ven! i will ride back for him," cried
sir nigel.
"nay, nay, the camp is in arms, and it would be rank madness.
who are you, fellow?" he added in spanish, "and how is it that
you dare to wear the arms of castile?"
the prisoner was bent recovering the consciousness which had been
squeezed from him by the grip of hordle john. "if it please
you," he answered, "i and nine others are the body-squires of the
king, and must ever wear his arms, so as to shield him from even
such perils as have threatened him this night. the king is at the
tent of the brave du guesclin, where he will sup to night. but i
am a caballero of aragon, don sancho penelosa, and, though i be
no king, i am yet ready to pay a fitting price for my ransom."
"by saint paul! i will not touch your gold," cried sir nigel. "go
back to your master and give him greeting from sir nigel loring
of twynham castle, telling him that i had hoped to make his
better acquaintance this night, and that, if i have disordered
his tent, it was but in my eagerness to know so famed and
courteous a knight. spur on, comrades! for we must cover many a
league ere we can venture to light fire or to loosen girth. i had
hoped to ride without this patch to-night, but it seems that i
must carry it yet a little longer."
chapter xxxvi.
how sir nigel took the patch from his eye.
it was a cold, bleak morning in the beginning of march, and the
mist was drifting in dense rolling clouds through the passes of
the cantabrian mountains. the company, who had passed the night
in a sheltered gully, were already astir, some crowding round the
blazing fires and others romping or leaping over each other's
backs for their limbs were chilled and the air biting. here and
there, through the dense haze which surrounded them, there loomed
out huge pinnacles and jutting boulders of rock: while high above
the sea of vapor there towered up one gigantic peak, with the
pink glow of the early sunshine upon its snow-capped head. the
ground was wet, the rocks dripping, the grass and ever-greens
sparkling with beads of moisture; yet the camp was loud with
laughter and merriment, for a messenger had ridden in from the
prince with words of heart-stirring praise for what they had
done, and with orders that they should still abide in the
forefront of the army.
round one of the fires were clustered four or five of the leading
men of the archers, cleaning the rust from their weapons, and
glancing impatiently from time to time at a great pot which
smoked over the blaze. there was aylward squatting cross-legged
in his shirt, while he scrubbed away at his chain-mail
brigandine, whistling loudly the while. on one side of him sat
old johnston, who was busy in trimming the feathers of some
arrows to his liking; and on the other hordle john, who lay with
his great limbs all asprawl, and his headpiece balanced upon his
uplifted foot. black simon of norwich crouched amid the rocks,
crooning an eastland ballad to himself, while he whetted his
sword upon a flat stone which lay across his knees; while beside
him sat alleyne edricson, and norbury, the silent squire of sir
oliver, holding out their chilled hands towards the crackling
faggots
"cast on another culpon, john, and stir the broth with thy
sword-sheath," growled johnston, looking anxiously for the
twentieth time at the reeking pot.
"by my hilt!" cried aylward, "now that john hath come by this
great ransom, he will scarce abide the fare of poor archer lads.
how say you, camarade? when you see hordle once more, there will
be no penny ale and fat bacon, but gascon wines and baked meats
every day of the seven."
"i know not about that," said john, kicking his helmet up into
the air and catching it in his hand. "i do but know that whether
the broth be ready or no, i am about to dip this into it."
"it simmers and it boils," cried johnston, pushing his hard-lined
face through the smoke. in an instant the pot had been plucked
from the blaze, and its contents had been scooped up in half a
dozen steel head-pieces, which were balanced betwixt their
owners' knees, while, with spoon and gobbet of bread, they
devoured their morning meal.
"it is ill weather for bows," remarked john at last, when, with a
long sigh, he drained the last drop from his helmet. "my strings
are as limp as a cow's tail this morning."
"you should rub them with water glue," quoth johnston. "you
remember, samkin, that it was wetter than this on the morning of
crecy, and yet i cannot call to mind that there was aught amiss
with our strings."
"it is in my thoughts," said black simon, still pensively
grinding his sword, "that we may have need of your strings ere
sundown. i dreamed of the red cow last night."
"and what is this red cow, simon?" asked alleyne.
"i know not, young sir; but i
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