The White Company

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.

  Then up rose from the hill in the rugged Cantabrian valley a sound suchas had not been heard in those parts before, nor was again, untilthe streams which rippled amid the rocks had been frozen by over fourhundred winters and thawed by as many returning springs. Deep and fulland strong it thundered down the ravine, the fierce battle-call of awarrior race, the last stern welcome to whoso should join with them inthat world-old game where the stake is death. Thrice it swelled forthand 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 againstthem. Horse and spear had been set aside, but on foot, with sword andbattle-axe, their broad shields slung in front of them, the chivalry ofSpain 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 Cantabrianmountaineers and the ill-omened knoll is still pointed out by fathersto their children as the "Altura de los Inglesos," where the men fromacross the sea fought the great fight with the knights of the south. Thelast arrow was quickly shot, nor could the slingers hurl their stones,so close were friend and foe. From side to side stretched the thin lineof the English, lightly armed and quick-footed, while against it stormedand 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 ina wild, long-drawn note, which swelled upwards to the ears of thewondering peasants who looked down from the edges of the cliffs upon theswaying turmoil of the battle beneath them. Back and forward reeled theleopard banner, now borne up the slope by the rush and weight of theonslaught, now pushing downwards again as Sir Nigel, Burley, and BlackSimon with their veteran men-at arms, flung themselves madly into thefray. Alleyne, at his lord's right hand, found himself swept hither andthither in the desperate struggle, exchanging savage thrusts one instantwith a Spanish cavalier, and the next torn away by the whirl of men anddashed up against some new antagonist. To the right Sir Oliver, Aylward,Hordle John, and the bowmen of the Company fought furiously against themonkish Knights of Santiago, who were led up the hill by their prior--agreat, deep-chested man, who wore a brown monastic habit over his suitof mail. Three archers he slew in three giant strokes, but Sir Oliverflung his arms round him, and the two, staggering and straining, reeledbackwards and fell, locked in each other's grasp, over the edge of thesteep cliff which flanked the hill. In vain his knights stormed andraved against the thin line which barred their path: the sword ofAylward and the great axe of John gleamed in the forefront of the battleand huge jagged pieces of rock, hurled by the strong arms of the bowmen,crashed and hurtled amid their ranks. Slowly they gave back down thehill, the archers still hanging upon their skirts, with a long litter ofwrithing and twisted figures to mark the course which they had taken. Atthe 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 thefury of their outfall had driven the Spaniards in front of them inheadlong flight down the hill. In the centre only things seemed to begoing ill with the defenders. Black Simon was down--dying, as he wouldwish to have died, like a grim old wolf in its lair with a ring of hisslain around him. Twice Sir Nigel had been overborne, and twice Alleynehad 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 themen-at-arms lay littered upon the ground around him. Sir Nigel's shieldwas broken, his crest shorn, his armor cut and smashed, and the vizortorn from his helmet; yet he sprang hither and thither with lightfoot and ready hand, engaging two Bretons and a Spaniard at the sameinstant--thrusting, stooping, dashing in, springing out--while Alleynestill fought by his side, stemming with a handful of men the fierce tidewhich surged up against them. Yet it would have fared ill with themhad not the archers from either side closed in upon the flanks of theattackers, and pressed them very slowly and foot by foot down the longslope, until they were on the plain once more, where their fellows werealready 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 hundredand seventy-two were left standing, many of whom were sorely wounded andweak 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 ofstones 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 flushedwith a soldier's pride.

  "By St. Paul!" he cried, "I have fought in many a little bickering, butnever one that I would be more loth to have missed than this. But youare wounded, Alleyne?"

  "It is nought," answered his squire, stanching the blood which drippedfrom a sword-cut across his forehead.

  "These gentlemen of Spain seem to be most courteous and worthy people. Isee that they are already forming to continue this debate with us. Formup the bowmen two deep instead of four. By my faith! some very brave menhave gone from among us. Aylward, you are a trusty soldier, for allthat your shoulder has never felt accolade, nor your heels worn the goldspurs. 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, anda roar of laughter greeted their new leader.

  "By my hilt!" said the old bowman, "I never thought to lead a wing in astricken field. Stand close, camarades, for, by these finger-bones! wemust play the man this day."

