Sir Robert Knolles with his little fleet had sighted the Breton coast near Cancale; they had rounded the Point du Grouin, and finally had sailed past the port of St. Malo and down the long narrow estuary2 of the Rance until they were close to the old walled city of Dinan, which was held by that Montfort faction3 whose cause the English had espoused4. Here the horses had been disembarked, the stores were unloaded, and the whole force encamped outside the city, whilst the leaders waited for news as to the present state of affairs, and where there was most hope of honor and profit.
The whole of France was feeling the effects of that war with England which had already lasted some ten years, but no Province was in so dreadful a condition as this unhappy land of Brittany. In Normandy or Picardy the inroads of the English were periodical with intervals5 of rest between; but Brittany was torn asunder6 by constant civil war apart from the grapple of the two great combatants, so that there was no surcease of her sufferings. The struggle had begun in 1341 through the rival claims of Montfort and of Blois to the vacant dukedom. England had taken the part of Montfort, France that of Blois. Neither faction was strong enough to destroy the other, and so after ten years of continual fighting, history recorded a long ineffectual list of surprises and ambushes7, of raids and skirmishes, of towns taken and retaken, of alternate victory and defeat, in which neither party could claim a supremacy8. It mattered nothing that Montfort and Blois had both disappeared from the scene, the one dead and the other taken by the English. Their wives caught up the swords which had dropped from the hands of their lords, and the long struggle went on even more savagely9 than before.
In the south and east the Blois faction held the country, and Nantes the capital was garrisoned11 and occupied by a strong French army. In the north and west the Montfort party prevailed, for the island kingdom was at their back and always fresh sails broke the northern sky-line bearing adventurers from over the channel.
Between these two there lay a broad zone comprising all the center of the country which was a land of blood and violence, where no law prevailed save that of the sword. From end to end it was dotted with castles, some held for one side, some for the other, and many mere13 robber strongholds, the scenes of gross and monstrous14 deeds, whose brute15 owners, knowing that they could never be called to account, made war upon all mankind, and wrung16 with rack and with flame the last shilling from all who fell into their savage10 hands. The fields had long been untilled. Commerce was dead. From Rennes in the east to Hennebon in the west, and from Dinan in the north to Nantes in the south, there was no spot where a man's life or a woman's honor was safe. Such was the land, full of darkness and blood, the saddest, blackest spot in Christendom, into which Knolles and his men were now advancing.
But there was no sadness in the young heart of Nigel, as he rode by the side of Knolles at the head of a clump17 of spears, nor did it seem to him that Fate had led him into an unduly18 arduous19 path. On the contrary, he blessed the good fortune which had sent him into so delightful20 a country, and it seemed to him as he listened to dreadful stories of robber barons21, and looked round at the black scars of war which lay branded upon the fair faces of the hills, that no hero of romances or trouveur had ever journeyed through such a land of promise, with so fair a chance of knightly23 venture and honorable advancement24.
The Red Ferret was one deed toward his vow25. Surely a second, and perhaps a better, was to be found somewhere upon this glorious countryside. He had borne himself as the others had in the sea-fight, and could not count it to his credit where he had done no more than mere duty. Something beyond this was needed for such a deed as could be laid at the feet of the Lady Mary. But surely it was to be found here in fermenting26 war-distracted Brittany. Then with two done it would be strange if he could not find occasion for that third one, which would complete his service and set him free to look her in the face once more. With the great yellow horse curveting beneath him, his Guildford armor gleaming in the sun, his sword clanking against his stirrup-iron, and his father's tough ash-spear in his hand, he rode with a light heart and a smiling face, looking eagerly to right and to left for any chance which his good Fate might send.
The road from Dinan to Caulnes, along which the small army was moving, rose and dipped over undulating ground, with a bare marshy28 plain upon the left where the river Rance ran down to the sea, while upon the right lay a wooded country with a few wretched villages, so poor and sordid29 that they had nothing with which to tempt30 the spoiler. The peasants had left them at the first twinkle of a steel cap, and lurked31 at the edges of the woods, ready in an instant to dive into those secret recesses32 known only to themselves. These creatures suffered sorely at the hands of both parties, but when the chance came they revenged their wrongs on either in a savage way which brought fresh brutalities upon their heads.
