The morning of departure arrived. The men-at-arms were drawn up in the
court like so many statues of steel; Leonard Ashton sat on horseback,
his eyes fixed on the door; Gaston d'Aubricour, wrapped in his gay
mantle, stood caressing his Arab steed Brigliador, and telling him they
should soon exchange the chilly fogs of England for the bright sun of
Gascony; Ralph Penrose held his master's horse, and a black powerful
charger was prepared for Eustace, but still the brothers tarried.
"My Eleanor, this should not be!" said Reginald as his wife clung to
him weeping. "Keep a good heart. 'Tis not for long. Take heed of
your dealings with cousin Fulk. She knows not what I say. Father
Cyril, keep guard over her and my boy, in case I should meet with any
mishap."
"I will, assuredly, my son," said the Chaplain, "but it is little that
a poor Priest like me can do. I would that grant to the Clarenhams
were repealed."
"That were soon done," said Reginald, "but it is no time for a loyal
vassal to complain of grievances when his liege lord has summoned him
to the field. That were to make the King's need be his law. No! no!
Watch over her, good father, she is weak and tender. Look up, sweet
heart, give me one cheerful wish to speed me on my journey. No? She
has swooned. Eleanor! my wife--"
"Begone, begone, my son," said Father Cyril, "it will be the better for
her."
"It may be," said Reginald, "yet to leave her thus-- Here, nurse,
support her, tend her well. Give her my tenderest greetings. Arthur,
be duteous to her; talk to her of our return; farewell, my boy, and
blessings on you. Eustace, mount."
Sir Reginald, sighing heavily, swung himself into the saddle; Eustace
waited a moment longer. "Good Father, this was to have been in poor
Eleanor's charge. It is the token, you know for whom."
"It shall reach her, my son."
"You will send me a letter whenever you can?"
"Truly, I will; and I would have you read and write, especially in
Latin, when you have the chance--good gifts should not be buried.
Bethink you, too, that you will not have the same excuse for sin as the
rude ignorant men you will meet."
"Eustace!" hastily called Reginald, and with a hurried farewell to all
around, the young Squire sprang on horseback, and the troop rode across
the drawbridge. They halted on the mound beyond; Sir Reginald shook
his pennon, till the long white swallow tails streamed on the wind,
then placed it in the hands of Eustace, and saying, "On, Lances of
Lynwood! In the name of God, St. George, and King Edward, do your
devoir;" he spurred his horse forward, as if only desirous to be out of
sight of his own turrets, and forget the parting, the pain of which
still heaved his breast and dimmed his eye.
A few days brought the troop to Southampton, where John of Gaunt was
collecting his armament, and with it they embarked, crossed to St.
Malo, and thence proceeded to Bordeaux, but there found that the Prince
of Wales had already set forth, and was waiting for his brother at Dax.
Advancing immediately, at the end of three days they came in sight of
the forces encamped around that town. Glorious was the scene before
them, the green plain covered in every direction with white tents,
surmounted with the banners or pennons of their masters, the broad red
Cross of St. George waving proudly in the midst, and beside it the
royal Lions and Castles of the two Spanish monarchies. To the south,
the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees began to gleam white like clouds
against the sky, and the gray sea-line to the west closed the horizon.
Eustace drew his rein, and gazed in silent admiration, and Gaston,
riding by his side, pointed out the several bearings and devices which,
to the warrior of that day, spoke as plainly (often more so) as written
words. "See yonder, the tent of my brave countryman, the Captal de
Buch, close to that of the Prince, as is ever his wont. No doubt he is
willing to wipe away the memory of his capture at Auray. There, to the
left, _gules_ and _argent_, per _pale_, is the pennon of the stout old
Englishman, Chandos. Ha! I see the old Free Companions are here with
Sir Hugh Calverly! Why, 'twas but the other day they were starting to
set this very Don Enrique on the throne as blithely as they now go to
drive him from his."
While Gaston spoke, the sound of horses' feet approached rapidly from
another quarter, and a small party came in sight, the foremost of whom
checked his bridle, as, at Reginald's signal, his Lances halted and
drew respectfully aside. He was a man about thirty-six years of age,
and looking even younger, from the remarkable fairness and delicacy of
his complexion. The perfect regularity of his noble features, together
with the commanding, yet gentle expression of his clear light blue
eyes, would, even without the white ostrich feather in his black velvet
cap, have enabled Eustace to recognize in him the flower of chivalry,
Edward, Prince of Wales.
"Welcome, my trusty Reginald!" exclaimed he. "I knew that the Lances
of Lynwood would not be absent where knightly work is to be done. Is
my brother John arrived?"
