La Guardia Blanca ⚔️🛡️
In ‘The White Guard,’ Arthur Conan Doyle immerses us in a thrilling story of courage and honor set against the backdrop of the Russian Civil War. A group of brave men fight for freedom and justice while facing the brutality of the conflict. Throughout the plot, we encounter characters who reflect the internal struggle between duty and humanity. This action-packed and emotional work is a testament to human courage in the face of adversity. Chapter 1. HOW THE STRANGED SHEEP LEFT THE FOLD. The great bell of the Belmonte Monastery rang out its resounding toll throughout the valley and even beyond the dark line formed by the forests. The woodcutters and charcoal burners working along the Vernel side and the fishermen on the Lande River momentarily suspended their tasks to exchange questioning glances. For although the sound of the abbey bells was as familiar and well-known in those parts as the song of larks or the chatter of magpies in hedges and walls, the peals had their fixed hours, and that evening the ninth had already sounded, and it was not long before prayer. What extraordinary event had launched the great bell of the abbey into flight so untimely ? From all sides, the religious men could be seen arriving, their white habits standing out vividly against the lawns of the gnarled oak avenues. Some came from the vineyards and winepresses belonging to the community, others from the dairy, the marguerites, and the salt pans, and some, hurrying along, from the distant ironworks of the Solent and St. Bernard’s Farm. They were not surprised by the unusual ringing of the bells, for the abbot had already sent a special messenger to all the outlying quarters of the monastery the night before, with orders to announce the planned general meeting of the following day. On the other hand, Lay Brother Athanasius, who for a quarter of a century had cleaned and polished the abbey ‘s heavy bronze door knocker , declared with amazement that he had never witnessed such an untimely and urgent convocation of all the members of the community. One only had to observe these members to understand the great variety of occupations in which they were engaged and to form an idea, however incomplete, of the immense resources of the abbey, a center of extremely active life. Here, two monks could be seen whose hands and forearms were stained red with must; further away, another, old and robust, carried on his shoulder the axe with which he had just chopped large bundles of firewood. He was followed by the shearing brother, whose occupation was betrayed by the enormous shears he wore hanging from his belt and the strands of wool attached to his sackcloth. A large group was equipped with hoes and spades, and the two monks who brought up the rear laboriously carried a heavy basket full of carp, trout, and tench, since the following day was a vigil, and they had to provide for the sustenance of fifty religious with unrelenting appetites. It is true that they worked hard, because the venerable abbot Fray Diego de Berguén was as severe with all of them as he was with himself, which is saying something, and in his convent no slackers were tolerated. While the friars and novices were gathered, the abbot, hands folded and his expression preoccupied, walked from one end to the other of the large hall of the monastery designated for solemn ceremonies. His thin features and sunken cheeks revealed the ascetic who had known how to triumph over his passions, not without a cruel and long struggle, until he had completely mastered them. Although of weak appearance, his imperious and energetic gaze recalled that the blood of famous warriors ran through his veins and that his twin brother, Captain Bartholomew de Bergen, was one of the valiant English champions who had planted the Cross of Saint George on the walls of Paris. As soon as the last bell rang, the abbot approached a table and rang the bell that called the lay brother on duty, asking him in the Anglo-French dialect used in English monasteries throughout most of the fourteenth century: “Have the brothers arrived?” “They are gathered in the main cloister, reverend father,” replied the abbot. layman, who was in a humble attitude, crossing his hands on his chest and staring at the ground. –All? –Thirty-two professed and fifteen novices. Fray Marcos, prostrated by fever, is the only one missing. He says that…. –What he says is irrelevant. Sick or not, it was important above all to obey my command. I will tame his rebellious spirit, as I will other members of this abbey who need severe discipline. And you yourself, brother Francisco, are at fault. It has reached my ears that you raised your voice in the refectory, while the brother reader was commenting on the divine word. What do you answer to that accusation? The layman didn’t gasp, he didn’t even move. –A thousand Hail Marys and as many creeds prayed with arms crossed before the altar of the Virgin, will serve to remind you that the Supreme Creator gave us two ears and a single tongue, so that we hear much and speak little. Send me Brother Master here. The frightened layman left on tiptoe, closing the door behind him, which opened a few moments later to give way to a monk, short in stature, robust in body and whose imperious gaze accentuated the severe expression of his face. –Have you called me, reverend father? –Yes, brother Master. I wish that today’s act, which imposes a very difficult duty on me, be carried out with the least possible scandal; and yet, it is necessary to give the guilty a public lesson, as an example to others. The abbot said these words in Latin, the language in which he ordinarily spoke to the religious whom, due to their years or by reason of their position or merits, he judged worthy of special deference. –It is my opinion that the novices do not witness the trial, observed Brother Master. A woman appears in the accusation and I fear that perfidious images will tarnish the purity of her thoughts…. –Woman, woman! murmured the abbot. _Radix malorum_, which the venerable Chrysostom said, an exact and applicable definition from Eve to the present day. Who will denounce the sinner? –Brother Ambrosio. –Chaste and pious young man. –And a model for novices. –Then proceed to the trial in accordance with the traditional practices of the order. See that the professed are admitted and accommodated in order of age and that in due time the ill-fated Tristan of Horla appears, whose behavior already demands severe measures. –And the novices? –They will wait in the cloister of the chapel, where it will be convenient for the reader to refresh their memory on the topic _Gesta beati Benedicti_. Thus all idle conversation and all occasions of levity will be avoided. Once the abbot was alone, he returned to fix his gaze on the whimsically illuminated pages of his breviary and remained in that attitude until the last of the monks had entered the room. They took their seats on the two carved oak benches that ran from the dais to the opposite end of the room, where Brother Ambrosio and the Master of Novices occupied separate seats. The first was a thin young man, tall and pale, who nervously pressed a rolled up parchment in his hands. The abbot contemplated from his seat on the dais the two rows of monks, whose placid, plump, sun-tanned faces, with rare exceptions, and whose satisfied expressions, gave clear evidence of the quiet and happy life they led there. Fray Diego then fixed his penetrating gaze on the young religious seated in front of him and said: –You are the accuser, Brother Ambrosio. May our venerated patron Saint Benedict grant you his grace and direct our judgments on this occasion, for the good of the community and for the greater glory of God. How many charges are leveled against the novice Tristan? –Four, reverend father, answered the questioner in a low and submissive voice. –Have you listed and exposed them as our holy rule commands ? –Contents are in this parchment…. –Which you will deliver to the brother narrator for his reading when the time comes. Introduce the accused. Upon hearing that order, a layman standing next to the door opened it wide. in pairs, admitting a young novice and two other lay brothers who until then had accompanied and watched him in the antechamber. It was the novice Tristan de Horla, a young man of remarkable height and athletic form, whose black eyes contrasted with his red hair and whose features, by no means unpleasant, ordinarily revealed frankness and good humor, although at that moment they reflected an expression of defiance and anger. With his hood fallen around his shoulders, his habit unbuttoned to reveal his Herculean neck, his hairy arms crossed over his chest bare to the elbows, he reverently greeted the abbot and calmly walked to the kneeler reserved for him in the center of the room. His black eyes quickly scanned the crowd and finally settled, with a somewhat ironic expression , on the accusing brother. He handed the parchment to the narrator of the order, who read it with a measured voice and solemn intonation, listened to attentively by all the religious gathered there. The document read as follows: Charges formulated on the day of the Assumption, in the year of grace 1366 , against Brother Tristan, formerly called Tristan de Horla and the present novice of the holy monastic order of Cîteaux. Read on the Thursday following the said feast of the Assumption, in the Abbey of Belmonte, before the reverend abbot Fray Diego de Berguén and the community gathered in chapter. The charges brought are: First: That after a certain quantity of weak beer had been distributed to the novices as a special concession on the occasion of the aforementioned festival and in the proportion of one azumbre for every four novices, the accused seized the jug by force and drank the azumbre in one sitting, to the detriment of his table companions Paul, Porphyry, and Ambrose; who declared that they could hardly eat the salted herring that formed the repast of that day. Upon hearing these details, the accused bit his lip to hide a smile, and several of the monks glanced at each other sideways; others coughed to keep from laughing. But the abbot remained impassive and stern while the narrator continued his reading: Second: That since the Master of Novices punished this outrage by putting the guilty party on bread and water for three days, in honor of Saint Tiburcia, that unrepentant sinner declared in the presence of the novice Ambrose that he would like to see a legion of demons carry the aforementioned Brother Master through the air. Third: That, admonished by the latter again, the accused seized his accuser by the neck and plunged him into the garden pond, just long enough for the victim of such an outrage to finish the creed he mentally recited in order to commend his soul to God, believing his last hour had arrived. The exclamations of surprise and censure heard from both benches indicated that the members of the community appreciated the gravity of the last charge; but the abbot imposed silence, raising his bony hand. “Continue,” he said to the reader. –And fourth: That shortly before Vespers, on the feast of St. James the Apostle, the aforementioned Tristan was seen on the Vernel road, in conversation with a woman named Maria Soley, daughter of the forester of that name. And that after much laughter and resistance on the part of the aforementioned maiden, the accused took her in his arms and led her to the other side of the Las Hayas stream, to prevent that emissary of Satan from getting her feet wet. This unprecedented infraction of our holy rule was witnessed by three members of the community, to their great scandal and to the undoubted joy of all hell, which thus saw a novice of our order fall into mortal sin. The profound silence that followed those words, even more than the gestures and the horrified expressions of some of the religious, revealed how profound and unanimous was the reprobation of those listening. “Who are the witnesses of such an enormous sin?” asked the abbot, in a voice that betrayed his indignation. “I am one of them,” said Brother Ambrosio, standing up; “and with me.” Porfirio and Marcos witnessed it, and he became so affected that since then he has been in the infirmary….. -And the woman? Friar Diego continued. Didn’t you burst into anguished tears when you witnessed that behavior of a man wearing our sacred habit? –No, reverend abbot. Rather, she smiled sweetly when he placed her across the ford and thanked him and held out his hand to her. I saw it with my own eyes, as Marcos saw it…. –You saw it, unfortunates! shouted the abbot. And didn’t you know that the thirty-fifth of the regulations of this order strictly prohibited it? Since when have you forgotten that in the presence of a woman we must all lower our eyes and even turn our faces? And if you had kept your eyes fixed on your sandals, how could you see the smiles and pouts of that demon disguised as a woman? To your cells, false brothers, with bread and water until next Sunday, with double lauds and matins so that you learn to obey the laws that govern us! Ambrosio and Porfirio, frightened by that unexpected reprimand, fell trembling in their seats. The abbot looked away from them to fix it on the main culprit, who, far from showing fear or bowing his forehead, calmly held the furious gaze of Fray Diego. –What do you allege in your defense, brother Tristan? –Little, my father, was the young man’s answer, given with the pronounced Saxon accent that at that time characterized the English peasants of the West. By the way, the unusual accent caught the attention of the religious people, mostly purebred Englishmen. But the abbot only noticed the tranquility and indifference that the novice’s response revealed and indignation colored his thin face. –Speak! He ordered, hitting the arm of the seat with his fist. –Well, as for the beer, Tristán observed without the slightest flinching , keep in mind that I had just come back from work in the field and that as soon as I tipped the mug I saw the bottom and without knowing how I left it dead. My thirst must have been great. It is true that I lost my temper when the good Master ordered me to fast, but that is well explained by remembering that bread and water is a sad diet for a body and an appetite like those that God has given me. It is also true that Ambrosio’s kestrel held his hand, but the dive he complains of was nothing more than a scare without consequences. And since I do not deny any of the previous charges, I cannot deny, if such a charge exists, that of having helped Soley’s daughter cross the Las Hayas ford, given that the poor girl was wearing shoes and stockings and her Sunday skirt, while I was barefoot and didn’t give a damn about soaking my feet. And I believe that not having behaved as I did then would have been a shame, for a novice as for any other self-respecting man who respects women…. Those words filled the abbot’s exasperation, especially pronounced as they were with the mocking smile that had barely disappeared for a moment from Tristan’s lips since the beginning of his tirade. –Enough! Fray Diego exclaimed. Far from defending himself, the accused confesses and aggravates his fault with his light words. It only remains for me to impose the condign punishment. Saying this, the abbot left his seat and all the monks imitated him, directing fearful glances at the irritated countenance of their superior. –Tristan of Horla, he continued, in the two months of your novitiate you have given evident proof of perversity and that under no circumstances do you deserve to wear the white habit symbol of an unblemished spirit . You will, therefore, be stripped of that habit and dismissed from this abbey, from its lands and belongings, without income or benefits of any kind and without the spiritual graces enjoyed by those who live under the tutelage and special protection of Saint Benedict. Your name will be erased from the records of the order and you are prohibited from ever stepping on the thresholds of the abbey or entering any of the farms and possessions of Belmonte. That first part of the sentence seemed terrible to the monks, especially the older ones, accustomed as they were to the quiet life of the abbey, outside of which they would have found themselves as helpless and helpless as children abandoned to their own devices. But evidently worldly life had no terrors for the novice; on the contrary, it attracted and pleased him, judging by the joyful expression with which he heard the announcement of his expulsion. His happiness increased the anger of Fray Diego, who continued saying: –This is as far as spiritual punishment is concerned. But to the bad servants of God, with hardened hearts, such sorrows hurt little. I know how to punish you so that you will feel it, now that your misdeeds have deprived you of the protection of the church. Let’s see! Three lay brothers, Francisco, Athanasio and José, seize the scoundrel, tie his arms and tell the brother porter to give him a few dozen lashes with a good whipping! When the robust laymen approached him to obey the abbot’s orders, all the placidity of the novice disappeared, and he grabbed the heavy oak kneeler with both hands and, lifting it high like a mace, shouted in a powerful voice: – Hold on! I swear by Saint George that the first of you who dares to touch me I will break his head into a thousand pieces! The warning could not be clearer or more forceful, and together with the threatening attitude of the novice, whose strength was well known to everyone, it was enough to make the laymen retreat more quickly and to frighten the religious, who rushed in droves towards the door. Only the abbot seemed ready to throw himself at the rebellious novice, but two monks who were next to him grabbed him by the arms and managed to get him out of danger. –He is possessed by the devil! the fugitives shouted. Ask for help! Let the gardener come with his crossbow, and also call the stable boys. Soon, tell them that we are in danger of death! Run, brothers! See, it’s enough for us! But the victorious Tristan of Horla did not think of pursuing them. He crashed the kneeler to the ground, knocked down his informer Ambrosio with a backhand, who raised a cry to the heavens, and running over the stunned friars who formed the rearguard, he fled down the stairs. The doorkeeper Athanasius saw a gigantic white shape pass quickly and before he learned what that meant and the cause of the tumult that could be heard on the stairs, the indomitable Tristan was already far from the abbey and with long strides he walked down the dusty road to Vernel. Chapter 2. HOW ROGER DE CLINTON STARTED TO SEE THE WORLD. The walls of the old convent had never witnessed such a scandal. But Fray Diego de Berguén valued the good discipline of the community to allow it to remain under the impression of the novice’s triumphant rebellion; Thus it was that, summoning the brothers again, he addressed them a philippic like few others, comparing the expulsion of the wrathful Tristan to that of our first parents from Paradise, calling upon him the punishments of heaven and warning his listeners in passing that if some of them did not show more zeal and obedience than until then, the expulsion of that day would not be the last. With this, calm was restored and the authority of Fray Diego was restored, who ordered the religious to return to their respective tasks and retired to his cell. As soon as he began his prayers he heard a soft knock at the door. –Come in, he said in a voice that showed his bad mood; But as soon as he fixed his eyes on the importunate who was thus interrupting him, the frown on his face disappeared, replaced by a kind smile. The one who arrived was a slender young man, with somewhat thin features, blonde hair, good looks, and very young judging by the boyish expression on his face. Her clear, beautiful eyes also revealed an almost childlike candor; His gaze was that of the adolescent whose spirit had until then developed far from the emotions, sorrows and combats of the world. However, the lines of the mouth and The pronounced shape of his beard indicated an energetic and resolute character. Although he did not wear the monastic habit, his robes, hose, and thick stockings were of a dark color, as befitted a resident of that holy house. From a wide strap across his shoulder hung a swollen satchel, such as travelers used in those days; in his right hand he carried a thick ironed staff and in the other his brown cloth cap, which had a large medallion sewn on the front with the image of Our Lady of Rocamadour. “I see that you are now ready to set out, my dear son. And it is a curious coincidence,” continued the abbot thoughtfully, “that on the same day the most wicked of its novices and the youth whom we all consider the worthiest of our young disciples, and who is also the favorite of my heart, should leave this monastery. ” “You are too kind, my father,” replied the youth. For my part, if I were given the choice, I would end my days at Belmonte. Here I have had my sweet home since childhood, and when I leave this house, I do so with true regret. “These penalties are trials imposed by God, Roger, and each one has his cross to bear. But your departure, which saddens us all, is inevitable. I promised your father that when you turned twenty you would leave Belmonte, to see something of the world and judge for yourself whether you preferred to remain in it or return to this sacred refuge. Pull that stool closer and sit down.” Roger did so, and the abbot continued, after reflecting for a few moments: “Twenty years ago your father, the landlord of the farm at Munster, died, leaving valuable farms and lands to the abbey and also leaving us his youngest son, a child of a few months, on the condition that we raise and educate him in the monastery.” The good gentleman did so not only because your saintly mother had died, but because Hugo de Clinton, his eldest son and your only brother, had already given proof of his wayward and violent character, and it would have been absurd to leave you entrusted to him. But as I said before, your father did not want to dedicate you irrevocably to the monastic life; the choice will depend on you, and you need not make it now, but when you have some experience of life, in order to decide wisely. “And will not the positions I have already held in the community, apart from my duties as a scribe, prevent my departure? ” “Not at all. Let’s see: have you been a steward and an acolyte? ” “Yes, Father. ” “An exorcist and later a lector? ” “Yes, Father. ” “And obedient and pious like a professed brother, but you have never taken a vow of chastity. Is that not true? ” “That is so, my father.” “For nothing prevents you from entering the world and living in it as freely as one who has never set foot in a cloister.” And I can say with pleasure that this new life opens before you with good auspices, because in addition to the sound principles we have instilled in you, you are skilled and can support yourself and make yourself useful to others. Tell me what you have learned lately; I already know that you are a sculptor of no mean merit and that few youths your age can beat you on the zither and the rebec. And I will say nothing of your voice; our choir loses with you the best of its singers. The youth smiled with pleasure and said: “To the patience of good Brother Jerome I also owe the trade of engraver, which I have learned passably, and I have done many works in wood, ivory, bronze, and silver. With Fray Gregorio I have learned to paint on parchment, metal, and glass. I know how to enamel, I know something about the carving of precious stones, I can make many musical instruments, and as for heraldry, there is no scribe or novice in Belmonte who knows it better than I do.” “That’s not a short list!” exclaimed the superior in a cheerful tone. ” You couldn’t have learned more at the Royal College of Exeter. But what about your other studies, your readings and compositions? ” “I haven’t read much, but Brother Chancellor can tell you that I haven’t neglected the library. The Gospels with commentary, St. Thomas, the Collection of Canons… ” “That’s all good, but you need another kind of reading today, something more.” natural sciences, geography and mathematics. Let’s see: from this window you can see the mouth of the Lande and beyond it a few sails of fishing boats that have crossed the bar and gone out to sea. Suppose that instead of returning to the port tonight, those boats continued their journey for days and days in the direction they are now heading. Do you know where they would go? “They have set their bows in the direction of the East,” the young man promptly replied , and they are heading straight toward that region of France that today forms part of the dominions of our powerful lord the King of England. Turning their bow towards the south they would reach Spain and to the northeast they would find the states of Flanders and beyond them the Moscow people. –It is true. What if after arriving at the dominions of our king in France, a traveler began his march towards the East? –Well, I would visit the French lands that are still in question and the famous city of Avignon, where His Holiness temporarily resides. Beyond stretch the states of Germany, the great Roman Empire, the tribes of the pagan Huns and Lithuanians and finally the city of Constantine and the domain of the hated sons of Muhammad. –Okay, Roger. And beyond? –Jerusalem, the Holy Land and the mighty river that had its sources in the earthly paradise. Afterwards… I don’t know, my father; but the end of the world will not be very far from those places, as I imagine. –Not so, my good Roger, and that will prove to you that there is always something to learn. You must know that between the Holy Places and the end of the world live many and very numerous peoples, such as the Amazons, the pygmies and even certain women, as beautiful as they are dangerous, who kill with their gaze, as they say of the basilisk. And to the east of all those nations is the kingdom of Prester John, vague descriptions of which you may have found in books. I know all this on good authority, having been assured and described by a brave captain and great traveler, Mr. Farfán de Setién, who rested in Belmonte on his way to Southampton and told us about his travels, discoveries and adventures in the refectory, with such curious and interesting details that many brothers forgot to eat for the pleasure of listening to him without missing a syllable of his story. –What I would like to know, my father, is what is at the end of the world…. –Little by little, little friend, the abbot interrupted. What there is or does not exist there is not to be asked. But let’s talk about your trip. What will be your first stage? –My brother’s house in Munster. Not only do I want to know him, but the unfavorable reports I have always had about his character and method of life seem to me one more reason to try to reform him and attract him to the right path. The abbot shook his head. –Your inexperience will soon be seen. The bad reputation of the Munster landlord dates back a long time, and please God that he is not the one who manages to derail you from the good path you have followed until now. But whether you live with him or whether your luck takes you in other directions, be wary above all of the false attractions and arts of women, the greatest danger that threatens men of your age and especially those like you who have never encountered this enemy of our tranquility on their path. Goodbye, my son. Embrace me and receive the blessing of heaven that I invoke upon your head. Also fervently commending you to the glorious Saint Julian, patron saint of travelers. Let your life be Christian and happy. The farewell of those two men was painful, one animated by the paternal affection he professed for the orphan and the other by his infinite gratitude towards the kind protector of his entire life. Their separation was made harder by the idea that both had formed of the world, which they considered from their quiet refuge as a center of iniquities, dangers and resentments. The monks and novices who had not gone out on their chores were waiting for Roger in the portico, where they bid him a warm farewell, since he was greatly appreciated by all. They also gave him some gifts; a small ivory crucifix, a book of prayers and a small painting depicting the Slaughter of the Innocents, artfully executed on parchment. All those mementos of his affectionate friends were soon neatly stored in the satchel, upon which the far-sighted Brother Atanasio also placed a parcel that he highly recommended to Roger and which, as he later discovered, contained a loaf of white bread, a magnificent cheese, and a bottle of good wine. The moved young man finally set out, his ears ringing with the blessings and farewells of the kind monks. Upon reaching a nearby height, he stopped to contemplate for the last time those places where his peaceful and happy life had passed. There stood the dark and monumental building of the abbey, the residence of Fray Diego, with its adjoining chapel, the gardens and orchards, all illuminated by a splendid sun. Beyond the wide Lande estuary, the ancient stone well, the chapel of the Virgin, and on the esplanade in front of the convent, the group in white robes, those friends of his adolescence, who, upon seeing him lingering, renewed their greetings. Two tears ran down Roger’s cheeks, and he sighed deeply and resumed his journey. Chapter 3. HOW TRISTAN OF HORLA LEFT THE FULLER AT PERNETAS. It would be a very unusual case for a young man of twenty, full of health and life, to devote the first hours of absolute independence enjoyed since childhood to mourning the cell of his convent and the discipline of the cloister. It so happened, then, that Roger’s emotion was short-lived, and even before losing sight of Belmonte, he recovered the happiness proper to his years and was able to appreciate the beauty of the landscape in all its splendor. It was a very beautiful afternoon ; The sun’s rays fell obliquely on the leafy trees, casting arabesques of shadows along the path, alternating with broad golden bands. Between the trees, as far as the eye could see, were dense bushes, some turning yellow in the breath of autumn. The scent of the flowers was joined by the pleasant resinous emanations of the pine groves, and only the murmur of clear streams occasionally interrupted the murmur of the breeze through the branches and the song of the birds. But the solitude and stillness of the fields were only apparent. Life thrived vigorously and actively in them and in the neighboring forests. Brightly colored insects buzzed around the leaves and flowers; Playful squirrels stopped their skirmishes to look down on the strange traveler from high in the branches, and now the growl of the fierce boar in the thicket could be heard, now the rustling of the dry leaves trampled by the fallow deer, which was running away at full speed. The smiling traveler soon left Belmonte and its green meadows far behind, and hence his surprise was all the greater when he saw, sitting on a stone by the side of the road, a man who seemed to be a religious man from that community, judging by the white robes he was wearing. But as he drew closer, Roger noticed that the face of the friar, somber and ruddy, was completely unfamiliar to him, and that from his gestures and the pained expression on his face, he looked more like a bedraggled traveler than anything else. Suddenly, he saw him get up and run up the road, gathering and lifting with both hands his sackcloth, which was at least two hands too long for the stranger’s short and plump body. But he soon stopped, panting as if he were short of breath, and finally collapsed on the grass. Roger hurried up to him, and the other asked: “Do you know, my good friend, the Abbey of Belmonte? ” “Yes, indeed; I come from there and have lived there until today. ” “Praise be to God, for in that case you will be able to tell me who is a friar like a dragon, with a face full of freckles, black eyes, and red hair, whom, to my misfortune, I have just met on this road. Do you know him? There can be no one as great or as wicked as he in the abbey. ” “From his address, that is the novice Tristan de Horla. What has he done to you? ” “My soul grieves that what he did was not done to me by highway robbers! But the weakling took off all the clothes I had on.” leaving me in gregüescos and then he tied me up with this white sackcloth, leaving me here dressed up and not daring to return to the town and much less to introduce myself to my wife, who if she sees me in this way she will scream to heaven, treating me as a drunk and fast-paced. –But how was that? asked the amanuensis, who could barely contain his laughter. –I will tell you about the cross to date, replied the other. I was passing along this same road and very close to the place where we are, when I ran into the bandit friar with the red head. Believing him to be a religious man as God intended, devoted to his prayers, I greeted him and continued my march towards Léminton, where I live and earn my living as a fuller. But after a few steps I heard him calling me; I turned and asked me if I had news of the new indulgence granted in favor of the Cistercian monks. No, I answered. So much the worse for your eternal salvation, he told me; and he spoke at length of His Holiness’s great esteem for the virtues of the Abbot of Bergen and how in recognition and reward of them the Pope had resolved to grant plenary indulgence to any sinner who wore the Cistercian habit and kept it on long enough to recite the seven Psalms of David. Upon hearing this, I knelt at his feet, begging him to let me obtain such great grace by lending me his habit, to which he agreed after many pleas and after I gave him twelve sous to gilt the image of the blessed Saint Lawrence. Since there was this clothing, I had to lend him my good doublet and cloth leggings so that no walker in lesser clothes would see him, and he even asked me for the thick pair of stockings that I was wearing to protect himself, he said, from the somewhat cold air, while I said my prayers. Having barely reached the second psalm, he finished wrapping himself up and shouting at me to try to lead me as befits a pious friar, and he hurried to run up the road as if he were being pursued by demons. As for me, a sinner, I cannot run around wrapped in this flour sack that I have left over everywhere, nor is it a matter of taking it off and showing up in town with no more clothing than a rabona saddle, some patched gregüescos and a pair of shoes. Not even tights. For the life of the thief friar! –Do not be discouraged, good man, said the young man, for you will be able to exchange your sackcloth for a doublet in the convent, when you do not have someone you know closer to get you out of the way. –Yes I have, replied the fuller. Beyond the hedge lives a relative of my wife, but his is the most biting and cussing that I know and if my adventure reached the ears of that witch I would not dare show my face outside my house for a month. But if you wanted, my good sir, you could do me a very great favor by only deviating from your path about two crossbow shots and…. -That I will do very willingly, said Roger, pitying the poor man whom the mischief of Tristan, his friend from the convent, had put in such a difficult situation. –Well, take that path on the left, which will soon take you to a clearing in the forest, and there you will see a charcoal burner’s hut. Tell him to give you a couple of articles of clothing and that Master Rampas, the fuller of Léminton, is sending you with great urgency. You have reasons for not denying me what you are going to ask of me in my name. Roger did as he was told and very soon found the cabin and the charcoal burner’s wife alone in it, as her husband was working in the mountains. He explained his mission and, obligingly, the woman immediately began to prepare the bundle, while Roger contemplated her with the natural curiosity of someone who had never spoken to a woman, much less dressed hand in hand with a daughter of Eve in a lonely cabin lost in the forest. He noticed that her bare arms were rounded, although burned by the sun, and that she was wearing a modest brown basquiña and a scarf crossed and pinned to her chest with a huge copper pin. –Master Rampas the fuller! she repeated, going from here to there in search of the clothes. If I were his wife, I would teach him to allow himself to be knocked off his feet in the middle of the road by the first thief who passes by. But to “Well, he has always been a good soul, and I am not the one to find fault with him or deny him a favor. He did me a great favor by paying out of his own pocket for the burial of Frasquillo, my eldest son, whom I had as an apprentice at the fulling mill and who was carried off by the black plague two years ago. And who are you, my good sir? ” “A wayfarer. I’m coming from Belmonte and I intend to reach Munster tonight or tomorrow. ” “And coming from Belmonte, I only have to look at you to know that you have been a disciple of the monks. But with me, there’s no reason to lower your eyes or turn as red as a pepper. Bah! What’s that to me? The friars must have told you good things about us women, and by faith, it would seem that not one of them has ever known or loved his own mother! How beautiful the world would be if the prior fathers would expel all women from it!” “God forbid,” Roger said fervently. “Amen a thousand times. But you are a fine young man, and you seem all the more so to me because you are both modest and restrained. It is also easy to see that you have not spent your few years in the open air, suffering the harshness of the cold in winter and scorched by the sun’s rays in summer, as my poor Frasquillo had to endure, and he was not yet fourteen when God took him from me. ” “The truth is, I have seen very little of the world, my good woman,” the young man replied.
“So much the better for you. And now, here is the bundle for good old Rampas, and tell him not to hurry to return those clothes. When he passes by, he can leave them in the cabin. Holy Mary, you are covered in dust! It is clear that in convents there is no woman to look after you. I will clean you up a bit. Oh!” And now, give me a kiss and go in peace. Roger bent down to be kissed by her, a greeting very much in vogue in England at that time, and Erasmus noted this much later, saying that the kiss as a greeting was more common in that kingdom than in any other country. But the experience was new to Roger, and the touch of the villainess made an impression on him that he had never seen before. He was thinking about this as he left the cottage and remembered the abbot’s words, finally wondering what the abbot would have said and felt in a similar situation. But when he arrived back on the road, Roger saw a sight that made him forget everything else. The ill-fated Master Rampas was standing a short distance from where he had left him, moaning, stamping, and becoming more desperate than ever, and what was worse, without his habit, nor any clothing except a very short knickers and his shoes. In the distance, a big man was running away among the trees, carrying a bundle in one hand and resting the other on his side as if his flanks ached from laughing so much. “Look at him!” howled the fuller. “There he goes! You are my witness, I’ll put him in Chester jail. He’s taking my habit! ” “What’s happened here? Who is that man? ” “Who can it be, my pest, but your Tristan the thief, Tristan the robber, who, not content with having left me almost naked, came back to steal my sackcloth, as if a Christian could walk down the public highway in this nightgown. He’s stolen my habit, my habit! ” “Forgive me, good man, the habit was his…” “Come on, then let him take everything.” He’ll soon be back to strip me of my shoes and this shift, for as far as it goes… Our Lady of Rocamadour will do! “And how did that happen?” asked Roger, filled with astonishment. “Are those the clothes you brought me? Give them here, please, for even the Pope won’t take these off me, even if the whole Sacred College helped him.” How was it? Well, you had hardly left me when Don Thief came running back, and as I began to apostrophize him, he asked me very sweetly if I thought it possible for a good religious man to abandon his brand new, warm cassock to put on the doublet and hose of a craftsman. I began to take off my habit, very happy, while he explained that he had left so that I could say my prayers with greater devotion. He also pretended to unbutton my doublet to give it back to me, but as soon as I handed him his Sackcloth hurried off again, leaving me in what I was wearing, which isn’t much . There must be a rogue! And how the bigot laughed! Roger listened to the story of these woes with all the seriousness he could. But when he looked at the poor man dressed in the charcoal burner’s rags and saw the expression of offended dignity on Master Rampas’s chubby face and bulging eyes, he found it impossible to contain his laughter. He had never laughed so hard or so heartily, and unable to stand, he leaned against the trunk of a tree, unable to speak, tears welling up in his eyes as he laughed heartily. The fuller looked at him gravely; new bursts of hilarity writhed Roger’s body, and Master Rampas, seeing that this showed no signs of ending, gave him a ceremonious bow and walked slowly and haughtily away, waddling his shoulders. Roger watched him until he was out of sight, and even after he himself was on his way, he laughed heartily every time he remembered the face and the grimaces of the fuller of Léminton. Chapter 4. OF ENGLISH JUSTICE IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. The road Roger followed was little frequented, but not so much so that the wayfarer failed to meet from time to time some muleteers, a poor beggar, and other travelers as tired as himself. Among those Roger met on his way was also one who seemed to be a friar, who, whining, asked him for some gorings to buy bread, for he was dying of hunger. The young man quickened his pace without answering, because in the convent he had learned to distrust these vagrant friars; not to mention that from the bag that the beggar carried on his back he saw sticking out the rather raw bone of a leg of mutton, which good Roger would have wanted for himself . He didn’t go far without hearing the curses hurled at him by the supposed priest, followed by such blasphemies that the traveler ran to avoid hearing them, and didn’t stop until he was out of sight of the foul-mouthed friar. At the edge of the woods, Roger discovered a laborer who was sitting by the side of the road with his wife , eating a huge hare pie and a flask of cider . The brutal laborer uttered a rude exclamation as Roger passed, and Roger continued on his way, ignoring him. But when the woman dared to shout to the handsome young man, inviting him to dine with them, her husband became so enraged that, taking up his staff, he began to beat his charitable companion. The young man realized that it was best to get away from them, very saddened to see that everywhere he found only violence, deceit, and injustice. He was thinking about this, comparing those episodes of his day with the monotonous life of the convent, when behind a fence to his right, he saw the strangest spectacle imaginable. Four legs covered in tight, brightly colored harlequin stockings and long boots with twisted toes moved in time, the bushes obscuring the upside-down bodies of those limbs. Cautiously approaching, Roger heard the sounds of a flute, and as he rounded the fence, his surprise grew even greater when he saw two young men who , apparently without much difficulty, were holding themselves upside down in the grass and playing flutes, while imitating the movements of a dance with their feet. Roger made the sign of the cross and was tempted to run; but at that moment, the musicians discovered him and immediately came up to him, jumping on their heads, as if they were made of flint and not flesh and blood. Arriving a few steps from Roger, these very strange dancers bent their bodies, placed their feet on the ground, assumed their normal position without the slightest effort, and came forward smiling, with their hands on their hearts, in the attitude of acrobats or clowns greeting the audience. “Be generous, my prince,” said one of them, holding out a braided cap that he picked up from the ground. “Hand in your pocket, handsome lad,” replied the other. “We accept all kinds of coins and in any amount, from a bag of ducats or a handful of doubles, up to a single gored, if you cannot make a larger offering. Roger believed he was in the presence of a pair of goblins and even tried to remember the formula of the exorcism; but the two strangers burst out laughing when they saw the horror and surprise reflected in his face. One of them jumped and, falling on his hands, began to walk with them, stamping his feet in the air. The other asked: – Have you never seen minstrels? At least you will have heard about them. Such are we, not witches or demons. –Why this fear, blond cherub? asked the other. –Don’t be surprised by my surprise, Roger finally replied. I had never seen a minstrel in my life and much less did I expect to see two pairs of legs dancing mysteriously in the air . Well, what about jumping on your skulls? I would really like to know why you do such extraordinary things. –The answer is difficult, and surely if it were up to me you would never again see me walking upside down, swallowing burning tow or playing the lute with my feet, for the entertainment of onlookers and the horror of tender little pages like you…. But what do I see? A jar! And full, full of the rich juice of the sweet grapes! Confiscation! And by doing and saying, he seized the bottle of wine that the brother butcher gave to Roger and that he was carrying in his half-open satchel. Drinking half of the wine was the work of a moment for the minstrel, who then passed the bottle to his companion. As soon as he had exhausted it, he made a gesture of swallowing it, with such truth that it frightened Roger; Then the evaporated flask reappeared in the right hand of the minstrel, who, throwing it high, received it on his left calf, from which he seemed to extract it to present it to Roger, accompanied by a comical bow. –Thank you for the wine, young man, he said; It’s one of the few good things we’ve tried in long days. And in answer to your question, we will tell you that our profession forces us to invent and continually try new lucks, one of which and the most difficult and applauded you have witnessed. We come from Chester, where we have been admired by nobles and commoners, and we are heading to the fairs of Pleyel, where if we do not win many ducats we will not lack applause. I assure you that I would give a good number of these for one of those. Or for another drink of your delicious wine. And now, little friend, if you sit on that stone, we will continue our rehearsal and you will have fun. Roger did so, who then noticed the two enormous bundles that made up the minstrels’ luggage and which, from what they revealed, contained silk doublets, shiny belts and fringes of tinsel and false rhinestones. Next to them lay a vihuela that Roger picked up and began to play with great skill, while the acrobats continued their surprising exercises. It didn’t take them long to pick up the beat of the vihuela and it was a thing of seeing them with their feet in the air, dancing on their hands, with as much alacrity and ease as if they had walked in that position all their lives. –Faster, faster! They shouted at the player, who pleased them by laughing out loud. –Bravo, don alfeñique! finally exclaimed one of the dancers, letting himself fall exhausted on the grass. –For the life of! You were very quiet, Mr. Musician, said the other, imitating him. Where did you learn to play like that? –What I just played I learned by myself, without music or a teacher, having heard it several times there in Belmonte, where I come from. –The devil take me if you are not the helper we need! said the older-looking minstrel. For some time now I have been looking for a vihuelist, flutist, or whatever, who can accompany us and play by ear, and you have a magnificent one. Come with us to Pleyel, you will not be sorry, nor will you lack some ducats, good beer and better humor as long as we continue together. –Not to mention that we have never had dinner without a good slice of meat on the plate and you will be no less. For my part, I promise you half a glass of wine on Sundays, while we are in town, said the other. “It’s a Gascon, and of the old variety,” he added, winking an eye to give more value to his offer. “No, it can’t be,” replied the young man. “My destiny is another, and if I am to reach it in time, I cannot allow myself many stops as long as this. Rest in God. ” Having said this, he hurried away, ignoring the repeated offers of the minstrels, who finally bade him farewell, wishing him good luck. The last time he saw them, before turning a bend in the path, the youngest of the acrobats had climbed onto his companion’s shoulders and from that height was greeting him with two brightly colored pennants, which he waved above his head. Roger waved goodbye to them and, smiling, set off for Munster. All these varied incidents of his day seemed strange and extremely interesting to him . The few hours since he left the peaceful cloister had provided him with more excitement than a year of life in Belmonte. It seemed incredible to him that the fresh bread he was eating with pleasure had come fresh from the abbey’s ovens. He soon left the hilly terrain covered with trees and found himself on the vast plain of the Solent, whose fields, enameled with multicolored flowers, presented here and there green or bronze clumps of waving ferns. To the traveler’s left, and not far away, the dense forest continued, but the path diverged quickly from it and wound through the valley. The sun, approaching its setting between purple clouds, illuminated the cheerful fields with a soft light and grazed the first trees of the forest, casting inimitable touches of gold and red between the branches. Roger admired the beautiful landscape, but without pausing, because according to his reports, he was still a long league from the first inn where he intended to spend the night. All he did was take a few bites of the bread and the delicious cheese he had brought with him. Along that stretch of road, the traveler met a good number of people. First, he saw two Dominican friars in black robes, who passed by without even looking at him, their eyes fixed on the ground and murmuring their prayers. They were followed by a fat, chubby, and smiling Franciscan, who stopped Roger to ask if there wasn’t a certain inn nearby famous for its eel cakes. When the young man replied that he had always heard the eel stews of the Solent praised, the epicurean father headed toward that village, licking his lips with pleasure. Shortly after, our traveler saw three reapers approaching, singing loudly, with an accent and jargon so different from anything he had heard in his convent that they seemed to him more like men of another race expressing themselves in barbaric language. One of them was carrying a heron they had caught in the neighboring marsh and offered it to Roger for two gorings. He excused himself as best he could and was glad to leave the singers behind, whose tangled red hair, sharp sickles, and brutal laughter made them unpleasant traveling companions, especially when encountered at nightfall in the open country. More dangerous than those cheerful peasants proved to be a gaunt beggar who met him shortly afterward, using a crutch to replace his missing leg. Although apparently weak and humble, Roger had no sooner passed without depositing the coin he demanded in the greasy hat than he heard the wretch’s angry cry and a terrible blasphemy, followed by a stone that, had it struck our hero in the head, would probably have put an end to his adventures. Fortunately, the stone grazed his ear and crashed violently into a nearby tree. Roger took cover behind his trunk with a single leap, and from there he made his retreat, concealing himself in the undergrowth, not returning to the path until he had put a good distance between himself and the ragged madman. It seemed to him that in England there was no more protection for life and property than each man could provide with his own fists or the swiftness of his legs. Where was the law, that law he had heard about in the cloister, superior to prelates and barons, of which he saw no trace or sign? Nevertheless, the sun could not have set that day without Roger seeing for himself an unforgettable example of the harshest law of that age and of the swiftest dispensation of justice ever witnessed by human eyes. In the center of the valley was a hollow through which the waters of a crystalline stream ran. To the right of the road, at the point where it crossed the stream, was a shapeless pile of stones, perhaps an ancient burial mound, which disappeared almost entirely beneath the heather and ferns. Roger was searching for the ford when he saw coming from the opposite side a poor woman, weighed down by age and infirmity, who twice tried in vain to place her foot on a broad, flat stone placed in the middle of the stream. Roger saw her sit down despondently on the bank, and crossing the ford, he approached her and offered to help her. “Come, good woman; the passage is not so difficult as it seems.” “I cannot, lad; age has clouded my eyes, and although I know there is a stone at the ford, I cannot see it. ” “That is why it must not remain,” said Roger; and taking the gaunt old woman in his arms, he quickly carried her to the other side. ” You seem too weak and ancient to travel alone,” he continued when he saw her falter and fall to her knees. “Have you come from far away? ” “From Balsain, where I left my ruined cottage three days ago. I am going to find my son, who is the king’s huntsman at Corvalle and has offered to look after me these last days of my life. ” “It is his duty to do so, since you looked after him in his childhood. But have you eaten? Do you have provisions?” “I had a bite at dawn, at Dunán’s tavern… But there I also left the last coin I had, and that is why I must arrive this very night at Corvalle, where I will lack nothing.” If you could see my son, so arrogant, so generous! I forget my troubles when I picture him in his green hunting jacket, the king’s coat of arms embroidered on his chest. “The journey from here to Corvalle is long, especially for you, and it’s almost nighttime. But here is a little bread and cheese, and also some coins to complete your supper at the first inn. May God rest with you. ” “May he protect you, generous youth,” said the old woman, walking away, offering her blessings in abundance. As Roger turned to start walking, he discovered what he hadn’t noticed until then: that his brief interview with the poor woman had had witnesses. These were two men, hidden until then among the heather that covered the aforementioned pile of stones, who, abandoning their hiding place, were heading toward the hollow. One of them, an old man in ragged clothes, with an uncultivated beard and a crooked nose, looked more like a bandit than a wayfarer; The other was one of the few black men in England at that time, and Roger gazed in amazement at the bulging lips and large white teeth that stood out against the blackness of their complexions. But the appearance of the two strangers was so suspicious that Roger thought it prudent to climb the bank and take the road at a brisk pace, in order to avoid meeting them. The others did not follow him, but before he had gone far, he heard the cries for help from the old woman, stopped in the middle of the road by the two scoundrels, who hurriedly stripped her of the coins he had given her, her woolen shawl, and the small basket she was carrying. Roger dropped his satchel and, grasping his iron-shod club, turned back, jumped across the stream , and ran at full speed towards the group formed by the robbers and their victim. But they did not seem inclined to give way, for seeing the black man coming, he took out a shining knife and waited for him with his feet firm. The other took hold of his knobby cane and, with threats and curses, invited Roger to approach. No danger could have stopped the courageous young man at that moment, usually so measured and peaceful, but whose countenance indicated that indignation and anger were blinding him, turning him into a formidable adversary. Arriving in front of the black man, he He unleashed such a furious blow that he dropped his knife and fled, screaming in pain. Seeing him, the old man sprang upon Roger, and, wrapping both arms tightly around his waist, shouted to the other to stab his enemy in the back. The black man approached, seized his weapon, and Roger believed his last hour had arrived, although he did not cease to make vigorous efforts to overthrow his adversary, whose throat he gripped furiously as they struggled from one side of the road to the other. At that supreme moment, the galloping of numerous horses over the stones was distinctly heard , and almost at the same time, a cry of terror from the black man, who fled at full speed and soon hid in the undergrowth. The other bandit, whose eyes betrayed the fear that had seized him, made desperate efforts to repulse Roger, but the latter finally succeeded in overthrowing him and holding him firmly, expecting to receive immediate reinforcements. The riders arrived at full speed, preceded by what appeared to be the leader of the band, who rode a beautiful black horse and wore a fine velour coat, crossed his chest by a wide red band embroidered with gold, and covered his head with a cap of white feathers. He was followed by six crossbowmen, with doublets of buriel cloth, belts of ramrod, helmets without feathers, and crossbows and arrows on their backs. They descended the slope, crossed the ford, and in a few moments arrived at the scene of the fight. “Here’s one of them!” exclaimed the leader, dismounting and shaking the bandit by the neck. “See to the ropes, Pedro, and tie his hands and feet so that he won’t slip again. His time has come, and by Saint George! this time he’ll pay for it all together. Who are you, young man?” he asked Roger. “A clerk from the Abbey of Belmonte, sir.” “Do you have a letter or paper to prove it? Aren’t you just one of the many beggars who infest these roads? ” “Here are the letters from the Abbot of Bergen. I have no need to beg,” said the young man, somewhat offended. “So much the better for you. Do you know who I am? ” “No, sir. ” “I am the law, I am the magistrate of the county, and I represent the justice of our kind sovereign, Edward III. ” “You have arrived in time, sir,” said Roger, bowing to the personage. ” A few moments more, and you would have found only my corpse here, and perhaps that of this poor woman as well.” “But we’re missing the other one!” exclaimed the magistrate. “Haven’t you seen a black man? He was the accomplice of that thief, and together they were fleeing… ” “The black man escaped in that direction when they heard you,” said Roger, pointing toward the stones of the crumbling barrow. “He’s hiding in the bushes and can’t be far away,” said one of the crossbowmen, preparing his dreaded weapon. “I’ve been watching the surrounding countryside ever since we arrived . He knows that with our horses we could reach him in a trice, and he’ll be careful not to run away. ” “Then go and find him! It will never be said that a criminal of his kind escaped the magistrate of Southampton and his crossbowmen. Leave that bandit lying in the dust. Now, lads, form up in line, a good distance apart, and begin the hunt. Ready your crossbows, and I ‘ll get you game such as the king himself cannot have. Norris here on the left; Red James on the right. That’s right. Watch out for the bushes, and a quart of wine for the good shot who gets his shot. ” The black man had slipped through the heather to the ruined monument, behind whose stones he hid. After a short while, he wanted to find out what his pursuers were doing or planning, seeing them split up into a long line and advance through the undergrowth in the direction he had taken and which Roger had indicated. Although the fugitive poked his head out as cautiously as possible, the slight movement of some ferns was enough to denounce his presence to the magistrate, who at that moment was staring at the eminence formed by the stones and the bushes that partly covered them. “Ah, scoundrel!” cried the official, drawing his sword and pointing him out to his soldiers. “There he is! Stand firm, crossbowmen! He is already leaving his lair and running like a deer. Shoot!” This was indeed the case, because when the black man heard the magistrate’s voices and saw himself discovered, he began to flee at full speed. –Aim two yards to the right, boy, said a veteran crossbowman, next to Roger. –No, there is hardly any wind; With a yard and a half enough, his companion answered, releasing the string of his crossbow. Roger shuddered, because the steel dart seemed to pass through the fugitive. But he kept running. –Two rods, I tell you, bodoque, commented the old crossbowman, aiming as calmly as if he were shooting at a target. The deadly arrow began whistling and the black man was seen to suddenly take an enormous leap, open his arms and fall face-first to the ground, where he remained motionless. –Under the left shoulder, was the only thing his matador said, going forward to recover his dart. –A old dog there are no yours. Tonight you can get drunk with the best wine in Southampton, said the character to his impassive crossbowman. Are you sure you shipped it? –He is as dead as my grandmother, sir. –Current. Now to the other rascal. There is no shortage of trees there in the forest, but we have no time to waste. Come on, Cub, take out that sword and cut off the scoundrel’s head, like you know how to do it. –Please, grant me a favor that I ask of you! The condemned man begged , tooth to tooth. –What is it? the magistrate asked. –First I will confess my crime. The black man and I were, in fact, the ones who, after stealing everything we could from the boat _Rosamaria_ on which he was cook, murdered and plundered the Flemish merchant in Belfast. I am ready for you to send me there, before my judges. –That confession has little merit and it will not be worth it to you. The thing is that in addition to your misdeeds in Belfast and everywhere else, you have just committed an assault in an unpopulated area within the territory of my jurisdiction and you are going to die. Enough talk. –But sir, observed Roger, pale with emotion; He has not been judged and…. –You, young man, will please me greatly by not talking about what you do not understand and care less about. And you, belitre, he continued addressing the prisoner, what grace is that you ask for? –I have a small piece of wood wrapped in canvas in the boot of my left foot . It once belonged to the boat in which the blessed Saint Paul was traveling when the waves threw him onto the island of Melita. I bought it for three doubles from a sailor who came from Levante. I ask you to allow me to die with that relic in my hand, and in this way I will not only obtain my eternal salvation but also yours, because owing you such a great favor, I will not stop interceding for you for a single day. At a signal from his boss, the crossbowman Jacobo took off the criminal’s shoes and found the valuable relic in his boot, wrapped in a long strip of fine cord. The soldiers devoutly crossed themselves and the magistrate uncovered himself as he took it and handed it to the condemned man. –If it should happen that through the merits of the great apostle Saint Paul your crimes were forgiven and the doors of Paradise opened, said the credulous magistrate, I hope that you will not forget the grace that I grant you and the promise that you make me. And keep in mind also that all your intercession must be for Robert of York, magistrate of Southampton and not for Robert of York my first cousin, the constable of Chester. And now, Jacob, to the gear, we still have a good run from here to Munster and the sun has already set. With eyes dilated with horror, Roger contemplated that moving scene; the obese, richly dressed character, the group of crossbowmen who looked indifferently, holding the reins of their horses; the old lady, as frightened as he, who was waiting for the end of the bloody drama sitting on the side of the road and finally the criminal standing, his arms tied and pale as a dead man. The oldest of the crossbowmen stepped forward at that moment and unsheathed the sharp blade; Roger turned his back and hurriedly retreated, but after a few steps he heard a dull, horrible sound that made him tremble, followed by the thud of his body as it fell to the ground. moments later The corregidor and four crossbowmen trotted past Roger, the other two having received orders to dig a grave and bury the bodies. One of the soldiers was cleaning the long blade of his sword on his horse’s mane, and seeing him, Roger was so overcome with anguish that he threw himself down on the grass and burst into convulsive sobs. A wicked world, it was said to himself, hard-hearted men, both criminals and those charged with administering brutal and bloody justice! Chapter 5. OF THE STRANGE COMPANY THAT GATHERED AT THE GREEN BIRD INN. Night had fallen and the moon was shining through light clouds when Roger, tired and hungry, arrived at Dunán’s inn, famous for ten leagues around and situated outside the town, at the intersection of the three roads: Balsain, Corvalle, and Munster. It was a low , gloomy building, its door pointed out to the wayfarer and lit at night by two lit torches. From the central window projected a long pole-like bar, from the tip of which hung an enormous dry branch, a sure sign that the thirsty traveler would find all kinds of drinks at the inn, and especially the golden beer and fine wine that contributed so much to the establishment’s well-deserved fame. At its door, the young man paused, idly gazing at a saddled horse waiting, pawing, tied to a thick ring fixed to the wall. It was the first time that the descendant of the Clintons of Munster had entered an inn, and he wondered what kind of people his fellow innkeepers would be and what kind of welcome they would give him. But he also considered that if the distance to Munster was not far, on the other hand, he did not know his brother, of whom he had the worst reports. and that the right thing to do was to spend the night at Dunan’s inn and go by daylight to his relative’s house, who neither expected him, nor knew of him, nor had ever shown the slightest interest in him. The bright light that illuminated the inn door, the peals of laughter that could be heard from it, and the sound of clinking glasses made the inexperienced traveler, who until then had spent his nights in the neat and quiet cell of the convent, hesitate for a moment. But he made an effort, and, telling himself that this was a public inn where he had as much right to enter as anyone else, he passed through the door and found himself in the common room. Although it was one of the first nights of autumn and not at all cold, thick logs were burning on the hearth, the smoke of which rose partly through the chimney and partly also filled the room, oppressing the throats of all those present. Over the fire was a large cauldron, the contents of which were boiling vigorously and emitting a most appetizing odor. Seated around were a dozen or more rough drinkers, who, upon seeing Roger, burst into such loud voices that he stood undecided, looking at them through the smoke that filled the place. “Another round, another round!” cried a ragged loafer. “Bring me my beer, and let the newcomer pay for it! ” “That’s the law of the Green Bird,” howled another. “How do you understand it, Aunt Rojana! A new customer and empty glasses? ” “Wait a minute, my good sirs, a minute. If I haven’t asked what you want, it’s because I already know, and I’m pouring beer for the woodcutters, mead for the musician, cider for the blacksmith, and wine for everyone else. Come here, good gentleman,” he said to Roger, “and be most welcome. You know it has always been the custom of the Green Bird that the last to arrive pay for a drink.” Will you agree to this? “I will take care not to violate the customs of your house, madam innkeeper. But it will not be out of place to say that if my will is good, my purse is not very full; nevertheless, I will gladly give even a ducat to entertain those present. ” “Bravo!” they all cried with one voice, clinking and emptying their glasses. “Well said, my little friar!” cried a resounding voice, as a heavy hand fell on Roger’s shoulder. He turned and saw at his side Tristan de Horla, his fellow cloisterer, who had been expelled from the abbey that morning. “By the Cross of Gestas! Bad days are ahead for Belmonte,” continued the burly ex-novice. In twenty-four hours, two of the three men in the entire convent have said goodbye to their ancient walls. Because I’ve known you for a long time, my friend Roger, and despite your doll-like face, you’ll become a man. The other I’m referring to is the good abbot. He’s neither my friend nor do I owe him any favors, but he has a courageous heart and pure blood, and he’s worth far more than the gang of geese he has at his command. Isn’t that so, Rogerito? ” “The monks of Belmonte are saints… ” “Saintly courgettes, who only understand how to live well and fill their bellies. Do you think these arms of mine and that head of yours were given to us to lead such a life? There’s much to do and gain in the world, my friend, but not for those who shut themselves up within four walls.” “So why did you become a novice? ” “The question is fair, by my faith, and the answer is not difficult. Because the blonde Margot, from the Royal Farm, married Gandolfo the Left-Handed, a scoundrel of seven soles, leaving Tristan of Horla high and dry, despite his promises and other things I know. And when the aforementioned Tristan was completely in love, he went into the convent instead of asking the king for a halberd or a bow and giving the Left-Handed a beating as if it were just for him. With calm came reflection, I scared the informer Ambrose, had my white habit taken away, the abbot was furious , and I feel sorry for him, I left the monastery forever, and here I am, happier than ever.” His listeners burst into laughter, just as the landlady arrived with two large jugs of wine and beer, and after her a maid with plates and spoons, which she distributed to the guests. Two of these, wearing the green coats of gamekeepers, removed the cauldron from the fire and made a plate for the rest, and they all ate the steaming pottage with gusto. Roger settled himself in a corner somewhat removed from the fire, where he could eat and drink in peace while observing the actions and sayings of that strange gathering, illuminated by the light from the hearth and three or four torches placed in iron rings fixed on the blackened walls. Besides the gamekeepers and a few sturdy beggars who earned their living by charcoal-burning and chopping wood in the neighboring hills, there were a musician with a ruddy nose, a cheerful student from Exeter, and further away a man with tangled hair and a long beard, wrapped in a coarse tabard, and a young man, apparently a huntsman or page, whose shabby doublet reflected little credit on the munificence of his master, whoever he was. Beside him, the cheerful ex-novice was eating heartily, to his right stood three rough farmhands. In the farthest corner of the hearth, a customer was snoring, exhausted by the frequent libations he had doubtless indulged in before the arrival of the other guests. “That’s Ferrus the painter,” said Aunt Rojana, pointing with her ladle at the sleeping drinker. “And I, fool that I am, believed him and gave him something to drink before he had painted the promised sample, and now I am left without a sample and without the wine that that spendthrift has swallowed me! Imagine,” continued the indignant landlady, turning to Roger, “that Ferrus offered me this morning to paint me a banner with a green bird, the name this honest inn has borne for many years, on condition that I would give him all the wine he wanted during his work; and look what that charlatan has painted and wants me to hang over my door! ” Saying this, the good woman presented a board on which, on a reddish and untidy background, there waddled a sort of dying hen, painted green, with one bulging, yellowish eye placed nearer its neck than its beak. This one was bent and enormous, and from it hung a white painted sign with this inscription in black letters: _To the Green Pagaro!