  "Come hither, Alleyne," said Sir Nigel, walking back to the edge of thecliff which formed the rear of their position. "And you, Norbury," hecontinued, beckoning to the squire of Sir Oliver, "do you also comehere."

  The two squires hurried across to him, and the three stood looking downinto 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, sothat 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. Seeyonder 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 ofthe valley?"

  "I see it."

  "Were you on those horses, and riding up yonder track, steep and roughas it is, I think that ye might gain the valley beyond. Then on to theprince, 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 cometo 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 yemust 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 astrait?"

  "Nay, it is to serve me that ye go. And you, Norbury?"

  The silent squire said nothing, but he took up the rope, and, havingexamined it, he tied one end firmly round a projecting rock. Then hecast off his breast-plate, thigh pieces, and greaves, while Alleynefollowed his example.

  "Tell Chandos, or Calverley, or Knolles, should the prince have goneforward," cried Sir Nigel. "Now may God speed ye, for ye are brave andworthy men."

  It was, indeed, a task which might make the heart of the bravest sinkwithin him. The thin cord dangling down the face of the brown cliffseemed from above to reach little more than half-way down it. Beyondstretched the rugged rock, wet and shining, with a green tuft here andthere thrusting out from it, but little sign of ridge or foothold.
Farbelow the jagged points of the boulders bristled up, dark and menacing.Norbury tugged thrice with all his strength upon the cord, and thenlowered himself over the edge, while a hundred anxious faces peered overat him as he slowly clambered downwards to the end of the rope. Twice hestretched out his foot, and twice he failed to reach the point at whichhe aimed, but even as he swung himself for a third effort a stone froma sling buzzed like a wasp from amid the rocks and struck him full uponthe side of his head. His grasp relaxed, his feet slipped, and inan instant he was a crushed and mangled corpse upon the sharp ridgesbeneath him.

  "If I have no better fortune," said Alleyne, leading Sir Nigel aside. "Ipray you, my dear lord, that you will give my humble service to the LadyMaude, and say to her that I was ever her true servant and most unworthycavalier."

  The old knight said no word, but he put a hand on either shoulder, andkissed his squire, with the tears shining in his eyes. Alleyne sprang tothe 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 hecould scarce reach the face of the rock with his foot, and that it wasas smooth as glass, with no resting-place where a mouse could stand.Some three feet lower, however, his eye lit upon a long jagged crackwhich slanted downwards, and this he must reach if he would save notonly his own poor life, but that of the eight-score men above him. Yetit 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, andeven as he hung there another of the hellish stones sang through hiscurls, and struck a chip from the face of the cliff. Up he clambereda few feet, drew up the loose end after him, unslung his belt, held onwith knee and with elbow while he spliced the long, tough leathern beltto the end of the cord: then lowering himself as far as he could go, heswung backwards and forwards until his hand reached the crack, when heleft the rope and clung to the face of the cliff. Another stone struckhim on the side, and he heard a sound like a breaking stick, with a keenstabbing pain which shot through his chest. Yet it was no time now tothink 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, withhis hand shuffling down the long sloping crack, sometimes bearing allhis weight upon his arms, at others finding some small shelf or tufton which to rest his foot. Would he never pass over that fifty feet? Hedared not look down and could but grope slowly onwards, his face tothe cliff, his fingers clutching, his feet scraping and feeling for asupport. Every vein and crack and mottling of that face of rock remainedforever stamped upon his memory. At last, however, his foot came upona broad resting-place and he ventured to cast a glance downwards. ThankGod! he had reached the highest of those fatal pinnacles upon which hiscomrade had fallen. Quickly now he sprang from rock to rock until hisfeet were on the ground, and he had his hand stretched out for thehorse's rein, when a sling-stone struck him on the head, and he droppedsenseless upon the ground.