"Yes, my Lord," replied Reginald; "I parted from him but now as he rode
to the castle, while I came to seek where to bestow my knaves."
"I know you of old for a prudent man," said the Prince, smiling; "the
Provost Marshal hath no acquaintance with that gallant little band.
Methinks I see there a fair face like enough to yours to belong to
another loyal Lynwood."
"I could wish it were a little browner and more manly, my Lord," said
Reginald. "It is my brother Eustace, who has been suffered (I take
shame to myself for it) to tarry at home as my Lady's page, till he
looks as white as my Lady herself."
"We will soon find a cure for that in the sun of Castile," said Edward.
"You are well provided with Squires. The men of Somerset know where
good training is to be found for their sons."
"This, my Lord, is the son of Sir Philip Ashton, a loyal Knight of our
country."
"He is welcome," said the Prince. "We have work for all. Let me see
you this evening at supper in my tent."
"Well, Eustace, what sayest thou?" said Gaston, as the Prince rode on.
"A Prince to dream of, a Prince for whom to give a thousand lives!"
said Eustace.
"And that was the Prince of Wales!" said Leonard. "Why, he spoke just
like any other man."
The two tents of the Lances of Lynwood having been erected, and all
arrangements made, the Knights and Squires set out for the Prince's
pavilion, the white curtains of which were conspicuous in the centre of
the camp. Within, it was completely lined with silk, embroidered with
the various devices of the Prince: the lions of England--the lilies of
France--the Bohemian ostrich-plume, with its humble motto, the white
rose, not yet an emblem of discord--the blue garter and the red cross,
all in gorgeous combination--a fitting background, as it were, on which
to display the chivalrous groups seen in relief against it.
At the upper end was placed a long table for the Prince and his guests,
and here Sir Reginald took his seat, with many a hearty welcome from
his friends and companions in arms, while Gaston led his comrades to
the lower end, where Squires and pages were waiting for the provisions
brought in by the servants, which they were to carry to their Knights.
Gaston was soon engaged in conversation with his acquaintance, to some
of whom he introduced Eustace and Leonard, but the former found far
more interesting occupation in gazing on the company seated at the
upper table.
The Black Prince himself occupied the centre, his brother John at his
left hand, and at his right, a person whom both this post of honour and
the blazonry of his surcoat marked out as the dethroned King of
Castile. Pedro the Cruel had not, however, the forbidding countenance
which imagination would ascribe to him; his features were of the fair
and noble type of the old royal Gothic race of Spain; he had a
profusion of flaxen hair, and large blue eyes, rather too prominent,
and but for his receding forehead, and the expression of his lips, he
would have been a handsome man of princely mien. Something, too, there
was of fear, something of a scowl; he seemed to shrink from the open
and manly demeanour of Edward, and to turn with greater ease to
converse with John, who, less lofty in character than his brother,
better suited his nature.
There, too, Eustace beheld the stalwart form and rugged features of Sir
John Chandos; the slender figure and dark sparkling southern face of
the Captal de Buch; the rough joyous boon-companion visage of Sir Hugh
Calverly, the free-booting warrior; the youthful form of the young
step-son of the Prince, Lord Thomas Holland; the rude features of the
Breton Knight, Sir Oliver de Clisson, soon to be the bitterest foe of
the standard beneath which he was now fighting. Many were there whose
renown had charmed the ears of the young Squire of Lynwood Keep, and he
looked on the scene with the eagerness with which he would have watched
some favourite romance suddenly done into life and action.
"Eustace! What, Eustace, in a trance?" said d'Aubricour. "Waken, and
carry this trencher of beef to your brother. Best that you should do
it," he added in a low voice, taking up a flask of wine, "and save our
comrade from at once making himself a laughing-stock."
The discontented glance with which Leonard's eyes followed his fellow
Squires, did not pass unobserved by a person with whom d'Aubricour had
exchanged a few words, a squarely-made, dark-visaged man, with a thick
black beard, and a huge scar which had obliterated one eye; his
equipment was that of a Squire, but instead of, like others of the same
degree, attending on the guests at the upper table, he sat carelessly
sideways on the bench, with one elbow on the board.
"You gaze after that trencher as if you wished your turn was come,"
said he, in a patois of English and French, which Leonard could easily
understand, although he had always turned a deaf ear to Gaston's
attempts to instruct him in the latter language. However, a grunt was
his only reply.
"Or," pursued the Squire, "have you any fancy for carrying it yourself?
I, for my part, think we are well quit of the trouble."
