IT was a cold, bleak morning in the beginning of March, and themist was drifting in dense rolling clouds through the passes ofthe Cantabrian mountains. The Company, who had passed the nightin a sheltered gully, were already astir, some crowding round theblazing fires and others romping or leaping over each other'sbacks for their limbs were chilled and the air biting. Here andthere, through the dense haze which surrounded them, there loomedout huge pinnacles and jutting boulders of rock: while high abovethe sea of vapor there towered up one gigantic peak, with thepink glow of the early sunshine upon its snow-capped head. Theground was wet, the rocks dripping, the grass and ever-greenssparkling with beads of moisture; yet the camp was loud withlaughter and merriment, for a messenger had ridden in from theprince with words of heart-stirring praise for what they haddone, and with orders that they should still abide in theforefront of the army.

Round one of the fires were clustered four or five of the leadingmen of the archers, cleaning the rust from their weapons, andglancing impatiently from time to time at a great pot whichsmoked over the blaze. There was Aylward squatting cross-leggedin his shirt, while he scrubbed away at his chain-mailbrigandine, whistling loudly the while. On one side of him satold Johnston, who was busy in trimming the feathers of somearrows to his liking; and on the other Hordle John, who lay withhis great limbs all asprawl, and his headpiece balanced upon hisuplifted foot. Black Simon of Norwich crouched amid the rocks,crooning an Eastland ballad to himself, while he whetted hissword upon a flat stone which lay across his knees; while besidehim sat Alleyne Edricson, and Norbury, the silent squire of SirOliver, holding out their chilled hands towards the cracklingfaggots

"Cast on another culpon, John, and stir the broth with thysword-sheath," growled Johnston, looking anxiously for thetwentieth time at the reeking pot.

"By my hilt!" cried Aylward, "now that John hath come by thisgreat ransom, he will scarce abide the fare of poor archer lads.How say you, camarade? When you see Hordle once more, there willbe no penny ale and fat bacon, but Gascon wines and baked meatsevery day of the seven."

"I know not about that," said John, kicking his helmet up intothe air and catching it in his hand. "I do but know that whetherthe broth be ready or no, I am about to dip this into it."

"It simmers and it boils," cried Johnston, pushing his hard-linedface through the smoke. In an instant the pot had been pluckedfrom the blaze, and its contents had been scooped up in half adozen steel head-pieces, which were balanced betwixt theirowners' knees, while, with spoon and gobbet of bread, theydevoured their morning meal.

"It is ill weather for bows," remarked John at last, when, with along sigh, he drained the last drop from his helmet. "My stringsare as limp as a cow's tail this morning."

"You should rub them with water glue," quoth Johnston. "Youremember, Samkin, that it was wetter than this on the morning ofCrecy, and yet I cannot call to mind that there was aught amisswith our strings."

"It is in my thoughts," said Black Simon, still pensivelygrinding his sword, "that we may have need of your strings eresundown. I dreamed of the red cow last night."

"And what is this red cow, Simon?" asked Alleyne.

"I know not, young sir; but I can only say that on the eve ofCadsand, and on the eve of Crecy, and on the eve of Nogent, Idreamed of a red cow; and now the dream has come upon me again,so I am now setting a very keen edge to my blade."

"Well said, old war-dog!" cried Aylward. "By my hilt! I praythat your dream may come true, for the prince hath not set us outhere to drink broth or to gather whortleberries. One more fight,and I am ready to hang up my bow, marry a wife, and take to thefire corner. But how now, Robin? Whom is it that you seek?"

"The Lord Loring craves your attendance in his tent," said ayoung archer to Alleyne.

The squire rose and proceeded to the pavilion, where he found theknight seated upon a cushion, with his legs crossed in front ofhim and a broad ribbon of parchment laid across his knees, overwhich he was poring with frowning brows and pursed lips.

"It came this morning by the prince's messenger," said he, "andwas brought from England by Sir John Fallislee, who is new comefrom Sussex. What make you of this upon the outer side?"

"It is fairly and clearly written," Alleyne answered, "and itsignifies To Sir Nigel Loring, Knight Constable of TwynhamCastle, by the hand of Christopher, the servant of God at thePriory of Christchurch."

