“They are already at Dax, where we shall join them,” said Sir Nigel. “But let the men break their fast, and we shall then take counsel what to do.”
“Come into my hut,” said Sir Claude. “It is but poor fare that I can lay before you—milk, cheese, wine, and bacon—yet your squire and yourself will doubtless excuse it. This is my house where the pennon flies before the door—a small residence to contain the Lord of Montchateau.”
Sir Nigel sat silent and distrait at his meal, while Alleyne hearkened to the clattering tongue of the Gascon, and to his talk of the glories of his own estate, his successes in love, and his triumphs in war.
“And now that you are here, Sir Nigel,” he said at last, “I have many fine ventures all ready for us. I have heard that Montpezat is of no great strength, and that there are two hundred thousand crowns in the castle. At Castelnau also there is a cobbler who is in my pay, and who will throw us a rope any dark night from his house by the town wall. I promise you that you shall thrust your arms elbow-deep among good silver pieces ere the nights are moonless again; for on every hand of us are fair women, rich wine, and good plunder, as much as heart could wish.”
“I have other plans,” answered Sir Nigel curtly; “for I have come hither to lead these bowmen to the help of the prince, our master, who may have sore need of them ere he set Pedro upon the throne of Spain. It is my purpose to start this very day for Dax upon the Adour, where he hath now pitched his camp.”
The face of the Gascon darkened, and his eyes flashed with resentment. “For me,” he said, “I care little for this war, and I find the life which I lead a very joyous and pleasant one. I will not go to Dax.”
“Nay, think again, Sir Claude,” said Sir Nigel gently; “for you have ever had the name of a true and loyal knight. Surely you will not hold back now when your master hath need of you.”
“I will not go to Dax,” the other shouted.
“But your devoir—your oath of fealty?”
“I say that I will not go.”