The new-comers soon had a chance of seeing to what lengths they would go, for in the roadway near to Caulnes they came upon an English man-at-arms who had been waylaid33 and slain34 by them. How they had overcome him could not be told, but how they had slain him within his armor was horribly apparent, for they had carried such a rock as eight men could lift, and had dropped it upon him as he lay, so that he was spread out in his shattered case like a crab35 beneath a stone. Many a fist was shaken at the distant woods and many a curse hurled36 at those who haunted them, as the column of scowling37 soldiers passed the murdered man, whose badge of the Molene cross showed him to have been a follower38 of that House of Bentley, whose head, Sir Walter, was at that time leader of the British forces in the country.
Sir Robert Knolles had served in Brittany before, and he marshaled his men on the march with the skill and caution of the veteran soldier, the man who leaves as little as possible to chance, having too steadfast39 a mind to heed40 the fool who may think him overcautious. He had recruited a number of bowmen and men-at-arms at Dinan; so that his following was now close upon five hundred men. In front under his own leadership were fifty mounted lancers, fully41 armed and ready for any sudden attack. Behind them on foot came the archers44, and a second body of mounted men closed up the rear. Out upon either flank moved small bodies of cavalry45, and a dozen scouts46, spread fanwise, probed every gorge47 and dingle in front of the column. So for three days he moved slowly down the Southern Road.
Sir Thomas Percy and Sir James Astley had ridden to the head of the column, and Knolles conferred with them as they marched concerning the plan of their campaign. Percy and Astley were young and hot-headed with wild visions of dashing deeds and knight22 errantry, but Knolles with cold, clear brain and purpose of iron held ever his object in view.
“By the holy Dunstan and all the saints of Lindisfarne!” cried the fiery48 Borderer, “it goes to my heart to ride forward when there are such honorable chances on either side of us. Have I not heard that the French are at Evran beyond the river, and is it not sooth that yonder castle, the towers of which I see above the woods, is in the hands of a traitor49, who is false to his liege lord of Montford? There is little profit to be gained upon this road, for the folk seem to have no heart for war. Had we ventured as far over the marches of Scotland as we now are in Brittany, we should not have lacked some honorable venture or chance of winning worship.”
“You say truth, Thomas,” cried Astley, a red-faced and choleric50 young man. “It is well certain that the French will not come to us, and surely it is the more needful that we go to them. In sooth, any soldier who sees us would smile that we should creep for three days along this road as though a thousand dangers lay before us, when we have but poor broken peasants to deal with.”
But Robert Knolles shook his head. “We know not what are in these woods, or behind these hills,” said he, “and when I know nothing it is my wont51 to prepare for the worst which may befall. It is but prudence52 so to do.”
“Your enemies might find some harsher name for it,” said Astley with a sneer53. “Nay54, you need not think to scare me by glaring at me, Sir Robert, nor will your ill-pleasure change my thoughts. I have faced fiercer eyes than thine, and I have not feared.”
“Your speech, Sir James, is neither courteous55 nor good,” said Knolles, “and if I were a free man I would cram56 your words down your throat with the point of my dagger57. But I am here to lead these men in profit and honor, not to quarrel with every fool who has not the wit to understand how soldiers should be led. Can you not see that if I make attempts here and there, as you would have me do, I shall have weakened my strength before I come to that part where it can best be spent?”
“And where is that?” asked Percy. “'Fore God, Astley, it is in my mind that we ride with one who knows more of war than you or I, and that we would be wise to be guided by his rede. Tell us then what is in your mind.”
“Thirty miles from here,” said Knolles, “there is, as I am told, a fortalice named Ploermel, and within it is one Bambro', an Englishman, with a good garrison12. No great distance from him is the Castle of Josselin where dwells Robert of Beaumanoir with a great following of Bretons. It is my intention that we should join Bambro', and so be in such strength that we may throw ourselves upon Josselin, and by taking it become the masters of all mid-Brittany, and able to make head against the Frenchmen in the south.”
“Indeed I think that you can do no better,” said Percy heartily58, “and I swear to you on jeopardy59 of my soul that I will stand by you in the matter! I doubt not that when we come deep into their land they will draw together and do what they may to make head against us; but up to now I swear by all the saints of Lindisfarne that I should have seen more war in a summer's day in Liddesdale or at the Forest of Jedburgh than any that Brittany has shown us. But see, yonder horsemen are riding in. They are our own hobblers, are they not? And who are these who are lashed60 to their stirrups?”
