CHAPTER XXXV. HOW SIR NIGEL HAWKED AT AN EAGLE.

,forthereisneitherhonornorprofittobegainedhere.Whatsayyou,Simon?” “Bytherood!”criedthefierceman-at-arms,“IwillseethecoloroftheirbloodereIturnmymare'sheadforthemountains.AmIachild,thatIshouldrideforthreedaysandnoughtbutwordsattheendofit?” “Wellsaid,mysweethoneysuckle!”criedHordleJohn.“Iamwithyou,likehilttoblade.CouldIbutlayhandsupononeofthosegayprancersyonder,IdoubtnotthatIshouldhaveransomenoughfromhimtobuymymotheranewcow.” “Acow!”saidAylward.“SayrathertenacresandahomesteadonthebanksofAvon.” “Sayyouso?Then,byourLady!hereisforyonderoneintheredjerkin!” Hewasabouttopushrecklesslyforwardintotheopen,whenSirNigelhimselfdartedinfrontofhim,withhishanduponhisbreast. “Back!”saidhe.“Ourtimeisnotyetcome,andwemustliehereuntilevening.Throwoffyourjacksandheadpieces,leasttheireyescatchtheshine,andtetherthehorsesamongtherocks.” Theorderwasswiftlyobeyed,andintenminutesthearcherswerestretchedalongbythesideofthebrook,munchingthebreadandthebaconwhichtheyhadbroughtintheirbags,andcraningtheirneckstowatchtheever-changingscenebeneaththem.Veryquietandstilltheylay,saveforamutteredjestorwhisperedorder,fortwiceduringthelongmorningtheyheardbugle-callsfromamidthehillsoneithersideofthem,whichshowedthattheyhadthrustthemselvesinbetweentheoutpostsoftheenemy.Theleaderssatamongstthebox-wood,andtookcounseltogetherastowhattheyshoulddowhilefrombelowtheresurgedupthebuzzofvoices,theshouting,theneighingofhorses,andalltheuproarofagreatcamp. “Whatbootsittowait?”saidSirWilliamFelton.“Letusridedownupontheircamperetheydiscoverus.” “AndsosayI,”criedtheScottishearl“fortheydonotknowthatthereisanyenemywithinthirtylongleaguesofthem.” “Formypart,”saidSirSimonBurley,“Ithinkthatitismadness,foryoucannothopetoroutthisgreatarmyandwhereareyoutogoandwhatareyoutodowhentheyhaveturneduponyou?Howsayyou,SirOliverButtesthorn?” “BytheappleofEve!”criedthefatknight,“itappearstomethatthiswindbringsaverysavorysmellofgarlicandofonionsfromtheircooking-kettles.Iaminfavorofridingdownuponthematonce,ifmyoldfriendandcomradehereisofthesamemind.” “Nay,”saidSirNigel,“Ihaveaplanbywhichwemayattemptsomesmalldeeduponthem,andyet,bythehelpofGod,maybeabletodrawoffagainwhich,asSirSimonBurleyhathsaid,wouldbescarcepossibleinanyotherway.” “Howthen,SirNigel?”askedseveralvoices. “Weshalllieherealldayforamidthisbrushwooditisillforthemtoseeus.Thenwheneveningcomesweshallsallyoutuponthemandseeifwemaynotgainsomehonorableadvancementfromthem.” “Butwhythenratherthannow?” “Becauseweshallhavenightfalltocoveruswhenwedrawoff,sothatwemaymakeourwaybackthroughthemountains.Iwouldstationascoreofarchershereinthepass,withallourpennonsjuttingforthfromtherocks,andasmanynakirsanddrumsandbuglesaswehavewithus,sothatthosewhofollowusinthefadinglightmaythinkthatthewholearmyoftheprinceisuponthem,andfeartogofurther.Whatthinkyouofmyplan,SirSimon?” “Bymytroth!Ithinkverywellofit,”criedtheprudentoldcommander.“Iffourhundredmenmustneedsrunatiltagainstsixtythousand,Icannotseehowtheycandoitbetterormoresafely.” “AndsosayI,”criedFelton,heartily.“ButIwishthedaywereover,foritwillbeanillthingforusiftheychancetolightuponus.” Thewordswerescarceoutofhismouthwhentherecameaclatterofloosestones,thesharpclinkoftrottinghoofs,andadark-facedcavalier,mounteduponawhitehorse,burstthroughthebushesandrodeswiftlydownthevalleyfromtheendwhichwasfarthestfromtheSpanishcamp.Lightlyarmed,withhisvizoropenandahawkpercheduponhisleftwrist,helookedabouthimwiththecarelessairofamanwhoisbentwhollyuponpleasure,andunconsciousofthepossibilityofdanger.Suddenly,however,hiseyeslituponthefiercefaceswhichglaredoutathimfromthebrushwood.Withacryofterror,hethrusthisspursintohishorse'ssidesanddashedforthenarrowopeningofthegorge.Foramomentitseemedasthoughhewouldhavereachedit,forhehadtrampledoverordashedasidethearcherswhothrewthemselvesinhiswaybutHordleJohnseizedhimbythefootinhisgraspofironanddraggedhimfromthesaddle,whiletwootherscaughtthefrightenedhorse. “Ho,ho!”roaredthegreatarcher.“Howmanycowswiltbuymymother,ifIsettheefree?” “Hushthatbull'sbellowing!”criedSirNigelimpatiently.“Bringthemanhere.BySt.Paul!itisnotthefirsttimethatwehavemetfor,ifImistakenot,itisDonDiegoAlvarez,whowasonceattheprince'scourt.” “ItisindeedI,”saidtheSpanishknight,speakingintheFrenchtongue,“andIprayyoutopassyourswordthroughmyheart,forhowcanIlive—I,acaballeroofCastile—afterbeingdraggedfrommyhorsebythebasehandsofacommonarcher?” “Fretnotforthat,”answeredSirNigel.“For,insooth,hadhenotpulledyoudown,adozencloth-yardshaftshadcrossedeachotherinyo