_ That masterpiece of the itinerant painter was received with great laughter, and Roger himself could not help but agree with the innkeeper that this cross-eyed parrot and that fantastic spelling would harm the good reputation of the inn and would make the gentlemen who stopped there to rest and refresh themselves during their frequent hunts laugh. –It would be the ruin of my house, exclaimed Aunt Rojana. –Don’t worry, good woman, I hope to improve the painting somewhat, said Roger, if you give me the colors and brushes of the artist Ferrus. –Heaven prosper you if you do so, dear sir, she said, surprised and delighted with that offer; and in a flash he took him and opened Ferrus’s bag, admiring the promptness and skill with which Roger handled colors, palette and brushes and erasing the green scarecrow he began to paint the background of the new sample. –The Baron of Ansur will have to plow his fields himself, if he wants grain, shouted one of the drinkers, wearing a coat and thick leather boots. What it is, I will never set foot on their lands again. For two hundred years all my relatives have been sweating so that the lords of Ansur have good wine on their tables and golden cups to drink it in and brocades and silks to dress in. I vote so that from today I take off my livery and will never work for those lazy gentlemen again! –Keep your tongue, Rodín, warned the landlady. –No, no, leave him alone, said one of the woodcutters. What we need is for many villains to think like Rodin and shake off the yoke. We are terrified if even speaking is denied us. For my part, even if they cut off my ears…. –See that cutting off ears, the barons’ executioners can do it as beautifully as the woodcutters’ knives, added another of these. For Saint George! I can say that I prefer to live in the mountains rather than serve a servant of the king. –I have no master but the king, declared another of those present, after drinking a mug full of beer. –And who is the king? ventured Rodín, who was already between two lights. Is he an English king when his tongue refuses to say two words in our language? Remember his visit last year to the Malvar castle, where he appeared with a great crowd of seneschals, justices, constables, huntsmen and guards. On one of the hunts I was guarding the Glendale fence when I saw the king charging his horse at me, saying _Ouvrez, ouvrez!_ or something similar. Is that the king that we English have now? –Shut up, it has been said! Tristan of Horla suddenly shouted, kicking the stool in front of him tremendously and throwing it against the logs of the hearth, which sent off thousands of sparks. Let no one insult the good King Edward in my presence, nor even name him unless it is with due respect. Otherwise, by the cross of Gestas!… If he doesn’t know how to speak English, he knows how to fight better than many Englishmen, who spent their lives stuffing themselves with juicy meat and good beer while he gave and received blows under the walls of Paris! Such energetic words, spoken by that wiry young man, discouraged the grumpy ones, who from that point and hour spoke less and drank more. Thus Roger was able to hear what was being said in another group composed, as the grateful innkeeper had whispered in his ear, of a bleeder, an itinerant dentist, and the musician with the burning nose. –A raw rat is my invariable recipe against the plague, the doctor said gravely; a raw rat cut open. –Wouldn’t it be better to roast it a little, Mr. Physicist? asked the toothpick. Because eating raw rats… –Who’s talking about eating them, Master Verdín? exclaimed the disciple of Aesculapius with disdain. The animal cut open is applied to the sore or the inflammation that precedes it. And the rat being an unclean animal, attracts and absorbs bad humors by its own nature, freeing the patient’s body from them. –And smallpox is also cured with such a remedy? asked the musician, after convincing himself that his mug did not contain a drop of beer. –As surely as the plague, stated the physicist, cleaning his plate with a crust of bread. “Well then,” continued the musician, “I’m glad your treatment isn’t widely known, for I’m sure smallpox and the plague are the poor man’s best friends in England. ” “How is that, my friend?” asked Tristan. “Pour a little ale from your tankard into this goblet and I’ll tell you. Well, it has often occurred to me that if the plague and other pestilences were to carry off half the people now living in Lord King Edward’s dominions, those who remained could live in good houses, work little or nothing, and live in plenty. ” “Look where the harpist is sticking out!” exclaimed Master Verdin. “Well, since you have such hard hearts, I wish that when the plague begins to kill Englishmen, it will carry you off first… ” “My plague!” What pains you, Mr. Dentist, is that if half the world were to die, you would be left practically without a job, you who only know how to depopulate jaws and barely earn enough today for bread and cheese. Laughter broke out at good Verdín’s expense, and the musician got up to take his ancient harp from a corner, which he began to play vigorously. “Let’s make way for the coplero!” exclaimed the woodcutters. “Sit here by the fire, and call on a cheerful tune, like the ones you played at the pilgrimage to Malvar. ” “Play The Rose of Lancaster! ” “No, no, The Girls of Dunán! ” “The Archer and the Villain!” Ignoring those voices, the musician continued plucking the strings, his gaze fixed on the smoky ceiling, as if trying to remember the words to his song. Then he intoned in a hoarse voice one of the most obscene songs of the time, to the visible approval of most of his listeners. The blood rushed to Roger’s face, and he, leaving his seat, exclaimed imperiously: “Shut up! What shame! You, you, an old man who ought to set a good example to others! ” The surprise of all those people was profound. “By the beard of the King of France!” exclaimed one of the huntsmen. The student has recovered the power of speech and is going to lecture us . “The damsel has been offended,” said a peasant. “Come here, Mr. Physician, and bleed this cherub before he faints. ” “Continue your song, Master Lucas, there’s no accent to put on it! Are we in an inn or in the drawing-room of my lady the Baroness? ” “I’ll be damned if I play or sing any more!” “What did your grace expect, a sacred hymn or a litany? ” asked the musician sung grumpily . “Since when do the songs sung by all the minstrels in the kingdom frighten pages? As I said, I’ll sing no more. ” “Yes, you will,” replied one of his listeners. “Let’s see, Aunt Rojana, a jug of good stuff for Master Lucas. I’ll treat. Let’s have some songs, and if the young man doesn’t like them, let him leave, or else… ” “Take it slow and steady, don Valiant,” interrupted Tristán, placing himself in front of Roger, as if to protect him. “My companion has reprimanded the old singer because he has never heard the shameless things that seem like jokes to you, nor does he believe that a man with a gray head like the master’s could say them without protest, even though his nose might proclaim him a drunkard by trade.” But since this little blond friar won’t hear your songs, you won’t sing them today, and you, sir braggart, won’t throw him out of this inn. ‘ ‘Good heavens, what a supreme justice has befallen us today!’ exclaimed a frowning peasant, rising to his feet. ‘Have you perhaps bought *The Green Bird*?’ asked another. ‘ See, not only the weeping page, but you too, are going to fall flat on your face on the road. ‘ ‘Truce, Tristan!’ cried Roger hurriedly. ‘I’m going, rather than be the occasion of a fight. ‘ ‘Shut up, lad,’ replied his friend, rolling up his sleeves and showing his Herculean arms. ‘It’s a bad year for me if these rabble haven’t found their match. Step aside and see their hair on fire…. Come closer, you idiots! Come and make acquaintance with the fists of Tristan of Horla, you scoundrels!’ Seeing that things were going seriously, the foresters and gamekeepers got up hastily to make peace, while the innkeeper and the physicist They addressed themselves now to the peasants and woodcutters, now to the spirited Tristan, trying to appease them with good words. At that moment the door of the inn was violently opened , and everyone’s attention was focused on the new arrival who introduced himself with so little ceremony. Chapter 6. HOW THE ARCHER SIMÓN BETTED HIS FEATHER COVER. It was the unknown man of medium height, vigorous and well-built; The face was dark, carefully shaved, and the features were accentuated and somewhat rough , partially disfigured by a tremendous scar that crossed the left cheek, from the nose to the neck. His eyes were lively, with an expression of menace in their brightness and in the usual contraction of the eyebrows. His mouth, with its hard lines and tight lips, certainly did not soften the severity of his countenance, which revealed a man familiar with danger and always ready to combat it. His long brand and the strong bow he carried on his back revealed his profession, just as the damage to his chain mail and the dents in his helmet clearly said that he had arrived from the battlefields, then stained with English and French blood in the war that Edward III and his son the Black Prince were prosecuting against King Charles V of France. From the archer’s left shoulder hung a white ferreruelo, with the red cross of Saint George in its center. –Hello! he exclaimed, quickly winking his eyes, dazzled by the bright light of the fireplace and the torches. Good fire, good company and good beer! God preserve you, comrades. A woman, for the life of me! He said when he saw Aunt Rojana, who at that moment was passing by him with a couple of mugs overflowing with beer. Cheers, garment! and putting his arm around the waist of the innkeeper, he placed two loud kisses on her cheeks. –_Ah, cest lamour, madame, cest lamour!_ he hummed. Damn the rogue Frenchman, he has stuck to my tongue and I’m going to have to drown him in good English beer. Because you must know that I do not have a drop of French blood in my veins and that I am the archer Simón Aluardo, an Englishman of good stock and very happy to set foot on his land again. So it was that upon disembarking from the galley on the beach of Boyne I kissed the land, because it had been eight years since I had seen it, as I have kissed you, beautiful landlady, because from Boyne here I have seen barely half a dozen good girls, and none as appetizing as you… But by my sword! “Those scoundrels have made off with the load,” he exclaimed, rushing towards the door. Hello! are you there? Come in later, you scoundrels! At his voice three bearers entered the room with bundles and remained lined up near the wall. –Let’s see if you return my property intact, hustlers. Number one: a French quilt made of very fine feathers, two bedspreads of carved silk damask, and twenty yards of Genoese velvet. –Here it is all, sir captain. –What dead captain or dead child! Let’s see, the second: a roll of purple cloth, of which no more beautiful shade has been seen in England, and another of gold cloth; Put it there on the ground next to the other’s bundle, and if anything is stained or damaged, I’ll cut off your ears. Number three: a closed box containing gold and silver brooches, two daggers of great value, a reliquary adorned with pearls and other spoils, won by me with the tip of my faithful sword. Another item, a package with a chalice and two crucifixes, all made of sterling silver and found by me in the church of San Dionysius in Narbonne, during the sacking of that city; objects which I appropriated to prevent them from falling into hands worse than the very clean ones of King Edward’s archer. Get going, puppets! The account is complete. Here you have two salaries per beard, which should not be given to you, but rather two kicks to each one; and tell the landlady to give you a drink, I’ll pay. Everyone watched and listened with interest to the veteran, who as soon as he quenched his thirst by draining a huge tin beaker full of beer, he spoke again: –And now, let’s have dinner, _ma belle_. A roast capon, a worthy piece of meat of my appetite and two or three flasks of good Gascon wine. I have gold doubles and silver gorings in my pocket, and I know how to spend them, like a good soldier. For now, everyone who hears me is going to have a drink of whatever they like with me. The invitation was not to be refused; They filled their jugs again and drank to the health of the cheerful archer, whom everyone surrounded, except for some woodcutters and pecheros who lived far away and, much to their regret, had to abandon the inn. The new arrival had taken off his coat, helmet and cloak and placed them on his packs, along with his sword, bow and arrows. Sitting in front of the fireplace, unbuttoning the saddle and holding with his strong, tanned right hand the handle of a good- sized jug filled to the brim, he smiled with an expression of deep contentment. His frizzy brown hair covered his neck and he looked no more than forty years old, despite the deep marks left on his face by the hardships of his long campaigns and by the excesses of pleasure and drink. Roger had suspended the painting of the famous exhibition and contemplated in admiration that type of warrior of the time so new to him, and who in a short space of time had shown himself to be hard and violent, gallant, generous, smiling and finally peaceful, sure of his strength and satisfied with himself. At that moment the archer happened to look at him and saw the surprise and curiosity portrayed on the young man’s face. –To your health, _mon garçon_! He exclaimed, raising his jug and with a smile that revealed two rows of firm, white teeth. By my sword, you haven’t seen many men at arms, or you wouldn’t look at me as if I were a Moor recently arrived from Spain! –I had never seen a soldier from our wars, Roger confessed frankly, although I had heard and read a lot about his exploits. –Well, trust me, if you cross the sea you will see them more numerous than bees in the hive. Today you couldn’t shoot an arrow in the streets of Bordeaux without stringing an archer, page, knight or squire from one side or the other. And not the ones we style around here, with jerkin and cloak, but with chain mail or breastplate. –And where did you find all those beautiful things you have there? Tristan asked, pointing to the archer’s piled riches. –Where there are many other and better ones waiting for well-established young men like you to come and collect them, who should not continue to mold here, waiting for the master to pay them their salary, but rather go to earn it and collect it for themselves, there in the land of France. I vote for such, which is that life worthy of men, noble and honest like no other! Come, drink with me to the health of my comrades, to the glory of the Black Prince, son of the good King Edward, and above all to that of the noble Lord Claudius Latour, chief of the undefeated White Guard! –Claudio Latour and the White Guard! exclaimed those present in one voice , almost all of them aware of the high deeds of that brave captain and the invincible body of his command, the famous White Archers, who had taken a leading part in the fights against France. –Bravo, comrades! I will fill your beakers again, for the good things you have done in honor of the brave men who wear the white collar. Come on that beer, my angel! and turning to Aunt Rojana, who was looking at him smiling and pleased, he sang a war song, with a tremendous voice and out of tune at the top of his voice. –By faith, I understand more about giving arrows than singing trovas. –I know that song from the cross to this day, and my harp knows it as well as I do, said the musician. And if this gentleman preacher, he added, looking at Roger, has no objection, I will play it and sing it in favor of this brave archer…. Many times later Roger recalled the lively and picturesque picture that the _Green Bird_ room presented at that time. In the center of the circle the chubby and red face of the minstrel, singing with great expression the popular verses; the group of listeners, the archer Simón keeping time with his head and hand, and the former novice Tristan, who was not one of the least pleased with Master Lucas’s singing , judging by the smile that animated his good-natured face. –By the edge of my sword! exclaimed the archer at the end of the song. Many nights I have heard that same song in the English countryside and it is said that more than two hundred of the king’s soldiers sang in chorus; but this old drinker leaves far behind those of us whose job it is to handle the bow, the crossbow and the halberd. Meanwhile, the innkeeper and a good girl who helped her had placed on the solid oak table the appetizing dishes that made up Simón’s dinner, accompanied by some enormous slices of white plan. –What I don’t understand, the archer continued cheerfully as he prepared to serve his dinner, is that young men like you agree to live stuck to the land, bending your back and sweating , when you could lead such a good life under the king’s flags. Look at me. What do I have to do? What the song you just heard says: the hand on the rope, the rope on the arrow and the arrow on the target. Which is precisely what you do as a distraction and pastime on Sundays, after the hard work of the week. –And the pay? asked one. –Well, you’re already seeing it: I eat well, I drink better, I invite whoever I please, I don’t ask anyone for favors and I bring my girlfriend silk and brocade fabrics worthy of a princess. What do you think of the pay, _mes garçons_? And what about the pile of trinkets and charms you see in that corner? All of this comes directly from the south of France, where we carried out the last campaign. When do you expect to earn a hundredth of that loot? –He is rich, by my faith, said the toothpicker. –And then, the possibility of pocketing a good ransom. Don’t you know what happened a few years ago in the battles of Crécy and Poitiers? There was no English man-at-arms, page or squire who did not take prisoner at least one rich baron, count or high French knight. There is my cousin Roberto, a peasant like there are few, who at the beginning of the enemy’s retreat in Poitiers put his big hands on the French paladin Amaury de Chateauville, owner and lord of a hundred villas and castles, who had to offer five thousand pounds of gold for his rescue, in addition to two superb horses with very rich prizes. It’s true that the clumsy Roberto soon became broke, thanks to a French girl, pretty as a pearl and smarter than a squirrel. But those are your accounts, and besides, haven’t you gone out of your way to spend them, especially in the company of a good heart of palm? Right, _ma belle_? -It is well said that our brave archers return to the country not only rich but courteous, replied Rojana, who had been greatly impressed by the frankness, good humor and generosity of her new guest. –To your health, eyes of heaven! was the reply of the gallant soldier, raising his glass and smiling at the landlady. –One thing I don’t see very clearly, Mr. Archer, said the student from Exeter. And it is that our good prince having signed the treaty of Bretigny with the French sovereign, after our recent and great victories, you speak to us of war with France and of ransoms and loot… – Which means that I am lying, with a beard, the soldier interrupted, holding by its legs the enormous roast capon in front of him, as if it were a combat mace. –God save me from such audacity, the young man exclaimed hastily. That’s where you come from, and perhaps you bring news never before heard in England. The truce with France does not have to be eternal… – Far from it. But even though it is very true, as you say, that today we are not going to break our bones with the soldiers of King Charles, your question proves that you are novice in war ailments. You must know that in the land of France the beatings continue, because the Brabantines, Nantes, Gascons and adventurers of all kinds are divided and armed as always , not to mention numerous bands of ruffians without a flag, who surround and plunder cities and give and receive stabs without warning. tale. And it would be a bad thing if, when every quisque has his hand on his neighbor’s throat and every baron marches at the head of his band against the first person who stands in his way, the five hundred English archers who make up the invincible White Guard had no means of earning a living in that troubled river . They are not so many now, because the Chevalier de Montclus took a hundred of them on his expedition to Milan against the Marquis of Montferrat; but I plan to recruit here myself quite a few lads eager for honor and profit, and with them complete the ranks of the finest corps that today camps under the banner of Saint George. The only thing missing is for Sir Leo de Morel to agree to leave his castle once more and take up his sword, placing himself at the head of our archers. “It would be no small fortune for them,” observed the physicist, “because except for our prince and the noble Lord of Chandos, there is no better lance in the whole kingdom, nor more proven courage than that of Sir Leo de Morel.” “You speak like a book; I’ve seen him beat the copper, and there’s hardly anyone who can match him. No one would say so, with his small body like a page, his courteous manners, and his gentle voice; but by my sword! From the time we embarked on the Orvel until the siege of Paris, and that was almost twenty years ago, there hasn’t been a better English knight, nor a skirmish, ambush, assault, or sortie in which he didn’t figure in the front line. In search of him, I’m going to the castle of Monteagudo, before recruiting my men, to deliver a letter from Sir Claude Latour, begging him to take the command left vacant by Montclus’s departure. But I wouldn’t like to present myself to him alone, but at least with a good pair of future white archers… What do you say to that, fellow?” asked Simon, addressing an athletic woodcutter. “I have a wife and three children in my cabin,” he replied, “and I can’t leave them to serve the king. ” “And you, lad?” “I am a man of peace,” replied Roger, “and besides, I have a very different mission. ” “Aren’t you two bad chickens! Where are the men of Dunan, of Malvar, of Balsain? Are there only women in Corvalle and Vernel now? Then, thunder and lightning! Why don’t you put on a foot guard and cap and start working the spinning wheel, not drinking with men?” At that moment, a heavy hand fell on Simon’s shoulder, the big hand of Tristan de Horla, and he was heard to say with great calm: “You are a complete liar, Sir Archer, as the lies you have been telling us for half an hour prove; and you are also a loose tongue, and I will slap you soundly if you repeat what you have just said. ” “Bravo, mon garçon!” cried the archer, laughing heartily. I knew that if there was a man in the circle, I’d have no trouble finding him. So you want to slap me, huh? Well, look, I have something else to propose. A proper fight. Not a fistfight, because I have my plan and I don’t want to ruin that sunny face God has given you. We ‘ll stand here in the middle of the room, grab each other however we can, and if you knock me down, I’ll give you that superb feather coverlet I won at the capture of Narbonne, which has no equal even in the king’s chamber… “I’m pleased,” Tristan agreed, hastily removing his robes and doublet, revealing the powerful muscles of his neck, chest, and arms. ” Come, archer; you can say goodbye to your coverlet now, and at least to a couple of your bones, which I’m going to break on the ground.” “You’re quite a man, Redhead,” exclaimed the archer with a hearty laugh, putting aside his jug and tightening his wide leather belt. “Wait a moment,” said a huntsman. “We know what the soldier bets; but if you lose, my friend Tristan, what will the other man gain ? ” “I have nothing to bet,” replied Tristan, very annoyed, looking at Simon. “Yes, you have, my giant, yes, you have,” said the latter. “If you knock me down, you ‘ll take a princess’s blanket; but if I knock you down, I’ll take your body, without being the devil, and I’ll enlist it for four years in the Guard.” Blanca, with other young men like you whom I hope to take to France, and who, if they escape alive, will thank me. “That’s it!” Three or four voices exclaimed. “Accepted, and enough of this talk,” said Tristan, putting his left foot forward , leaning back his body, and opening and closing his enormous hands. The archer, though much smaller in stature, had muscles of steel and was an expert fighter. He cautiously approached his opponent, who was scowling at him, his red hair bristling, ready to seize him in his claws. The archer smiled and suddenly launched himself at his opponent with the speed of lightning, swung his leg around Tristan’s, and, wrapping his sinewy arms around Tristan’s waist, tried to knock the giant onto his back. Few men could have resisted that furious attack, but Tristan, without losing his footing, gave the archer a terrible shake and hurled him against the wall as if shot from a catapult. “Ma foi!” It was a mere trifle that you won the blanket and made me open with my head yet another window in this honorable inn,” said the surprised soldier, who could barely keep his balance. ” Let’s try again.” And returning to the center of the room, he pretended to repeat his previous attack. Tristan bent down to seize him, thus assuming the position Simon desired, who with incredible speed seized him by both legs, or rather, threw himself against them, forcing Tristan to fall forward and onto the archer’s back and from them headfirst to the ground. The blow would have had grave consequences for our ex-novice had it not struck the ill-fated painter square in the belly, who was still sleeping it off in his corner, oblivious to everything that was happening in the inn. He woke up with a start and shouted loudly, the spectators joining him with their laughter and bravado; but above all the din, the stentorian voices of the vanquished athlete could be heard, demanding that the fight continue. “Again, again! Come, archer, and by Saint Pachomius, I’ll crush you like a rag! ” “Not in my time,” replied Simon, buttoning up his vest. “You’ve been beaten in a fair fight, and you’re not a lapdog with whom one can trifle often and safely. ” “In a fair fight, you say?” It was a vile trap…. “Not a trap, but a well-known trick of French fighters , and one that will add a magnificent recruit to the ranks of the White Guard. ” “As for that,” Tristan replied, “I don’t regret having lost, for an hour ago I decided to go with you, for I like your character and the soldier’s life, for which I believe myself born. However, I would have liked to give you a beating and earn my down blanket. ” “I don’t doubt it, mon ami, but it’s up to you to find a couple of them where they abound and with your own fists. Cheers! What’s the matter with that weakling, yelling so much? ” These last words referred to the pained painter, who was still sitting in his corner, screaming to the heavens. Suddenly he stood up and, looking at the group with terrified eyes, exclaimed: “God help me! Don’t drink! The beer, the wine… poisoned!” and putting both hands to his stomach, he ran, passed through the door, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Simon, Tristan, and the other drinkers roaring with laughter. Soon after, some of these men retired to their homes, and Aunt Rojana’s guests to their not very soft beds. Roger, tired in body and spirit, soon fell into a deep but unrestful sleep, and imagined he was present at a noisy sabbath, in which were, in company with witches and goblins, minstrels, beggars, monks, soldiers, and the many curious fellows who had assembled that night at the Green Bird’s Inn. Chapter 7. HOW THE WALKERS THROUGH THE WOOD. At dawn, the good landlady was already stirring the fire in the kitchen, grumpy about the loss of the twelve sous owed to her by the student of Exeter, who, taking advantage of the last shadows of the night, had taken his bundle and quietly left the hospitable house. The cries of Aunt Rojana and the cackling of the chickens that calmly invaded the common room as soon as she opened the inn door, soon woke up the guests. Having finished the frugal breakfast, the physicist set off, a gentleman on his peaceful mule and followed at a short distance by the toothpicker and the musician, the latter still drowsy as a result of the mugs of beer from the day before. But the archer Simón, who had drunk as much or more than the others, left the hard bed happier than castanets, singing at the top of his voice _Los Amores de Albuino_, a very popular song at the time; and after kissing the landlady and chasing the maid to the attic, he went to the nearby stream, in whose crystalline waters he immersed his head repeatedly, as if on a campaign, as he said. –Where are you heading this morning, Moor of peace? he asked Roger as soon as he saw him. “To Munster, to my brother’s house, where I will probably stay for some time,” answered Roger. Tell me what I owe you, good woman. –What do you owe me? exclaimed the landlady, who was contemplating in admiration the sample painted by the young man the night before. Rather say how much I owe you, Mr. Painter. This is a bird and not a doll; Come here, you, and contemplate this beautiful ensign! –He is silent, and his eyes are the color of fire! exclaimed the maid. –And some scary claws and a beak, said Tristan. –Look at the boy, and how quiet he was, commented the archer. That is a great bird and a nice sign for you, patron. The modest artist was pleased to hear those spontaneous praises, and no less to think that life was not all about grudges, fights, crimes and deceit, but could also offer moments of legitimate satisfaction. The innkeeper flatly refused to receive a single salary from Roger for his lodging, and the archer and Tristan sat him at the table between them, inviting him to share their abundant lunch. –I wouldn’t be surprised to know, said Simón, that you also know how to read parchments, when you are so clever with brushes and colors. –It would be a great shame for me and for the good religious of Belmonte if I did not know how to read, Roger replied. As if I have been an amanuensis of the convent for five years, and I owe everything I know to the monks. –This young man is a prodigy! exclaimed the archer, looking at him with admiration. And without beard hair and with that girlish face! Be careful that I hit the target with an arrow, no matter how small and at three hundred and fifty paces, something that many very good archers from both kingdoms cannot do ; But I’ll be hanged if I can read my name drawn with those scribbles you use. In the entire White Guard, only one soldier knew how to read and I remember that he fell into a cistern during the assault on Ventadour; which proves that reading and writing is not for men of war, no matter how useful it may be for an amanuensis. –I also understand some of the lyrics, Tristan said with his mouth full; Even though I did not spend enough time with the monks to learn it well, it is a matter of many intricacies. –Yeah? Well, here I have something that will allow you to show off, replied the archer, taking out a parchment from his chest and handing it to Tristan. It was a thin roll, firmly fastened with a red silk ribbon and closed at both ends with large seals of the same color. The former novice looked and looked at the exterior inscription for a long time, his eyebrows contracted and his eyes half closed. –As I haven’t read much these days, he ended up saying, I’m not entirely sure what it says here. I can believe that it says one thing and another can read something very different. But judging by the lines, it seems to me that these are some verses from the Bible. –Your verse is not bad, comrade, said Simón, shaking his head negatively. As for me, you don’t make me believe that Mr. Claudio Latour, a brave captain if ever there was one, has made me cross the channel with no more embassy than a chant. He passes the scroll to the young man and I bet a shield that he reads it to us at once. “Well, for now, this isn’t English,” Roger said as soon as he read a few words. “It’s written in French, in very exquisite handwriting, and translated it reads like this: To the very high and very powerful Baron Leon de Morel, from his faithful friend Claude Latour, Captain of the White Guard, Castilian of Biscar, Lord of Altamonte and vassal of the undefeated Gaston, Count of Foix, Lord of high and low justice. ” “How is it?” said the archer, recovering the precious document. “You’re worth a lot, boy. ” “I thought it said something like that,” Tristan commented, but I kept quiet because I didn’t understand what “high and low justice” meant. “By God, you would understand it well if you were French! Low justice means that your lord has the right to fleece you, and high justice authorizes him to hang you from a battlement, without further ado. But here is the letter I must take to the Baron de Morel, the plates will be clean and the jug dry.” It’s time to set out . You’re coming with me, Tristan, and as for the bearded one, where did you say you were going? “To Munster. ” “Ah, yes! I know this county well, although I was born in Austin’s, in the hamlet of Cando, and I have nothing to say against you Hansonians , for there are no better archers or comrades in the White Guard than those who learned to shoot in these parts. We’ll go with you to Munster, lad, since that will hardly divert us from our path. ” “Let’s go!” exclaimed Roger happily, who was pleased to continue his journey in such good company. “But first it’s important to put my loot in safekeeping, and I believe it will be completely safe at this inn, of whose owner I have the best information. Listen, fair landlady. Do you see those bales?” Well, I’d like to leave them here, in your care, with all the good things they contain, except for this little box of worked silver, crystal, and precious stones, a gift from my captain to the Baroness de Morel. Will you keep my treasure for me? Don’t worry, archer, it will be as safe with me as in the king’s coffers . Come back whenever you want, for you will find everything here intact. You are an angel, bonne amie. That’s what I say: English land and women, French wine and plunder. I will return, yes, not only to seek my wealth but to see you. One day the wars will end, or I will tire of them, and I will come to this blessed land never to leave it again, looking for a woman as cunning as you… What do you think of my plan? But we’ll talk about this later. Hello, Tristan! At a fast pace , my children, the sun has already crossed the tops of those trees and it’s a shame to waste these hours on the road. “Goodbye, my life!” Don’t forget good Simon, who truly loves you. Another kiss! No? Well, goodbye, and may Saint Julian always bring us such good fortune as this one. A beautiful, temperate day made the three friends’ journey to Dunán a most pleasant one. In its streets they saw numerous men-at -arms, guards, and squires of the king’s escort and his nobles, who were then staying in the nearby castle of Malvar, the center of the royal hunts. In the windows of some of the houses, less humble and dilapidated than the rest, small coats of arms could be seen indicating the lodging of a baron or nobleman, one of the many who had not been accommodated in the castle. The veteran archer, like almost all the soldiers of the time, easily recognized the arms and emblems of many of those knights. “There is the head of the Saracen,” he was saying to his companions; “which proves that Sir Bernard de Brocas, to whom these arms belong, is around here . I saw him at Poitiers, during the last attack we gave on the elegant French knights, and I assure you that he fought like a lion. He is a chief huntsman to His Highness and a troubadour like few others, but he is no equal to the Lord of Chandos, who sings lively songs with more grace than anyone. Three golden eagles on a blue field; that is one of the Lutrells, two brothers, each braver than the other. By the crescent moon above it, I judge which must be the emblem of Hugh Lutrel, the old Constable’s eldest son, whom we carried off the battlefield of Romorantin with his foot pierced by a dart. There, to the left, the Debrays’ helmet with its curled plumes stands out. I served for a time under Lord Roland Debray, a great drinker and a good lancer, until his fatness prevented him from riding. Thus continued Simon, listened attentively by Roger, while his Herculean companion watched with interest the groups of pages and squires, the magnificent greyhounds, and the young men cleaning their weapons and saddles or discussing the merits of the horses belonging to their respective masters. As they passed in front of the church, its doors opened to admit a large group of worshippers. Roger bent his knee and uncovered his head, but before he finished his short prayer, his two companions had disappeared around the bend in the village street beyond the church, and Roger had to run to catch up with them. “What!” he exclaimed. “Not even a Hail Mary before the open doors of the house of the Lord? Is this how you expect Him to bless your day? ” “Friend,” Tristan replied, “I have prayed so much in the last two months, not only when I rise and go to bed, but at Matins, Lauds, and Vespers, that I still get sleepy thinking about it, and I believe I have at least a few weeks’ worth of prayers in advance. ” “Prayers are never too much,” Roger observed warmly. “They are the only thing that can help us. What is man, if not a beast, for whom life is reduced to eating, drinking, and sleeping? Only when he remembers the immortal spirit that animates him does he rise and become a man, a rational being. Think how sad it would be if the Redeemer had shed his precious blood in vain!” “Come on, what a fine fellow this lad is! He blushes like a maiden and at the same time preaches like the whole sacred College of Cardinals!” exclaimed the archer. “And by the way, since you speak to us of the death of Our Lord, I swear I cannot think of it without wishing that scoundrel Judas Iscariot, who by all accounts must have been French, had come to these parts, so that he could have the pleasure of shooting him with a hundred arrows, from the feet to the crown of his head. And no less scoundrels were those who crucified Jesus. For my part, the death I prefer is that which is received on the field of battle, near the great red banner with its rampant lion, amid the shouts of the combatants, the clash of arms, and the whistling of arrows. But let me be killed by lance, sword, or dart, let me fall to the blows of the battle-axe or pierced by a halberd or dagger; ” But it would seem a disgrace to me to be killed by one of those bombards that cowards are now beginning to use, which can strike down a brave man from a distance and are more suited to frightening women and children with their flashes and reports than to dealing with hairy-chested men. ” “I’ve read something in the cloister about these new war machines,” said Roger. “And I can hardly understand how a bombard can hurl a heavy iron ball twice the distance achieved by the arrow of the best archer, and with enough force to shatter armor and batter walls. ” “That’s right. But it’s also true that while the novice armorers were cleaning their bombards and forcing them to swallow a black powder that must be the work of the devil and were being attacked by one of their iron balls, we white archers used to shoot them with up to ten arrows each, leaving a good number of those scoundrels pierced and lying down, may God confound them.” However, I won’t deny that in the siege of a town or fortress, stone-thrower and bombardier companies render magnificent service and open up for real soldiers the breach we need to get a close look at the enemy…. But what’s this? Someone seriously wounded recently passed this way. Look! As he said this, the soldier pointed and followed a trail of blood that stained the grass and stones of the road. –A wounded deer, perhaps…. –I don’t think so. I am a good enough hunter to discover their trail, if one had passed this way. Whoever it is, he’s not far away. Do you hear? The three began to listen. From among the trees of the forest reached them the noise of blows given at regular intervals, the echo of woes and painful lamentations and a voice that intoned a rhythmic song. Full of curiosity, they quickly moved forward and saw among the trees a tall, thin man, wearing a long white habit and walking slowly, bowing his head and crossing his hands. The habit opened and fell from the shoulders to the waist, leaving the backs exposed, which appeared pale and bloody, letting threads of blood flow that stained the tunic and dripped onto the floor. Behind him was another individual of shorter stature and older, dressed like the first and with an open book in his left hand, while his right hand held long disciplines, with which he cruelly whipped his companion after finishing reading each of the prayers that he chanted in French. Astonished, our travelers contemplated the unexpected spectacle, when the whipper handed the book and disciplines to his companion and revealed his own backs, from which blood soon began to flow , due to the furious whippings that his executioner gave him. That was a strange and new thing for Roger and Tristán, but not for the archer. –They are the Penitents, he said; some friars that we met at every step in France and very numerous in Italy and Bohemia, but still barely known in England, where I certainly did not expect to see them. Even the few that are here are all foreigners, according to what I have been told. _En avant!_ Let’s talk to those reverends who value their skin so little . –You have already whipped yourself enough, my parents, the archer told them in good French when he arrived next to the penitents. Long is the trail of your blood on the road. Why do you mistreat each other like that? –_Cest pour vos péchés, pour vos péchés!_ they both murmured, fixing their sad gazes on the new arrivals. And they returned to managing the disciplines as vigorously as before, without heeding the words and pleas of the strangers, who gave up continuing to contemplate that sad picture since they could not prevent it, and hurriedly set off on their way. –For the lives of these Babiecas! Simon exclaimed. If my sins need blood to wash them away, I have left more than two azumbres of that which runs through my veins on the land of France; but lost in a good fight and not coldly and drop by drop, as penitents pour it out without further ado . But what is that, young man? You are whiter than the famous feathers on Montclus’s helmet, which helped us recognize him and follow him there in Narbonne. What’s the matter? –It’s nothing, said Roger. I am not used to seeing human blood flow . –It is a strange case for me, said the veteran, that someone who thinks so well and speaks so well has such a weak heart…. –Stop there! Tristan exclaimed. It is not weakness of spirit, because I know this boy well. His heart is as whole as yours or mine; What there is is that he has much more in his head than you will ever have under that pewter pot that covers your skull and therefore he sees further and feels deeper than us, and is affected by what cannot affect us. –There is no doubt that to watch blood flow with indifference requires learning, Simón agreed, after laughing at his recruit’s disrespectful exit. –These foreign religious people seem very holy people to me, Roger observed , otherwise they would not impose such cruel martyrdom on themselves in satisfaction of other people’s sins. –Well, I laugh at them and their spankings, psalms and pettiness, said Tristan. Who benefits from the blood they shed? Stop being simple, Roger, after all those friars could very well be like some that you and I know, eh? It would be better for them to leave their minds alone. backs and not become redeemers, but rather be a little more humble, for their pride is evident from a mile away. “By Satan’s tail, recruit, I never believed that with that carrot-colored head you could think such discreet things! Whatever the wise Roger may say, neither this archer, nor apparently this red Mameluke, will ever believe that the good Lord likes to see men, friars or not , tearing their flesh open with a whip. Surely he looks more favorably on a frank and cheerful soldier like myself, who never offended the vanquished or turned his back on the enemy. ” “You think as you can, and you think you say well,” replied Roger. “But do you imagine that there are no other enemies in the world than the French warriors , nor more glory than that which can be achieved by fighting them? You would consider a valiant champion the one who defeated seven powerful rivals in a single day.” So what do you say to the just man who attacks, conquers, and subdues those other seven and more powerful enemies of the soul, the deadly sins, with some of which he must struggle for years? Those champions I admire are the modest servants of God who mortify the flesh to dominate the spirit. I admire and respect them. “May it be well, my petit, and no one will stop you while I ‘m around. You’re priceless as a preacher. You seem to remind me of the late Father Bernard, who was once a chaplain to the White Guard and was an angel with warts and gray hair. Indeed, at the Battle of Brignais, a German soldier in the service of the King of France ran him through with his pike, a sacrilege for which we obtained the excommunication of the killer from the Pope of Avignon.” But since no one knew him, and all we knew of him was that he was short and stocky and handled a pike like a battering ram, it is to be feared that excommunication has not reached him, or worse , that it has fallen on some other cursed German, one of the many who leave their homeland only to leave their lives in France. Roger laughed at the fantastic canonical knowledge of the veteran, whom he asked if the valiant White Guard had indeed reached Avignon and bent the knee to the successor of Saint Peter. “Doubt it not, my boy,” replied Simon. “I have seen Pope Urban twice with my own eyes. He is, or was, for there was talk in the camp recently of his death, a tiny old man, with very large eyes, a crooked nose, and a tuft of white hair in his beard. The first time we got ten thousand ducats out of him, but he screamed and flew into a furious rage.” The second meeting was to ask him for another twenty thousand ducats, and I assure you it caused a fierce uproar. It took three days of bickering and lobbying before our captain summoned us to receive and transport the bags containing the gold doubloons. I have always believed we would have gotten off better by sacking the Pope’s palace, but the English commanders were against it. I remember a cardinal coming to ask us if we preferred to receive fifteen thousand ducats with a plenary indulgence for each archer, or twenty thousand ducats with the curse of Urban V. There was only one opinion throughout the camp: twenty thousand ducats. However, our captain eventually gave in, and we received the apostolic blessing against our will and countless indulgences. Perhaps it was worth more this way, because we white archers needed them badly at that time. The pious Roger listened to these details in horror. His lifelong beliefs , his profound respect for the pontifical dignity, the veneration he professed for the visible head of the Church—all impelled him to protest against the soldier’s scandalous irreverence. It seemed to him that by merely hearing the impious tale he himself had sinned; that the sun must hide its brilliant rays behind black clouds and the countryside must exchange its joyful finery for the desolation and sadness of the desert. He only somewhat recovered his lost calm when he had knelt before one of the rough crosses near the road and prayed fervently, asking forgiveness for the archer and for himself. Darling. Chapter 8. THE THREE FRIENDS. Tristan and Simón continued walking. When Roger finished his prayers, he picked up his staff and bundle and, running like a deer, soon arrived at a cabin located to the left of the path and surrounded by a fence, next to which were the archer and his recruit, looking at two children of about eight and ten years old respectively; Both of them stood in the middle of the small garden that surrounded the house, silent and motionless, staring at the trees on the other side of the road and holding in their left hand, with their arm extended horizontally, some long sticks like a pike or halberd, they looked like two miniature soldiers. They were both with graceful features, blue eyes and blonde hair; The tan color of their complexion was a clear indication of the life they lived outdoors in the solitude of the leafy forest. –A chip off the old block! the good Simón shouted joyfully when Roger arrived. This is the way to raise little ones. By my sword! I myself could not have trained them better. –But what is it? Roger asked. They look like two statues. Is something wrong with them? –No, but they are getting used to and strengthening their left arm to properly hold, when they are men, the heavy combat bow. My father taught me the same thing and six days a week I had to hold myself in that position for at least an hour a day, holding my father’s heavy iron cane at arm’s length, until my arm felt like lead. Hello, little rascals! How much do you still need? –Until the sun rises above that tallest oak and makes us close our eyes, answered the oldest. –And what are you going to be? Chestnuts, lumberjacks? –No, archers! they both said in one voice. –Well answered, rascals! It is clear that your father is one of mine. But what will you do when you are soldiers? –Kill Scots, said the little boy, frowning. –Let’s finish! And what wrong have King Robert’s poor subjects done to you ? I know that the galleys of Spain and France have not been very far from Southampton in recent times, but I doubt that the Scots will appear here now or in many years. –Well, we, the oldest of the children insisted, learn to handle the bow to kill Scots, and not French or Spanish, because those were the ones who cut off our father’s fingers, so that he could never handle his bow again. –That is very true, said a sonorous voice behind the walkers. It was a tall rude peasant who spoke, who as he approached raised both hands, each of which was missing the thumb and the first two fingers. –For Saint George! Who has mistreated you in this way, comrade? Simon asked. –It is well seen, replied the other, that you were born far from the cursed land of Scotland and that although a soldier, our flags have not led you to the dens of those wolves. Otherwise you would immediately recognize in these mutilations the barbarity of Douglas the Devil, or the Black Count, as they also call him. –Did he take you prisoner? –Yes, my bad. I was born in the north, in Beverley, near the Scottish border, and I can well say that for many years there was no better goalkeeper from Trent to Inverness. My fame lost me, as well as many other good English marksmen, because when our fights made us fall into the hands of Douglas, that hyena, instead of killing us, made us cut off three fingers from each hand so that we could not dispatch more soldiers to him or pierce his own liver with an arrow. May God grant that these two sons of mine will one day more than pay their father’s debt! Meanwhile, the king has given me that little house and some land here in the south, and we live off the proceeds. Let’s see, guys! What is the price of your father’s two thumbs? –Twenty Scottish lives, answered the major. –And for the other four fingers that I am missing? –Ten more lives, said his little brother. –Total thirty. When they can bend my great war bow, the I will send to the border, to enlist under the orders of the invincible Copeland, governor of Carlisle. And I assure you that as soon as you come face to face with my executioner and less than four hundred paces away, the old fox Douglas will not cut off any more English fingers. –May you live to see it, comrade, said Simón. And you, _mes enfants_, keep in mind the advice of a veteran archer who knows his job: when drawing the bow, keep the right hand close to the body, to pull the string not only with the strength of the arm, but with the help of the right side and thigh. And for your life, also learn to shoot in a curve, because although the arrow usually goes straight to the target, you will often find yourself attacking people sheltered behind battlements or at the top of a tower, or enemies who hide their chest and face with their shield and who are only killed by arrows that fall from the sky. I haven’t drawn a bow for two weeks, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t give you a practical lesson, so that you know how to drill a Scotsman’s brains out , even if you only see the feathers of his cap. Saying this, Simon grabbed the powerful bow that he carried on his back, took three arrows and pointed to the children, who were eagerly following his every movement, to a very tall tree and beyond, in a clearing in the forest, a worm-eaten trunk a foot in diameter and no more than two or three in height. The archer measured the distance with an eagle’s gaze and immediately launched the three arrows one after another, with incredible speed and aiming high . The arrows skimmed the highest branches of the tree and two of them stabbed into the trunk of which we have spoken, describing an enormous and perfect curve. The third arrow grazed the dry trunk and penetrated deeply into the earth, two inches from it. –Superb! exclaimed the mutilated archer. Learn, boys, that this is a good teacher! –By faith, if I started talking to you about bows and crossbows, I wouldn’t finish all day, said Simón. In the White Guard we have shooters capable of shooting one by one all the sockets and joints of the best constructed armor. And now, little ones, go and bring me my arrows, because they cost a little and are very useful and it is not a matter of leaving them stuck in the dry logs on the road. Goodbye, comrade; I wish you to train that pair of falcons so that one day they can bring you good game and also put out the eyes of the bird with whom you have such a serious matter pending. Leaving the mutilated archer behind, they followed the path that narrowed as it entered the forest, whose silence was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a hasty race through the undergrowth. A moment later a beautiful pair of fallow deer jumped onto the road, and although the travelers stopped, the alarmed male jumped again and disappeared to the left of the road. The female remained for a few moments as if amazed, looking at the group with her large, sweet eyes. Roger contemplated the superb animal with admiration , but Simón could not resist the hunter’s instinct and prepared his bow. –_Tête Dieu!_ he exclaimed in a low voice. We are not going to have bad barbecue for lunch. –Hold on, friend! said Tristan, placing his hand on Simón’s bow, just as the buck disappeared at full speed. Don’t you know that the law is very strict? In my own town of Horla I remember two hunters whose eyes were gouged out for killing those animals. I confess that I did not like you very much the first time I saw and heard you, but since then I have learned to esteem you and by the cross of Deeds! I wouldn’t want to see the rangers’ knife playing a bad game for you. “It’s my job to risk my skin,” Simón replied, shrugging his shoulders. However, he put the arrow back in his quiver, shouldered the bow , and continued walking between his two friends. They were climbing a hill and soon reached a high point from which they could see to the left and behind them the thick forest and to the right, although at a great distance, the tall white tower of Salisbury, whose Cheerful little houses surrounded the church and spread out along the hillside. The
lush vegetation, the pure mountain air, the songs of a multitude of birds, and the view of the rolling meadows beyond Salisbury were a sight as new as it was interesting to Roger, who until then had lived on the coast. He breathed with delight and felt his blood flow more strongly through his veins. Tristan himself appreciated the beauty of the landscape, and the sturdy archer sang, or rather, sang out of tune, some spicy French songs, with a voice and bellows that wouldn’t leave a single bird within half a mile .
They lay down on the grass, and after a brief silence, Simon said, “I like that companion we left down there. You can see on his face the hatred he harbors for his executioner, and, truth be told, I like men who know how to prepare a just revenge and show a little gall when the opportunity arises.” “Would it not be more humane and nobler to show a little love for one’s neighbor?” asked Roger. “We have a little sermon,” said Simon. “But I am certainly with you on this matter of love for one’s neighbor, Father Preacher; for I suppose you will include the fair sex, who have no more fervent admirer than I. Ah, les petites, as we used to say in France, were born to be adored! I am glad to see that the friars of Belmonte have given you such good lessons, my boy. ” “No, I am not speaking of the fair sex or of worldly love. What I meant to say was that the vengeful peasant could well have had less hatred for his enemies in his heart. ” “It is impossible,” replied Simon, shaking his head. “A man naturally loves his own kind, those of his own race. But how can it be understood that an Englishman should feel the slightest affection for the Scots or the French? Have you not seen them on one of their raids, splitting the heads and hacking at the bodies of our brothers?” By the edge of my sword! I would rather embrace Beelzebub himself than shake the hand of one of those scoundrels, even if his name were King Robert, or Douglas the Devil of Scotland, or Constable Bertrand Duguesclin of France himself. I am beginning to suspect, my boy, that bishops know more than abbots, or at least they leave your Abbot of Belmonte far behind, because I myself have seen with these eyes the Bishop of Lincoln grasp a double-edged axe in both hands and strike a Scottish soldier with such a blow that it split his head in two, from crown to beard. So if that’s the way to show brotherly love, you can tell me. Faced with an argument as irresistible as the bishop’s axe blow, Roger was left speechless and not a little scandalized. “So you have also taken up arms against the Scots?” he finally asked. “Well, that would be good!” The first arrow I shot from the ranks, and to kill, was over there at Milne, a Scottish rocky plain full of ravines and twists and turns. We were commanded by Berwick and Copeland, the same man who later took the king of those mountaineers prisoner. Good school, recruit, good school that is for men of war, and I’m sorry that before I take you to France you didn’t take a walk in those crags. “I understand the Scots are good warriors,” Tristan observed. “Strong and long-suffering; they don’t advance during combat, but they don’t flee either, instead they stand firm, giving each blow that throws sparks from helmets and corselets. They have no equal with the axe and the sword in battle , but they are very poor crossbowmen, and what they are with the bow, it’s even worse. Besides, the Scots are generally very poor, even their leaders, and few of them can buy a coat of mail as modest as the one I’m wearing.” Hence they fight at a great disadvantage against our knights, many of whom wear helmets, breastplates, gauntlets, and coats of mail worth four or six Scottish heirs. Man for man, with equal weapons, they are as good soldiers as the best in England and all Christendom. “And what about the French?” “They are also fighters of great strength. Our weapons have been very fortunate in France, but that does not mean that their soldiers should be underestimated . I have seen them fight in open fields and within their fortresses, in assaults, ambushes, sorties, night raids, duels, jousts, and tournaments; and I can assure you, boys, that they have brave hearts and firm arms. Among the knights who followed Duguesclin, I could cite for you at this moment twenty capable of breaking lances, without a disadvantage, with the most brilliant paladins of England. Meanwhile, the people, burdened with tributes and taxes, suffer, work, and remain silent, living as God gives them to understand. ” “Have you visited other countries?” asked Roger, who was deeply interested in these stories and reports. “I’ve been to Holland, Flanders, and Brabant, and I believe that this time Tristan will have the opportunity to see not only a good part of France, but also something, and even a bit of the beautiful land of Spain. I’ll tell you about the Dutchman: he’s slow and tiresome, and he won’t draw his sword for a maiden’s beautiful eyes or for a mere trifle; but with just cause and good captains, he knows how to defend his country, wetter than a frog’s pond. And above all, don’t touch his bales of wool, his velvets from ancient Bruges, and other merchandise, because then he’ll fly into a rage and you’ll have to kill him to make him see reason. Yes, laugh! Then remember what happened to the French at Courtrai, where the fat Dutch taught them they knew how to handle steel as well as forge it. ” “What do you think of the Spanish?” asked Roger. “A warlike race indeed.” As it turns out, they’ve been engaged in continuous warfare for over six centuries with the most seasoned of the Arab people, who took possession of almost the entire country and, I believe, still occupy half the Peninsula. I had a run-in with the subjects of the King of Castile at sea when his fleet came to challenge us at Chelsea, and there we had a hell of a brawl with them, in which eighty English and Spanish ships participated. And now that I’ve answered your questions, young man, I’m going to make you a proposition. I see you’re interested in my stories. I know you’d make a career in the army despite the fact you look like a weakling, but you have good advice. Well, listen, choose any of the objects I left at the inn, the one you think is most valuable, and I ‘ll give it to you, on the condition that you come with this lad and me to France, as soon as I finish the mission that takes me to Monteagudo Castle. “It cannot be,” replied the young man. “I would gladly go with you to France or any other country, not only because it pleases me to listen to you, but because outside of Belmonte you are the only friends I have in the world. But I must obey the will of my dead father and see first and foremost my only brother. What happens next remains to be seen, but I tell you for sure that you would make a sad acquisition for your White Guard, for neither by temperament nor by education am I suited to that continual battle in which you live. ” “It’s my talkative tongue!” cried the archer. “I don’t let him go without him talking about arrows and sword thrusts, as if there were nothing else in the world. But come here, my little doctor, and let me explain what I have in mind. You must know that we need more than soldiers and crossbows. In the first place, for every parchment seen in England, twenty must be written or deciphered in France.” For every statue, for every precious carved stone, for every coat of arms, shield, or emblem, molding , and relief that can occupy and feed a skilled and discreet scribe like yourself, there are a hundred there. In the sack of Carcassonne, I saw whole rooms crammed with parchment, without any of us being able to read a word of so much muddle. In Arles and Nîmes, there are ruins of arches, palaces, and sanctuaries, mosaics, paintings, and inscriptions, some so ancient and others so exquisite that multitudes of people come to admire them, not only from all over France but from other nations. I already see in your eyes the desire to contemplate so many good things. Come with me! us and I vote for such that it should not weigh on you! –I would very much like to see all those riches of antiquity and those beauty of art, said Roger. –Another thing. There I have left more than three hundred white archers who for two years have not heard a single word of advice, nor a religious talk, and God knows that no one needs it as much as they do. If you have duties here, what I offer you is not a bad mission either. Until now your brother has been very happy without you and I know from Tristán that in twenty years he has not once taken the trouble to go to Belmonte to look at your face. Brave little brother, you are going to search! –No, well, and the fame it has throughout the region! Tristan added. Everyone knows, and you and I have talked about it in the convent, that your relative Hugo de Clinton is a heavy drinker, a brawler and a gambler, who has caused major scandals and who will probably pay as much attention to you as a dog, if he doesn’t mistreat you. –I can’t believe it, Roger replied. And if he is so bad, I, his only brother, have a greater duty to give him some good advice. Do not insist, friends, that I would willingly follow you, if my choice were free. And now, let us part. There is the square tower of Munster and here the path that the abbot explained to me leads directly to the town. –God preserve you, boy, the archer exclaimed, giving him a close hug. I am quick to hate and love, and I assure you that it hurts me to separate from you. –Wouldn’t it be good to wait here until you see how your brother welcomes you ? Tristan proposed. –Not so, said Roger. Good or bad, the chances are that I will stay at the Munster farm and waiting for me here would be wasted time. –However, Simón observed, for what may happen, it will be good if you know where to find us, if necessary. Look; Tristán and I are going to follow that path to the left, leaving the forest and the shortcut that you are going to take on the right. As night falls we will arrive at Monteagudo Castle, former residence of Count William of Salisbury, whose constable is the Baron de Morel who now lives in that castle. Will you remember? It is very likely that we will stay there for about a month, until our departure for France. It cost Roger great effort to separate himself from those two good friends, especially inclined as he was to the life of travel and adventure that so attracted him, not because of the incentives that men like the archer and his recruit could find in it , but because of the vast field that it offered to his lively desire to learn, to see the world and to practically take advantage of the varied knowledge, crafts and arts acquired in the convent of Belmonte. He did not dare to look back for fear that his resolve would falter, and only when he had gone a long way and was hidden among the trees did he risk a last glance. The archer remained motionless in the same place where they had said goodbye, crossing his arms and looking at the ground thoughtfully. The sun made his cape and the mail of his coat shine, and on his shoulder you could see the end of the enormous war bow. Next to him was the gigantic Tristan, still wearing the shabby clothes of the fuller of Léminton. Moments later they both continued on their way and Roger quickly took the path to his brother’s farm. Chapter 9. IN THE MUNSTER JUNGLE. The path passed between corpulent and tall trees, whose branches formed in many green points arches over the path, covered with grass and dry leaves. Few people used to walk through it and the silence was complete; Only once did Roger hear the sharp barking of hunting dogs in the distance. Not without some emotion did the traveler remember that all that forest and a large part of the surrounding land had once belonged to the then powerful Clinton family. Knowing the history of his house, he knew that he descended from that Godfrey of Clinton, lord of the towns of Munster and Bisterne when the Normans first planted the plant in English territory. But the vicissitudes of the time deprived their descendants from a large part of those domains, and finally the lordship of Bisterne was confiscated from them for the benefit of the royal patrimony, due to the complicity of one of the Clintons in a Saxon uprising. The depredations of great feudal lords continued to reduce the property, and it was no less reduced by some donations to the church, such as that made by Roger’s father, who opened the gates of Belmonte to him. Having become a tenant of Belmonte, he occupied the old manor house of Munster until his death, now inhabited by his eldest son, to whom he left entrusted the cultivation of two farms and the ownership of some cattle and part of the forest. Roger was not unaware that despite the decline of the family, his brother Hugo still occupied an independent and relatively important position in the region, and he looked with pride at those giants of the forest that had belonged for so many generations to the Clintons of Munster. Absorbed in his recollections, he was surprised by the sudden appearance of a man dressed like a peasant, tall and vigorous, who blocked his path , brandishing a long, gnarled staff. “Not one step further!” cried the stranger. “Who are you that you dare set foot in this forest? What are you seeking, and where are you going? ” “And who are you to ask me such questions?” said Roger, putting himself on his guard. “A man can split your skull open with a blow of a club if you are slow of tongue,” was the brutal reply. “But where have I seen that face before?” “Last night, at the inn of the Green Bird,” said Roger, who had just recognized Rodin, the commoner threatened by Tristan and who had spoken so violently against the king and his nobles, and in particular against his lord, the Baron d’Ansur. “Shut up, it’s true! And what have you got in that satchel?” “Nothing of value, a few clothes and half a dozen books. ” “That’s what you say, but what I see is what it’s like to believe. Here comes the satchel. ” “Don’t expect it. ” “By Christ’s nails! Don’t you know, boy, that I can cut you to pieces in a heartbeat? ” “I would have given you the few coins I have if you had asked me in the name of charity. But you threaten like a bandit, and I will know how to defend myself. Not to mention that you won’t escape the vengeance of the tenant of Munster when he learns of the vile way you treat his brother on his own lands. ” “Our Lady of Rocamadour help me!” exclaimed the frightened criminal, lowering his weapon. “Are you the brother of Hugh de Clinton? How could I have imagined it! I will not be the one to rob you or detain you a moment longer.” “Since you know my brother, please show me the shortest route to his house.” Before the highwayman could reply, the sonorous notes of a hunting horn were heard, and Roger saw a beautiful white horse racing through the trees at a short distance, followed by the trailing pack and a number of hunters. Their voices, the galloping of the horses, and the barking of the hounds resounded loudly throughout the forest. The cries with which they urged on the hounds could still be heard: “Hang on, Bayard, Moro, Greyhound! Hang on, hang on!” when the trotting of the horses began again, and a group of hunters appeared a few paces from Roger. Preceding them was a man of between fifty and sixty years of age, with a robust build and a swarthy face, under whose bushy eyebrows shone two eyes with an imperious and penetrating gaze. He had a long, graying beard, and everything in his appearance and manner revealed a man accustomed to commanding and being obeyed. He handled the beautiful steed with sovereign grace and wore a rich white silk tunic embroidered with small gold fleurs-de-lis, with a long purple mantle flowing from his shoulders. It was impossible not to recognize Edward III, the invader of France and conqueror of Normandy, the victor of Crécy, one of the most brilliant warriors among the many valiant ones who had ruled the Anglo-Saxon people. Roger reverently doffed his cap, but the commoner placed both hands on his cane and looked on with a blank expression. friendly to the group of knights following the king. “Hello!” exclaimed Edward, stopping his horse in the middle of the road and looking at Roger and his companion. “Le cerf! Est il passé? No? Here, Brocas, you speak English. ” “Have you seen the deer, scoundrels?” asked a knight of the escort imperiously. “If you have frightened it and made it swerve, it will cost you your ears. ” “He passed between those two trees,” pointed out Roger, “and the dogs followed him closely. ” “That is quite right,” said the monarch, who continued speaking in French, for although he understood the language of his people, he never mastered it well, nor did he wish to speak what he called a harsh and barbaric language. “I assure you,” he continued, turning in his saddle towards the group of knights, “that either I am very much mistaken, or it is a six-pointed stag, the most magnificent of all we have raised today. Forward!” Behind him, warriors and courtiers disappeared at full speed, except one, the Baron Brocas, who, making his horse leap, raised his whip, and brought it across the commoner’s face, shouting: “Uncover yourself, dog! Uncover yourself whenever your king deigns to look at you!” And, giving rein to his horse, he rushed after the hunters. The villain received the lash without moving a single muscle. Then he raised his fist in the direction of his executioner and roared: “I know you, you cursed Gascon swine, and one day you will pay! Curse the man who left your pigsty at Rochecourt to set foot on English soil! May I see you quartered and your wife and children starved to death ! ” “Hold your tongue, good man,” said Roger; though the blow was cowardly and capable of inflaming the lowest of the lowly. Let me search my satchel for an ointment I’m carrying that will be a great relief to you. “No, only one thing can soothe the pain and wash away the insult, and that perhaps time will provide me. There is your path, the shortcut that passes between that thicket and the tree with the broken branch. Hurry up , for Hugo de Clinton is having a joyful get-together with his reveling companions today , and it wouldn’t do you any good to delay the festivities or even to present yourself in the middle of them. I must stay here for now.
