# The White Company/Chapter XXXI

CHAPTER XXXI
HOW FIVE MEN HELD THE KEEP OP VILLEFRANCHE
Under the guidance of the French squire the party passed down two narrow corridors. The first was empty, but at the head of the second stood a peasant sentry, who started off at the sight of them, yelling loudly to his comrades. 'Stop him or we are undone!' cried Du Guesclin, and had started to run, when Aylward's great war-bow twanged like a harp-string, and the man fell forward upon his face, with twitching limbs and clutching fingers. Within five paces of where he lay a narrow and little-used door led out into the bailey. From beyond it came such a babel of hooting and screaming, horrible oaths and yet more horrible laughter, that the stoutest heart might have shrunk from casting down the frail barrier which faced them.
'Make straight for the keep!' said Du Guesclin, in a sharp stern whisper. 'The two archers in front, the lady in the centre, a squire on either side, while we three knights shall bide behind and beat back those who press upon us. ​So! Now open the door, and God have us in His holy keeping!'
For a few moments it seemed that their object would be attained without danger, so swift and so silent had been their movements. They were half-way across the bailey ere the frantic howling peasants made a movement to stop them. The few who threw themselves in their way were overpowered or brushed aside, while the pursuers were beaten back by the ready weapons of the three cavaliers. Unscathed they fought their way to the door of the keep, and faced round upon the swarming mob, while the squire thrust the great key into the lock.
'My God!' he cried, 'it is the wrong key!'
'The wrong key!'
'Dolt, fool that I am! This is the key of the castle gate; the other opens the keep. I must back for it!' He turned, with some wild intention of retracing his steps, but at the instant a great jagged rock, hurled by a brawny peasant, struck him full upon the ear, and he dropped senseless to the ground.
'This is key enough for me!' quoth Hordle John, picking up the huge stone, and hurling it against the door with all the strength of his enormous body. The lock shivered, the wood smashed, the stone flew into five pieces, but the iron clamps still held the door in its position. Bending down, he thrust his great fingers under it, and with a heave raised the whole mass of wood and iron from its hinges. For a moment it tottered and swayed, and then, falling outward, buried him in its ruin, while his comrades rushed into the dark archway which led to safety.
'Up the steps, Tiphaine!' cried Du Guesclin. 'Now round, friends, and beat them back.' The mob of peasants had surged in upon their heels, but the two trustiest blades in Europe gleamed upon that narrow stair, and four of their number dropped upon the threshold, The others gave back and gathered in a half-circle round the open door, gnashing their teeth and shaking their clenched hands at the defenders. ​The body of the French squire had been dragged out by them and hacked to pieces. Three or four others had pulled John from under the door, when he suddenly bounded to his feet, and clutching one in either hand dashed them together with such force that they fell senseless across each other upon the ground. With a kick and a blow he freed himself from two others who clung to him, and in a moment he was within the portal with his comrades.
Yet their position was a desperate one. The peasants from far and near had been assembled for this deed of vengeance, and not less than six thousand were within or around the walls of the Château of Villefranche. Ill armed and half starved, they were still desperate men, to whom danger had lost all fears for what was death that they should shun it to cling to such a life as theirs? The castle was theirs, and the roaring flames were spurting through the windows and flickering high above the turrets on two sides of the quadrangle. From either side they were sweeping down from room to room and from bastion to bastion in the direction of the keep. Faced by an army, and girt in by fire, were six men and one woman; but some of them were men so trained to danger and so wise in war that even now the combat was less unequal than it seemed. Courage and resource were penned in by desperation and numbers, while the great yellow sheets of flame threw their lurid glare over the scene of death.
'There is but space for two upon a step to give free play to our sword-arms,' said Du Guesclin. 'Do you stand with me, Nigel, upon the lowest. France and England will fight together this night. Sir Otto, I pray you to stand behind us with this young squire. The archers may go higher yet and shoot over our heads. I would that we had our harness, Nigel!'
'Often have I heard my dear Sir John Chandos say that a knight should never, even when a guest, be parted from it. Yet it will be more honour to us if we come well out of it. We have a vantage, since we see them against the light and ​they can scarce see us. It seems to me that they muster for an onslaught.'
'If we can but keep them in play,' said the Bohemian, 'it is likely that these flames may bring us succour if there be any true men in the country.'
'Bethink you, my fair lord,' said Alleyne to Sir Nigel, 'that we have never injured these men, nor have we cause of quarrel against them. Would it not be well, if but for the lady's sake, to speak them fair, and see if we may not come to honourable terms with them?'
