by David Ker
CHAPTER XXXI
A Strange Meeting
Rarely has the world beheld, even in that age of ceaseless surprises,so strange a spectacle as the English invasion of Spain in 1367. Thebravest and most honourable man alive championing the falsest and mostcruel; free Englishmen fighting to bring a gallant nation in bondage toa tyrant; a handful of heroes cutting their way into an unknown land,and braving pestilence, famine, and the attacks of an army thrice asstrong as their own, in a quarrel with which they had nothing to do,and for a faithless despot who was all the while overreaching andbetraying them--such were the startling contradictions produced by theresolve of a man like the Black Prince to aid a man like Pedro theCruel.
But no such thoughts troubled the stout English who followed the princethrough the Pyrenees in that memorable February; for, in a wholegeneration of constant war they had acquired, alas! such a love of itthat (as the Wars of the Roses were to prove to the horror of allEurope a century later) when no foes were to be found, they would fighteach other rather than not fight at all. If no "good wars" were to behad in France, even an invasion of Spain was better than nothing; andin after days the few survivors of that ill-fated expedition bitterlyrecalled with what boyish, unthinking gaiety they had set out on it.
"Marry, this be a brave sight!" cried Will Wade, in whose untravelledeyes these glittering snow-peaks were a thing to be remembered forever. "How bonnily yon snow glistens; for all the world like sugar on aChristmas cake! This is better sport than hammering horseshoes atDeerham--hey, Ned Smith?"
"Yon jackanape whom our lord overcame at sword-play," replied thesmith, "spake truth for once when he said that a man who hath not seenthe world is nought. Mark me, Will, when we go home to merry Hampshirewhen this job is done, we shall have tales to tell that shall make theRomaunt of Sir Bevis look pale as a half-heated iron."
"Hark ye, comrade Laneham!" cried Wade to an older man, "thou hast beenin foreign parts before. Know'st thou the name of this valley?"
"Marry, that do I; it is called the Pass of Roncesvalles."
"Roncesvalles?" echoed Will. "What, the place where the good knightMessire Roland, the chief of King Charles's twelve Paladins, was slainby the Saracens? Well, now, to think that I myself should tread thevery ground where he died! I heard a minstrel sing the tale in ourlord's hall one Christmas Eve, and I shame me not to own that I letfall a tear or two when he came to the good knight's death; but that Ishould one day see the very spot with mine own eyes, this could I neverhave dreamed!"
"I marvel not the good knight came by the worse, if the heathen dogsbeset him in a place like this!" cried Ned Smith, eyeing wonderinglythe shaggy woods and frowning precipices around him. "But tell me,Robin Laneham, what is yon thing perched on that high rock before us? Aman, a mountain-goat, or a demon?"
"Belike he hath a spice of all three," chuckled the old archer; "he isa Spanish goat-herd."
"What?" cried Wade, staring at the strange, Robinson-Crusoe form. "Havethe Spaniards that we go to fight, then, skins like to those of goats?"
"Wonderest thou at that? Why, what more natural than that thesemountain-folk, who live among goats day and night, and eat nought butgoats' flesh, and drink goats' milk, should come to have a goatishaspect themselves? I warrant that ere we come this way again, yonfellow will have not only a goat's skin, but goat's horns to boot!"
Honest Ned (to whom such a thing seemed quite possible) accepted thetale in perfect good faith, and pictured to himself the amazement ofhis cronies at home, when he should tell them all this on his return.
"But how say men that this is a land of sunshine?" cried anotherrecruit, wincing as a gust of icy wind smote him full in the face. "Ifit be so, the sun must be frozen like all else here, for the icicleshang on my beard as thick as ever they hung on the eaves of our cottageat Deerham!"
"Patience, lad; thou'lt have sun enow ere long, never fear."
In fact, they had only marched a few miles farther, when they suddenlyemerged from the gloomy gorge, and saw below them, in the full glory ofthe midday sun, a wide sweep of green upland sloping down to a vast,smooth plain, dappled with clustering olive-trees, dainty gardens, darkorange-groves, pleasant orchards, quaint little red-tiled hamlets, andwhite-walled country houses embowered in noble trees, while, far beyondall, rose the stately ramparts and graceful towers of queenly Pampeluna.
A ringing shout of joy broke from the English host; and the weary men,forgetting all their fatigues, pressed on as briskly as ever.
But this land of promise proved far other than they thought. As far asPampeluna, indeed, the weather was fine; and the warm, dry plain seemeda paradise to men benumbed with the cold mountain winds. But as soon asthey left the town behind, a storm of wind and rain burst upon themwhich lasted several days, completely breaking up the roads (which werebad enough at best), and sorely impeding their advance. Worse still,the country-folk had fled before the invaders, carrying with them alltheir stores; and the English, already short of supplies, were nowmenaced with actual famine!
At this sudden and dismal change, they began to murmur aloud.
