XXIV. How Nigel Was Called to His Master (2)

    “Give my greetings to the King of France and tell him that England will never pay ransom for me. But it seems to me, my Lord Cardinal, that you have our numbers and condition very ready upon your tongue, and I would fain know how the eye of a Churchman can read a line of battle so easily. I have seen that these knights of your household have walked freely to and fro within our camp, and I much fear that when I welcomed you as envoys I have in truth given my protection to spies. How say you, my Lord Cardinal?”
    “Fair Prince, I know not how you can find it in your heart or conscience to say such evil words.”
    “There is this red-bearded nephew of thine, Robert de Duras. See where he stands yonder, counting and prying. Hark hither, young sir! I have been saying to your uncle the Cardinal that it is in my mind that you and your comrades have carried news of our dispositions to the French King. How say you?”
    The knight turned pale and sank his eyes. “My lord,” he murmured, “it may be that I have answered some questions.”
    “And how will such answers accord with your honor, seeing that we have trusted you since you came in the train of the Cardinal?”
    “My lord, it is true that I am in the train of the Cardinal, and yet I am liege man of King John and a knight of France, so I pray you to assuage your wrath against me.”
    The Prince ground his teeth and his piercing eyes blazed upon the youth. “By my father’s soul! I can scarce forbear to strike you to the earth! But this I promise you, that if you show that sign of the Red Griffin in the field and if you be taken alive in to-morrow’s battle, your head shall most assuredly be shorn from your shoulders.”
    “Fair son, indeed you speak wildly,” cried the Cardinal. “I pledge you my word that neither my nephew Robert nor any of my train will take part in the battle. And now I leave you, sire, and may God assoil your soul, for indeed in all this world no men stand in greater peril than you and those who are around you, and I rede you that you spend the night in such ghostly exercises as may best prepare you for that which may befall.” So saying the Cardinal bowed, and with his household walking behind him set off for the spot where they had left their’ horses, whence they rode to the neighboring Abbey.
    The angry Prince turned upon his heel and entered his tent once more, whilst Chandos, glancing round, held out a warm welcoming hand to Nigel.
    “I have heard much of your noble deeds,” said he. “Already your name rises as a squire errant. I stood no higher, nor so high, at your age.”
    Nigel flushed with pride and pleasure. “Indeed, my dear lord, it is very little that I have done. But now that I am back at your side I hope that in truth I shall learn to bear myself in worthy fashion, for where else should I win honor if it be not under your banner.”
    “Truly, Nigel, you have come at a very good time for advancement. I cannot see how we can leave this spot without a great battle which will live in men’s minds forever. In all our fights in France I cannot call to mind any in which they have been so strong or we so weak as now, so that there will be the more honor to be gained. I would that we had two thousand more archers. But I doubt not that we shall give them much trouble ere they drive us out from amidst these hedges. Have you seen the French?”
    “Nay, fair sir, I have but this moment arrived.”
    “I was about to ride forth myself to coast their army and observe their countenance, so come with me ere the night fall, and we shall see what we can of their order and dispositions.”
    There was a truce betwixt the two forces for the day, on account of the ill-advised and useless interposition of the Cardinal of Perigord, Hence when Chandos and Nigel had pushed their horses through the long hedge which fronted the position they found that many small parties of the knights of either army were riding up and down on the plain outside. The greater number of these groups were French, since it was very necessary for them to know as much as possible of the English defenses; and many of their scouts had ridden up to within a hundred yards of the hedge, where they were sternly ordered back by the pickets of archers on guard.
    Through these scattered knots of horsemen Chandos rode, and as many of them were old antagonists it was “Ha, John!” on the one side, and “Ha, Raoul!” “Ha, Nicholas!” “Ha, Guichard!” upon the other, as they brushed past them. Only one cavalier greeted them amiss, a large, red-faced man, the Lord Clermont, who by some strange chance bore upon his surcoat a blue virgin standing amid golden sunbeams, which was the very device which Chandos had donned for the day. The fiery Frenchman dashed across their path and drew his steed back on to its haunches.
    “How long is it, my Lord Chandos,” said he hotly, “since you have taken it upon yourself to wear my arms?”
    Chandos smiled. “It is surely you who have mine,” said he, “since this surcoat was worked for thee by the good nuns of Windsor a long year ago.”
    “If it were not for the truce,” said Clermont, “I would soon show you that you have no right to wear it.”
    “Look for it then in the battle to-morrow, and I also will look for yours,” Chandos answered. “There we can very honorably settle the matter.”
    But the Frenchman was choleric and hard to appease. “You English can invent nothing,” said he, “and you take for your own whatever you see handsome belonging to others.” So, grumbling and fuming, he rode upon his way, while Chandos, laughing gayly, spurred onward across the plain.
    The immediate front of the English line was shrouded with scattered trees and bushes which hid the enemy; but when they had cleared these a fair view of the great French army lay before them. In the center of the huge camp was a long and high pavilion of red silk, with the silver lilies of the King at one end of it, and the golden oriflamme, the battle-flag of old France, at the other. Like the reeds of a pool from side to side of the broad array, and dwindling away as far as their eyes could see, were the banners and pennons of high barons and famous knights, but above them all flew the ducal standards which showed that the feudal muster of all the warlike provinces of France was in the field before them.
    With a kindling eye Chandos looked across at the proud ensigns of Normandy, or Burgundy, of Auvergne, of Champagne, of Vermandois, and of Berry, flaunting and gleaming in the rays of the sinking sun. Riding slowly down the line he marked with attentive gaze the camp of the crossbowmen, the muster of the German mercenaries, the numbers of the foot-soldiers, the arms of every proud vassal or vavasor which might give some guide as to the power of each division. From wing to wing and round the flanks he went, keeping ever within crossbow-shot of the army, and then at last having noted all things in his mind he turned his horse’s head and rode slowly back, heavy with thought, to the English lines.