'Not so, by Saint Paul!' cried Sir Nigel. 'It does not accord with mine honour, nor shall it ever be said that I, a knight of England, was ready to hold parley with men who have slain a fair lady and a holy priest.'
'As well hold parley with a pack of ravening wolves,' said the French captain. 'Ha! Notre Dame Du Guesclin! Saint Ives! Saint Ives!'
As he thundered forth his war-cry, the Jacks who had been gathering before the black arch of the gateway rushed in madly in a desperate effort to carry the staircase. Their leaders were a small man, dark in the face, with his beard done up in two plaits, and another larger man, very bowed in the shoulders, with a huge club studded with sharp nails in his hand. The first had not taken three steps ere an arrow from Aylward's bow struck him full in the chest, and he fell coughing and spluttering across the threshold. The other rushed onwards, and breaking between Du Guesclin and Sir Nigel he dashed out the brains of the Bohemian with a single blow of his clumsy weapon. With three swords through him he still struggled on, and had almost won his way through them ere he fell dead upon the stair. Close at his heels came a hundred furious peasants, who flung themselves again and again against the five swords which confronted them. It was cut and parry and stab as quick as eye could see or hand act. The door was piled with bodies, and the stone floor was slippery with blood. The deep shout of Du Guesclin, the hard hissing breath of the pressing multitude, the clatter of ​steel, the thud of falling bodies, and the screams of the stricken, made up such a medley as came often in after years to break upon Alleyne's sleep. Slowly and suddenly at last the throng drew off, with many a fierce backward glance, while eleven of their number lay huddled in front of the stair which they had failed to win.
'The dogs have had enough,' said Du Guesclin.
'By Saint Paul! there appear to be some very worthy and valiant persons among them,' observed Sir Nigel. 'They are men from whom, had they been of better birth, much honour and advancement might be gained. Even as it is, it is a great pleasure to have seen them. But what is this that they are bringing forward?'
'It is as I feared,' growled Du Guesclin. 'They will burn us out, since they cannot win their way past us. Shoot straight and hard, archers; for, by Saint Ives! our good swords are of little use to us.'
As he spoke, a dozen men rushed forward, each screening himself behind a huge fardel of brushwood. Hurling their burdens in one vast heap within the portal, they threw burning torches upon the top of it. The wood had been soaked in oil, for in an instant it was ablaze, and a long hissing yellow flame licked over the heads of the defenders, and drove them further up to the first floor of the keep. They had scarce reached it, however, ere they found that the wooden joists and planks of the flooring were already on fire. Dry and worm-eaten, a spark upon them became a smoulder, and a smoulder a blaze. A choking smoke filled the air, and the five could scarce grope their way to the staircase which led up to the very summit of the square tower.
Strange was the scene which met their eyes from this eminence. Beneath them on every side stretched the long sweep of peaceful country, rolling plain, and tangled wood, all softened and mellowed in the silver moonshine. No light nor movement, nor any sign of human aid could be seen, but far away the hoarse clangour of a heavy bell rose and fell upon the wintry air. Beneath and around them blazed the huge ​fire, roaring and crackling on every side of the bailey, and even as they looked the two corner turrets fell in with a deafening crash, and the whole castle was but a shapeless mass, spouting flames and smoke from every window and embrasure. The great black tower upon which they stood rose like a last island of refuge amid this sea of fire but the ominous crackling and roaring below showed that it would not be long ere it was engulfed also in the common ruin. At their very feet was the square courtyard, crowded with the howling and dancing peasants, their fierce faces upturned, their clenched hands waving, all drunk with bloodshed and with vengeance. A yell of execrations and a scream of hideous laughter burst from the vast throng, as they saw the faces of the last survivors of their enemies peering down at them from the height of the keep. They still piled the brushwood round the base of the tower, and gambolled hand in hand around the blaze, screaming out the doggerel lines which had long been the watch-word of the Jacquerie:
Cessez, cessez, gens d'armes et piétons,
De piller et manger le bonhomme,
Qui de longtemps Jacques Bonhomme
 Se nomme.
Their thin shrill voices rose high above the roar of the flames and the crash of the masonry, like the yelping of a pack of wolves who see their quarry before them and know that they have well nigh run him down.