"So I read it," said Sir Nigel. "Now I pray you to read what isset forth within."

Alleyne turned to the letter, and, as his eyes rested upon it,his face turned pale and a cry of surprise and grief burst fromhis lips.

"What then?" asked the knight, peering up at him anxiously."There is nought amiss with the Lady Mary or with the LadyMaude?"

"It is my brother--my poor unhappy brother!" cried Alleyne, withhis hand to his brow. "He is dead."

"By Saint Paul! I have never heard that he had shown so muchlove for you that you should mourn him so."

"Yet he was my brother--the only kith or kin that I had uponearth. Mayhap he had cause to be bitter against me, for his landwas given to the abbey for my upbringing. Alas! alas! and Iraised my staff against him when last we met! He has been slain--and slain, I fear, amidst crime and violence."

"Ha!" said Sir Nigel. "Read on, I pray you."

" 'God be with thee, my honored lord, and have thee in his holykeeping. The Lady Loring hath asked me to set down in writingwhat hath befallen at Twynham, and all that concerns the death ofthy ill neighbor the Socman of Minstead. For when ye had leftus, this evil man gathered around him all outlaws, villeins, andmasterless men, until they were come to such a force that theyslew and scattered the king's men who went against them. Then,coming forth from the woods, they laid siege to thy castle, andfor two days they girt us in and shot hard against us, with suchnumbers as were a marvel to see. Yet the Lady Loring held theplace stoutly, and on the second day the Socman was slain--by hisown men, as some think--so that we were delivered from theirhands; for which praise be to all the saints, and more especiallyto the holy Anselm, upon whose feast it came to pass. The LadyLoring, and the Lady Maude, thy fair daughter, are in goodhealth; and so also am I, save for an imposthume of the toe-joint, which hath been sent me for my sins. May all the saintspreserve thee!' "

"It was the vision of the Lady Tiphaine," said Sir Nigel, after apause. "Marked you not how she said that the leader was one witha yellow beard, and how he fell before the gate. But how cameit, Alleyne, that this woman, to whom all things are as crystal,and who hath not said one word which has not come to pass, wasyet so led astray as to say that your thoughts turned to TwynhamCastle even more than my own?"

"My fair lord," said Alleyne, with a flush on his weather-stainedcheeks, "the Lady Tiphaine may have spoken sooth when she saidit; for Twynham Castle is in my heart by day and in my dreams bynight."

"Ha!" cried Sir Nigel, with a sidelong glance.

"Yes, my fair lord; for indeed I love your daughter, the LadyMaude; and, unworthy as I am, I would give my heart's blood toserve her."

"By St. Paul! Edricson," said the knight coldly, arching hiseyebrows, "you aim high in this matter. Our blood is very old."

"And mine also is very old," answered the squire.

"And the Lady Maude is our single child. All our name and landscentre upon her."

"Alas! that I should say it, but I also am now the onlyEdricson."

"And why have I not heard this from you before, Alleyne? Insooth, I think that you have used me ill."

"Nay, my fair lord, say not so; for I know not whether yourdaughter loves me, and there is no pledge between us."

Sir Nigel pondered for a few moments, and then burst out a-laughing. "By St. Paul!" said he, "I know not why I should mixin the matter; for I have ever found that the Lady Maude was verywell able to look to her own affairs. Since first she couldstamp her little foot, she hath ever been able to get that forwhich she craved; and if she set her heart on thee, Alleyne, andthou on her, I do not think that this Spanish king, with histhree-score thousand men, could hold you apart. Yet this I willsay, that I would see you a full knight ere you go to my daughterwith words of love. I have ever said that a brave lance shouldwed her; and, by my soul! Edricson, if God spare you, I thinkthat you will acquit yourself well. But enough of such trifles,for we have our work before us, and it will be time to speak ofthis matter when we see the white cliffs of England once more.Go to Sir William Felton, I pray you, and ask him to come hither,for it is time that we were marching. There is no pass at thefurther end of the valley, and it is a perilous place should anenemy come upon us."

