CHAPTER XX. HOW ALLEYNE WON HIS PLACE IN AN HONORABLE GUILD.
Whilst the prince's council was sitting, Alleyne and Ford had remainedin the outer hall, where they were soon surrounded by a noisy group ofyoung Englishmen of their own rank, all eager to hear the latest newsfrom England.
"How is it with the old man at Windsor?" asked one.
"And how with the good Queen Philippa?"
"And how with Dame Alice Perrers?" cried a third.
"The devil take your tongue, Wat!" shouted a tall young man, seizingthe last speaker by the collar and giving him an admonitory shake. "Theprince would take your head off for those words."
"By God's coif! Wat would miss it but little," said another. "It is asempty as a beggar's wallet."
"As empty as an English squire, coz," cried the first speaker. "What adevil has become of the maitre-des-tables and his sewers? They have notput forth the trestles yet."
"Mon Dieu! if a man could eat himself into knighthood, Humphrey, youhad been a banneret at the least," observed another, amid a burst oflaughter.
"And if you could drink yourself in, old leather-head, you had beenfirst baron of the realm," cried the aggrieved Humphrey. "But how ofEngland, my lads of Loring?"
"I take it," said Ford, "that it is much as it was when you were therelast, save that perchance there is a little less noise there."
"And why less noise, young Solomon?"
"Ah, that is for your wit to discover."
"Pardieu! here is a paladin come over, with the Hampshire mud stillsticking to his shoes. He means that the noise is less for our being outof the country."
"They are very quick in these parts," said Ford, turning to Alleyne.
"How are we to take this, sir?" asked the ruffling squire.
"You may take it as it comes," said Ford carelessly.
"Here is pertness!" cried the other.
"Sir, I honor your truthfulness," said Ford.
"Stint it, Humphrey," said the tall squire, with a burst of laughter."You will have little credit from this gentleman, I perceive. Tonguesare sharp in Hampshire, sir."
"And swords?"
"Hum! we may prove that. In two days' time is the vepres du tournoi,when we may see if your lance is as quick as your wit."
"All very well, Roger Harcomb," cried a burly, bull-necked young man,whose square shoulders and massive limbs told of exceptional personalstrength. "You pass too lightly over the matter. We are not to be soeasily overcrowed. The Lord Loring hath given his proofs; but we knownothing of his squires, save that one of them hath a railing tongue.And how of you, young sir?" bringing his heavy hand down on Alleyne'sshoulder.
"And what of me, young sir?"
"Ma foi! this is my lady's page come over. Your cheek will be brownerand your hand harder ere you see your mother again."
"If my hand is not hard, it is ready."
"Ready? Ready for what? For the hem of my lady's train?"
"Ready to chastise insolence, sir," cried Alleyne with flashing eyes.
"Sweet little coz!" answered the burly squire. "Such a dainty color!Such a mellow voice! Eyes of a bashful maid, and hair like a threeyears' babe! Voila!" He passed his thick fingers roughly through theyouth's crisp golden curls.
"You seek to force a quarrel, sir," said the young man, white withanger.
"And what then?"
"Why, you do it like a country boor, and not like a gentle squire. Hastbeen ill bred and as ill taught. I serve a master who could show you howsuch things should be done."
"And how would he do it, O pink of squires?"
"He would neither be loud nor would he be unmannerly, but rather moregentle than is his wont. He would say, 'Sir, I should take it as anhonor to do some small deed of arms against you, not for mine own gloryor advancement, but rather for the fame of my lady and for the upholdingof chivalry.' Then he would draw his glove, thus, and throw it on theground; or, if he had cause to think that he had to deal with a churl,he might throw it in his face--as I do now!"
A buzz of excitement went up from the knot of squires as Alleyne, hisgentle nature turned by this causeless attack into fiery resolution,dashed his glove with all his strength into the sneering face of hisantagonist. From all parts of the hall squires and pages came running,until a dense, swaying crowd surrounded the disputants.
"Your life for this!" said the bully, with a face which was distortedwith rage.
"If you can take it," returned Alleyne.
"Good lad!" whispered Ford. "Stick to it close as wax."
"I shall see justice," cried Norbury, Sir Oliver's silent attendant.