A small troop of mounted bowmen had ridden out of an oak grove61 upon the left of the road. They trotted62 up to where the three knights63 had halted. Two wretched peasants whose wrists had been tied to their leathers came leaping and straining beside the horses in their effort not to be dragged off their feet. One was a tall, gaunt, yellow-haired man, the other short and swarthy, but both so crusted with dirt, so matted and tangled65 and ragged64, that they were more like beasts of the wood than human beings.
“What is this?” asked Knolles. “Have I not ordered you to leave the countryfolk at peace?”
The leader of the archers, old Wat of Carlisle, held up a sword, a girdle and a dagger. “If it please you, fair sir,” said he, “I saw the glint of these, and I thought them no fit tools for hands which were made for the spade and the plow66. But when we had ridden them down and taken them, there was the Bentley cross upon each, and we knew that they had belonged to yonder dead Englishman upon the road. Surely then, these are two of the villains67 who have slain him, and it is right that we do justice upon them.”
Sure enough, upon sword, girdle and dagger shone the silver Molene cross which had gleamed on the dead man's armor. Knolles looked at them and then at the prisoners with a face of stone. At the sight of those fell eyes they had dropped with inarticulate howls upon their knees, screaming out their protests in a tongue which none could understand.
“We must have the roads safe for wandering Englishmen,” said Knolles. “These men must surely die. Hang them to yonder tree.”
He pointed68 to a live-oak by the roadside, and rode onward69 upon his way in converse70 with his fellow-knights. But the old bowman had ridden after him.
“If it please you, Sir Robert, the bowmen would fain put these men to death in their own fashion,” said he.
“So that they die, I care not how,” Knolles answered carelessly, and looked back no more.
Human life was cheap in those stern days when the footmen of a stricken army or the crew of a captured ship were slain without any question or thought of mercy by the victors. War was a rude game with death for the stake, and the forfeit71 was always claimed on the one side and paid on the other without doubt or hesitation72. Only the knight might be spared, since his ransom73 made him worth more alive than dead. To men trained in such a school, with death forever hanging over their own heads, it may be well believed that the slaying75 of two peasant murderers was a small matter.
And yet there was special reason why upon this occasion the bowmen wished to keep the deed in their own hands. Ever since their dispute aboard the Basilisk, there had been ill-feeling betwixt Bartholomew the old bald-headed bowyer, and long Ned Widdington the Dalesman, which had ended in a conflict at Dinan, in which not only they, but a dozen of their friends had been laid upon the cobble-stones. The dispute raged round their respective knowledge and skill with the bow, and now some quick wit amongst the soldiers had suggested a grim fashion in which it should be put to the proof, once for all, which could draw the surer shaft76.
A thick wood lay two hundred paces from the road upon which the archers stood. A stretch of smooth grassy77 sward lay between. The two peasants were led out fifty yards from the road, with their faces toward the wood. There they stood, held on a leash78, and casting many a wondering frightened glance over their shoulders at the preparations which were being made behind them.
Old Bartholomew and the big Yorkshireman had stepped out of the ranks and stood side by side each with his strung bow in his left hand and a single arrow in his right. With care they had drawn79 on and greased their shooting-gloves and fastened their bracers. They plucked and cast up a few blades of grass to measure the wind, examined every small point of their tackle, turned their sides to the mark, and widened their feet in a firmer stance. From all sides came chaff81 and counsel from their comrades.
“A three-quarter wind, bowyer!” cried one. “Aim a body's breadth to the right!”
“But not thy body's breadth, bowyer,” laughed another. “Else may you be overwide.”
“Nay, this wind will scarce turn a well-drawn shaft,” said a third. “Shoot dead upon him and you will be clap in the clout82.”
“Steady, Ned, for the good name of the Dales,” cried a Yorkshireman. “Loose easy and pluck not, or I am five crowns the poorer man.”
“A week's pay on Bartholomew!” shouted another. “Now, old fat-pate, fail me not!”
