EVEN the squires' table at the Abbey of St. Andrew's at Bordeauxwas on a very sumptuous scale while the prince held his courtthere. Here first, after the meagre fare of Beaulieu and thestinted board of the Lady Loring, Alleyne learned the lengths towhich luxury and refinement might be pushed. Roasted peacocks,with the feathers all carefully replaced, so that the bird layupon the dish even as it had strutted in life, boars' heads withthe tusks gilded and the mouth lined with silver foil, jellies inthe shape of the Twelve Apostles, and a great pasty which formedan exact model of the king's new castle at Windsor--these were afew of the strange dishes which faced him. An archer had broughthim a change of clothes from the cog, and he had already, withthe elasticity of youth, shaken off the troubles and fatigues ofthe morning. A page from the inner banqueting-hall had come withword that their master intended to drink wine at the lodgings ofthe Lord Chandos that night, and that he desired his squires tosleep at the hotel of the "Half Moon" on the Rue des Apotres.Thither then they both set out in the twilight after the longcourse of juggling tricks and glee-singing with which theprincipal meal was concluded.

A thin rain was falling as the two youths, with their cloaks overtheir heads, made their way on foot through the streets of theold town, leaving their horses in the royal stables. Anoccasional oil lamp at the corner of a street, or in the porticoof some wealthy burgher, threw a faint glimmer over the shiningcobblestones, and the varied motley crowd who, in spite of theweather, ebbed and flowed along every highway. In thosescattered circles of dim radiance might be seen the whole busypanorama of life in a wealthy and martial city. Here passed theround-faced burgher, swollen with prosperity, his sweeping dark-clothed gaberdine, flat velvet cap, broad leather belt anddangling pouch all speaking of comfort and of wealth. Behind himhis serving wench, her blue whimple over her head, and one handthrust forth to bear the lanthorn which threw a golden bar oflight along her master's path. Behind them a group ofswaggering, half-drunken Yorkshire dalesmen, speaking a dialectwhich their own southland countrymen could scarce comprehend,their jerkins marked with the pelican, which showed that they hadcome over in the train of the north-country Stapletons. Theburgher glanced back at their fierce faces and quickened hisstep, while the girl pulled her whimple closer round her, forthere was a meaning in their wild eyes, as they stared at thepurse and the maiden, which men of all tongues could understand.Then came archers of the guard, shrill-voiced women of the camp,English pages with their fair skins and blue wondering eyes,dark-robed friars, lounging men-at-arms, swarthy loud-tonguedGascon serving-men, seamen from the river, rude peasants of theMedoc, and becloaked and befeathered squires of the court, alljostling and pushing in an ever-changing, many-colored stream,while English, French, Welsh, Basque, and the varied dialects ofGascony and Guienne filled the air with their babel. From timeto time the throng would be burst asunder and a lady's horse-litter would trot past towards the abbey, or there would come aknot of torch-bearing archers walking in front of Gascon baron orEnglish knight, as he sought his lodgings after the palacerevels. Clatter of hoofs, clinking of weapons, shouts {rom thedrunken brawlers, and high laughter of women, they all rose up,like the mist from a marsh, out of the crowded streets of thedim-lit city.

One couple out of the moving throng especially engaged theattention of the two young squires, the more so as they weregoing in their own direction and immediately in front of them.They consisted of a man and a girl, the former very tall withrounded shoulders, a limp of one foot, and a large flat objectcovered with dark cloth under his arm. His companion was youngand straight, with a quick, elastic step and graceful bearing,though so swathed in a black mantle that little could be seen ofher face save a flash of dark eyes and a curve of raven hair.The tall man leaned heavily upon her to take the weight off histender foot, while he held his burden betwixt himself and thewall, cuddling it jealously to his side, and thrusting forwardhis young companion to act as a buttress whenever the pressure ofthe crowd threatened to bear him away. The evident anxiety ofthe man, the appearance of his attendant, and the joint care withwhich they defended their concealed possession, excited theinterest of the two young Englishmen who walked within hand-touchof them.

"Courage, child!" they heard the tall man exclaim in strangehybrid French. "If we can win another sixty paces we are safe."