"You brought it upon yourself, John Tranter," said the tall squire,who had been addressed as Roger Harcomb. "You must ever plague thenew-comers. But it were shame if this went further. The lad hath shown aproper spirit."
"But a blow! a blow!" cried several of the older squires. "There must bea finish to this."
"Nay; Tranter first laid hand upon his head," said Harcomb. "How sayyou, Tranter? The matter may rest where it stands?"
"My name is known in these parts," said Tranter, proudly, "I can letpass what might leave a stain upon another. Let him pick up his gloveand say that he has done amiss."
"I would see him in the claws of the devil first," whispered Ford.
"You hear, young sir?" said the peacemaker. "Our friend will overlookthe matter if you do but say that you have acted in heat and haste."
"I cannot say that," answered Alleyne.
"It is our custom, young sir, when new squires come amongst us fromEngland, to test them in some such way. Bethink you that if a man havea destrier or a new lance he will ever try it in time of peace, lest indays of need it may fail him. How much more then is it proper to testthose who are our comrades in arms."
"I would draw out if it may honorably be done," murmured Norburyin Alleyne's ear. "The man is a noted swordsman and far above yourstrength."
Edricson came, however, of that sturdy Saxon blood which is very slowlyheated, but once up not easily to be cooled. The hint of danger whichNorbury threw out was the one thing needed to harden his resolution.
"I came here at the back of my master," he said, "and I looked on everyman here as an Englishman and a friend. This gentleman hath shown me arough welcome, and if I have answered him in the same spirit he has buthimself to thank. I will pick the glove up; but, certes, I shall abidewhat I have done unless he first crave my pardon for what he hath saidand done."
Tranter shrugged his shoulders. "You have done what you could to savehim, Harcomb," said he. "We had best settle at once."
"So say I," cried Alleyne.
"The council will not break up until the banquet," remarked agray-haired squire. "You have a clear two hours."
"And the place?"
"The tilting-yard is empty at this hour."
"Nay; it must not be within the grounds of the court, or it may go hardwith all concerned if it come to the ears of the prince."
"But there is a quiet spot near the river," said one youth. "We havebut to pass through the abbey grounds, along the armory wall, past thechurch of St. Remi, and so down the Rue des Apotres."
"En avant, then!" cried Tranter shortly, and the whole assembly flockedout into the open air, save only those whom the special orders of theirmasters held to their posts. These unfortunates crowded to the smallcasements, and craned their necks after the throng as far as they couldcatch a glimpse of them.
Close to the banks of the Garonne there lay a little tract of greensward, with the high wall of a prior's garden upon one side and anorchard with a thick bristle of leafless apple-trees upon the other. Theriver ran deep and swift up to the steep bank; but there were few boatsupon it, and the ships were moored far out in the centre of the stream.Here the two combatants drew their swords and threw off their doublets,for neither had any defensive armor. The duello with its statelyetiquette had not yet come into vogue, but rough and sudden encounterswere as common as they must ever be when hot-headed youth goes
abroadwith a weapon strapped to its waist. In such combats, as well as inthe more formal sports of the tilting-yard, Tranter had won a name forstrength and dexterity which had caused Norbury to utter his well-meantwarning. On the other hand, Alleyne had used his weapons in constantexercise and practice on every day for many months, and being by naturequick of eye and prompt of hand, he might pass now as no mean swordsman.A strangely opposed pair they appeared as they approached each other:Tranter dark and stout and stiff, with hairy chest and corded arms,Alleyne a model of comeliness and grace, with his golden hair and hisskin as fair as a woman's. An unequal fight it seemed to most; but therewere a few, and they the most experienced, who saw something in theyouth's steady gray eye and wary step which left the issue open todoubt.
"Hold, sirs, hold!" cried Norbury, ere a blow had been struck. "Thisgentleman hath a two-handed sword, a good foot longer than that of ourfriend."
"Take mine, Alleyne," said Ford.
"Nay, friends," he answered, "I understand the weight and balance ofmine own. To work, sir, for our lord may need us at the abbey!"
