Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The White Company by Arthur Conan Doyle (epub e reader txt) 📖
- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
Book online «The White Company by Arthur Conan Doyle (epub e reader txt) 📖». Author Arthur Conan Doyle
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. HOW THE BLACK SHEEP CAME FORTH FROM THE FOLD.
CHAPTER II. HOW ALLEYNE EDRICSON CAME OUT INTO THE WORLD.
CHAPTER III. HOW HORDLE JOHN COZENED THE FULLER OF LYMINGTON.
CHAPTER IV. HOW THE BAILIFF OF SOUTHAMPTON SLEW THE TWO MASTERLESS MEN.
CHAPTER V. HOW A STRANGE COMPANY GATHERED AT THE “PIED MERLIN.”
CHAPTER VI. HOW SAMKIN AYLWARD WAGERED HIS FEATHER-BED.
CHAPTER VII. HOW THE THREE COMRADES JOURNEYED THROUGH THE WOODLANDS.
CHAPTER VIII. THE THREE FRIENDS.
CHAPTER IX. HOW STRANGE THINGS BEFELL IN MINSTEAD WOOD.
CHAPTER X. HOW HORDLE JOHN FOUND A MAN WHOM HE MIGHT FOLLOW.
CHAPTER XI. HOW A YOUNG SHEPHERD HAD A PERILOUS FLOCK.
CHAPTER XII. HOW ALLEYNE LEARNED MORE THAN HE COULD TEACH.
CHAPTER XIII. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY SET FORTH TO THE WARS.
CHAPTER XIV. HOW SIR NIGEL SOUGHT FOR A WAYSIDE VENTURE.
CHAPTER XV. HOW THE YELLOW COG SAILED FORTH FROM LEPE.
CHAPTER XVI. HOW THE YELLOW COG FOUGHT THE TWO ROVER GALLEYS.
CHAPTER XVII. HOW THE YELLOW COG CROSSED THE BAR OF GIRONDE.
CHAPTER XVIII. HOW SIR NIGEL LORING PUT A PATCH UPON HIS EYE.
CHAPTER XIX. HOW THERE WAS STIR AT THE ABBEY OF ST. ANDREW'S.
CHAPTER XX. HOW ALLEYNE WON HIS PLACE IN AN HONORABLE GUILD.
CHAPTER XXI. HOW AGOSTINO PISANO RISKED HIS HEAD.
CHAPTER XXII. HOW THE BOWMEN HELD WASSAIL AT THE “ROSE DE GUIENNE.”
CHAPTER XXIII. HOW ENGLAND HELD THE LISTS AT BORDEAUX.
CHAPTER XXIV. HOW A CHAMPION CAME FORTH FROM THE EAST.
CHAPTER XXV. HOW SIR NIGEL WROTE TO TWYNHAM CASTLE.
CHAPTER XXVI. HOW THE THREE COMRADES GAINED A MIGHTY TREASURE
CHAPTER XXVII. HOW ROGER CLUB-FOOT WAS PASSED INTO PARADISE.
CHAPTER XXVIII. HOW THE COMRADES CAME OVER THE MARCHES OF FRANCE
CHAPTER XXIX. HOW THE BLESSED HOUR OF SIGHT CAME TO THE LADY TIPHAINE.
CHAPTER XXX. HOW THE BRUSHWOOD MEN CAME TO THE CHATEAU OF VILLEFRANCHE.
CHAPTER XXXI. HOW FIVE MEN HELD THE KEEP OF VILLEFRANCHE
CHAPTER XXXII. HOW THE COMPANY TOOK COUNSEL ROUND THE FALLEN TREE.
CHAPTER XXXIII. HOW THE ARMY MADE THE PASSAGE OF RONCESVALLES.
CHAPTER XXXIV. HOW THE COMPANY MADE SPORT IN THE VALE OF PAMPELUNA.
CHAPTER XXXV. HOW SIR NIGEL HAWKED AT AN EAGLE.
CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW SIR NIGEL TOOK THE PATCH FROM HIS EYE.
CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW THE WHITE COMPANY CAME TO BE DISBANDED.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. OF THE HOME-COMING TO HAMPSHIRE.
The great bell of Beaulieu was ringing. Far away through the forest might be heard its musical clangor and swell. Peat-cutters on Blackdown and fishers upon the Exe heard the distant throbbing rising and falling upon the sultry summer air. It was a common sound in those parts—as common as the chatter of the jays and the booming of the bittern. Yet the fishers and the peasants raised their heads and looked questions at each other, for the angelus had already gone and vespers was still far off. Why should the great bell of Beaulieu toll when the shadows were neither short nor long?
All round the Abbey the monks were trooping in. Under the long green-paved avenues of gnarled oaks and of lichened beeches the white-robed brothers gathered to the sound. From the vine-yard and the vine-press, from the bouvary or ox-farm, from the marl-pits and salterns, even from the distant iron-works of Sowley and the outlying grange of St. Leonard's, they had all turned their steps homewards. It had been no sudden call. A swift messenger had the night before sped round to the outlying dependencies of the Abbey, and had left the summons for every monk to be back in the cloisters by the third hour after noontide. So urgent a message had not been issued within the memory of old lay-brother Athanasius, who had cleaned the Abbey knocker since the year after the Battle of Bannockburn.
A stranger who knew nothing either of the Abbey or of its immense resources might have gathered from the appearance of the brothers some conception of the varied duties which they were called upon to perform, and of the busy, wide-spread life which centred in the old monastery. As they swept gravely in by twos and by threes, with bended heads and muttering lips there were few who did not bear upon them some signs of their daily toil. Here were two with wrists and sleeves all spotted with the ruddy grape juice. There again was a bearded brother with a broad-headed axe and a bundle of faggots upon his shoulders, while beside him walked another with the shears under his arm and the white wool still clinging to his whiter gown. A long, straggling troop bore spades and mattocks while the two rearmost of all staggered along under a huge basket o' fresh-caught carp, for the morrow was Friday, and there were fifty platters to be filled and as many sturdy trenchermen behind them. Of all the throng there was scarce one who was not labor-stained and weary, for Abbot Berghersh was a hard man to himself and to others.
Meanwhile, in the broad and lofty chamber set apart for occasions of import, the Abbot himself was pacing impatiently backwards and forwards, with his long white nervous hands clasped in front of him. His thin, thought-worn features and sunken, haggard cheeks bespoke one who had indeed beaten down that inner foe whom every man must face, but had none the less suffered
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