” Aside from the pain caused to Roger by those repeated allusions to his brother’s licentious life, he was also surprised and distressed by the blind hatred he noticed among the classes that constituted the society of his time. The worker cursing the powerful, the nobles treating the humble like beasts of burden. Before, when the nobility was the nation’s staunchest bastion, the people tolerated it; Now, it was known that the great victories won in France had been achieved not by the strength of these or those barons, by the lance of this or that knight, but by the valor of the soldiers, sons of the people of England and Wales, and the prestige of the militant nobility had largely disappeared , and their exactions were protested against and their arrogance censured. Men whose fathers and brothers had fought like lions at Crécy and Poitiers and seen the finest of European cavalry crash against the iron walls formed by the disciplined commoners of England could not conceive that a great lord could inspire fear, much less respect. Power had changed hands. The protector had become the protégé, and the entire ancient feudal apparatus was shaking on its rotten foundations. Hence the continual complaints and murmurings of the Anglo-Saxon people, their perennial discontent, the local riots, all that unrest that culminated a few years later in the great Tyler uprising. What so worried Roger as he learned about the state of mind in Hanson’s country would have equally surprised any other traveler in all the other counties of the kingdom, from the Channel to the cliffs and lagoons of Scotland. The young man’s fears increased as he approached Hugh’s dwelling, his father’s house. Soon the woods thinned out, and finally a large meadow appeared before him, where the Beautiful cows; beyond, numerous herds of pigs could be seen, and a wide stream ran through the center of the plain. A rustic bridge led to a road that led straight to the door of a large wooden building, which Roger contemplated with profound emotion. A column of smoke rose from the high chimney, and a chained mastiff slept peacefully at the door . The sound of voices brought the traveler from his contemplation, and he saw a man and a woman emerge from the trees and head toward the bridge, engaged in animated conversation. The former was wearing an elegantly cut suit, though of a dark color and lacking the ornaments and decorations that distinguished the gentlemen of the royal escort. His long, very blond hair and beard contrasted sharply with the black hair of the beautiful young woman walking at his side. She was tall and slender, with a dark and graceful face. She wore a red velvet cap perched coquettishly askew, a rich and tightly fitted suit, and in her gloved right hand, a small falcon whose ruffled feathers she gently stroked. Roger noticed that one side of the beautiful stranger’s dress was stained with mud. Half hidden in the shadow of an enormous oak tree, he gazed raptly at that radiant apparition, that pure and beautiful face that reminded him of the angels painted and sculpted on the altars of Belmonte. Finally, the young woman advanced a few steps ahead of her companion, and the two quickly crossed the meadow until they reached the rustic little bridge, where they stopped and resumed their interrupted conversation. Two lovers? So the only witness to that scene immediately believed, but he soon noticed that the man blocked the young woman’s path across the bridge and that she spoke with great animation, sometimes taking on tones of threat and anger. From time to time she cast a glance toward the wood, as if expecting help from that quarter, and at last her face assumed such an expression of anguish that Roger, unable to resist this silent appeal, abandoned his hiding place and hurried towards the bridge. Having arrived, he had come quite close to the two figures, without their noticing his presence, when the man suddenly flung his arm around the young woman’s waist and clasped her to his breast. She released the startled falcon and, with a shrill cry, slapped and scratched the ruffian’s face, trying in vain to free herself. “Do not be angry, pretty dove,” he said with a hearty laugh; “you will only hurt yourselves. As I said, fair Constance, you are on my land, and you will not leave it without paying me the tribute of your beauty. ” “Let go, villain!” she cried. “Is this your hospitality? Rather die than yield! Let go, or else!… Let me go, maid!” she cried desperately when she saw Roger. “Help me, for God’s sake! ” “I will,” cried the young man, running to her aid. “Let that lady go, for shame on your part!” The assailant cast a blazing glance at Roger, which betrayed his fury. At that moment, the young man thought he was the most handsome man he had ever seen, although his features were contorted with rage, accentuating his somewhat sinister expression. “You miserable madman!” he exclaimed, still holding the maiden, who was struggling uselessly. “Do you dare to give me orders? Go on your way, get away with all your speed, or I shall kick you out of here! Go, I tell you! This fine girl has come to pay me a visit, and I don’t want her to leave me so soon. Isn’t that so?” he said, letting go of the young woman’s waist and seizing her by the wrist. “You lie!” she screamed, and bending down quickly, she sank her teeth into the hand that held her. He released her with a roar of pain, and the maiden ran for cover behind Roger. “Get off my land, you vagabond!” cried the other furiously. From your appearance and your dress, you seem to me to be one of those sacristy rats who grow fat in convents and are neither man nor woman. Go away from here before I cut off your ears, you scoundrel! ” “You say these are your lands?” Roger asked sharply, ignoring the threats and insults. “Then whose should they be, you charlatan, but mine? Am I not Hugh de Clinton, descended from Geoffrey and all the lords Munster has had for more than three hundred years? Do you intend to dispute it with me, lapdog? But no, for you are of a race as lazy to work as you are cowardly to have any dealings with a man. Flee, or I’ll dash you to pieces! ” “For pity’s sake, do not abandon me!” cried the weeping maiden, trembling. “Fear not,” said Roger resolutely. “And you, Hugh de Clinton, ought not to forget, for you are noble, that nobility obliges. Put aside your fury and let this lady go in peace, as she earnestly entreats you, not a villain, but a man as well born as yourself. ” “You lie! There is no one in the whole county who can claim nobility like mine.” “Except me,” replied Roger, “for I am also a direct descendant of Geoffrey de Clinton and of all the lords of Munster in the last three centuries. Here is my hand,” he continued, smiling; “I have no doubt you will welcome me now. We are the only two branches left of the noble and ancient Saxon stock. ” But Hugh rejected Roger’s extended hand with a blasphemy, and a look of hatred crossed his face. “So you are Belmonte’s wolf cub? I should have known and recognized in you the hypocritical novice who dares not answer injury with injury, but with honeyed words. Your father, despite his faults, had the heart of a lion, and few men would have looked him in the eye in his rage. But you! Do you know what you cost him and what you have taken from me? Look at those pastures, and the crops on the hill, and the orchard next to the church. ” Do you know that all this and much more was robbed from your dying father by those insatiable friars in exchange for making you a useless sanctimonious man in their convent? It was for you that they robbed me before, and now you come in person, probably to whine for another piece of my property with which to fatten your cronies. What I’m going to do is unleash the dogs so that you’ll remember your first and last visit to Munster all your life ; and in the meantime, make way! With this, she pushed Roger violently aside and once again seized her victim’s arm. But all thoughts of reconciliation had vanished from the youth’s mind, and he rushed to the young woman’s aid and, brandishing his thick staff, cried: “You may say what you will to me, but brother or no brother, I swear on the salvation of my soul that I will kill you like a dog if you do not respect this lady!” “Let go, or I’ll break your arm!” The threatening movement of the club, Roger’s look and expression, clearly indicated that he was going to do as he said. He was at that moment the descendant of the Clinton nobles, transformed into a formidable champion of a lady’s honor. His heart was beating violently, and he would have fought to the death with not one but ten enemies. Hugo understood at once with whom he had to deal. He released the maiden’s arm and looked this way and that for some weapon, a stick or a stone; and finding none, he rushed at once in the direction of the house, at the same time placing a whistle to his lips and uttering a long, piercing whistle. “Flee, for God’s sake!” cried the young woman. “Get to safety before I return! ” “Not without you, by my life!” said Roger resolutely. “Let me call as many dogs as I want. ” “Come, come with me, then!” “I beg you!” she insisted, pulling at his arm. “I know that man, and I know he will kill you without mercy. ” “Well, let’s run away!” And hand in hand, they ran off in the direction of the forest. The new couple had hardly reached the first trees when they saw Hugo hurrying out of the house; he was carrying a naked sword in his hand, which gleamed in the sunlight, but his dogs were not following him , and he paused for a moment at the door to release the mastiff he had chained there. “This way,” said the young woman, who seemed to know the forest perfectly. “Through the undergrowth, to that ash tree whose branches bend over the water. Don’t worry about me, I know how to run as lightly as you. And now, down the stream. We’ll get our feet wet, but we have to lose track of the dog, who is probably as bad a breed as his master. Saying this, the beautiful maiden ran through the center of the stream, carrying her frightened hawk perched on her shoulder, quickly removing with her hands the branches that impeded her path, sometimes jumping from stone to stone and gaining ground with such lightness that Roger found it difficult to follow her. He admired that young woman, so courageous, so beautiful, whom he had saved and who in turn tried to save him. Long was their race along the bed of the tortuous stream, and when Roger began to lose his breath, his beautiful guide threw himself throbbing on the grass, pressing his heaving chest with both hands. Roger stopped. After a few moments the fugitive regained her usual good humor, and sitting down, almost forgetting about the recent danger, she exclaimed: “May the Holy Virgin protect me!” See how I have become covered in water and mud. From this fact my mother locked me up for a week in my chamber, making me embroider morning and afternoon the famous tapestry of the Seven Pairs of France. He already threatened me with this the other day, when I fell into the pond in the park. And that’s because he knows that I can’t suffer the upholstery and that my pleasure is to run through the fields and the forest on foot or on horseback. Roger watched her enthralled, admiring her black hair, the perfect oval of her face, her happy, beautiful eyes, and the frank smile she gave him that demonstrated her trust in him. Through her Roger remembered the danger that threatened them. –Make an effort, he said, and let’s continue moving away. It can still reach us and I tremble, not for me, but for you. –The danger has passed, she answered. Not only are we outside of his lands, but having misled him by taking the stream, it is almost impossible for him to find us in this immense forest. But tell me; Having had him at your mercy, why didn’t you kill him? –Kill my brother? –And why not? said the resolute maiden with an expression of anger that gave new charm to her pretty face. He would have killed you without hesitation. How infamous! If I had had that club in my hand, the vile Hugo de Clinton would have remembered me. –I’m too sorry for what I’ve done, said Roger, sitting next to her and hiding his face in his hands. God help me! At that moment I lost my serenity, I forgot everything, and if it takes a moment longer to let you go… To my only brother, to the man in whose house I planned to live and whose affection I longed to win over! How weak I have been! –Weak? she replied. I don’t think my father himself believed you to be that way, and he is as severe as any in judging the value and fortitude of men. But do you know that it is not at all flattering for me to hear you regret what you have done? Thinking about it, I recognize that a woman, a stranger to you, should not separate two brothers; And if you want, let’s go back and make peace with Hugo by handing over your prisoner to him. I will know how to get rid of him. –A very miserable and cowardly man would be who did such a thing. I regret, yes, that your attacker was my own brother, but hand you over? Never that ! –That’s fine, said the maid, smiling, and I understand what’s happening to you. The truth is that you appeared as suddenly as minstrels do in their comedies; You were the brave champion who saves the afflicted lady at the moment when the horrible dragon is going to devour her. But come, he said, standing up, calling the falcon and arranging his wet clothes as best he could. Let us go out into the clearing and it is very likely that we will find my page Rubín with _Trovador_, my palfrey, to whose fall I owe all my mishaps of this day and having found myself in the hands of the ogre of Munster. But do me the favor of giving me your arm; I’m more tired than I thought and almost as scared as my poor little falcon. Look how it trembles. He is also outraged to see his mistress so mistreated. Roger listened with delight to the young woman’s talk and held her with his arm. as much as possible, pushing aside the branches and searching in vain for a practicable path. –You are quiet, Mr. Champion, his cheerful companion finally told him. Don’t you want to know who I am or hear my story? –If it pleases you to tell me…. –Oh, if it interests you so little, it would be best to keep it to myself…. –No, please, he said briskly. Tell me, I go out of my way to know something about you. –Well, you will know the story, but not the name. I have to give something to the man who has made his brother an enemy, because of me. After all, Hugo said that you come straight from the convent, so this will be like a confession, as if you were a reverend with a white beard, eh? Know, then, that your relative has sought my hand, not so much, as I imagine, for pledges that I do not have, but for the wealth that his marriage to the only daughter of… my father would bring him, because I have already told you that you will not know who I am. My father is not excessively rich, but he is a man of high birth, a brave knight, in truth, a famous warrior, to whom the pretensions of that rude and scoundrel man… Forgive! I forgot you have the same name. –It doesn’t matter; continue, I beg you. –Very different streams usually come from the same spring; one cloudy , the other clear and crystalline, she said promptly. In short, I will tell you that neither my father nor I could tolerate such pretensions, and that this violent and vengeful man has been our enemy ever since. My father, fearful of the harm he might cause me, forbids me from hunting in all that part of the forest situated north of the Munster road; But this morning my brave falcon hunted a huge heron and my page Rubín and I completely forgot the path we were following and the distance traveled, without thinking about anything other than the adventures of the hunt. _Trovador_ unfortunately stumbled, throwing me violently to the ground, and ruining my skirt, the second one I have worn torn and stained this week, to the greater indignation of my mother and the pain of Águeda, my good nurse…. –And then? Roger asked anxiously. –Between the trip, my fall, the scream I gave and Rubín’s voices, the horse was so scared that it ran away, pursued by the page. Before I could get up, I saw the snubbed suitor at my side, who announced that he was on his land and politely offered to accompany me to his house, where I could comfortably wait for the page’s return. I did not dare to refuse, but very soon I knew from his looks and words that I had done wrong; I wanted to take the bridge, he blatantly prevented me from doing so and then, Jesus help me! I cannot think of his crude insults without shuddering. How much I owe you! And when I remember that I…. Yuck! –What is it? Roger asked in admiration. –When I remember that I bit his hand, that I placed my lips on the evil man’s flesh, it seems to me that I have suffered the disgusting contact of a snake. But you, how courageous and energetic in the face of such a fearsome enemy! If I were a man I would be proud of acts like that. –Little thing when the pleasure of serving you is so great, replied Roger, greatly pleased to hear such praise from such lips. And you? What do you plan to do now? –Do you see in the distance, down there, that enormous trunk, next to the wild rose bush? Well, either I’m really deceived or it won’t take long for Rubín to arrive there with the horses, since that is the place where I stop to rest on almost all my excursions in these directions. Then, home without delay. A gallop of two leagues will completely dry feet and clothes. –But what will your father do? –I won’t tell you a word about what happened. If you knew him you would know that it is not possible to disobey him without facing terrible consequences, and I have disobeyed him. He would avenge me, it is true, but it is not in him that I will seek revenge. The day will come, in a fair or tournament, when a gentleman wants to wear my colors to the palenque and I will tell him that there is a pending affront, that his competitor has been chosen and that it is Hugo de Clinton. Laundered offense and one less villainous heart in the world…. What do you think of my plan? –Unworthy of you. How can you speak of revenge and death, you, so young and candid, on whose lips only words of kindness and forgiveness should be heard? Cruel world, which at every step reminds me of the seclusion and peace of my cell! When you speak like this you seem to me like an angel of the Lord advising you to follow the spirit of evil. –Thank you very much for the favor, Mr. Gentleman, she replied, releasing his arm and looking at him severely. Does that mean that you not only feel that you have found me on your path but that you actually call me a devil-preacher? Be careful , my father is violent when he gets angry, but even he has never said anything like that to me. Take that path to the left, Mr. Clinton, because I am not good company for you. And paying him a curt courtesy, he quickly walked away. The young man was surprised and regretting his inexperience, which had twice made the beautiful woman say something very different from what he wanted to express. He looked at her sadly, hoping in vain that she would stop or that with a look she would announce her forgiveness; but she continued walking down the steep path at a good pace, until only her red shawl could be seen at intervals among the branches. Heaving a deep sigh, Roger took the path she indicated and walked for a long time with a heavy heart, reviewing in his memory all the incidents of that unforgettable encounter. Suddenly he heard a light step behind him and turning quickly he found himself face to face with the beautiful woman, her forehead bowed, her eyes fixed on the ground and converted into an image of the most humble repentance. –I will not offend you again, nor even speak, said the young woman, but I would like to continue in your company until we leave the forest. –You can’t offend me! Roger exclaimed with joy when he saw her. Far from it, I am the one who should have held my tongue. But keep in mind, to forgive me, that I have spent my life among men and I hardly know how to speak to a woman in such a way that my words do not even slightly upset her. –That’s how I like it. And now, complete your recantation; I decided that I was right in wanting to take revenge on my offender. –Ah, not that! he answered gravely. –Do you see it? the young woman exclaimed triumphantly and smiling. Who is the hard and inflexible heart here, the severe preacher, the one who insists that we continue fighting? Well, I will give in, because you have to continue making merits until you obtain, as I wish, the bishop’s miter or the cardinal’s hat. Hear me; For you I forgive your brother and take all the blame for what happened on me, since I myself went in search of danger. Are you happy? –How worthy of you are those words! In them you will undoubtedly find more pleasure than in your first ideas of revenge. She shook her head in doubt and, looking into the distance, uttered a slight exclamation that revealed more surprise than pleasure. –Ah! said. There is Rubín with the horses. The little page had also seen them, whose blonde and long curly hair surrounded his graceful face. She rode happily, carrying by the bridle the white palfrey, the involuntary cause of her owner’s adventures . –I have looked for you everywhere in vain, my lady Doña Constanza! he shouted, waving his feathered cap in the air. _Trovador_ did not stop until El Castañar, he added, setting foot on the ground and having the stirrup with his mistress; And even so, it was hard for me to pick it up. Has something unpleasant happened to you? You must be tired, right? –Nothing has happened to me, Rubín, thanks to the courtesy of this young man, he said, while the page looked attentively at Roger. And now, Mr. Clinton, he continued, taking the reins and mounting lightly, I do not want to part from you without telling you that you have conducted yourself today as an honest gentleman and without thanking you. You are young and I don’t think you are rich; perhaps my father can serve you in your future career, whatever it may be. He is respected by everyone and has powerful friends. Won’t you tell me what they are your projects, now that you can’t count on your brother? –Projects? None; I can’t have them. I have only two friends outside Belmonte Abbey and I left them this morning. Maybe I can meet them in Salisbury. –And what have they gone to do there? –One of them, a brave soldier, carries an important message to the castle of Monteagudo for Baron León de Morel…. A joyful laugh from the beautiful woman silenced the surprised young man, who moments later found himself alone in the middle of the road, contemplating the cloud of dust raised by the horses. Arriving at a small eminence, the lady stopped her steed and sent him a friendly signal of farewell. There Roger remained motionless until he lost sight of his pretty companion. Then he slowly took the road to the town, with ideas and feelings very different from those of the inexperienced young man, almost a child, who a few hours before had left that same road through the forest shortcut. Chapter 10. A CAPTAIN LIKE THERE ARE FEW. Roger was thinking that he could not return to Belmonte within a year, nor appear in the vicinity of his father’s house without his harassed brother setting the dogs on him; and that consequently he was in the world at risk, not knowing what to do and too short of resources to continue traveling and spending, without job or benefit. With the ten silver ducats that the good abbot had deposited in his prison cell he could barely live for a month, but not twelve. His only hope was to reunite as soon as possible with the two comrades for whom he felt the affection that they had also shown him. So he quickened his pace and ran at intervals, eating the bread he carried in his bag and quenching his thirst in the crystalline streams he found in his path. After an hour he was fortunate enough to catch up with a woodcutter who, with his ax on his shoulder, was heading in the same direction as him, which prevented him from wasting more time and even getting lost on the numerous paths that crossed the forest. The conversation between the two was not very lively, since the woodcutter only talked about matters of his trade, the quality of this or that wood and the brawls between workers from this or that village, while Roger could not get the memory of the charming stranger out of his imagination. He was so distracted and preoccupied that his companion ended up remaining silent, until he turned left along the path to El Castañar, leaving Roger on the wide road to Salisbury. Some beggars, a courier from the king, several woodcutters and other people he met on his way told him the proximity of the town. He also saw a burly horseman pass by, with a long black beard, who carried a rosary of thick beads in his hand and a huge sword hanging from his belt. From the shape and color of the habit and the eight-pointed star embroidered on the sleeve, he recognized him as one of the Knights Hospitaller of Saint John of Jerusalem, whose master resided in Bristol. The young traveler received the blessing of the Hospitaller openly and reverently, full of admiration for that famous order, without knowing that at that time he had already acquired a large part of the considerable riches of the Templars and that the once humble and disinterested knights of Saint John already preferred the comforts of their palaces to the adventures and dangers of the campaign against the infidels of the East. The sun had hidden behind black clouds and soon it began to rain. A nearby leafy tree offered the best shelter and under its branches Roger took shelter, even before hearing the cordial invitation of two travelers who had preceded him and who were sitting at the foot of the tree with half a dozen salted herrings, some brown bread and a boot that later turned out to be full of fresh milk and not wine. They were two young students of the many that at that time were seen not only in the big cities but on the roads and winds of almost all of England. They argued more than they ate and happily greeted the new arrival. –Come here, comrade! said one of them, short and stocky. _Vultus ingenui puer._ Do not be frightened by my companion’s face, for as Horace said, _foenum habet in cornu_; but he is more harmless than he seems. —Don’t bray so loudly, Colás, replied the other, who was tall and skinny. If we are going to quote Horace, remember that _loquaces si sapiat_… or as we would say in good English, avoid charlatans like the plague . And by my faith, if everyone followed that advice you would find yourself alone in the world. —Good logic, good! As usual, you get tangled up in your own arguments and fall flat on your face, said Colás with a hearty laugh. First premise: men should flee from my loquacity. Second: you are here eating herring hand in hand with me. _Ergo_, you are not a man. Which is what they wanted to prove, my friend Florian, and what I knew very well; that you’re a puppet and not a man. Roger and Florian laughed heartily, and the former sat down next to the debaters. “Here’s a herring, friend,” said Florian; “but before you partake of our splendid hospitality, we must impose certain conditions. ” “The one I’m most interested in,” replied Roger jovially, “is that a slice of bread also comes with the herring. ” “You see, lazybones?” asked Colás of the other student. “Have I not told you a hundred times that wit and grace in speech surround me like a subtle aura, and that no one approaches me without at once giving evident signs of the wit that overflows within me? You yourself were the most uncouth monster I have ever met in my entire life, but in the week you have been with me you have already made two or three very passable puns, and this morning one rather sharp remark that I would have no problem accepting as my own.” “As you will at the first opportunity, you scoundrel, to flaunt your talents with someone else’s. But tell me, friend, are you a student? And if so, do you come from the classrooms of Oxford or those of Paris? ” “I have studied something,” Roger replied, “but not in those great universities, but with the Cistercian monks, in their convent of Belmonte. ” “Bah! Little and probably bad. What the hell kind of teaching can they give there? ” “Non cui vis contingit adire Corinthum,” Roger observed. “Take it and come back for another, Brother Florian! But let’s stop arguing and get some food, as we’ve said, for the herrings are getting cold, and the bread is threatening to turn into pebbles, and the milk into cottage cheese. ” Which did not prevent the others from renewing their arguments while Roger ate, and from soon adding to their arguments and sophisms, and from raining down quotations from Latin and Greek, from scholastic and evangelical sources, from syllogisms, premises, inferences, and deductions. The questions and answers followed one another like the blows of tireless swords on strong shields. Finally, Colás calmed down somewhat, while his companion continued his oration, triumphant and conceited. “Ah, thief!” he suddenly cried. “You’ve eaten my herrings! ” “And very tasty they were,” Colás replied sarcastically. “But that is part of my argument, the final effort, the peroratio, as orators call it.” Because, my friend Florian, ideas being _things_, as you have just made very clear and proven, you have only to think or concoct a couple of plump herrings and conjure up a two- pound flask of milk, with which your stomach will be quite satisfied and content. ” “So that’s it, eh? A good argument, all right, but we must answer it.” And, as he did so, he gave the red-faced Colás a slap that made him fall backward. “And now,” he continued, getting up, “imagine that you haven’t suffered that blow, and you’ll see how it won’t hurt you, and you won’t steal herrings again. ” The student, crossing himself, grabbed Roger’s club and almost broke a bone of his companion. Finally, Roger managed to calm them down , and when the rain had stopped, he took leave of those amusing debaters. It wasn’t long before he saw groups of cottages, cultivated fields, and the occasional farmhouse; But the sun was approaching its setting when the traveler saw in the distance the high tower of Salisbury Priory. He was glad to reach the end of his journey for that day, and much more when, as he rounded the walls of an orchard, he discovered Simon and Tristan sitting very peacefully on a fallen tree. Neither of them noticed his presence because they were all absorbed in the game of dice they were engaged in. Roger approached very quietly and observed with surprise that Tristan had Simon’s bow slung over his back and Simon’s sword girded on, and that between the two, as if to mark the next move, lay the archer’s helmet. “Curse!” he exclaimed, looking at the dice. “One and three! I haven’t had worse luck since I left Rennes, where I lost even my boots. ” “As for you, comrade. ” “Four and three,” said Tristan in a deep bass voice. “Here’s the helmet. And now I’ll bet it against your vest, archer. ” “I’ll bet! But if this bad streak continues, I’ll arrive back at the castle in my shirt.” “I swear to you! Nice look for an ambassador. ‘Hello!’ he cried, rising hastily upon seeing Roger and throwing his arms around his neck. ‘Look who’s fallen from the clouds, recruit! ‘ Tristan was no less pleased than the archer, but he confined himself to opening his big mouth and narrowing his eyes, which was his way of smiling, while he tried with both hands to place Simon’s helmet on his enormous red mane. ‘Are you coming to stay with us, _petit_?’ asked the veteran, patting Roger on the back. ‘At least I hope so,’ replied the latter, moved by the affectionate welcome of his friends. ‘Bravo, lad! The three of us will go to war together, and may the devil take the weather vane from the convent of Belmonte. But where have you gotten yourself, you’re up to your knees in mud?’ ‘Into a stream,’ said Roger. And taking the floor, he related to them the incidents of his day, the attack by the robber, his encounter with the king, the reception given him by his brother, and the rescue of the beautiful huntress. The others listened attentively, but he had hardly finished his tale, which he was walking between the two friends, when Simon turned back and went away puffing. “What’s the matter, archer?” cried Roger, running after him and seizing his vest. “Where are you going? ” “To Munster. Let go, you puppet! ” “What are you going to do there? ” “Putting six inches of iron into your little brother’s belly? What! Insulting an English maiden and setting dogs on her brother! Why, have I this sword? I mean, no, that lazy fellow Tristan has it, and I’ll take it from him right now. ” “Me, Tristan! Take hold of him!” “Roger,” cried Roger, laughing aloud and pulling at Simon. Neither she nor I suffered a scratch. “Come on, my friend!” and between them they finally managed to get him back in the direction of Salisbury. However, he walked a good way with a sullen face, until he spied a fresh-faced ploughwoman and sent her a smile with a kiss. “But let’s see,” said Roger. “How is it that the soldier does not carry the tools of his trade with him now? And you, Tristan, what are you doing with bow, sword, and helmet in time of peace? ” “I’ll tell you. It’s a game that friend Simon insisted on teaching me. ” “And the rascal proved the master,” growled the archer. “He has plucked me as if I had fallen into the hands of the King of France’s crossbowmen. But for my sins! You must give me back that stuff, my friend, if I am to fulfill Sir Claude Latour’s errand, and I will pay you for it as good as new, at the price of a gunsmith.” “Here is everything I’ve earned from you, and don’t talk about paying me for it,” said Tristan. “My only wish was to carry this gear for a while, to take the strain off it, since in France and Spain I’ll have to wear it daily for some years. ” “Ma foi, you were born to be a soldier and a good companion,” exclaimed Simon, delighted. “That’s what you should say and do. Well done, recruit! Who has ever seen an archer without a bow? Don’t worry, I’ll get you one as good as this, back in the army. But look! To the right of the priory, the brown, square tower of the castle stands out on the eminence, and even at this distance I think I can make out on the flag that flies there the red roe deer of Monteagudo’s coat of arms.” –Red on a white field, said Roger, but I don’t know if it’s a roe deer, a lion or an eagle. What is that shining on the wall? On the battlement, under the flag. –The steel helmet of a sentry, Simón answered. But let us quicken our pace if we are to arrive before the bell gives the signal for vespers and the bugle gives the signal to raise the drawbridge; because Baron de Morel, as a good soldier, is the most demanding and rigorous in terms of discipline. The three comrades soon found themselves in the extensive town built at the foot of the old church and the threatening castle. The Baron de Morel had dined that afternoon before sunset, according to his custom; He then visited the stables, where his two battle steeds, _Darío_ and _Armorel_, were resting from their past campaigns, together with other good horses and the ladies’ grooms, and finally he ordered that the hunters take out the dogs and let them run and frolic freely for half an hour in the avenues of the castle. About thirty contained the kennels and it was not a bad concert of barking that was created when retrievers and sighthounds, mastiffs, greyhounds, hounds and hounds, of all sizes and colors, rushed in in droves. Behind the hunters and pages who with their voices increased the hubbub, could be seen the noble lord of Morel, who smilingly contemplated that lively painting. The good baroness was at his side and they both continued walking until the stone bridge that separated the town from the castle. He was the famous warrior of short stature and little flesh, and neither his appearance nor his manners revealed in him the brave English champion whose high deeds were on everyone’s tongues. The years had bent his body somewhat, although he was no more than forty-eight; and at the time we know him he was still suffering from his eyesight as a result of having a bucket of quicklime dumped on him by the besieged Bergerac, when the baron was leading the assault on that square at the head of Derby’s veterans. The constant exercise of arms and the hardships of his past life as a soldier had kept him vigorous and active as always; He had a thin face, was dark in color, and had the twisted mustache and long goatee that were then in vogue among army gentlemen. The fine felt hat with a graceful white feather, tilted somewhat over the right ear, partially hid the scar of a long wound that started from the temple; Half of that ear was taken away by a bombardment bullet there in Tournay, in the Flanders wars. He dressed in a rich black velvet suit and a short cape of the same color, and wore shoes with twisted toes, although not as excessive as it was customary to wear in the following reign. An embroidered gold belt was worn around his body, on whose wide buckle the arms of the Morel family were engraved, five roses gules in a silver field. Beside him and leaning on the parapet of the bridge, the baroness looked like the finished type of the haughty Castilian women of the time. Taller than her husband, she had the commanding gaze and physical robustness that had made possible the heroic exploits of Agnes Dunbar, the Countesses of Salisbury and Montfort, and other English ladies who had proven to be as courageous as their noble husbands when the occasion came, and little less expert than them in the handling of the sword or the battle-axe. But many of those English heroines and others that we could cite, such as those of Monteagudo, Chandos and Belver, were not only brave but beautiful, the latter adjective that could under no circumstances be applied to the Baroness de Morel. –I repeat to you, Baron, that a maiden like our daughter should not spend her life hunting and running through fields and forests, the imposing lady said to her husband. If we let her continue surrounded by horses and dogs, pages, hunters and soldiers, taking care of falcons and learning, the very cunning French minstrelsy, which she was doing when I surprised her yesterday in her room, how can she serve as the wife of a noble companion and to govern a castle, as I have done in your long absences, with a hundred men-at-arms and servants at her command, half of whom only know how to idle and drink beer? And she tells me that the ballads I’m telling you about, which she hid under her pillow when she saw me enter, were, according to her own confession, lent to her by Father Christopher himself, from the Priory. It’s true that he always tells me the same thing. “That’s all very true, my good friend,” replied the magnate, “but bear in mind that she’s very young, full of life and health, mischievous and cheerful as a child, and that there’s time for everything. ” “Her pranks are becoming extremely serious and require severe correction from you. ” “You certainly don’t mean that I’d ever raise my hand to her. I’ve never done that with any woman, and I won’t except the one who has my blood in her veins. I trust you to correct her when her conduct deserves correction .” especially in my absence, my dear, for if I have been idle at the castle for so long, it has been only because of you, and I confess that without your presence I could not endure a week of this quiet and pampered life. I was born a soldier, and a soldier I must die. “That was what I feared,” exclaimed the anguished Baroness. “Do you think I have not noticed your restlessness of late, and the mustering of your arms in the company of René the squire? May Our Lady of Embrún help me! ” “Do not be distressed. This is not merely my inclination, but a duty, a call to our honor. You well know that the renewal of the war is a settled matter, that our troops are reconcentrating at Bordeaux, and by St. George’s Day! It would be a sight to see if, next to the lions of the royal standard, the arms of all the English nobility were displayed, except the roses of Morel.” “I myself would not have allowed it ten or fifteen years ago; but have you not served the king as the first? Have you not given brilliant proofs of courage in ten campaigns? Let the wounds on your body and the fame of your name speak for themselves. The king himself does not expect you to fight to the death, and the bravest soldier one day lays down his arms and returns home. ” “It is not in me to do so, believe me. When our gracious sovereign rushes into battle armor at seventy, and the Lord of Chandos imitates him at seventy-five, with as many campaigns and wounds as I count, the lance of Baron Leo de Morel can hardly lie dormant . My own fame compels me, since my absence would be all the more noticeable . No, Eleanor, I must go.” Not to mention that our estate is not as large as I would like for you and our daughter, and that only the position of constable I hold here by favor of my good and powerful friend the Count of Monteagudo, whose castle we inhabit, allows us to maintain the position commensurate with our rank. And you well know that it is in war that the noble and the brave find today not only honors, but riches. The royal reward, the rich booty, and the enormous ransoms of this war will forever shelter us from all fear, as far as our fortunes are concerned. “You have earned superb ransoms and booty with your efforts, but you are as generous as you are brave, and others have taken advantage of your estate. ” “Negligence. No more splendor at the expense of the tranquility and well-being of my people. Take heart; the campaign will not be long, and I long to receive definitive news.” “Look, Baron, near the last house in the village, those three men are taking the road to the castle. One of them is a soldier.” Our three acquaintances were indeed reaching the end of their journey, covered in dust, but without any sign of fatigue and chatting happily. The Baron immediately noticed the young man with blond hair and an intelligent face, who was attentively observing the castle and its surroundings. On his right was a poorly dressed giant, whose tight, short harness made it clear that it had not been cut for him. The traveler on the left was a robust, swarthy-faced veteran, with a sword at his belt and a long bow at his side. back; the battered helmet and the faded colors of the lion of Saint George sewn onto his chestcoat left no doubt as to the soldier’s origin, whose appearance bespoke his recent campaigns. Upon reaching the bridge, the archer looked the noble captain in the eye, greeted the Baroness with a respectful bow, and said: “Forgive me, Baron, but despite all the years that have passed, I recognized you at once, even though until today I had not seen you wearing velvet, but rather a helmet and corselet. I have often drawn my bow beside you at Romorantín, La Roche, Maupertuis, Auray, Nogent, and other places. ” “And I am glad to see you, and to welcome you to the castle of Morel. My steward will provide a good bed and good table for you and your companions there. Wait, archer; yes, I seem to remember your face, although I cannot trust my eyesight as I once did.” Rest a while, and then I will call for you to give me news of what is happening in France. Rumors have reached us so far that before the year is out our banners will be flying south of the great mountains on the Spanish border. ” “There was much talk of this in Bordeaux upon my departure,” replied Simon, “and by faith the armorers were working tirelessly, and I saw a good number of soldiers arrive. But allow me to deliver this letter that the brave Gascon knight Sir Claude Latour placed in my hands for you. And to you, madam, I bring from him this jewel case, which was presented to him at Narbonne and which he offers you with his respects.” The archer had repeated those words to himself many times during his journey, and they were the same ones his captain had uttered; but the truth is that the lady, although appreciative of the rich gift, took no notice of the archer’s remarks because she was as absorbed as her husband in reading the parchment, which he was reading to her in a low voice. Roger and Tristan, who had stopped a few paces away from the archer, saw that the Baroness had turned pale and that her husband was smiling contentedly. “You see, my lady,” he said, “that they don’t want to leave the old greyhound alone when they’re preparing to bring down the hunt. What do you say, archer, about this White Guard they’re talking about here? ” “You spoke of greyhounds, Baron, and I assure you there’s no better pack than that Guard in either kingdom when it comes to hunting big game, especially if they’re led by a good hunter. We’ve been in wars together, sir, but I’ve never seen a braver or more fearsome body of archers. We all want you as our captain in this coming campaign; and what the White Guard wants, who’s stopping them? ” “Well, I like it!” exclaimed the Baron, not hiding his pleasure. The truth is , if all those archers look like you, there’s no leader who wouldn’t feel proud to command them.” What’s your name? Simon Aluardo, from the county of Austin. And that giant? He’s Tristan of Horla, a mountaineer like no other, whom I’ve just enlisted in the White Guard. He’ll make an excellent soldier. Good fists, eh? You look sturdy and strong, archer, but I’m sure that handsome fellow is even stronger. Let’s see, Tristan, if you can put all my crossbowmen to shame, none of whom could roll that stone into the torrent yesterday. Although I fear that not even your Herculean arms could handle it. Tristan went to the rock with a smile. It was enormously heavy and partly sunk in the earth; but the colossus tore it from its damp bed with the first shock, and not content with rolling it, it lifted it from the ground and threw it into the water. The noble couple expressed their admiration for this prodigy of strength, while Tristan wiped the mud from his hands, still smiling good-naturedly. “Those arms of yours have once encircled my ribs,” said Simon, “and I still seem to hear them creaking. This other companion of mine,” he continued, noticing that the Baron was looking at Roger, “has until now been a scribe at the Abbey of Belmonte, where he leaves the best memory, as attested by the letters from the abbot he carries with him. And he is also a young man of great learning.” though only a few years old. His name is Roger de Clinton, and he is the brother of the tenant farmer of Munster. “That last is a bad recommendation,” said Monsieur de Morel, frowning ; “and if you resemble your brother in deeds…” “Far from it, sir,” said the archer briskly. “I can assure you the contrary, and indeed today his brother threatened him with death and unleashed the dogs on him. ” “Do you also belong to the White Guard? Judging by your face, age , and bearing, you have not had much military practice. ” “I would like to go to France with these two friends, sir,” said Roger. “But I don’t know if I am fit to be a soldier, for I have always been a man of peace; a student since I left childhood, and also a reader, exorcist, acolyte, and scribe at the abbey.” “That doesn’t mean,” the Baron observed, “that it never hurts for each company to have its own amanuensis, someone who understands more about reading a scroll and drafting a report than shooting arrows at the enemy. I still remember a secretary I had during the Calais campaign, named Sandal, who was also a troubadour and minstrel of merit. You should have heard the rhymes he composed describing battles, assaults, and sorties, and all the incidents that occurred during the long siege of that place. But we have talked enough, and it is time to return to the castle. Rest, eat, and drink with my men-at-arms, for they are good and cheerful company. Come, madam, if you like. ” “Yes, the air has freshened considerably,” said the lady, taking the Baron’s arm. The noble couple headed toward the castle, followed by Simon, who was pleased to have accomplished their mission and seen his beloved captain of yesteryear, and by Roger, amazed to find in the famous warrior a modest and affable man, without a trace of the insufferable haughtiness of many nobles. Only Tristan seemed dissatisfied, and he expressed it with muffled grunts. “What’s the matter with this cress?” Simon said in a low voice, stopping and looking at Tristan. “It’s just that you deceived me. You promised to have me serve under one of the greatest captains in the kingdom, and instead you’re looking for that weakling dressed in velvet, with his watery eyes, who, being so thin and wasted, looks like he hasn’t eaten in three days, to be captain of the White Guard… ” “Hello, so that’s where it hurts!” Well, look, Samson, make sure he doesn’t hear you, that little one with the watery eyes, because only then would you know the strength of his fists. Otherwise, I’m giving you three months to change your mind. Only those who have seen him spin a fine war machine know Captain Morel . You’ll see, you’ll see. At that moment, a great uproar was heard in the streets of the town; men, women, and children ran from one side of the main street to the other, shouting and taking refuge in the houses. On the other side of the bridge, running as fast as he could in the direction of the castle, a man appeared. When he saw the Baroness, he rushed up to her and shouted, sweating and panting: “Run away, madam, run away! Save her! The bear, the bear!” Indeed, running towards them was an enormous black bear, of terrible appearance, its mouth half open and with a piece of chain tied to its neck. In two bounds, Tristan was at the Baroness’s side, lifting her in his arms as if she were a feather. With her, he ran swiftly off the road to some nearby trees. Roger only managed to take a few steps in the same direction and stared in astonishment at the furious beast . Meanwhile, Simon let out a string of French and English curses and readied his bow. Then, to everyone’s surprise, they saw that the Baron de Morel not only had not fled, but was now marching straight toward the bear with a calm gait, carrying in his hand the red silk handkerchief he had used when talking to Simon and his friends. The bear came up to him, gave a low growl, and, rising on its hind legs , raised its powerful paw. “Hello, ugly one! So we’re in a bad mood?” the Baron said calmly, twice crossing the bear’s muzzle with his silk handkerchief. The animal, surprised, looked at him for a moment, fell on all fours and growled again, looking to the right and left as if not knowing what decision to take, while the baron, two steps away, watched him curiously , winking his irritated little eyes. At that moment four farmers arrived with thick ropes and in a few moments they had the fugitive secured. The owner of the bear also arrived, fearful of the punishment that might await him, and uncovering himself, he explained to the baron that he had left the beast tightly chained at the door of a tavern while he drank a glass of beer, and that the castle’s dogs having suddenly arrived , attacked the bear, enraging him and making him break the chain. Far from punishing or reprimanding him, the baron gave him some silver coins, to the scandal of the baroness, who still had not gotten over her shock. “I beg your pardon, comrade,” Tristan said to the archer, as they entered the castle gates. Mr. de Morel is a real man. I say, how calm and how nervous! For my part, I don’t want any boss other than him. Chapter 11. FROM CONVENT TO SQUIRED AND FROM DISCIPLE TO MASTER. Above the solid arch that gave entrance to the fortress was the coat of arms of the Monteagudo, a roe deer gules on a silver field, and next to it the arms of the veteran constable, the roses of Morel. As he passed the drawbridge it seemed to Roger that a soldier’s armor was shining in one of the loopholes ; and as soon as they were all in the porch, a bugle sounded and the heavy bridge rose behind them as if propelled by invisible hands, with a great noise of chains. The baron accompanied his wife to the castle room and an obese butler took charge of the three new arrivals, whom he treated like a king. Their stomachs fully satisfied and refreshed with a bath in the nearby irrigation ditch, Tristan and Roger followed the archer, who was carefully examining the fortress with the practice of someone who had seen so many in his life. To his two companions, who were in a castle for the first time, those thick walls seemed completely impregnable, and they saw with amazement the number of sentinels stationed at doors, walls and battlements, not counting the soldiers of the guard corps located near the drawbridge, who cleaned their weapons, sang or talked with their wives and children in the wide portico. –It seems to me that a handful of rustics could defend this fortress against ten companies of the king, said Tristan. –I say the same, Roger agreed. –Well, you are wrong, _mes garçons_, exclaimed the archer. I have seen much more formidable than this rendered in a single night. By the edge of my sword! Well, what about the castle of Monleón, in Picardy, which looked like a hill and which the soldiers of Sir Robert Nolles defeated, took and plundered, before the White Guard existed? From there I got some horse trappings, made of solid silver, which cost me a hundred ducats. –Are you the archer Aluardo? asked him at that moment a crossbowman who had just crossed the castle courtyard. –Simon Aluardo, at your service. –Well, take a good look at me, comrade, and I won’t need to name myself. –I’ll be damned if that’s not Reno the archer’s cafila! _Embrasse moi_, comrade; and both friends hugged each other like two bears. –Yes, the archer Reno, now a crossbowman in the baron’s service, and almost forgotten how to shoot a crossbow or bow. But come here, old wolf; In the armory there is talk of traveling once again through the good land of France and it is even said that the baron himself…. -The good news is soon known, from what I see, said Simón, laughing and winking at Tristan. –Bravo! Reno shouted. From now on I offer a two-pound candle to my patron saint. If you only knew what it’s like to rot your blood here, between four walls, for a soldier like me! Those times come in good time when we had Frenchmen to kill and arrows to give and receive, not to mention what is always won and shared with friends. –It pleases me to see you so well disposed, replied Simón. But hey, friend, is your bag that empty? Because in that case, as we enter the first field, castle or town in France, here I carry my old leather bag on my belt and all you have to do is put your hand in it. You already know that among brothers in arms there is neither yours nor mine. –No, friend; Money is not even needed here. It is not like in France, where we always walked with fists with the men and with our knees on the ground and our hands open before the women. What times those were! As long as they come back soon… And besides, it’s about settling a pending account. You don’t know it, but while we were beating copper in Rennes, the French galleys landed in Chelsea and burned and killed until they were tired, and when I returned to my town I found that among the victims of their halberds were my mother, my sister and their two children, two little ones who barely knew how to speak. Rays of God! When I tell you that I’m burning with the desire to see myself again in front of that scoundrel…. -Well, don’t worry, Reno, although it seems that this time they expect us more in Spain than in France, things are so mixed that there will always be work everywhere and for all tastes. Of course we will find in Castile the famous Duguesclín, who with the best French lances is in the service of a Spanish prince, Don Enrique de Trastamara, determined to put him on the throne, while the legitimate monarch Don Pedro, brother of the claimant, has turned to our King Edward in demand of help and I believe that the Black Prince himself will lead us to combat. You see, then, that there will be an opportunity to put an arrow just as quickly in a Spanish as in a Frenchman. But in the meantime, friend Reno, I think that you and I also have our pending account and…. –Pity me, I had forgotten it with the joy of seeing you, comrade! Reno said. This is very true, and also that as soon as we had put ourselves on guard, the damned provost and his men-at-arms separated us. –To whom the plague takes away for busybodies. But since we agreed to clarify the point in our next interview, and I see that you are wearing your sword, on guard, Reno my friend and to whomever God gives it… – A pledged word and a matter of honor are a sacred thing, said Reno, unsheathing the steel. The moonlight is enough to see the package and these two young men will serve as witnesses. A question of honor, colleagues. –What do you say? exclaimed Roger. What question of honor can induce two friends like you to kill each other in cold blood? Here! But don’t you know that this is a mortal sin, that hatred blinds you? Please, Simon! “There is no hatred or anything like it, my friar,” replied Simón jovially, while the other veteran looked at the young man in surprise. There is only one small question not resolved to our liking. Watch my sword, Reno! –Take care of mine, Simón brother, for months I have not had the opportunity to wield it once and I need this skirmish to exercise my wrist. Get to it! –But what bloodthirsty spirit animates you? I will not consent to it and first you will have to kill me! Roger shouted, standing in front of the archer. –I won’t consent to it either, exclaimed the no less surprised Tristan, raising a heavy plank that he saw leaning against the wall. Hey, enough of the joke! I’ll crush the first one to move the crusher like a toad. Well, nothing more was missing! –What bad fly has bitten this pair of geese? Reno asked. Be careful, giant, I don’t start by giving you a bloody wound and that board falls on you…. –Tell me, Simón, Roger interrupted briskly, the cause of your dispute, to see if it admits of an honorable settlement, before you slaughter each other like implacable enemies. The archer looked thoughtfully at the ground and then at the moon. –The cause, boy? And how do you want me to remember such a thing, when our dispute occurred there in Limoges more than two years ago? But there’s Reno, who will tell you in a heartbeat. –Not like that, said Reno, lowering his sword. Since then I have had other many things to think about and even if it breaks my neck I will never remember it. I think we were playing dice. No, I think it was a matter of skirts. Hey, Simon? –Dice or women, I think you’re close to him. Let’s see, in Limoges we knew … Shut up! Well, don’t you remember that very fresh Rosa, who served at the Los Tres Cuervos inn? _Aux Trois Corbeaux!_ I bet you don’t know a word of French anymore, animal. What a girl that was! I fell in love like a man blessed. –And me, and many others too, said Reno. I’m not sure if she was the object of our fight, but I know very well that the same day we were going to fight she disappeared from the inn in the company of Ivón, that archer from Wales. Do you remember? An army graduate told me later that they had opened a tavern, in I don’t know what city in the Garonne and that Rosa continues doing his thing and he drinks as much wine and beer as ten of his customers. –Yeah? Well, our quarrel ends here, said Simón, sheathing his sword. It will not be said that for a girl capable of preferring a deserter and especially a son of Wales, two young men like us have stabbed each other . “It would be better this way,” replied Reno, sheathing in his turn, “because the baron would have heard us or would have known about the duel and has announced that he will have the garrison’s duelists cut off their right hands.” And you know that when he says something… -As if the Bible said it, I already know. Hey, a visit to the butler, who seems like a good man to me, to see if he gives us some beer to toast the baron with. The four of them headed towards the kitchens of the castle, but when they left the patio they saw a gentle little page who addressed Roger saying: – Mr. de Morel is waiting for you upstairs, in the parlor next to his chamber. –And my companions? –Only you. Roger followed the page, who led him up a wide staircase to the corridor on the first floor and to a chamber whose walls were covered with tapestries and panoplies, where he left him alone. The young man uncovered himself and, seeing no one, began to examine the weapons and the ancient, solid carved oak furniture . The primitive simplicity of the rooms in the castles had disappeared, due in part to the desire to provide greater comfort to the ladies and above all to the example of the crusaders, who had brought from the East luxury and riches incompatible with the uncomfortable and mean life of the feudal fortresses. No less powerful influence had later been that of the great wars with France, a nation that in the 14th century was far ahead of England in the arts of peace and whose progress and refinements left a very marked mark on the English customs of that time. Roger was absorbed in contemplating the art objects that enriched the room, when he heard a woman’s poorly suppressed laughter. He looked everywhere without seeing anyone, the laughter was repeated and finally he noticed behind the screen that to his left he had a white hand holding a mirror with a silver frame and handle, positioned so that it reflected all his movements. The young man remained motionless for a few moments, not knowing what to do, and then he saw that hand and mirror disappeared and that a very beautiful young woman, in a suit as elegant as it was rich, was approaching him . In her smiling face Roger recognized that of the maid whom he had freed that morning from her brother’s snares, and his surprise grew. –I see that you are surprised to see me here, said the charming lady happily. I would like to be a troubadour to sing what our adventure of yesterday deserves ; the perverse Hugo, the cared for maiden and the hard-working paladin who rescues her from the clutches of the tyrant. My trovas would make you famous and you would go down to posterity like another famous Percival or Amadís and great righter of wrongs. –Insignificant was what I did to deserve so much praise, Roger was finally able to say. But you don’t know, lady, how happy I am to see you again and know that you arrived safely at your home, assuming this castle is. –It is, and Baron León de Morel is my father. I could have revealed it to you when we said goodbye, but since you told me that this was the end of your trip, I preferred to remain silent and give you a surprise, before you go back to locking yourself up within the four walls of your cell. But above all, I have called you to give you an order, or rather, to ask you for a service. –What do you want? –How ungallant you are! But anyway, it doesn’t surprise me. A gentleman more accustomed to the treatment of ladies would have immediately placed himself at my service, but you ask me what I want from you. Well, I need you to corroborate my words with your testimony. I am going to tell my father that I found you in the part of the forest south of the Munster road. Otherwise, if he finds out that I disobeyed him and planted the plant on Clinton’s land, I won’t escape without an atrocious trap and at least a week of spinning and upholstery. –If the baron questions me I will not answer him. –As! But you will have to answer him. And assure him of what I have told you, or I will have a very bad time. –But how can I tell you what is not true? Would you be able to do it, knowing that you were leagues north of the road?