Alleyne delivered his message, and then wandered forth from thecamp, for his mind was all in a whirl with this unexpected news,and with his talk with Sir Nigel. Sitting upon a rock, with hisburning brow resting upon his hands, he thought of his brother,of their quarrel, of the Lady Maude in her bedraggled riding-dress, of the gray old castle, of the proud pale face in thearmory, and of the last fiery words with which she had sped himon his way. Then he was but a penniless, monk-bred lad, unknownand unfriended. Now he was himself Socman of Minstead, the headof an old stock, and the lord of an estate which, if reduced fromits former size, was still ample to preserve the dignity of hisfamily. Further, he had become a man of experience, was countedbrave among brave men, had won the esteem and confidence of herfather, and, above all, had been listened to by him when he toldhim the secret of his love. As to the gaining of knighthood, insuch stirring times it was no great matter for a brave squire ofgentle birth to aspire to that honor. He would leave his bonesamong these Spanish ravines, or he would do some deed which wouldcall the eyes of men upon him.

Alleyne was still seated on the rock, his griefs and his joysdrifting swiftly over his mind like the shadow of clouds upon asunlit meadow, when of a sudden he became conscious of a low,deep sound which came booming up to him through the fog. Closebehind him he could hear the murmur of the bowmen, the occasionalbursts of hoarse laughter, and the champing and stamping of theirhorses. Behind it all, however, came that low-pitched, deep-toned hum, which seemed to come from every quarter and to fillthe whole air. In the old monastic days he remembered to haveheard such a sound when he had walked out one windy night atBucklershard, and had listened to the long waves breaking uponthe shingly shore. Here, however, was neither wind nor sea, andyet the dull murmur rose ever louder and stronger out of theheart of the rolling sea of vapor. He turned and ran to the camp,shouting an alarm at the top of his voice.

It was but a hundred paces, and yet ere he had crossed it everybowman was ready at his horse's head, and the group of knightswere out and listening intently to the ominous sound.

"It is a great body of horse," said Sir William Felton, "and theyare riding very swiftly hitherwards."

"Yet they must be from the prince's army," remarked Sir RichardCauston, "for they come from the north."

"Nay," said the Earl of Angus, "it is not so certain; for thepeasant with whom we spoke last night said that it was rumoredthat Don Tello, the Spanish king's brother, had ridden with sixthousand chosen men to beat up the prince's camp. It may be thaton their backward road they have come this way."

"By St. Paul!" cried Sir Nigel, "I think that it is even as yousay, for that same peasant had a sour face and a shifting eye, asone who bore us little good will. I doubt not that he hasbrought these cavaliers upon us."

"But the mist covers us," said Sir Simon Burley. "We have yettime to ride through the further end of the pass."

"Were we a troop of mountain goats we might do so," answered SirWilliam Felton, "but it is not to be passed by a company ofhorsemen. If these be indeed Don Tello and his men, then we mustbide where we are, and do what we can to make them rue the daythat they found us in their path."

"Well spoken, William!" cried Sir Nigel, in high delight. "Ifthere be so many as has been said, then there will be much honorto be gained from them and every hope of advancement. But thesound has ceased, and I fear that they have gone some other way."

"Or mayhap they have come to the mouth of the gorge, and aremarshalling their ranks. Hush and hearken! for they are no greatway from us."

The Company stood peering into the dense fog-wreath, amidst asilence so profound that the dripping of the water from the rocksand the breathing of the horses grew loud upon the ear. Suddenlyfrom out the sea of mist came the shrill sound of a neigh,followed by a long blast upon a bugle.

"It is a Spanish call, my fair lord," said Black Simon. "It isused by their prickers and huntsmen when the beast hath not fled,but is still in its lair."

"By my faith!" said Sir Nigel, smiling, "if they are in a humorfor venerie we may promise them some sport ere they sound themort over us. But there is a hill in the centre of the gorge onwhich we might take our stand."

"I marked it yester-night," said Felton, "and no better spotcould be found for our purpose, for it is very steep at the back.It is but a bow-shot to the left, and, indeed, I can see theshadow of it."

The whole Company, leading their horses, passed across to thesmall hill which loomed in front of them out of the mist. It wasindeed admirably designed for defence, for it sloped down infront, all jagged and boulder-strewn, while it fell away in asheer cliff of a hundred feet or more. On the summit was a smalluneven plateau, with a stretch across of a hundred paces, and adepth of half as much again.

