I reflect, I weigh, I balance. Shall
I not meet this man again? Shall I
not bear him in mind? Shall I not
know him by his great paws and his red head?
Ma foi, yes!"
"And may I ask, sir," said Alleyne, "why it is that you
call yourself champion of the Bishop of Montaubon?"
"You may ask aught which it is becoming to me to answer.
The bishop hath need of a champion, because, if any cause be set to test
of combat, it would scarce become his office to go down into the lists with
leather and shield and cudgel to exchange blows with any varlet.
He looks around him then for some tried fighting man, some honest smiter
who can give a blow or take one. It is not for me to say how far he hath
succeeded, but it is sooth that he who thinks that he hath but to do with the
Bishop of Montaubon, finds himself face to face with Francois Poursuivant
At this moment there was a clatter of hoofs upon the road, and a varlet
by the door cried out that one of the Englishmen was coming back.
The champion looked wildly about for some corner of safety, and was
clambering up towards the window, when Ford's voice sounded from without,
calling upon Alleyne to hasten, or he might scarce find his way.
Bidding adieu to landlord and to champion, therefore, he set off at a
gallop, and soon overtook the two archers.
"A pretty thing this, John," said he.
"Thou wilt have holy Church upon you if you hang her champions upon
iron hooks in an inn kitchen."
"It was done without thinking," he answered apologetically,
while Aylward burst into a shout of laughter.
"By my hilt! mon petit," said he, "you would have laughed
also could you have seen it. For
this man was so swollen with pride that he would neither drink with us, nor sit
at the same table with us, nor as much as answer a question, but must needs talk
to the varlet all the time that it was well there was peace, and that he had
slain more Englishmen than there were tags to his doublet.
Our good old John could scarce lay his tongue to French enough to answer
him, so he must needs reach out his great hand to him and place him very gently
where you saw him. But we must on,
for I can scarce hear their hoofs upon the road."
"I think that I can see them yet," said Ford, peering down the
"Pardieu! yes. Now they
ride forth from the shadow. And
yonder dark clump is the Castle of Villefranche.
En avant camarades! or Sir Nigel may reach the gates before us.
But hark, mes amis, what sound is that?"
As he spoke the hoarse blast of a horn was heard from some woods upon the
right. An answering call rung forth
upon their left, and hard upon it two others from behind them.
"They are the horns of swine-herds," quoth Aylward.
"Though why they blow them so late I cannot tell."
"Let us on, then," said Ford, and the whole party, setting their spurs to their horses, soon found themselves at the Castle of Villefranche, where the drawbridge had already been lowered and the portcullis raised in response to the summons of Du Guesclin.
Click here to continue to the next chapter of The White Company