… –Oh, you bore me with your sermons! Do you refuse? Well I know what I should do. –Don’t be offended, please. Think about what you ask of me…. But here is your noble father. –Be attentive to me and you will see whether or not I am a good disciple of yours. My father , he continued addressing the baron, who had just entered; I am highly obliged to this gentleman, whom I met this morning in the forest of Munster, and who rendered me a valuable service. The incident occurred just two leagues north of the Munster road and therefore on a property where you had prohibited me from setting foot. –Ah, Constance! replied M. de Morel, who was giving his arm to an old lady; It is more difficult for me to make myself obey you than those two hundred archers of the devil’s skin whom I commanded in the siege of Guiena. But keep quiet, girl, your mother will be here in a moment and there is no need for her to know. This time we won’t call the provost and his guards, eh? But retire to your chamber and don’t go back to your old ways. “Sit here, by the fire, my mother,” he said to the old woman when her daughter had retired. Come near, Roger of Clinton; I wish to speak to you, and in the presence of my mother, without whose good advice I do not like to resolve whenever I can consult her. Roger, surprised, bowed. –I myself told the baron to call you, said the noble lady, because I have the best information about you and I believe that you deserve complete confidence. I know something about your history; You have lived in the cloister and it is good that you now see something of the world before choosing between one and the other. Precisely, my son needs a person like you next to him, who looks after him, who takes care of him. Among your companions, if you accept, you will see young people of the best nobility in the kingdom. –Are you a rider? the baron asked. –I have ridden a lot in Belmonte’s possessions. –However, we will take into account the difference between the peaceful mule of the friars and the workhorse. Are you a musician? –I know how to sing and I play the zither, the flute, the rebec…. –Bravo! And in heraldry? Do you read blazon? –Oh yes, perfectly! I learned it, like everything else, in the convent. –Well, in that case, interpret those weapons; and Mr. de Morel pointed to one of the shields that occupied the front of the room. –Silver; four quarters, blue and gules; triple lion rampant; the heraldic rose , united to the coat of arms of the tower, argent on gules; armed arm, with double sword; griffin, half flight and crest helmet. –You forgot that one of the three lions, the one belonging to my relatives the Lutrel, is also armed and the others are not. But it’s good for a novice. I know that you also read and write well, which is very useful sometimes, when the lives of many depend on a secret message, the fate of a place and Perhaps the success of the war. Do you think you can serve as a squire to a nobleman in the campaign we are about to undertake? “I am willing and will learn what I do not know,” replied Roger, who was filled with joy at the prospect of obtaining that position with the Baron. “Well, you will be my son’s squire,” added the old woman. “You will look after his effects, his weapons, whatever he needs and can contribute to his greater comfort, although there has never been much in the camps. And you will also look after his purse, because my dear Baron is so generous that he would probably empty it into the hands of the first unfortunate person who took pity on him. It would not be the first time. Many details of squire service are unknown to you, naturally, but as you yourself say, you will soon learn them, and I believe you will be the best squire my son has ever had.” “My lady,” said the young man, deeply moved, “I appreciate the high honor you and the Baron have bestowed upon me, entrusting me with a charge so close to the person of one of the most famous knights of the kingdom. In accepting such a great favor, all the more welcome to me because of the circumstances and isolation in which I find myself, I only fear that my inexperience will make me unworthy of your favor. ” “Not only educated, but modest; qualities indeed very rare in pages and squires,” continued the kind lady. “Rest tonight, and tomorrow my son will see you. We knew and esteemed your father, and we are pleased to do something for his son, although we cannot bestow our esteem on your brother, one of the most turbulent spirits in the region. ” “It will be impossible for us to leave this entire month,” said the Baron, “for there is much to prepare, and you will have time to familiarize yourselves with your duties. ” Rubin, my daughter’s page, is mad to follow me, but he is even younger than you, almost a child, and I hesitate to expose him to the hardships of this war in distant countries. ” “Since you will not be leaving for a few weeks,” observed the old woman, “it occurs to me that this young man can render us good service during his stay at the castle. I understand that you have learned much at the abbey ? ” “I have studied much, madam, but I have learned only a small part of what my good teachers know. ” “What you know is sufficient for my purpose. I would like you, from tomorrow, to devote a couple of hours a day to instructing my granddaughter Constance as much as possible , for she greatly needs it and does not like studies. It seems that she learned to read only in order to devour sentimental and useless novels or insipid ballads.” Father Christopher comes from the priory to teach him what he can, but not only is he very old, but his pupil dominates him, and he derives little benefit from her conferences with the good father. With her and with Louise and Dorothea de Pierpont, maidens of good family who reside with us, you will form a small class. Until tomorrow. Thus found Roger converted not only into the squire of Baron Leon de Morel, future captain of the White Guard, but also into the teacher of three noble maidens, a position he had never dreamed of holding. Thinking of this and rejoicing at the change that had occurred in his fortunes, he resolved to spare no effort to please his benefactors. Chapter 12. HOW ROGER LEARNED MORE THAN HE COULD TEACH. Throughout the south of England, preparations for war began simultaneously and with great vigor. The news that Simon and other emissaries of the army commanders in France had brought to the court and to the castles of the kingdom were received with enthusiasm by nobles and soldiers, for whom a new campaign in a foreign land meant glory and profit. Six years of peace had thousands of veterans who had participated in the campaigns of Crécy, Nogent and Poitiers impatient and for whom there was no more promising prospect than that of invading the territory of France or Spain, commanded by the son of their sovereign , the famous Black Prince; and from one sea to the other there was only talk of war preparations, recruitment and the concentration of forces in the points previously designated. Each town and village prepared and made ready its contingent without delay, and throughout that autumn and part of the following winter, the call of bugles, the trotting of horses, and the measured tread of infantry, archers, crossbowmen, and men-at- arms, now in organized companies now in isolated groups, could be heard continually along the roads , heading for this or that castle or port. The ancient and populous county of Hanson was among the first to respond to the call with a great force of soldiers. To the north flew the banners of the lords of Brocas and Roche, the former with the severed head of the Saracen in the center of the shield and the latter with the historic red castle of the House of Roche, both followed by numerous combatants. The vassals of Embrun in the east and those of the potentate John de Montague in the west joined within a few weeks the forces raised by the lords of Bruin, Liscombe, Oliver de Buitron and Bruce, from Andover, Arlesford, Chester and York, and marched south towards Southampton. But the largest and most brilliant contingent from the county was the one gathered around the standard of Morel, thanks to the baron’s fame. Archers from the Forest of Balsain, highlanders and chasseurs from Vernel, Dunan and Malvar, veteran and novice men-at-arms, and noble knights eager for prestige, all made their way to Salisbury, from the banks of the Avon to those of the Lande, to enlist under the banner of the five red roses of Morel. However, the Baron was not one of those wealthy magnates who could maintain a large army under arms, and with regret he was forced to dismiss a large number of volunteers, who sought other commanders, limiting himself to following the instructions sent to him by his friend Claude Latour, authorizing him to equip one hundred archers and fifty men-at-arms, who, united with the three hundred veterans of the White Guard who remained in France, would form a corps whose command could be accepted without hesitation by so great a captain as the Baron de Morel. With the aid of Simon, appointed drill sergeant, Reno, and other veterans, he carefully selected his men, and by the middle of November he had a complete and picked force of one hundred of Hanson’s best archers and fifty well-mounted men-at-arms. Two noble friends of the baron entrusted their sons, young and handsome knights named Froilán de Roda and Gualtero de Pleyel, to him to share with Roger de Clinton the honors, dangers, and duties of the office of squire. The pieces of armor for the men-at-arms and most of the swords, axes, and lances awaited Morel’s soldiers in Bordeaux, where they could be procured at better and much less expensive prices than in England; but not so the large battle bows, in whose material and quality the English armorers surpassed all others. The men-at-arms and archers also had to be uniformed with plain helmets , chain mail, a white sleeveless doublet over their mail, and the red lion of Saint George on the chest, all of which made up the uniform of the famous White Guard that Simon Aluardo wore with such pride. Morel’s forces presented a superb appearance when their veteran captain, mounted on his best warhorse, gave them their final review in the great castle courtyard. Of the 150 men, at least half had been soldiers, some all their lives; among the recruits, the most striking was the gigantic Tristan de Horla, who brought up the rear, carrying his enormous war bow on his back. Equipping the company took several weeks, and Roger and his friends had been in the castle for two months when the Baron announced to his wife that everything was ready for their march. Those two months completely transformed Roger’s future, awakening in him a previously unknown feeling and making his life more pleasant. Then he also learned to bless his father’s foresight, which had allowed him to see something of the world before burying himself forever in the solitude of the cloister. How different life seemed to him then, how exaggerated the words of the Master of Novices when he described in the blackest colors the pack of wolves, as he called it, that were waiting to devour him as soon as he left the protective walls of Belmonte! Alongside the criminals and depraved, he had also found men of brave heart, cordial friends, a noble leader a hundred times more useful to his country and his compatriots than the virtuous abbot of Bergen, whose life passed forgotten and monotonous from year to year, in a petty circle, surrounded by those monks who prayed, ate, and worked peacefully, isolated from the rest of mortals, as if there were no inhabitants in the world but themselves, and no horizons other than those of the abbey grounds. His own judgment told Roger that in passing from the service of the abbot to that of the baron, far from losing, he had made an advantageous change. It is true that his gentle nature made him view the violence of war with horror, but in that era of military orders, the separation between priest and soldier was not as marked as it is today, often united in one person. In fairness to Roger, it must be said that before finally accepting the Baron’s offer, he meditated a great deal and sought heavenly advice in his prayers; but the result was that within three days he had chosen his weapons and horse, the price of which he offered to pay with part of his war booty . From then on, he devoted long hours to the handling of weapons, and since there were plenty of good masters and he was young, agile, and vigorous, he soon learned to steer his horse and wield his sword very skillfully, earning words of approval from the veterans and holding his sword against Froilán and Gualtero, his lord’s other two squires. But it is almost unnecessary to say that Roger had another, very compelling reason for preferring a career in arms and bidding farewell to the convent. Life offered him an irresistible attraction: the presence of the woman he loved. The woman, who there in the cloister represented the sum of all worldly temptations, dangers, and snares, the pitfall that man must above all avoid in order to persevere on the right path, the being whom the Cistercian monks could not look upon without sin or touch without exposing themselves to the most severe punishments of the rule. Roger, on the other hand, found himself daily, one hour after the ninth hour and another before prayer, in the company of three beautiful maidens, his disciples; and far from finding the presence of those young women reprehensible or sinful, he felt happier than ever instructing them, answering their questions, or engaging in pleasant conversation with them. Few disciples were as great as Constance de Morel. A man older and more experienced than Roger would have been surprised, and perhaps irritated, by her retorts, her sudden changes of temper, the readiness with which she sometimes took offense, and the tears and protests with which she at other times submitted to her teacher’s instructions. If the subject of the lesson interested her, she followed the explanations with surprising enthusiasm, leaving her companions far behind. But if the subject seemed dull and dry, there was no way to attract her attention or make her understand or remember what had been explained. Occasionally, she openly rebelled against Roger, who, without the slightest irritation, continued his lesson with infinite patience. Soon after, the rebellious pupil repented and humbled herself, accusing herself, ashamed of the injustice done to Roger by her conduct. On the other hand, she did not allow her other two companions to show the slightest hint of inattention or rebellion. Only once did Dorothea attempt to contradict Roger, and such was Constance’s indignation and such reproaches that the poor child left the room with tears in her eyes, which earned Constance the severest reprimand she had ever received from the young professor. But after the first few weeks, Roger’s influence, with his unalterable patience and dignity, on the noble maiden’s conduct became evident. He understood that Roger’s rectitude and lofty ideals were an admirable example and appreciated the handsome squire’s lofty merits. And Roger, for his part, also understood that day by day his admiration for that adorable young woman grew , whose image and memory never left him for a moment. It was also said that she was the only daughter of the Baron of Morel, and that the poor squire could hardly have set his eyes on her, without a handful of silver with which to pay for the horse and weapons with which, for the first time, he would seek his name and fortune in war. But his love for Constance was his life. No consideration, no obstacle, could make him renounce it. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. Roger and his companion, Froilán de Roda, had gone to Bristol to hasten the completion and delivery of the last shipment of replacement bows that the Baron had entrusted to the armorers of that city. The day of their departure was approaching. The two squires, their errand completed, rode along the Salisbury road , and Roger noticed with surprise his companion’s unusual silence. Froilán was a cheerful and talkative young man, delighted to leave his quiet paternal home for the adventures and excitements of the long journey they were about to undertake and the coming war. But that day Roger saw him silent and thoughtful, barely answering his questions. “Tell me frankly, friend Roger,” he suddenly exclaimed, “if it doesn’t seem to you, as it does to me, that the beautiful Lady Constanza is looking sad and pale these days , as if tormented by an unknown anguish. ” “I haven’t noticed anything,” Roger replied, surprised; “but it could well be as you say. ” “Oh, certainly. Look at her sitting thoughtful hour after hour, or walking on the castle terrace, forgetting her falcon, Troubadour, and hunting.” I suspect, my friend Roger, that all the study and knowledge you teach her is too much of a task for her, for she studied little or nothing before, and that it worries her and may even make her mental and physical ill. “It is the Baroness’s, her lady mother’s, orders… ” “Well, without being disrespectful, I believe that my lady the Baroness would be more in her place defending the castle walls or commanding a company in the assault of a stronghold than entrusted with the education of her daughter. But listen, my friend Roger, what I have revealed to no one until now. I love Doña Constanza, and I would gladly give my life for her… ” Roger paled and remained silent. “My father is rich,” Froilán continued, “and I am his only son and heir to the domains of Roda. I don’t think the Baron has any objection as far as wealth and nobility are concerned. ” “But what about her?” Roger asked in a low voice, without looking at the squire, so that he might not notice his embarrassment. “That is what drives me to despair. I have never seen indifference like his, and until now I might as well have sighed before one of the marble statues in the Park of Roda. Do you remember that exquisite white veil she wore yesterday? Well, I asked her for it as a favor to wear on my helmet in combats and tournaments, as an emblem of the lady and mistress of my thoughts.” She merely gave me the coldest and most emphatic refusal, adding that if a certain knight cared to ask for the veil, she would give it to him; otherwise, she would give it to no one. I have not the slightest idea who this fortunate mortal is. And you, Roger? Do you know whom she loves? ” “I don’t even suspect it,” replied Roger; and yet, as she said those words, a most gratifying hope was awakened in him. “Since yesterday, I have been racking my brains trying to find out.” “Doña Constanza is not a maiden to hide her loves, if she has any, and consequently the gallant must be known to us. But who does she see and speak to, besides her parents, her two friends and the servants of the castle? I will give you the complete list of the men who have spoken to her in these two months: you and our comrade Gualtero de Pleyel, Father Cristóbal, from the priory, the page Rubin and myself. Do you know of any others? ” “Not certainly,” replied Roger; and both handsome young men continued. Riding in silence until they reached the castle. During the lesson the following morning, Roger noticed that the beautiful young woman was, indeed, pale and sad. Her face seemed thinned, and her beautiful eyes had lost some of the liveliness and gaiety that gave them such precious charm. After the lesson, the young professor questioned the Mademoiselles de Pierpont, his other two students. “Constance is suffering, it is quite true,” Dorothea replied with a mischievous smile. “But her illness is not one that kills. ” “God forbid!” Roger exclaimed. “But tell me, I pray you, what ailment afflicts her?” “One that, in my opinion, also afflicts another person, whose name I could name without fear of being mistaken,” Louise de Pierpont replied in turn . “And you, who know so much, cannot guess her illness? ” “No.” She looks tired and sad, she is always so cheerful…. “Well, just think that in three days you will all be leaving, and the castle will be practically deserted, and we will not see a living soul, except a soldier or a rustic… ” “That is true,” exclaimed Roger. He had not thought that in three days he will have to part from his father… “His father!” said both young women, with a burst of silver laughter. “Ah yes, his father! Until evening, Monsieur Roger!” and they went off happily, calling aloud for their friend Constance. Roger remained absorbed. He seemed to see a very clear insinuation in the words and in the laughter of both young women, and yet he hardly dared to give to Constance’s sadness and sighs the interpretation that his love desired. Chapter 13. HOW THE WHITE GUARD LEFT FOR THE WAR. St. Andrew’s Day, the last day of November, was the day appointed for the march. At a very early hour, the beating of the drums began, calling the soldiers together, followed by the call of the trumpet, ordering the formation of the White Guard in the fortress’s courtyard of honor. From a window in the armory, Roger contemplated the interesting spectacle: the ranks of sturdy archers and behind them the imposing group of men-at-arms, covered in iron and motionless on their horses, pawing impatiently. They were commanded by the veteran Reno, from whose lance fluttered a long, narrow banner with the five roses; in front of the infantry, the archer Simon, proud of the magnificent company under his command. The castle servants and some men-at-arms who were to remain on guard at the fortress and wanted to say goodbye to their friends also came to the courtyard . Roger was admiring the martial spirit of the troops when he was startled by a sob he heard behind him. He turned quickly and saw with astonishment Lady Constance, who, pale and faint, was leaning against the wall of the room, trying to stifle the sobs that shook her breast with a handkerchief placed over her lips . Her beautiful eyes, fixed on the ground, were full of tears. “Oh, don’t cry!” cried Roger, running to her side. “The sight of all those brave men hurts me when I think of their fate and the destiny that awaits many of them. ” “May you see them all again before a year is out! Don’t worry so,” said the young man, daring to take her hand. “I wish I could go too,” added Constance, looking at him through her tears and smiling sadly. But in time of war, we are only allowed to waste away with impatience within the walls of a fortress, spinning or embroidering, while out there on the battlefields … Ah, what good am I in this world? “You!” Roger exclaimed passionately. “You are an angel from heaven, my only thought, my whole life! Oh, Constance, I cannot live without you, how can I leave you without a word of love! Since I first saw you, everything has changed for me. I am poor and not of your birth, although of noble origin, but I offer you a sincere love, a constant and eternal adoration. Say to me a single word of affection, if not of love, and it will be enough to encourage and sustain me in your absence, a thousand times more deadly than all the dangers of war. But Woe is me! I have frightened you with my words, perhaps offending you…. The moved maiden had placed her hands on her chest and twice tried to reply, but in vain. At last he said in a weak voice: “You have surprised me, yes, but not offended.” Complete and sudden has been the change made in you. Will you not change again in absence? –Cruel! How to stop loving each other? Please, a single word of hope, a look, to treasure it as a supreme good and know that I can continue adoring you! I am not asking you for an oath or promise…. Just tell me that you do not forbid me from loving you, that one day you will perhaps have an affectionate word for me…. The young woman looked at him sweetly, her lips parted by a slight smile, and Roger seemed to already hear the long-awaited response; But at that moment a powerful voice resounded in the castle courtyard, followed by the great noise of weapons and footsteps and the trotting of horses. The column was setting off. –Do you hear? exclaimed the young woman, standing upright, her eyes shining. They are going to leave. It’s my father’s voice. Your position is at his side, from this moment until his return, until the return of both of them. Not another word, Roger. Earn, above all, my father’s esteem. The good knight does not expect reward until after he has done his duty. Goodbye, and heaven protect you! The young man, full of joy upon hearing those words, leaned down to kiss his beloved’s hand. She quickly removed it, upon feeling the contact of Roger’s burning lips, and hurriedly left the room, leaving in the hands of the astonished and elated squire the white veil that Froilán de Roda had requested in vain as a precious prize. At that moment the creaking of the chains lowering the drawbridge was heard; The expedition members hailed their leader, who, standing at the head of the column, had given the signal to march, and Roger, fervently kissing the fine shawl, hid it in his chest and ran out to the patio. A cold wind was blowing and the sky was beginning to cover with clouds when Morel’s soldiers took the steep road to the town. Almost all the residents of Salisbury were waiting for them on the banks of the Avon, who first saw Reno, wearing full armor, a knight on a black steed and majestically carrying the banner of his famous captain. Behind him, three abreast, twelve veterans of the great wars, who knew the coast of France and the principal cities, from Calais to Bordeaux, as well as the forests and villages of their native land, the county of Hanson. They were armed to the teeth, with a spear, sword and two-edged axe and they carried on their left arm the short, square shield used by the men-at-arms of the time. Peasants, women and children enthusiastically hailed the flag of the five roses and its arrogant guard of honor. Following her were fifty chosen archers, robust and tall, who wore the simple helmet, the coat of arms and over it the white poncho with the red lion of Saint George and wore strong boots tied to the leg with long straps, all of which constituted the equipment of the White Archers. On his back was the well-equipped leather quiver and the combat bow, the most terrible and deadly weapon known to date, and hanging from his belt was the sword, the ax or the mace, according to each person’s choice. A few steps away from the archers were the caskets and bugles, four in number, and behind them ten or twelve mules with the impediment of the small column, tents, clothing, spare weapons, kitchenware, provisions, tools, harnesses, horseshoes and other items essential or even useful in the campaign. A servant of the baron drove the ornately caparisoned white mule that carried the clothes, weapons and other effects of the noble warrior’s property. A hundred archers formed the center of the column and the rest of the cavalry brought up the rear, that is, the recently recruited men-at-arms, all of them chosen soldiers, although not veterans like their companions in the vanguard. Our friend Simon commanded the bulk of the archers, and behind him, in the front line, stood Tristan de Horla, an Alcides with a helmet, chain mail, bow, arrows, and a colossal mace. The moment the column entered the village street, a flurry of banter erupted, and farewells and hugs abounded. “Hello, Master Retinto!” cried Simon, seeing the innkeeper’s bruised nose. “What will you do with your vinegar and watered-down beer, now that we’re leaving?” “Well, I’m going to rest, because you and your companions have drunk every drop of everything I had in the house, except the water. ” “Your barrels may be dry, but your purse is full, you scoundrel!” exclaimed another archer. “Let’s see if you can stock up on supplies for when we return.” “Bring your throat unharmed, for you will not lack beer and wine, archer,” a voice shouted from the crowd, in response to him with great laughter. “Close ranks, for the street here is a narrow alley,” Simon ordered. “For God’s sake! There’s Catherine, the little miller, more beautiful than ever.” ” Goodbye, ma belle!” Tighten that belt, William, or the axe will cut your calluses. And see if you can walk with a little more life, moving those shoulders and holding your head high, as only white archers know how to walk . And you, Reinaldo, don’t shake the dust off your vest again. Do you think we’re going to make a stop? Wait, son, for before we reach the port you’ll be as dusty as I am, no matter how much you clean yourself up.” The column had reached the last houses of the village when the Lord of Morel emerged from the castle, riding on the spirited Ardorel, black as jet and the finest warhorse in the entire county. The Baron was dressed in black velvet and a cap of the same with a long white plume fastened by a gold clasp, and he bore no other arms than his sword, suspended from the cantle. But the three gallant squires who followed him, well mounted, bore, in addition to their own arms, Froilán the helmet with a helm of his lord, Gualtero the sturdy lance, and Roger the emblazoned shield. Beside the Baron trotted his wife’s white palfrey , for she wished to accompany him to the entrance of the forest. The good Baroness had not wished to entrust to anyone the task of carefully selecting and packing her husband’s clothes and effects; she had arranged everything herself, except for the weapons. And the instructions he gave to Roger and the other squires, when entrusting them with the Baron’s person, were worth listening to . “I think nothing has been forgotten,” he continued. “I highly recommend it to you, Roger. All the clothes go in that box on the right side of the mule. The bottles of Malvasia are in the basket on the left; you will prepare a glass of that wine for him, very hot, at night, so he can drink it before going to bed. See that he doesn’t remain for hours on end with his feet wet, because he never remembers such things. Among the clothes goes a small case with the most essential medicines; and as for the bedclothes, they must be very dry, especially on campaign…” “Don’t worry about me,” said the Baron, laughing at this enumeration. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your concern, but you want my squires to treat me more like an ailing old man than a seasoned soldier . ” “And what do you say, Roger? Why so pale? Doesn’t it gladden your heart, as it does mine, to see the five roses serving as an ensign to such gallant soldiers? ” “I’ve already given you the purse, Roger,” the Baroness continued, unperturbed, “to prevent your master from being left penniless from the first days of the march. Be very careful with the money. The gold-embroidered boots are exclusively for the day the Baron presents himself to our gracious sovereign, or to the Prince his heir, and for the meetings of the nobles. Then you can put them back, before the Baron goes hunting in them and destroys them… ” “My good friend,” observed Monsieur de Morel, “it pains me to my soul to part from you, but we have reached the borders of the forest and you must go no further. May the Virgin keep you and Constance until my death.” return. But before we part, give me, I beg you, one of your gloves, as I want to wear it on the front of my helmet in tournaments and combats, as a pledge of the beloved woman. –Leave it, Baron, I am old and not at all beautiful and the handsome lords of the court would laugh at you if you proclaimed yourself champion of such a poor lady…. –Listen, squires! exclaimed Mr. de Morel. Your eyesight is better than mine, and I want you to immediately announce to him that if you see a knight, no matter how noble and high he may be, despise this pledge of the lady whom I serve, that he has to deal with Baron León de Morel, on horseback with lance and shield or on foot with sword and dagger, in combat to the death. Having said this, he respectfully received the glove from the baroness and secured it to his cap, with the same gold clasp that held the billowing feather. He then bid an affectionate farewell to the lady, flooded with tears, and putting his horse into a trot, followed by the squires, he took the path to the forest. Chapter 14. TRAVEL ADVENTURES. The baron remained crestfallen for some time; Froilán and Roger were no less silent and thoughtful than him, but the cheerful Gualtero, who had no sorrows or loves, amused himself by brandishing his master’s heavy spear, threatening the trees with it and directing large boats at imaginary enemies, although taking great care that the baron did not notice his bellicose pantomime. They went to the rear of the column, and sometimes Roger heard the measured step of the archers and the neighing of the horses. –Come to my side, boys, said Mr. de Morel as he passed in front of a farmhouse, where the road widened noticeably. Since you are going to follow me to war, it would be good if I told you how I want to be served. I have no doubt that Froilán de Roda will prove to be a worthy son of his brave father, and you, Gualtero, of yours, the noble lord of Pleyel. As for Roger, always remember the house to which you belong and the honor it does you and the duties imposed on you by the long line of the Clinton lords. Do not make the mistake, very common among soldiers, of believing that our expedition’s main objective is to obtain loot and ransom, although every good knight can and usually achieves both things. We are going to France, and to Spain as I hope, in the first place to maintain the brilliance of English arms and secondly to make our name and our shield famous, an immense advantage of the knight over the villain. And that prestige can be obtained not only in combats and sieges but in jousts and duels, for which reason or pretext is never lacking. But in a foreign land or in enemy territory no pretext is needed and it is enough to draw the sword and politely invite another gentleman to a singular duel. For example, if we were in France I would now tell Gualtero to gallop towards that knight who is coming there and after greeting him in my name, invite him to cross the sword with me. –Well, the unfortunate man wouldn’t be badly scared, exclaimed Gualtero, who was looking attentively at the stranger. As he is the miller of Salisbury, a gentleman on his red mule and probably stuffed with beer, according to custom. –That is why the squire must ask, in case of doubt, whether the intern is a knight or not. I have had many very interesting travel adventures, and one of the ones I remember most is my meeting a league from Reims with a French paladin with whom I fought for about an hour. His sword broken, he gave me such a terrible blow with his mace that I fell battered and could not say goodbye to that brave champion as I wished, nor ask him his name. I only remember that his weapons were a griffin’s head on a blue stripe. On a similar occasion I received a thrust on the shoulder from Leon de Montcourt, with whom I had the honor of crossing swords on the road to Bordeaux. That was our only interview and I have the most pleasant memory of it, because my enemy behaved like a gentleman. And let us not forget the brave jouster Le Capillet, who would have become a great captain of the French armies…. –Died? Roger asked. –I had the misfortune to kill him in a delightful grove next to the walls of Tarbes. We found similar adventures everywhere, in Languedoc, Ventadour, Bergerac, Narbonne, even without looking for them, because a French squire was often waiting for us at the turn of the road, bearing a courteous message from his master to the first English knight who wanted to accept the challenge. One of them broke three spears with me at Ventadour, in honor of his lady. –Did you perish in the lawsuit, Mr. Baron? Froilán said. –I have never known. His servants carried him in their arms, stunned, fainted or dead. At that time I did not care to investigate his fate because I myself came out of the fight bruised and battered. But there comes a horseman galloping, as if he were being pursued by a legion of enemies. The wind swept the road, which at that point formed a gentle slope. On the other side of a ravine it climbed again and disappeared into a small forest, among the first trees of which the rear guard of the column disappeared at that moment . The rider passed by it without stopping and began to climb the slope at the top of which the baron and his servants were, incessantly harassing his horse with spur and whip. Roger saw that the steed was covered in dust and sweat and that it was ridden by someone who looked like a soldier, with hard features and a helmet, a buckskin ponytail and a sword. On his chest he carried a package wrapped in white canvas. –Passage to the king’s messenger! he shouted as he approached. –Little by little, Mr. Louder, said the nobleman, crossing his horse on the road. I have also been a servant of the king for more than thirty years, but I have never loudly proclaimed it. –I am on duty and I carry with me what belongs to the king. You prevent my passage at your expense…. –Among my many adventures, I have also not missed coming face to face with brigands who were hiding their treacherous designs by pretending to be messengers of His Highness, Mr. de Morel insisted. Let’s see what credentials they pay you. –By force, then! shouted the horseman, reaching for his sword. –If you are a gentleman, said the baron, we will continue our interview right here. If you are a commoner, any of these three squires of mine, although of noble birth, will be well served by punishing your audacity. The stranger looked at them angrily and, releasing the hilt of his sword, began to hastily unwrap the package that he was carrying on the pommel. –I am neither a knight nor a squire, he said, but a former soldier and now a servant of our prince’s justice. Do you want credentials? Well here you have them; and presented to the horrified knights a freshly severed human leg. This is the leg of a thief dismembered in Dunán and that, by order of the chief vigilante, I took to Milton to nail it there on a post where everyone could see it and serve as a lesson. –Plague! exclaimed the baron. Move aside with your burden. Follow me at a trot, squires, and let us leave this executioner’s assistant behind as soon as possible. Phew! “I assure you,” he continued when they were on the opposite slope, “heaps of dead on a battlefield do not cause me as much repugnance as a single one of those carnages on the scaffold.” –Well, there have been no shortage of atrocities in the French wars, according to the stories of our soldiers, Roger observed. –It is true, answered the baron. But know that the best combatants, the true soldiers, never mistreat a defeated and unarmed man, nor do they cut the throats and destroy prisoners, nor do they go after the weak in the plundering of a plaza. That cruel task is left to the cowards and the vile, who unfortunately are never lacking, and to those mobs of marauders who follow the troops like vultures and look for easy prey. If I’m not mistaken, there on the right of the road is a house among the trees. –A chapel of the Virgin, said Froilán, and at its door an old beggar. The nobleman uncovered himself and stopping his horse at the door of the modest chapel, he prayed aloud to the Queen of Heaven to bless his weapons and those of his soldiers in the next campaign. –An alms, my good sirs, the beggar then said, with a pleading voice. Favor this poor blind man, who has not seen the light of day for twenty years. –How did you lose your sight, grandfather? the baron asked. –Between the flames of a fire, which burned my entire face. –Great is your misfortune, but it also saves you from seeing many miseries, like the one we have just seen on this same road, said M. de Morel, remembering the bloody leg of the dismembered thief. Give me my bag, Roger, and let’s quicken our pace, we’ve fallen far behind. Roger was very careful not to obey his master’s order and remembering the baroness’s instructions, he took a single coin from the money box entrusted to his care and gave it to the beggar, who received it murmuring thanks and prayers. From a nearby eminence the travelers saw the town of Horla, located at the bottom of a valley and whose first houses were reached at that moment by the vanguard of Morel’s forces. He and his squires put their horses into a gallop and very soon reached the last ranks, at the same time that a strident voice was heard and the soldiers’ laughter broke out. The baron then saw a gigantic archer marching outside the ranks and behind him a tiny old woman, dressed poorly and with a staff in her hand, with which she vigorously shook the archer’s back every few steps, while continuing to scold him loudly. The victim of that new execution paid as much attention to the beatings he received as if they had been hit on one of the oak trees in the forest. –What is that, Simón? asked Mr. de Morel. What offense has the goalkeeper committed? If he has offended that woman or taken over her property, I swear to leave him hanging in the town square, even if he is the best soldier in my company. –No, Mr. Baron, answered the veteran, trying hard to contain his laughter. The archer Tristan is from this town of Horla and the woman is his mother, who welcomes him in her own way. –I’ll teach you, lazy, lost, lazy person! the old woman shouted , brandishing the staff. –Little by little, mother, Tristan said, I’m no longer lazy but I’m the king’s archer and I’m going to the wars in France. –With what to France, rascal? It would be better for you to stay here, because I will give you all the war you want, without going that far. –I will not doubt that, good woman, said Simón, that neither the French nor the Spaniards should shake off the dust like you do. –And what does it matter to you, foul language? exclaimed the old lady, turning angrily against Simón. You are a pretty soldier too, meddlesome, drunk! –Hold on, Simon! said the arches in chorus, with great laughter. –Leave her alone, comrades, said Tristan, who has always been a good mother and what exasperates her is that I have done my holy will all my life, instead of working like a forced laborer with the woodcutters of Horla. “It’s time to say goodbye, mother,” he continued, picking up the weak woman like a feather and kissing her affectionately. Stay calm, I ‘ll bring you a silk skirt and a velvet cloak not even for a queen, and tell Juanilla my sister that there will also be good silver ducats for her when I return. Having said this, the archer returned to the ranks and continued the march with his companions. The woman was left whimpering, and when the baron arrived next to her, he said: – Do you see it, sir? It’s always been the same; First he became a friar to laze around, and because a girl didn’t want him, and now he’s leaving me to go to war, leaving me old and poor, without a soul from God to bring me an armful of firewood from the mountain… –Console yourselves, good woman, that with God’s protection he will return safe and sound and not without his share of the loot. What I feel is that I gave my bag to a beggar there in the forest…. –Forgive me, sir, said Roger; There are still some coins left in it. “Then give them to the archer’s mother,” ordered the nobleman, putting his horse into a trot, while Roger placed two ducats in the hand of the archer. old woman, who, forgetting her anger, invoked the blessings of heaven on the baron, Tristan and his companions. Once the column arrived at the Léminton River, the call was given to stop to eat and rest, and before the sun began its march towards the sunset, the soldiers resumed theirs, singing happy songs. For his part, the baron greatly desired to reach the end of his journey and reach the enemy’s land, to cross swords and break spears once again with the adversaries of his previous campaigns. He was thinking about them when he and his squires saw two men coming down the road who certainly caught their attention. The one in front was a stunted and deformed being, whose wild red hair increased the volume of an enormous head; His wet eyes were cruel and grim, he seemed full of terror and he had a small crucifix in his hand that he raised high, as if showing it to all the passers-by. Behind him was a tall , burly man with a long black beard, carrying on his shoulder a spiked mace that he raised at intervals over the other’s head, threatening him with death. –By Saint George, we have an adventure! said the baron. Find out, Roger, what people these are and why one of the villains threatens and frightens the other like this. But the squire did not need to go ahead, because the two men continued walking and soon arrived within a few steps of the baron. The one carrying the crucifix then dropped to the grass and the other immediately raised the heavy mace, with such an expression of fury and hatred that it really seemed like the last hour of the fallen man had arrived. –Hold on! shouted the baron. Who are you and what has that unfortunate man done to you? “I don’t have to give an account of my actions to the passersby I meet along the way,” the stranger replied dryly. The law protects me. –That is not my opinion, said the noble, that if the law allows you to threaten a defenseless man with that nail, it should not prevent me from putting the sword to your chest either. –By the nails of Christ, protect me, good knight! exclaimed at that point the one with the crucifix, getting on his knees and extending his hands in a supplicating gesture. I have a hundred doubles in my belt and they are yours if you kill my executioner. –How do you understand, scoundrel? Do you intend to buy a nobleman’s arm and sword with gold ? I believe, on my faith, that you are as vile in soul as in body and that you deserve the treatment you receive. “You say a great truth, sir knight,” replied the one with the mace, “that this is Pedro el Vermejo, a highwayman and with more than one death on his conscience, a terror for many months for Chester and the entire region.” A week ago he treacherously killed my brother, I pursued him with other of my neighbors and, closely harassed, he took refuge in the monastery of San Juan. The reverend prior did not want to hand it over to me until I had sworn to respect the life of this murderer as long as I had in my hand the crucifix that he gave him as a pledge of asylum. I have respected my oath until now as a good Christian, but I have also sworn to follow the wretch until he falls exhausted and kill him like a dog, as soon as the holy cross that still protects him slips from his hands . The bandit roared like a wild beast, the other approached him threateningly with his mace raised, and the spectators of that scene watched them for some time in silence, then walking away along the path that the column took. Chapter 15. HOW THE YELLOW GALEON SET SAIL. Morel’s soldiers slept that night in San Leonardo, distributed among the farms, granaries and outbuildings of that town, belonging, like so many others, to the rich abbey of Belmonte, which was not far away. Roger once again saw with joy the white habit of some religious staying there and remembered with emotion his years of monastic life when he heard the chapel bell calling for vespers. At dawn, men-at-arms, archers and servants embarked in wide boats that were waiting for them in the Lande estuary and passing in front of the picturesque town of Esbury they arrived at the Solent roadstead and the port of Lepe, where they were to embark on the king’s galley. In the port they saw a multitude of boats and boats, and a large ship anchored at a good distance away, rocking on the foaming waves. –God be praised! exclaimed the baron. Our friends from Southampton have kept their promise and here is the yellow painted galleon that they described to us and offered to send to Lepe in their last letters. –Canary yellow, said Roger. And it seems, big enough to receive on board more soldiers than there are seeds in a pomegranate. –Of which I am glad, observed Froilán, because either I am very deceived or we will not make the trip alone. Don’t you see there in the distance, between those shacks on the beach, the colors of a gonfalon and the shine of weapons? These reflections do not come from fishermen’s oars or villains’ clothes. –That is very true, Gualtero answered. Look, there goes a boat full of men-at-arms, heading towards the ship. We will have numerous company, so much the better. And for now they welcome us; See those of the people who come to receive us. Large groups of men, women and children went to meet the boats and waved hats and handkerchiefs from the beach, uttering joyful exclamations and cheering the famous captain. As soon as the archers of the first boat, commanded by Sergeant Simón, had jumped ashore , an obese personage, richly dressed, approached him, wearing a thick gold chain around his neck, from which an enormous medal of the same metal hung on his chest. –Welcome, high and powerful sir, he said, revealing a large bald head and saluting Simón deeply. Be welcome to our city and accept our humble respects. Give me your orders immediately , illustrious captain, and tell me how I can serve you and your people. “Well, since you offer it so attentively,” Simón replied sarcastically, “for my part I will content myself with a couple of links of that chain that you wear around your neck, a thicker chain that I have never seen, not even among the most opulent knights of France.” –No doubt you are joking, Mr. Baron, replied the personage, who was none other than the magistrate of Lepe, with admiration. How should I give you part of this chain, the insignia of the municipality of our city? –Let’s finish, the veteran growled. You are looking for Baron de Morel, our brave captain, and there he is, who has just disembarked and is riding the black horse. The magistrate looked at the baron in surprise, whose weak appearance did not match the fame of his prowess. –You are all the more welcome, he said after repeating the respectful greeting he had previously addressed to the cunning archer, because this loyal city of Lepe needs defenders like you and your soldiers more than ever . –What do you say? Explain, Mr. de Morel exclaimed, waiting attentively for the official’s response. –What happens, sir, is that the bloodthirsty pirate Black Head, one of the cruelest Norman bandits, accompanied by the Genoese Tito Carleti, has recently appeared on our coasts, looting, burning and killing. Neither the courage of our people nor the ancient walls of Lepe offer sufficient protection against such fearsome enemies, and the day they appear here… — Goodbye Lepe, concluded Gontrán the squire, in a low voice. –But do you have reason to believe that they will attack your town? the baron asked . –Without a doubt. The two large galleys loaded with pirates have already plundered the neighboring towns of Veymouz and Porland and yesterday they burned Coves. Very soon it will be our turn. –But it is the case, observed M. de Morel, putting his horse in the direction of the city gates, that the royal prince awaits us in Bordeaux and for nothing in the world would I like to see him on his way, leaving me behind. However, I promise to go to Coves and do everything possible to discover and punish those bandits in those vicinity, treating them so that they do not think about new expeditions or landings. “We are very grateful for the offer,” replied the magistrate, “but I do not see how you can triumph with your single ship over the two powerful corsair galleys, while with your archers on the walls of Lepe it would be easy for you to teach the pirates a bloody lesson. ” “I have already told you my reasons for not stopping here. And as for the inequality of forces, believe me that the sight of that yellow galleon waiting for me there inspires me with great confidence, and that with my people on board I will not fear attacks from two or three pirate ships. We will set sail today. ” “Forgive me, Your Honor, Baron,” said one of those accompanying the mayor. “My name is Golvín and I am the captain of the Yellow Galleon, assigned to guide you.” A sailor since childhood, I have fought aboard English ships against Normans and Genoese, Bretons, Spaniards, and Saracens, and I assure you that the ship under my command is too weak to attack corsairs. All you will achieve if you fall upon them will be the slaughter of half your people and the prospect, for those who survive, of being sold into slavery and spending their lives rowing on pirate or Moorish galleys. “Well, don’t think, Captain, that I have lacked naval battles in my long career as a soldier,” replied the nobleman, “and because the punishment of these scoundrels presents difficulties, all the more is my desire to face them and lay hands on them. Despite your words, Captain, you seem to me to be an experienced and courageous sailor, and I believe that with me you will gain honor and profit in this enterprise.” “I have done my duty by telling you frankly what I think of it, under the conditions in which you are about to undertake it,” said Golvín, flattered by the Baron’s words. “But, by Saint Barbara! I am an old sailor and I know nothing of fear. Whether we sink or not, count on me. I will take you to Coves, and if the ship’s owners don’t like the voyage, let them find another captain after the fight.” Following the group of chiefs and squires, Morel’s soldiers entered the town , mingled with a multitude of townspeople whose faces reflected their joy at the arrival of those gallant defenders. Simon’s servant was leading two robust girls by the arm, to whom he swore eternal love, and among the last rows stood the tall Tristan, on whose broad shoulder sat a fifteen-year-old fisher girl, who, somewhat frightened, clutched the giant’s helmet with both hands. The magistrate rode pensively beside his illustrious guest and didn’t notice that a prodigiously obese gentleman with a florid countenance was pushing his way through the ranks of onlookers and hurrying toward him . “How can you tell, Your Honor!” cried the newcomer with such effort that his face turned purple. “Where are the oysters and clams promised for today’s meal? ” “Calm down, Sir Oliver,” said the magistrate. “It’s quite possible that my steward and cook have forgotten the oysters or haven’t been able to get them; but there’s no reason to despair over such a pittance. There’ll be plenty to eat. ” “Bicoca? Well, I like it! A meal without oysters, without a single miserable clam! What will become of me? You would never have invited me to your table… ” “Come on, stay at least one day without oysters, my friend Oliver,” exclaimed the Baron, laughing, “for if today you have lost your favorite dish, in return you will see again a friend, a comrade in arms. ” “By Saint Martin!” cried the chubby personage, forgetting all his anger. “You, Sir Leo, the champion of the Garonne! Welcome! Ah, with you the memory of those good times is renewed. What adventures, what cuts, and what warriors! Do you remember? ” “Yes, by my faith. Happy days and glorious triumphs those were. ” “But we were not without tribulations and sorrows either. Do you remember what happened to us at Médoc? ” “It would not be much, good Oliver; some skirmish you had in which I took no part, for I well remember not having drawn my sword while I was in Medoc…. –Always the same, furious Morel, incorrigible beast. It is not about giving or receiving spears and blows, but about the irremediable calamity that happened to us in that inn, where we were left without the most appetizing hare pie I have ever seen in my life because the innkeeper’s brute, instead of salt, filled it with sugar. God of justice, how can we forget such a disaster! –Ha ha ha! I see that you too remain the same, Sir Oliver, incomparable gourmet, whose appetite equals your courage. Oh yes! The Medoc inn, in the company of Lord Pomers and Claudio Latour, and your despair at seeing the stew lost, and how you chased the innkeeper sword in hand to the street and wanted to set fire to the inn. Ha ha! Believe me, Lord Mayor; My friend and companion, the noble Oliver de Butrón, is a dangerous man when he thrusts his spear and when his stomach complains, and the best thing you can do is to provide him with those seafood that he longs for as soon as possible. –Within an hour you will have them on your plate, said the magistrate. With the alarm in which we are, I have not been able to think of anything and I confess that I completely forgot the promise I made last night to your noble friend to provide him with one of his favorite dishes. But I suppose, Monsieur de Morel, that you will also honor my poor table. “I still have a lot to do,” replied the baron, “because I intend to embark all my people this afternoon.” What force do you command, Sir Oliver? –Forty-three men. The forty are lost drunk and the three are between two lights, but I have them all safely on board. –Well, it will be good if you don’t drink another drink, because before the night closes I intend to give you the task accomplished, sending you and my people against those Norman and Genoese pirates of whom you have heard. –And that they carry with them a good supply of caviar and fine spices from the Levant and other appetizing delicacies that I promise to taste, said the corpulent nobleman, licking his lips. Not to mention the good business that can be done with the sale of leftover spices. I beg you, sir captain, that when you return on board you order the sailors to pour a bucket of water on all the soldiers of my command who are still Calamocan. Leaving his noble friend and the characters of the city gathered for the banquet, the baron headed with his White Guard to the beach, where the embarkation of men, horses and weapons quickly began in large boats that took them aboard the galleon. The baron gave them such haste and with such good skill the captain and his sailors received them and accommodated them on board , that the signal was given to weigh anchor while the lord of Butrón was still devouring the delicate delicacies that covered the corregidor’s table. Such alacrity is not surprising if one remembers that shortly before the Black Prince had embarked fifty thousand men in the port of Orvel, with horses, artillery and impedimenta, the squadron setting sail twenty-four hours after the embarkation began. In the last boat that left Lepe beach were the two famous captains, Baron León de Morel and the knight Oliver de Butrón, forming the greatest contrast imaginable by their appearance. Another boat followed them full of large stones that the baron had ordered to be brought on board. Shortly after, the enormous _Yellow Galleon_ set sail, flying the purple flag with a golden image of Saint Christopher in its center and greeted by the acclamations of the crowd that gathered on the beach. Beyond Lepe stretched the forests of Hanson and behind them the green hills in an unbroken line, forming a smiling and picturesque landscape. –I swear by my sins that it is well worth fighting and dying for such a beautiful land! exclaimed the baron, who, standing in the stern, had his eyes fixed on that fertile and populated coast like no other. But look there, Sir Oliver, between those rocks; Didn’t you think you saw a hunchback? –I can’t see anything, answered the person questioned with a melancholic accent, because with the haste that you always give us when it comes to going to break the soul with someone, I have an oyster as big as my fist stuck in my throat, and I can’t forget the bottle of Cyprus wine that I had to leave on the table without so much as tasting it. “I saw him, Baron,” said Froilán; the hunchback was on the highest rock, watching our ship, and suddenly disappeared. “His presence confirms the good omens I observed today,” replied the Baron. As we headed toward the beach, a priest and a woman crossed our path, and now we see a hunchback before losing sight of the coast. A fortunate omen. What do you think of it, Roger? ” “I don’t know what to tell you, Baron,” replied the young man. The Romans and Greeks, highly enlightened peoples as they were, had complete faith in these omens, but there are many among modern thinkers and scientists who consider such signs to be vain and childish. “I won’t say that,” observed Monsieur de Butron, recalling at that moment another of the gastronomic disasters he so lamented. Omens never fail, and if not, let the whole army of Prince Edward say so, that way back in the Pyrenees Pass, he suddenly heard a tremendous clap of thunder in the middle of the day, without a single cloud obscuring the blue sky. We all knew what this meant and that we were threatened with a great calamity; and indeed, thirteen days later, a superb quarter of venison disappeared from the door of my tent, and my squires discovered that six bottles of Béarnais wine he was carrying for my table had gone sour… “Well, since you’re talking about squires,” said the Baron when the laughter provoked by the memory of Sir Oliver had ceased, “I must tell my men that today they will have a brilliant opportunity to prove their valor and imitate the example left by their noble ancestors. Go to the chamber, my lads, and bring me my harness.” Lord de Butrón and I will arm ourselves here on deck, with your help. Then you prepare for whatever may happen and tell the officers to have men and weapons ready at the first signal. Which of us will command, Sir Oliver? You, my friend, you. I am an old warrior like you and I know my trade, but I cannot compare myself with the great captain who was once squire to William of Marny. Whatever you do will be well done. You will do well. Your flag will fly from the prow and mine from the stern. I will give you your forty men and as many archers of mine as the vanguard. Fifty more men with my squires will form the afterguard. The rest will be in the center and on the sides of the ship, except for a dozen armed with bows and crossbows, who will go in the tops. What do you think of the distribution? Excellent. But here they bring me my armor, and putting it on is already a long and difficult task for me. Meanwhile, there was a great deal of activity on board; the archers and men-at -arms formed into groups on deck, examining their bows and heeding the advice given by Sergeant Simon and other veterans, experts in the handling of this fearsome weapon. “Stand firm, lads, and don’t move from where I put you,” Simon went on saying from group to group. “As long as you have a good bow in your hand, no pirate is going to come near. And above all, don’t forget that as soon as one arrow is released, the other must already be in your hand and on the string. This has always been the rule in the White Guard. ” “And I say, my friend Simon, isn’t it also a rule to give each soldier half a quart of wine while he waits for the pirates with a dry throat?” asked Tristan de Horla. “That will come later, drunkard, but now we have to earn it.” Each one to his post, for either I am mistaken or two masts are pointing out that way, behind the Agujas de Coves. Archers and men-at-arms lay down on deck, in compliance with the baron’s orders. Near the prow hung from a sturdy lance the coat of arms of Butrón, a black boar’s head on a field of gold, and in the center of the prow Reno the veteran planted the banner with the five roses of Morel. The center of the ship was covered by the swarthy Southampton sailors, all brave people, armed with boarding axes, maces and pikes. Their leader, Captain Golvín, was talking to the baron aft, both of them scanning the horizon and keeping an eye on the sails and the two helmsmen. –Give orders, said the baron, that no soldier or sailor be seen until the bugle orders them to draw their bows. It is convenient for these privateers to take the _Galleon_ for a Southampton merchant ship that flees when its ships are discovered. –There they are! Didn’t I say it? exclaimed the captain, rushing back to the baron after transmitting his order. See the two galleys rocking placidly in the outer bay of Coves, and also look on land, to the east, at the smoke raised by their last fires. Ah, dogs! They have already seen us; The incendiaries’ boats leave the coast at full oar, heading towards their galleys, may God confuse them. And what a crowd on board! That looks like an anthill. I repeat to you, Mr. Baron, that the enterprise could very well prove to be beyond our strength. These pirate ships are of the first order and their crew members are desperate people, who fight until they die. –Well, friend, I envy you the good eyesight you have, replied Mr. de Morel with imperturbable calm, winking his irritated eyes. For now, do me the favor of telling people that today no quarter is given to anyone. When it comes to those beasts, I don’t want prisoners. Do you have a priest or religious on board ? –No, Mr. Baron. –It doesn’t matter. The White Guard can do without them, because I have all of them well confessed since Salisbury and damned if they have had the opportunity to commit misdeeds since we started the march. But in truth, I feel sorry for the Vinchester contingent sent by my noble friend from Butrón, because according to news and signs, they are wayward people and they have had a great time these days. Let’s see, give orders that everyone say an Our Father and a Hail Mary while they wait for the signal to attack. It didn’t take long for the prolonged murmur of all those prayers to be heard, said with singular recollection by archers, sailors and men-at -arms as devout as they were brave. Many of them took out crosses and relics that they kissed fervently, lying on the deck and without showing themselves to the enemy. The _Yellow Galleon_ had left the waters of the Solent and was moving away from the coast under full sail, heavily cutting through the foaming waves. The two pirate ships had launched in pursuit, painted black, with a narrow and long cut, which contrasted with the greater height and rotund shape of the galleon they were hunting. They looked like two hungry wolves tracking their prey. –But tell me, Mr. Baron. “Those dogs have already seen the shield and banner that we carry fore and aft and they know that we have two nobles on board,” said Golvín. –I had already thought about it, but it is not for knights or leaders of royal troops to hide their presence. It will be said that you are heading to Gascony and have received noble passengers bound for our prince’s headquarters. How they shorten the distance! Judging by its appearance and ours, it would seem that two hawks are preparing to fall on an innocent dove. But it is no wonder that they reach us so quickly, with their triple row of oars, while we only have the sails. Do you see any sign or flag on board those ships? –There is a huge black head painted on the mainsail of the left one , replied the captain. –It is the galley of the cruel Norman pirate and the first time I saw it was in Chelsea. I also saw him, _Black Head_, in the middle of the combat. He is a giant with the strength of six men and the crimes of sixty on the conscience. –Only a barbarian like him would think of entering into combat with two unfortunates hanging from the yards of his ship. Do you see them? –That is indeed true, replied the baron. The Virgin of Embrún will grant me the favor of hanging him too within a few hours. What insignia is that on the other pirate’s sails? –The red cross of Genoa. –Which proves that we have the bearded Tito Carleti there, so brave and almost as bad as his hacking partner. That Genoese claims that there are no archers or soldiers like his in the world and we have to prove the opposite. –We will prove it to you, the cheerful captain agreed. But in the meantime, it will be good for the archers and crossbowmen chosen in advance to climb to the tops, disguising their presence and their number as much as possible. The three anchors are already in the center of the ship, with twenty feet of cable each and solidly tied to the mainmast, with four good sailors in charge of each anchor. According to your orders, ten men distributed along the deck, with skins filled with water, will take care of putting out any fire that the incendiary arrows may produce if those bandits use them. The stones are also in the crow’s nests, and the archers will be in charge of crushing with them any group of pirates that comes within range. –Send them, in addition to the stones, any other heavy objects that you have on board, the baron ordered. –Well, in that case, the best thing would be to lift Sir Oliver to them, Gualtero pointed out. –Great opportunity for jokes! said M. de Morel, with such a look that it made the squire tremble. Furthermore, it will not be said that a servant of mine has made fun of a nobleman in my presence without due corrective action. After all, he continued with difficulty suppressing a smile, I know too well that it was a boy’s joke, with no malicious intention. However , Gualtero, I owe it to your father Carter de Pleyel to order you to try to bridle your tongue. –Attack from port and starboard at the same time, Captain Golvín exclaimed, seeing the two enemy ships separate. The Norman has a rock pile in front of him and they are preparing to shoot. –Let’s see, Simón, three archers, the best you have, the baron ordered; Let them choose the most powerful bows at hand and teach the gunners a lesson as soon as they believe they will not lose their arrows. –Arnoldo, Renato and Jaime, aft! the veteran immediately exclaimed. A sangria to the first babieca that touches that stone. Three hundred and fifty steps, at most. Arnoldo, my son, you go first and let’s see if you shine. Do you see that scoundrel with the red cap? Well, skewer him, before they shoot. The three named archers, fixing their gaze on the bow of the enemy ship, slowly stretched the string of their enormous bows, no longer caring whether the pirates saw them or not. The large group that they formed had moved away from the stone quarry, leaving two men in charge of shooting it alone next to it. The one with the red cap bent down to aim, opened his arms and fell face down with an arrow stuck in his side. Almost at the same moment the other pirate received a dart in the throat and another in the leg and was left writhing on the deck. The angry shout of the pirates was answered by the laughter of the archers. –Okay, guys! Simon shouted. But hide behind the rail again, because I see that they have decided to take advantage of the lesson and spread a mesh net to protect themselves against our arrows. Let no one show up. It won’t be long before we hear the stones of those jayanes whistling. Chapter 16. THE COMBAT BETWEEN THE YELLOW GALEON AND THE TWO PIRATES. The supposed merchant ship and its two pursuers were heading rapidly west, leaving the coast of San Albano to the north. Not another sail could be seen on the entire horizon. Roger remained close to the helm, watching the enemy galleys and receiving the strong sea breeze in his face that stirred his curly blonde hair. A worthy descendant of so many famous Saxon warriors, his heart was beating violently and he would have liked to come to blows with the pirates without further delay. Suddenly it seemed to him that a hoarse voice was speaking in his ear, and turning quickly he gave the helmsman a questioning look. The sailor, smiling, pointed with his foot to a thick arrow stuck deeply into a plank three steps from Roger’s head. A few seconds later the helmsman fell on his face and Roger saw the bloody shaft of another arrow on his back. He bent down to lift the unfortunate man and heard the noise of the darts falling on board, similar to that produced by autumn rain on the dry leaves of the forest. “Nets of mail astern!” ordered the baron. “And another man at the helm!” said the captain imperiously. “You and ten archers entertain the Normans,” added the Lord of Morel, addressing Simon, “and have ten more of Sir Oliver’s men do the same with the Genoese. I do not wish to reveal our full force to them yet. ” Ten picked archers commanded by Simon immediately took up position on the stern side where the Norman ship was advancing, and the three squires watched with admiration at the calmness of those veterans at such moments and the precision with which they obeyed the commands, moving together as if they were one man. Their companions, hidden behind the rail, were not short of jokes and advice. “Louder, Fernán, louder, they have not yet boarded.” Stay close to the bow, Renato; it seems you’re afraid of it or fear the string will stain your vest. Keep the wind in mind, and don’t waste an arrow. Meanwhile, the two enemy stone-throwers had taken the offensive, the men of both pieces well protected by a high mesh net. The Genoese man’s first stone whizzed over the archers’ heads and fell into the sea; the Norman stone-thrower’s killed a horse and knocked down several soldiers; another tore a huge hole in the Galleon’s sail; and the fourth struck the center of the prow and, rebounding, threw two of Butrón’s men-at-arms into the water. The captain stared at the baron. “They’re keeping their distance,” he said, “because our twenty archers have caused them great losses. But they’re going to kill many of us with their stone-throwers. ” “Well, a stratagem to bring them closer,” and the baron briefly gave his orders. Once these were transmitted, the archers began to fall as if the pirates’ artillery and arrows were wreaking great havoc. Very soon there were only three archers on each side, and the enemy ships rapidly closed in, their decks filled with a horrible mob shouting triumphantly and brandishing sabers, axes, daggers, and pikes. “They’re coming like fish to bait,” exclaimed the baron. “To them, soldiers, to them! The standard here, at my side, and the squires to defend it. Have the anchors ready to throw them aboard those condemned men. Sound the trumpets, and God protect our cause!” A unanimous acclamation answered him, and the gunwale of the English ship suddenly appeared covered from stem to stern by a double line of hulls. The enemy mob let out cries of rage, especially when they received the hail of arrows fired by the English archers in the center of that motley crowd, composed of men of all shapes and colors, Normans, Sicilians, Genoese, Levantines, and Moors. The confusion aboard both pirates was terrifying, and the slaughter great, as the archers launched their arrows and shafts from the top of the enormous Galleon, which dominated the enemy decks. Moreover, in that compact mass , ready to board what they believed to be a harmless merchant vessel, not a single arrow was lost, and the pirates fell in heaps, dead or wounded. Meanwhile, the men-at-arms assigned for that purpose had thrown two anchors aboard the enemy vessels to prevent their retreat, and the three ships were joined by a double iron rope, pitching heavily. Then began one of those frantic, bloody, and heroic struggles, not reported by any historian, not sung by any poet, of which no other sign or monument remains than a powerful and happy nation and a coast not devastated by the depredations that once ravaged it. The archers had cleared the bow and stern of both galleys of the enemy, but the pirates attacked the center of the Galleon in great numbers, falling furiously on both sides upon the sailors and men-at-arms and fighting with them hand to hand, in such confusion that the soldiers and sailors in the tops did not dare to throw darts or rocks, fearful of wounding and crushing their own companions. In that confused mass