"Hold it safe, father," the other answered, in the same soft,mincing dialect. "We have no cause for fear,"

"Verily, they are heathens and barbarians," cried the man; "mad,howling, drunken barbarians! Forty more paces, Tita mia, and Iswear to the holy Eloi, patron of all learned craftsmen, that Iwill never set foot over my door again until the whole swarm aresafely hived in their camp of Dax, or wherever else they cursewith their presence. Twenty more paces, my treasure: Ah, my God!how they push and brawl! Get in their way, Tita mia! Put yourlittle elbow bravely out! Set your shoulders squarely againstthem, girl! Why should you give way to these mad islanders? Ah,cospetto! we are ruined and destroyed!"

The crowd had thickened in front, so that the lame man and thegirl had come to a stand. Several half-drunken English archers,attracted, as the squires had been, by their singular appearance,were facing towards them, and peering at them through the dimlight.

"By the three kings!" cried one, "here is an old dotard shrew tohave so goodly a crutch! Use the leg that God hath given you,man, and do not bear so heavily upon the wench."

"Twenty devils fly away with him!" shouted another. "What, how,man! are brave archers to go maidless while an old man uses oneas a walking-staff?"

"Come with me, my honey-bird!" cried a third, plucking at thegirl's mantle.

"Nay, with me, my heart's desire!" said the first. "By St.George! our life is short, and we should be merry while we may.May I never see Chester Bridge again, if she is not a rightwinsome lass!"

"What hath the old toad under his arm?" cried one of the others."He hugs it to him as the devil hugged the pardoner."

"Let us see, old bag of bones; let us see what it is that youhave under your arm!" They crowded in upon him, while he,ignorant of their language, could but clutch the girl with onehand and the parcel with the other, looking wildly about insearch of help.

"Nay, lads, nay!" cried Ford, pushing back the nearest archer."This is but scurvy conduct. Keep your hands off, or it will bethe worse for you."

"Keep your tongue still, or it will be the worse for you,"shouted the most drunken of the archers. "Who are you to spoilsport?"

"A raw squire, new landed," said another. "By St. Thomas ofKent! we are at the beck of our master, but we are not to beordered by every babe whose mother hath sent him as far asAquitaine."

"Oh, gentlemen," cried the girl in broken French, "for dearChrist's sake stand by us, and do not let these terrible men dous an injury."

"Have no fears, lady," Alleyne answered. "We shall see that allis well with you. Take your hand from the girl's wrist, younorth-country rogue!"

"Hold to her, Wat!" said a great black-bearded man-at-arms, whosesteel breast-plate glimmered in the dusk. "Keep your hands fromyour bodkins, you two, for that was my trade before you wereborn, and, by God's soul! I will drive a handful of steel throughyou if you move a finger."

"Thank God!" said Alleyne suddenly, as he spied in the lamplighta shock of blazing red hair which fringed a steel cap high abovethe heads of the crowd. "Here is John, and Aylward, too! Helpus, comrades, for there is wrong being done to this maid and tothe old man."

"Hola, mon petit," said the old bowman, pushing his way throughthe crowd, with the huge forester at his heels. "What is allthis, then? By the twang of string! I think that you will havesome work upon your hands if you are to right all the wrongs thatyou may see upon this side of the water. It is not to be thoughtthat a troop of bowmen, with the wine buzzing in their ears, willbe as soft-spoken as so many young clerks in an orchard. Whenyou have been a year with the Company you will think less of suchmatters. But what is amiss here? The provost-marshal with hisarchers is coming this way, and some of you may find yourselvesin the stretch-neck, if you take not heed."

"Why, it is old Sam Aylward of the White Company!" shouted theman-at-arms. "Why, Samkin, what hath come upon thee? I can callto mind the day when you were as roaring a blade as ever calledhimself a free companion. By my soul! from Limoges to Navarre,who was there who would kiss a wench or cut a throat as readilyas bowman Aylward of Hawkwood's company?"

"Like enough, Peter," said Aylward, "and, by my hilt! I may nothave changed so much. But it was ever a fair loose and a clearmark with me. The wench must be willing, or the man must bestanding up against me, else, by these ten finger bones I eitherwere safe enough for me."

A glance at Aylward's resolute face, and at the huge shoulders ofHordle John, had convinced the archers that there was little tobe got by violence. The girl and the old man began to shuffle onin the crowd without their tormentors venturing to stop them.Ford and Alleyne followed slowly behind them, but Aylward caughtthe latter by the shoulder.

"By my hilt! camarade," said he, "I hear that you have done greatthings at the Abbey to-day, but I pray you to have a care, for itwas I who brought you into the Company, and it would be a blackday for me if aught were to befall you."

"Nay, Aylward, I will have a care."

