SPEARS OF DESTINY
In Rouen for the first time the comrades saw signs of the Crusade
which was being preached throughout Europe. As they rode past the
Cathedral on their way to the town gates, several hungry-eyed friars
rushed at them, brandishing crosses and demanding that they take the
pledge of service.
"Gladly would I do so, reverend sirs," answered Hugh courteously,
"but I am under a vow to complete a certain task, which taketh me to
Outremer, and peradventure to the Holy Land. If so it falls out, I
shall endeavour to do my devoir as becomes a servant of Christ."
One of the friars turned away, but the elder raised his right hand in
a threatening gesture, dangling the cross aloft.
"Beware and ye set the affairs of this life before those of the life
everlasting," he cried. "Small good will attend the efforts of those
who put off the service of Christ for the satisfaction of their own
ends. Think well, sir squire, if you can afford to risk failure on
earth and after death. The Cross comes first."
"A pest on you, sir friar," exclaimed Matteo cheerfully. "Why must
you nag on strangers, when I'll warrant there are a-many of your
townsfolk here are not coming forward? Be off with you."
He tossed the man a coin, which the friar pouched with ludicrous
haste.
"Little fear those alms will be applied to pilgrims' wants,"
continued Matteo. "These preaching fellows are a veritable nuisance.
Yon knave saw that you liked not to be singled out in public, and
would have pursued you in hopes of a larger gift."
"Are they so venal?" asked Hugh in amazement.
"Some. They are not all such hypocrites. A Crusade is a strange
business, like the men who throng its ranks and lead its fortunes, a
mingling of good aims and wickedness. No longer will people go forth
because they feel that they must. Nowadays the Holy Apostle of Rome
must promise them all manner of indulgences, absolutions, remissions
of sins and rewards, spiritual and temporal."
"We hear little of this Crusade in England," remarked Hugh
thoughtfully, as they passed out of the gate and took the road to the
east.
"Ay, like enough. Had Lion-Heart lived 'twould have been otherwise,
I trow. But King John is just come to peace with King Philip of
France, after all these years of wars, and he is in no mind to begin
another quarrel. Nor is King Philip, for that matter. The German
Emperor is at swords' points with Rome, so that none but the chief
vassals of France and Flanders, Lorraine, Burgundy, Provence and
Lombardy are left to perform the task which falls rightly to the
share of their lords."
"But such a Crusade, wanting some great Prince to lead it, must
surely fail," objected Hugh.
"Mayhap," returned Matteo. "But 'twill not fail for lack of trained
men-at-arms. The ceasing of the wars in Normandy, Aquitaine and
Poitou hath left thousands of the brethren without a profession.
They will be blithe to take service in a new cause, which promiseth
booty and assortment of their multitudes of sins."
"I would I might see somewhat of their venture," mused Hugh. "Hast
made me long for a charge at Saladin's chivalry with all your wild
tales."
"Who knows? Our quest may lead us thither," replied Matteo. "What
say you, Ralph, who ride so primly wordless?"
"Marry, Messer Matteo, I am that happy to feel solid earth beneath my
feet I cannot give thought to anything but the goodness of all about
me," answered Ralph, grinning broadly. "'Tis a fair land, this
France, more like unto our England than I had supposed. But I cannot
see that it is larger, as you told me."
"Didst think to measure it all at a glance?" retorted Matteo. "But I
spoke of whither our quest might lead us. Art ready to venture the
sea again that we may reach Paynimry?"
"Ay, if must be," Ralph sighed dolefully. "But I slew Paynims enough
in the sea-fight to satisfy me a while, an it please you, lords."
Hugh and Matteo laughed at this naïve admission, and so the comrades
jogged along their road. They crossed the frontier of the Duchy
without difficulty, and passed into the beautiful country of the Isle
of France. That night they lay at the castle of a lord who welcomed
them eagerly as strangers from a far land. Hugh was received for his
name's sake; Matteo won loud applause from knight and lady, squire
and men-at-arms, by his chants and romaunts. The best the castle had
was theirs, and they resumed their journey the next morning mightily
refreshed.
Spring was in the air. The trees were leafing; birds sang by the
wayside; in the depths of the forests sometimes they could catch the
far-off note of hunting-horns; fine lords and gay ladies, sober
burgesses, portly priests and prelates, parties on pilgrimages,
passed them by, with all the pomp and pageantry of life. Once a
small clump of spears showed on the skyline and galloped swiftly
toward them, but when the men-at-arms, hardy, whiskered Free
Companions, viewed the comrades at close quarters, they circled and
drew off. Little booty and hard blows were not to the liking of such
gentry.
Day by day they travelled, and each day seemed more eventful, more
diverse in its surprises, than its predecessor. By Beaumont, in the
Isle of France, they rode more than thirty leagues to Soissons on the
marches of Champagne. Several times they overtook troops of men on
horseback and afoot, bound southward into Italy to embark for the
Crusade. Hugh looked longingly at the crosses proudly borne on the
Crusaders' breasts.