of men only the shine of sabers and axes could be seen that fell with a strident noise on helmets and armor, felling English, Genoese and Normans, in the midst of frightful shouting, of an indescribable tumult. The giant _Black Head_, covered in iron and with a tremendous mace, stunned everyone who came within his reach; Each blow of his mace felled a victim. On the starboard side, the Genoese Carleti, short in stature, but whose broad shoulders, robust body and muscular arms denoted his strength, had launched the boarding with no less impetus . At the head of fifty chosen and well-armed Italians they made their way almost to the mast of the English ship and the sailors found themselves caught as if between two iron walls by their fierce assailants, giving and receiving death without asking for quarter. But at that supreme moment the help they needed so much came to them. The lord of Butrón with his men-at-arms and the baron followed by his squires, Reno, Simón, Tristán de Horla and twenty others, launched themselves like lions against the mobs that on both sides had invaded the deck and, opening a bloody path, reached the thickest of the fight. Roger did not leave his master for a single moment and although he had heard a lot about his exploits, until then he had never had any idea of his courage, his calmness in combat and the alacrity of his movements. He jumped from one pirate to another, knocking them down with a thrust or a slash, parrying the blows they dealt him with the shield and the sword and spreading terror among his enemies. One of his blows hit Tito Carleti, wounding him in the neck and finally the _Black Head_ himself decided to finish off that fearsome combatant and rushing to meet him, he raised the heavy mace over him. The baron leaned down to better protect himself with his shield, while parrying the furious Genoese’s blows, but at that moment he slipped in a pool of blood and fell on the deck. Roger attacked the Norman giant, but a blow from the latter’s mace shattered his sword and brought him down onto a group of dead and wounded. _Black Head_ was going to repeat the blow, when he felt his wrist caught as if with iron tongs and saw at his side Tristan, the herculean archer, who, bending the Norman’s body backwards , displaying his incredible strength, ended up breaking his arm and stretching it out full length on the planks of the bridge. Once he was knocked down, he put the dagger to his face through the bars of the visor and the fearsome pirate remained motionless, the only way to avoid the death that threatened him so closely. The Normans, discouraged with the loss of their leader and closely harassed , turned their backs and abandoned the _Galleon_, jumping hastily onto the deck of their ship, where the arrows of the English archers and the rocks that the sailors threw at them from the mastheads began to decimate them. Furthermore, with the pirate ship firmly attached to the _Galleón_ by the latter’s anchor, the lord of Butrón and fifty veterans went aboard the Norman in pursuit of the fugitives. To starboard the fighting continued fiercely. The Genoese and his henchmen defended themselves vigorously, retreating step by step before the furious attacks of Baron de Morel, Roger, Reno and their archers. Carleti, hoarse with anger and fatigue and covered with wounds from which blood flowed abundantly, returned to board his ship with his remaining pirates, without ceasing to defend himself and pursued by a dozen Englishmen who rushed to board the galley. Then Carleti abandoned his companions with a jump, ran along the deck and returning aboard the _Galleón_ cut the anchor cable that held his ship with one slash. Once this was done, she jumped back onto the deck of her galley, whose oarsmen began to push her away from the _Galleon_. –Saint George help us! shouted Gualtero de Pleyel. The baron is on the galley, fighting with the Genoese! They take it away! –It’s lost! shouted Froilán de Roda in turn. Let’s jump, Gualtero! Both young men, standing on the side of the _Galleón_, launched themselves into space. The unfortunate Froilán fell on the oars of the pirate galley and disappeared among the waves; More fortunate, Gualtero reached the deck of the enemy ship and joined the baron’s companions. Roger wanted to follow his two friends in defense of his lord, but Tristan of Horla forcibly prevented him from doing so. –How are you supposed to take that leap of death, boy, if you can barely stand? he told him. Your head is full of blood. –My position is next to the baron! roared Roger, struggling uselessly. –Stay here, I tell you, and you will stay by hook or by crook. You would need wings to reach the galley. It gradually receded. –Look at their courage, how they defend themselves, how they attack! Tristan continued following the details of the fight aboard the pirate. Our men have cleared the stern of enemies and advance, with the baron at the head. Bravo Simón, good shot! Reindeer fights like a tiger. The Genoese, although a bandit, is brave, there is no doubt about it. He has managed to gather his people at the bow…. By the Cross of Deeds, one archer has already fallen, and another! Damn Carleti! But here goes the baron, to give an account of him. Look, Roger! –The baron has fallen…. –No, one of his tricks. There you have it again, more spirited than ever, what a sword! The pirate leader retreats, falls, pierced from side to side. Long live, long live! The others flee, they surrender. There goes Simon. For the life of! The flag of the red cross is now lowered, the flag of Morel is now raised, the five roses…. Long live! The death of Tito Carleti put an end to all resistance and his galley, changing tack, headed again towards the _Galleón_, greeted by the shouts of enthusiasm of the soldiers. The baron and Sir Oliver soon met on the deck of the English ship, and having removed the anchor that held it to the Norman galley, the three ships set sail, at a short distance from each other. Roger, weaker with each passing moment, listened with admiration to the calm voice of the captain who continued to command the maneuver as calmly as he had done during the combat. –Our poor _Galeón_ is still having quite serious breakdowns, Golvín said to Mr. de Morel as soon as he was able to speak to him. The gunwale destroyed, the mainsail torn to pieces. What will the shipowners say when I show up with their boat in such a sad state? –The sad thing would be, said the baron, if you were to suffer because of me, especially after today’s work and your brilliant behavior. Nothing, you take those two galleys as proof of the day and let the shipowners sell them. The amount will be reimbursed for the damages suffered by the _Yellow Galleon_ and the rest will be kept until my return, to be distributed among everyone. You will not complain on your part. For mine, I owe the Virgin of the Priory a ten-pound silver image for having granted me the favor of defeating and killing the Genoese pirate, whose courage and skill in the handling of weapons I am the first to recognize. And you, Roger? Wounded? “It’s nothing,” said the young man in a weak voice, taking off his helmet that bore clear signs of the Norman’s powerful mace. But as soon as he had discovered himself, blood flooded his face and he fell unconscious. –He will soon come to his senses, said the noble after examining him carefully. I have lost a brave squire today and I can hardly lose another. How many casualties have we had, Simón? –Nine archers, seven sailors, eleven men-at-arms and your squire, the young lord of Roda. –And the enemy? –Only the Norman chief is left alive. There it is, very stiff. You will have it at your disposal, Mr. Baron. –Save him without delay. I made the vow and it must be fulfilled. But hang him from a yard of his own ship, that was my promise. _Black Head_, although wounded and with a broken arm, had remained standing next to the rail, between two archers. Upon hearing the baron’s words he shuddered and his face contorted violently. –Hanged, me? he exclaimed in French. Death of a villain, to me? –Well, according to reports, said Mr. de Morel, you hanged everyone who fell alive into your hands, without distinction of nobles or commoners. Furthermore, I have vowed to hang you. –I am lord of Andelys and royal blood runs through my veins…. –You are a heartless pirate, replied the baron, turning his back on him, at the same time that two sailors grabbed _Black Head_ and put the noose around his neck. Upon feeling the rope, the pirate leader made a supreme effort and broke the bonds that tied his hands, he knocked down one of the archers who was guarding him and, grabbing the sailor who was holding the rope by the waist with his only healthy arm , he lifted him up and threw himself with him into the sea. –He has escaped! shouted Simon, running towards the point on the deck where _Black Head_ had disappeared. “Say rather that he is dead,” replied the captain. Both have sunk in the waters like lead. –It doesn’t bother me, said the baron; that although I have not been able to fulfill my vow, this pirate has behaved bravely in the fight, he has died as such and it would have been a shame to hang him as if he were one of those diminished people who accompanied him. Chapter 17. IN THE BARRA DEL GARONA. For two days the _Yellow Galleon_ sailed with open sails, driven by favorable winds from the northeast, it left behind Ouessant, the westernmost point of France and on the third day it passed in front of Bella Isla and sighted some transports returning to England. The two nobles had their coats of arms hung on the side of the ship and observed with the greatest interest the signals with which the transports responded and which indicated the names of those knights whom illness or wounds made return to their homes at such critical moments. In the afternoon, signs of an approaching storm were noticed that deeply alarmed Captain Golvín, since not only had he lost a third of his sailors but half of the rest were on board the two captured galleys; and, together with the damage suffered by his own ship, he was in very poor condition to face the storms of that dangerous coast. The wind blew violently all night, giving the heavy transport strong swings. Roger, although weakened by the loss of blood, went up on deck at dawn, preferring to be soaked by the waves rather than continue locked in the narrow, dark cabins, nauseating and full of rats. Clinging to a halyard, he contemplated with emotion the spectacle of the turbulent sea, covered with innumerable waves and reflecting the black color of the clouds. The two captured galleys followed the _Galleón_ at a short distance, also fighting with the wind and waves. To the left, through the mist, could be seen the land of France, that land where their ancestors had shed their blood and conquered imperishable glory; France, homeland of so many famous knights, of so many beauties, theater of unforgettable high deeds and seat of great monuments, art, luxury and wealth. In the presence of that French coast, Roger kissed the precious veil given to him by the beautiful Constanza de Morel, and kissing it he swore to conquer with his courage fame worthy of such a noble lady, or perish in the lawsuit. He was brought out of his meditations by the hoarse voice of the captain, who, dominating the tumult of the elements, shouted to him: – You have a bad attitude, sir knight, and it does not surprise me, since I myself have sailed since childhood, I do not remember having ever seen such a sure promise of an undone storm. Bad day and worse night await us. –My thoughts were different, said the squire, very oblivious to the storm that threatens us. –Dispose of me, if I can be of any use to you. But speaking of thoughts, those that assail me when I imagine the difficulties of my return trip are no less black ; contrary winds, the main sail split in two, a third of my sailors dead, and the ship with damage and holes everywhere. I think that before we reach Southampton again we must be converted into salted herrings, Judging by the amount of water I expect to take on board as soon as I set my bow for England, I’ll tell you what. And what does my lord say to that? He’s down below, helping his friend decipher coats of arms. All he tells me is not to talk to him about such trifles. Trifles! And what about Sir Oliver? As soon as I tell him I’m short on sailors, he tells me to cook them all in Gascony sauce. I turned to the archers. “What if you want!” They spend hours playing dice over there, presided over by Sergeant Simon and Reno, and the red-headed giant who broke the pirate’s arm. “Look, this Galleon is going to sink any moment,” I tell them. “And they don’t care. That ‘s your account, bad captain,” one tells me. “Six and white,” another grunts. “And that Simon, may God confuse him, ends up sending me to hell.” “You can hear them from here, pack of sharks!” Indeed, despite the sound of the wind and the waves, the echo of the oaths and laughter of the gamblers who filled the bow reached them. “If I can help you,” Roger suggested. “You have enough to do looking after your damaged head, or what remains of it thanks to the helmet that took the brunt of the blow. But everything that can be done for now has been done; the starboard breach has been covered with sails and interlaced cables, and it only remains to be seen what will happen when we change course to avoid the rocks and shoals of the coast, which we are getting too close to. Here comes the Baron, and by my faith, he is just in time. ” “Do not take my distraction lightly, Master Golvín,” said the knight, walking with difficulty as a result of the ship’s rolling. “I was deeply preoccupied with a difficult heraldic matter, on which I would like to hear your opinion, Roger.” These are the quarters of the coat of arms belonging to the Sosire family, whose chief, Sir Leiton, is my uncle, married to the widow of Sir Henry Oglander of Nunvel. The delimitation of these quarters has been a matter of much debate among all who understand blazons. How are we doing, Captain? “I am worried about the state of the ship, Baron. We shall have to luff very soon, and as soon as I try, the poor Galleon will begin to take on water. ” “Call Sir Oliver at once!” cried the Baron. Shortly afterwards, the fat knight arrived aft, slipping with every step, clutching the rail, the halyards, and everything else within reach, his face puffy and cursing his fate. “What ship is this, Captain,” he exclaimed between two rolls, “on which an honest knight cannot take a step without risking his soul to pieces?” If this dance is to continue much longer, put me aboard one of those pirates, who can’t be more dashing than your ship, for sure. When I could no longer resist weakness, I sat down before a jar of malmsey and a mutton shanks, and at the first lurch the jar fell on me, covering me with pearls in my robes and breeches, and the stew ended up, sauce and all, on the holy ground. There are my pages running after him, like greyhounds chasing a doe. Good heavens, what galley or what tarasque!… But have you called me, friend Morel? “To hear your opinion, unfortunate and hungry knight. Here you have Master Golvín, afraid that if the Galleon veers around, it will begin to take on water. ” “Well, let it not veer; the matter is clear.” And with your permission, Baron, I ‘m going back to see what those scoundrels of pages are doing… “But if we don’t tack, we’ll end up against the rocks before you can sit down at table again,” said the captain. “Then tack, with a thousand cavalry,” growled Señor de Butrón. ” Would you allow it, my friend Baron?” At that instant, the lookouts’ voices were heard: “Rocks ahead!” In the center of an enormous wave, a hundred yards away, the dark stones of a reef appeared, covered with foam. The captain threw himself at the helm and began to shout the commands; the sailors practiced their maneuvers without losing a moment; the bowsprit turned with a prolonged screech, and the galleon changed course, a very short distance from the threatening rocks. “I don’t think I can save them in time,” roared the captain, clinging to the helm. Saint Christopher helps us! –Well, we are in such great danger, I want my flag to fly on the deck, said the baron calmly. Go get it, Roger, and stick it here. –And I, exclaimed Sir Oliver, promise my exalted patron Santiago de Compostela to visit his sanctuary there in Spain, if he saves me from this travail, and to eat one more carp every waking day, for a year. How the sea roars! What do you say, captain? –We pass, we pass! Golvín shouted, fixing his gaze on the breakers closest to the bow. Haphazard! A few moments of waiting followed and then the scraping of the keel on the rocks was felt throughout the boat . One of these, whose tip projected obliquely, scraped hard against the side of the helmet, tearing out long splinters. A moment later the _Yellow Galleon_ completed its evolution, the wind filled the sails and they all escaped the very serious danger, fleeing the threatening coast, amidst the acclamations of sailors and soldiers. –God be praised! exclaimed the captain, wiping the sweat that was bathing his forehead. I will not return to Southampton without offering a five-pound candle to good Saint Christopher in the convent chapel. “Well, I’m glad,” commented Sir Oliver, “because in truth I prefer to die dry, even though after having eaten so much fish in this life, it would be very fair if the fish ate me.” And since it is about eating, I return to my chamber…. –Wait a little longer, dear companion, said the baron, because if I have not misunderstood, we escape from one danger to fall into another. –Captain! the boatswain shouted at that moment, “the waves have carried away the sails that closed the port gap! The boat is taking on water! Many sailors ran after the boatswain, announcing that water was flooding the interior of the ship and that the horses were in immediate danger. Obeying Golvín’s energetic orders, they secured sails over the gap opened in the side, a very difficult operation in those circumstances and which once completed prevented, although not completely, the entry of water. The _Galleon_ had sunk quite a bit and the waves frequently swept over the deck. –I don’t think it will hold out in the direction we are going, said the captain, but if it turns we will run aground on the coast. –And lowering the candles? the baron suggested. Could we not wait for the calm of the sea and the wind? –No, one and the other would soon throw us against the rocks. In the thirty years that I have been on board I have not seen myself in the same situation. The saints in heaven have mercy on us! –And very particularly I trust in the protection of the great Santiago, on whose day I vow to eat another carp, in addition to the one already promised for every waking day of the year…. Golvín looked in the direction of the two captured galleys; They could be seen at a great distance, now jumping over the waves and now falling heavily between them. –If they were closer, said the sailor, we could still save ourselves. For now, Mr. Baron, it would be a good idea for you to take off your armor, because at any moment we could see ourselves in the water. –I do not accept the advice, replied the knight. It will not be said that a nobleman voluntarily disarms because Aeolus and Neptune threaten him. What I will do is summon the White Guard to the deck and wait with them for the good or bad luck that heaven has in store for us. But what is that, Master Golvín? As poor as my vision is, it seems to me that this is not the first time that I have seen those two promontories, there on the left. –Blessed Saint Christopher! exclaimed the sailor with a joyful voice and looking eagerly in the indicated direction. It’s La Tremblade! And I thought I hadn’t gotten past Olorón! There, in front of us, is the mouth of the Garonne, and once we have passed the bar the danger will have disappeared. Dagger, boys! Rudder to port! The bowsprit moved again, the wind caught the sails to starboard and He propelled the upturned ship in the new direction that offered such unexpected refuge. From one end of the wide estuary to the other, the waves formed a moving barrier crowned with foam that extended, in the north, to a high peak and in the south to a low, sandy point. In the center a small island against which the waves crashed furiously. –Between the island and the promontory there is a channel, said the captain; The pilot of the royal prince told me this in person. We will see if the _Galleón_ obeys my hand, loaded with water as it is and submerged a fathom more than it should. –Go ahead, master, exclaimed the lord of Butrón; Twice fortune has been favorable to us in the imminent dangers of this day, and if it protects us now, I make a vow to the blessed Santiago de…. –Hold your tongue, my friend Butrón, because if you continue offering tents you will end up attracting the indignation of the saint…. –I beg you to order the soldiers to lie down on the deck and remain motionless, said the captain. In a few minutes we will be saved or our last hour will have arrived. Archers and men-at-arms promptly obeyed. Golvín clung to the rudder and looked straight ahead, under the swollen mainsail. The two leaders, motionless at the stern, also contemplated the dreaded bar. Finally the _Yellow Galleon_ reached the breakers, avoided the obstacles and in short moments, leaving all danger behind, sailed through the calm waters of the Garonne. Chapter 18. HOW THE BARON MADE A VOW TO WEAR A PATCH. One Friday morning, the twenty-ninth of December, two days before Saint Sylvester, the _Yellow Galleon_ anchored in front of the noble city of Bordeaux. Roger’s interest and admiration were great as he contemplated from on board the forest of masts, the numerous boats crossing in all directions and the beautiful city spread out in the shape of a crescent on the banks of the river, with its high towers and the multitude of buildings of very varied architecture and colors. Never in his quiet life had he seen a city of equal importance, nor did England, with the sole exception of London, have another that could be compared in size and wealth. At that time, the products of all the fertile regions bathed by the Dordogne and the Garonne arrived in Bordeaux; the fabrics of the south, the skins of Guienne, the wines of the Medoc, to later export them to Hull, Exeter, Dartmouth, Bristol or Chester, in exchange for English wool and wool. In Bordeaux there were also the famous foundry furnaces and forges that had given their steels universal renown and with which the best tempered swords and spears were forged. From his galleon Roger could see the smoke emitted by the tall chimneys of the foundries and the breeze carried him from time to time to the sound of bugles that echoed on the walls of the square. –Hello, _mon petit_! said Simón approaching him. You are now a full-fledged squire and on your way to wearing the golden spur very soon, while I am and will be an archer drill sergeant and nothing more. I hardly dare to continue speaking to you with the same frankness as when we were bartering in the inns of our land. However, I can still serve as a guide for you in these directions, new to you and especially in Bordeaux, whose houses I know one by one, as well as the friar knows the beads of his rosary. –You also know me too well, Simón, to believe that I can despise a friend like you because fortune seems to smile on me, replied the young man, placing a hand on the veteran’s shoulder. I’m sorry you thought something similar. –No, comrade, don’t even think about it. It was a test to see if you were still the same, although I shouldn’t have doubted it for a moment. –Where would I be today, if I had not met you at the Dunán inn? Of course he would not have gone to the castle of Monteagudo, nor would he have been a squire for our brave captain, and he would probably never have seen …. Here he stopped, blushing, but Simón did not notice, absorbed as he was. with his own memories. –Good inn at _Pájaro Verde_, eh? By the edge of my sword! I could do worse things than marry that fresh and buxom innkeeper, when the day comes to exchange this ponytail and chain mail for cloth clothes. “Well, I thought you had given your promise to marry a girl from Salisbury.” –On three, friend Roger, on three. And I am very afraid of never returning to that town, in order to avoid a warmer reception than the one that three French squadrons could give me in Gascony…. But look at that great tower where the banner of the golden lions flutters; It is the royal English flag , with the motto of our prince. The building is the Abbey of Saint Andrew, and he has stayed there with his court for more than a year. –And that other gray tower? –The church of San Miguel, and to the left that of San Remo. The immediate mansion is the Berland palace. Look also at those strong walls, with three posterns facing the river and sixteen along the entire land circuit. –And why the continuous sounding of so many bugles? –It can hardly be anything else, when almost all the great lords of England and Gascony are lodged behind those walls and those who most and least want the bugle in their service to be heard as much and as frequently as that of their neighbor. My faith, they remind me of a Scottish camp because of the noise they make with their bagpipes. There advances a group of pages who are going to water the horses. Each of these steeds indicates the presence of a knight in Bordeaux, because I understand that the men-at-arms and archers have already marched in the direction of Dax. –Simon! Mr. de Morel called. Tell the people that in an hour the boats will be here and that they have everything ready for disembarkation. The archer saluted and hurried forward. Sir Oliver soon joined his friend and both gentlemen began to walk on deck, observing and commenting on the view of the city. The baron was dressed in a black velvet suit, with a round cap of the same material and color, and attached to it was the baroness’s glove, partly covered by curly white feathers. Contrasting with the apparent modesty of the rich but dark suit were the brilliant trappings of Sir Oliver, dressed in the latest fashion, with a jerkin, breeches and short green velvet cape, with red slashed sleeves and a large red cap as well . The tips of his shoes, curved _à la poulaine_, seemed to threaten the legs of the plump gentleman. –Once again we find ourselves in front of this door of honor that on so many occasions has given us access to the fields of combat and glory , said the baron, contemplating the city with a brilliant gaze. There the prince’s flag flies and it is right that above all we pay tribute to him. I already see the boats that must take us heading this way. “The inn next to the west gate is not bad,” replied the glutton, “and we might as well appease our hunger before going to greet the prince, because his table, although covered in brocade and silver, is not much for people of my appetite, nor does His Highness have the slightest sympathy for his superiors… ” “His superiors?” –At the table and with a fork in hand, I mean. God forbid I disrespect him, but I have seen him smile because I looked at the carver for the fourth time one day when they served us superb game. And on the other hand, he makes me feel sorry for him at the table, playing with his gold beaker, from which he drinks at most a little watered down wine. And I remind you about the inn, friend, because war and glory are not enough for a body like mine, nor is it a matter of tightening your belt in the rush to greet His Highness. –Almost all the ships close to ours display the shield of some nobleman, continued Mr. de Morel. There is that of the Percys, and immediately those of Abercombe, Moreland, Bruce and many others. It would be strange if such a gathering of bizarre gentlemen did not result in notable acts of arms. Here is our boat, Butrón, and if it is your opinion we will go directly to the abbey with our squires, leaving Master Golvín in charge of the weapons and baggage and their disembarkation. Soon the knights and squires were installed in one of the boats and their horses in a barge prepared for this purpose. As soon as the baron reached the ground, he knelt and raised a fervent supplication to heaven. Then he took out a small black patch from his chest and, putting it over his left eye, tied it firmly, saying: “For Saint George and for my lady!” I vow not to discover this eye until I have seen the land of Spain and carried out in it a deed of arms that redounds to the honor of my country and my name. Thus I swear on my sword and on my lady’s glove. “Seeing and hearing you makes me feel twenty years younger, Morel,” his friend told him when they had mounted and set off towards the Puerta del Mar. But, please, if a blind knight like you voluntarily takes away half of the little sight he has left, you will not be able to distinguish an English archer from a Spanish captain. It seems to me that you have not been very sane in choosing your vote. –Know, sir knight, replied the baron in an imperious voice, that I will always see enough to distinguish the path of duty and glory, a path on which I do not need a guide. –We are overwhelmed, and it is not a bad mood that you show as soon as you arrive on the land of France! exclaimed Sir Oliver. But if you seek a quarrel with me, and I should not have one with you, I will take advantage of the opportunity to leave you alone and visit once again the _Cabeza de Oro_ nearby, whose marinated partridge stews have left me with eternal remembrance. –No, friend, said the baron smiling. We know and esteem each other too much to quarrel over more or less words, like two little pages. Believe me, come with me to greet the prince and then we will find lodging and a table; although I believe that he will regretfully see such a good servant as you exchange the prince’s table for that of a restaurant. But who comes there? Isn’t that gentleman who greets us Mr. Roberto Delvar? God be with you, good Roberto! And here is also De Cheney. What a pleasant encounter! The four knights continued on their way together, followed by Roger, Walter, and John of Norbury, Sir Oliver’s squire. Behind them were Reno and Verney, standard bearers of Morel and Butrón. Norbury was a tall , dry young man, who rode upright and without looking to the right or left, as if he were very knowledgeable about the city, where he had already been a few years before; but Gualtero and Roger, full of curiosity, scrutinized everything, walkers, streets, buildings and coats of arms, calling each other’s attention at every moment to everything around them. The young man from Pleyel never tired of hearing the new language in which the street stall vendors and groups of townspeople expressed themselves. –But have you heard anything like that in your life? he asked his companion. The strange thing is that it has not occurred to them to learn English and speak as God intended, now that their land belongs to the crown of England. And for my life! that these French girls are worth an empire. Look at that girl with the blue lad. What a palm! It is no wonder that the appearance of the city made a deep impression on those who saw it for the first time. Rich, populous, lively, Bordeaux was then at its peak. In addition to its industries, armories and great commerce, the prolonged wars that had ruined so many other French towns had greatly favored it. In Bordeaux, immense loot was hoarded and sold, coming from battles, looting and maritime prizes, the proceeds of which were almost entirely spent there . Furthermore, the numerous court of the Black Prince permanently installed there had attracted a multitude of English nobles with their families and servants, a lavish element whose entertainment, parties and great expenses contributed not a little to the prosperity of the noble town of the Garonne. However, the recent buildup of numerous forces For the next expedition to Spain to help Don Pedro of Castile against his bastard brother Don Enrique de Trastamara, there had been a great shortage and scarcity of provisions and the Black Prince had just sent most of his regiments and squadrons to the region of Dax, in Gascony. In front of the abbey of San Andrés, a large square opened up, which upon the arrival of our knights was occupied by a multitude of townspeople attracted by curiosity, soldiers, religious, pages and street vendors. Some brilliant knights on their way to the prince’s residence crossed the square at intervals, separating with difficulty the groups of men, women and children who rushed in their path. The enormous doors of oak and iron were wide open, indicating that the prince was giving audience at that moment; and a score of archers stationed in front of the building kept the crowds at a proper distance, not without distributing from time to time blows to each of the most daring onlookers. Two knights armed to the nines, with their visors drawn down and leaning on their lances, stood guard at the wide portal; and among them, seated at a low table and attended by two pages, was His Highness’s secretary, in charge of recording in the register in front of him the names and titles of the visiting nobles and especially those who had recently arrived at the court. It was that character, an elderly man, whose long white hair and beard gave him a venerable appearance, enhanced by the extensive purple clothing that covered him to his feet. –There you have Roland de Parington, royal secretary, said M. de Morel. Woe to anyone who tries to deceive him or contradict his notes and records, because he is the most versed man that exists in genealogical matters and has in his memory the titles and coats of arms of all the knights there are in France and England and I believe also the complete history of their alliances and services. Let us leave our horses here and enter with the squires. Arriving at the portal and the royal secretary, they found him in lively conversation with a young and elegant gentleman, apparently very eager to gain entry into the abbey. –Is your name Marvel? said Roland of Parington. Well, it seems to me that you have not been introduced yet. –That’s right, answered the other. Although I have only been in Bordeaux for twenty-four hours, I have not wanted to delay paying my respects to Your Highness. –That he still has many other and very serious matters to attend to. But being Marvel you necessarily belong to the Marvels of Normanton, and I see it in effect from your coat of arms: sable and ermine. –Marvel of Normanton I am, the young man stated after a moment of hesitation. –In that case your name is Esteban Marvel, eldest son of Baron Guy of the same surname, who died recently. –Baron Esteban is my older brother, the nobleman confessed in a low voice, and I am Arturo, the second of my house and of my name. –Let’s finish! exclaimed the implacable secretary. And this being so , where is the crest that denotes it on your shield? When is the silver crescent that your coat of arms should have to indicate that it is not that of the head of the family, but that of a second son? Retire, my lord, and do not expect to be presented to the prince until you have your coat of arms in good order. The nobleman withdrew confused, the secretary followed him with his eyes and almost immediately noticed the banner with the five red roses that the veteran Reno carried so proudly. –By my name! Parington exclaimed. We have guests here today who do not have to ask if they are paid by first-class nobility. The Roses of Morel! And I mean, the Butrón boar’s head! Ah! Banners are those that may be here in line, waiting their turn, but that have been and will always be on the front line on the battlefields . Welcome, gentlemen! How happy is Chancellor De Chandos when he sees and embraces his favorite comrades in arms! Here, Gentlemen. Your squires are undoubtedly worthy of their lords’ renown. Let’s see the arms. Hello! Here we have a Clinton, of the ancient family of Hanson, and one of the Pleyels, ancient Saxon nobility. And you? Norbury. There are such men in Cheshire and also on the Scottish border. A common sight, my lords; your admission and presentation will take effect immediately. The pages opened a neighboring door that led into a large hall, where our knights found many other noblemen gathered, who, like themselves, were awaiting an audience. At the front wall of the entrance door, another door was guarded by two men-at-arms. It opened at intervals to admit an official who loudly named the nobleman designated by the prince. Butron and Morel sat down, and Roger soon spotted among the groups of handsome knights one who was approaching him, whom everyone was saluting with respect and looking at with evident interest. Very tall and slender, his hair white, and his excessive mustache that fell limply toward his neck, he seemed to retain, with his eagle-like gaze, the liveliness of his gestures, and the grace of his gait, all the vigor of youth. His face was covered in scars, an indelible mark, some from terrible wounds, which completely disfigured him; he was also missing an eye, and with so many injuries it would have been impossible to recognize him as the gallant young man who forty years before had been the delight of the English court for his valor, his fame, and his presence, and the favorite knight of the ladies. But then as later, he remained Chancellor de Chandos, honor and honour of the nobility of the kingdom, one of its finest lances, and the most respected of its knights, the hero of Crécy, Chelsea, Poitiers, Auray, and as many other battles as the years of his long and glorious life. “Ah, I find you at last, heart of gold!” exclaimed Chandos, embracing Baron Morel closely. I had news of your arrival, and I have not stopped until I found you. “It is a great pleasure to see my dear friend and the model of knighthood again,” said Morel, returning the embrace. “And from what I see,” added Chandos, laughing, “in this campaign we shall be made like one another, for I am missing an eye and you have covered one of yours. Welcome, Sir Oliver! I had not seen you. We will go in to greet the prince with all haste, but I warn you that if he keeps such knights waiting it is because he is very busy. Don Pedro of Castile on one side, the King of Aragon on the other, the King of Navarre, who changes his mind overnight, and then the swarm of Gascon lords,” he added in a low voice, “with their interminable pretensions, everything contributes to the prince not having a moment of his own.” How did you leave my lady of Morel? “In good health, but saddened in spirit. She bade me greet you in her name. ” “I am always her knight and her slave. And your voyage? ” “I could not wish it better,” replied the Baron. “The sea was somewhat rough, but we were fortunate enough to sight some pirate galleys, to whom we said a few words. ” “Always fortunate, Morel! You will tell us about that adventure. But now, leave your squires here, follow me closely, and I believe the Prince will not hesitate to receive you out of turn when he learns what pair of illustrious veterans are in the waiting room.” The Lords of Morel and Butron followed the Lord of Chandos, greeting many former comrades in arms among the groups of nobles as they passed. Chapter 19. BEFORE THE DUKE OF AQUITAINE. Although not of large dimensions, the Prince’s chamber was furnished and decorated with as much taste as richness. At the front, on a dais, stood two regal armchairs with canopies of crimson velvet enameled with silver fleurs-de-lis. Carved seats covered in damask, tapestries, rugs, and richly upholstered cushions completed the furnishings. One of the dais’s armchairs was occupied by a tall , well-proportioned figure, his face pale and his gaze somewhat harsh. gave his face a somewhat threatening expression. This was Don Pedro of Castile. In the armchair on the left sat another Spanish prince, Don Jaime, who, far from appearing bored like his companion, showed great interest in everything that surrounded him and greeted the English and Gascon knights with smiles and greetings. Close to them and on the same dais , also occupied a lower seat the famous Black Prince, Edward, son of the ruler of England. Modestly dressed, no one who did not know him would have dreamed of seeing him as the victor of so many great victories, whose fame filled the world. His worried countenance now reflected an expression of anger. On either side of the hall could be seen a triple row of prelates and high dignitaries of Aquitaine, barons, knights, and courtiers. “There is the prince,” said Chandos as he entered. The two figures seated behind him are the Spanish monarchs for whom, with God’s help and our own efforts, we are going to conquer Castile and Majorca respectively. His Highness is deeply concerned, and I am not surprised. But the prince had noticed their entrance, and a pleasant smile animated his face. “Your good offices are unnecessary this time, Chandos,” he said, rising. “These gallant knights are too well known to me to need an introducer. Welcome to my duchy of Aquitaine, Sir Leon de Morel and Sir Oliver Butron. No, friends; bend the knee to the King my father at Windsor; give me your hands. You have arrived well, for I intend to give you no small task before you see your land of Hanson again. Have you been to Spain, Lord de Butron? ” “Yes, Your Highness, and what I remember most is that famous and most delicious pot of wine of the country… ” “Always the same, as I see!” exclaimed the prince, laughing, as did many other knights. But don’t worry, once we get there, we’ll try to get you your favorite Spanish dish, prepared with every rule of art. You see, Your Highness,” he continued , addressing King Don Pedro, “that among our knights there is no shortage of enthusiastic admirers of Spanish cuisine. But, to Sir Oliver’s credit, he also knows how to fight on an empty stomach. He proved it well back at Poitiers, when we fought for two days with no food but a few crusts of bread and a few draughts of muddy water; and I still remember how he rushed into the thick of the fight and with a single blow brought down the head of a brilliant Picard knight. “Because he happened to block my way to a wagon loaded with provisions that the French had,” Sir Oliver observed, to the great laughter of all present. “How many recruits have you brought me?” the prince asked him. “Forty men-at-arms, sir,” Sir Oliver replied. “And I have a hundred archers and fifty lances,” said the Lord of Morel; “but another two hundred men are waiting for me near the Navarrese border. ” “What force is this, Baron? ” “A famous company, called the White Guard.” To the Baron’s great surprise, his words were greeted with unanimous laughter. The prince himself and the two foreign kings shared in the general hilarity. The Baron of Morel calmly looked from side to side, and finally, noticing a burly knight with a bushy black beard standing near him and laughing louder than the rest, he went up to him and, touching his arm, said: “When you have finished laughing, you will not deny me the favor of a brief interview, somewhere where we can understand each other face to face and sword in hand… ” “Calm down, Baron!” exclaimed His Highness. Do not seek a quarrel with Lord Robert Briquet, for he is as guilty as all of us.” The truth is that when you arrived, we had just heard, and I was angry, news of the misdeeds committed by that same White Guard, such and so many that I swore to hang the captain of that company. I was far from finding him among the bravest and most chosen of my leaders. But my oath is void, since you have just arrived from England and do not even know what you are doing. your people have done here, nor is it possible to demand from you the slightest responsibility for it. ” “That I should be hanged is a small matter, sir,” the Baron replied immediately, “although the kind of death is less noble than I had hoped. But the essential thing is that the Prince of England and model of knights should not break his oath, for any reason or pretext… ” “Do not insist, Baron. Having recently heard a resident of Montaubán tell us about the plundering and depredations of these outlaws, I vowed to severely punish the one who actually commands them today. You and Monsieur de Butron are invited to my table and, for the time being, are among the knights in my retinue.” The two noblemen bowed and, following Monsieur de Chandos, they reached the opposite end of the hall, outside the dense groups of warriors and courtiers. “You are very anxious to be hanged, my good friend,” said Chandos, ” and by my life, in that case the best thing would have been to address yourself to King Don Pedro, who would have been quick to oblige, considering that your White Guard has behaved on the frontier like a pack of wolves. ” “I will soon bring them to heel, with the favor of Saint George and a good rope to hang the most unruly. And now I beg you, my noble friend, to tell me the names of some of these gentlemen, for there are many unknown faces around me. But others I have known since I girded my sword. ” “Look first of all at those grave religious figures next to the royal seats. One is the Archbishop of Bordeaux, and the other the Bishop of Agen. That gentleman with the graying beard, who has undoubtedly attracted your attention by his imposing figure and martial appearance, is Sir William Fenton.” I have the honor of sharing with him the duties of the Chancellery of Aquitaine. –And the nobles situated to the right of Don Pedro? –They are distinguished Spanish captains who have followed the monarch into exile, and among them I must name Don Fernando de Castro, the first by the steps, a model of chivalry and as noble as he is brave. Facing us are the Gascon lords, whose serious and angry appearance reveals the recent disagreement they have had with His Highness. The one of tall stature and Herculean physique is Captal de Buch, a name you will have heard frequently, for there is no more famous lance in Gascony. Speaking with him is Oliver de Clisón, surnamed the Brawler, always quick to stir up tempers and stir up discord. A cut in the left cheek will point you to the Lord of Pomers, accompanied by his two brothers, followed in line by the Lords of Lesparre, Rosem, Albret, Mucident, and de la Trane. Behind them I see numerous knights from Limousin, Saintonges, Quercy, Poitou, and Aquitaine, with the valiant Guiscard d’Angle in the background, he of the purple doublet and ermine-trimmed ferrero. “What of the knights on this side of the hall?” “They are all English, some of the royal retinue, and others, like you, captains of auxiliary companies or of the army. There are the Lords of Neville, Cosinton, Gourney, Huet, and Thomas Fenton, brother of Chancellor William. Look carefully at that knight with the aquiline nose and red beard, who is placing his hand on the shoulder of the captain with his dark face, hard gaze, and modest attire.” “I see them clearly,” said the Baron. “And I swear they are both more accustomed to donning armor and striking blows than to appearing among courtiers in the royal chamber. ” “It is the same with many others of us, Sir Leon,” replied Chandos, “and I can assure you that the Prince himself is more at ease on the field of battle than in his palace. But listen to the names of those two captains: Hugh Calverley and Robert Nolles. ” The Lord of Morel bent down to contemplate these famous warriors at his leisure; one a captain of auxiliary companies and an incomparable guerrilla; the other a renowned paladin, who from a very modest position had risen to occupy second place only to Chandos among the the best English spears, and gained immense popularity among soldiers throughout the army. –It is a heavy hand for Nolles in time of war, continued the lord of Chandos. As he passes through enemy lands he always leaves behind a bloody trail and in the north of France the dismantled castles and destroyed towns that Sir Robert left in those devastated regions are still called the Ruins of Nolles. –I know his name and I would not mind breaking a lance with such a great and feared knight, said the baron. But look, the prince is very angry. While both nobles were speaking, William had received homage from other newcomers and listened impatiently to the proposals of some, usually adventurers, who offered to sell their sword, and to the claims of many merchants and shipowners in the city, harmed, according to them, by the excesses of the soldiery. Suddenly, upon hearing one of the names announced by the official in charge of presenting those requesting an audience, the prince hurriedly stood up and exclaimed: – Finally! Come closer, Don Martín de la Carra. What news and above all what message do you bring me from my very beloved cousin from Navarra? It was the newly arrived knight with an arrogant figure and majestic bearing. His dark face and very black eyes, hair and beard indicated his southern origin. Over his court suit he wore a long black cape, of a shape and material very different from those used in France and England. He advanced with a measured step and, saluting deeply, said: -My powerful and illustrious lord, Charles, king of Navarre, count of Evreux and Champagne and lord of Béarn, orders me to greet fraternally his very beloved cousin Edward, prince of Wales, duke of Aquitaine, lieutenant… – Enough, Don Martín! interrupted the prince impatiently. I know your sovereign’s titles and I am certainly not ignorant of mine. Tell me without further ado if the passage through the gorges is free , or if your lord chooses to go back on the word he gave me a few months ago, in our last interview. –The king of Navarre could hardly go back on his word, said the Spanish envoy with an irritated accent. The only thing that my illustrious sovereign requests is the extension of the period for compliance with the agreement, as well as certain conditions…. –Conditions, postponements! Does your king speak with the royal prince of England or with the provost of one of his towns? Conditions! I will dictate them to you very soon. But let’s get to what matters. Do I understand that we will find the mountain passes closed? –No, Your Highness…. –Free, then, and easy passage? –No, Your Highness, but I…. –Just say it, Don Martín! Sad spectacle indeed, of such a noble and respectable gentleman advocating such a petty cause. I know what Carlos of Navarra has done, and how while with one hand he received the fifty thousand gold sovereigns agreed upon in exchange for leaving us free to cross the border, he extended the other hand to Don Enrique de Trastamara or the king of France, receiving rich compensation for disputing our entry. But I swear by my patron saint that as well as I know my cousin from Navarra, he will know me very soon. False!… –Sir, allow me to remind you that if such words were uttered by lips other than yours, I would demand immediate retraction! said Carra, trembling with indignation. Don Pedro frowned and looked grimly at his compatriot, but the English prince accepted those words with an approving smile. –Well, Don Martín! He exclaimed, “this outburst is worthy of you!” Tell your king that if he fulfills what has been agreed between us, I will not touch a stone of his castles or a hair of his subjects; but otherwise , I will follow you closely, carrying with me a key that will open wide all the doors he closes to us. And woe then to Carlos and woe to Navarra! His Highness then bowed towards the two leaders Nolles and Calverley, how close he was, and spoke with them for a few moments. Both nobles immediately left the chamber with haughty steps and joyful smiles. –I swear by the saints of Paradise, the prince continued, that just as I have been a generous ally, I will also know how to be an implacable enemy. You, Chandos, give the appropriate orders so that Mr. de la Carra is treated and cared for as he deserves due to his rank and his clothing. –Always kind, Don Pedro observed. –Even with those who appear as haughty as that envoy just did, Don Jaime added. “Say rather that I always try to be fair,” replied Prince Edward. But here I have news of interest to Your Highnesses; a document from my brother the Duke of Lancaster announcing his departure from Windsor to bring us the reinforcement of four hundred lances and as many archers. As soon as my wife, the Duchess, recovers her health, and I hope it will not take long, we will begin our march with the grace of God, to join the main body of the army in Dax and put Your Highnesses in possession of their estates. A murmur of approval greeted those words and the prince looked with satisfaction at the faces of all those captains, eager to follow him and distinguish themselves under their flags. –The titled king of Castile, Enrique de Trastamara, against whose forces we are going to fight, is a skilled and courageous warrior and the campaign will provide the opportunity to win untold laurels. At his command he has fifty thousand Castilian and Leonese soldiers, with another twelve thousand men-at-arms from the French companies he has in his pay, veterans whose value I recognize. Also a fact is the mission of the peerless Bertrán Duguesclín to the Duke of Anjou, to attract him to Henry’s cause and return to Spain with numerous thirds recruited in Brittany and Picardy. And he will probably do it as proposed, because the great constable is one of the most prestigious and energetic men of our time. What do you say to that, Captal? Duguesclín defeated you in Cocherel and this campaign offers you revenge. The Gascon warrior received the prince’s allusion with a sour gesture and did no better to please the Gascon knights who surrounded Captal de Buch, as he reminded them that the only time they had attacked the French troops without the help of England, they had suffered complete defeat. “It is no less true, Your Highness,” said Clisón, “that we have already obtained revenge, for without the help of the Gascon swords you would not have taken Duguesclín prisoner in Auray, nor perhaps broken the armies of King John in Poitiers. ” –The smaller the rooster, the larger the spurs tend to be, replied Captal de Buch in a strong voice. –If you don’t cut them, who can do it, said the lord of Abercombe. –You English are bold and haughty, replied Captain Roberto Briquet. But I am Gascon, and you, Abercombe, will make me realize those words. –Whenever you like, said the other, turning his back on him. “As you will give it to me, Monsieur de Clison,” exclaimed Sir Vivian Bruce. –Unbeatable opportunity, Baron de Morel was then heard to say, for such a brilliant Gascon lance as that of M. de Pomers to do me the honor of crossing paths with my very humble one. In a few moments, a dozen challenges were heard, revealing the ill will and resentment existing between the Gascons and the English. The former gestured furiously, the latter responded with impassive contempt, while Prince Edward contemplated them in silence, secretly pleased to witness that scene so in keeping with his fighting spirit. However, the division between his own leaders could not give him any good results and he hastened to calm things down. –There is peace, gentlemen, he ordered, extending his arm. Whoever of you continues such a foolish dispute outside of here will have to realize it. I need the help of all your swords and not I will allow you to turn them against each other. Abercombe, Morel, Bruce, do you perhaps doubt the courage of the Gascon knights? –I won’t do that, Bruce answered, because too many times I have seen them fight like good guys. –Brave they are, without a doubt, but there is no fear that anyone will forget it as long as they have the language to proclaim it at all hours, without rhyme or reason, Abercombe said in turn. “Don’t sue each other again,” the prince hastened to say. If it is Gascon people who say out loud what they think, there are also those who accuse the English of being cold and taciturn. But you have already heard it, gentlemen of Gascony; The same ones who have just had a childish quarrel with you recognize the value and skills of every honest knight. Captal, Clisón, Pomers, Briquet, I count on your word. –Your Highness has it, the Gascons responded, although without hiding that they did it with terrible desire. –And now, to the banquet room! Eduardo continued. Let’s drown every last memory of this conflict in a few bottles of good malvasia. Turning then towards his royal guests, he conducted them with all courtesy to the places of honor that were reserved for them at the table served in the neighboring room. Behind them followed the brilliant knights, previously invited to the prince’s table. Chapter 20. HOW ROGER UNDORED A MESS AND TOOK A BATH. The reader will remember that Gualtero and Roger had remained in the antechamber, where they were soon surrounded by a lively group of young English gentlemen, eager to obtain recent news from their country. The questions continued: –Is our beloved sovereign still in Windsor? –What do you tell us about the good Queen Felipa? –And what about the beautiful Alicia Perla, the other queen? –The devil take you, Harold, said a tall, burly squire, grabbing the man who had just spoken by the collar and shaking him. Do you know that if the prince had heard the little question that could cost you your head? –And since it is empty, good Haroldo would lose little with it. –Not as empty as your prison cell, Rodolfo. But what the hell does the butler think? They haven’t started setting the table yet. — Pardiez! In all of Bordeaux there is no hungrier young man. If delphiniums and rich positions were earned with the stomach, you would at least be a constable. –Well, I’m saying that if they won by giving it a try, my Rodolfito, we would have had you as chancellor years ago. –Enough of the talk, exclaimed another, and let Morel’s squires speak. What do they say about England, youngsters? –Probably the same as when you left it, Gualtero answered sharply. However, I think that there was not as much talking going on as when there were many talkers around there…. –Hello! What does that mean, modern Solomon? –Find out if you can. –We are frustrated with this champion, who has not yet removed the yellow mud from Hanson’s bushes from his shoes and is already calling us talkative. –What smart people in this land, Roger! Gualtero said sarcastically , winking at his friend. –How should we take your words, my lord? –Take them wherever you can without getting burned, Gualtero responded. –Another insight! –Thank you for the compliment. –Look, Germán, it would be best if you let him, because Morel’s squire is more alert and cleverer than you. –Of language, I grant it. And sword? German asked. –That point, Rodolfo observed, will be clarified in two days, on the eve of the big tournament. –Little by little, Germán, then exclaimed a squire with rough features, whose robust neck and broad shoulders revealed his strength. You take the insults of these people with astonishing calm, and I am not willing to be called a chatterbox just like that. The Baron de Morel has given repeated proof of what he can and is worth, but who knows these little gentlemen? This other one doesn’t even joke. What do you say to that? As he spoke these words he placed his heavy hand on her shoulder. Roger. “I have nothing to say to you,” replied the young man, trying to contain himself. “Come, this is not a squire, but a tender little page. But don’t worry, your cheeks will have less rouge and your hand more spirit before you return to shelter behind your nurse’s footcloth. ” “I can tell you that my hand is always ready… ” “Ready to what? ” “To punish insolence, my lord,” replied Roger, his face angry and his eyes flashing. “But how interesting this cherub is becoming!” continued the rude squire. “Let me see if I can describe him: eyes like a doe, very fine skin, like my cousin Bertha’s, and such long, blond curls …” As he said this, his hand touched Roger’s curly hair. “You are looking for trouble… ” “And even if it were so?” “I would tell you that you act like a boor, and not like a man of good birth. I would also tell you that in my lord’s school one does not learn to seek a chance by such coarse means. ” “And how did you learn to do it, model of squires? ” “Not by being brutal or insolent, but by addressing you, for example, to say courteously: I have resolved to kill you, and I hope you will do me the favor of appointing a time and place where we may meet face to face with sword in hand.” And if I were a courteous squire worthy of the name, I would take off my glove, as I do now, and let it fall at his feet; but having to deal with a swindler like you, I would throw it in his face! ” And with all his strength he flung the glove into the squire’s mocking face. “You will pay with your lives!” he roared, white with rage. “If you can take it from me,” Roger replied stoutly. “Bravo, my lad!” cried Walter. “Stand firm. ” “He has behaved himself properly, and he can count on me,” added Norbury, Sir Oliver’s squire. “It’s your fault in all this, Tranter,” said German. “Aren’t you always looking for trouble with newcomers? Well, there you have it. But it would be a shame if the matter were to escalate. The lad only answered one provocation with another. ” “Impossible!” cried some of them. “Tranter has received a blow! A slap might as well be left. ” “But what about Tranter’s insults? Didn’t he begin by putting his hand in the other man’s hair?” said Harold. “You speak, Tranter. There has been offense on both sides, and things might as well remain as they are. ” “You all know me,” said Tranter, “and you cannot doubt my courage.” Let him pick up his glove and admit his wrongdoing, and I will speak of it no more. ‘ ‘A wicked bolt of lightning will strike him if he does so,’ murmured Walter. ‘Do you hear, young man?’ asked Germanus. ‘The offended squire will forget the blow if you tell him you have acted rashly. ‘ ‘I cannot say such a thing,’ declared Roger. ‘Bear in mind that we often test the courage of newly arrived squires, to see if we ought to treat them as friends. You have taken that test as a mortal insult and answered with a blow. Say you are sorry, and that is enough. ‘ ‘Do not take matters to the point of the spear,’ Norbury then said in Roger’s ear. ‘I know this Tranter, who is not only your superior in physical strength but also very skillful in the use of the sword. But Roger de Clinton had noble Saxon blood in his veins, and once he was provoked, he was very difficult to appease.’ Norbury’s words, which indicated danger, only strengthened his resolve. “I came here accompanying my master,” he said, “and knowing that I was surrounded by Englishmen and friends. But that squire gave me a brutal reception, and what happened is his fault. I’m about to pick up my glove, but, by God, not before he begs my pardon for his words and gestures. ” “Enough!” exclaimed Tranter, shrugging his shoulders. “You, Germain, have done everything possible to save him from my revenge. The proper thing is to settle the matter at once. ” “I say the same,” Roger agreed. ” After the banquet, there’s a council of chiefs, and we have at least two hours.” available, said a gray-haired squire. –And the place of combat? –The tournament field is deserted, and in it we can…. –None of that; It must be within the limits of this building where the court resides. Otherwise, the prince’s indignation would fall on all of us. –Bah! I know an unbeatable place for such adventures, right on the river bank. We leave the abbey grounds and take Apostle Street. In three minutes we are there. “Then _en avant!” said Tranter, setting off in great haste, followed by numerous squires. On the banks of the Garonne there was a small meadow limited at two ends by high walls. The land sloped rapidly as it approached the river, which was very deep at that point, and the only two or three boats visible were moored at a great distance. Some boats were anchored in the center of the river . Both combatants promptly took off their robes and caps and took up their swords. At that time the etiquette of dueling was not known, but singular encounters like the one we describe were very frequent, and in them, as well as in the jousts, the squire Tranter had earned a reputation that more than justified Norbury’s friendly warning. Roger had not neglected the daily exercise of weapons and could be considered a not inconsiderable marksman, if not one of the first. Great was the contrast that both combatants presented: dark and robust Tranter, showed his hairy chest and the strong muscles of his shoulders and arms, while Roger, blonde and rosy, personified youthful grace. Most of the spectators anticipated an unequal fight, but there were two or three expert fighters who noted with approval the firm gaze and agile movements of the young man. –Stop, gentlemen! exclaimed Norbury as soon as swords crossed. Tranter’s weapon is almost a hand’s length longer than that of his adversary. –Take mine, Roger, said Gualtero de Pleyel. –Leave it, friends, responded Morel’s servant. I know well the weight and reach of my sword and I am accustomed to it. Inequality matters nothing . Go ahead, my lord, they may need us at the abbey! The excessive tailings of Tranter gave him, in effect, a marked advantage. His feet wide apart and both knees slightly bent, he seemed ready to rush with a leap towards his enemy, to whom he presented the tip of his long sword at eye level. The handle had a large guard that protected the hand and wrist well, and at the beginning of the cross, next to the blade, a deep notch intended to receive and retain the opponent’s sword and to break it or disarm it by means of a vigorous movement of the wrist. Instead Roger had to rely completely on his own skill; The weapon he wielded, although of the best temper, was thin and with a simple handle; a cutting sword rather than a combat one. Tránter, aware of the advantages that favored him, did not take long to take advantage of them and, leaping forward, directed a vigorous thrust at Roger, followed by a tremendous slash capable of cutting him in two; But with no less rapidity Roger went to the double strike, although the violence of the attack made him retreat a step and even so, the tip of the enemy blade tore the jerkin on his chest. Soon as the lightning attacked in turn, Tranter’s sword violently pushed his own away and continuing its turn unleashed another terrible slash, which although it was stopped in time, startled the spectators who were Roger’s friends. But the danger seemed to attract him, who responded with two deep, very rapid thrusts, the second of which Tránter could barely stop, and as he drew his sword , he grazed Roger’s forehead, he had come so close. The blood gushed out abundantly and covered his face, forcing him to retreat to put himself out of reach of his enemy, who stopped for a moment breathing heavily, while the witnesses to that fight broke the silence they had maintained until then. “Well done both of you!” cried Germanus. ” You are as brave as you are skillful, and here this contest must end. ” “What’s done is enough, Roger,” said Norbury. “Yes, yes!” cried others; “he has behaved himself well.” “For my part, I have no wish to kill this lad if he confesses himself defeated,” said Tranter, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “Do you beg my pardon for having insulted me?” asked Roger suddenly. “I? Not in my time,” replied Tranter. “On your guard, then!” The glittering steels clashed furiously. Roger took care to advance continually, preventing the enemy from freely using his long sword; it struck him lightly in the shoulder and almost at the same time wounded Tranter in the thigh, but as he raised his sword to strike him again at the breast, he felt it firmly caught in the cut made for that purpose in the enemy’s blade. An instant later, the sharp sound of Roger’s sword breaking was heard , leaving only a piece of blade no more than three handspans long in his hand. “Your life is in my hands,” exclaimed Tranter with a triumphant smile. “Hold on! He surrenders!” exclaimed several squires. “Another sword!” cried Walter. “Impossible,” said Rodolfo; it would be against all the rules of the duel. “Then, Roger, throw that piece of sword to the ground,” advised Norbury. “Are you begging my pardon?” repeated Roger, turning to Tranter. “Are you mad?” replied Tranter. “Then be on your guard again!” cried Roger, renewing his attack with such vigor as to compensate for the smallness of his weapon. He had noticed that Tranter’s breathing was labored, and he resolved to harass and tire him out, making the most of his own agility. His adversary parried this torrent of blows as best he could, watching for an opportunity to end the fight with one of his deadly slashes; but neither the short distance at which Roger purposely maintained himself nor the swiftness of his movements allowed him to use his long sword to any advantage. But Tranter, an experienced duellist, knew that it was impossible to sustain this violent and tiring attack for two more minutes, and that the cloud of blows raining down on his sword with dizzying rapidity would soon subside . And so it happened; fatigue was already paralyzing Roger’s arm. His adversary understood that the moment had come to deliver a decisive blow, and, gripping the hilt of his sword firmly, he leaped back to gain the necessary space. That movement saved Roger; his adversary had been retreating steadily since the renewal of the fight and had unwittingly reached the very shore. As he fell back once more, he lost his footing and sank into the waters of the Garonne.