"Thrust not forward into danger too much, mon petit. In a littletime your wrist will be stronger and your cut more shrewd.

There will be some of us at the 'Rose de Guienne' to-night, whichis two doors from the hotel of the 'Half Moon,' so if you woulddrain a cup with a few simple archers you will be right welcome."

Alleyne promised to be there if his duties would allow, and then,slipping through the crowd, he rejoined Ford, who was standing intalk with the two strangers, who had now reached their owndoorstep.

"Brave young signor," cried the tall man, throwing his arms roundAlleyne, "how can we thank you enough for taking our partsagainst those horrible drunken barbarians. What should we havedone without you? My Tita would have been dragged away, and myhead would have been shivered into a thousand fragments."

"Nay, I scarce think that they would have mishandled you so,"said Alleyne in surprise.

"Ho, ho!" cried he with a high crowing laugh, "it is not the headupon my shoulders that I think of. Cospetto! no. It is the headunder my arm which you have preserved."

"Perhaps the signori would deign to come under our roof, father,"said the maiden. "If we bide here, who knows that some freshtumult may not break out."

"Well said, Tita! Well said, my girl! I pray you, sirs, tohonor my unworthy roof so far. A light, Giacomo! There are fivesteps up. Now two more. So! Here we are at last in safety.Corpo di Baccho! I would not have given ten maravedi for my headwhen those children of the devil were pushing us against thewall. Tita mia, you have been a brave girl, and it was betterthat you should be pulled and pushed than that my head should bebroken."

"Yes indeed, father," said she earnestly.

"But those English! Ach! Take a Goth, a Hun, and a Vandal, mixthem together and add a Barbary rover; then take this creatureand make him drunk--and you have an Englishman. My God I wereever such people upon earth! What place is free from them? Ihear that they swarm in Italy even as they swarm here.Everywhere you will find them, except in heaven."

"Dear father," cried Tita, still supporting the angry old man, ashe limped up the curved oaken stair. "You must not forget thatthese good signori who have preserved us are also English."

"Ah, yes. My pardon, sirs! Come into my rooms here. There aresome who might find some pleasure in these paintings, but I learnthe art of war is the only art which is held in honor in yourisland."

The low-roofed, oak-panelled room into which he conducted themwas brilliantly lit by four scented oil lamps. Against thewalls, upon the table, on the floor, and in every part of thechamber were great sheets of glass painted in the most brilliantcolors. Ford and Edricson gazed around them in amazement, fornever had they seen such magnificent works of art.

"You like them then," the lame artist cried, in answer to thelook of pleasure and of surprise in their faces. "There are thensome of you who have a taste for such trifling."

"I could not have believed it," exclaimed Alleyne. "What color!What outlines! See to this martyrdom of the holy Stephen, Ford.Could you not yourself pick up one of these stones which lie tothe hand of the wicked murtherers?"

"And see this stag, Alleyne, with the cross betwixt its horns.By my faith! I have never seen a better one at the Forest ofBere."

"And the green of this grass--how bright and clear! Why all thepainting that I have seen is but child's play beside this. Thisworthy gentleman must be one of those great painters of whom Ihave oft heard brother Bartholomew speak in the old days atBeaulieu."

The dark mobile face of the artist shone with pleasure at theunaffected delight of the two young Englishmen. His daughter hadthrown off her mantle and disclosed a face of the finest and mostdelicate Italian beauty, which soon drew Ford's eyes from thepictures in front of him. Alleyne, however, continued withlittle cries of admiration and of wonderment to turn from thewalls to the table and yet again to the walls.

"What think you of this, young sir?" asked the painter, tearingoff the cloth which concealed the flat object which he had bornebeneath his arm. It was a leaf-shaped sheet of glass bearingupon it a face with a halo round it, so delicately outlined, andof so perfect a tint, that it might have been indeed a human facewhich gazed with sad and thoughtful eyes upon the young squire.He clapped his hands, with that thrill of joy which true art willever give to a true artist.

"It is great!" he cried. "It is wonderful! But I marvel, sir,that you should have risked a work of such beauty and value bybearing it at night through so unruly a crowd."

