he great square
tower rocked and trembled from its very foundations, swaying this
way and that like a reed in the wind. amazed and dizzy, the
defenders, clutching at the cracking parapets for support, saw
great stones, burning beams of wood, and mangled bodies hurtling
past them through the air. when they staggered to their feet
once more, the whole keep had settled down upon one side, so that
they could scarce keep their footing upon the sloping platform.
gazing over the edge, they looked down upon the horrible
destruction which had been caused by the explosion. for forty
yards round the portal the ground was black with writhing,
screaming figures, who struggled up and hurled themselves down
again, tossing this way and that, sightless, scorched, with fire
bursting from their tattered clothing. beyond this circle of
death their comrades, bewildered and amazed, cowered away from
this black tower and from these invincible men, who were most to
be dreaded when hope was furthest from their hearts.
"a sally, du guesclin, a sally!" cried sir nigel. "by saint
paul! they are in two minds, and a bold rush may turn them." he
drew his sword as he spoke and darted down the winding stairs,
closely followed by his four comrades. ere he was at the first
floor, however, he threw up his arms and stopped. "mon dieu!" he
said, "we are lost men!"
"what then?" cried those behind him.
"the wail hath fallen in, the stair is blocked, and the fire
still rages below. by saint paul! friends, we have fought a very
honorable fight, and may say in all humbleness that we have done
our devoir, but i think that we may now go back to the lady
tiphaine and say our orisons, for we have played our parts in
this world, and it is time that we made ready for another."
the narrow pass was blocked by huge stones littered in wild
confusion over each other, with the blue choking smoke reeking up
through the crevices. the explosion had blown in the wall and
cut off the only path by which they could descend. pent in, a
hundred feet from earth, with a furnace raging under them and a
ravening multitude all round who thirsted for their blood, it
seemed indeed as though no men had ever come through such peril
with their lives. slowly they made their way back to the summit,
but as they came out upon it the lady tiphaine darted forward and
caught her husband by the wrist.
"bertrand," said she, "hush and listen! i have heard the voices
of men all singing together in a strange tongue."
breathless they stood and silent, but no sound came up to them,
save the roar of the flames and the clamor of their enemies.
"it cannot be, lady," said du guesclin. "this night hath over
wrought you, and your senses play you false. what men ere there
in this country who would sing in a strange tongue?"
"hola!" yelled aylward, leaping suddenly into the air with waving
hands and joyous face. "i thought i heard it ere we went down,
and now i hear it again. we are saved, comrades! by these ten
finger-bones, we are saved! it is the marching song of the white
company. hush!"
with upraised forefinger and slanting head, he stood listening.
suddenly there came swelling up a deep-voiced, rollicking chorus
from somewhere out of the darkness. never did choice or dainty
ditty of provence or languedoc sound more sweetly in the ears
than did the rough-tongued saxon to the six who strained their
ears from the blazing keep:
we'll drink all together to the gray goose feather and the land
where the gray goose flew.
"ha, by my hilt!" shouted aylward, "it is the dear old bow song
of the company. here come two hundred as tight lads as ever
twirled a shaft over their thumbnails. hark to the dogs, how
lustily they sing!"
nearer and clearer, swelling up out of the night, came the gay
marching lilt:
what of the bow? the bow was made in england. of true wood, of
yew wood, the wood of english bows; for men who are free love
the old yew-tree and the land where the yew tree grows.
what of the men? the men were bred in england, the bowmen, the
yeomen, the lads of the dale and fell, here's to you and to you,
to the hearts that are true, and the land where the true hearts
dwell.
"they sing very joyfully," said du guesclin, "as though they were
going to a festival."
"it is their wont when there is work to be done."
"by saint paul!" quoth sir nigel, "it is in my mind that they
come too late, for i cannot see how we are to come down from this
tower."
"there they come, the hearts of gold!" cried aylward. "see, they
move out from the shadow, now they cross the meadow. they are on
the further side of the moat. hola camarades, hola! johnston,
eccles, cooke, harward, bligh! would ye see a fair lady and two
gallant knights done foully to death?"
"who is there?" shouted a
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