With a general cry of surprise, everyone rushed to Tranter’s aid, who had completely disappeared into the deep, icy waters of the river. Twice his anguished face appeared, and in vain he tried to grasp the belts, swords, and branches his companions held out to him. Roger had thrown his broken sword to the ground and gazed at the anguished agony with profound pity. All his fury had dissipated as if by magic. At that moment, for the third time, the squire’s contorted face appeared above the water; his gaze met Roger’s, and the latter, unable to resist this silent appeal, violently pushed aside a squire in front of him and threw himself into the Garonne. An expert swimmer, a few strokes were enough to bring him to his adversary, whom he seized by the hair. But the current was powerful, and the courageous youth soon realized the difficulty of keeping Tranter’s body afloat and swimming to the shore at the same time. Despite his most vigorous efforts, he couldn’t seem to gain a line. He desperately took a few more strokes, and a shout of joy from those on land announced that he had cleared the dangerous current and reached a calm pool formed there by a projection of the terrain. Moments later, the end of Gualtero’s belt, to which he had tied those of some other squires. He grabbed him tightly, unable to continue swimming a moment longer, but without letting go of Tranter. The squires pulled them out of the water in a flash, depositing them almost lifeless on the grass. Tranter, who had not fought like his adversary against the impetuous current, was the first to emerge from that lethargy. He sat up slowly and looked at Roger, who soon opened his eyes and smiled with pleasure upon hearing the praise that everyone was lavishing on him. –I am very grateful to you, my lord, Tránter told him, with a not very friendly accent. Without you I would have perished in the river, because I am a native of the Varén mountains, where there are very few who know how to swim. –I neither ask nor expect thanks, replied Roger. Help me get up, Gualtero. –The river has been my enemy today, Tránter continued, but it has been kind to you, since you owe it the life that I was going to take from you… –That remained to be seen, replied Roger. –Everything is over! Germán exclaimed, and more happily than I thought. What is beyond doubt is that this young man, whose name I am told is Roger de Clinton, has brilliantly won the right to belong to the highly honored guild of Bordeaux squires. Here are your clothes, Tránter. –And you, Clinton, put this cape on your shoulders and come as soon as possible. –What I deplore most is the loss of my good sword, which lies at the bottom of the river, Tranter sighed. –To the abbey! several squires exclaimed. –Wait a moment, gentlemen! Then said Roger, who had picked up his broken sword from the ground and was leaning on Gualtero’s shoulder. I have not heard this gentleman take back the words he addressed to me and…. -How! Do you still insist? Tranter asked surprised. –And why not? I am slow to accept provocations, but once I resolve to obtain reparation I demand it while I have strength and breath left. –_Ma foi_, well, there are very few of you left, Germán exclaimed abruptly. You are white as wax. Follow my advice and consider the matter over , you cannot complain about the result. –No, Roger insisted. I did not provoke this lawsuit, but once it has started, I swear not to leave until I have obtained what I came to seek or perish in the lawsuit. There is nothing more to talk about; Give me your excuses or get another sword and let’s resume the fight. The young squire, pale as a dead man, exhausted with the tremendous effort he had just made to save his enemy and with the loss of blood that stained his shoulder and forehead, nevertheless proved with his attitude, his words and his accent that animated him an unbreakable resolution. Tránter himself admired that invincible energy and gave in to the great strength of character that the young gentleman had just demonstrated. –Since you take to such a point what you must have considered an innocent joke, I agree to declare that I am sorry for having told you what offends you so much, Tránter said in a low voice. –And I also deplore the response I gave to that, Roger promptly replied. Here is my hand. –And with this the bell rings three times calling us to eat, Germán exclaimed as everyone headed in groups towards the abbey, commenting on the adventures of the combat. By God I live! Monsieur de Pleyel, give your friend a glass of good wine as soon as you arrive, because he is in a state of shock, not to mention that he has swallowed two ounces of water. I confess that judging by his appearance I would not have expected such fortitude from him. –Well, I declare that the air of Bordeaux has turned my companion into a fighting cock, because never had a young man left the county of Hanson more peaceful and modest than him. –Yes, huh? Well , his lord of Morel also has a reputation for being modest and gentle like a lady ; and the truth is that neither one nor the other can stand flies. Cheers with the waiter! Chapter 21. WHERE AGUSTÍN PISANO RISKS HIS HEAD. Abundant and well served was the table of the squires in the abbey of St. Andrew’s since Prince Edward established his court in that historic building. There Roger learned the meaning of luxury and good taste , especially when comparing those feasts with the frugal meals of the convent and the parsimony of Morel’s table. Deliciously marinated boar’s heads, roasted pheasants, sweets and creams never before tasted, confectionery wonders, one of which depicted in every detail the exterior of the regal Windsor Palace—such were some of the culinary wonders Roger savored at the ancient French abbey. An archer rushed to bring him clothes and a suit from those he had left aboard the galleon, and after changing and washing his wounds, he soon regained his strength and good humor, completely forgetting the fatigue of that morning. A page announced to him that his master intended to visit the Chancellor of Chandos that evening and wished his two squires to lodge at the Half-Moon Inn, at the end of the Rue des Apostles. To this inn Roger and Walter repaired at dusk, after their long meal and hearing the toasts and songs with which they passed the hours in the company of the other merry squires. It was raining heavily when the two comrades began to explore the streets of Bordeaux, after leaving their horses and the Baron’s in the prince’s stables. They found no light on their way other than the very scant oil lamp hanging on a corner or at the entrance of the principal houses of the city; but neither the semi-darkness nor the rain prevented the streets from remaining almost as crowded as in broad daylight. The passersby belonged to all classes of that wealthy and then warlike city. There was the fat merchant, whose pleased and smiling face, dark suit of fine cloth, and full purse proclaimed his wealth and well-being. Behind him stood a modest servant, carrying a lit lantern that showed her master where to place his feet without serious stumble. In the opposite direction, a group of young Englishmen could be seen, archers from the county of Estpleton, judging by the blue pelican sewn on their vests; cheerful people with helmets and hard fists, drinking heavily and singing loudly, whose presence forced the merchant to quicken his pace, while his servant hid her face with her cloak upon hearing the less than delicate compliments of that crowd. There was no shortage of soldiers of the royal guard, elegantly dressed English pages, village women whose shrill voices could be heard for a great distance, pairs of friars, rows of crossbowmen and men-at-arms, sailors, soldiers of the guard corps, Gascon knights shouting and gesticulating according to their usual custom, peasants from the Médoc, English and Gascon squires, and many other people crossing in all directions or talking in groups, using English, French, and Welsh languages , Basque, or the dialects of Gascony and Guienne. Sometimes the groups would part to make way for the litter of a noble lady, or for the archers bearing lighted torches who preceded a high-ranking knight on his way to his lodgings from the feasts at court. The stamping of feet and the neighing of horses, the shouts of street vendors, the clash of weapons, the voices of quarrelsome drunks, the laughter of men and women—all this clamor rose and hung, like the mist in a swamp, over the dark and crowded streets of the great city. The attention of our squires was particularly drawn to two people walking in front of them and in the same direction. They were a man and a woman, tall, the former with a limp and drooping shoulders, who was carrying under her arm a large, flat object wrapped in black linen. The woman’s gait was young and graceful, but her face was barely visible, covered by a thick cloak that only revealed the brilliant gaze of large, brown eyes and revealed one or two curls of jet-black hair. The man leaned heavily on the young woman’s arm, and He tried to protect the packaging he was carrying as much as he could, avoiding the encounter of passers-by who might stumble upon it in the dark. The obvious anxiety of that man, who seemed to be carrying a precious cargo hidden, and the appearance of his companion aroused the interest of the two young Englishmen who followed them two steps away. –Courage, my daughter! exclaimed the stranger in what seemed to be one of the dialects of that region. One hundred more steps and we’ll get him to safety. –Take good care of him, father, and do not fear now, replied the woman in the same strange speech. –The truth is that a mob of barbarians surrounds us, many of them drunk. Fifty more steps, my Aunt, and I swear by blessed Saint Elmo not to set foot outside the house again until the swarm is in Dax or wherever the demons take it. How they push and howl! Try to move them away, daughter, moving your body forward a little. Give that animal a nudge . It’s impossible to walk anymore. We did a good job! The packed crowd in front of them formed an insurmountable barrier and they had to stop. Some English archers, full of beer, noticed the strange couple and began to examine them with curiosity. –By Satan’s tail! exclaimed one, look at the arrogant crutch this old man uses. Don’t lean so much on the girl and more on your legs, grandpa. –How to understand! said another archer. The king’s soldiers without a girl to look at them, because the old Frenchmen take them for a walk. Come with me, queen! –Oh with me, dove. For Saint George! Life is short and the best thing is to make it happy. May my eyes never see Chester Bridge again if I don’t say a few words to this good girl! –What does that lizard carry under his arm? asked a third. –Let’s see, bunch of bones. Come the packaging. The archers surrounded the couple and the man, embarrassed, without understanding a word they said, pressed the woman’s arm with one hand and with the other rested the precious package on his chest, looking around him pleadingly. –Hey, guys! exclaimed Gualtero de Pleyel with an imperious voice, pushing aside the nearest archer. You behave like villains. You keep your hands, or it could cost you dearly! –Hold your tongue or it will cost you even more! replied the drunken soldier. Who are you to stop the English archers from having fun? –A hillbilly squire, having just disembarked, said another. It would be nice if, in addition to our leaders, the first little boy who abandons his mother and appears in Aquitaine came to give us orders! –For God’s sake, my good sirs! the young woman begged in bad French , protect us! Stop these men from mistreating us! –Fear nothing, madam, Roger said politely. Let go, ruffian! He ordered , addressing an archer who had put his arm around the girl’s waist. –Don’t let go, Bastián! howled a gigantic man-at-arms, with a long black beard, whose armor shone in the dim light of the nearest lantern . And you, young men, be careful not to touch those swords that you carry or I will make you swallow a span of iron in less than a rooster’s crow. –God be praised! Roger exclaimed at that moment, seeing an enormous helmet with red hair coming towards them, which stood out among the crowd. To me, Tristan! And also Simon. To me, companions, help me protect a woman and an old man! –Hello, _mon petit_! shouted Simon in a booming voice, making his way in a flash and followed by the smiling Tristan of Horla. What’s going on here? By the edge of my sword! I warn you, Roger, that if you are going to protect those who are in trouble in this land, you already have something to do for a while. But don’t worry, after a year of apprenticeship in the White Guard you will pay less attention to what a few Calamocan archers say and undertake . What is it about, I repeat? The provost is coming with his guards and it is very likely that if you don’t take soleta we will have a couple of hanged archers here in less than ten minutes. “I say, if this is old Simon Aluardo, of the White Guard!” exclaimed the man-at-arms who had shown himself so insolent to the squires. “A hug, Simon! By my life, there was a time when, from Limoges to Navarre, no archer was known so quick to conquer a girl or overpower an enemy. ” “I don’t doubt it, friend Carlín,” replied Simon, “and I truly believe I haven’t changed much since then. But you also know that I don’t take a kiss by force, nor do I attack the enemy from behind, ten against one. To the wise…” One look at the sergeant’s resolute face and Tristan’s huge hands convinced the archers that they could get nothing good by force there . The woman and her father began to make their way through, without anyone trying to stop them, and Walter and Roger followed them. “Just a moment, comrade,” Simon said to Roger. “I know you performed some feats of prowess this morning at the abbey; but I recommend some caution in bringing out your sword. Consider, it was I who got you into this mess, and if anything happens to you, I’ll be truly sorry, my boy. ” “Don’t worry, Simon, I’ll be cautious.” “Don’t go looking for danger, mon petit, and wait until your wrist is a little stronger. Listen; tonight we’ll meet some friends at the Rose of Aquitaine, two doors down from your inn at the Crescent, and if you want to empty a glass in the company of simple archers, you’re welcome!” The young man promised to join them if his duties as a squire permitted , and slipping between the groups, he came to where Gualtero was standing, talking with the old man and the girl at the entrance of his house. “Thank you, brave knight!” exclaimed the stranger, embracing Roger. How can I express my gratitude? Without your help and that of your friends I would have lost my mind, and God knows what fate would have befallen my poor Tita…. “I don’t believe those thugs would have gone so far as that, ” said the young man, somewhat surprised. “Ah, devil!” exclaimed the other, bursting into laughter. “I’m not speaking of my head, but of the one I’m carrying here under my arm. ” “Perhaps these gentlemen would like to come in and rest for a moment in our house, my father. If we continue here, another riot may break out at any moment. ” “You are right, child! Come in, gentlemen. A light, Jacob, quickly! Seven steps, that’s it. Take a seat. “Corpo di Bacco,” those scoundrels gave me quite a fright! But it’s no wonder.” Take a Vandal, a Norman, and an Alan, mix them with the most seasoned Moor, get the resulting abortion drunk, and you have a full-fledged Englishman…. They tell me they’re now invading Italy, my homeland, as they have invaded France. What people, eternal God! They get into everything, except heaven. “My father,” said the young woman as she helped the old man sit down in a comfortable armchair, “you forget that these good gentlemen who have protected us are also English. ” “A thousand pardons! But who would have thought it! Look, my lords, at these works of art I have here; perhaps they’ll interest you, although I understand that on your island the only art known is that of war. ” Four lamps brightly illuminated the room with its coffered ceiling where they were. Hanging on the walls, above the furniture, in the corners—everywhere were delicately painted glass plates of different sizes and shapes. Walter and Roger looked around in amazement, for they had never seen so many magnificent works of art together. “I see you like them,” said the artist, noticing the expression of pleasant surprise reflected on the faces of both gentlemen. “Which proves to me that there is no shortage of Englishmen capable of appreciating such trifles. ” “I would never have believed it possible,” exclaimed Roger. “How colorful, how sharply drawn! Admire, Walter, this Martyrdom of Saint Stephen; it seems as if you or I could pick up those stones painted there. ” “But what about this stag, with the cross above its head flashing like a portentous apparition? It is perfect; I have never seen a more natural stag in my life.” the forests of Bere. –Look at the grass, a light green, that seems moved by the wind. For the life of! Everything I have painted to date has been child’s play. This man must be one of those great artists that Brother Bartolomé told me about back in Belmonte. An expression of deep contentment animated the artist’s sallow face upon hearing those spontaneous praises. His daughter had taken off the cloak that had until then covered her shoulders and head and the two young people admired in her one of the most finished types of Italian beauty, who very soon attracted all the attention and glances of Gualtero. –And what do you tell me about this? asked the old man, unwrapping the package that had caused him so much anxiety. It was a sheet of glass in the shape of an enormous leaf and painted on it a head with admirable lines, surrounded by a resplendent halo. The coloring was so natural, so much the truth and expression of the face, that it seemed like a living image, looking sweetly into Roger’s eyes. He clapped his hands, with the enthusiasm that beauty always produces in every true artist. –It’s a marvel! he exclaimed; and I am amazed that you have risked a marvel as fragile as this one in the streets. –I confess that it was serious imprudence. A bottle of wine, Tita, but the best, from the Florentine! Without your help I don’t know what would have happened. Examine the complexion well; To myself it often seems too dark, reddened because the colors have warmed up, or pale and lifeless. But here you can see the temples throbbing and you can feel the blood running under that tanned skin. The loss of this job would have been an irreparable calamity for me. It is destined for the church of San Remo and this afternoon I went with my daughter to see if it fit well in the stone frame that awaits it there. It took me longer than I expected, the night closed and you know what happened next. But you too, gentleman, seem to have artistic interests. Are you a painter? –I hardly dare to answer you affirmatively after what I have seen here, replied Roger. Raised and educated in the cloister, it was not a very difficult task to handle the brushes better than the other novices. –There you have colors, brushes and cardboard, said the old artist, and I am not giving you glass because that requires special knowledge and a lot of time. Please give me a sample of your work. Thank you, my daughter. Fill the glasses to the brim. Gualtero had an animated and apparently very interesting conversation with the beautiful maid, he expressing himself in a mixture of French and English and she in funny Franco-Italian phrases, which did not prevent them from understanding each other perfectly. The artist carefully examined his latest and wonderful creation to see if the painting had suffered any scratches and while Roger quickly handled the brushes, until he had sketched the features and the shapely neck of a beautiful woman. –Bravo! exclaimed the teacher; You are a painter, there is no doubt about it and you can become very good. It’s the face of an angel! –Say rather the face of my lady Constanza de Morel, Gualtero exclaimed in surprise. –Something seems like it, I believe, said Roger, somewhat confused. –With what a portrait? So much better and harder. Young man, I am Agustín Pisano, son of the master Andrés Pisano and I repeat that you have the hand of an artist. I will say more; If you stay in my company I will teach you the secret of preparing those works on glass that you see there; the composition of the pigments and their mixtures, how to thicken them, which ones penetrate the glass and which ones do not, the heating and glazing of the plates, in short, all the details of the craft. –I would be very pleased to practice and learn with such a great teacher, said the young man, but my duty forces me to follow my lord, at least while the war lasts. –War, war! Always the same! Pisano exclaimed. And therefore you call heroes and great men those who destroy and kill the most. _Per Bacco!_ for notable men, of true merit, worthy of all glory, the artists we have in Italy, those who build instead of destroy, those who have created the artistic beauties of my noble Pisa, those who ennoble the entire nation, the Andrés Orcagna, Tadeo Gaddi, Giottino, Stefano, Simón Memmi, masters whose colors I would be unworthy of mixing. And it has been my lot to contemplate his immortal works with my own eyes. I have seen the old Giotto, a disciple of the great Cimabue, before whom I maintain that art did not exist in Italy and Greek artists had to be imported to decorate the Gondi chapel in Florence. Ah, gentlemen, these are the great men, the benefactors of humanity, whose names will live forever! What a contrast with your soldiers, who aspire to glory by devastating entire regions, traveling the earth with blood and fire! –Well, I think that the soldiers are not out of place either, Gualtero observed. Otherwise, how could those artists you name protect and preserve the products of their genius? –Of which we have quite a few in sight, added Roger. Are all these works of your hand? –All. You will notice that some are completed in different plates, which together form large paintings. Here in France they have Clement of Chartres and some other artisans of merit, dedicated to this same kind of work. But do you hear? The war clarion is sounding again to remind us that we live under the iron hand of the conqueror and not in the regions where art reigns. –That is a sign for us too, said Gualtero upon hearing the bugle call . I would very much like to stay here longer, surrounded by so many beautiful things – and as I said this I looked with admiration at the blushing Tita – but I must return to our inn and that before Mr. de Morel returns there. Pisano and his daughter renewed their demonstrations of gratitude, the squires promised to repeat such a pleasant visit, and the rain having stopped, they headed from Calle del Rey, where the Italian artist lived, to Calle de los Apóstoles, on whose corner the _Hostería de la Media Luna_ displayed its display . Chapter 22. A NIGHT OF HOLGORY IN THE ROSE OF AQUITANIA. –Have you seen a more beautiful face, Roger? Gualtero asked as soon as they left Pisano’s door. What eyes, what divine profile! –I can’t deny that she is beautiful. Well, what about that dark color of the cheeks and the very black curls that surround the perfect oval of the face? –Where are you leaving my eyes? With a look so clear and so deep at the same time; so innocent and at the same time so expressive…. –If there is any drawback it is in the beard. –Well, I haven’t noticed it…. –Funnily cut, yes. –A beautiful chin, Roger. –However, don’t you think that the whole thing would have gained a lot with half an inch more of a well-grown beard? –Hail Mary Most Pure! But where did you get that Tita has a beard?
–Tita? Who talks about her? –Well who the hell are you talking about? –Of the magnificent figure destined for the church of San Remo, don’t you remember? That head of a saint…. –Go, go! Gualtero exclaimed, laughing. Look what we get now. You really are a mess of a vandal, a Norman, an Alan, and a Moorish dog, as the good Pisano called us English. Who remembers pictures or paintings when they have before them an angel from heaven, the work of God himself, like the incomparable Tita? Who’s going! –Sergeant Simón sent me, said an archer, approaching them hastily, to tell you that the baron has decided to spend the night in the lodgings of the chancellor of Chandos and will not need your services. Simón is in that tavern with some comrades and says that if you wanted to fork with us…. -By my faith, Gualtero said laughing, that with their songs and shouts they make enough noise to announce their presence without the need for guides or emissaries. Forward! Two doors away you could hear the noise of the party. They entered through a low gate and at the end of a narrow corridor they found themselves in a large room illuminated by two torches. Next to the walls, in almost the entire length of the premises, were piles of straw on which twenty or thirty archers of the White Guard rested, sitting or reclining on their elbows, without caps, ponytails or swords and with separate leather and tin containers filled with beer or wine, according to each person’s taste. Two barrels placed at one end of the room indicated that there would be no shortage of food to fill those enormous beakers again, as many times as the thirst of the archers required. Next to the barrels and as if presiding over the meeting, were the standard bearer Reno, Simón, Tristán and three or four other veteran archers, in addition to the brave Golvín, captain of the _Yellow Galleon_, who had gone to have a few drinks in the company of his cheerful traveling companions before heading back to England. Gualtero and Roger took a seat between Reno and Simón, their arrival not quieting the bustle for a moment. –Beer or wine, comrades! Simon shouted. Let everyone choose and don’t come to me with cuddling, because the mixture makes you drunk and it has to be one thing or another. Here is your beaker, Rubén, overflowing with generous wine. Do you know the news, beards? –No. What is it? said both squires. –Well, we will have a tournament. –Bravo! –Yeah. The arrogant Captal de Buch has insisted on showing us that he and four other Gascon knights can make the five best English paladins in Bordeaux to date bite the dust. Chandos accepted the challenge on the fly, taking charge of choosing our champions; The prince has promised a beautiful gold cup to the one who obtains the highest honors and throughout the court today there is nothing else being talked about . –Why should the great lords be the only ones who have fun? asked Tristan of Horla. They could well have opened the palenque to the archers and by the cross of Gestas! that it would be a matter of seeing how we dislocated five Gascon archers. –Or how many other men-at-arms we crippled the same number of soldiers of this land, said Reno. –Who are the English maintainers? Golvín asked. –We have three hundred and forty-one gentlemen in Bordeaux today, and three hundred and forty posters accepting the challenge have already been received. The only one missing is that of Sir Maurice de Ravens, who has been pinned to his bed by gout. –An archer of the guard told me that the prince wanted to break a spear, but that his advisors did not allow it, because there will be more combat than tournament, the Gascon lords are so on fire. –For now we have Chandos. –His Highness has prohibited you from taking part in the next joust. Chandos will be judge of the field, joining Sir William Fenton and the Duke of Armagnac. Our champions will be the lords of Abercombe, Percy, Beauchamp and Leiton, and the invincible Baron de Morel. –Viva! Saint George protect you! Good choice! the archers shouted. –Well, how is there God! Simon exclaimed. There is no greater honor for a solid soldier than to have him as a leader. You’ll see where it takes us, boys, and what adventures it gets us into. I notice that since his arrival in Bordeaux he has been wearing an eye patch, the same thing he did the day before Poitiers. Well, that patch is going to cost a lot of blood, I tell you. –How was Poitiers, sergeant? asked a young archer. –Tell it, Simón! others exclaimed. –To the health of Simón Aluardo! Many said, raising their elbows. –Ask this one, Peneques, the veteran answered modestly, pointing to Reno. He saw more than me, but by the name of Christ! I did not fail to also take a good part in that whirlwind. –That was a great day, said Reno, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes; as I don’t expect to see him again. Many very good archers also fell on the day. –Good? Well, all you have to do is name Gofredo, Calvino, the Payo, Nelson, who before falling and never getting up again, clung to a great French lord and chopped off his head. I have not had better archers I have never seen in my roguish life. “But the battle, Simon, the battle!” many cried. “Tell, tell! ” “Shut up, it’s been said, you flies!” bellowed the sergeant. “Tell, Simon! For there’s no tale worth telling until it’s wet my throat. Good beer! It was in the autumn of 1356; our Prince Edward took Auvergne, Berry, Anjou, and Touraine, and I’ll tell you about Auvergne that the girls are flirtatious and the wine sour. In Berry, turn it around and learn that the girls are sullen and the wine a blessing. But Anjou is a great land for decent archers, for there the wine and women are honey. All I got out of Touraine was a disfigurement, but at Vierzon, in a monastery of daring fortune, I got hold of a gold chalice for which a Genoese Jew gave me thirty ducats.” From there, it was a long way to Bourges, where I was allotted a crimson silk tunic, worked with gold and pearls, the like of which you will never see, and a pair of boots with white silk tassels, the same as those of our lord the king. ‘ ‘Did you snatch them from some tent, Simon? ‘ ‘I took them off the feet of an enemy knight, you lizard! After considering the matter carefully, I told myself that he would have no more need of them, seeing that one of my fat shafts was coming out of his chest and back… ‘ ‘What else? What else?’ ‘We had another run on the road, and there were at least six thousand archers when we arrived at Isodun, where luck also favored me. ‘ ‘Another battle? Another pair of boots, Simon?’ the archers were heard saying. ‘No, something better than that.’ In battle, there’s little to be won except headbutts, unless a ransom is obtained for some fat bird. What happened was that at Isodun, three other Welsh lads and I hid in a very large house that the other comrades overlooked, and there I discovered and seized a blanket of fine feathers such as only the duchesses of France wear. You’ve seen it, Tristan, and you know how rich and soft it is. I draped it tightly over the sutler’s mule, and I have it at an inn near Dunan, for the day I get married. Do you remember the landlady, mon petit? he asked Roger, winking. “Forward!” three or four archers shouted. “That’s right,” the veteran continued. ” Let others take the chestnuts out of the fire so you can sit like fools listening to stories with your mouths open. Good beer!” Our six thousand scoundrels, the prince and his knights, myself, and the mule with the down blanket, finally left Touraine, leaving a bloody memory there. At Romorantin, I came across a chain and some gold bracelets, but I also came across a girl as young as the sun, who stole them from me the next day. For you must know that there are people who do not hesitate to seize what belongs to others… “To the point, Simon! That battle! ” “Everything will be over, youngsters, if you let me breathe. For it happened that the King of France, called John II, put himself at the head of fifty thousand men and pursued us furiously. But the good thing was that when he reached us, certain to put us to the sword, he found that he did not know how to attack us or how to catch us, because we waited for him scattered among the fences and vineyards on some heights, to which they could only ascend by a slope, and that in the open, offering us a magnificent target. Thus hidden and protected, the archers formed up on our right, with the men-at-arms on the left, the knights in the center, and behind them the blanket mule. Three hundred French knights headed straight toward her, to begin with, and they looked very brave and handsome, but they were caught in such a cloud of arrows that few escaped with their lives. After them, the German soldiers in the service of King John came forward to attack and fought very handsomely, so much so that three or four slipped through the archers and ran toward the beautiful mule. But it was useless work, because I saw our captain, the peerless Baron de Morel, stand out from the group of nobles, with his little patch over one eye as he wears it these days, and dispatch those wasters. very calmly. The Baron immediately launched himself into the main body of the assailants, followed by Lord Abercombe with his four Cheshire squires and others of equal calibre, Chandos and the Prince behind them, and ourselves behind with sword and axe, for we had exhausted our arrows. This was a very imprudent maneuver of ours, for not only did we abandon the protection of the ground, but we also left the sutler’s mule undefended, and some cunning Frenchman or German could have taken it prisoner with my treasure on it. But all turned out well; King John and his son fell into our power; Nelson and I discovered a cart containing twelve casks of fortified wine destined for the king’s table… and I don’t know how it happened, boys, but I assure you I don’t remember what happened next, nor could Nelson. ” “And the next day?” “As you may imagine, we didn’t waste much time in those byways, but trotted off down the road to Bordeaux, where we arrived safely with the King of France and the down blanket. I sold the rest of my loot, my friends, for as many gold pieces as would fit in my leather satchel, and for seven days I kept twelve candles lit on the altar of blessed Saint Andrew, because it is well known that if you forget the saints when things are going well, they are very likely to forget you when you need them. ” “Tell me, sergeant,” asked a lad from the opposite end of the room, “what was that battle all about?” “Shall we set off now, horse? For what was it all about but to establish once and for all who was to wear the crown of France? ” “That’s good to know.” “I thought it was to find out who should keep your down comforter…” “Look here, son, if I come at you with this belt of mine and start spanking you, you’re going to feel it for real,” said Simon amid the roars of laughter from the whole gathering. “But it’s getting late, Reno, and when the chicks start twittering at old roosters like me, it’s time for them to go back to the coop. ” “No, no, come on, another song!” shouted many of them. “Let Sabas sing! There’s no one like him in the White Guard. Let him sing, let him sing! ” “Hold on!” said Captain Golvín then. ” There’s no one better than this young fellow to sing songs properly.” And as he said this, he placed his hand on Tristán’s shoulder. “It’s quite true that on board the galleon it seemed to roar a storm when he sang The Bells of Milton.” “Oh, The Miller’s Wife of York. Come on, Tristan!” The ex-novice rubbed the back of his hand over his lips and, looking at the opposite wall, sang the requested song in a tremendous voice. When he finished, his listeners greeted him with a storm of applause and shouts, and Tristan grabbed the nearest glass of beer and drained it in one gulp. “The first time I sang The Miller’s Wife,” he said modestly, “was in Horla’s tavern, when I hadn’t even dreamed of being an archer. ” “Another drink, comrades!” shouted Reno, plunging his enormous leather vessel into the barrel. “To the health of the White Guard and all those who follow the banner of the five roses! ” “To the coming war and certain victory!” toasted Captain Golvín. “To the pile of gold that awaits good archers! ” “And to the pretty girls!” shouted Simon. “And that’s the end of the toasts, baskets!” he added, giving a tremendous kick to the nearest barrel .
With songs, laughter, and jokes, the merry archers paraded by, and soon complete silence reigned in the previously bustling hall of _The Rose of Aquitaine_. Chapter 23. THE JOUSTS OF BORDEAUX. The fame and splendor of the court that surrounded Prince Edward since his installation as Duke of Aquitaine attracted numerous knights from all over Europe, and the tournaments and jousts were by then spectacles frequently witnessed by the people of Bordeaux. Skilled jousters from Germany, knights of Calatrava, Portuguese and Italian nobles, and even formidable warriors from Scandinavia and other regions to the north and west. But in the city and throughout the region, the news that five of the bravest English knights had issued a challenge to five other nobles of Christendom, whoever they might be, was the subject of the greatest interest and incessant comment. There was great curiosity to see who would accept it, and it was also known that these jousts would be the last for then, since the prince was preparing to leave with all his people for the war in Spain. On the eve of the tournament, a multitude of people from all over the Medoc arrived in Bordeaux, and they had to camp outside the walls, on the plain and on the banks of the Garonne. Nor were officers from the army quartered in Dax lacking, nor were nobles and burghers from Blaye, Bourg, Libourne, Cardillac, Ryons, and many other towns present, who arrived during the day and part of the night before the battle, on foot, on horseback, and in vehicles of all kinds. It was no small undertaking to choose five knights per band, when so many brave and eager for glory had been gathered there; and it was of no small consequence that the election occasioned a series of preliminary duels, which could only be avoided through the intervention of the prince and the oldest and most deserving nobles. It was not until the eve of the day appointed for the tournament that the champions’ shields were posted in the lists, suspended from lances , so that the heralds and the public would know their names and also so that any well-founded grievance or protest against the participation of any of them in the tournament could be presented to the field judges. The two brave captains, Robert Nolles and Hugh Calverley, had not returned from the expedition to Navarre that the prince had entrusted to them, which deprived the English jousters of two of their best lances. But there were so many and so good that Messrs. Chandos and Fenton, to whom the final choice was entrusted, had to discuss and weigh one by one the merits and exploits of many candidates; finally deciding in favor of Morel de Hanson and Abercombe de Cheshire, the former renowned among veteran nobles and the latter a hero of Poitiers . Of the younger knights, three brilliant paladins were awarded: Thomas Percy, William Beauchamp, and Rainier Leiton. Of course, all the Gascon knights accepted the English challenge, and the choice, difficult in itself, favored Captal de Buch, Oliver of Clyson, Pierre d’Albret, the Lord of Mucident, and a Teutonic knight named Sigismund of Bohemia. Looking at those ten crowns, the English veterans promised themselves a brilliant tournament like no other, for the maintainers were men of glorious history and proven courage and determination . “By my faith, Chandos,” said the prince as he rode beside the chancellor through the narrow and winding streets of the city, on the way to the arena, “I would fain break a lance in these jousts, supposing the judges on the field did not think me unworthy to mingle with such famous champions. ” “There is no better or more worthy champion in the army than you, sir,” replied Chandos, “but given the circumstances of this tournament, believe me, it is not fitting that you participate in it.” It is not your high office to take sides here in favor of the English against the Gascons, nor to stand with the latter against the former, lance in hand or sword in hand. Things are already too overexcited. “Always the reason of state, Chandos, which you bring up not only in the council chamber but on the way to a festival as joyful and lavish as this one. And what do my brothers of Castile and Majorca think of it?” he asked, turning to the Spanish princes, who were riding on his right. “My opinion is that we shall witness no small feat of prowess today,” said Don Pedro, “given the fame and power of the jousters. ” “By Santiago!” observed Don Jaime, “something else is attracting my attention, and that is the good bearing and better clothes of those Bordeaux burghers who crowd around to watch us. This great and prosperous town must truly be rich.” the condition of its inhabitants, despite recent wars and disorders. –Well, if the appearance of the good bourgeoisie admires you, replied Don Pedro, what do you tell me about those chosen men-at-arms and the well -established archers? It would be difficult to match, let alone defeat, such strong and well-disciplined forces . –I count on those soldiers, said the English prince, and with many others like them, to make the usurpers of Castile and Mallorca see reason. Both suitors smiled, revealing in their faces the satisfaction and confidence with which they had heard those words. –And once justice is done, said Don Pedro of Castilla, we will unite the forces of England, Aquitaine and Spain and it would be a great deal if great consequences did not result from such a union. –For example, Prince Edward added with evident enthusiasm, to complete forever the expulsion of the infidels from the territory of Europe. I do not believe that we could undertake a more pleasant undertaking for the Holy Virgin, exalted patron saint of Aquitaine. –Nor more acceptable to every Spaniard. In such a company, Your Highness can count on the absolute support of nobles and commoners, both in León and Castile and in Asturias, Navarra, Mallorca and Aragon. And even to pursue the Moors beyond the sea and fight them in their lairs in Africa and the East. –Yes, for God’s sake! exclaimed the Black Prince. That has been one of my golden dreams, to see the English standard fly over the walls and mosques of the holy city. –The conquest of Jerusalem cannot seem dangerous or arduous to those who have carried out the conquest of Paris. –Nor was I going to be content with that, but with the siege and capture of Constantinople and the war to the death against the Sultan of Damascus. And once this was defeated, we could still impose tribute on the Tatar hordes, another threat to Christianity. Tell me, Chandos, should we not be able to reach what Richard the Lionheart reached? –Being able to do it is one thing, replied the prudent advisor, and quite another to know if it is appropriate and should be done. Of course, Your Highness can count on the fact that the king of France would see the open sky the day the English armies crossed the sea, in pursuit of the infidels of the East. –I know you too much, Chandos, not to know that those words are dictated to you by your reason, not by fear or the fatigue of wars. What a huge crowd! I do not remember having seen so many curious people since the day I walked the streets of London accompanying my prisoner, the King of France. A sea of heads completely covered the vast plain that extended from the North Gate to the first vineyards in the east of the city and to the banks of the river. Among the dark tones of that crowd, the brightly colored shawls of the women stood out, now the helmet of an archer wounded by the sun’s rays. In the center of the plain, there was the fenced space that was used for the jousts, with stands and stands decorated with a multitude of pennants and flags. It was difficult to open a narrow path for the princes and their entourage through that compact mass, which greeted them with thunderous acclamations. Numerous richly dressed nobles and ladies arrived after them and soon the stands were filled, glittering with gold and precious stones. The numerous entourage of the prince and his royal guests included captains and courtiers from Gascony and Spain, from England, Limousin and Saintonge. In the seats and stands the eyes were enchanted by the dark beauties of the Garonne and next to them the blonde English beauties, both displaying their best clothes. Rich tapestries and wide stripes of velvet hung from the balustrades of the stands , in the center of which stood out, embroidered in gold, silver and brightly colored silk, the coats of arms of a hundred nobles. It didn’t take long for these to take their seats, the crowd and the soldiers accommodated themselves as best they could and the pages and grooms took charge of their masters’ weapons and mounts. The maintainers occupied the end of the field closest to the city gates. In front of their respective pavilions were seen the coats of arms of the five English champions, supported by as many squires; there the roses of Morel, the bars gules of Leiton, the lion of Percy, the griffins of Abercombe and the silver wings of Beauchamp. Behind the pavilions the great warhorses, luxuriously caparisoned, stamped impatiently. The vast majority of the English archers and men-at-arms were grouped at that end of the list, eager to watch and cheer their famous champions, who sat at the door of their tents, fully armed and with their helmets on their knees, calmly conversing about the great event of the day in which they had to play such an important part. But the Gascon people did not hide their preference for Captal de Buch and his companions, since the popularity of the English had greatly declined since the bitter disputes caused by the capture of the king of France and the fate that should be given to the royal prisoner. Hence, the applause that greeted the proclamation of the king of arms was not general, although it was very large, announcing the names and titles of the English knights who were ready, for their God, for their country, for their king and for their lady, to fight against any hidalgos who did them the honor of breaking lances with them. More than applause, however, it was deafening acclamations that greeted the herald who at the opposite end of the list listed the very popular names of the Gascon jousters. “I am beginning to believe that you were very right, Chandos, in advising me not to take sides or take up a spear today,” said the prince in a low voice, noticing the state of mind. It seems to me, Monsieur de Armagnac, that our friends in Aquitaine would not take a dim view of the defeat of the English champions. –It could well be, prince, as I have no doubt that in the same circumstances the people of London or Windsor would favor or acclaim their countrymen. -And the palpable demonstration of what you say is not far away, the prince exclaimed, laughing, because there I saw about twenty archers whose shouting does not give way to that of the crowd. I greatly fear that you will suffer bitter disappointment if the golden cup that I have offered to the victor remains in Aquitaine instead of crossing the sea. What are the conditions, Chandos? –Each pair will joust no less than three times and the victory will be of the party whose champions have triumphed in the greatest number of individual matches. The one who most distinguishes himself among them will receive the trophy offered by Your Highness, and the most skillful jouster of the defeated will receive a brooch of gold and precious stones. Do I give the signal? The prince answered affirmatively, the bugles sounded and the maintainers entered the fray one after another and attacked their opponents, with varying success for both sides. Thus, Sir William Beauchamp fell to the powerful blow of Captal de Buch, but Percy disarmed that of Mucident; Lord Abercombe in turn overthrew the lord of Albret and finally the Herculean Oliver of Clisón equalized the fate of the combat with the victory he achieved over Sir Raniero Leiton. –For Santiago! Don Pedro exclaimed, good lances and great thrust, both the Gascon lords and the English. –Who is the next English leader? asked the prince in a voice that denoted his lively emotion. –Baron León de Morel, of Hanson, Chandos responded. –A hard-working and skilled champion if there is one. –Without a doubt, sir, but your eyesight, like mine, is very damaged after long campaigns. With his powerful arm he won in good fighting the golden diadem offered as a trophy by Queen Philippa, august mother of Your Highness, in the great jousts with which the taking of Calais was celebrated in England. In the castle of Monteagudo, where he resides, he has a treasure of prizes and trophies. “I hope the cup of this tournament goes to join them,” said the prince in a low voice. Here we have the German paladin and from his appearance he seems to be a very fearsome enemy. Warn the king of arms to allow them meet three times in the fight, since so much now depends on the result of this fight. The bugles sounded again, the king of arms gave the signal that the farautes repeated, and the last champion of the Gascons came forward amidst the wild cheers of the crowd. He was a warrior of great stature and strong body, with a black helmet and armor and a shield without a badge, since the statutes of the Teutonic order to which he belonged prohibited having it. Floating behind his back was a wide white cloak that had the black cross edged with silver of that order embroidered in its center. He briskly handled his superb bridle, black as jet and tall; and after greeting the prince he turned his back and took his place at one end of the list. The Baron de Morel immediately left his tent and galloped towards the royal balcony, in front of which he suddenly stopped the fiery steed with such force that he made it retreat and raise his hands, while the rider saluted deeply. The baron wore shining white armor, an emblazoned shield, and a helmet with a long, airy plume of white feathers. The grace and liveliness of his movements, the splendor of his armor and the paraphernalia of his horse and his corvetting movements caused unanimous applause to erupt. The baron saluted again with singular grace and headed to the point of the field bordering the one occupied by his opponent, making the noble brute caracole more like someone heading to a joyful party than to a fierce combat. As soon as both champions were face to face, absolute silence reigned throughout the arena. Not only the glory that could accrue to the victor but also the victory or defeat of the side they respectively represented depended on the result . Both warriors of great fame, their exploits had taken them to very different countries and combat fields , without until then giving them the opportunity to measure themselves face to face. The signal was given, and with their spears at the ready, both combatants attacked each other, meeting with a tremendous clash in front of the royal tribune. Although the Teuton shuddered at the furious blow of the English knight, his lance hit him in the visor with such force that it broke the straps that held the helmet and it fell in pieces, but the baron continued his race, his bald head uncovered, which shone in the rays of the sun. Thousands of handkerchiefs and caps waved in the air and an immense shout welcomed that slight advantage of the Teutonic knight. Not at all discouraged, Morel fled to his pavilion and a few moments later appeared with another strong helmet, ready for the second joust. The result of this was so equal for both that the best judges could not have awarded victory to one or the other. Thus, Morel and the man from Bohemia fearlessly resisted the opponent’s formidable bounce, which they both received squarely in the chest and without losing their chair. But in the third match the baron’s spear stuck between the bars of the opponent’s helmet, suddenly tearing off his visor, at the same time that the Bohemian, with singular bad luck, deflected his spear and gave it a strong blow to Morel’s thigh, against all the rules of the tournament, which prohibited wounding the opponent from the waist below and declared the winner whoever did so. That ill-fated blow also gave Morel the right to appropriate the enemy’s weapons and horses , if he had wanted to exercise it. The applause and delirious shouts of the English soldiers and the silence and frowning faces of the people announced, before the Farautes did, the triumph of the former, who had obtained an advantage in three matches, against two won by the Gascons. The ten combatants had already gathered in front of the prince’s tribune to receive two of them the well-deserved award, when the sharp blast of a bugle drew the attention of those present to one end of the arena, all eager to see the unexpected knight who thus announced his arrival. Chapter 24. HOW THE EAST SENT A FAMOUS CHAMPION. It is said that the great jousts of Bordeaux, for which the square bordering the Abbey of Saint Andrew was narrow and completely inadequate , were held outside the walls, in the vast plain immediately next to the river. To the east of that rose the land, covered with green vineyards in summer, through which wound the road that led to the interior, usually very frequented but lonely that day when everyone, both travelers and inhabitants of the city, were part of the spectator crowd. Looking in the direction of that road one could have seen, even long before the end of the combat, two bright and mobile points that came closer until they showed the observer that they came from the reflection of the sun on the helmets of two horsemen who were galloping ahead in the direction of Bordeaux. The first of them was a knight armed to the nines, riding a spirited black steed with a white star on his forehead. The rider seemed to be short in stature but robust and broad- shouldered, and he had his visor pulled down, with no company or coat of arms on the white harness or the smooth, polished shield. The other was evidently his squire, with no other offensive or defensive weapons than his helmet and his master’s powerful spear, which he wielded with his right hand. On the left, in addition to the reins of his own mount, he also had the bridle of a superb sorrel with luxurious facings that reached up to his hocks. When both riders arrived with the three horses at the entrance to the arena, the squire gave that vibrant touch that so surprised the spectators. –Who is this gentleman, Chandos, and what does he want? Prince Edward asked. –By my faith, the chancellor replied with undisguised surprise, either he greatly deceived me or he is a French nobleman. –French! exclaimed Don Pedro of Castile. What leads you to believe it if it has no coat of arms or emblem to prove it? –It is enough for me to look at the shape of your armor, sir, more rounded at the elbow and shoulder pads than those that come from England or Spain. It could also be an Italian-made harness, without the special curve of the breastplate; and the more I look at it, the more certain I am that this corselet has been made by craftsmen from this part of the Rhine. But here comes his squire and it will not take long for Your Highness to know what brings him to these parts. When the squire arrived before the prince, he stopped his horse, sounded for the second time the horn that he had suspended from his belt and said with a sonorous voice and a marked Breton accent: –I come as herald and squire of my lord, a noble and brave knight and faithful subject of the very powerful King Charles of France. Knowing that these jousts were being held, my lord requests the honor of measuring his weapons against an English knight who wants to accept his challenge, either breaking lances, or fighting with sword and dagger, mace or battle axe. And he has very expressly ordered me to declare that his poster is addressed only to noble English gentlemen, not to those who, without being French, nor being good Frenchmen, speak their language and serve under their flag. –You are bold, I vote for such! exclaimed that of Clisón in a thundering voice, at the same time that other Gascon lords put their hands on their swords. –My lord, continued the envoy without paying attention to the words of one or the threatening gesture of the others, you are certainly ready to joust, even though your warhorse has just traveled a long way without rest, since we feared we would be late for the tournament. –You have indeed arrived late, replied the prince, since all that remains is to award the prize to the winners. But I do not doubt that among these gentlemen of mine there will be those willing to please the champion of France. –And as for the trophy, said the Baron de Morel, I am sure I interpret the wishes of these gentlemen when they declare that it will be given to him, despite his delay, if he manages to win it in a good fight. –Take both answers to your master, squire, said the prince, and ask him to name one of the five English maintainers who have jousted today to break lances with him. One moment; not that gentleman It does not have a coat of arms or a badge and we need to know its name. –My lord has vowed not to reveal his name or raise his helmet until he sets foot on the land of France again. –But then what guarantee do we have that he is not a rustic skilled in the handling of weapons, or a groom disguised in his master’s harness , if not a disgraced nobleman with whom none of my knights would deign to fight ? –There is no such thing, sir, I swear by the most sacred! said the squire vehemently. On the contrary, I declare that there is no knight in the world who does not consider himself very honored to cross the sword with the one who sent me here. –Arrogant is the squire’s response, said the prince, but until you give us better proof of the noble quality of your master, I do not allow the best spears of my court to compete against him. –Does Your Highness refuse? –I resolutely refuse. -In that case, sir, mine has authorized me to secretly reveal your name to the very illustrious lord of Chandos, and only to him, so that he can declare whether or not Your Highness yourself could break lances with my lord, without the slightest disgrace. –I accept the proposal, said the prince briskly. Chandos approached the squire, the latter said a few words in his ear and the old chancellor made a gesture of profound surprise, while at the same time he looked with obvious curiosity and interest at the motionless knight who was waiting at a distance for the result of those negotiations. –Will it be possible? he exclaimed. –It is the pure truth, sir, said the squire. I swear by Saint Ivan of Brittany. –I should have suspected it, added Chandos, twisting his long mustaches and staring at the withdrawn gentleman. –What do you say, Chandos? the prince asked. –Lord, I ask you a favor. Allow my squire to bring me harness to dress him and have the high honor of crossing swords with the French champion. –Little by little, my good Chandos. You have, and very well earned, how many laurels a man can win and it is time for you to rest. Squire, tell your master that he is very welcome to my court, and that if he likes to take some rest and refresh himself in my company before the competition, I am soon ready to present him. –Excuse me, sir, you cannot drink with Your Highness. –Let him designate, then, the knight of his choice. –You wish to joust with the five English maintainers, and with the weapons that each of them prefers and chooses. –Great is your confidence, from what I see. But it is not good to prolong your wait nor do we have much time available, since the sun is approaching sunset. To your posts, gentlemen, and let’s see if this stranger matches the arrogance of his words with the highness of his deeds. While those preliminaries lasted, the incognito champion remained motionless like a steel statue, upright in the saddle of his battle horse and leaning on his robust spear. The expert eye of nobles and soldiers guessed a fearsome adversary in that man with athletic shapes and imposing appearance. The archer Simón, who was in the front line with Reno, Tristán and other comrades, did not lack his most commendable comments about the stranger’s disposition and the mastery with which moments before he had handled horse and spear. By dint of looking at him, a confusing memory seemed to awaken in the veteran’s memory. “I’ll bet the big Turk’s mustache,” he said, contracting his eyebrows, “that I’ve seen that handsome young man before, although I don’t remember where.” Was it in Nogent, was it in Auray? What I’m telling you, boys, is that you are looking at one of the first lances of France, and it says that there are no better ones in the world and that I know what I’m saying. –Well, I say that all these tournaments and pettiness are pure childishness, growled Tristan of Horla. By the cross of Gestas! Only let them come at me with spears and blows…. -Then how would you fight, Tristan? some asked. –There are several ways to do it, replied the giant, reflecting; but it seems to me that I would start by breaking my sword. –That’s what everyone tries to do. –Oh, no! But I wouldn’t foolishly break it on the other’s shield, but against my knee. And thus he would turn what is nothing more than a useless spike into a good mace. –And then? –I would let the other man stab me with his sword in my leg or arm, or wherever he saw fit, and then I would calmly smash his brains in with my mace. –Bravo, Tristan! Come on, I’d give my feather blanket to see you loose in the fray. Nice way to adjust yours! Simon exclaimed. –Well, it seems like the best to me, Tristan said very seriously. Or else, I would grab the other one by the waist, tear him out of the chair no matter what, and take him to my tent so I wouldn’t let him go until he paid me a good ransom. Great laughter greeted the brave archer’s departure and Simón promised to do everything possible to have Tristan named king of arms so that he could put into practice his strange ideas about jousts and tournaments. –There comes Sir William Beauchamp, said Reno. Brave knight, but I fear that he cannot resist the blow that the Frenchman’s spear promises to give him. And so it was, because although Beauchamp dealt his opponent a strong blow on the helmet, he instead received such a furious blow that it knocked him out of the saddle and made him roll on the ground. Percy’s luck was no better, as his shield was broken and his left arm unguarded, in addition to a slight wound in his side. Abercombe directed his lance at the stranger’s head and he imitated him, remaining firm and upright in the saddle after the collision, while the Englishman was bent backwards, half fallen on the rump of the horse, which traveled half the field before the rider recovered his normal position. Leiton fell to the blows of the Frenchman’s mace, the weapon chosen by the former; His servants carried him in their arms to his pavilion. Those quick victories over four famous warriors filled the spectators with admiration, and both the soldiers and the townspeople lavished their applause on him. –Fearsome champion, commented the prince; But the brave Morel is already advancing , on foot and with sword in hand, a weapon in which he is perhaps the most skilled in our kingdom. The combatants approached carrying the enormous combat swords on their shoulders and holding them with both hands. The fight was determined and brilliant; They attacked each other boldly and defended themselves with incredible skill, often making formidable blows that resonated as the swords clashed against each other or on the strong harnesses. Finally the Frenchman raised his weapon to unleash a decisive blow, but that moment was enough for the baron to discover a vulnerable point in the opponent’s armor, and as quick as lightning he stabbed his sword into the Frenchman’s arm, where it joined the shoulder. The wound was shallow, but it was enough to draw blood, which traced a red line on the polished breastplate. Although the stranger seemed willing to continue the fight, the king of arms threw his golden staff into the fray and the combatants lowered their swords. The prince immediately arranged that the French champion be invited to remain at his court for some time, and if this were not possible, to sit at his table that night and rest for a few hours in Bordeaux. The knight heard the courteous message and trotted his steed towards the royal tribune, bandaged his shoulder with a white silk scarf. –Sir, he said with a firm voice, greeting the prince; I can’t sit at your table. I am French and therefore your enemy. The happiest day of my life will be the one in which I see the last of the English galleys disappear on the horizon, taking away the last of the foreign soldiers who today step on and dominate part of this land of France. My words may seem harsh to you, but I repeat, I am your enemy. –And from the signs you have given today, a brave and fearsome enemy. The king of France can be proud to have servants like you. But your injury…. –It is insignificant and my horse can do the day’s work very well. return, which I will undertake right now. It remains with God; and saluting again, he galloped to the entrance of the palenque and disappeared, followed by his squire. –Brave, patriotic and haughty, exclaimed the prince. I believe that today’s unknown jouster is a great French warrior. –Do not doubt it, sir, said Chandos, and one of the most famous. Chapter 25. OF A LETTER AND SOME RELICS. When Roger appeared in the baron’s chamber the next day, he found him very busy drawing on smudged parchment some twisted and enormous signs, which he later found out were an attempt at a letter from the baron to his wife. –Well, you’re coming, Roger, he said joyfully as soon as he saw the young man. I confess that I am not very strong in writing problems, and here you have me sweating to tell my lady the Baroness many things that I want to tell her, with some scribbles that insist on not coming out straight and that she, nor you, nor I myself will understand. The faithful squire smiled, offered to write to the baron as many letters as he wanted in a jiffy, and it didn’t take long for the one in which the knight briefly recounted the main episodes of his trip, the encounter with the pirates, the unfortunate death of the young squire Froilán de Roda, his presentation at court, and how he intended to leave without delay for Montauban, where the rest of the famous White Guard of his command entertained their leisure by burning. and looting. –Something is missing, sir, Roger observed, and if you allow me…. –Write what you like, Roger, and add it to my letter, because whatever you say will be interesting and pleasant for my lady the Baroness. Taking advantage of the permission, the young man described what the baron had kept silent about out of modesty, the glory achieved by him in battles and jousts; He assured the chatelaine of Morel that the baron’s health was unbeatable, that there were still very good ducats in the prison entrusted to his guard and that they would last until he and his lord arrived at Montaubán, and finally he begged the baroness to accept his respects and to present them very gratefully to his daughter, the peerless Constanza. –All that is very well expressed, said the baron, shaking his bald head with satisfaction. And now, Roger, if you want to write anything to your relatives in England, I will send it with the same messenger who is to carry my letters. –I have no relatives, sir, said Roger sadly. My brother is the only one…. –Yes, I remember how you separated and I assure you that you don’t lose much. But since there are no people of your own blood, don’t you have someone there who is dear to you? –Oh, yes, replied the young man, sighing. –Come on, I see. Is she beautiful? –Beautiful. –Good? –Like an angel. –And he doesn’t love you? –I can’t say that I love another. –In that case, your duty is to make yourself worthy of his love. Be honest and brave; Without humiliating yourself before the powerful, show yourself affable and sweet with the poor and humble, and in due time you will be honored with the love of a pure and good maiden, the greatest reward to which every accomplished knight can aspire. Is your beloved of noble birth? –Of our most distinguished nobility, sir. –Careful, Roger, careful. Don’t aim too high and collect disappointments and bitterness. –You knew my father, Mr. Baron, and you also know what the lineage of the Clintons of Hanson is worth…. –Rancid and indisputable nobility and glorious history. But I do not say this because of your coat of arms, my son, but because of your lack of fortune. If you were the lord of Munster, instead of your boisterous brother…. But, either I was greatly deceived or the footsteps that echo are those of Sir Oliver. It didn’t take long for the plump knight to appear, red with indignation, with the unprecedented news that he had just sent a sign of challenge to the lords of Chandos and Fenton, chancellors of the duchy of Aquitaine and to whom the prince had entrusted the election of the knights who so brilliantly upheld the honor of the English arms in the tournament the day before. Stunned by Morel’s attitude, he found out that Monsieur de Butron felt offended at not having been among the five chosen and intended to call Chandos and Fenton to account for this disrespect. The Baron had a hard time pacifying his agitated friend, who finally confessed that he was only waiting to taste a new and delicious dish that was being prepared for him at that moment, so that he could also send a message to the prince himself. “But have you been forsaken by God?” the Baron asked him. “What has the prince done to you?” “He thinks little of me, just like Chandos, and is beginning to make me the butt of his taunts and jokes. Do you know the one he threw at me last night after the tournament? One of my friends was praising the strength of my arm, and the prince was kind enough to say that however strong my arm was, it would never be as strong as my horse’s backbone.” This grace was received with great laughter by all present. The Baron laughed too, and once again calmed his ecstatic friend as best he could, and seeing him more inclined to enjoy his dishes and delicacies than to continue issuing challenges at every turn, he took his leave of him until he met again in Dax. Sir Oliver was in charge of commanding Morel’s two hundred men and leading them to Dax with his fifty hired help, while the Baron left Bordeaux in advance to head for Montauban, take command of the rest of the White Guard lurking there, and join the main body of the army in Dax before the Prince began his march for Spain. “You, Walter, and Sergeant Simon will accompany me, and also another archer of Simon’s choice to look after my weapons and harness,” the Baron ordered.