"Unloose the horses!" said Sir Nigel. "We have no space forthem, and if we hold our own we shall have horses and to sparewhen this day's work is done. Nay, keep yours, my fair sirs, forwe may have work for them. Aylward, Johnston, let your men forma harrow on either side of the ridge. Sir Oliver and you, myLord Angus, I give you the right wing, and the left to you, SirSimon, and to you, Sir Richard Causten. I and Sir William Feltonwill hold the centre with our men-at-arms. Now order the ranks,and fling wide the banners, for our souls are God's and ourbodies the king's, and our swords for Saint George and forEngland!"

Sir Nigel had scarcely spoken when the mist seemed to thin in thevalley, and to shred away into long ragged clouds which trailedfrom the edges of the cliffs. The gorge in which they had campedwas a mere wedge-shaped cleft among the hills, three-quarters ofa mile deep, with the small rugged rising upon which they stoodat the further end, and the brown crags walling it in on threesides. As the mist parted, and the sun broke through, it gleamedand shimmered with dazzling brightness upon the armor andheadpieces of a vast body of horsemen who stretched across thebarranca from one cliff to the other, and extended backwardsuntil their rear guard were far out upon the plain beyond. Lineafter line, and rank after rank, they choked the neck of thevalley with a long vista of tossing pennons, twinkling lances,waving plumes and streaming banderoles, while the curvets andgambades of the chargers lent a constant motion and shimmer tothe glittering, many-colored mass. A yell of exultation, and aforest of waving steel through the length and breadth of theircolumn, announced that they could at last see their entrappedenemies, while the swelling notes of a hundred bugles and drums,mixed with the clash of Moorish cymbals, broke forth into a proudpeal of martial triumph. Strange it was to these gallant andsparkling cavaliers of Spain to look upon this handful of menupon the hill, the thin lines of bowmen, the knots of knights andmen-at-arms with armor rusted and discolored from long service,and to learn that these were indeed the soldiers whose fame andprowess had been the camp-fire talk of every army in Christendom.Very still and silent they stood, leaning upon their bows, whiletheir leaders took counsel together in front of them. No clangof bugle rose from their stern ranks, but in the centre waved theleopards of England, on the right the ensign of their Companywith the roses of Loring, and on the left, over three score ofWelsh bowmen, there floated the red banner of Merlin with theboars'-heads of the Buttesthorns. Gravely and sedately theystood beneath the morning sun waiting for the onslaught of theirfoemen.

"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, gazing with puckered eye downthe valley, "there appear to be some very worthy people amongthem. What is this golden banner which waves upon the left?"

"It is the ensign of the Knights of Calatrava," answered Felton.

"And the other upon the right?"

"It marks the Knights of Santiago, and I see by his flag thattheir grand-master rides at their head. There too is the bannerof Castile amid yonder sparkling squadron which heads the mainbattle. There are six thousand men-at-arms with ten squadrons ofslingers as far as I may judge their numbers."

"There are Frenchmen among them, my fair lord," remarked BlackSimon. "I can see the pennons of De Couvette, De Brieux, SaintPol, and many others who struck in against us for Charles ofBlois."

"You are right," said Sir William, "for I can also see them.There is much Spanish blazonry also, if I could but read it. DonDiego, you know the arms of your own land. Who are they who havedone us this honor?"

The Spanish prisoner looked with exultant eyes upon the deep andserried ranks of his countrymen.

"By Saint James!" said he, "if ye fall this day ye fall by nomean hands, for the flower of the knighthood of Castile rideunder the banner of Don Tello, with the chivalry of Asturias,Toledo, Leon, Cordova, Galicia, and Seville. I see the guidonsof Albornez, Cacorla, Rodriguez, Tavora, with the two greatorders, and the knights of France and of Aragon. If you willtake my rede you will come to a composition with them, for theywill give you such terms as you have given me."

"Nay, by Saint Paul! it were pity if so many brave men were drawntogether, and no little deed of arms to come of it. Ha! William,they advance upon us; and, by my soul! it is a sight that isworth coming over the seas to see."