“Enough, enough! Stint83 your talk!” cried the old bowman, Wat of Carlisle. “Were your shafts84 as quick as your tongues there would be no facing you. Do you shoot upon the little one, Bartholomew, and you, Ned, upon the other. Give them law until I cry the word, then loose in your own fashion and at your own time. Are you ready! Hola, there, Hayward, Beddington, let them run!”
The leashes85 were torn away, and the two men, stooping their heads, ran madly for the shelter of the wood amid such a howl from the archers as beaters may give when the hare starts from its form. The two bowmen, each with his arrow drawn to the pile, stood like russet statues, menacing, motionless, their eager eyes fixed86 upon the fugitives87, their bow-staves rising slowly as the distance between them lengthened88. The Bretons were half-way to the wood, and still Old Wat was silent. It may have been mercy or it may have been mischief89, but at least the chase should have a fair chance of life. At six score paces he turned his grizzled head at last.
“Loose!” he cried.
At the word the Yorkshireman's bow-string twanged. It was not for nothing that he had earned the name of being one of the deadliest archers of the North and had twice borne away the silver arrow of Selby. Swift and true flew the fatal shaft and buried itself to the feather in the curved back of the long yellow-haired peasant. Without a sound he fell upon his face and lay stone-dead upon the grass, the one short white plume90 between his dark shoulders to mark where Death had smote91 him.
The Yorkshireman threw his bowstave into the air and danced in triumph, whilst his comrades roared their fierce delight in a shout of applause, which changed suddenly into a tempest of hooting80 and of laughter.
The smaller peasant, more cunning, than his comrade, had run more slowly, but with many a backward glance. He had marked his companion's fate and had waited with keen eyes until he saw the bowyer loose his string. At the moment he had thrown himself flat upon the grass and had heard the arrow scream above him,—and seen it quiver in the turf beyond. Instantly he had sprung to his feet again and amid wild whoops92 and halloos from the bowmen had made for the shelter of the wood. Now he had reached it, and ten score good paces separated him from the nearest of his persecutors. Surely they could not reach him here. With the tangled brushwood behind him he was as safe as a rabbit at the mouth of his burrow93. In the joy of his heart he must needs dance in derision and snap his fingers at the foolish men who had let him slip. He threw back his head, howling at them like a dog, and at the instant an arrow struck him full in the throat and laid him dead among the bracken. There was a hush94 of surprised silence and then a loud cheer burst from the archers.
“By the rood of Beverley!” cried old Wat, “I have not seen a finer roving shaft this many a year. In my own best day I could not have bettered it. Which of you loosed it?”
“It was Aylward of Tilford—Samkin Aylward,” cried a score of voices, and the bowman, flushed at his own fame, was pushed to the front.
“Indeed I would that it had been at a nobler mark,” said he. “He might have gone free for me, but I could not keep my fingers from the string when he turned to jeer95 at us.”
“I see well that you are indeed a master-bowman,” said old Wat, “and it is comfort to my soul to think that if I fall I leave such a man behind me to hold high the credit of our craft. Now gather your shafts and on, for Sir Robert awaits us on the brow of the hill.”
All day Knolles and his men marched through the same wild and deserted96 country, inhabited only by these furtive97 creatures, hares to the strong and wolves to the weak, who hovered98 in the shadows of the wood. Ever and anon upon the tops of the hills they caught a glimpse of horsemen who watched them from a distance and vanished when approached. Sometimes bells rang an alarm from villages amongst the hills, and twice they passed castles which drew up their drawbridges at their approach and lined their walls with hooting soldiers as they passed. The Englishmen gathered a few oxen and sheep from the pastures of each, but Knolles had no mind to break his strength upon stone walls, and so he went upon his way.
Once at St. Meen they passed a great nunnery, girt with a high gray lichened100 wall, an oasis101 of peace in this desert of war, the black-robed nuns102 basking103 in the sun or working in the gardens, with the strong gentle hand of Holy Church shielding them ever from evil. The archers doffed104 caps to them as they passed, for the boldest and roughest dared not cross that line guarded by the dire106 ban and blight107 which was the one only force in the whole steel-ridden earth which could stand betwixt the weakling and the spoiler.
The little army halted at St. Meen and cooked its midday meal. It had gathered into its ranks again and was about to start, when Knolles drew Nigel to one side.
“Nigel,” said he, “it seems to me that I have seldom set eyes upon a horse which hath more power and promise of speed than this great beast of thine.”