  An evil blow it was for Alleyne, but a worse one still for him whostruck it. The Spanish slinger, seeing the youth lie slain, and judgingfrom 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 Johnupon the cliff above plucked up a huge boulder, and, poising it foran instant, dropped it with fatal aim upon the slinger beneath him. Itstruck upon his shoulder, and hurled him, crushed and screaming, to theground, while Alleyne, recalled to his senses by these shrill cries inhis very ear, staggered on to his feet, and gazed wildly about him. Hiseyes fell upon the horses, grazing upon the scanty pasture, and in aninstant all had come back to him--his mission, his comrades, the needfor haste. He was dizzy, sick, faint, but he must not die, and he mustnot tarry, for his life meant many lives that day. In an instant hewas in his saddle and spurring down the valley. Loud rang the swiftcharger's hoofs over rock and reef, while the fire flew from the strokeof iron, and the loose stones showered up behind him. But his head waswhirling round, the blood was gushing from his brow, his temple, hismouth. Ever keener and sharper was the deadly pain which shot like ared-hot arrow through his side. He felt that his eye was glazing, hissenses slipping from him, his grasp upon the reins relaxing. Then withone mighty effort, he called up all his strength for a single minute.Stooping down, he loosened the stirrup-straps, bound his knees tightlyto his saddle-flaps, twisted his hands in the bridle, and then, puttingthe gallant horse's head for the mountain path, he dashed the spursin and fell forward fainting with his face buried in the coarse, blackmane.

  Little could he ever remember of that wild ride. Half conscious, butever with the one thought beating in his mind, he goaded the horseonwards, rushing swiftly down steep ravines over huge boulders, alongthe edges of black abysses. Dim memories he had of beetling cliffs, of agroup of huts with wondering faces at the doors, of foaming, clatteringwater, and of a bristle of mountain beeches. Once, ere he had riddenfar, he heard behind him three deep, sullen shouts, which told him thathis comrades had set their faces to the foe once more. Then all wasblank, until he woke to find kindly blue English eyes peering down uponhim and to hear the blessed sound of his country's speech. They were buta foraging party--a hundred archers and as many men-at-arms--but theirleader was Sir Hugh Calverley, and he was not a man to bide idle whengood blows were to be had not three leagues from him. A scout was sentflying with a message to the camp, and Sir Hugh, with his two hundredmen, thundered off to the rescue. With them went Alleyne, still bound tohis saddle, still dripping with blood, and swooning and recovering, andswooning once again. On they rode, and on, until, at last, topping aridge, they looked down upon the fateful valley. Alas! and alas! for thesight that met their eyes.

  There, beneath them, was the blood-bathed hill, and from the highestpinnacle there flaunted the yellow and white banner with the lions andthe towers of the royal house of Castile. Up the long slope rushed ranksand ranks of men exultant, shouting, with waving pennons and brandishedarms. Over the whole summit were dense throngs of knights, with no enemythat could be seen to face them, save only that at one corner of theplateau an eddy and swirl amid the crowded mass seemed to show that allresistance was not yet at an end. At the sight a deep groan of rage andof despair went up from the baffled rescuers, and, spurring on theirhorses, they clattered down the long and winding path which led to thevalley 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 themriding swiftly amid the rocks, and being ignorant of their numbers, drewoff from the captured hill, and, having secured their few prisoners,rode slowly in a long column, with drum-beating and cymbal-clashing, outof the valley. Their rear ranks were already passing out of sight erethe new-comers were urging their panting, foaming horses up the slopewhich had been the scene of that long drawn and bloody fight.

  And a fearsome sight it was that met their eyes! Across the lower endlay the dense heap of men and horses where the first arrow-storm hadburst. Above, the bodies of the dead and the dying--French, Spanish, andAragonese--lay thick and thicker, until they covered the whole groundtwo and three deep in one dreadful tangle of slaughter. Above them laythe Englishmen in their lines, even as they had stood, and higher yetupon the plateau a wild medley of the dead of all nations, where thelast deadly grapple had left them. In the further corner, under theshadow of a great rock, there crouched seven bowmen, with great Johnin the centre of them--all wounded, weary, and in sorry case, but stillunconquered, with their blood-stained weapons waving and their voicesringing 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 sterna 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 whichleaned against the rock behind him.

&n
bsp; "You have done nobly," cried the old free companion, gazing with asoldier's admiration at the huge frame and bold face of the archer. "Butwhy is it, my good fellow, that you sit upon this man."

