CHAPTER XXXV. HOW SIR NIGEL HAWKED AT AN EAGLE.

m. “Ifitpleaseyou,fairlord,”saidBlackSimon,“thismanhathmisledus,andsincethereisnotreeuponwhichwemayhanghim,itmightbewelltohurlhimoveryondercliff.” Thepeasant,readingthesoldier'smeaninginhisfierceeyesandharshaccentsdroppeduponhisknees,screamingloudlyformercy. “Howcomesit,dog?”askedSirWilliamFeltoninSpanish.“Whereisthiscamptowhichyousworethatyouwouldleadus?” “BythesweetVirgin!BytheblessedMotherofGod!”criedthetremblingpeasant,“IsweartoyouthatinthedarknessIhavemyselflostthepath.” “Overthecliffwithhim!”shoutedhalfadozenvoicesbuterethearcherscoulddraghimfromtherockstowhichheclungSirNigelhadriddenupandcalleduponthemtostop. “Howisthis,sirs?”saidhe.“Aslongastheprincedothmethehonortoentrustthisventuretome,itisformeonlytogiveordersand,bySaintPaul!Ishallberightblithetogoverydeeplyintothematterwithanyonetowhommywordsmaygiveoffence.Howsayyou,SirWilliam?Oryou,myLordofAngus?Oryou,SirRichard?” “Nay,nay,Nigel!”criedSirWilliam.“Thisbasepeasantistoosmallamatterforoldcomradestoquarrelover.Buthehathbetrayedus,andcerteshehathmeritedadog'sdeath.” “Harkye,fellow,”saidSirNigel.“Wegiveyouonemorechancetofindthepath.Weareabouttogainmuchhonor,SirWilliam,inthisenterprise,anditwouldbeasorrythingifthefirstbloodshedwerethatofanunworthyboor.Letussayourmorningorisons,anditmaychancethaterewefinishhemaystrikeuponthetrack.” Withbowedheadsandsteelcapsinhand,thearchersstoodattheirhorse'sheads,whileSirSimonBurleyrepeatedthePater,theAve,andtheCredo.LongdidAlleynebearthesceneinmind—theknotofknightsintheirdullleaden-huedarmor,theruddyvisageofSirOliver,thecraggyfeaturesoftheScottishearl,theshiningscalpofSirNigel,withthedenseringofhard,beardedfacesandthelongbrownheadsofthehorses,alltoppedandcircledbythebeetlingcliffs.Scarcehadthelastdeep“amen”brokenfromtheCompany,when,inaninstant,thererosethescreamofahundredbugles,withthedeeprollingofdrumsandtheclashingofcymbals,allsoundingtogetherinonedeafeninguproar.Knightsandarcherssprangtoarms,convincedthatsomegreathostwasuponthembuttheguidedroppeduponhiskneesandthankedHeavenforitsmercies. “Wehavefoundthem,caballeros!”hecried.“Thisistheirmorningcall.Ifyewillbutdeigntofollowme,Iwillsetthembeforeyouereamanmighttellhisbeads.” Ashespokehescrambleddownoneofthenarrowravines,and,climbingoveralowridgeatthefurtherend,heledthemintoashortvalleywithastreampurlingdownthecentreofitandaverythickgrowthofelderandofboxuponeitherside.Pushingtheirwaythroughthedensebrushwood,theylookedoutuponascenewhichmadetheirheartsbeatharderandtheirbreathcomefaster. Infrontofthemtherelayabroadplain,wateredbytwowindingstreamsandcoveredwithgrass,stretchingawaytowhere,inthefurthestdistance,thetowersofBurgosbristledupagainstthelightbluemorningsky.Overallthisvastmeadowtherelayagreatcityoftents—thousandsuponthousandsofthem,laidoutinstreetsandinsquareslikeawell-orderedtown.Highsilkenpavilionsorcoloredmarquees,shootingupfromamongthecrowdofmeanerdwellings,markedwherethegreatlordsandbaronsofLeonandCastiledisplayedtheirstandards,whileoverthewhiteroofs,asfaraseyecouldreach,thewavingofancients,pavons,pensils,andbanderoles,withflashofgoldandglowofcolors,proclaimedthatallthechivalryofIberiaweremusteredintheplainbeneaththem.Faroff,inthecentreofthecamp,ahugepalaceofredandwhitesilk,withtheroyalarmsofCastilewaivingfromthesummit,announcedthatthegallantHenrylaythereinthemidstofhiswarriors. AstheEnglishadventurers,peepingoutfrombehindtheirbrushwoodscreen,lookeddownuponthiswondroussighttheycouldseethatthevastarmyinfrontofthemwasalreadyafoot.Thefirstpinklightoftherisingsunglittereduponthesteelcapsandbreastplatesofdensemassesofslingersandofcrossbowmen,whodrilledandmarchedinthespaceswhichhadbeenleftfortheirexercise.Athousandcolumnsofsmokereekedupintothepuremorningairwherethefaggotswerepiledandthecamp-kettlesalreadysimmering.Intheopenplaincloudsoflighthorsegallopedandswoopedwithswayingbodiesandwavingjavelins,afterthefashionwhichtheSpanishhadadoptedfromtheirMoorishenemies.Allalongbythesedgybanksoftheriverslonglinesofpagesledtheirmasters'chargersdowntowater,whiletheknightsthemselvesloungedingayly-dressedgroupsaboutthedoorsoftheirpavilions,orrodeout,withtheirfalconsupontheirwristsandtheirgreyhoundsbehindthem,inquestofquailorofleveret. “Bymyhilt!mongar.!”whisperedAylwardtoAlleyne,astheyoungsquirestoodwithpartedlipsandwonderingeyes,gazingdownatthenovelscenebeforehim,“wehavebeenseekingthemallnight,butnowthatwehavefoundthemIknownotwhatwearetodowiththem.” “Yousaysooth,Samkin,”quotholdJohnston.“IwouldthatwewereuponthefarsideofEbroagain