From Soissons they made a long day's journey to Reims. Here they
turned southward, and rode by Epernay to Sezanne. Beyond Sezanne the
road to Troyes led through a vast forest, wild and tenantless, save
for the occasional smokes of charcoal-burners. When they halted at
midday the forest still stretched before them, seemingly endless and
without sign of human habitation. They were obliged to satisfy their
hunger with such food as Ralph had brought in a wallet on the
packhorse.
"A fit setting for a romaunt," said Hugh, as they mounted again.
"I like it not," answered Matteo, shuddering. "My body craves the
sun. Here, where the trees tower so high and arch overhead, it is
all shadow, all evil. I like it not."
"Y'are unwonted dolorous, comrade," smiled Hugh.
"Ay, and of a mood to take precautions," Matteo assented, drawing the
mail hood about his ears.
"Why, dost fear----"
"In these forest ways foes may come secretly upon us."
"What foes?"
"It matters not who they may be," returned the jongleur. "We wear
two suits of armour that would be worth a score of forest varlets'
lives. That is sufficient temptation."
Hugh sobered.
"Art in the right," he said.
And he donned the casque of plate that hung at his saddle-bow.
Gradually, too, he became possessed by the same spirit of melancholy
that oppressed Matteo. Of the three only Ralph rode cheerful and
happy, a lusty whistle on his lips. But the hours passed and nothing
happened. 'Twas late afternoon when Matteo reined in abruptly and
laid his hand on Hugh's arm.
"Dost hear?" he asked.
"What?"
"Yes, there it is again!"
"What?" repeated Hugh. "In this helm I hear naught a few feet
distant."
Matteo beckoned Ralph to them.
"Hark," he said. "Give ear ahead, Ralph. Dost hear aught else than
the whispering of leaves?"
Ralph inclined his head.
"Ay, that do I!" he exclaimed. "Shouts and it may be the clang of
steel."
"I thought so," cried the jongleur triumphantly. "Come, Hugh, there
is mischief under way along the road."
A great joy sprang up in their hearts as they spurred eagerly forward
betwixt thick walls of greenery, the thudding of the horses' hoofs
deadening all other sounds.
"Hast banished gloom?" shouted Hugh above the thunder of the hoofs.
Matteo flung his spear in air and caught it again.
"I shall burn a candle to Our Lady of Tortosa for this," he answered.
"My bones have been aching for a fight--and I care not for odds. The
greater----"
The road curled around a projecting bank, and without warning they
burst from the wood onto the edge of a cleared space, where another
road crossed the one by which they were travelling. Midway of this
space in front of a wayside shrine, a group of ragged knaves swirled
about a knot of serving men, who fell rapidly before the clubs and
long knives of the attackers. Beside the shrine a second group of
robbers guarded a man and woman on horseback.
"Forest runners," said Matteo.
"St. James, but we are in luck!" exulted Hugh. "There are more than
a score of the rogues. Ralph, do you stand by to cover our charge.
We shall surprise them right merrily."
Ralph dismounted, nimbly notched his string and knocked an arrow.
"Spears?" questioned Matteo.
"No," Hugh decided. "No knightly weapons for such enemies. The
sword shall be their portion."
They drew their blades and charged. The outlaws set up a shrill
screaming, and scattered loosely. But they were no cowards, those
forest ruffians. Light-footed and agile, they ran to meet the mailed
horsemen, trying to leap up behind and stab under the folds of the
hauberk or to hock the horses in passing. But Hugh and Matteo were
ready for them, and Ralph, from the forest edge, sent his deadly
arrows hissing through the air whenever one of the comrades was in
danger.
Back and forth swayed the fight, the grey stallion and Matteo's Arab
bearing their full share of the conflict with pawing hoofs and
champing jaws. Hugh fought as he had been taught, thrusting ahead by
main strength, cutting down whoever stepped in his path. Matteo
fought after the Saracen fashion, manoeuvring his horse to right or
left, avoiding blows and seeking to deal them where they were least
expected.
The comrades hacked a bloody path in the outlaws' ranks, but try as
they might, they could not win to the prisoners. The most they could
achieve was to drive the enemy steadily before them until the two
hostile groups were united by the shrine. Then Hugh called a halt.
"Curse this helm!" he cried. "I cannot see for it! Prithee, Matteo,
help me unbuckle it. 'Twas not intended for such a bicker."
When it was off he sat bare-headed, inhaling the fragrant forest air
and studying the situation which confronted them. Half-a-dozen
outlaws lay with the dead servants of the two prisoners, around whom
clustered the remnant of the band. Whilst Hugh looked, the woman
waved her hand to him and smiled. She was clad in a close-fitting
green habit that emphasised the flowing lines of her tall figure.
Her face Hugh saw vaguely to be very beautiful. The man was huddled
in his saddle, apparently cowed by the savagery of his captors. His
rich dress, no less than hers, bespoke their exalted degree.
"Best not charge the knaves, Hugh," urged Matteo. "Stir their anger
and make them break toward us. So we may ride them down easier."
"Good counsel," Hugh approved. "What ho, varlets!" he hailed the
outlaws. "Hast had enough?"
They snarled, and formed their ranks closer. Hugh laughed.
"Prick them up, Ralph," he ordered.