Tranter's great sword was indeed a mighty vantage in his favor. He stoodwith his feet close together, his knees bent outwards, ready for a dashinwards or a spring out. The weapon he held straight up in front of himwith blade erect, so that he might either bring it down with a swingingblow, or by a turn of the heavy blade he might guard his own head andbody. A further protection lay in the broad and powerful guard whichcrossed the hilt, and which was furnished with a deep and narrow notch,in which an expert swordsman might catch his foeman's blade, and bya quick turn of his wrist might snap it across. Alleyne, on the otherhand, must trust for his defence to his quick eye and active foot--forhis sword, though keen as a whetstone could make it, was of a light andgraceful build with a narrow, sloping pommel and a tapering steel.
Tranter well knew his advantage and lost no time in putting it to use.As his opponent walked towards him he suddenly bounded forward and sentin a whistling cut which would have severed the other in twain had henot sprung lightly back from it. So close was it that the point rippeda gash in the jutting edge of his linen cyclas. Quick as a panther,Alleyne sprang in with a thrust, but Tranter, who was as active as hewas strong, had already recovered himself and turned it aside with amovement of his heavy blade. Again he whizzed in a blow which made thespectators hold their breath, and again Alleyne very quickly and swiftlyslipped from under it, and sent back two lightning thrusts which theother could scarce parry. So close were they to each other that Alleynehad no time to spring back from the next cut, which beat down his swordand grazed his forehead, sending the blood streaming into his eyes anddown his cheeks. He sprang out beyond sword sweep, and the pair stoodbreathing heavily, while the crowd of young squires buzzed theirapplause.
"Bravely struck on both sides!" cried Roger Harcomb. "You have bothwon honor from this meeting, and it would be sin and shame to let it gofurther."
"You have done enough, Edricson," said Norbury.
"You have carried yourself well," cried several of the older squires.
"For my part, I have no wish to slay this young man," said Tranter,wiping his heated brow.
"Does this gentleman crave my pardon for having used me despitefully?"asked Alleyne.
"Nay, not I."
"Then stand on your guard, sir!" With a clatter and dash the two bladesmet once more, Alleyne pressing in so as to keep within the full sweepof the heavy blade, while Tranter as continually sprang back to havespace for one of his fatal cuts. A three-parts-parried blow drew bloodfrom Alleyne's left shoulder, but at the same moment he wounded Tranterslightly upon the thigh. Next instant, however, his blade had slippedinto the fatal notch, there was a sharp cracking sound with a tinklingupon the ground, and he found a splintered piece of steel fifteen incheslong was all that remained to him of his weapon.
"Your life is in my hands!" cried Tranter, with a bitter smile.
"Nay, nay, he makes submission!" broke in several squires.
"Another sword!" cried Ford.
"Nay, sir," said Harcomb, "that is not the custom."
"Throw down your hilt, Edricson," cried Norbury.
"Never!" said Alleyne. "Do you crave my pardon, sir?"
"You are mad to ask it."
"Then on guard again!" cried the young squire, and sprang in with a fireand a fury which more than made up for the shortness of his weapon. Ithad not escaped him that his opponent was breathing in short, hoarsegasps, like a man who is dizzy with fatigue. Now was the time for thepurer living and the more agile limb to show their value. Back and backgave Tranter, ever seeking time for a last cut. On and on came Alleyne,his jagged point now at his foeman's face, now at his throat, now athis chest, still stabbing and thrusting to pass the line of steel whichcovered him. Yet his experienced foeman knew well that such effortscould not be long sustained. Let him relax for one instant, and hisdeath-blow had come. Relax he must! Flesh and blood could not standthe strain. Already the thrusts were less fierce, the foot less ready,although there was no abatement of the spirit in the steady gray eyes.Tranter, cunning and wary from years of fighting, knew that his chancehad come. He brushed aside the frail weapon which was opposed to him,whirled up his great blade, sprang back to get the fairer sweep--andvanished into the waters of the Garonne.
So intent had the squires, both combatants and spectators, been onthe matter in hand, that all thought of the steep bank and swift stillstream had gone from their minds. It was not until Tranter, giving backbefore the other's fiery rush, was upon the very brink, that a generalcry warned him of his danger. That last spring, which he hoped wouldhave brought the fight to a bloody end, carried him clear of the edge,and he found himself in an instant eight feet deep in the ice-coldstream. Once and twice his gasping face and clutching fingers broke upthrough the still green water, sweeping outwards in the swirl of thecurrent. In vain were sword-sheaths, apple-branches and belts linkedtogether thrown out to him by his companions. Alleyne had dropped hisshattered sword and was standing, trembling in every limb, with his rageall changed in an instant to pity. For the third time the drowning mancame to the surface, his hands full of green slimy water-plants, hiseyes turned in despair to the shore. Their glance fell upon Alleyne,and he could not withstand the mute appeal which he read in them. In aninstant he, too, was in the Garonne, striking out with powerful strokesfor his late foeman.