As he spoke, the two wings of the Spanish host, consisting of theKnights of Calatrava on the one side and of Santiago upon theother, came swooping swiftly down the valley, while the main bodyfollowed more slowly behind. Five hundred paces from the Englishthe two great bodies of horse crossed each other, and, sweepinground in a curve, retired in feigned confusion towards theircentre. Often in bygone wars had the Moors tempted the hot-blooded Spaniards from their places of strength by such pretendedflights, but there were men upon the hill to whom every ruse antrick of war were as their daily trade and practice. Again andeven nearer came the rallying Spaniards, and again with cry offear and stooping bodies they swerved off to right and left, butthe English still stood stolid and observant among their rocks.The vanguard halted a long bow shot from the hill, and withwaving spears and vaunting shouts challenged their enemies tocome forth, while two cavaliers, pricking forward from theglittering ranks, walked their horses slowly between the twoarrays with targets braced and lances in rest like thechallengers in a tourney.

"By Saint Paul!" cried Sir Nigel, with his one eye glowing likean ember, "these appear to be two very worthy and debonairgentlemen. I do not call to mind when I have seen any people whoseemed of so great a heart and so high of enterprise. We have ourhorses, Sir William: shall we not relieve them of any vow whichthey may have upon their souls?"

Felton's reply was to bound upon his charger, and to urge it downthe slope, while Sir Nigel followed not three spears'-lengthsbehind him. It was a rugged course, rocky and uneven, yet thetwo knights, choosing their men, dashed onwards at the top oftheir speed, while the gallant Spaniards flew as swiftly to meetthem. The one to whom Felton found himself opposed was a tallstripling with a stag's head upon his shield, while Sir Nigel'sman was broad and squat with plain steel harness, and a pink andwhite torse bound round his helmet. The first struck Felton onthe target with such force as to split it from side to side, butSir William's lance crashed through the camail which shieldedthe Spaniard's throat, and he fell, screaming hoarsely, to theground. Carried away by the heat and madness of fight, theEnglish knight never drew rein, but charged straight on into thearray of the knights of Calatrava. Long time the silent ranksupon the hill could see a swirl and eddy deep down in the heartof the Spanish column, with a circle of rearing chargers andflashing blades, Here and there tossed the white plume of theEnglish helmet, rising and falling like the foam upon a wave,with the fierce gleam and sparkle ever circling round it until atlast it had sunk from view, and another brave man had turned fromwar to peace.

Sir Nigel, meanwhile, had found a foeman worthy of his steel forhis opponent was none other than Sebastian Gomez, the pickedlance of the monkish Knights of Santiago, who had won fame in ahundred bloody combats with the Moors of Andalusia. So fierce wastheir meeting that their spears shivered up to the very grasp,and the horses reared backwards until it seemed that they mustcrash down upon their riders. Yet with consummate horsemanshipthey both swung round in a long curvet, and then plucking outtheir swords they lashed at each other like two lusty smithshammering upon an anvil. The chargers spun round each other,biting and striking, while the two blades wheeled and whizzed andcircled in gleams of dazzling light. Cut, parry, and thrustfollowed so swiftly upon each other that the eye could not followthem, until at last coming thigh to thigh, they cast their armsaround each other and rolled off their saddles to the ground.The heavier Spaniard threw himself upon his enemy, and pinninghim down beneath him raised his sword to slay him, while a shoutof triumph rose from the ranks of his countrymen. But the fatalblow never fell, for even as his arm quivered before descending,the Spaniard gave a shudder, and stiffening himself rolledheavily over upon his side, with the blood gushing from hisarmpit and from the slit of his vizor. Sir Nigel sprang to hisfeet with his bloody dagger in his left hand and gazed down uponhis adversary, but that fatal and sudden stab in the vital spot,which the Spaniard had exposed by raising his arm, had provedinstantly mortal. The Englishman leaped upon his horse and madefor the hill, at the very instant that a yell of rage from athousand voices and the clang of a score of bugles announced theSpanish onset.