"Is this the land of plenty whereof they told us? Why, there is neitherbite nor sup to be had without fighting for it!"
"Plenty, quotha? Rare plenty, in sooth, when I myself saw, this veryday, a loaf of bread (and a small one to boot) sold in our camp for asilver florin!"
"And see how these storms beset us, even in this land of sunshine! Onewould think, lads, there is a curse on our undertaking!"
"Small wonder if there be, when we fight for one like yon Spanishbutcher, whom our Prince is so fond to brother! I saw him yester-eve,when he rode through the camp with his highness; and I tell ye his is aface that none would trust--no, not a five-year-old child! Dost mind,Hal, yon French dog that was chained in the courtyard of our inn atBordeaux, which looked so mild and meek when any man came nigh to it,till, snap! it had him by the leg or ever he was aware? Even such isPedro the Cruel, as men call him--a goodly name, in truth, for acrowned king!"
"Crowned king, quotha? Could I have my way, I'd crown him with ared-hot trivet, as was done to yon French rogue who headed the peasantchurls against the nobles in the days of the Jacquerie! He deserves noless, I trow; for what manner of king is he, think ye, at the verysound of whose coming his subjects fly as from the Evil One himself?"
When they crossed the Ebro at Logrono, the rain was still falling intorrents; and the soldiers' growls were louder than ever as theystruggled through ankle-deep mud, wet, weary, half-starved, with thefurious wind buffeting them like a living foe, and the stingingrain-gusts lashing their faces.
But all murmurs were hushed as there came striding through their ranks(on foot like themselves) a figure which all knew at a glance. It was atall man in full armour, whose gaunt, strongly marked features, hookednose, and quick, fierce, restless movements, with the piercing glanceof his one eye, were grimly suggestive of an eagle about to swoop onits prey. Such was the famous Sir John Chandos, the best knight ofEdward's host, and rightly called "the flower of English chivalry."
"How now, lads?" cried he, cheerily; "do ye flag with the goal insight? Patience a little, and ye shall have full amends. Yon Spanishknaves are so malapert as to deem that the bold lads of Merry Englandcan be daunted by a gust of wind and a shower of rain; but we willteach them ere long that they have erred--ha?"
The great leader's stirring words put new life into all who heard; andforward pressed the toil-worn host as if it had just started.
On the morrow, their eagerness for action was increased tenfold by thenews that Don Tello, Henry of Transtamare's brother, had fallen with alarge force on an isolated English detachment, and cut off Sir WilliamFelton, several other knights, and more than two hundred men. But,though burning to avenge this disaster, the English saw no way of doingso; for they found the Spanish army so strongly posted at the littletown of Navaretta, that even the Black Prince durst not attack, in sucha position, a for
ce thrice his own; and all that day the opposing hostsfaced each other in sullen inaction.
That evening was the most anxious that the great English leader hadever spent. Fight he must on the morrow, for not a morsel of food wasleft; and he would have to attack, with barely thirty thousand men,more than one hundred thousand. At Crecy and Poitiers his strongposition had won the day against superior numbers, but now all theadvantages of numbers and position were with the enemy.
The sun was sinking when his watchful eye saw a small group of horsemenadvance a little before the glittering wall of spears and helmets inthe Spanish host. They seemed officers of high rank, if not the actualcommanders--and, in fact, the tall, handsome man in the centre, with acrown on his helmet, was Henry of Transtamare himself; and the short,square man in black armour, who was speaking to him so earnestly, wasBertrand du Guesclin!
The Breton hero's advice, if taken, would have sealed the doom of theEnglish, and ended the war ere it had well begun. Warning Henry thathis raw levies, though brave, were no match in open field for Edward'sveterans, he pointed out that the unprovided English must either starveor fight at a disadvantage, and that all he had to do was to keep anysupplies from reaching the enemy, and let famine and disease do thework for him.
But here, as at Auray, the great general's wise counsel was overborneby the folly of his hot-headed colleagues. The fiery Henry would hearof nothing but instant battle, and his brother Don Tello, flushed withhis slight success, vehemently supported him, saying with a sneer--
"Sir Bertrand has not forgotten, belike, how these English made himprisoner at Auray; perchance he is afraid of the like ill-hap befallingagain."
"On the morrow," said Du Guesclin, with a look that made even thehaughty Spaniard quail, "it shall be seen which of us two is the moreafraid."
When a deserter brought word to the English, an hour later, that theSpaniards meant to come forth and meet them in the field next morning,the shout of stern joy that rolled like thunder from rank to rankstartled even their over-confident foes, for then, as in after days,"it was ever the wont of the English to rejoice greatly when theybeheld the enemy."
