CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.

hestpinnaclethereflauntedtheyellowandwhitebannerwiththelionsandthetowersoftheroyalhouseofCastile.Upthelongsloperushedranksandranksofmenexultant,shouting,withwavingpennonsandbrandishedarms.Overthewholesummitweredensethrongsofknights,withnoenemythatcouldbeseentofacethem,saveonlythatatonecorneroftheplateauaneddyandswirlamidthecrowdedmassseemedtoshowthatallresistancewasnotyetatanend.Atthesightadeepgroanofrageandofdespairwentupfromthebaffledrescuers,and,spurringontheirhorses,theyclattereddownthelongandwindingpathwhichledtothevalleybeneath. Buttheyweretoolatetoavenge,astheyhadbeentoolatetosave.Longeretheycouldgainthelevelground,theSpaniards,seeingthemridingswiftlyamidtherocks,andbeingignorantoftheirnumbers,drewofffromthecapturedhill,and,havingsecuredtheirfewprisoners,rodeslowlyinalongcolumn,withdrum-beatingandcymbal-clashing,outofthevalley.Theirrearrankswerealreadypassingoutofsighterethenew-comerswereurgingtheirpanting,foaminghorsesuptheslopewhichhadbeenthesceneofthatlongdrawnandbloodyfight. Andafearsomesightitwasthatmettheireyes!Acrossthelowerendlaythedenseheapofmenandhorseswherethefirstarrow-stormhadburst.Above,thebodiesofthedeadandthedying—French,Spanish,andAragonese—laythickandthicker,untiltheycoveredthewholegroundtwoandthreedeepinonedreadfultangleofslaughter.AbovethemlaytheEnglishmenintheirlines,evenastheyhadstood,andhigheryetupontheplateauawildmedleyofthedeadofallnations,wherethelastdeadlygrapplehadleftthem.Inthefurthercorner,undertheshadowofagreatrock,therecrouchedsevenbowmen,withgreatJohninthecentreofthem—allwounded,weary,andinsorrycase,butstillunconquered,withtheirblood-stainedweaponswavingandtheirvoicesringingawelcometotheircountrymen.AlleynerodeacrosstoJohn,whileSirHughCalverleyfollowedclosebehindhim. “BySaintGeorge!”criedSirHugh,“Ihaveneverseensignsofsosternafight,andIamrightgladthatwehavebeenintimetosaveyou.” “Youhavesavedmorethanus,”saidJohn,pointingtothebannerwhichleanedagainsttherockbehindhim. “Youhavedonenobly,”criedtheoldfreecompanion,gazingwithasoldier'sadmirationatthehugeframeandboldfaceofthearcher.“Butwhyisit,mygoodfellow,thatyousituponthisman.” “Bytherood!Ihadforgothim,”Johnanswered,risinganddraggingfromunderhimnolessapersonthantheSpanishcaballero,DonDiegoAlvarez.“Thisman,myfairlord,meanstomeanewhouse,tencows,onebull—ifitbebutalittleone—agrindstone,andIknownotwhatbesidessothatIthoughtitwelltosituponhim,lestheshouldtakeafancytoleaveme.” “Tellme,John,”criedAlleynefaintly:“whereismydearlord,SirNigelLoring?” “Heisdead,Ifear.Isawthemthrowhisbodyacrossahorseandrideawaywithit,butIfearthelifehadgonefromhim.” “Nowwoeworthme!AndwhereisAylward?” “HespranguponariderlesshorseandrodeafterSirNigeltosavehim.Isawthemthrongaroundhim,andheiseithertakenorslain.” “Blowthebugles!”criedSirHugh,withascowlingbrow.“Wemustbacktocamp,anderethreedaysItrustthatwemayseetheseSpaniardsagain.Iwouldfainhaveyeallinmycompany.” “WeareoftheWhiteCompany,myfairlord,”saidJohn. “Nay,theWhiteCompanyisheredisbanded,”answeredSirHughsolemnly,lookingroundhimatthelinesofsilentfigures.“Looktothebravesquire,forIfearthathewillneverseethesunriseagain.”