“It is indeed a noble steed, fair sir,” said Nigel. Betwixt him and his young leader there had sprung up great affection and respect since the day that they set foot in the Basilisk.
“It will be the better if you stretch his limbs, for he grows overheavy,” said the knight. “Now mark me, Nigel! Yonder betwixt the ash-tree and the red rock what do you see on the side of the far hill?”
“There is a white dot upon it. Surely it is a horse.”
“I have marked it all morning, Nigel. This horseman has kept ever upon our flank, spying upon us or waiting to make some attempt upon us. Now I should be right glad to have a prisoner, for it is my wish to know something of this country-side, and these peasants can speak neither French nor English. I would have you linger here in hiding when we go forward. This man will still follow us. When he does so, yonder wood will lie betwixt you and him. Do you ride round it and come upon him from behind. There is broad plain upon his left, and we will cut him off upon the right. If your horse be indeed the swifter, then you cannot fail to take him.”
Nigel had already sprung down and was tightening108 Pommers' girth.
“Nay, there is no need of haste, for you cannot start until we are two miles upon our way. And above all I pray you, Nigel, none of your knight-errant ways. It is this roan that I want, him and the news that he can bring me. Think little of your own advancement and much of the needs of the army. When you get him, ride westwards upon the sun, and you cannot fail to find the road.”
Nigel waited with Pommers under the shadow of the nunnery wall, horse and man chafing109 with impatience110, whilst above them six round-eyed innocent nun-faces looked down on this strange and disturbing vision from the outer world. At last the long column wound itself out of sight round a curve of the road, and the white dot was gone from the bare green flank of the hill. Nigel bowed his steel head to the nuns, gave his bridle111 a shake, and bounded off upon his welcome mission. The round-eyed sisters saw yellow horse and twinkling man sweep round the skirt of the wood, caught a last glimmer112 of him through the tree-trunks, and paced slowly back to their pruning113 and their planting, their minds filled with the beauty and the terror of that outer world beyond the high gray lichen-mottled wall.
Everything fell out even as Knolles had planned. As Nigel rounded the oak forest, there upon the farther side of it, with only good greensward between, was the rider upon the white horse. Already he was so near that Nigel could see him clearly, a young cavalier, proud in his bearing, clad in purple silk tunic114 with a red curling feather in his low black cap. He wore no armor, but his sword gleamed at his side. He rode easily and carelessly, as one who cares for no man, and his eyes were forever fixed upon the English soldiers on the road. So intent was he upon them that he gave no thought to his own safety, and it was only when the low thunder of the great horse's hoofs115 broke upon his ears that he turned in his saddle, looked very coolly and steadily116 at Nigel, then gave his own bridle a shake and darted117 off, swift as a hawk118, toward the hills upon the left.
Pommers had met his match that day. The white horse, two parts Arab, bore the lighter119 weight, since Nigel was clad in full armor. For five miles over the open neither gained a hundred yards upon the other. They had topped the hill and flew down the farther side, the stranger continually turning in his saddle to have a look at his pursuer. There was no panic in his flight, but rather the amused rivalry120 with which a good horseman who is proud of his mount contends with one who has challenged him. Below the hill was a marshy plain, studded with great Druidic stones, some prostrate121, some erect122, some bearing others across their tops like the huge doors of some vanished building. A path ran through the marsh27 with green rushes as a danger signal on either side of it. Across this path many of the huge stones were lying, but the white horse cleared them in its stride and Pommers followed close upon his heels. Then came a mile of soft ground where the lighter weight again drew to the front, but it ended in a dry upland and once again Nigel gained. A sunken road crossed it, but the white cleared it with a mighty123 spring, and again the yellow followed. Two small hills lay before them with a narrow gorge of deep bushes between. Nigel saw the white horse bounding chest-deep amid the underwood.
Next instant its hind42 legs were high in the air, and the rider had been shot from its back. A howl of triumph rose from amidst the bushes, and a dozen wild figures armed with club and with spear, rushed upon the prostrate man.
“A moi, Anglais, a moi!” cried a voice, and Nigel saw the young rider stagger to his feet, strike round him with his sword, and then fall once more before the rush of his assailants.