  "By the rood! I had forgot him," John answered, rising and draggingfrom under him no less a person than the Spanish caballero, Don DiegoAlvarez. "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 whatbesides; so that I thought it well to sit upon him, lest he should takea fancy to leave me."

  "Tell me, John," cried Alleyne faintly: "where is my dear lord, SirNigel Loring?"

  "He is dead, I fear. I saw them throw his body across a horse and rideaway 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 backto camp, and ere three days I trust that we may see these Spaniardsagain. 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 bravesquire, for I fear that he will never see the sun rise again."

  CHAPTER XXXVIII. OF THE HOME-COMING TO HAMPSHIRE.

  It was a bright July morning four months after that fatal fight in theSpanish barranca. A blue heaven stretched above, a green rolling plainundulated below, intersected with hedge-rows and flecked with grazingsheep. The sun was yet low in the heaven, and the red cows stood in thelong shadow of the elms, chewing the cud and gazing with great vacanteyes at two horsemen who were spurring it down the long white road whichdipped and curved away back to where the towers and pinnacles beneaththe flat-topped hill marked the old town of Winchester.

  Of the riders one was young, graceful, and fair, clad in plain doubletand hosen of blue Brussels cloth, which served to show his active andwell-knit figure. A flat velvet cap was drawn forward to keep the glarefrom his eyes, and he rode with lips compressed and anxious face, as onewho has much care upon his mind. Young as he was, and peaceful aswas his dress, the dainty golden spurs which twinkled upon his heelsproclaimed his knighthood, while a long seam upon his brow and ascar upon his temple gave a manly grace to his refined and delicatecountenance. His comrade was a large, red-headed man upon a great blackhorse, with a huge canvas bag slung from his saddle-bow, which jingledand clinked with every movement of his steed. His broad, brown face waslighted up by a continual smile, and he looked slowly from side toside with eyes which twinkled and shone with delight. Well might Johnrejoice, for was he not back in his native Hampshire, had he not DonDiego's five thousand crowns rasping against his knee, and above all washe not himself squire now to Sir Alleyne Edricson, the young Socman ofMinstead lately knighted by the sword of the Black Prince himself, andesteemed by the whole army as one of the most rising of the soldiers ofEngland.

  For the last stand of the Company had been told throughout Christendomwherever a brave deed of arms was loved, and honors had flowed in uponthe few who had survived it. For two months Alleyne had wavered betwixtdeath and life, with a broken rib and a shattered head; yet youth andstrength and a cleanly life were all upon his side, and he awoke fromhis long delirium to find that the war was over, that the Spaniardsand their allies had been crushed at Navaretta, and that the prince hadhimself heard the tale of his ride for succor and had come in person tohis bedside to touch his shoulder with his sword and to insure that sobrave and true a man should die, if he could not live, within the orderof chivalry. The instant that he could set foot to ground Alleyne hadstarted in search of his lord, but no word could he hear of him, deador alive, and he had come home now sad-hearted, in the hope of raisingmoney upon his estates and so starting upon his quest once more. Landingat London, he had hurried on with a mind full of care, for he had heardno word from Hampshire since the short note which had announced hisbrother's death.

  "By the rood!" cried John, looking around him exultantly, "where have weseen since we left such noble cows, such fleecy sheep, grass so green,or a man so drunk as yonder rogue who lies in the gap of the hedge?"

  "Ah, John," Alleyne answered wearily, "it is well for you, but I neverthought that my home-coming would be so sad a one. My heart is heavy formy dear lord and for Aylward, and I know not how I may break the news tothe Lady Mary and to the Lady Maude, if they have not yet had tidings ofit."

  John gave a groan which made the horses shy. "It is indeed a blackbusiness," said he. "But be not sad, for I shall give half these crownsto my old mother, and half will I add to the money which you may have,and so we shall buy that yellow cog wherein we sailed to Bordeaux, andin it we shall go forth and seek Sir Nigel."

  Alleyne smiled, but shook his head. "Were he alive we should have hadword of him ere now," said he. "But what is this town before us?"