"Why, ay," said Leonard, "but I trow I have as much right to serve at
the Prince's table as dainty Master Eustace. My father had never put
me under Sir Reginald's charge, had he deemed I should be kept here
among the serving-men."
"Sir Reginald? Which Sir Reginald has the honour of your service?"
asked the Squire, to whom Leonard's broad Somersetshire dialect seemed
to present few difficulties.
"Sir Reginald Lynwood, he with the curled brown locks, next to that
stern-looking old fellow with the gray hair."
"Ay, I know him of old. Him whom the Duke of Lancaster is pledging--a
proud, strict Englishman--as rigid a service as any in the camp."
"I should think so!" said Leonard. "Up in the morn hours before the
sun, to mass like a choir of novices, to clean our own arms and the
Knight's, like so many horse-boys, and if there be but a speck of rust,
or a sword-belt half a finger's length awry--"
"Ay, ay, I once had a fortnight's service with a Knight of that stamp,
but a fortnight was enough for me, I promise you. And yet Gaston le
Maure chooses to stay with him rather than lead a merry life with Sir
Perduccas d'Albret, with all to gain, and nought to lose! A different
life from the days he and I spent together of old."
"Gaston d'Aubricour is as sharp as the Knight himself," said Leonard,
"and gibes me without ceasing; but yet I could bear it all, were it not
for seeing Eustace, the clerk, preferred to me, as if I were not heir
to more acres than he can ever count crowns."
"What may then be your name, fair youth, and your inheritance?"
demanded the one-eyed Squire, "for your coat of arms is new in the
camp."
"My name is Leonard Ashton; my father--" but Leonard's speech was cut
short by a Squire who stumbled over his outstretched foot. Both
parties burst into angry exclamations, Leonard's new acquaintance
taking his part. Men looked up, and serious consequences might have
ensued, had not Gaston hastened to the spot. "Shame on you, young
malapert," said he to his hopeful pupil. "Cannot I leave you one
moment unwatched, but you must be brawling in the Prince's own
presence? Here, bear this bread to Sir Reginald instantly, and leave
me to make your peace. Master Clifford," added he, as Leonard shuffled
away, "'tis an uncouth slip whom Sir Reginald Lynwood has undertaken to
mould into form, and if he is visited as he deserves for each piece of
discourtesy, his life will not be long enough for amendment, so I must
e'en beg you to take my apology."
"Most readily, Master d'Aubricour," replied Clifford; "there would not
have been the least offence had the youth only possessed a civil
tongue."
"Is not he the son of one of your wealthy Englishmen?" asked the
one-eyed Squire, carelessly.
"Ha! Why should you think so?" said Gaston, turning sharply; "because
he shows so much good nurture?"
"Because his brains are grown fat with devouring his father's beeves,
fare on which you seem to thrive, le Maure," said the one-eyed, "though
you were not wont to like English beef and English discipline better
than Gascon wine and Gascon freedom. I begin to think that the cub of
the Black Wolf of the Pyrenees is settling down into a tame English
house-dog."
"He has teeth and claws at your service," replied Gaston.
"Ay?" said the Squire interrogatively; then, changing his tone, "But
tell me honestly, Gaston, repent you not of having taken service with
gallant Sir Perduccas?"
"Why, you have left him yourself."
"Yes, because we had sharp words on the spoil of a Navarrese village.
My present leader, Sir William Felton, is as free and easy as d'Albret,
or Aymerigot Marcel himself. And is not yon ungainly varlet the hope
of some rich English house?"
"I must see their hopes meet with no downfall," said Gaston, walking
away, and muttering to himself. "A plague upon it! To train two boys
is more than I bargained for, and over and above to hinder this
wiseacre Ashton from ruining himself, or being ruined by _le Borgne
Basque_! What brought him here? I thought he was safe in Castile with
the Free Companions. I would let the oaf take his course, for a wilful
wrong-headed fool, but that it would scarce be doing good service to
Sir Reginald."
The Knights had nearly finished their meal, and the Squires having
served them with wine, returned to their own table, now freshly
supplied with meat, which the yeomen in their turn carved for them.
Gaston kept Leonard under his own eye till the party broke up.
On the way to the tent, he began to take him to task. "A proper
commencement! Did you take the Prince's pavilion for one of your own
island hostels, where men may freely brawl and use their fists without
fear of aught save the parish constable?"
"What business had he to tread on my foot?" growled Leonard.
"What business had your foot there? Was not your office, as I told
you, to stand ready to hand me whatever I might call for?"
"I was speaking a few words to another gentleman."