'By my hilt!' said Aylward to John, 'it is in my mind that we shall not see Spain this journey. It is a great joy to me that I have placed my feather-bed and other things of price with that worthy woman at Lyndhurst, who will now have the use of them. I have thirteen arrows yet, and if one of them fly unfleshed, then, by the twang of string! I shall deserve my doom. First at him who flaunts with my lady's silken frock. Clap in the clout, by God! though a hand's-breadth lower than I had meant. Now for the rogue with the head upon his pike. Ha! to the inch, John. When my eye is true, I am better at rovers than at long-butts or hoyles. A ​good shoot for you also, John! The villain hath fallen forward into the fire. But I pray you, John, to loose gently, and not to pluck with the drawing-hand, for it is a trick that hath marred many a fine bowman.'
Whilst the two archers were keeping up a brisk fire upon the mob beneath them, Du Guesclin and his lady were consulting with Sir Nigel upon their desperate situation.
''Tis a strange end for one who has seen so many stricken fields,' said the French chieftain. 'For me one death is as another, but it is the thought of my sweet lady which goes to my heart.'
'Nay, Bertrand, I fear it as little as you,' said she. 'Had I my dearest wish, it would be that we should go together.'
'Well answered, fair lady!' cried Sir Nigel. 'And very sure I am that my own sweet wife would have said the same. If the end be now come, I have had great good fortune in having lived in times when so much glory was to be won, and in knowing so many valiant gentlemen and knights. But why do you pluck my sleeve, Alleyne?'
'If it please you, my fair lord, there are in this corner two great tubes of iron, with many heavy balls, which may perchance be those bombards and shot of which I have heard.'
'By Saint Ives! it is true,' cried Sir Bertrand, striding across to the recess where the ungainly, funnel-shaped, thick-ribbed engines were standing. 'Bombards they are, and of good size. We may shoot down upon them.'
'Shoot with them, quotha?' cried Aylward in high disdain, for pressing danger is the great leveller of classes. 'How is a man to take aim with these fool's toys, and how can he hope to do scath with them?'
'I will show you,' answered Sir Nigel; 'for here is the great box of powder, and if you will raise it for me, John, I will show you how it may be used. Come hither, where the folk are thickest round the fire. Now, Aylward, crane thy peck and see what would have been deemed an old wife's ​tale when we first turned our faces to the wars. Throw back the lid, John, and drop the box into the fire.'
A deafening roar, a fluff of bluish light, and the great square tower rocked and trembled from its very foundations, swaying this way and that like a reed in the wind. Amazed and dizzy, the defenders, clutching at the cracking parapets for support, saw great stones, burning beams of wood, and mangled bodies hurtling past them through the air. When they staggered to their feet once more, the whole keep had settled down upon one side, so that they could scarce keep their footing upon the sloping platform. Gazing over the edge, they looked down upon the horrible destruction which had been caused by the explosion. For forty yards round the portal the ground was black with writhing, screaming figures, who struggled up and hurled themselves down again, tossing this way and that, sightless, scorched, with fire bursting from their tattered clothing. Beyond this circle of death, their comrades, bewildered and amazed, cowered away from this black tower and from these invincible men, who were most to be dreaded when hope was furthest from their hearts.
'A sally, Du Guesclin, a sally!' cried Sir Nigel. 'By Saint Paul! they are in two minds, and a bold rush may turn them.' He drew his sword as he spoke and darted down the winding stairs, closely followed by his four comrades. Ere he was at the first floor, however, he threw up his arms and stopped. 'Mon Dieu!' he said, 'we are lost men!'
'What then?' cried those behind him.
'The wall hath fallen in, the stair is blocked, and the fire still rages below. By Saint Paul! friends, we have fought a very honourable fight, and may say in all humbleness that we have done our devoir, but I think that we may now go back to the Lady Tiphaine and say our orisons, for we have played our parts in this world, and it is time that we made ready for another.'
The narrow pass was blocked by huge stones littered in ​wild confusion over each other, with the blue choking smoke reeking up through the crevices. The explosion had blown in the wall and cut off the only path by which they could descend. Pent in, a hundred feet from earth, with a furnace raging under them and a ravening multitude all round who thirsted for their blood, it seemed indeed as though no men had ever come through such peril with their lives. Slowly they made their way back to the summit, but as they came out upon it, the Lady Tiphaine darted forward and caught her husband by the wrist.
'Bertrand,' said she, 'hush and listen! I have heard the voices of men all singing together in a strange tongue.'
Breathless, they stood and silent, but no sound came up to them, save the roar of the flames and the clamour of their enemies.