  "Why, it is Romsey!" cried John. "See the tower of the old gray church,and the long stretch of the nunnery. But here sits a very holy man, andI shall give him a crown for his prayers."

  Three large stones formed a rough cot by the roadside, and beside it,basking in the sun, sat the hermit, with clay-colored face, dull eyes,and long withered hands. With crossed ankles and sunken head, he satas though all his life had passed out of him, with the beads slippingslowly through his thin, yellow fingers. Behind him lay the narrow cell,clay-floored and damp, comfortless, profitless and sordid. Beyond itthere lay amid the trees the wattle-and-daub hut of a laborer, thedoor open, and the single room exposed to the view. The man ruddy andyellow-haired, stood leaning upon the spade wherewith he had been atwork upon the garden patch. From behind him came the ripple of a happywoman's laughter, and two young urchins darted forth from the hut,bare-legged and towsy, while the mother, stepping out, laid her handupon her husband's arm and watched the gambols of the children. Thehermit frowned at the untoward noise which broke upon his prayers, buthis brow relaxed as he looked upon the broad silver piece which Johnheld out to him.

  "There lies the image of our past and of our future," cried Alleyne, asthey rode on upon their way. "Now, which is better, to till God's earth,to have happy faces round one's knee, and to love and be loved, orto sit forever moaning over one's own soul, like a mother over a sickbabe?"

  "I know not about that," said John, "for it casts a great cloud over mewhen I think of such matters. But I know that my crown was well spent,for the man had the look of a very holy person. As to the other, therewas nought holy about him that I could see, and it would be cheaper forme to pray for myself than to give a crown to one who spent his days indigging for lettuces."

  Ere Alleyne could answer there swung round the curve of the road alady's carriage drawn by three horses abreast with a postilion uponthe outer one. Very fine and rich it was, with beams painted and gilt,wheels and spokes carved in strange figures, and over all an archedcover of red and white tapestry. Beneath its shade there sat a stoutand elderly lady in a pink cote-hardie, leaning back among a pile ofcushions, and plucking out her eyebrows with a small pair of silvertweezers. None could seem more safe and secure and at her ease than thislady, yet here also was a symbol of human life, for in an instant, evenas Alleyne reined aside to let the carriage pass, a wheel flew outfrom among its fellows, and over it all toppled--carving, tapestryand gilt--in one wild heap, with the horses plunging, the postilionshouting, and the lady screaming from within. In an instant Alleyne andJohn were on foot, and had lifted her forth all in a shake with fear,but little the worse for her mischance.

  "Now woe worth me!" she cried, "and ill fall on Michael Easover ofRomsey! for I told him that the pin was loose, and yet he must needsgainsay me, like the foolish daffe that he is."

  "I trust that you have taken no hurt, my fair lady," said Alleyne,conducting her to the bank, upon which John had already placed acushion.

  "Na
y, I have had no scath, though I have lost my silver tweezers. Now,lack-a-day! did God ever put breath into such a fool as Michael Easoverof Romsey? But I am much beholden to you, gentle sirs. Soldiers ye are,as one may readily see. I am myself a soldier's daughter," she added,casting a somewhat languishing glance at John, "and my heart ever goesout to a brave man."

  "We are indeed fresh from Spain," quoth Alleyne.

  "From Spain, say you? Ah! it was an ill and sorry thing that so manyshould throw away the lives that Heaven gave them. In sooth, it is badfor those who fall, but worse for those who bide behind. I have but nowbid farewell to one who hath lost all in this cruel war."

  "And how that, lady?"

  "She is a young damsel of these parts, and she goes now into a nunnery.Alack! it is not a year since she was the fairest maid from Avon toItchen, and now it was more than I could abide to wait at Romsey Nunneryto see her put the white veil upon her face, for she was made for a wifeand not for the cloister. Did you ever, gentle sir, hear of a body ofmen called 'The White Company' over yonder?"

  "Surely so," cried both the comrades.

  "Her father was the leader of it, and her lover served under him assquire. News hath come that not one of the Company was left alive, andso, poor lamb, she hath----"

  "Lady!" cried Alleyne, with catching breath, "is it the Lady MaudeLoring of whom you speak?"

  "It is, in sooth."

