CHAPTER III
The morning of departure arrived. The men-at-arms were drawn up in thecourt like so many statues of steel; Leonard Ashton sat on horseback,his eyes fixed on the door; Gaston d'Aubricour, wrapped in his gaymantle, stood caressing his Arab steed Brigliador, and telling him theyshould soon exchange the chilly fogs of England for the bright sun ofGascony; Ralph Penrose held his master's horse, and a black powerfulcharger was prepared for Eustace, but still the brothers tarried.
"My Eleanor, this should not be!" said Reginald as his wife clung tohim weeping. "Keep a good heart. 'Tis not for long. Take heed ofyour dealings with cousin Fulk. She knows not what I say. FatherCyril, keep guard over her and my boy, in case I should meet with anymishap."
"I will, assuredly, my son," said the Chaplain, "but it is little thata poor Priest like me can do. I would that grant to the Clarenhamswere repealed."
"That were soon done," said Reginald, "but it is no time for a loyalvassal to complain of grievances when his liege lord has summoned himto the field. That were to make the King's need be his law. No! no!Watch over her, good father, she is weak and tender. Look up, sweetheart, give me one cheerful wish to speed me on my journey. No? Shehas swooned. Eleanor! my wife--"
"Begone, begone, my son," said Father Cyril, "it will be the better forher."
"It may be," said Reginald, "yet to leave her thus-- Here, nurse,support her, tend her well. Give her my tenderest greetings. Arthur,be duteous to her; talk to her of our return; farewell, my boy, andblessings on you. Eustace, mount."
Sir Reginald, sighing heavily, swung himself into the saddle; Eustacewaited a moment longer. "Good Father, this was to have been in poorEleanor's charge. It is the token, you know for whom."
"It shall reach her, my son."
"You will send me a letter whenever you can?"
"Truly, I will; and I would have you read and write, especially inLatin, when you have the chance--good gifts should not be buried.Bethink you, too, that you will not have the same excuse for sin as therude ignorant men you will meet."
"Eustace!" hastily called Reginald, and with a hurried farewell to allaround, the young Squire sprang on horseback, and the troop rode acrossthe drawbridge. They halted on the mound beyond; Sir Reginald shookhis pennon, till the long white swallow tails streamed on the wind,then placed it in the hands of Eustace, and saying, "On, Lances ofLynwood! In the name of God, St. George, and King Edward, do yourdevoir;" he spurred his horse forward, as if only desirous to be out ofsight of his own turrets, and forget the parting, the pain of whichstill heaved his breast and dimmed his eye.
A few days brought the troop to Southampton, where John of Gaunt wascollecting his armament, and with it they embarked, crossed to St.Malo, and thence proceeded to Bordeaux, but there found that the Princeof Wales had already set forth, and was waiting for his brother at Dax.
Advancing immediately, at the end of three days they came in sight ofthe forces encamped around that town. Glorious was the scene beforethem, the green plain covered in every direction with white tents,surmounted with the banners or pennons of their masters, the broad redCross of St. George waving proudly in the midst, and beside it theroyal Lions and Castles of the two Spanish monarchies. To the south,the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees began to gleam white like cloudsagainst the sky, and the gray sea-line to the west closed the horizon.Eustace drew his rein, and gazed in silent admiration, and Gaston,riding by his side, pointed out the several bearings and devices which,to the warrior of that day, spoke as plainly (often more so) as writtenwords. "See yonder, the tent of my brave countryman, the Captal deBuch, close to that of the Prince, as is ever his wont. No doubt he iswilling to wipe away the memory of his capture at Auray. There, to theleft, _gules_ and _argent_, per _pale_, is the pennon of the stout oldEnglishman, Chandos. Ha! I see the old Free Companions are here withSir Hugh Calverly! Why, 'twas but the other day they were starting toset this very Don Enrique on the throne as blithely as they now go todrive him from his."
While Gaston spoke, the sound of horses' feet approached rapidly fromanother quarter, and a small party came in sight, the foremost of whomchecked his bridle, as, at Reginald's signal, his Lances halted anddrew respectfully aside. He was a man about thirty-six years of age,and looking even younger, from the remarkable fairness and delicacy ofhis complexion. The perfect regularity of his noble features, togetherwith the commanding, yet gentle expression of his clear light blueeyes, would, even without the white ostrich feather in his black velvetcap, have enabled Eustace to recognize in him the flower of chivalry,Edward, Prince of Wales.
"Welcome, my trusty Reginald!" exclaimed he. "I knew that the Lancesof Lynwood would not be absent where knightly work is to be done. Ismy brother John arrived?"