"I have indeed been rash," said the artist. "Some wine, Tita,from the Florence flask! Had it not been for you, I tremble tothink of what might have come of it. See to the skin tint: it isnot to be replaced, for paint as you will, it is not once in ahundred times that it is not either burned too brown in thefurnace or else the color will not hold, and you get but a sicklywhite. There you can see the very veins and the throb of theeblood. Yes, diavolo! if it had broken, my heart would havebroken too. It is for the choir window in the church of St.Remi, and we had gone, my little helper and I, to see if it wasindeed of the size for the stonework. Night had fallen ere wefinished, and what could we do save carry it home as best wemight? But you, young sir, you speak as if you too knewsomething of the art."

"So little that I scarce dare speak of it in your presence,"Alleyne answered. "I have been cloister-bred, and it was no verygreat matter to handle the brush better than my brother novices."

"There are pigments, brush, and paper," said the old artist. "Ido not give you glass, for that is another matter, and takes muchskill in the mixing of colors. Now I pray you to show me a touchof your art. I thank you, Tita! The Venetian glasses, cara mia,and fill them to the brim. A seat, signor!"

While Ford, in his English-French, was conversing with Tita inher Italian French, the old man was carefully examining hisprecious head to see that no scratch had been left upon itssurface. When he glanced up again, Alleyne had, with a few boldstrokes of the brush, tinted in a woman's face and neck upon thewhite sheet in front of him.

"Diavolo!" exclaimed the old artist, standing with his head onone side, "you have power; yes, cospetto! you have power, it isthe face of an angel!"

"It is the face of the Lady Maude Loring!" cried Ford, even moreastonished.

"Why, on my faith, it is not unlike her!" said Alleyne, in someconfusion.

"Ah! a portrait! So much the better. Young man, I am AgostinoPisano, the son of Andrea Pisano, and I say again that you havepower. Further, I say, that, if you will stay with me, I willteach you all the secrets of the glass-stainers' mystery: thepigments and their thickening, which will fuse into the glass andwhich will not, the furnace and the glazing--every trick andmethod you shall know."

"I would be right glad to study under such a master," saidAlleyne; "but I am sworn to follow my lord whilst this warlasts."

"War! war!" cried the old Italian. "Ever this talk of war. Andthe men that you hold to be great--what are they? Have I notheard their names? Soldiers, butchers, destroyers! Ah, perBacco! we have men in Italy who are in very truth great. Youpull down, you despoil; but they build up, they restore. Ah, ifyou could but see my own dear Pisa, the Duomo, the cloisters ofCampo Santo, the high Campanile, with the mellow throb of herbells upon the warm Italian air! Those are the works of greatmen. And I have seen them with my own eyes, these very eyeswhich look upon you. I have seen Andrea Orcagna, Taddeo Gaddi,Giottino, Stefano, Simone Memmi--men whose very colors I am notworthy to mix. And I have seen the aged Giotto, and he in turnwas pupil to Cimabue, before whom there was no art in Italy, forthe Greeks were brought to paint the chapel of the Gondi atFlorence. Ah, signori, there are the real great men whose nameswill be held in honor when your soldiers are shown to have beenthe enemies of humankind."

"Faith, sir," said Ford, "there is something to say for thesoldiers also, for, unless they be defended, how are all thesegentlemen whom you have mentioned to preserve the pictures whichthey have painted?"

"And all these!" said Alleyne. "Have you indeed done them all?--and where are they to go?"

"Yes, signor, they are all from my hand. Some are, as you see,upon one sheet, and some are in many pieces which may fastentogether, There are some who do but paint upon the glass, andthen, by placing another sheet of glass upon the top andfastening it, they keep the air from their painting. Yet I holdthat the true art of my craft lies as much in the furnace as inthe brush. See this rose window, which is from the model of theChurch of the Holy Trinity at Vendome, and this other of the'Finding of the Grail,' which is for the apse of the Abbeychurch. Time was when none but my countrymen could do thesethings; but there is Clement of Chartres and others in France whoare very worthy workmen. But, ah! there is that ever shriekingbrazen tongue which will not let us forget for one short hourthat it is the arm of the savage, and not the hand of the master,which rules over the world."

A stern, clear bugle call had sounded close at hand to summonsome following together for the night.

"It is a sign to us as well," said Ford. "I would fain stay hereforever amid all these beautiful things--" staring hard at theblushing Tita as he spoke--"but we must be back at our lord'shostel ere he reach it." Amid renewed thanks and with promisesto come again, the two squires bade their leave of the oldItalian glass-stainer and his daughter. The streets were clearernow, and the rain had stopped, so they made their way quicklyfrom the Rue du Roi, in which their new friends dwelt, to the Ruedes Apotres, where the hostel of the "Half Moon" was situated.