Shortly afterward, he left Bordeaux accompanied by Walter de Pleyel, and two hours later, Roger, Simon, and Tristan de Horla set out in his pursuit. The former had to procure two Landes horses, of as poor appearance as they were excellent. Along the way, while his two companions chatted animatedly, Roger was thinking about the conversation he had recently had with the Baron and wondering whether he should have completed his confession by revealing that his beloved was none other than the beautiful heiress of Morel. How would the latter have received such a declaration? It had certainly been declared that, by virtue of his nobility, he could aspire to the hand of the most noble lady, with no other obstacle in his path than his lack of property. For the first time in his life, he desired them, and although he did not doubt Constance’s love , he also knew that the young enchantress would not give him her hand without first receiving her father’s full approval. “Where did the captain say we would find him?” “In Marmande or Aiguillón,” the veteran archer then asked , turning to Roger and bringing him out of his thoughts. “In Marmande or Aiguillón,” he added, adding that there was no possible way to stray, because from Bordeaux to the two villages mentioned there is no other road than the one we are following. ” “And which I know like the back of my hand,” said Simon. “May my good fortune grant that on my return I may travel through it as well provided with booty as the last time I passed through. Do you see that little village in the distance with the feudal castle? Well, it is Cadillac, a name and place I remember because of the tavern these people call the Mouton d’Or, and which I would call the Good Wine, which we shall soon taste. On the banks of the Garonne, we will later see the hamlet of Bazan, where I stopped for three days on my return from my last campaign; and the blame lay with the local saddler ‘s daughters , three young girls, each more rosy than the other, to whom I had given my word of marriage. “All three? ” The devil so mixed things up that there was no way to leave one or two looking for a bridegroom. Which would have been in very bad taste, by my faith, and even more so in the case of a gallant archer, because they are all prettier than the other, and the devil take me if I had been able to prefer and choose one of the three. “We have a beggar,” said Tristan at that point, pointing to a nearby tree in whose shade sat an old man, covered from neck to bare feet in a coarse gray sackcloth of triple cape. and wearing a greasy, broad-brimmed hat with three shells sewn in a row across the front of the crown. “I would say he was a religious man or a pilgrim, were it not for the strange wares he seems to have for sale,” said Simon. Approaching, they saw that on a board before him were placed in a row some pieces of wood, several stones, and a good-sized nail. “Help, gentlemen, a poor pilgrim,” exclaimed the old man, who has lost the sight of his eyes after contemplating the Holy Places with them and who has not eaten a thing for two days. ” “Well, no one would say so, seeing how full and shiny you are, my good man,” said Simon, looking at him attentively. “With such frivolous words you only increase my grief,” said the blind man. “You see me replete and fat, apparently, and therefore you believe me well fed, when what is really bloating and killing me is an incurable dropsy . ” “Poor man!” murmured Roger. “May the lightning strike me if I speak another word!” exclaimed the repentant archer. “Do not swear,” said the pilgrim, “and as far as I am concerned, I forgive you from my heart. My misfortunes and my helplessness have reached such a point that I am finally forced to part with my treasures in order to procure some means with which to complete my journey. I am going to the shrine of Our Lady of Rocamadour and there I hope to end my days. ” “And what treasures are these you speak of?” “Here they are, on this board. First of all, this nail, one of those that contributed to the infamous torture that resulted in the redemption of humanity. I obtained this priceless relic from the descendants of Joseph of Arimathea, who still live in Jerusalem. ” “And those stones and timbers?” asked Tristan, no less surprised than his companions. “A splinter from the true cross, another from Noah’s ark, and the third from the door of Solomon’s great temple.” Of the three songs I have here, the smallest was one of those thrown at Saint Stephen by his cruel executioners, and the other two come from the Tower of Babel. It has cost me much to obtain these precious relics, and for all the gold in the world I would not have parted with them; but as I approach death, because I feel my days are numbered, I offer you any you wish, at whatever price your means allow you to offer me. Transported, Roger, without reflecting much, turned to his companions and said: “An opportunity like this will never present itself again in our entire lives. I will not be left without that nail, and I must take it and offer it to the Abbey of Belmonte. ” “Just as I will take to my mother that stone they threw at the saint,” said Tristan. “Well, in my turn, I prefer the splinter from the temple doors,” said Simon, “and here I give you three ducats, out of the four that I have left.” “And here are two more,” added Tristan. “And four of mine,” said Roger. With this they took leave of the pious and distressed pilgrim, taking with them those venerable relics, as unexpectedly as they had been easily acquired. The trouble was that after a short walk they came upon a smithy, where they stopped to tend to Simon’s horse, which was in great need of the smith’s services. In conversation with him, Simon told him of their recent encounter and the large purchase they had made. The rustic saw the relics and burst into laughter at once, and taking up a box full of long nails, he presented it to Roger. “See,” he said, “if your nail is not one of these, and if the flakes and splinters of the holy man do not come from that heap at my door, where I myself saw him take them not two hours ago and put them in his bag. He himself asked for the nail, and I gave it to him. By the life of!” You are too gullible to be soldiers. Hearing that and running in search of the old stagehand was all in one. Soon they saw him at the top of a rise formed by the road, but he also saw them at a good distance and, imagining the message they were carrying, he ignored his blindness and, leaving the road, went into the thickets and reached the woods, leaving the three friends more than sullen, so beautifully mocked. Chapter 26. WHERE THE MYSTERIOUS PALADIN IS DISCOVERED. At Aiguillon, where they arrived that night, Baron de Morel and the smiling Gualtero were waiting for them, comfortably installed in the inn of the Baton Rouge. The English nobleman was holding an interesting conversation with a famous knight of Poitou, Gaston de Estelle, who had just arrived from Lithuania, where he had served with the Teutonic Knights under the Grand Master of Marienberg. The Lord of Morel, extremely pleased with this meeting, spent the idle hours talking about campaigns, sieges, jousts and adventures, and it was dawn when he took leave of the Baron de Estelle. This did not prevent him from setting out at the early hour he had fixed the day before, and leaving the course of the Garonne at Aiguillon, he and his four companions headed along the banks of the Lot, not in the direction of Montaubán but of Villafranca, where, according to intelligence gathered along the way, some English archers worse than Cain were on the loose, and whom he immediately assumed were the very ones he was seeking and of whom he was captain. Numerous signs revealed the agitation and state of alarm prevailing in that region, and more than once the small cavalcade was surrounded and detained by numerous groups of armed locals, to whom they had to inform the object of their journey, or risk becoming suspected and embroiled in a bad situation. “It is quite evident that the peace of Bretigny has not brought much peace to this region,” said M. de Morel. It seems to have gathered here all the scoundrels and adventurers left in France and Aquitaine after the war, people without faith or law, living off plunder and violence. Those high towers you see there belong to the town of Cahors, and beyond it lies the land of France. In Cahors, the travelers rested without incident or adventure worthy of a separate account, and upon leaving that town, they also left the banks of the river, taking a narrow and winding path that crossed a vast and desolate plain. It was bordered on the south by a leafy forest, upon emerging from which the baron announced to his squires that they had left the dominions of England behind and were setting foot on French territory. Everywhere were heaps of ruins, burned trees and fields, vineyards covered with stones, shattered bridges, and here and there a castle or monastery turned into rubble; signs everywhere of devastation and plunder. That sight saddened the travelers’ spirits, and the Baron began to wonder with suspicion if he would find provisions for his small troop in such a wilderness. Great was the satisfaction of the gentlemen and archers when they noticed that the path led out into a wide road, and that a short distance from the crossroads they saw an intact house, large and square, one of whose windows displayed the enormous dry branch that announced an inn or a place to stay. “It’s about time, by God!” exclaimed the Baron, delighted. “Go ahead, Roger, and tell the owner of that inn or tavern or whatever it is that will provide lodging for an English gentleman and his servants. ” Roger spurred his horse and reached the door of the house, leaving his companions a crossbow shot away. Seeing not a living soul, he pushed open the half-open door, entered the hall, and shouted for the innkeeper. Not even then. And since there was no reason to remain there, the young squire made his way gracefully into a large room on the left , on whose hearth some thick logs were crackling and burning with a cheerful flame . Sitting next to the fire in a high-backed, wicker chair was a lady who could not have been more than thirty-five years old, and whose jet-black eyes, eyebrows, and hair contrasted sharply with the extreme fairness of her complexion. But more than her beauty, what caught one’s attention was her majestic and dignified air and the grave and thoughtful expression on her face. Seated opposite her on a stool was a robust-looking gentleman, whose broad shoulders were covered by a loose black cloak and who was also wearing a black velvet cap, with curly white feather. On the rough table nearby were a wine-jar and a tin goblet, which the gentleman filled and emptied from time to time; when Roger entered, he was occupied in cracking and eating nuts, of which there was a full dish on the table, the shells of which he threw into the flames of the hearth. He turned his face slightly to look at Roger, who beheld with surprise his deformed features, crisscrossed with scars, his small greenish eyes, and his nose, dented and crooked as if it had received a tremendous blow. “Is that you who shouts like that?” he exclaimed in a guttural voice with a sour accent. “Was it ever a young man with more freshness and less consideration? I long to take my whip and teach you a lesson you so desperately need.” Roger’s astonishment grew, overcoming his indignation, and for a few moments he remained motionless, staring at the insolent knight , not knowing how to reply in the lady’s presence. At that moment, the Baron, Walter, and the two soldiers arrived at the door, and they dismounted . But as soon as the stranger heard their voices and the language they were speaking, his face grew furious, and, throwing down the plate of nuts with force to the ground, he began to shout wildly for the innkeeper. The latter, pale and trembling, came to the door of the house and said in a low voice to the newcomers: “Do not anger him, my good lords, for the love of God, I beg you. ” “What are you saying? Who is it?” asked the Baron. Before Roger could explain himself, the irritated guest’s voice rang out again: “But what cesspool is this?” he cried. Did I not ask you upon arriving, innkeeper of devils, if your house was free of vermin, so that my noble wife could lodge there without disgust or trouble? “And I answered you, mighty lord, that it is as clean as a whistle,” the other replied humbly. “Then how is it, scoundrel, that scarcely have we arrived there than we hear the chatter of those damned Englishmen? What worse or more harmful vermin could there be for a good French knight? Let them be off quickly, Master, and if not, so much the worse for them and for you!” The innkeeper did not ask him to repeat this, but ran from the room, just as the lady was gently protesting against the knight’s violent language. “For the love of God!” said the distressed innkeeper to the English, “do me the favor of following your path. Villafranca is not more than two leagues away, and there you will find comfortable lodging at the Inn of Anjou.” “I will not do such a thing,” said the Baron de Morel, “without first seeing the one who speaks thus and saying a few words to him. What are his name and titles? ” “It is impossible to name him, sir, without his permission. But see, if you enter, he will fly into a rage, and then… Believe me, my good sir; you do not know who it is! You are discreet, you are warned; go your way, for mercy’s sake! ” “Shut up, innkeeper!” cried the furious English nobleman. “Or better yet, go and tell that formidable knight that Baron Leon de Morel is here and here he remains , because it pleases him, and neither he nor anyone else will dare to stop him. Go!” The poor man, bewildered and not knowing to what saint to commend himself, took a few steps along the hall when the inner door was suddenly flung open , and the furious Frenchman appeared, his fists clenched, his deformed features convulsed with rage. “You’re still there, you English dogs!” he cried. “My sword, come on, my sword!” But at that instant his eyes fell upon the Baron’s blazoned shield, held by Tristan, and after gazing at it for a moment, his expression softened, and a smile appeared on his lips. “Dear God!” he exclaimed, “why, it is my swordsman of Bordeaux! The five roses! I have reason to remember them since I saw them, not three days ago, at the jousts on the Garonne. Ah, Monsieur Léon de Morel, I owe you a debt!” And as he said this, he pointed to his right shoulder, bandaged with a silk handkerchief. But the stranger’s surprise at seeing the baron could not compare with his own. He stared at the wounded man and finally exclaimed in a tone that He revealed his profound joy: “Bertrán Duguesclin!” “The same one who wears clothes and shoes,” replied the other, laughing. “I did well, by my faith, to hide my face there in Bordeaux, for whoever sees it once never forgets it. I am, Lord of Morel, and here is my hand, which will never shake any English hand but yours and Chandos’s. ” “I am not young,” replied the Baron, “and wars have added some years to those I already have, but until now Heaven had not granted me the favor and honor of crossing my sword with another of such pure and deserved fame as the one you opposed to me in the lists of Bordeaux. Happy am I a thousand times! It seems impossible to me that I have still had such high honor. ” “By my faith! You have given me reasons not to doubt it, dear Baron,” said the famous warrior with a hearty laugh. “But come, and let your squires enter also .” I do not wish to deprive my beloved companion of the pleasure of seeing in you a model of nobility, albeit an English one, and a famous warrior. The noble lady received them with a kind smile, and within a few minutes of conversation had already won the full respect and admiration of Morel and his squires. With the air of a queen and the manners of the most aristocratic lady, she possessed incomparable tact, a charm that seduced all. Add to this the mystery surrounding her, the general belief that she possessed a supernatural faculty of divining and predicting the future, and you will understand the vivid impression she made on the three English gentlemen. Duguesclin himself observed with evident satisfaction the interest aroused in them by his wife’s pleasant conversation, her pure and elevated ideas, and the uncommon enlightenment she clearly displayed without the slightest heaviness or affectation. “Forgive me,” the French warrior finally said. Such noble and gracious company deserves worthy lodging, and this inn cannot offer it for you for the night. Let us take advantage of the little time we have left to mount our horses and reach the castle of Tristan de Rochefort, located a league from Villafranca, where we were headed when we decided to rest here for a few hours. The Lord of Rochefort is an old companion in my campaigns and now the steward of Auvergne. “And he will receive you with applause, no doubt,” said the baron. “But what will the steward think of our simplicity? ” “Well, he will bless you when he learns that you have come to cleanse the region of those uniformed scoundrels who ravage it. Mount up, gentlemen! And you, master, here are some gold coins; if anything is left over, consider it for the first needy knight who brings this way. ” Moments later, both lords rode, with the lady riding between them, escorted by young Pleyel. Roger had been delayed at the inn calling for the archers when he heard a distressed voice shouting for help . He approached the door of the room from which the voices came and found himself face to face with Simon and Tristan, who were laughing aloud and hastening to the door of the manor house where their mounts were waiting for them. Roger entered the room and was astonished to see a little man dangling from a strong iron hook hanging from the ceiling, who was the one shouting so wildly. The hook held him by the belt, and the poor man was flailing and kicking like one possessed. “To me, my friends!” he continued bellowing, his face red. “Favor to the champion of the Bishop of Montaubán!” _A moi!_ The innkeeper arrived at that moment, rushed with Roger to the aid of the hanged man, for which they had to climb onto the heavy oak table on which were the remains of the two archers’ refreshments, and with some difficulty they managed to unhook the champion from the bishop. “Is he gone?” he asked as soon as he set foot on the ground. “Who? ” “The giant, the monster with the red hair. ” “Ah, come!” Tristan the archer. “Yes, he’s gone,” said Roger. “And won’t he come back? ” “No. ” “He’s got away with it!” exclaimed the little man, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Coward! To dare to run away with me! Ah, that I had “I had hoped he would have made a good example of him, as God commands, to set an example for rogues! ” “Allow me, Monsieur de Pelisier,” said the innkeeper, “to put my horse at your disposal, with which you will soon overtake the discourteous archer. ” “Not a chance!” exclaimed the braggart hastily. “I have had a broken leg since the day I killed three of the enemy in the battle of Castelnau. ” “Then I will run and find him myself, so that you may punish him as he deserves who so offends my good customer, Señor Oscar Reginald Bombardón de Pelisier! ” “Pas si vite, mon ami!” I will know how to find him in due time. Imagine the damage your property would suffer if that giant and I were to engage in such a tremendous battle here.” At that moment, the trot of a horse was heard, which stopped at the door of the inn. The prudent Pelisier turned pale and crouched under the table, just as Gualtero’s voice was heard calling Roger. Roger left the inn with his companion, and they soon caught up with the two archers. “That’s a fine way to treat Señor Bombardón de Pelisier,” Roger said to Tristan with feigned severity. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” the young man began, while Simon burst into loud laughter. “By the edge of my sword!” he exclaimed. “I never hope to see a more intolerable braggart again in my life.” He refused to eat or drink with us, or even to speak to us. Then he began to recount his exploits to the beams of the ceiling and ended by saying that he had killed more Englishmen than he had hairs on his head. I was about to gut him with a kick when this fool reached out with his huge hand and, seizing Bombardon, hung him up on a hook like a suckling pig or a piece of cured meat. Ha ha ha! The four friends were still laughing at the adventure when they overtook their captain, and soon afterward they all arrived at the castle of Rochefort, whose gates were flung wide open as soon as those who guarded them heard the name of Bertrand Duguesclin. Chapter 27. PROPHETIC VISION. Tristan de Rochefort, steward of Auvergne and lord of Villafranca, had grown gray fighting against the English invaders, and since the peace was signed, he had never rested, pursuing the bands of adventurers, robbers, and vagrants who infested the region under his command. From these excursions, he sometimes returned victorious, with a dozen prisoners who were soon found hanged on the walls of the fortress; and at other times, he was seen returning in flight, closely pursued by deserters and bandits of all races and colors. Hated by his enemies, he was also hated by the very people he governed and defended, for, apart from his harshness and despotism, they did not forgive him for the floggings and tortures with which he had forced them to pay his own ransom the two times the English had taken him prisoner. His residence was a somber fortress with solid walls and a high crenellated tower in its center. Our travelers found a numerous guard at the castle gate, but the double eagle of Duguesclin offered, at that time, the best safe-conduct for travel in that turbulent region and was also a golden key capable of opening all the fortresses of France. The noble veteran hurried to greet his friend and comrade-in-arms. and great was his joy at learning that Duguesclin’s companion would soon free the country from those devilish English archers who had more than once put to flight the seneschal’s soldiers sent against them. An hour later, the three noble warriors and the ladies of Duguesclin and Rochefort, the latter cheerful and amiable and much younger than her master and lord, were seated around the well-laid table ; two other guests of the seneschal were Amaury de Monticourt, of the Order of the Hospitallers, and Otto Reiter, a Bohemian knight of great fame; and four French squires, the two from Morel, Roger and Gualter, and the chaplain of the fortress, also sat with their lords . The dinner was long and cheerful, without even one of the guests remembering the resentful and hungry pecheros that at those same moments, hidden in the undergrowth, contemplated from afar and with ideas of revenge and death the illuminated windows of the castle. With the tablecloths raised, the seneschal’s guests took a comfortable seat around a large fire, because the night was unpleasant and cold. M. de Rochefort expressed, as usual, the contempt for those whom he called swinekeepers and vulgar villains; The kind chaplain defended the poor people of the town; They commented on the growing boldness of the pecheros and their waning respect for the privileges of the nobility and the hours passed pleasantly in pleasant conversation. For a while Roger was contemplating with interest and not without some alarm the face of Duguesclín’s noble wife, who, sunken in her chair, seemed lately oblivious to everything that was being said around her, her eyes bright, her gaze fixed and her cheeks pale. Roger noticed that Duguesclín was also observing his wife, restless and trembling. –What do you have, my wife? he asked her. –Nothing, Bertrán, she said in a dull voice and without taking her eyes off the opposite wall on which she had them fixed. But there… a vision… –I feared it, said the famous French warrior. I owe you an explanation, gentlemen. My good wife is endowed with a prophetic faculty that manifests itself in her from time to time and allows her to predict certain future events. This mystery is incomprehensible to me, but that extraordinary power had already made everyone admire it there in Brittany, long before I saw my Eleanor in Dinan for the first time. What I can assure you is that this gift of his comes from heaven and not from the spirit of evil, which is what constitutes the difference between white magic and black magic. And from signs that are well known to me, I understand that my good companion is currently in one of those lucid moments. The last time I saw her in the same state, on the eve of the battle of Auray, she predicted that the next day would be fatal for me and for Charles of Blois. Twenty- four hours later he had died and I found myself a prisoner of the lord of Chandos…. –Bertrán, Bertrán! called the seer with a sweet voice. –Tell me, my beloved, what luck has in store for me. –A great danger threatens you, Bertrán, at this very moment. –Bah! A soldier is always in danger, said the great French champion with a calm smile. –But your enemies hide, they creep, they surround you at this moment. Ah, Bertran! Save yourself! Such an expression of terror was manifested by his distorted features and his disproportionately open eyes that Duguesclín looked quickly around the room, staring briefly at the tapestries that covered the walls and then at the longing faces of his friends. –I will wait for that danger if he does not wait for me, he said. And now, Leonor, speak. What will be the end of the war in Spain? –I can barely see what’s happening there. Wait…. Great mountains and beyond them an extensive and arid plain, the clash of weapons, the cries of combat. The very failure of your mission in Spain will ultimately give you victory …. –What do you say to that, Baron? Bitter and sweet at the same time, or as if we said, a favor and a disfavor. Don’t you want to ask yourself a question? –If you allow me. Would you like to tell me, lady, what is happening there in the castle of Monteagudo? –To answer that question I need to place my hand on a person whose memory and whose mind are continually fixed on that castle you speak of. Your hand? No, baron; There is another person here whose thoughts remain fixed on Monteagudo even more insistently than yours…. –You amaze me, noble lady, stammered Morel. –Come closer, young man with the blonde curly hair, said Doña Leonor, extending her right hand in Roger’s direction. Put your hand on my forehead. So, wait. A thick fog from which an enormous square tower stands out; The fog dissipates, I see the walls, the fortress all on a green hill, with the river at its feet, the waves of the sea in the distance, and a church a crossbow shot from the battlements. Beside the river rise the besiegers’ tents. “The besiegers!” the Baron, Gualtero, and Roger exclaimed simultaneously. “Yes, they are assaulting the walls with vigor. They are already setting up their ladders and firing a cloud of arrows. There their leader, tall and handsome, with a long blond beard, is launching his soldiers against the massive gate. But those in the castle are defending themselves valiantly. A woman, yes, a heroine commands them. Two, two women on the wall are encouraging the people of Morel, who are returning blow for blow and hurling great stones at their enemies. Their leader has fallen, and his soldiers are retreating, fleeing, everything is going dark, I can see nothing more… ” “By Saint George!” exclaimed the Baron. I can hardly believe that Salisbury and Monteagudo are the scenes of such scenes; but you have given such an exact description of the terrain and the fortress that you fill me with astonishment and fear. “Seize this moment if you wish to know anything more,” said Duguesclin. “What will be the result of this long series of struggles between France and England?” asked one of the French squires. “Both will retain what is theirs,” replied the lady. “Then shall we continue to dominate Gascony and Aquitaine?” asked Monsieur de Morel. “No. French soil, French blood and language. They are France’s, and she will reconquer and hold them. ” “But not Bordeaux? ” “Bordeaux is also France. ” “And Calais? ” “Calais too. ” “Our black star if that happens!” exclaimed the Baron. “What will then be left for England? ” “Allow me, Baron; And you, madam, tell me first, what will be the future of our beloved homeland? Duguesclin asked jubilantly. “Great, rich, and powerful. Through the centuries I see it at the head of other nations, a people king among all peoples, great in war but greater still in peace, progressive and happy, with no monarch other than the will of its children, one from Calais to the blue southern seas. ” “Do you hear it, Monsieur de Morel?” the French leader exclaimed triumphantly. “But what of England?” the baron asked sadly. The prophetess seemed to contemplate with profound surprise an unusual scene, a spectacle for her unexpected. “My God!” she finally exclaimed. “Where do these vast peoples come from, these powerful states that rise before me? And beyond, others, and others, beyond the seas. They occupy entire continents where the hammers of their factories and the bells of their churches resound.” Their names, many of them, are English, as is the language they speak. Other lands, surrounded by other seas and under different skies, are also English lands. The flag of Saint George waves everywhere, as under the sun of the tropics as among the snows of the Pole. The shadow of England extends across the seas. Bertran, Bertran! They conquer us, because the smallest of their buds is more beautiful than the finest and most fragrant of our flowers! The prophetess gave a loud cry, rose from her seat, and fell fainting into the arms of her husband, who said, moved: “The vision is over, the sacred and mysterious hour that reveals the secret of the future!” Chapter 28. ATTACK AND DEFENSE OF THE CASTLE OF VILLAFRANCA. It was very late when Roger was able to retire to rest, but not before leaving the Baron comfortably installed in the room that had been assigned to him. His room, located on the second floor of the feudal dwelling, contained a small bed for himself and two mattresses on the floor, on which Simon and Tristan were sleeping and snoring when Roger entered. The young man was saying his prayers when he heard a discreet knock at the door, and almost immediately Walter entered with a lantern, his face pale and his hands trembling. “What’s the matter, my friend?” Roger asked him quickly. “I hardly know what to say to you. The saddest premonitions assail me, and I tremble without knowing why. Do you remember Tita, the daughter of the artist of Bordeaux? I asked her for love there on Apostles Street and I gave her a gold ring that she promised to always wear in memory of me. When we said goodbye, she told me that her thoughts would follow me in the wars and that my dangers would also be her own…. Well, I just saw her. –Bah! You are overexcited with the prophecies and spasms of my lady Duguesclín and your fingers crave guests. –I tell you that I saw her right now, when I was climbing the stairs, as clearly as I see those two sleeping archers. His eyes were filled with tears and his hands came forward as if to protect me…. –Look, Gualtero, it’s late and you need to rest. Where is your room? –On the next floor. It remains precisely on this one. May the Holy Virgin protect us! Roger heard his friend’s footsteps on the stairs, and then going to the window he looked at the landscape illuminated by the moon. On that part of the castle stretched a wide strip of land covered with fine grass and a little further away two groves separated by an open space in which only a few bushes grew, silvered by the rays of the moon. Roger was looking at them distractedly, when he saw that a man slowly came out from among the trees on the right and quickly crossed the clearing, bending down as if he wanted to hide, he disappeared into the grove on the left. After him passed another and then another, and then many more, alone or in groups, not a few of them carrying large packages secured to their backs. The young squire was absorbed for a moment, but soon he leaned down and lightly touched Simón’s shoulder. –Who’s going? exclaimed the archer, jumping up. Hello, _mon petit_! I thought the enemy surprised us. What do you want from me? Roger took him to the window and told him what he had just seen. –Look, young man, was the veteran’s reply; In this devilish country I no longer admire anything. Well, there are more criminals in it than there are rabbits in Hanson’s woods, all heartless people, who walk around at night because if they did it during the day the executioner would soon get his hands on them . It has been said that a bad lightning strikes them and they go to sleep! But first it won’t hurt to undo this bolt, because we are in a strange house. Lie down and sleep. With this the archer lay down on his pallet and within two minutes he was fast asleep. Roger imitated him, he thought that it was already close to three in the morning and he was dozing when it seemed to him that someone was pushing and creaking the door of the room, trying in vain to open it. Startled , he began to listen and heard cautious footsteps moving away from his door and continuing up the stairs. Shortly afterwards something resounded like a strangled scream, like a cry of agony, and when Roger was about to jump out of bed, he looked at the window and was almost paralyzed with terror. A human body swayed slowly in front of the gap in the window and the outside of the wall. It hung from a rope knotted around the neck and evidently fixed at the other end to the upper floor window. An irresistible attraction forced Roger to jump off the bed and approach, at the same time that the moonlight fell squarely on the face of the hanged man. It was Gualtero de Pleyel, cowardly surprised and murdered. At Roger’s tremendous cry of surprise and pain, the two archers woke up startled. –The flint and the tinder, soon, said Tristan in a calm voice. This moonlight is a thing of ghosts. Here is the lamp and now we will see each other. –It’s poor Pleyel, no doubt, growled Simón. But I’ll be damned if I don’t settle this seneschal of demons’ accounts for the way he treats his guests! –No, no, Simón, the murderers are those bandits hidden in the forest that I told you about before. And the baron, God knows what fate he must have had. I fly to your side…. –Wait a moment, comrade, I’m an old dog and I know how these things are done. The first thing is to put my helmet on the tip of the bow. You open the door slowly and I will present the bait to those scoundrels, if by chance They are there waiting to cut our throats. This they did, and no sooner had the door opened and the helmet appeared than it received a tremendous cut, and the screams of the assassins broke out. But before they could repeat the blow, Simon’s sword flashed, and one of their enemies fell pierced through. “Forward! Follow me, and them!” cried Simon, and throwing open the door, the three Englishmen rushed from the room, violently trampling over two men they met and rushing down the stairs. The screams issued from the lower floor, where the vestibule was brightly lit by some torches fixed on the trophies that adorned its walls. In front of one of the three doors leading into the vestibule could be seen the bloody corpses of the steward and his wife, the latter with her head severed from her body, and the former with a pike running through her body. Beside them, also dead, were three of the castle’s servants, torn and shapeless, as if a pack of wolves had fallen upon them. At the next door, Duguesclin and the Baron de Morel, half -dressed and poorly armed, held the assassins at bay; the fire of battle shone with a sinister light in the eyes of both warriors, and the corpses of the enemy lay piled up before them. A numerous group of ragged men, with hideous expressions and armed with pikes, sickles, and spears, again attacked the two knights, who were displaying prodigies of valor and skill. At the moment, reinforcements arrived from Roger and the two archers, whose swords cut a bloody path through the shouting mob. The mob fell back with cries of rage, the five defenders of the castle joined forces and advanced, and soon the vestibule was cleared of the enemy. Tristan seized the last two and threw them down the stairs, over the heads of his companions. “Don’t follow them!” cried Duguesclin. “If we separate, we’re lost. I wouldn’t mind dying killing, but I have to protect my poor wife. What do you advise us, Baron? ” “I’m here for advice, for I still don’t know the purpose or meaning of this slaughter. ” “They are those bandit dogs of the forest, the worst kind known on earth. They have taken possession of the castle. Look out that window. ” “Heaven help me! There are more than a thousand of them inside the fortress and on the walls. In that group with torches, they are quartering an archer. There they are throwing another from the wall. Many are now entering through the open gates with great bundles of wood and branches…. ” “Just to set fire to the castle. ” “Would that I would have my White Guard now! But where is Walter? ” “He has been murdered, sir.” “God help his soul! And now, let’s defend ourselves, and above all, defend a lady who needs all our efforts. Here comes someone who might be able to guide us through these corridors and even lead us out of the fortress. ” “Where we shall soon be roasted to death if we do not leave it soon,” Duguesclin added. Those arriving, coming down the steps four at a time, were a French squire and the Bohemian knight, the latter with a wound on his forehead . “Speak, Godfrey,” Duguesclin said to the squire. “Do you know of a free way out? ” “The only one is the secret underground passage that leads to the countryside, and through it those bandits entered the fortress with the help of some traitor . The Knight Hospitaller, who was coming ahead of us, fell dead up there from an axe blow to the skull. The servants and the garrison have been put to the sword. We are the only ones who have escaped alive so far.” In my opinion, the only recourse is to take refuge in the tower, the keys of which you see there, hanging from my unfortunate lord’s belt. Once there, we shall be able to defend the narrow staircase with greater advantage; the walls of the tower are thick, and the fire will take a long time to consume them. Provided we can conduct the lady… “I will go myself,” the noble lady was heard to say, appearing pale and grave at the door of the room she and her husband had occupied at that time. fatal night I am accustomed to the hazards of war, and if your protection, brave knights, is insufficient, I will never fall alive into the hands of those evil men. Saying this, he showed a very sharp dagger in his right hand. –Leonor, said Duguesclín, I have always loved you, but at this moment more than ever. If the Virgin allows us to protect you, I vow to offer a golden crown to Our Lady of Rennes. Go ahead, friends! The attackers, tired of killing, dedicated themselves to looting. Only a fairly large group was stoking the fire and silently observing the progress of the fire. At the foot of the winding staircase along which the French squire guided them, the fugitives found a ragged sentinel, who was quickly accounted for by an arrow shot by the sure hand of Simon. A small door separated them from the large courtyard of the castle and on the other side of it could be heard the voices and laughter of a multitude of enemies, drunk with blood and mad with their triumph. Even the most courageous man would have hesitated before crossing that fragile barrier, but Duguesclín put an end to all indecision by suddenly opening the little door. –Towards the tower, run! shout. The two archers in front, my wife between the two squires and the lords of Reiter and Morel in the rear, to contain that mob! They did so and with such speed that they had already covered half of the large courtyard of the castle, before the surprised villains began to attack them. The archers shot down in the blink of an eye the few who stood in their way, and those who came to pursue them closely bit the dust, pierced by the fearsome swords of the three nobles. They arrived safely at the door of the tower and the French squire, who was trying to open it, suddenly uttered a cry of anguish and despair. –This is not the key! he exclaimed, and out of his mind he took two steps in the direction of the wing of the castle they had just left, as if he wanted to go and ask his master’s corpse for the saving key. At that moment a herculean peasant threw a huge stone at him, which hit him squarely in the head and laid him senseless at the baron’s feet. –This is the best key for me! roared Tristan; and lifting the heavy rock he in turn threw it with irresistible force against the door of the tower. A moment later the gigantic archer had just knocked it down and the fugitives finally entered that momentary refuge. –Up, lady! exclaimed the baron, indicating Doña Leonor to the stone staircase, while Duguesclín and his companions knocked down the four closest aggressors, badly wounded. The others retreated, shouting and always threatening, but remaining at a safe distance, after destroying the body of the unfortunate squire; An act of cruelty that Tristan avenged by rushing into the mob and seizing two villains with his sinewy hands, whose heads slammed against each other with such force that both were left lying on the ground, without showing signs of life. –Now let’s organize the defense of the tower, said Duguesclín. The baron and I at the foot of the stairs; England and France will fight together today against the common enemy. Mr. Otón de Reiter and the young squire of Morel there, on the first step; the archers a little higher, so that they can handle their bows. Attention! At the first sign of attack by the furious crowd, two arrows were heard whistling, shot by Tristan and Simon, and the two who seemed to be leaders of the bandits were left wallowing in their blood at the entrance to the tower. Two others were equally lucky, and then the desperate besiegers rushed forward in droves to attack. The resistance would have lasted little without the narrowness of the door and the staircase, which impeded the movements of the enemy, while four tireless swords wreaked tremendous havoc on that tight mass of poorly armed men. The fight was stubborn, but it ended with the retreat of the enemy, but not without the besieged having to deplore the death of Reiter, the knight Bohemian, who was hit on the head by a blow from a mace. “First stage,” Duguesclin said calmly. “It seems they have enough for now. ” “And there are certainly some very brave dogs among those dogs who fight well,” commented Monsieur de Morel. “But what are they doing now? ” “Our Lady of Rennes help us!” said the French paladin. “They intend to set fire to the tower and roast us in it. I feared as much. Tough on them, archers, for our swords are of no use to us now. ” A dozen besiegers advanced, shielding themselves with enormous bundles of wood and dry branches, which they placed against the walls. Others set them alight with torches, and soon the tower was surrounded at its base by a circle of flames. The smoke forced its defenders to take refuge on the first floor, but soon the floorboards began to burn, the room filled with thick smoke, and they were barely able to climb the last flight of stairs without suffocating and reach the top of the tower. The scene from that height was imposing. Meadows and forests were gently illuminated by the silvery moonlight; in the distance, the piercing ringing of a bell could be heard; on one side of the tower, the castle walls were crumbling, engulfed in flames, and at the foot of their last refuge, the multitude of their enemies was stirring with furious gestures and hoarse cries . “By the edge of my sword!” exclaimed Simon. “It seems to me, friend Tristan, that we shall not see Spain on this journey; nor my down blanket, which fortunately is in good hands.” Thirteen arrows remain, and I’ll be hanged if a single one of them misses its mark. The first one for that accursed fellow waving the poor Castilian woman’s silk mantle. Impaled at the waist, a hand’s breadth lower than I expected! Number two: a parting gift to the damned fellow with a head on his pike. He’s already lying belly up. A good arrow from you too, Tristan! You’ve made that handsome lad fall nose first into the fire. Here’s another one! While the two archers were having their way, Duguesclin and his wife were consulting with the Baron and Roger, and they recognized the hopelessness of their situation. “I feel sorry for her,” said the famous French warrior. “Do not grieve for my fate,” replied the loving and valiant lady, ” for since death threatens me, I am never so welcome as receiving it with you at my side. ” “Well, madam,” said the Baron; That is undoubtedly the answer that, in similar circumstances, my unforgettable wife, for whom my last thoughts are, would have given me. “What is this, Baron?” Roger exclaimed at that moment in a loud voice from the opposite side of the terrace. “This? By Saint George!” said the Baron, hurrying up, “a pile of bombardier shells. And here is the iron box for the gunpowder. Now you will see the havoc we are going to wreak on the rabble. You, Tristan, lift that box and place it on the parapet. And you, Simon, raise the lid. Good, it is almost full. Now drop the box at the foot of the tower, into the flames.” The order was hardly carried out when a frightful report resounded. The tower trembled and cracked, threatening to collapse at any moment . The besieged, pale and dumb with terror, clung to the parapet and beheld the ravages of the explosion. From the foot of the tower to a distance of fifty yards, one could see a confused mass of mangled bodies, of wounded men uttering terrifying screams, many of them engulfed in the flames that consumed their rags. Beyond this scene of destruction, numerous groups of terrified people fled at top speed, anxious to get as far away as possible from the fatal tower and its fearsome defenders. “A way out, Duguesclin!” cried the Baron. “Let’s take advantage of their confusion to get out of here and escape if possible.” With that, he drew his sword and began to quickly descend the stairs, followed by his companions, but before reaching the next floor, he stopped, his face filled with dismay. “What’s going on?” “Look! The explosion has brought down the wall, whose debris completely blocks the staircase. And below, the fire continues to undermine the tower. ” “We’re lost,” said Duguesclin. They all returned slowly to the upper terrace, and scarcely had they arrived did Simon utter a cry of joy. “Good news!” he exclaimed. “Do you hear it? It’s the war chant of the White Guard.” Before descending, I thought I heard it too, like a distant echo, but I wasn’t sure. Our friends are coming. Listen!” They all began to listen. There was no doubt. From the valley rose a sonorous, martial chant, more pleasing to the besieged than the most harmonious melody. “There, there!” continued Simon. “See them coming out of the woods and taking the road to the castle. They’ve seen the flames, and also the mob of those damned men, and they’re singing as always when the White Guard is preparing to give and receive blows with its head. Ah, brave ones!” “To me, Yonson, Roland, Vifredo! ” “Who’s going?” a powerful voice demanded. “Simon Aluardo, by all means, he doesn’t want to be roasted! And here in the tower you also have a lady to rescue, along with your captain, the Baron de Morel! Quick, scoundrels! The arrow and the string, Vifredo, as at the siege of Maupertuis! ” “Long live Simon!” the archers were heard shouting, and shortly afterward the voice of Vifredo, saying: “Are you ready, comrade? ” “Shoot!” replied Simon. The archer drew his bow, and the arrow fell inside the parapet. Tied to its end was a long string, which Simon seized eagerly. “Saved!” he said, and then, bending over his comrades, he shouted: “Now fasten the long, strong string!” A few moments later he had the thick, life-saving rope in his hands. With his help, they brought down the noble lady first, and soon they all found themselves at the foot of the tower, surrounded by the brave archers of the White Guard. Chapter 29. THE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES. “Where is Captain Claude Latour?” was the first thing Baron de Morel asked, as soon as his feet touched the ground. “In our camp at Montpezat, Baron, two hours’ journey from here,” Yonson, the sergeant in command of the archers, said respectfully. “Then let’s march without delay, my boys, for I want to see you all at headquarters at Dax in time to march in the vanguard of the Prince.” At that instant, Monsieur de Morel and Roger’s horses were brought in, as well as those of Duguesclin and his wife, abandoned by the peasants in their hasty flight. The two warriors were bid farewell in an affectionate manner . “It has been a great fortune for me,” said Duguesclin, “to have met and met in such exceptional circumstances the famous leader whose name has so often been announced to me by fame. But we must part, for my place is at the side of the King of Spain, to whose orders I must place myself before you cross the mountains of the frontier. ” “In truth, I believed you were in Spain with the valiant Henry of Trastamara. ” “I was there, Baron, and I came to France with the mission of recruiting men to his aid. In Spain you will find me, at the head of four thousand picked French lances , to give your prince a welcome worthy of him and his valiant knights. God keep you, friend Baron, and grant us another chance to meet under more propitious circumstances! ” “I do not believe there exists a more accomplished knight in all Christendom,” said the Morellan, watching him walk away in the company of his spirited consort. “But are you wounded, Roger?” “What pallor is that?” “All I feel, Baron, is bitter sorrow for the unfortunate death of my good companion from Pleyel. ” “Ah, yes!” said the nobleman sadly. ” I have already lost two brave squires, and I wonder why implacable fate snatches from my side these young men of brilliant future , leaving their white heads like mine untouched . But don’t you remember, Roger, how Lady Eleanor foretold us all these dangers and misfortunes of last night? ” “That is indeed the case, sir.” –Which renews my fears of also seeing his other prophetic vision about the siege of Monteagudo fulfilled. But I cannot believe that a large enough French or Scottish enemy force has reached Salisbury to attack the castle. Summon those people, Simón, and let’s go. At the first clarion call, the white archers rushed in, loaded with loot, and the baron did not hide a smile of satisfaction as he scanned the ranks of those brave soldiers with his penetrating gaze. Few leaders could take pride in commanding a force as fearsome and as martial as that one. There were no shortage of veterans of the great wars of France, but the White Guard was mostly made up of young archers , robust English young men, on whose breastplates they wore rich bands of silk and gold and glittered precious stones , an obvious sign of the abundant loot collected in their long southern campaign. Perfectly armed and protected with their steel helmets, chain mail covered by the white poncho with the red cross of Saint George on the chest, the long bow on his back and the mace or battle ax hanging from his belt, the baron felt capable of great undertakings at the head of those brave men. Two hours of march along the banks of the Aveyron brought them to the camp of the White Guard, made up of about fifty tents, and among the first to come to meet them was a richly dressed horseman, who greeted the baron with enthusiasm. –At last! he exclaimed, shaking her hands. We have been waiting for you anxiously for more than a month , Mr. de Morel. Welcome you! Did you receive my letter? –My presence here is due to her alone. But I am truly amazed, M. de Latour, that you have not yourself taken command of these brave archers. –Impossible, my noble friend! exclaimed the Gascon chief. You already know what these English people are like and there is no way for them to accept anyone who is not their countryman as their leader. I myself have not been able to gain their trust and obedience; As usual, they had their cabal and the very stubborn ones, led by that hard-headed man you brought there, Simón Aluardo, decided that it would be you and no one else who would command them. But your plan was to reinforce the Guard with a hundred recruits, Baron. Where are they? –Waiting for us in Dax, where we will soon meet them. –Come to my tent, where you will rest and you and your squire will regain your strength somewhat with the little that I can offer you here. In the course of the conversation, Claudio Latour soon explained his plan to attack Montpezat and Castelnau, nearby and poorly defended towns, in the first of which he assured the baron that they would find more than two hundred thousand ducats hidden in the fortress, in addition to other not inconsiderable loot. –My plans are very different, Monsieur de Latour, said the de Morel irritably. I have come here to command those archers, putting them at the service of our lord king and the prince his son, who needs all our help to reinstate his ally Don Pedro on the throne of Castile. Today I propose to continue the march in the direction of Dax. –Well, for me, Latour replied with evident surprise and disgust, I am very satisfied with the life I lead here, I have not the slightest interest in that war you speak of and you certainly will not see me in Dax. –In that case, my lord, I will have the displeasure of taking charge of the White Guard without you. –If the Guard follows you, Baron, when they know that you plan to take them out of this region, where they live in abundance, with no other law than their will. “Well, let’s find out right away,” the baron replied impetuously. If I’m your boss, you’re coming with me to Dax right now; And if I’m not, by my name! So I don’t know what I’m doing in Auvergne, instead of taking my place in the prince’s escort. It didn’t take long for the archers to be gathered, to whom the baron, with a firm voice and energetic gesture, spoke in these terms: – They tell me, archers, that you have become fond of this gifted life that Here you have been, to the point of not wanting to leave Auvergne. But, by Saint George, I will not believe it of such brave soldiers, especially when you know that your prince is preparing a great enterprise and needs you. You have chosen me as your leader, and I will be your leader to guide you to Spain. I swear that the banner of the five roses will always wave wherever there are more laurels to be won. But if it is your wish to exchange glory and renown for vile profit and to remain in this region amidst indolence and plunder, seek another leader; I have lived honorably and shall die with honor. Among you are many sons of the county of Hanson; let them speak first and say whether they are ready to follow the banner of Morel. Immediately a large group of archers, robust mountaineers from Hanson, detached themselves from the column and acclaimed the baron with enthusiasm. “By the cross of my sword, boys!” cried Simon at that point, leaping onto a fallen tree trunk. It would be a disgrace to the White Guard to allow the prince to cross the southern mountains without us clearing a path for him with our bows! War is declared, the royal standard is fluttering in the breeze, and beneath its folds old Simon will be found , even if he has to go alone to Dax… “No, no! Long live Simon! We will all go!” cried the archers, who for the most part had no need of the example so opportunely set by the highly popular veteran. “Let Captain Latour speak!” was heard in the ranks. “Yes, let us hear the Gascon too!” another voice chimed in. “Soldiers!” exclaimed Claude Latour without needing to be urged. “I will do nothing but remind you of the many good things you leave here and the sad reward you are going to seek in a distant war. Liberty and rich booty in Auvergne, severe discipline and miserable pay in the army.” You know what your comrades in the White Guard who went to Italy have won: the sack of Mantua and the ransom of six hundred nobles. I will provide you here with such brilliant coups d’état as that… “That will turn them into a gang of thieves!” Tristan shouted, furious at this harangue. “However, the Gascon captain is not entirely wrong,” a grim-eyed archer timidly said. “You have always been a coward and a traitor, Marcos!” Simon roared, shaking his fist. “Let there be peace,” the Baron said calmly. “Those who prefer to serve Monsieur de Latour are free to follow him. The rest of you, with me wherever duty and patriotism call us.” A dozen archers slipped ashamedly toward the Gascon’s tent, driven off by the jeers of the entire column, which shortly afterward set off with the baron on the way to the English headquarters. Throughout the usually tranquil region stretching from the Adour to the border of Navarre, the numerous corps of the great army were bivouacked; everywhere could be seen the tents of Aquitanian, Gascon, and English chieftains. The Duke of Lancaster, brother of the prince, had just arrived from England with a retinue of four hundred cavalry and a large force of archers, the last reinforcements expected, and everything was ready for the march. The passes of Navarre remained in the hands of the vacillating Charles, who had tried to negotiate simultaneously with Henry of Castile and Edward of England; but the iron hand of the Black Prince forced him to yield and leave the mountain passes clear. To achieve this, the prince commissioned Captain Hugo Calverley, who at the head of his company quickly entered Navarre and set fire to Puente la Reina and Miranda. That challenge was enough for King Charles to desist from all opposition to the passage of the strong invading army through Navarrese territory. At the beginning of February, three days after the arrival of Baron Morel and his White Guard in Dax, the English army received the order to march towards Roncesvalles. The first to obey, by express order of the prince, were the three hundred archers of Morel, chosen to open the way and position themselves in the last stretch of the mountain range, in order to wait there and protect the passage of the entire army. Proud indeed, the Baron rode at the head of his men, fully armed and followed by Roger, Simon, and Reno, the latter carrying the standard of the famous warrior. “By my faith, Roger,” said the latter, “I would have preferred to see Charles of Navarre dispute with us the passage of those mountains, which I understand were the scene of a fierce battle in which a certain valiant Roland lost his life. ” “If you will allow me, Baron,” replied Reno, “I will tell you that I know the country well, having served under the King of Navarre. That building whose roof you see among the trees is an asylum and monastery and marks the place where Roland perished. The town on the left is Orbaiceta, land of good wine. ” “And to the right I see a hamlet… ” “It is the town of Los Aldudes, and beyond that the peaks of Altavista.” The Baron pointed out to Roger, who was admiring this beautiful scene, the contrast presented from that height between the arid Gascon plains of the north and the green meadows and picturesque hills of Navarre. They also saw here and there, on the tops of rocks or at the bends of a road, small groups of knights and soldiers of King Charles, who watched them in silence. A sight that put the Baron in a very bad mood, and he spoke of nothing less than falling sword in hand upon those neutral soldiers. The veteran longed for the days when, as he said, passage through foreign lands was never bought with gold or treaties, but was won at the point of the lance or one perished in the pursuit. Finally, the archers reached a point in the mountains from which the towers of Pamplona could be seen on the distant horizon, and there the White Guard halted, in compliance with the Prince’s orders. The high mountains were covered with snow, and the archers made themselves as comfortable as they could in a nearby village. Roger spent the rest of that day and part of the next watching the brilliant army assembled for this expedition parade under the banner of the King of England. Simon soon joined him and sat beside him on a high rock. “Men, horses, weapons, and trappings—all this is magnificent, Roger, and worthy of the attention you pay it,” said the veteran. “Our brave captain is furious because we have crossed the mountains without using arrows or lances, but either I am mistaken, or this Castilian campaign will provide him with as many opportunities to fight as his body can demand before we resume our march north. They say in the army that Henry of Trastamara can throw 40,000 soldiers against us, not counting Duguesclin’s French lances, and that all of them have sworn to die rather than see Don Pedro again on the throne of Castile.” “But our army is also numerous and seasoned.” “Twenty-seven thousand men altogether, and in a foreign land. But beware, mon petit, for here comes Chandos himself with his company, and behind them banners and shields among which you will recognize the best of our nobility.” While Simon was speaking, a strong column of archers had filed before them, followed by a standard-bearer bearing high the banner of Chandos. He rode a short distance behind, clad in full armor except for a helmet with long white plumes, which one of his squires held on the saddle. His white hair was covered by a purple velvet cap, and a page carried his mighty lance. He smiled with pleasure at the sight of the banner of the five roses waving over the hamlet and, with a farewell, followed his archers along the road to Pamplona. A short distance behind him rode twelve hundred English cavalry, their helmets, breastplates, and weapons glittering in the sun, forming a dazzling squadron, escorted by Lord Audley himself with his six hundred archers and the four renowned squires who had won such glory at Poitiers. Two hundred heavily armed horsemen preceded the Duke of Lancaster and his brilliant entourage, which included four heralds whose long tabards had the royal arms embroidered on their chests. On either side of the young prince rode the two seneschals of Aquitaine, Guiscard of Angle and Stephen Cosinton, the former carrying the flag of the duchy and the latter that of Saint George. Beyond, as far as the eye could see, column after column stretched endlessly, like a river of steel, dominated by graceful crests, gonfalons, and emblazoned shields. For much of that day, good Roger remained absorbed in contemplating the lucid squadrons and companies that paraded before him, while listening attentively to the names he mentioned and the interesting comments that the veteran Simón made, until the last men-at-arms had disappeared in the deep gorges of Roncesvalles, heading towards the plains of Navarre. In the company of the Duke of Lancaster , the kings of Mallorca and Navarre and the impatient Don Pedro of Castile arrived in Pamplona, with the English vanguard. There were also handsome Gascon knights, from Aquitaine and Saintonge, from La Rochelle, Quercy, Limousin, Agenois, Poitou and Bigorre, with the banners and forces of their respective districts. And the large contingent from the country of Wales, under the scarlet flag of Merlin, should not be omitted . There also the old Duke of Armagnac with his nephew the Lord of Albret, those of Esparre, Breteuil and many more. On the fourth day the entire army was camped in the valley of Pamplona and the English prince summoned his leaders to a council in the royal palace of the ancient capital of Navarre. Chapter 30. THE WHITE GUARD IN THE PAMPLONA VALLEY. While the war council was being held in Pamplona, the White Guard was camped on the outskirts of the city, between the companies of the Gascon chief La Nuit and the Flemish Ortingo, and there they had fun throwing the sword, fighting hand to hand like ancient gladiators or showing their skill in the use of the bow, for which they served as white shields placed on the nearby eminences of the terrain. The novice archers came forward, formed in ranks, and carefully stretched their large bows, while the veterans like Yonson, Reno, Simón, and others carefully followed the flight of the arrows, commenting, applauding, or correcting the efforts of the shooters. Behind them were grouped many crossbowmen from La Nuit and Brabant, who observed with interest the exercise in which their English allies were engaged . –Bravo, Gerardo! said old Yonson to a young man with blue eyes and blonde hair who, with parted lips and fixed gaze, followed the direction of the arrow he had just shot. There you have it in the center of the target, and that’s what I expected since I saw it come out of your hand. Good archer, boy! –Always pull the string slowly and evenly and release the arrow without moving your hand, but suddenly, said Simón. And remember that these rules are law both when you shoot at a target and when a horseman comes at you behind the shield with a spear in the ready or a sword raised, ready to break your soul. But who is this one who holds the bow like a staff and who makes so many faces to aim? –It’s Sabas, from Bristol. Hey you, Sabas! Vifredo shouted, don’t bend your back, son, or stick out your tongue, damn how much that will help you put the arrow on the target. Raise that ugly face that God has given you, stand straight, and extend your left arm wide, without moving it; Now slowly pull the rope with your right hand. –By faith, I understand more about handling the sword and the pike than the bow, said Reno, but I have spent so many years among archers that I remember having witnessed prodigies. There are good shooters here, but not like some I remember. –Do you see that? Yonson asked the veteran, extending his arm toward a bombardment that was rising not far away on top of his inauspicious gun carriage. Well, the blame lies with those hulks, with their smoke and their roars. Before them, the archers of the good school are gradually disappearing . And it is wonderful that such a gentle warrior like our prince carries with him those dirty machines, which I hope will all burst with a thousand demons. –For archers of the first order, some that we had in the siege of Calais, observed Simón. I remember that on one of the many outings a Genoese raised his arm and waved it as if threatening us. Ten of our boys immediately released as many arrows at him, and when we later discovered his body it was seen that he had eight of them stuck in his forearm. -Well, I will tell you, replied Vifredo, that when the French took the galleon _Cristóbal_ from us and anchored it two hundred paces from the beach, two branded archers, Robin and Elías, did not need more than four arrows to cut the anchor cable as with a knife, so that the galleon almost crashed against the rocks and we shot those on board with great arrows. –Good times, those and better archers, indeed, said Reno, but well, there is Simón Aluardo, as expert as anyone; And as for you, Yonson, as if I hadn’t seen you win the fat bull there in Fenbury, when the first London archers competed against you in target shooting . He had been listening to them very attentively, leaning on his crossbow, a robust Fleming with a penetrating gaze and a swarthy face, whose dress and bearing revealed a junior officer of the Brabant troops. “I don’t understand,” he said, addressing the English archers, “why you like that six-foot-long perch so much, which makes you pull and strain like pack mules, when I, with the windlass of my crossbow, obtain the same results without any hassle.” –My eyes have seen good crossbow shots, Simón replied, but let me tell you, comrade, that comparing your weapon with the bow it seems to me like a woman’s bicoca, who can shoot it with as much ease and as much success as you. –Much would have to be said about that, the flamenco replied abruptly. But I certainly assure you that with my crossbow I do what none of you do with the bow. –Well said, _mon garçon!