"Yes, my Lord," replied Reginald; "I parted from him but now as he rodeto the castle, while I came to seek where to bestow my knaves."
"I know you of old for a prudent man," said the Prince, smiling; "theProvost Marshal hath no acquaintance with that gallant little band.Methinks I see there a fair face like enough to yours to belong toanother loyal Lynwood."
"I could wish it were a little browner and more manly, my Lord," saidReginald. "It is my brother Eustace, who has been suffered (I takeshame to myself for it) to tarry at home as my Lady's page, till helooks as white as my Lady herself."
"We will soon find a cure for that in the sun of Castile," said Edward."You are well provided with Squires. The men of Somerset know wheregood training is to be found for their sons."
"This, my Lord, is the son of Sir Philip Ashton, a loyal Knight of ourcountry."
"He is welcome," said the Prince. "We have work for all. Let me seeyou this evening at supper in my tent."
"Well, Eustace, what sayest thou?" said Gaston, as the Prince rode on.
"A Prince to dream of, a Prince for whom to give a thousand lives!"said Eustace.
"And that was the Prince of Wales!" said Leonard. "Why, he spoke justlike any other man."
The two tents of the Lances of Lynwood having been erected, and allarrangements made, the Knights and Squires set out for the Prince'spavilion, the white curtains of which were conspicuous in the centre ofthe camp. Within, it was completely lined with silk, embroidered withthe various devices of the Prince: the lions of England--the lilies ofFrance--the Bohemian ostrich-plume, with its humble motto, the whiterose, not yet an emblem of discord--the blue garter and the red cross,all in gorgeous combination--a fitting background, as it were, on whichto display the chivalrous groups seen in relief against it.
At the upper end was placed a long table for the Prince and his guests,and here Sir Reginald took his seat, with many a hearty welcome fromhis friends and companions in arms, while Gaston led his comrades tothe lower end, where Squires and pages were waiting for the provisionsbrought in by the servants, which they were to carry to their Knights.Gaston was soon engaged in conversation with his acquaintance, to someof whom he introduced Eustace and Leonard, but the former found farmore interesting occupation in gazing on the company seated at theupper table.
The Black Prince himself occupied the centre, his brother John at hisleft hand, and at his right, a person whom both this post of honour andthe blazonry of his surcoat marked out as the dethroned King ofCastile. Pedro the Cruel had not, however, the forbidding countenancewhich imagination would ascribe to him; his features were of the fairand noble type of the old royal Gothic race of Spain; he had aprofusion of flaxen hair, and large blue eyes, rather too prominent,and but for his receding forehead, and the expression of his lips, hewould have been a handsome man of princely mien. Something, too, therewas of fear, something of a scowl; he seemed to shrink from the openand manly demeanour of Edward, and to turn with greater ease toconverse with John, who, less lofty in character than his brother,better suited his nature.
There, too, Eustace beheld the stalwart form and rugged features of SirJohn Chandos; the slender figure and dark sparkling southern face ofthe Captal de Buch; the
rough joyous boon-companion visage of Sir HughCalverly, the free-booting warrior; the youthful form of the youngstep-son of the Prince, Lord Thomas Holland; the rude features of theBreton Knight, Sir Oliver de Clisson, soon to be the bitterest foe ofthe standard beneath which he was now fighting. Many were there whoserenown had charmed the ears of the young Squire of Lynwood Keep, and helooked on the scene with the eagerness with which he would have watchedsome favourite romance suddenly done into life and action.
"Eustace! What, Eustace, in a trance?" said d'Aubricour. "Waken, andcarry this trencher of beef to your brother. Best that you should doit," he added in a low voice, taking up a flask of wine, "and save ourcomrade from at once making himself a laughing-stock."
The discontented glance with which Leonard's eyes followed his fellowSquires, did not pass unobserved by a person with whom d'Aubricour hadexchanged a few words, a squarely-made, dark-visaged man, with a thickblack beard, and a huge scar which had obliterated one eye; hisequipment was that of a Squire, but instead of, like others of the samedegree, attending on the guests at the upper table, he sat carelesslysideways on the bench, with one elbow on the board.
"You gaze after that trencher as if you wished your turn was come,"said he, in a patois of English and French, which Leonard could easilyunderstand, although he had always turned a deaf ear to Gaston'sattempts to instruct him in the latter language. However, a grunt washis only reply.
"Or," pursued the Squire, "have you any fancy for carrying it yourself?I, for my part, think we are well quit of the trouble."