The longbow twanged, and clothyard shafts flew over the grass like
angry hornets; but each buzz ended in a shriek of agony, as the
arrows drove through leather jerkin and flesh. A hoarse voice rasped
from the unkempt ranks.
"Enough, lords! Have mercy on your poor slaves! Do not slay us!"
"What is this?" demanded Hugh, surprised. "Do you yield to our
mercy?"
A frowsy fellow, armed like his mates with a knotted club and a
knife, stood forth from the group and flung himself on his knees.
"We ask only that you let us go free, lords," he pleaded. "Do not
send us back to the seigneur to be branded and whipped. We will die
first!"
"What mean you?"
Hugh rode forward to the man's side, moved to pity.
"We are masterless men, lord. We have no homes, no food or cattle.
We were hungry. But we meant no harm."
"The corpses of those you slew prove that," agreed Hugh grimly.
"Think of a better reason for mercy."
The man crawled closer.
"There are those who love us, lord," he cried. "We are men, even if
we are serfs. We love those who love us and look to us for care. We
seek to satisfy their wants. Yet we are satisfied with a mud hut,
where you have a castle. We wear only coarse clothes, where you wear
camlet and cendal. We do not ask for fowls and fair white bread,
with rich wines; but we must have some meat to keep us from starving.
Our lot is hard, lord. We do but try to find that which will keep
our loved ones alive. Spare us for them!"
"You speak like a clerk, fellow!" exclaimed Hugh. "'Twas
well-argued. What think you, Matteo? Shall----"
"Look behind you!" shrieked the woman prisoner from the outlaw ranks.
Hugh turned to see a party of the forest rogues creeping from the
protection of a thicket in their rear. At the same moment the fellow
at his feet leaped up and swung knife and club at his throat. But
Beosund, the grey stallion, saved his master's life. The brave horse
reared high on his hindlegs so that the blows only numbed Hugh's arm,
curvetted in a demi-volte and galloped clear of the trap after Matteo.
No outlaw dared to press the pursuit in face of Ralph's bow.
"How now," panted Hugh angrily, as they reined in at the forest edge.
"Are we to be balked by such rascals?"
"Not so, an you follow my counsel," replied Matteo. "Let us do this
wise. Ralph, do you shoot fast as you may, aiming all your shafts at
one point in their ranks. So you shall make a gap, and into this we
will gallop, and if Our Lady aids us, perchance seize the prisoners
and lead them to safety. Are you agreed?"
"Ay, 'tis a good plan."
"In God's name, then, let us charge!"
The grey stallion and the Arab thundered forward again, and the
forest runners, despite their terrible punishment, met the attack
like wolves too hungry to know fear. They bit at the steel that slew
them, twisting their taloned-hands in the horses' manes in desperate
efforts to drag their enemies down. The comrades hewed until their
arms were weary, but always there seemed to be more of the outlaws
eager to die. It was Ralph's shooting that turned the tide. He ran
hither and yon, speeding his shafts where they would do the most
good, and the certain death they carried was more fearsome than the
thirsty swords.
Hugh thought the fight would never end. A dying outlaw clinging to
his stirrup, a second man hacking at his back for a weak spot in the
mail, he found himself facing a third enemy who belaboured his
unshielded side with a huge club. Matteo was busied with other
adversaries. Hugh had to save himself, for so closely was he engaged
that Ralph did not dare to shoot.
But Hugh rallied to the emergency with all his remaining strength,
kicked free of the clutching hands on his stirrup, smashed in the
face of the man behind him with the pommel of his sword, and by a
back-hand blow slashed the club from the hands of the third varlet.
The fellow dodged and ran. Hugh spurred on in a bloodshot mist,
until a white hand was laid upon his rein.
"You have won, sir knight," said a deep voice that thrummed like
harp-strings. "They have fled."
Slowly the mist was dissipated, and Hugh looked into a pair of
splendid black eyes, eyes of midnight darkness, exquisitely lashed,
gems in a face of haughty loveliness under a coronet of raven hair.
Heavy-lidded and languorous, they aroused in him a faint uneasiness,
fear of he knew not what.
"Fled?" he heard himself croak.
"They fled from your swords," answered the wonderful voice.
Hugh rubbed his eyes with the back of a mailed glove and looked about
him. Matteo was riding towards them, escorting the lady's companion.
Ralph was leading the pack-horse across the clearing as unconcerned
as if their journey had not been interrupted, stopping now and then
to retrieve his arrows from the bodies that littered the ground in
front of the shrine. Of living outlaws there was not a trace. The
survivors of the band had melted into the forest.
"From our swords?" repeated Hugh. "Yet----" he broke off and called
to Matteo--"what make you of our victory?"
"'Twas a good fight, Hugh, and we won; but there ride certain allies
who contributed in some measure, or I guess wrongly."
He pointed up the cross-road. The westering sun shone full upon a
great foison of spears, pennoned and unpennoned, that blocked it like
a moving hedge.
"Who are they?" asked Hugh in bewilderment.
Matteo shrugged his shoulders.
"I know not. Spears of destiny, mayhap. In sooth, a mighty company."