g last night that danger
was coming upon us?"
"she did, my lord."
"by saint paul! my mind misgives me as to what she saw at twyham
castle. and yet i cannot think that any scottish or french
rovers could land in such force as to beleaguer the fortalice.
call the company together, aylward; and let us on, for it will be
shame to us if we are not at dax upon the trysting day."
the archers had spread themselves over the ruins, but a blast
upon a bugle brought them all back to muster, with such booty as
they could bear with them stuffed into their pouches or slung
over their shoulders. as they formed into ranks, each man
dropping silently into his place, sir nigel ran a questioning eye
over them, and a smile of pleasure played over his face. tall
and sinewy, and brown, clear-eyed, hard-featured, with the stern
and prompt bearing of experienced soldiers, it would be hard
indeed for a leader to seek for a choicer following. here and
there in the ranks were old soldiers of the french wars, grizzled
and lean, with fierce, puckered features and shaggy, bristling
brows. the most, however, were young and dandy archers, with
fresh english faces, their beards combed out, their hair curling
from under their close steel hufkens, with gold or jewelled
earrings gleaming in their ears, while their gold-spangled
baldrics, their silken belts, and the chains which many of them
wore round their thick brown necks, all spoke of the brave times
which they had had as free companions. each had a yew or hazel
stave slung over his shoulder, plain and serviceable with the
older men, but gaudily painted and carved at either end with the
others. steel caps, mail brigandines, white surcoats with the
red lion of st. george, and sword or battle-axe swinging from
their belts, completed this equipment, while in some cases the
murderous maule or five-foot mallet was hung across the
bowstave, being fastened to their leathern shoulder-belt by a
hook in the centre of the handle. sir nigel's heart beat high as
he looked upon their free bearing and fearless faces.
for two hours they marched through forest and marshland, along
the left bank of the river aveyron; sir nigel riding behind his
company, with alleyne at his right hand, and johnston, the old
master bowman, walking by his left stirrup. ere they had reached
their journey's end the knight had learned all that he would know
of his men, their doings and their intentions. once, as they
marched, they saw upon the further bank of the river a body of
french men-at-arms, riding very swiftly in the direction of
villefranche.
"it is the seneschal of toulouse, with his following," said
johnston, shading his eyes with his hand. "had he been on this
side of the water he might have attempted something upon us."
"i think that it would be well that we should cross," said sir
nigel. "it were pity to balk this worthy seneschal, should he
desire to try some small feat of arms."
"nay, there is no ford nearer than tourville," answered the old
archer. "he is on his way to villefranche, and short will be the
shrift of any jacks who come into his hands, for he is a man of
short speech. it was he and the seneschal of beaucair who hung
peter wilkins, of the company, last lammastide; for which, by the
black rood of waltham! they shall hang themselves, if ever they
come into our power. but here are our comrades, sir nigel, and
here is our camp."
as he spoke, the forest pathway along which they marched opened
out into a green glade, which sloped down towards the river.
high, leafless trees girt it in on three sides, with a thick
undergrowth of holly between their trunks. at the farther end of
this forest clearing there stood forty or fifty huts, built very
neatly from wood and clay, with the blue smoke curling out from
the roofs. a dozen tethered horses and mules grazed around the
encampment, while a number of archers lounged about: some
shooting at marks, while others built up great wooden fires in
the open, and hung their cooking kettles above them. at the
sight of their returning comrades there was a shout of welcome,
and a horseman, who had been exercising his charger behind the
camp, came cantering down to them. he was a dapper, brisk man,
very richly clad, with a round, clean-shaven face, and very
bright black eyes, which danced and sparkled with excitement.
"sir nigel!" he cried. "sir nigel loring, at last! by my soul
we have awaited you this month past. right welcome, sir nigel!
you have had my letter?"
"it was that which brought me here," said sir nigel. "but
indeed, sir claude latour, it is a great wonder to me that you
did not yourself lead these bowmen, for surely they could have
found no better leader?"
"none, none, by the virgin of l'esparre!" he cried, speaking in
the strange, thick gascon spee
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