"Why, ay," said Leonard, "but I trow I have as much right to serve atthe Prince's table as dainty Master Eustace. My father had never putme under Sir Reginald's charge, had he deemed I should be kept hereamong the serving-men."
"Sir Reginald? Which Sir Reginald has the honour of your service?"asked the Squire, to whom Leonard's broad Somersetshire dialect seemedto present few difficulties.
"Sir Reginald Lynwood, he with the curled brown locks, next to thatstern-looking old fellow with the gray hair."
"Ay, I know him of old. Him whom the Duke of Lancaster is pledging--aproud, strict Englishman--as rigid a service as any in the camp."
"I should think so!" said Leonard. "Up in the morn hours before thesun, to mass like a choir of novices, to clean our own arms and theKnight's, like so many horse-boys, and if there be but a speck of rust,or a sword-belt half a finger's length awry--"
"Ay, ay, I once had a fortnight's service with a Knight of that stamp,but a fortnight was enough for me, I promise you. And yet Gaston leMaure chooses to stay with him rather than lead a merry life with SirPerduccas d'Albret, with all to gain, and nought to lose! A differentlife from the days he and I spent together of old."
"Gaston d'Aubricour is as sharp as the Knight himself," said Leonard,"and gibes me without ceasing; but yet I could bear it all, were it notfor seeing Eustace, the clerk, preferred to me, as if I were not heirto more acres than he can ever count crowns."
"What may then be your name, fair youth, and your inheritance?"demanded the one-eyed Squire, "for your coat of arms is new in thecamp."
"My name is Leonard Ashton; my father--" but Leonard's speech was cutshort by a Squire who stumbled over his outstretched foot. Bothparties burst into angry exclamations, Leonard's new acquaintancetaking his part. Men looked up, and serious consequences might haveensued, had not Gaston hastened to the spot. "Shame on you, youngmalapert," said he to his hopeful pupil. "Cannot I leave you onemoment unwatched, but you must be brawling in the Prince's ownpresence? Here, bear this bread to Sir Reginald instantly, and leaveme to make your peace. Master Clifford," added he, as Leonard shuffledaway, "'tis an uncouth slip whom Sir Reginald Lynwood has undertaken tomould into form, and if he is visited as he deserves for each piece ofdiscourtesy, his life will not be long enough for amendment, so I muste'en beg you to take my apology."
"Most readily, Master d'Aubricour," replied Clifford; "there would nothave been the least offence had the youth only possessed a civiltongue."
"Is not he the son of one of your wealthy Englishmen?" asked theone-eyed Squire, carelessly.
"Ha! Why should you think so?" said Gaston, turning sharply; "becausehe shows so much good nurture?"
"Because his brains are grown fat with devouring his father's beeves,fare on which you seem to thrive, le Maure," said the one-eyed, "thoughyou were not wont to like English beef and English discipline betterthan Gascon wine and Gascon freedom. I begin to think that the cub ofthe Black Wolf of the Pyrenees is settling down into a tame Englishhouse-dog."
"He has teeth and claws at your service," replied Gaston.
"Ay?" said the Squire interrogatively; then, changing his tone, "Buttell me honestly, Gaston, repent you not of having taken service withgallant Sir Perduccas?"
"Why, you have left him yourself."
"Yes, because we had sharp words on the spoil of a Navarrese village.My present leader, Sir William Felton, is as free and easy as d'Albret,or Aymerigot Marcel himself. And is not yon ungainly varlet the hopeof some rich English house?"
"I must see their hopes meet with no downfall," said Gaston, walkingaway, and muttering to himself. "A plague upon it! To train two boysis more than I bargained for, and over and above to hinder thiswiseacre Ashton from ruining himself, or being ruined by _le BorgneBasque_! What brought him here? I thought he was safe in Castile withthe Free Companions. I would let the oaf take his course, for a wilfulwrong-headed fool, but that it would scarce be doing good service toSir Reginald."
The Knights had nearly finished their meal, and the Squires havingserved them with wine, returned to their own table, now freshlysupplied with meat, which the yeomen in their turn carved for them.Gaston kept Leonard under his own eye till the party broke up.
On the way to the tent, he began to take him to task. "A propercommencement! Did you take the Prince's pavilion for one of your ownisland hostels, where men may freely brawl and use their fists withoutfear of aught save the parish constable?"
"What business had he to tread on my foot?" growled Leonard.
"What business had your foot there? Was not your office, as I toldyou, to stand ready to hand me whatever I might call for?"
"I was speaking a few words to another gentleman."