'It cannot be, lady,' said Du Guesclin. 'This night hath overwrought you, and your senses play you false. What men are there in this country who would sing in a strange tongue?'
'Holà!' yelled Aylward, leaping suddenly into the air with waving hands and joyous face. 'I thought I heard it ere we went down, and now I hear it again. We are saved, comrades! By these ten finger-bones, we are saved! It is the marching song of the White Company. Hush!'
With upraised forefinger and slanting head, he stood listening. Suddenly there came swelling up a deep-voiced rollicking chorus from somewhere out of the darkness. Never did choice or dainty ditty of Provence or Languedoc sound more sweetly in the ears than did the rough-tongued Saxon to the six who strained their ears from the blazing keep:
We'll drink all together
To the grey goose feather
 And the land where the grey goose flew.
'Ha, by my hilt!' shouted Aylward, 'it is the dear old bow song of the Company. Here come two hundred as tight ​lads as ever twirled a shaft over their thumb-nails. Hark to the dogs, how lustily they sing!'
Nearer and clearer, swelling up out of the night, came the gay marching lilt:
What of the bow?
 The bow was made in England,
Of true wood, of yew wood,
 The wood of English bows;
For men who are free
Love the old yew-tree
 And the land where the yew-tree grows.   What of the men?
 The men were bred in England,
The bowmen, the yeomen,
 The lads of dale and fell.
Here's to yon and to you,
To the hearts that are true,
 And the land where the true hearts dwell.
'They sing very joyfully,' said Du Guesclin, 'as though they were going to a festival.'
'It is their wont when there is work to be done.'
'By Saint Paul!' quoth Sir Nigel, 'it is in my mind that they come too late, for I cannot see how we are to come down from this tower.'
'There they come, the hearts of gold!' cried Aylward. 'See, they move out from the shadow. Now they cross the meadow. They are on the further side of the moat. Holà, camarades, holà! Johnston, Eccles, Cooke, Harward, Bligh! Would ye see a fair lady and two gallant knights done foully to death?'
'Who is there?' shouted a deep voice from below. 'Who is this who speaks with an English tongue?'
'It is I, old lad. It is Sam Aylward of the Company; and here is your captain, Sir Nigel Loring, and four others, all laid out to be grilled like an Easterling's herrings.'
'Curse me if I did not think that it was the style of ​speech of old Samkin Aylward,' said the voice, amid a buzz from the ranks. 'Wherever there are knocks going there is Sammy in the heart of it. But who are these ill-faced rogues who block the path? To your kennels, canaille! What! you dare look us in the eyes? Out swords, lads, and give them the flat of them! Waste not your shafts upon such runagate knaves.'
There was little fight left in the peasants, however, still dazed by the explosion, amazed at their own losses, and disheartened by the arrival of the disciplined archers. In a very few minutes they were in full flight for their brushwood homes, leaving the morning sun to rise upon a blackened and blood-stained ruin, where it had left the night before the magnificent castle of the Seneschal of Auvergne. Already the white lines in the east were deepening into pink as the archers gathered round the keep and took counsel how to rescue the survivors.
'Had we a rope,' said Alleyne, 'there is one side which is not yet on fire, down which we might slip.'
'But how to get a rope?'
'It is an old trick,' quoth Aylward. 'Holà! Johnston, cast me up a rope, even as you did at Maupertius in the war time.'
The grizzled archer thus addressed took several lengths of rope from his comrades, and knotting them firmly together, he stretched them out in the long shadow which the rising sun threw from the frowning keep. Then he fixed the yew-stave of his bow upon end and measured the long thin black line which it threw upon the turf.
'A six-foot stave throws a twelve-foot shadow,' he muttered. The keep throws a shadow of sixty paces. Thirty paces of rope will be enow and to spare. Another strand, Watkin! Now pull at the end that all may be safe. So! It is, ready for them.'
'But how are they to reach it?' asked the young archer beside him.
'Watch and see, young fool's-head,' growled the old ​bowman. He took a long string from his pouch and fastened one end to an arrow.
'All ready, Samkin?'
'Ready, camarade.'
'Close to your hand then.' With an easy pull he sent the shaft flickering gently up, falling upon the stonework within a foot of where Aylward was standing. The other end was secured to the rope, so that in a minute a good strong cord was dangling from the only sound side of the blazing and shattered tower. The Lady Tiphaine was lowered with a noose drawn fast under the arms, and the other five slid swiftly down amid the cheers and joyous outcry of their rescuers.