There was a comradeship among men of gentle blood and bearing which banded them together against all ruffianly or unchivalrous attack. These rude fellows were no soldiers. Their dress and arms, their uncouth124 cries and wild assault, marked them as banditti—such men as had slain the Englishman upon the road. Waiting in narrow gorges125 with a hidden rope across the path, they watched for the lonely horseman as a fowler waits by his bird-trap, trusting that they could overthrow126 the steed and then slay74 the rider ere he had recovered from his fall.
Such would have been the fate of the stranger, as of so many cavaliers before him, had Nigel not chanced to be close upon his heels. In an instant Pommers had burst through the group who struck at the prostrate man, and in another two of the robbers had fallen before Nigel's sword. A spear rang on his breastplate, but one blow shore off its head, and a second that of him who held it. In vain they thrust at the steel-girt man. His sword played round them like lightning, and the fierce horse ramped127 and swooped128 above them with pawing iron-shod hoofs and eyes of fire. With cries and shrieks129 they flew off to right and left amidst the bushes, springing over boulders130 and darting131 under branches where no horseman could follow them. The foul132 crew had gone as swiftly and suddenly as it had come, and save for four ragged figures littered amongst the trampled133 bushes, no sign remaining of their passing.
Nigel tethered Pommers to a thorn-bush and then turned his attention to the injured man. The white horse had regained134 his feet and stood whinnying gently as he looked down on his prostrate master. A heavy blow, half broken by his sword, had beaten him down and left a great raw bruise135 upon his forehead. But a stream gurgled through the gorge, and a capful of water dashed over his face brought the senses back to the injured man. He was a mere stripling, with the delicate features of a woman, and a pair of great violet-blue eyes which looked up presently with a puzzled stare into Nigel's face.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Ah yes! I call you to mind. You are the young Englishman who chased me on the great yellow horse. By our Lady of Rocamadour whose vernicle is round my neck! I could not have believed that any horse could have kept at the heels of Charlemagne so long. But I will wager136 you a hundred crowns, Englishman, that I lead you over a five-mile course.”
“Nay,” said Nigel, “we will wait till you can back a horse ere we talk of racing137 it. I am Nigel of Tilford, of the family of Loring, a squire138 by rank and the son of a knight. How are you called, young sir?”
“I also am a squire by rank and the son of a knight. I am Raoul de la Roche Pierre de Bras, whose father writes himself Lord of Grosbois, a free vavasor of the noble Count of Toulouse, with the right of fossa and of furca, the high justice, the middle and the low.” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Englishman, you have saved my life as I would have saved yours, had I seen such yelping139 dogs set upon a man of blood and of coat-armor. But now I am yours, and what is your sweet will?”
“When you are fit to ride, you will come back with me to my people.”
“Alas! I feared that you would say so. Had I taken you, Nigel—that is your name, is it not?—had I taken you, I would not have acted thus.”
“How then would you have ordered things?” asked Nigel, much taken with the frank and debonair140 manner of his captive.
“I would not have taken advantage of such a mischance as has befallen me which has put me in your power. I would give you a sword and beat you in fair fight, so that I might send you to give greeting to my dear lady and show her the deeds which I do for her fair sake.”
“Indeed, your words are both good and fair,” said Nigel. “By Saint Paul! I cannot call to mind that I have ever met a man who bore himself better. But since I am in my armor and you without, I see not how we can debate the matter.”
“Then have I only my underclothes.”
“Nay, there shall be no unfairness there, for I also will very gladly strip to my underclothes.”
Nigel looked wistfully at the Frenchman; but he shook his head. “Alas! it may not be,” said he. “The last words that Sir Robert said to me were that I was to bring you to his side, for he would have speech with you. Would that I could do what you ask, for I also have a fair lady to whom I would fain send you. What use are you to me, Raoul, since I have gained no honor in the taking of you? How is it with you now?”
The young Frenchman had risen to his feet. “Do not take my sword,” he said. “I am yours, rescue or no rescue. I think now that I could mount my horse, though indeed my head still rings like a cracked bell.”
Nigel had lost all traces of his comrades; but he remembered Sir Robert's words that he should ride upon the sun with the certainty that sooner or later he would strike upon the road. As they jogged slowly along over undulating hills, the Frenchman shook off his hurt and the two chatted merrily together.