  "Maude! And in a nunnery! Did, then, the thought of her father's deathso move her?"

  "Her father!" cried the lady, smiling. "Nay; Maude is a good daughter,but I think it was this young golden-haired squire of whom I have heardwho has made her turn her back upon the world."

  "And I stand talking here!" cried Alleyne wildly. "Come, John, come!"

  Rushing to his horse, he swung himself into the saddle, and was off downthe road in a rolling cloud of dust as fast as his good steed could bearhim.

  Great had been the rejoicing amid the Romsey nuns when the Lady MaudeLoring had craved admission into their order--for was she not sole childand heiress of the old knight, with farms and fiefs which she couldbring to the great nunnery? Long and earnest had been the talks of thegaunt lady abbess, in which she had conjured the young novice to turnforever from the world, and to rest her bruised heart under the broadand peaceful shelter of the church. And now, when all was settled, andwhen abbess and lady superior had had their will, it was but fittingthat some pomp and show should mark the glad occasion. Hence was it thatthe good burghers of Romsey were all in the streets, that gay flags andflowers brightened the path from the nunnery to the church, and that along procession wound up to the old arched door leading up the bride tothese spiritual nuptials. There was lay-sister Agatha with the high goldcrucifix, and the three incense-bearers, and the two-and-twenty garbedin white, who cast flowers upon either side of them and sang sweetly thewhile. Then, with four attendants, came the novice, her drooping headwreathed with white blossoms, and, behind, the abbess and her council ofolder nuns, who were already counting in their minds whether their ownbailiff could manage the farms of Twynham, or whether a reeve would beneeded beneath him, to draw the utmost from these new possessions whichthis young novice was about to bring them.

  But alas! for plots and plans when love and youth and nature, and aboveall, fortune are arrayed against them. Who is this travel-stained youthwho dares to ride so madly through the lines of staring burghers? Whydoes he fling himself from his horse and stare so strangely abouthim? See how he has rushed through the incense-bearers, thrust asidelay-sister Agatha, scattered the two-and-twenty damosels who sang sosweetly--and he stands before the novice with his hands out-stretched,and his face shining, and the light of love in his gray eyes. Her footis on the very lintel of the church, and yet he bars the way--and she,she thinks no more of the wise words and holy rede of the lady abbess,but she hath given a sobbing cry and hath fallen forward with his armsaround her drooping body and her wet cheek upon his breast. A sorrysight this for the gaunt abbess, an ill lesson too for the stainlesstwo-and-twenty who have ever been taught that the way of nature is theway of sin. But Maude and Alleyne care little for this. A dank, coldair comes out from the black arch before them. Without, the sun shinesbright and the birds are singing amid the ivy on the drooping beeches.Their choice is made, and they turn away hand-in-hand, with their backsto the darkness and their faces to the light.

  Very quiet was the wedding in the old priory church at Christchurch,where Father Christopher read the service, and there were few to seesave the Lady Loring and John, and a dozen bowmen from the castle. TheLady of Twynham had drooped and pined for weary months, so that her facewas harsher and less comely than before, yet she still hoped on, for herlord had come through so many dangers that she could scarce believe thathe might be stricken down at last. It had been her wish to start forSpain and to search for him, but Alleyne had persuaded her to let himgo in her place. There was much to look after, now that the lands ofMinstead were joined to those of Twynham, and Alleyne had promised herthat if she would but bide with his wife he would never come back toHampshire again until he had gained some news, good or ill, of her lordand lover.

  The yellow cog had been engaged, with Goodwin Hawtayne in command, and amonth after the wedding Alleyne rode down to Bucklershard to see if shehad come round yet from Southampton. On the way he passed the fishingvillage of Pitt's Deep, and marked that a little creyer or brig wastacking off the land, as though about to anchor there. On his way back,as he rode towards the village, he saw that she had indeed anchored, andthat many boats were round her, bearing cargo to the shore.