On the morrow the two hosts joined battle, and Bertrand's words wereamply fulfilled. When Chandos's column of levelled lances and chargingsteeds came crashing into Don Tello's division, the boaster's heartdied within him, and he fled with two thousand of his men, leaving barethe flank of the Spanish centre, on which the Black Prince himselfinstantly fell like a thunderbolt. And beside him, with a savage glarein his pale-blue eyes, his red beard bristling like a lion's mane, andhis sword reeking with slaughter, rode Pedro the Cruel, athirst for hisbrother's blood.
But here the fight went hard, for Henry himself led the centre, andaround him fought his bravest followers. The untrained Spanish leviesfell like mown grass before men whose whole life had been one longbattle; but new thousands succeeded, and the harvest of death went on,while Henry, striking right and left with the force of a giant, madehis mighty voice heard above all the din--
"Brave gentlemen, you have made me your king; stand by me now as loyalmen and true!"
Nobly did the doomed men redeem their fatal pledge, fighting on evenwhen the battle was lost beyond recovery, to protect their king'sescape. Nor was the heroic self-sacrifice vain; for, just as the lastof the gallant band went down, Henry dashed through the ford of theNajarra unpursued, to renew the struggle a few months later, withbetter fortune.
He might not have got off so well but for a false report of his havingmade for Navaretta, which drew away most of the English soldiers, who,fired with the hope of a king's ransom, followed the chase so hotlythat they burst pell-mell into the town with the flying Spaniards. Thepursuers made at once for Henry's quarters, where, though they did notfind him, they found a rich camp-equipage and service of gold plate,that made every face radiant.
"Here is a bit of glass that sparkles bravely!" cried Wade, pouncing ona diamond worth thousands of pounds--"and set in gold, too! Mayhap 'tisworth a crown or so; and anyhow it will be a gay gaud for my Gillian towear o' holidays."
"This cup for my money!" shouted Ned Smith, seizing a beautifullycarved goblet set with jewels. "Marry, how my gossips in merryHampshire will stare when I show 'em a cup that was used by the King ofCastile!"
"I will be content with this," said old Laneham, clutching a massivegold dish. "I had hoped to put a king or two to ransom ere this job wasover; but half a loaf is aye better than no bread."
Meanwhile the Claremont twins, swept toward the river by the rush offlight and pursuit, heard all at once a well-known war-cry amid a whirlof struggling figures and clashing weapons, and, flying to the spot,they found three or four French knights fighting desperately, back toback, against a throng of English and Gascon soldiers. Foremost was ashort, sturdy form in black armour, wielding a mighty axe, which dealtdeath at every blow.
"Slay him! Cut him down!" roared a big Gascon, springing back just intime from the fatal weapon.
"Nay! Take him alive for ransom!" shouted an Englishman. "He must be aknight of renown."
"Yield, noble Du Guesclin!" cried Alured, bursting through the press."We have won the day, and thou canst do no more!"
But his kindly words were lost in the hideous din, and Bertrand, seeinghim come rushing on, mistook him for a new foe. The fatal axe flashedand fell once more, and down went Alured beneath the blow of his oldfriend.
But as the falling-off of the broken helmet showed Bertrand whom he hadsmitten, the sight seemed to wither his strength, and he let fall histerrible axe, while his foes, seeing him disarmed, closed fiercelyround him.
"Back, fellows!" cried Hugo, sternly, as he thrust himself between."Yield, good Sir Bertrand--yield to Hugo de Claremont."
"I yield me, rescue or no rescue, sith better may not be," saidBertrand, hoarsely. "But thy brother--lives he yet? If I have slainhim, I shall ne'er have the heart to wield weapon more."
"Vex not thyself, fair sir," said Alured, faintly, as he tried to raisehis bruised and aching head. "I am but somewhat dazed. Marry, thy blowsare not such as a man can jest with."
"Now, God be praised my stroke slew thee not," cried Du Guesclin,raising him from the earth. "I ever thought we should meet again, but Ideemed not it should be thus."
But neither the admiration of the whole army, nor the praise of grimold Chandos himself, nor the thanks and rewards heaped on them by theBlack Prince (who welcomed their prisoner as if Du Guesclin had beenhis best friend instead of his most redoubtable foe), could chase fromthe brows of the twins the gloomy foreboding that clouded them; and, asthey entered their tent that night, Alured said sadly--
"My mind misgives me, brother, that God is not with us in this work,and that it will not prosper."
He spoke but too truly. History has told how their gallant host meltedbeneath the blighting breath of pestilence and famine--how its greatleader saw his men perish round him while waiting in vain for thefulfilment of the promises that his faithless ally had never meant tokeep--how he was forced to drain his own coffers to feed the men whomthe crowned ruffian who owed his throne to them had left to starve anddie--and how he finally repassed the Pyrenees with the wreck of hissplendid army, heavy and sick at heart, bearing with him the seeds ofthe fell disease that was to doom him, only a few years later, to anuntimely grave, while the royal cut-throat whom he had championed,within a twelvemonth of his restoration, lost crown and life.