“I had but just come from France,” said he, “and I had hoped to win honor in this country, for I have ever heard that the English are very hardy141 men and excellent people to fight with. My mules142 and my baggage are at Evran; but I rode forth143 to see what I could see, and I chanced upon your army moving down the road, so I coasted it in the hopes of some profit or adventure. Then you came after me and I would have given all the gold goblets144 upon my father's table if I had my harness so that I could have turned upon you. I have promised the Countess Beatrice that I will send her an Englishman or two to kiss her hands.”
“She is my love,” answered the Frenchman. “We are but waiting for the Count to be slain in the wars, and then we mean to marry. And this lady of thine, Nigel? I would that I could see her.”
“Perchance you shall, fair sir,” said Nigel, “for all that I have seen of you fills me with desire to go further with you. It is in my mind that we might turn this thing to profit and to honor, for when Sir Robert has spoken with you, I am free to do with you as I will.”
“And what will you do, Nigel?”
“We shall surely try some small deed upon each other, so that either I shall see the Lady Beatrice, or you the Lady Mary. Nay, thank me not, for like yourself, I have come to this country in search of honor, and I know not where I may better find it than at the end of your sword-point. My good lord and master, Sir John Chandos, has told me many times that never yet did he meet French knight nor squire that he did not find great pleasure and profit from their company, and now I very clearly see that he has spoken the truth.”
For an hour these two friends rode together, the Frenchman pouring forth the praises of his lady, whose glove he produced from one pocket, her garter from his vest, and her shoe from his saddle-bag. She was blond, and when he heard that Mary was dark, he would fain stop then and there to fight the question of color. He talked too of his great chateau148 at Lauta, by the head waters of the pleasant Garonne; of the hundred horses in the stables, the seventy hounds in the kennels149, the fifty hawks150 in the mews. His English friend should come there when the wars were over, and what golden days would be theirs! Nigel too, with his English coldness thawing151 before this young sunbeam of the South, found himself talking of the heather slopes of Surrey, of the forest of Woolmer, even of the sacred chambers152 of Cosford.
But as they rode onward towards the sinking sun, their thoughts far away in their distant homes, their horses striding together, there came that which brought their minds back in an instant to the perilous153 hillsides of Brittany.
It was the long blast of a trumpet154 blown from somewhere on the farther side of a ridge99 toward which they were riding. A second long-drawn note from a distance answered it.
“It is your camp,” said the Frenchman.
“Nay,” said Nigel; “we have pipes with us and a naker or two, but I have heard no trumpet-call from our ranks. It behooves155 us to take heed, for we know not what may be before us. Ride this way, I pray you, that we may look over and yet be ourselves unseen.”
Some scattered156 boulders crowned the height, and from behind them the two young Squires157 could see the long rocky valley beyond. Upon a knoll1 was a small square building with a battlement round it. Some distance from it towered a great dark castle, as massive as the rocks on which it stood, with one strong keep at the corner, and four long lines of machicolated walls. Above, a great banner flew proudly in the wind, with some device which glowed red in the setting sun. Nigel shaded his eyes and stared with wrinkled brow.
“It is not the arms of England, nor yet the lilies of France, nor is it the ermine of Brittany,” said he. “He who holds this castle fights for his own hand, since his own device flies above it. Surely it is a head gules on an argent field.”
“The bloody158 head on a silver tray!” cried the Frenchman. “Was I not warned against him? This is not a man, friend Nigel. It is a monster who wars upon English, French and all Christendom. Have you not heard of the Butcher of La Brohiniere?”
“Nay, I have not heard of him.”
“His name is accursed in France. Have I not been told also that he put to death this very year Gilles de St. Pol, a friend of the English King?”
“Yes, in very truth it comes back to my mind now that I heard something of this matter in Calais before we started.”
“Then there he dwells, and God guard you if ever you pass under yonder portal, for no prisoner has ever come forth alive! Since these wars began he hath been a king to himself, and the plunder159 of eleven years lies in yonder cellars. How can justice come to him, when no man knows who owns the land? But when we have packed you all back to your island, by the Blessed Mother of God, we have a heavy debt to pay to the man who dwells in yonder pile!”