  A bow-shot from Pitt's Deep there was an inn a little back from theroad, very large and wide-spread, with a great green bush hung upon apole from one of the upper windows. At this window he marked, as he rodeup, that a man was seated who appeared to be craning his neck in hisdirection. Alleyne was still looking up at him, when a woman camerushing from the open door of the inn, and made as though she wouldclimb a tree, looking back the while with a laughing face. Wonderingwhat these doings might mean, Alleyne tied his horse to a tree, andwas walking amid the trunks towards the inn, when there shot from theentrance a second woman who made also for the trees. Close at her heelscame a burly, brown-faced man, who leaned against the door-post andlaughed loudly with his hand to his side, "Ah, mes belles!" he cried,"and is it thus you treat me? Ah, mes petites! I swear by thesefinger-bones that I would not hurt a hair of your pretty heads; but Ihave been among the black paynim, and, by my hilt! it does me good tolook at your English cheeks. Come, drink a stoup of muscadine with me,mes anges, for my heart is warm to be among ye again."

  At the sight of the man Alleyne had stood staring, but at the sound ofhis voice such a thrill of joy bubbled up in his heart that he hadto bite his lip to keep himself from shouting outright. But a deeperpleasure yet was in store. Even as he looked, the window above waspushed outwards, and the voice of the man whom he had seen there cameout from it. "Aylward," cried the voice, "I have seen just now a veryworthy person come down the road, though my eyes could scarce discernwhether he carried coat-armor. I pray you to wait upon him and tell himthat a very humble knight of England abides here, so that if he be inneed of advancement, or have any small vow upon his soul, or desire toexalt his lady, I may help him to accomplish it."

  Aylward at this order came shuffling forward amid the trees, and in aninstant the two men were clinging in each other's arms, laughing andshouting and patting each other in their delight; while old Sir Nigelcame running with his sword, under the impression that some smallbickering had broken out, only to embrace and be embraced himself,until all three were hoarse with their questions and outcries andcongratulations.

  On their journey home through the woods Alleyne learnt theirwondrous story: how, when Sir Nigel came to his senses, he with hisfellow-captive had been hurried to the coast, and conveyed by sea totheir captor's castle; how upon the way they had been taken by a Barbaryrover, and how they exchanged their light captivity for a seat on agalle
y bench and hard labor at the pirate's oars; how, in the port atBarbary, Sir Nigel had slain the Moorish captain, and had swum withAylward to a small coaster which they had taken, and so made their wayto England with a rich cargo to reward them for their toils. All thisAlleyne listened to, until the dark keep of Twynham towered above themin the gloaming, and they saw the red sun lying athwart the ripplingAvon. No need to speak of the glad hearts at Twynham Castle that night,nor of the rich offerings from out that Moorish cargo which found theirway to the chapel of Father Christopher.

  Sir Nigel Loring lived for many years, full of honor and laden withevery blessing. He rode no more to the wars, but he found his way toevery jousting within thirty miles; and the Hampshire youth treasuredit as the highest honor when a word of praise fell from him as to theirmanagement of their horses, or their breaking of their lances. So helived and so he died, the most revered and the happiest man in all hisnative shire.

  For Sir Alleyne Edricson and for his beautiful bride the future had alsonaught but what was good. Twice he fought in France, and came back eachtime laden with honors. A high place at court was given to him, andhe spent many years at Windsor under the second Richard and the fourthHenry--where he received the honor of the Garter, and won the name ofbeing a brave soldier, a true-hearted gentleman, and a great lover andpatron of every art and science which refines or ennobles life.

  As to John, he took unto himself a village maid, and settled inLyndhurst, where his five thousand crowns made him the richest franklinfor many miles around. For many years he drank his ale every night atthe "Pied Merlin," which was now kept by his friend Aylward, who hadwedded the good widow to whom he had committed his plunder. The strongmen and the bowmen of the country round used to drop in there of anevening to wrestle a fall with John or to shoot a round with Aylward;but, though a silver shilling was to be the prize of the victory, it hasnever been reported that any man earned much money in that fashion.So they lived, these men, in their own lusty, cheery fashion--rude andrough, but honest, kindly and true. Let us thank God if we have outgrowntheir vices. Let us pray to God that we may ever hold their virtues. Thesky may darken, and the clouds may gather, and again the day may comewhen Britain may have sore need of her children, on whatever shore ofthe sea they be found. Shall they not muster at her call?