_ exclaimed Simón. The good rooster always crows loudly. But I stick to the facts and since I have practiced very little with the bow in recent times, there is old Yonson, who knows how to do things well and will uphold the honor of the White Guard against you. –I bet a gallon of Jura wine for the bow, said Reno, and for my beards I would prefer to bet it of good beer from London if there was such in these lands. –Bet! exclaimed the crossbowman. What I don’t see, he continued, looking around quickly, is a target that deserves the name, because I don’t have to waste my time shooting at those shields, good for training recruits. –That guy is the best marksman in the Allied companies, an English man-at-arms said in a low voice to Simón. This same morning I heard it said about him that he was the one who knocked down the constable of Borbón, badly wounded. –I answer for Yonson, whom I have seen handle the bow for twenty years, answered Simón. How are you, my old man? Do you decide to show this comrade what an English bow is worth? –You come to a large extent, Simón, as if for such attacks a macho archer, no matter how good he may have been, was worth more than one of those young drones with lynx eyes and iron fists. But anyway, let me try that bow of yours, Roldán, which seems like a good one to me. Scottish construction, you just have to look at it, light and flexible at the same time as powerful. No, not those arrows; one of those, three feathers per band and a long, narrow tip. –Those are the ones I like, bastard, said Simón. –Are you ready? the crossbowman asked, carefully putting a thick dart into his weapon. The news of the test that was being prepared had spread throughout the field and numerous spectators from the different companies formed a large semicircle behind the two jousters. The crossbowman’s gaze suddenly fixed on a stork, which, having crossed a distant hill, continued its lazy flight in the direction of the camp. As it drew near, they all saw a black dot hovering high above, which they soon recognized was a kite pursuing its victim. Terrified, the stork came to within a hundred paces of the archers, and the bird of prey began to circle in small circles, as if preparing to fall upon it, when the crossbowman, taking swift aim, pierced the poor stork with his shaft. Almost at the same time, Yonson drew his fearsome bow, and the arrow stopped the kite in its flight, which began to fall swiftly. A great clamor arose from the spectators, who applauded both feats. But everyone’s approval turned to astonishment when Yonson hurriedly fitted another arrow to his bow as soon as the first was fired, and aiming horizontally, he in turn planted a shaft in the unfortunate stork, almost as it hit the ground. A unanimous shout from the archers, a resounding expression of triumph, greeted this double feat of their comrade, whom Simon embraced tightly, dancing with joy. “Ah, old wolf!” he cried. “We’ll celebrate this together by emptying a jugful of good things. Not content with the kite, you had to skewer the stork as well. By the Great Turk’s beard! Another embrace!” “You are a good shot, by my faith,” said the crossbowman gravely, “but you have proved no better than I. I aimed at the stork and hit the target; no one could have done more.” “I don’t intend to outdo you as a shooter,” Yonson replied, “for I know your reputation; but I did want to show you that with the bow it is possible to do what you could not have done with your crossbow in the same time, given the time it takes to arm it and fire a second time. ” “That is true, but now it is my turn to show you an advantage of the crossbow over the bow. Draw yours as far as you can and shoot the arrow as far as it will go. My shaft will leave it far behind. Mark the distances, Arnaldo, by sticking a pike in the ground every hundred paces, and wait by the fifth one to collect and bring me my shafts.” The soldier did so, and a few moments later Yonson’s arrow was whizzing off . “Beyond the fourth pike!” cried Simon. “Bravo, Yonson!” exclaimed the archers. “Four hundred and twenty paces!” said a crossbowman who, with Arnaldo, had just measured the exact distance and came running back to the group. “Well, now you’ll see how a good Brabant shaft flies,” the crossbowman said calmly. “By the Cross of Gestas!” Tristan growled, “it’s fallen near the fifth pike. ” “No, further, further!” the Flemings shouted excitedly. “Five hundred and eight paces!” Arnaldo shouted, and everyone repeated in amazement. “Which of the two weapons wins now?” the crossbowman asked proudly. “At long range, yours has the advantage, I confess,” Yonson replied courteously. “Little by little!” our friend Tristan shouted at that point in a tremendous voice, advancing until he was beside the conceited crossbowman. “This bow you see here reaches farther than that machine of yours, with the windlass and all, and I’m going to test it for you right now. Would you prefer to shoot again? ” “I’ll stick to the five hundred and eight paces of my last shaft.” “Well, there goes my path of six hundred,” said the gigantic archer, lying on the ground, placing one foot on each end of his bow and vigorously drawing back the string, after fitting a very long arrow. “You’re going to be a mess, lazybones,” Simon told him. “Since when do you expect to outdo the veteran archers? ” “Calm down, Simon, this is a trick of mine and I know what I’m doing. ” “Good for Tristan! Break the bow if you have to, comrade!” the archers shouted. “Who’s that idiot standing there, on the way to my arrow?” asked Tristan, raising his head and looking towards the last pike. “It’s my soldier Arnold, who marks the place where my shaft fell and knows “He has nothing to fear from you there,” said the crossbowman. “No? Then may God forgive him!” exclaimed Tristan, stretching himself down again on the ground, steadying his feet and drawing the string until the bow creaked. “There he goes!” The whistle of the arrow was heard in the distance; the ground measurer threw himself face down on the ground and, getting up at once, began to run in the opposite direction to the group formed by the archers. “Hush, Tristan! If he doesn’t throw himself down, it won’t count! Well done, lad!” exclaimed the archers. “My God!” “I’ve never seen such a feat,” said the Brabant man. “As I said, it’s a trick of mine with which I earned myself a very good few quarts of beer back at the Hanson fairs,” replied Tristan, rising and smiling with satisfaction. “The arrow has fallen 130 paces beyond the fifth pike,” said several archers and soldiers. “Six hundred and thirty paces! That’s a tremendous shot, but it proves nothing in favor of your weapon, my sturdy friend, because to reach that distance you have turned yourself into a bow, and that was not what was agreed upon. ” “What you say is still true!” Simon nodded, laughing. “But now that we have tested both target and distance shooting, I will show you in turn how the bow beats the crossbow in penetrating power. Do you see that shield up high? It’s made of oak covered with leather. Drive your shaft into it as deeply as you can. ” “There it goes,” said the crossbowman, whom Simon imitated after carefully coating the tip of his arrow. “Bring me the shield, Elijah,” Simon said to an archer. The English were dismayed, and the people of La Nuit and Brabant laughed heartily when they saw that the solid shield bore only the crossbowman’s shaft deeply embedded in it, and no sign of Simon’s arrow. “By the life of the three kings!” exclaimed the Fleming. “You haven’t even hit the target, sir Englishman! ” “Haven’t you?” replied the veteran sarcastically; and turning the shield over, he pointed to a small hole on the inside. “Do you see this? It ‘s just what I expected; your shaft lodged in the oak tree just as it pierced the leather, while my shaft pierced the shield through and through.” The officer’s face revealed his humiliation and disgust, but before he could open his lips, Roger galloped up and, addressing the archers, said: “Our captain, the Baron de Morel, is following me closely and wants to find his soldiers gathered together so that he can deliver some good news in person.” Archers and men-at-arms hurriedly donned their helmets, donned mail and doublets, grasped their respective weapons, and in two minutes the White Guard was perfectly formed. Shortly after, the Baron arrived, cantering on his spirited steed and surveying the martial appearance of his men with evident satisfaction. “Soldiers,” he said, “I have come to announce to you that the White Guard has just been the object of a great honor. The Prince has chosen us to form the vanguard, and we shall be the first to attack the enemy. If any of you hesitate at this moment… ” “We shall follow you to the last! Long live our captain! ” the archers shouted together . “Very well. By Saint George!” I expected nothing less from you. We shall march tomorrow at dawn, and you shall mount the horses of Loring Company, which for the time being is incorporated into the reserve. Until tomorrow. ” The archers broke ranks with a thousand exclamations of joy, clapping and embracing one another as if they had just won a victory. The Baron was smiling as he watched them when a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and turning, he found the red-cheeked face of Sir Oliver Butron. “Here’s another recruit for you, knight-errant!” said the plump warrior. “I’ve just learned that you’ll be the first to march toward the Ebro, and I’ll go with you even if you don’t want me to. ” “Welcome, Oliver! Your company, besides being a pleasure, is an honor to me. ” “But I must confess frankly that I have a reason for it.” powerful…. –Yes, your desire to always find yourself where there are dangers to run and laurels to win. –Not exactly…. –What are you looking for, then? –Chickens. –Hey? –I will explain to you. Until now we must have had a party of starving people as our vanguard, judging by the clearing of provisions they have done along the way. Since we left Dax, my squire has been carrying a sack of exquisite truffles on his back, but rest assured that we will not find a single hen or a bad cock to eat them with as long as we do not leave those voracious marauders behind. And here is why, my good Lion, I enlist from now on under your flag, with truffles and all. –Always the same, Oliver! said the baron, laughing at his friend’s departure and inviting him to enter his tent. Chapter 31. HOW TRISTAN AND THE BARON TOOK TWO PRISONERS. Two days of accelerated march took the baron and his people to the opposite bank of the rapid Arga and beyond Estella, until they left behind the valleys and ravines of Navarra and found themselves facing the wide Ebro, on whose banks numerous hamlets stood. For an entire night the surprised inhabitants of Viana watched the passage of the river by that troop, who spoke a language strange to their ears and whose weapons and equipment attracted their attention no less powerfully. From that moment on, the White Guard was in the land of Castile and the next day he left them in a pine forest near the city of Logroño, where they stopped to take their men and horses for a much-needed rest, while the chiefs held a council chaired by the baron. He had with him Messrs. William Fenton, Oliver de Butrón, Burley, called the knight-errant of Scotland, Richard Causton and the Earl of Angus, all of them distinguished among the first knights of the army. The rest of the force made up sixty veteran men-at-arms and three hundred and twenty archers. Don Enrique de Trastamara, king of Castile, was camped with his army about ten leagues away in the direction of Burgos, according to reports provided to the baron by numerous spies. From these he also learned that the Castilian monarch commanded a powerful host of forty thousand infantry and twenty thousand horses. The council’s deliberations were long, and although Fenton and Burley maintained that the mission of the vanguard was well accomplished by then, since they had ascertained the position and number of the enemy, and that it was reckless to continue there with only four hundred men, between an army of sixty thousand and a mighty river, the opinion of Mr. de Morel and other knights prevailed, who did not want to cross the Ebro without seeing a single enemy or attempting any feat or adventure, no matter how risky it might be. So they continued their march, protected by the darkness of the night and guided by a shepherd whose guard Reno took charge of, beginning by firmly tying one of his wrists with a strong rope, the other end of which he secured to the pommel of his chair. Moments after dawn, when the passage through those bushes was becoming very difficult, their guide tremblingly announced to them that in the darkness he had lost his way; words that outraged the nearest archers, suspected of treachery, and almost cost the shepherd his life, when the sudden sound of bugles and drums revealed to the expedition members the immediacy of the enemy. –Speak, villain! What does that rumor mean? Mr. Fenton asked the trembling guide in good Spanish . –I know where we are! he exclaimed. The army camps in that valley. Let’s leave this ravine and from that height on the left you will see the king’s tents. Fenton took up the slope, the others followed him stealthily and when they reached the summit, the baron and the knights looked with caution through the rocks and bushes. The picture that the immediate valley offered to their view left them astonished. In front of them stretched a large plain covered with green grass and through which two streams wound. Throughout the valley, as far as the eye could see, were thousands of white tents, many of them adorned with the emblems and banners of the haughty Castilian and Leonese lords. Far away, in the center of that improvised city, a tent larger and more ornate than all the rest was undoubtedly the monarch’s residence. The call the English had heard was the first morning call; the camp was awakening, numerous soldiers were emerging from their tents, some heading for the nearest stream, while others were preparing and lighting a multitude of fires that began to emit columns of smoke. The English continued to lie in wait for a long time and saw that several groups of Castilian nobles, mounted on their beautiful steeds and followed by pages carrying trained falcons and goshawks, were preparing to indulge in their favorite pursuit of hunting. Large greyhounds ran and leaped beside them . “Arrogant gallants, by my faith,” said Simon to Roger, who, forgetting everything, was gazing with rapture at a spectacle so new to him. “What I think,” said Tristan in turn, “is that if I could seize one of those merry horsemen and make him pay a ransom, I could also buy my mother a couple of cows. ” “Don’t be a kestrel, Tristan,” replied Simon. “Instead, say that with the ransom you could buy a fine English farm and ten aranzadas of land on the banks of the Avon. ” “Yes? Well, I’m going to get one of them,” exclaimed Tristan, making a gesture of going down into the valley, in such a loud voice that it caught Morel’s attention . “No one move,” he ordered. Take off your helmets and lower your weapons so that the gleam of the steel in the sunlight does not attract the attention of the enemy. We must wait here hidden until nightfall.” They did so, fearing that they would be discovered and annihilated at any moment , something that seemed inevitable when, around noon, they saw a handsome, lightly armed knight coming up the valley path , mounted on a white horse and carrying a falcon perched on his left forehand. The hunter continued climbing until he reached the summit, forced his horse to break through the natural barrier formed by the bushes, and when he least expected it, he found himself surrounded by the strange warriors hidden there. With a cry of surprise and disgust, he wheeled his horse around, knocked down the two archers who were trying to stop it, and was about to gallop toward the valley when horse and knight were abruptly stopped by Tristan’s iron grip. A moment later, the rider lay fallen on the ground. “We have rescue,” said Tristan. “If I’m not mistaken, archer,” said the baron, stepping forward after a careful look at the surprised captive, “you have just taken prisoner the noble Spanish knight Don Diego de Álvarez, whom I had the honor of seeing for a time at the court of our prince. ” “I am Don Diego,” replied the knight, “and I would prefer death a thousand times over to being taken prisoner in an ambush by the villainous hands of an archer… Take my sword, sir captain. ” “Little by little, knight,” said the baron. “You are the prisoner of the soldier who took you captive, brave and honorable youth. Potentates of higher rank than you have ever been taken prisoner by English archers before now … ” “What ransom does that man ask?” interrupted the Castilian. “Well, I,” said Tristan hesitatingly when they had translated the question for him, “would like a few cows, and a little house, even a small one, with its garden and… ” “Enough, enough!” said the baron with a hearty laugh. Let me arrange this matter for you, archer. Everything the soldier wants, Don Diego, can be bought with money, and I believe that five thousand ducats is not too much to ask for the freedom of so renowned a knight. ” “They will be paid to him. ” “I am obliged, however, to retain you among us for a few days, and to ask your permission to use your armor, shield, and horse on an expedition I am planning.” –My harness, weapons and horse are yours by the law of war. –But they will be returned to you. Place sentinels, Simón, there at the entrance to the pass and a guard of archers with weapons ready in case any other knight visits us. Hours passed and the English continued to monitor all the movements of the great enemy host. As evening fell, great agitation was noticed in the countryside and then loud clamors and the sound of a hundred bugles. The cause was soon discovered; Along the path furthest from the point where the archers were crouching, a strong column arrived, new reinforcements for the Castilian army. “The devil take me,” Burley finally said, “if the banner with the double eagle of Duguesclín does not fly at the head of those horses!” –That’s right, said the one from Angus, and with him the French knights enlisted in Brittany and Anjou. –Four thousand horsemen at least, replied William Fenton. And there I see the great Bertrán in person, next to his flag. King Henry comes out to meet him with heralds, knights and banners. See them together heading towards the royal tent. While the Baron of Morel had dressed the armor of his prisoner Don Diego and as soon as the sun set he gave the order to his people to prepare their weapons. –Monsieur de Fenton, he said, I have resolved to attempt no small undertaking and I have chosen you to send our soldiers on a surprise sortie to the Castilian camp. First I will go out towards the center of the field, with only my squire and two archers. Fall on the enemy when you see me arrive at the king’s tent. You will leave twenty men here, on the path that starts from the glen, and you will hastily return to this same place after your rapid attack. –What are you planning, Morel? –You will see it later. Roger, you will continue to lead me by the bridle with a spare horse. Let the two archers who accompanied us on our trip through France, and in whom I have absolute confidence, come with us, well mounted. They will leave their bows here and neither they nor you will say a word, even if they speak to you in the field. Are you ready? –At your service, Mr. Baron, said Roger. –And so do we! exclaimed Simon and Tristan, mounting and advancing in turn. –I trust you, Fenton, said the baron. If God protects us we must meet here again within the hour. Forward! The baron mounted the white horse of Don Diego de Álvarez, and calmly left his hiding place followed by his three companions. Arriving at the valley, they found a multitude of groups of Castilian and French soldiers and knights fraternizing, among whom they passed without their presence attracting attention, and sliding between the rows of tents, they soon found themselves in front of the one that held the royal standard. At that moment great cries of surprise and terror broke out on the left of the field, towards which thousands of infantry and horsemen quickly headed and very soon the rumor of furious combat could be heard in the distance . With the exception of a few sentinels and pages, everyone who was close to the royal tent had disappeared, shouting and with weapons in hand, heading towards the place of the fight. –I have come here to take over the king! The baron then said to his people; and I will achieve it or perish in the demand. Roger and Simón immediately fell on the men-at-arms who were guarding the door and threw them at the feet of their horses. They dismounted quickly, as the baron had already done, and the three rushed into the tent, sword in hand, followed a moment later by Tristan who had been in charge of securing the five horses near the door. Screams and the clash of weapons were heard inside the tent and a few moments later the bold warriors came out again, their swords stained with blood and Tristan carrying on his back the richly dressed body of a fainted or dead man, who in the blink of an eye was secured on the spare horse. It cost the baron and his soldiers little, once mounted, to disperse the pages and servants of the king that surrounded them, and they galloped in the direction of the hill where they hoped to take refuge. The unexpected and furious attack of William Fenton with his four hundred archers had brought fearful confusion to the middle of the camp and sowed death in its wake. Multitudes of Castilian horsemen ran in all directions, without finding the enemy, mistaking them in the darkness for their allies, the French. Meanwhile, the baron, Roger and the two archers with their captive left the field on the other side, finding only two or three groups of soldiers in their path, which they surprised and easily dispersed. The few who pursued them retreated in haste when they reached the ravine and heard the bugles and drums being played there furiously by the twenty archers in ambush for that purpose. The pursuers, as the baron had foreseen, believed that a large English force, perhaps the entire army of the Black Prince, had taken possession of those heights. The same thing happened when, shortly afterwards, the horsemen commanded by Sir William Fenton fled and were pursued , without the enemy daring to continue the pursuit in the thicket, where the English were evidently ambushed in considerable numbers. –Contemplate my conquest, Morel! shouted as soon as Oliver de Butrón arrived, waving over his head a huge ham that he had taken from the enemy. I invite you, my friend Baron, although it is a pity that we do not have a bottle of good wine to spray it with…. –We will talk later, Oliver, said the baron panting. For now what matters is to march quickly towards the Ebro, through the deepest part of the forest. –Patience! said Mr. de Butrón. But who is that individual you bring there? –A prisoner that I have just taken in the royal tent and who, judging by his clothing and the shield with the arms of Castile embroidered on his chest, I hope is King Don Enrique himself. –The king! his listeners exclaimed in astonishment, surrounding the stranger. –You are deceived, Baron, said Fenton, who was looking attentively at the captive. I have seen the man from Trastamara twice and this man is nothing like him. –Well then, by heaven! I swear to return to the field right now and bring me the king, dead or alive. –It would be useless recklessness, Baron. The enemy camp is all about weapons. Who are you? Fenton asked sharply in Spanish, addressing the stranger. And how, not being the king, do you hold the shield of Castile? The prisoner had returned to consciousness from the fainting caused by Tristan’s vigorous fists, which had squeezed his neck without compassion or consideration. –I am part, he said, of the guard of nobles in charge of watching over the person of the king. My sovereign was fortunately in the tent destined for Duguesclín when you surprised me. I am Don Sancho de Penelosa, an Aragonese knight in the service of His Highness Don Enrique de Castilla and I will soon pay the ransom demanded of me. –Hold your money carefully, said the baron, deeply displeased with the failure of his daring enterprise. You are free. Tell your lord that an English nobleman, Baron León de Morel, has done everything possible tonight, although in vain, to pay his respects in person. It will be again. And now, my friends, on horseback and march! I had thought I could take off the patch that covers my eye tonight, but apparently I have to wear it for a while yet. Under way! Chapter 32. WHERE THE LORD OF MOREL FULFILLS HIS VOTE. The next morning, unpleasant and cold like many in the month of March in those surroundings, found our archers in a stony terrain and at the foot of very high rocks, whose tops were beginning to be gilded by the rising sun. In one of the groups that was hurriedly preparing breakfast were Reno, Simón and Yonson, more attentive to preparing their arrows and sharpening their swords than to watching over the stew, which the voracious Tristan solicitously took care of. Roger and Norbury, Sir Oliver’s silent squire, They tried to warm their chilled hands by the fire of the bonfire. –The stew is already boiling! exclaimed Yonson, putting aside his greatsword. Let’s eat, before they give us the order to march or a cloud of Castilians and French falls on us! –For the life of! said Simón looking at his friend Tristan, now that this kestrel is on the eve of receiving the large ransom of his prisoner, he will perhaps disdain eating with poor archers. Hey, Tristan? No more beakers of beer or half rations of cured meat, as soon as you find yourself in Horla again, but Gascon wine daily and roast meat until you’re fed up. –What I will do in Horla, sergeant, if I get there again, remains to be seen; What I do know is that for now I’m going to put my helmet in that cauldron and eat as much as I can, in case we don’t see a stew again all day. –Well said, boy! Hey, every man for himself! Who are you looking for, Robin? –The baron wishes to see you in his tent, said a young archer to Roger. As soon as Roger arrived in the presence of his lord, he handed him a bulky parchment, saying: – A messenger from His Highness has just brought me, who tells me that a gentleman who had recently arrived from England at the headquarters was the bearer of that and other parchments. –It is addressed to you, Lord Baron and written, as it says here, by the hand of Christopher, servant of God and Prior of the monastery of Salisbury. –Read soon, Roger. The young squire looked over the first lines, turned pale, and uttered an exclamation of surprise and pain. –What is it? the baron asked. Are you going to give me bad news about the Baroness or my daughter Constanza? –My brother, my unfortunate brother! exclaimed Roger. Hugo is dead! –He treated you in life like a mortal enemy, Roger, and I see no good reason for you to feel so sorry for his death. –He was the only relative I had left in the world. But what news! What an unexpected disaster! Listen, Mr. Baron. The prior wrote that shortly after Morel’s departure, a large force composed of adventurers, bandits and lost people from the entire region had gathered at the Munster farm and placed themselves under the orders of the wayward Hugh of Clinton , who after defeating the people of justice and the king’s soldiers sent against them, had laid siege to the castle of Monteagudo, inhabited by the baron’s wife and daughter . That the baroness, far from surrendering the fortress, had organized and directed the defense with such vigor and success that on the second day, after determined and deadly assaults, Hugo, the leader of the besiegers, had lost his life, and they had fled and dispersed. The letter ended by giving the best news about the health of both ladies and invoking the blessings of heaven on the baron. –The prophecy! said the baron after a long pause. Do you remember, Roger, what Duguesclín’s wife told us that memorable and fatal night? The storming of the castle, the boss with the blonde beard, everything, everything. It’s wonderful! And by the way, Roger; I have never asked you why the noble prophetess said about you that you had your mind set on the castle of Monteagudo with more perseverance and affection than I myself… -Perhaps she was also right when she said it, sir, replied the squire , blushing, because I confess that I think about that castle all day and dream about it at night. –Hello! exclaimed the baron. And how is that, Roger? –I must confess it to you. I love my lady Doña Constanza, your daughter, with the purest and deepest love…. –You surprise me, maiden, said the baron, frowning. For Saint George! Do you know that our blood is very noble and our name is very old? –So is mine, Mr. Baron, and the blood inherited from my elders is very noble. –Constanza is our only daughter and everything we have will belong to her one day. –I am also now the only Clinton, and my brother, having died without children, is the owner and lord of Munster. –It is true. But how come you haven’t told me about the case before? -I couldn’t do it, Mr. Baron, because I don’t even know if your daughter loves me. and there is no offer or promise between us. ” The famous warrior remained thoughtful and finally burst out laughing. “I swear by Saint George not to intervene in the matter!” he exclaimed. ” My beloved daughter is the arbiter of her choice, for I judge her quite capable of looking out for herself and choosing wisely. I know her, friend Roger, and if, as I imagine, she is thinking of you as you are of her, not even Henry of Trastamara with his sixty thousand soldiers can prevent my Constance from doing her will and ceasing to love whomever she loves. What I do have to remember here is that I have always desired a brave and accomplished knight as my daughter’s husband . You, Roger de Clinton, are on the way to becoming a brilliant lance, if God protects you. Continue earning merits and winning laurels. But enough of this matter; we will return to this discussion when we see the coasts of England again. We find ourselves in a very serious situation, and it is important to get out of it as soon as possible. ” Do me the favor of summoning Monsieur de Fenton, with whom I wish to confer before the enemy reaches us in this disadvantageous position. Roger obeyed immediately and, sitting down on a distant rock, tried to recall, one by one, the Baron’s words and his own confession. He also compared the unfavorable circumstances surrounding him when he had first seen his beloved, a destitute and homeless novice , with the comfortable position created for him by his brother’s untimely death. Furthermore, he had managed to win the Baron’s esteem and confidence ; his comrades in arms considered him a brave man among the brave men of the White Guard, despite his young age. Above all, the Baron had just heard the revelation of his love, more pleased than angry. The result of his meditations was the resolution not to abandon those mountains without winning shining laurels that would make him worthy of such high favor and such complete happiness as the future husband of the charming Constance de Morel could promise himself. At that instant, Roger heard the piercing note of a bugle, repeated three times, and, springing from the rock on which he sat, he saw the archers taking up their weapons and hurrying towards the horses. In a few moments he reached the group formed by the leaders and heard the Lord of Fenton say: “I have no doubt, it is the call of the enemy’s bugle. But it is impossible that Henry’s troops have overtaken us so quickly. ” “You forget,” said the baron, “the reports of the peasant whom we surprised last night. A brother of the Castilian king,” he told us, “had gone ahead of the main body of the army to harass our advance guard with a body of six thousand cavalry, and I greatly fear that our hasty march has led us from one danger only to plunge us into another. ” “That is indeed so,” said the Angus native. “What shall we do?” “Take up positions on that height and sell our lives dearly, or save them if reinforcements arrive.” The highest of those hills, difficult to climb on all sides and with a fairly extensive plain at the summit, offers us an admirable natural fortress. Give, Fenton, the marching orders without losing a moment. Keep your horses, gentlemen, but let the soldiers abandon theirs. If we win, we will have plenty of enemy horses to spare. Since the Castilian leader has discovered us and is not hiding, let us also show him the colors of our flag. Our souls are in the hands of God, our bodies at the service of the king. Let us draw our swords, for Saint George and England! The Baron’s enthusiasm was communicated to his soldiers, and the entire Guard climbed with resolute steps up the less steep slope, bristling with boulders and covered with loose rocks that rolled before them and bounced away, bouncing, into the valley floor. The height that the English archers finally reached was in fact a very strong position, an enormous truncated cone from whose upper base they could sweep with their arrows the steep path that they had just traveled with great difficulty, while on the other sides the sheer rock formed the position impregnable. The fog that until then had covered the valley began to dissipate, floating in large wisps that touched the treetops for a moment and then rose, fading into space. The sun then illuminated the surroundings of the rock converted into a fortress and nobles and archers contemplated with admiration the vast force that surrounded them. The helmets and armor of numerous squadrons shone and the shouts they gave and the sound of the bugles and drums also indicated that they had discovered the refuge of their enemies and that they were preparing for the attack. The baron and his leaders gathered before the four banners of his force, which were that of the English arms, that of Morel and those of Butrón and Merlín, the latter ensign of some sixty archers from the country of Wales. –Do you see, Baron, that beautiful flag embroidered with gold that flies in front of the others? Fenton asked. Well, it is that of the famous knights of Calatrava, and not far from it that of the Order of Santiago. In the center is the royal standard, and either I was very deceived or there are also many French knights in that force. What do you say to that, Don Diego? The prisoner of Tristan of Horla gazed with joy and enthusiasm at the brilliant cohorts of his countrymen. –For Santiago! he exclaimed. You and your friends are going to fall to the push of the most famous knights of León and Castile. A brother of our king commands that force , and without counting the glorious banners of Calatrava and Santiago, I see there those of Albornoz, Toledo, Cazorla, Rodríguez Tavera and many others, in addition to those of many Aragonese and French nobles. The attack did not wait long. The brilliant squadrons of the two great military orders advanced in perfect formation, and when the archers were already preparing their weapons they saw with surprise that their enemies stopped, brandishing spears and swords, and that from their ranks two warriors came forward armed to the nines, their visors drawn down and with large white plumes that fluttered in the wind on their shining helmets . Both raised in their stirrups and brandishing their lances, it was evident that they were challenging the English knights. –A poster, for the life of me! shouted the baron, his only uncovered eye shining. It will not be said that the Baron de Morel has refused such a courteous proposal. And you, Fenton? The English knight’s response was to jump on his horse, and holding, like the baron, the lance and embracing the shield, both riders descended the steep slope with dangerous speed, in the direction of the two Castilian champions, who in turn came out to meet them. William Fenton’s opponent was a handsome knight, young and vigorous in appearance, whose spear struck the Englishman’s shield so hard that it broke it in two, at the same time that Fenton’s steel spear pierced his throat, knocking him to the ground. Driven by the enthusiasm of triumph and the ardor of combat, Sir William continued his furious career and disappeared among the tight ranks of Calatrava’s knights , who in the blink of an eye accounted for the brave English champion. The baron, meanwhile, had found a competitor worthy of his effort and vigor in a warrior as famous as Don Sebastián de Gomera, chosen lance of the knights of the Order of Santiago. They attacked each other with such fury that at the first encounter both spears were broken, and wielding the steel they attacked each other with unparalleled bravery. The combat was long , with brilliant blows and parries that demonstrated the skill of both, until Santiago’s impatiently made his horse jump until it touched the Englishman’s, and lunging at the baron, he surrounded his body with his arms. Both enemies fell to the ground closely joined, the Castilian managed to dominate his adversary, whose body was weaker than his, and placing a knee on his chest, he raised his armed arm to put an end to the furious combat with a thrust. But he never delivered the fatal blow. The baron’s sword, quick as lightning, entered obliquely under the raised arm of his enemy, and he He fell heavily to the ground, uttering a muffled cry. Confused shouts of applause and spite were heard on both sides and the baron, jumping on his horse, rushed towards the height, at the same time that the besiegers undertook the attack on the English position. The archers received them with a hail of arrows that made entire ranks of the assailants bite the dust. Their vain efforts to reach the height were useless ; The narrowness and slope of the road and the obstacles added to their path by the bodies of men and horses crowded together and wallowing in bloody heaps only allowed them to advance slowly, making them easy targets for the enemy’s arrows, and very soon the call to retreat was heard. The archers congratulated themselves when they discovered another enemy even more fearsome than the impotent spears of the horsemen. Numerous Castilian slingers had taken possession of other nearby heights and from them they threw deadly stones, with such force and success that in a few moments the veteran Yonson and some other archers were lying lifeless and fifteen of them and six men-at-arms were badly wounded. The English took shelter as best they could behind the rocks, many lay down on the ground and directed their accurate arrows at the slingers. –Baron! exclaimed Mr. de Burley at that moment; Simón just told me that we don’t have more than two hundred arrows left together. To do? In my opinion, the time has come to parley or die almost defenseless. –For now, answered the Baron de Morel, tearing off the patch that had covered his left eye for so long, I believe I have fulfilled my vow by killing in loyal combat one of the most powerful and famous enemy knights! And now let’s die killing! –I say the same, Oliver de Butrón agreed calmly, holding up a heavy mace. –Fire every last arrow, archers! Morel’s man shouted. Then you will still have swords and axes to sell your lives dearly! Chapter 33. THE ROCK OF THE ENGLISH. As if the enemy had heard or guessed the words of the intrepid leader, the cry of revenge and extermination of that brave race, which had been fighting for centuries with the Arabs and was preparing the annihilation of another handful of invaders, no less hated than Muhammad’s sectarians, was then raised throughout the valley and on the neighboring peaks. Bloody and terrible was the fight, so long, so fierce that even today tradition preserves memory of it and among the mountaineers of the region the theater of the hecatomb is known by the name of the Rock of the English. But they did not give in to the second assault. The archers’ arrows soon exhausted , they fought desperately with swords, pikes, axes and maces, taking advantage of all the advantages of their position. Fortunately, the hand-to-hand combat prevented the Castilian slingers from continuing their work of destruction. The besiegers and the besieged fought in confusion at the only point on the road where the height could be scaled, and there they went, giving an example to their soldiers, the few English nobles who surrounded the baron. There were moments when he, Roger and Butrón would have perished without the timely reinforcement of the Scotsman Burley at the head of the Welsh veterans, who fell on the enemy with unparalleled fury , forcing them to retreat a long way. But the losses of the besieged were irreparable, while the Castilians had entire squadrons and companies in reserve in the valley, both of them unable to take part in the fight until then due to the conditions of the terrain. A gigantic knight from Santiago came to scale the last rocks, and felling three archers with as many blows, he brandished the sharp sword again, when the courageous Sir Oliver grabbed him in his sinewy arms. Both enemies struggling furiously, and rolling on the ground in a deadly embrace, they reached the edge of the high plain. and they fell off the cliff into the horrendous precipice. Simon’s sword and Tristan’s enormous ax shone in the sun and struck incessantly over the enemy’s heads in the front line. Reno fell at his side, badly wounded, and Sir Richard Causton also perished there. The lord of Morel, covered in blood, performed prodigies of courage, going everywhere , encouraging and directing his soldiers, closely followed by Roger, who returned blow for blow, more eager to protect his lord than himself. Finally, the archers and men-at-arms who were formed to the right and left of the place where the fighting was fiercest, made a supreme effort and, rushing towards the besiegers, pursuing them and attacking them with desperation, pushed back somewhat that incessant enemy column, in which the incessant casualties seemed not to make a dent. While the Castilian forces were regrouping and their leaders consulted, that partial retreat provided the English who were still alive with the rest they so desperately needed. Great had been their losses. Of the three hundred and seventy men they had when undertaking the defense of that height, no more than one hundred and fifty remained standing , many of them wounded. Among the dead were already the brave nobles Burley, Butrón and Causton and the veterans Yonson and Reno. Nor was the survivors’ respite complete, because as soon as the fields were demarcated, the slingers in possession of the immediate peaks resumed their attack. –Now more than ever I am proud to command you, said the baron, contemplating with love the handful of heroes that surrounded him. What is that, Roger? Are you hurt? –A scratch, Mr. Baron, answered the squire, staunching the blood from a cut that crossed his forehead. “I wish to speak to you, Roger, and to you too, Norbury,” said the baron, addressing Sir Oliver’s squire. The three headed to the opposite end of the high plain, under which the rock was seen cut almost to the peak, with some rocks protruding from place to place. –It is essential, continued M. de Morel, that the prince have exact news of what happened. We may be able to resist another attack because they cannot all attack us at the same time, but the end is not far away. On the other hand, the arrival of timely aid would allow the defense of this position to be prolonged and save the lives of those who were still defending it. Do you see those horses that graze down there, among the rocks? –Yes, sir baron, answered the squires. –And that path that disappears further into the trees and seems to lead to the other end of the valley? A determined horseman could perhaps reach the prince’s camp, or cross paths with Sir Hugo Calverley’s forces, who must not be far away, and provide us with the long-awaited relief. Here is a rope long and strong enough so that one of you can descend to the first rocks of the ravine. What do you say? –I say, sir, replied Roger, that I am ready to obey you right now. But how can I get away from you in these circumstances? –To serve me better and perhaps to save me, Roger. And you, Norbury? In response, the squire, no less courageous than Roger, grabbed the rope and began to secure it firmly around a projecting rock. Then he took off some pieces of his armor, helped by Roger, who did the same with his own, while the baron continued, addressing Norbury: -If the prince has already passed with the bulk of the army, investigate as best you can the whereabouts of Chandos, Calverley or Nolles. God protect you! The baron and Roger, deeply moved, followed with their eyes, leaning over the rocks, the dangerous descent of the young squire. He had arrived at a short distance and was trying to rest his foot on a cleft in the rock, when he received the first volley from the enemy slingers. One of the stones hit him squarely in the temple and, extending his arms, he collapsed into the abyss. “If God does not give me a better fortune than that unfortunate man,” said Roger to the baron, Please tell your daughter that I died thinking of her and with her name on my lips. Tears sprang to the eyes of the noble warrior, who, placing both hands on Roger’s shoulders, kissed him affectionately. The young man ran to the rope and slid down it with great speed. The stones hurled by the enemy’s slings crashed against the rock; one grazed his hair, and finally another struck him in the side, causing him excruciating pain. Having reached the end of the rope, however, he let himself fall from no small height to the summit of the highest cliff, which lay at the foot of the formidable rock where his friends were besieged. So high was this that Roger still had to descend more than twenty yards, down a steep slope that offered him little purchase. Clinging desperately to the wild plants that grew in the clefts of the rocks, placing his feet in the slightest depressions of the sloping plain, or on stones that frequently broke away and threatened to drag him down with them, exposing himself to death ten times over, he finally reached firm ground and, leaping from rock to rock or running through the bushes, found himself safe and sound on the plain that the baron had shown him from above, where some horses were grazing. He was already stretching out his hand to seize the bridle of one of them when a powerful stone hit him on the head, knocking him down, stunned. The slinger who had performed that feat, seeing Roger alone and exhausted, and judging from the young man’s appearance and dress that he was an English knight, began to descend precipitately from the hill where he had been posted with others, anxious to rob his victim and knowing that the archers had exhausted all their arrows. But he hadn’t reckoned with Tristan de Horla, who, lifting a heavy boulder with his strong hands, brought it crashing down on the slinger as he passed at the foot of the rock. He did so with such skill that he shattered one of his shoulders, knocking him to the ground, where he began to scream loudly. Hearing them, Roger sat up, looked around as if in a daze, and suddenly saw one of the horses standing a few paces away from him. A moment was enough for him to jump into the saddle and gallop down the path that was to lead him out of that fatal valley. But he soon knew his strength was going to fail him; he felt an excruciating pain in his side, his vision blurred, and with a supreme effort, he bent over the horse’s neck, clasped it tightly in his arms, and closed his eyes, almost insensible to his surroundings. Roger never knew how long that frantic race lasted. When he came to, he found himself surrounded by English soldiers caring for him . It was a detachment of two hundred archers and men-at-arms commanded by the fearsome Hugh of Calverley, who, at Roger’s first words, dispatched messengers to the prince’s nearby camp and, placing himself at the head of his soldiers, galloped off to the aid of the Baron of Morel. Roger also went with him, tied to the horse that led him, almost exhausted from loss of blood, the blows he had received, and the vicissitudes of that tremendous journey. When the English reached a height that partially dominated the valley, they saw the Castilian flag on the summit of the rock that had been converted into a fortress . The enemy had finally seized that bastion defended with such heroism. But the fighting had not completely ceased; at one end of the elevated plain, a handful of Englishmen still offered a weak resistance. That spectacle drew a cry of fury from Sir Hugh and his soldiers, who, digging their spurs into the flanks of their horses, rushed, blinded by rage, against the enemy squadrons. The furious attack surprised them greatly, and, ignorant of the number of their enemies and believing that they were surrounded by the bulk of the English army that was in those surroundings, they gave the signal to retreat, hastening to leave the valley in search of a more favorable position for defense. The English did not think of continuing their attack or of pursuing them. Their main desire was to reach the height where they hoped to rescue some of their friends. A sad picture was offered to his view; lots of dead and wounded Castilian and Leonese, French and English; and beyond, at the foot of a rock, seven archers, with the indomitable Tristan of Horla in the center, all wounded but not yet defeated, brandishing their bloody swords and greeting their saviors with a shout of welcome. –Tremendous fight and heroic defense of yours! exclaimed Sir Hugo, gazing with amazement at that devastating scene. But what is that? Have you also taken prisoners? He continued saying when he saw Don Diego de Álvarez unarmed among the archers. –Only one, and it belongs to me, Tristan replied. I have carefully guarded and defended it, because it represents my fortune and that of my old mother if I ever see myself again in Horla…. –Tristan, where is the Baron de Morel? Roger interrupted anxiously. –I think he has perished, like almost everyone. I saw the enemy put his body on a horse. He was fainted or dead and they took him away…. –God in heaven! And Simon? –I also saw him throw himself, sword in hand, at our lord’s captors , and I don’t know if they killed him or took him prisoner. –Give the bugles the marching order! cried Sir Hugo in a booming voice. Curse! Let’s return to the field, and I promise you that within three days we will have avenged the Baron de Morel! I am counting on you, brave men, and from now on you are incorporated into my favorite squad. –We are archers and we belong to the White Guard, sir, Tristan ventured to say. –Ah, yes! The famous White Guard! replied the great English guerrilla, looking sadly around. But the Guard no longer exists; Death has taken charge of disbanding it. Take good care of that brave squire, because I fear he will never see the light of the sun again, he added, pointing to the fainted Roger. Under way! Chapter 34. RETURN TO THE HOMELAND. We find ourselves in England, on a beautiful July morning, four months after the events that are described. Along the road that led directly to the ancient city of Vinchester and at a not very great distance from it were two horsemen, one young, handsome and richly attired, with the knight’s golden spurs, while the other, a Herculean young man, had more traces of a farmhand than a soldier, his profession not to reveal the formidable sword that he carried at his belt. On the rump of his horse was a sack that contained, among other things, the five thousand ducats that Don Diego de Álvarez had paid for his ransom. Needless to say, the rider was our jovial friend Tristan of Horla, recently elevated to the dignity of squire to Sir Roger de Clinton, lord of Munster, at whose side he was riding at that moment. Roger had been knighted by the Black Prince himself, to the applause of the entire army who considered him one of the most brilliant soldiers in the kingdom. That unprecedented defense, that supreme effort of the White Guard had been referred to and praised throughout Christendom and the crown prince, in the name of the sovereign, had showered honors on the few survivors of such an honorable feat of arms. For more than a month Roger fluctuated between life and death, and as soon as his youth triumphed and his delirium ceased, he knew that the war had ended and that nothing had been found out about the whereabouts or fate of the Baron de Morel. He received the congratulations and praise that the prince lavished on him in person, and as soon as he was ready to endure the trip to London, he embarked accompanied by his faithful Tristan. Immediately upon arriving at that city they set out on the road to Hanson, since Roger had no news since the prior’s letter that announced his brother’s death. Tristan commented with admiration and enthusiasm about everything they saw along the way, the greenery and lushness of the fields, the nuances of the flowers and the beautiful appearance of the cattle. –It is good that you rejoice, friend Tristan, said the young knight, But as for me, I never thought of returning home with such bitterness in my heart. I weep for my lord and for the brave Simon Aluardo, and I do not know how I shall dare to communicate the loss of the former to the Baroness and her daughter, supposing they have not already heard of his misfortune. “Alas!” cried Tristan, with a groan that frightened the horses. ” This is a hard situation you find yourselves in, and I too mourn the death of both of you. But don’t worry, I will give half of these ducats I have here to my mother, and we will add the other half to the money you have, to buy the Yellow Galleon that took us to Bordeaux, and with it we will set out in search of the Baron. ” “Good Tristan!” said Roger, smiling. ” But ah! If the Baron were still alive, we would have had news of him by now. What town is that?” he asked a little later. “Romsey!” I know it well. There stands the monastery with its old brown tower. Allow me to give a coin to the venerable hermit you see sitting there on that stone by the roadside. The old man suspended his prayers to accept the archer’s gift. “You are soldiers, I see, my children, and my prayers will accompany you in your endeavors. ” “We come from Spain, reverend father,” said Tristan. “You say from Spain? Ah! An unfortunate expedition in which so many brave Englishmen have sacrificed the lives God would grant them. This very day I gave my blessing to a noble lady who has lost all she loved in that cruel and distant war. ” “What do you say?” asked Roger with lively interest. “Yes, a young and very important lady of this region, tranquil and happy as none have been a few months ago, and who is preparing to take the veil at the convent at Romsey. Have you not heard, my good gentlemen, of a company called the White Guard?” “Oh yes, very much so!” they both said at once. “For the father of the lady I speak of was the commander of that valiant force, and her betrothed was squire to the famous captain. News reached us that not a single member of the Guard had survived a series of fierce battles, and the poor maiden… ” “Finish!” cried Roger. “Are you speaking of Lady Constance de Morel? ” “The very same. ” “Constance the nun! What are you saying? Has the loss of her father had such a terrible effect on her? ” “Her father and the gallant, fair-haired youth whom she adored. It is the death of the latter that truly opens the doors of the cloister for her… ” “Ride, Tristan! To Romsey!” cried Roger, urging his horse to ride, which rode like an arrow. Great had been the joy of the nuns of Romsey upon learning that the noble and beautiful Constance de Morel had asked to be accepted as their sister after a short novitiate. All the preparations for the solemn ceremony were made , the temple decorated, the altar covered with flowers, and numerous groups of townspeople were gathered in the atrium or were making their way to the church next to the monastery, eager to witness the imposing ceremony. They had already seen the venerable abbess pass by with her large golden crucifix, followed by the sisters, the clergy, and the acolytes with their smoking censers, and by some beautiful girls who carpeted the ground with flowers as the novice passed by. She followed them among four of her companions, covered from head to toe in a white veil, the center of all eyes. That solemn procession reached the doors of the temple and was about to enter when a sudden confusion was noticed in one of the corners of the square, from which loud cries soon arose. The crowd first swayed and then made way for a rider, a young knight covered in dust, who without hesitation launched his steed into the compact mass of the people. He was the messenger of youth and love, who arrived in time to snatch from the cloister a life that was by no means destined for him. Arriving at the steps that led to the atrium, he jumped from his horse, and abruptly pushing aside the surprised abbess, the young man went to the spot where the novice was standing and, extending Towards her his arms, he exclaimed with a loving accent, in which the deepest emotion palpitated: –Constanza! –Roger! The novice was about to faint, but Roger received her in his arms and hugged her lovingly, to the great scandal of the abbess and with no less admiration of the twenty nuns and novices who witnessed such an unexpected outcome. But Constanza and Roger did not realize what was happening around them, lost as they were in mutual contemplation, intoxicated with the immense happiness of seeing themselves reunited after a separation that she had believed to be eternal. Behind the lovers was the dark entrance arch of the temple; in front of them their entire lives , full of light, joy and happiness. Their choice was made in a moment and they headed, hands clasped, towards the light, in search of love, leaving her forever the cloister, both of them forgetting for the moment their past sadness. The elderly Father Christopher blessed their union shortly afterwards in the church of Salisbury Priory. The only witnesses to the tender ceremony were the baroness, Tristan of Horla and a dozen archers and castle servants. The courageous Madame de Morel, after long months of anxiety and bitter suffering, still doubted the death of the baron; It seemed impossible to him that, having returned from so many deadly campaigns, the supreme hour had struck for him on that last expedition, far from his home, deprived of the love of his loved ones and the solicitous care of his loving wife. He certainly expressed the desire to go to Spain in person and exhaust all resources to find out the baron’s whereabouts. Roger dissuaded her from her project, convincing her that it was his turn to undertake that trip, and she had to remain accompanying her daughter and taking care of the multiple interests involved in the administration of the vast properties of Munster, linked to that of the castle of Monteagudo and its dependencies. Roger chartered the _Yellow Galleon_, commanded by the same brave captain Golvín, and a month after his wedding the young lord of Munster left for Sorel, accompanied by his faithful Tristan, in order to find out if what they considered an unforgettable galleon had arrived from Southampton. Shortly before reaching Sorel they stopped at Dalton, a small town on the coast, where Roger noticed the presence of a small galley that had just arrived, judging by the number of boats and launches that surrounded it to take its cargo ashore . A crossbow shot from the town there was a small building, between an inn and a tavern, towards which the two travelers headed. An individual looked out from a window on the first and only floor of the house and seemed to be watching them with curiosity. Tristán was watching him when a robust girl ran out of the inn, laughing out loud and followed closely by a scoundrel who very soon disappeared, like the girl, among the orchard trees. The riders set foot on the ground , tied their horses to the fence and as soon as they took the path that led to the house, they stopped astonished, contemplating each other in silence, seized with deep emotion. –Ah, _ma belle!_ said a sonorous voice. That’s how you treat an old soldier who hasn’t even seen a good English girl for a long time? By the edge of my sword! Wait a little and instead of a kiss I’ll give you half a dozen…. An exclamation of joy escaped the smiling lips of Roger and Tristan. It was Simón, there was no doubt! Simón good and healthy, who as soon as he set foot on land returned to his old ways. They were going to rush in search of him, to shout for him, when they heard another voice coming from the window. –What’s happening, Simon? he said. If you need me, I don’t ask for anything better than to take up the sword and loosen the arm’s numbness a little, bringing to heel the first one who gets out of control and seeks quarrels with us, even if it is on our own land . Simón appeared upon hearing his master’s voice and in an instant he found himself seized by Tristan’s formidable arms, from which he passed to Roger’s. The good Simón had not returned from his surprise when the Baron de Morel appeared at the door, sword in hand and winking his little eyes more than ever, in search of an imaginary enemy. The hugs were then renewed, which the baron and the veteran soon returned in abundance, possessed of immense joy. During the return trip his friends heard the story of his wonderful adventures. Both taken prisoner in the Homeric struggle, there in Spain, they found themselves captives of an Aragonese nobleman, who after a long journey took them to the coast, where he embarked them towards some possessions he had there. His ship surprised on the high seas by the Barbary pirates, his sufferings increased under the barbaric yoke of his new master; But arriving at a small African port, the indomitable baron found a way to kill the pirate captain in the boat that was taking them to land and then throwing himself into the water followed by Simon, they swam to land and after a thousand hardships managed to embark on the galley that had just taken them to England, but not without rich booty seized by cunning from their cruel enemies. It is useless to speak of his reception at the castle of Monteagudo, and of the immense happiness that filled that happy home, shortly before so overwhelmed by sadness and pain. Baron León de Morel still lived many years, full of honors, calm and happy. The happiness of Roger de Clinton and his adored wife was also complete. Twice he fought in France, winning precious laurels and high fame. He was granted a distinguished position at court and for many years he held brilliant positions in the reigns of Richard and Henry IV, who conferred upon him the order of the Garter and honored him as one of the first knights and bravest champions of his time. As for Tristán de Horla, he married a pretty girl from Dunán and settled there permanently, enjoying the prestige that his exploits gave him and the five thousand ducats so bravely won there in the land of Spain. He and his inseparable friend Simón frequently enlivened the bustling evenings of _Pájaro Verde_ with their presence and their perennial joy . Simón ended up offering his love and his name to the good innkeeper who so faithfully kept his loot from previous campaigns. This is how those men lived, rude if you will, like the era in which they were born and died, but frank, honest and brave, leaving future generations an example worthy of imitation and applause. The story of ‘The White Guard’ leaves us with a deep reflection on war, sacrifice and the fight for justice. As the characters face their own dilemmas, they remind us that even in the darkest moments, hope and courage can prevail. This story invites us to think about the price of peace and the value of loyalty. Thank you for joining us in this story, and don’t forget to subscribe for more captivating stories.
Sumérgete en el intrigante mundo de ‘La Guardia Blanca’ de Arthur Conan Doyle, una obra cargada de acción, misterios y valientes héroes. 🌟 En este relato histórico, nos encontramos con el valor y la astucia en un contexto de lucha y estrategia durante la época medieval. 🏰
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