But the islanders were ready and eager for the encounter. Withfeet firmly planted, their sleeves rolled back to give free playto their muscles, their long yellow bow-staves in their lefthands, and their quivers slung to the front, they had waited inthe four-deep harrow formation which gave strength to theirarray, and yet permitted every man to draw his arrow freelywithout harm to those in front. Aylward and Johnston had beenengaged in throwing light tufts of grass into the air to gaugethe wind force, and a hoarse whisper passed down the ranks fromthe file-leaders to the men, with scraps of advice andadmonition.

"Do not shoot outside the fifteen-score paces," cried Johnston."We may need all our shafts ere we have done with them."

"Better to overshoot than to undershoot," added Aylward. "Betterto strike the rear guard than to feather a shaft in the earth."

"Loose quick and sharp when they come," added another. "Let it bethe eye to the string, the string to the shaft, and the shaft tothe mark. By Our Lady! their banners advance, and we must holdour ground now if ever we are to see Southampton Water again."

Alleyne, standing with his sword drawn amidst the archers, saw along toss and heave of the glittering squadrons. Then the frontranks began to surge slowly forward, to trot, to canter, togallop, and in an instant the whole vast array was hurtlingonward, line after line, the air full of the thunder of theircries, the ground shaking with the beat of their hoots, thevalley choked with the rushing torrent of steel, topped by thewaving plumes, the slanting spears and the fluttering banderoles.On they swept over the level and up to the slope, ere they metthe blinding storm of the English arrows. Down went the wholeranks in a whirl of mad confusion, horses plunging and kicking,bewildered men falling, rising, staggering on or back, whileever new lines of horsemen came spurring through the gaps andurged their chargers up the fatal slope. All around him Alleynecould hear the stern, short orders of the master-bowmen, whilethe air was filled with the keen twanging of the strings and theswish and patter of the shafts. Right across the foot of thehill there had sprung up a long wall of struggling horses andstricken men, which ever grew and heightened as fresh squadronspoured on the attack. One young knight on a gray jennet leapedover his fallen comrades and galloped swiftly up the hill,shrieking loudly upon Saint James, ere he fell within a spear-length of the English line, with the feathers of arrows thrustingout from every crevice and joint of his armor. So for five longminutes the gallant horsemen of Spain and of France strove everand again to force a passage, until the wailing note of a buglecalled them back, and they rode slowly out of bow-shot, leavingtheir best and their bravest in the ghastly, blood-mottled heapbehind them.

But there was little rest for the victors. Whilst the knightshad charged them in front the slingers had crept round uponeither flank and had gained a footing upon the cliffs and behindthe outlying rocks. A storm of stones broke suddenly upon thedefenders, who, drawn up in lines upon the exposed summit,offered a fair mark to their hidden foes. Johnston, the oldarcher, was struck upon the temple and fell dead without a groan,while fifteen of his bowmen and six of the men-at-arms werestruck down at the same moment. The others lay on their faces toavoid the deadly hail, while at each side of the plateau a fringeof bowmen exchanged shots with the slingers and crossbowmenamong the rocks, aiming mainly at those who had swarmed up thecliffs, and bursting into laughter and cheers when a well-aimedshaft brought one of their opponents toppling down from his loftyperch.

"I think, Nigel," said Sir Oliver, striding across to the littleknight, "that we should all acquit ourselves better had we ournone-meat, for the sun is high in the heaven."

"By Saint Paul!" quoth Sir Nigel, plucking the patch from hiseye, "I think that I am now clear of my vow, for this Spanishknight was a person from whom much honor might be won. Indeed, hewas a very worthy gentleman, of good courage, and greathardiness, and it grieves me that he should have come by such ahurt. As to what you say of food, Oliver, it is not to bethought of, for we have nothing with us upon the hill."

"Nigel!" cried Sir Simon Burley, hurrying up with consternationupon his face, "Aylward tells me that there are not ten-scorearrows left in all their sheaves. See! they are springing fromtheir horses, and cutting their sollerets that they may rush uponus. Might we not even now make a retreat?"

"My soul will retreat from my body first!" cried the littleknight. "Here I am, and here I bide, while God gives me strengthto lift a sword."

"And so say I!" shouted Sir Oliver, throwing his mace high intothe air and catching it again by the handle.

"To your arms, men!" roared Sir Nigel. "Shoot while you may, andthen out sword, and let us live or die together!"