Yet the current was swift and strong, and, good swimmer as he was, itwas no easy task which Alleyne had set himself. To clutch at Tranter andto seize him by the hair was the work of a few seconds, but to hold hishead above water and to make their way out of the current was anothermatter. For a hundred strokes he did not seem to gain an inch. Then atlast, amid a shout of joy and praise from the bank, they slowly drewclear into more stagnant water, at the instant that a rope, made of adozen sword-belts linked together by the buckles, was thrown byFord into their very hands. Three pulls from eager arms, and the twocombatants, dripping and pale, were dragged up the bank, and lay pantingupon the grass.
John Tranter was the first to come to himself, for although he had beenlonger in the water, he had done nothing during that fierce battle withthe current. He staggered to his feet and looked down upon his rescuer,who had raised himself upon his elbow, and was smiling faintly at thebuzz of congratulation and of praise which broke from the squires aroundhim.
"I am much beholden to you, sir," said Tranter, though in no veryfriendly voice. "Certes, I should have been in the river now but foryou, for I was born in Warwickshire, which is but a dry county, andthere are few who swim in those parts."
"I ask no thanks," Alleyne answered shortly. "Give me your hand to rise,Ford."
"The river has been my enemy," said Tranter, "but it hath been a goodfriend to you, for it has saved your life this day."
"That is as it may be," returned Alleyne.
"But all is now well over," quoth Harcomb, "and no scath come of it,which is more than I had at one time hoped for. Our young friend h
erehath very fairly and honestly earned his right to be craftsman ofthe Honorable Guild of the Squires of Bordeaux. Here is your doublet,Tranter."
"Alas for my poor sword which lies at the bottom of the Garonne!" saidthe squire.
"Here is your pourpoint, Edricson," cried Norbury. "Throw it over yourshoulders, that you may have at least one dry garment."
"And now away back to the abbey!" said several.
"One moment, sirs," cried Alleyne, who was leaning on Ford's shoulder,with the broken sword, which he had picked up, still clutched in hisright hand. "My ears may be somewhat dulled by the water, and perchancewhat has been said has escaped me, but I have not yet heard thisgentleman crave pardon for the insults which he put upon me in thehall."
"What! do you still pursue the quarrel?" asked Tranter.
"And why not, sir? I am slow to take up such things, but once afoot Ishall follow it while I have life or breath."
"Ma foi! you have not too much of either, for you are as white asmarble," said Harcomb bluntly. "Take my rede, sir, and let it drop, foryou have come very well out from it."
"Nay," said Alleyne, "this quarrel is none of my making; but, now that Iam here, I swear to you that I shall never leave this spot until I havethat which I have come for: so ask my pardon, sir, or choose anotherglaive and to it again."
The young squire was deadly white from his exertions, both on the landand in the water. Soaking and stained, with a smear of blood on hiswhite shoulder and another on his brow, there was still in his wholepose and set of face the trace of an inflexible resolution. Hisopponent's duller and more material mind quailed before the fire andintensity of a higher spiritual nature.
"I had not thought that you had taken it so amiss," said he awkwardly."It was but such a jest as we play upon each other, and, if you musthave it so, I am sorry for it."
"Then I am sorry too," quoth Alleyne warmly, "and here is my hand uponit."
"And the none-meat horn has blown three times," quoth Harcomb, as theyall streamed in chattering groups from the ground. "I know not what theprince's maitre-de-cuisine will say or think. By my troth! master Ford,your friend here is in need of a cup of wine, for he hath drunk deeplyof Garonne water. I had not thought from his fair face that he had stoodto this matter so shrewdly."
"Faith," said Ford, "this air of Bordeaux hath turned our turtle-doveinto a game-cock. A milder or more courteous youth never came out ofHampshire."
"His master also, as I understand, is a very mild and courteousgentleman," remarked Harcomb; "yet I do not think that they are eitherof them men with whom it is very safe to trifle."
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