"The fewer words you speak to _le Borgne Basque_ the better, unless youthink it is Sir Reginald's pleasure that you should be instructed inall the dicing and drinking in this camp, and unless you wish that thecrowns with which your father stored your pouch should jingle in hispockets. It is well for you the Knight marked you not."
"You held long enough parley with him yourself," said the refractorypupil.
"Look you, Master Leonard Ashton, I do not presume to offer myself asan example to you save, perhaps, in the matter of sitting a steed, orhanding a wine-cup. I have no purse to lose, and I have wit to keep itif I had, or at least," as a recollection crossed him, "if I lost it,it should be to please myself, and not _le Borgne Basque_; above all,my name and fame are made, and yours--"
"What would you say of mine?" said Leonard, with sulky indignation."The heir of Ashton is not to be evened to a wandering landlessforeigner."
"It is not in sight of these mountain peaks," said Gaston,contemptuously, "that I am to be called a foreigner; and as to beinglandless, if I chose to take my stand on the old tower of Albricorte,and call myself Lord of the whole hill-side, I should like to see whowould gainsay me. For name, I suspect you will find that many a manhas trembled at the sound of Beranger d'Albricorte, to whom Ashtonwould be but that of an English clown. Moreover, in this camp I wouldhave you to know that the question is, not who has the broadest lands,but who has the strongest arm. And, sir Squire, if you are not abovelistening to a piece of friendly counsel, to brag of those acres ofyours is the surest way to attract spoilers. I had rather a dozen timetrust Eustace in such company than you, not only because he has morewit, but because he has less coin."
"Who is this man? What is his name?" aske
d Eustace.
"_Le Borgne Basque_, I know no other," said Gaston. "We reck little ofnames here, especially when it may be convenient to have themforgotten. He is a Free Companion, a _routier_, brave enough, but moreready at the sack than the assault, and loving best to plunder, waste,and plunder again, or else to fleece such sheep as our friend here."
"How could such a man gain entrance to the Prince's pavilion?"
"Stout hearts and strong arms find entrance in most places," saidGaston; "but, as you saw, he durst not appear at the upper table."
The next morning the army began their march to the Pyrenees. Theyhalted for some days at the foot of the hills, whilst negotiations werepassing between the Black Prince and Charles the Bad, King of Navarre,who might easily have prevented their entrance into the Peninsula byrefusing a passage through his mountain fastnesses.
When the permission was granted, they advanced with considerable dangerand difficulty. The rugged paths were covered with snow and ice, whichmade them doubly perilous for the horses, and but for Gaston'sfamiliarity with his native hills, Sir Reginald declared that he couldnever have brought his little troop across them in safety.
At length they emerged through the celebrated Pass of Roncesvalles,where Eustace in imagination listened to the echoes of the dying blastof Roland. On the following evening he had the delight of reading hishistory in the veritable pages of Archbishop Turpin, which preciouswork he found in the possession of Brother Waleran, a lay-friar, in theemployment of Sir John Froissart the chronicler, who had sent him withthe army as a reporter of the events of the campaign. This newacquaintance gave very little satisfaction to Sir Reginald, who wasalmost ready to despair of Eustace's courage and manhood when he foundhe had "gone back to his books," and manifested, if not so much seriousdispleasure, yet even more annoyance, on this occasion, than when,shortly after, he found that Leonard Ashton spent every moment at hisown disposal in the company of _le Borgne Basque_. That worthy,meeting the young gentleman, had easily persuaded him that Gaston'scautions only proceeded from fears of stories that might with too muchtruth be told against himself, and by skilful flatteries of the youngEnglishman's self-importance, and sympathy with his impatience of thestrict rule of the Knight of Lynwood, succeeded in establishing overhim great influence.
So fared it with the two young Squires, whilst the army began to enterthe dominions of the King of Castile. Here a want of provisions wasseverely felt, for such was the hatred borne to Pedro the Cruel, thatevery inhabitant of the country fled at his approach, carrying off, ordestroying, all that could be used as food. It was the intention ofBertrand du Guesclin, the ally of Enrique of Trastamare, to remainquietly in his camp of Navaretta, and allow hunger to do its work withthe invading force, but this prudent plan was prevented by the folly ofDon Tello, brother of Enrique, who, accusing Bertrand of cowardice, sostung his fiery spirit that he resolved on instant combat, thoughknowing how little dependence could be placed on his Spanish allies.
The challenge of the Prince of Wales was therefore accepted; and neverwere tidings more welcome than these to the half-famished army,encamped upon the banks of the Ebro, on the same ground on which, inafter years, English valour was once more to turn to flight a usurpingKing of Spain.
The Lances of Lynwood Page 3