"The fewer words you speak to _le Borgne Basque_ the better, unless you
think it is Sir Reginald's pleasure that you should be instructed in
all the dicing and drinking in this camp, and unless you wish that the
crowns with which your father stored your pouch should jingle in his
pockets. It is well for you the Knight marked you not."
"You held long enough parley with him yourself," said the refractory
pupil.
"Look you, Master Leonard Ashton, I do not presume to offer myself as
an example to you save, perhaps, in the matter of sitting a steed, or
handing a wine-cup. I have no purse to lose, and I have wit to keep it
if I had, or at least," as a recollection crossed him, "if I lost it,
it should be to please myself, and not _le Borgne Basque_; above all,
my name and fame are made, and yours--"
"What would you say of mine?" said Leonard, with sulky indignation.
"The heir of Ashton is not to be evened to a wandering landless
foreigner."
"It is not in sight of these mountain peaks," said Gaston,
contemptuously, "that I am to be called a foreigner; and as to being
landless, if I chose to take my stand on the old tower of Albricorte,
and call myself Lord of the whole hill-side, I should like to see who
would gainsay me. For name, I suspect you will find that many a man
has trembled at the sound of Beranger d'Albricorte, to whom Ashton
would be but that of an English clown. Moreover, in this camp I would
have you to know that the question is, not who has the broadest lands,
but who has the strongest arm. And, sir Squire, if you are not above
listening to a piece of friendly counsel, to brag of those acres of
yours is the surest way to attract spoilers. I had rather a dozen time
trust Eustace in such company than you, not only because he has more
wit, but because he has less coin."
"Who is this man? What is his name?" asked Eustace.
"_Le Borgne Basque_, I know no other," said Gaston. "We reck little of
names here, especially when it may be convenient to have them
forgotten. He is a Free Companion, a _routier_, brave enough, but more
ready at the sack than the assault, and loving best to plunder, waste,
and plunder again, or else to fleece such sheep as our friend here."
"How could such a man gain entrance to the Prince's pavilion?"
"Stout hearts and strong arms find entrance in most places," said
Gaston; "but, as you saw, he durst not appear at the upper table."
The next morning the army began their march to the Pyrenees. They
halted for some days at the foot of the hills, whilst negotiations were
passing between the Black Prince and Charles the Bad, King of Navarre,
who might easily have prevented their entrance into the Peninsula by
refusing a passage through his mountain fastnesses.
When the permission was granted, they advanced with considerable danger
and difficulty. The rugged paths were covered with snow and ice, which
made them doubly perilous for the horses, and but for Gaston's
familiarity with his native hills, Sir Reginald declared that he could
never have brought his little troop across them in safety.
At length they emerged through the celebrated Pass of Roncesvalles,
where Eustace in imagination listened to the echoes of the dying blast
of Roland. On the following evening he had the delight of reading his
history in the veritable pages of Archbishop Turpin, which precious
work he found in the possession of Brother Waleran, a lay-friar, in the
employment of Sir John Froissart the chronicler, who had sent him with
the army as a reporter of the events of the campaign. This new
acquaintance gave very little satisfaction to Sir Reginald, who was
almost ready to despair of Eustace's courage and manhood when he found
he had "gone back to his books," and manifested, if not so much serious
displeasure, yet even more annoyance, on this occasion, than when,
shortly after, he found that Leonard Ashton spent every moment at his
own disposal in the company of _le Borgne Basque_. That worthy,
meeting the young gentleman, had easily persuaded him that Gaston's
cautions only proceeded from fears of stories that might with too much
truth be told against himself, and by skilful flatteries of the young
Englishman's self-importance, and sympathy with his impatience of the
strict rule of the Knight of Lynwood, succeeded in establishing over
him great influence.
So fared it with the two young Squires, whilst the army began to enter
the dominions of the King of Castile. Here a want of provisions was
severely felt, for such was the hatred borne to Pedro the Cruel, that
every inhabitant of the country fled at his approach, carrying off, or
destroying, all that could be used as food. It was the intention of
Bertrand du Guesclin, the ally of Enrique of Trastamare, to remain
quietly in his camp of Navaretta, and allow hunger to do its work with
the invading force, but this prudent plan was prevented by the folly of
Don Tello, brother of Enrique, who, accusing Bertrand of cowardice, so
stung his fiery spirit that he resolved on instant combat, though
knowing how little dependence could be placed on his Spanish allies.
The challenge of the Prince of Wales was therefore accepted; and never
were tidings more welcome than these to the half-famished army,
encamped upon the banks of the Ebro, on the same ground on which, in
after years, English valour was once more to turn to flight a usurping
King of Spain.