But even as they watched, the trumpet-call burst forth once more. It came not from the castle but from the farther end of the valley. It was answered by a second call from the walls. Then in a long, straggling line there came a wild troop of marauders streaming homeward from some foray. In the van, at the head of a body of spearmen, rode a tall and burly man, clad in brazen160 armor, so that he shone like a golden image in the slanting161 rays of the sun. His helmet had been loosened from his gorget and was held before him on his horse's neck. A great tangled beard flowed over his breastplate, and his hair hung down as far behind. A squire at his elbow bore high the banner of the bleeding head. Behind the spearmen were a line of heavily laden162 mules, and on either side of them a drove of poor country folk, who were being herded163 into the castle. Lastly came a second strong troop of mounted spearmen, who conducted a score or more of prisoners who marched together in a solid body.
Nigel stared at them and then, springing on his horse, he urged it along the shelter of the ridge so as to reach unseen a spot which was close to the castle gate. He had scarce taken up his new position when the cavalcade164 reached the drawbridge, and amid yells of welcome from those upon the wall, filed in a thin line across it. Nigel stared hard once more at the prisoners in the rear, and so absorbed was he by the sight that he had passed the rocks and was standing165 sheer upon the summit.
“By Saint Paul!” he cried, “it must indeed be so. I see their russet jackets. They are English archers!”
As he spoke147, the hindmost one, a strongly built, broad-shouldered man, looked round and saw the gleaming figure above him upon the hill, with open helmet, and the five roses glowing upon his breast. With a sweep of his hands he had thrust his guardians166 aside and for a moment was clear of the throng167.
“Squire Loring! Squire Loring!” he cried. “It is I, Aylward the archer43! It is I, Samkin Aylward!” The next minute a dozen hands had seized him, his cries were muffled168 with a gag, and he was hurled, the last of the band, through the black and threatening archway of the gate. Then with a clang the two iron wings came together, the portcullis swung upward, and captives and captors, robbers and booty, were all swallowed up within the grim and silent fortress169.
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1
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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ambushes
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| n.埋伏( ambush的名词复数 )；伏击；埋伏着的人；设埋伏点v.埋伏( ambush的第三人称单数 )；埋伏着 | |
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8
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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9
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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garrisoned
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| 卫戍部队守备( garrison的过去式和过去分词 )； 派部队驻防 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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13
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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15
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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17
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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18
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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19
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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20
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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21
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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25
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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26
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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27
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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28
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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29
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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30
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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31
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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32
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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33
waylaid
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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35
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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36
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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37
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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38
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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39
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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40
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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41
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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42
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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43
archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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45
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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46
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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47
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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48
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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49
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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50
choleric
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| adj.易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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51
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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52
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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53
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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54
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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55
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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56
cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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57
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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58
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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59
jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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60
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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61
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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62
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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63
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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64
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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65
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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67
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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68
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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71
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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72
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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73
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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74
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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75
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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76
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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77
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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78
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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79
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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81
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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82
clout
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| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
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83
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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84
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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85
leashes
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| n.拴猎狗的皮带( leash的名词复数 ) | |
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86
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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87
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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88
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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90
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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91
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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92
whoops
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| int.呼喊声 | |
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93
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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94
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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95
jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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96
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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97
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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98
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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99
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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100
lichened
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| adj.长满地衣的，长青苔的 | |
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101
oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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102
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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103
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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104
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
doff
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| v.脱，丢弃，废除 | |
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106
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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107
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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108
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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109
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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110
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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111
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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112
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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113
pruning
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| n.修枝，剪枝，修剪v.修剪（树木等）( prune的现在分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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114
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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115
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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117
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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118
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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119
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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120
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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121
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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122
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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123
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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124
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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125
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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126
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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127
ramped
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| 土堤斜坡( ramp的过去式和过去分词 )； 斜道； 斜路； （装车或上下飞机的）活动梯 | |
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128
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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130
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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131
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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132
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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133
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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134
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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135
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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136
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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137
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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138
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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139
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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140
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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141
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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142
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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143
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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144
goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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145
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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146
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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147
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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148
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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149
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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150
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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151
thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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152
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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153
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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154
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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155
behooves
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| n.利益，好处( behoof的名词复数 )v.适宜( behoove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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156
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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157
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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158
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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159
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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160
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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161
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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162
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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163
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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164
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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165
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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166
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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167
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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168
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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169
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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