Part 5 (1/2)

He was accoutred _cap-a-pie_ in banded mail with aillettes, rerebraces, vambraces, and roundels, his richly embroidered surcoat being emblazoned with his arms.

By his left side hung a long falchion, while over the right hip was the _misericorde_, or dagger, with which a knight demanded his dismounted adversary's surrender or else gave him a _coup de grace_.

On his head he wore a flat cap of crimson velvet, his steel bascinet being carried by a squire; while a mounted man-at-arms bore his lance.

As he proceeded between the lines of armed men, noting with undisguised satisfaction their martial bearing, Sir John's glance fell upon Redward and his son as they stood, with a knot of spectators from the neighbouring village, a little way behind the archers.

”Certes,” he cried to one of his attendant squires, ”'tis my old master-bowman! Bring him hither.”

Thus Redward, with doffed cap, found himself once again before his beloved chief.

”Ah, Buckland, I see the blood of a good old stock still flows in thy veins,” he said, after questioning him over various matters pertaining to his welfare, ”I trust I shall see thee again under my banner anon!” And setting spurs to his charger the knight rode to the edge of the river, leaving the old archer tormented with thoughts of the rival claims of home and camp.

The work of transporting the detachment across the Hamble river proceeded apace, the whole of the operations being under the personal supervision of the Constable; and, true to the usages of warfare, the task was carried out in strictly military fas.h.i.+on.

First a vanguard of archers and men-at-arms was ferried across, the party taking up an extended formation on the opposite sh.o.r.e. Then came the main body, with the mounted men-at-arms, the horses being conveyed across in a large flat-bottomed boat. Leaving only a rear-guard, Sir John and his personal attendants then crossed, and finally the rear-guard followed, leaving Redward Buckland and his son gazing wistfully after them from the other sh.o.r.e.

”Heart alive, Raymond,” said his father. ”We, too, must be on the move, for the tide will not serve much longer.” And pus.h.i.+ng off, they turned the boat's head up-stream and continued their journey.

”Didst hear what the archers said but now?” inquired Redward, resting on his oars, and looking doubtfully at his son, as if half afraid that the fighting strain would not manifest itself.

”Ay, father!”

”And what thinkest thou?”

”I would go Francewards with thee.”

”Heaven be praised, my son! I was afraid that the monks of Netley had made thee fitted for nought but a life within a monastery; yet thou wouldst do well to ponder over this matter, for a life midst the sound of arms is not lightly taken up. Thou hast seen but little of the world, and look only on the glowing side of a soldier's life. The risks and hards.h.i.+ps of forced marches, famine, sickness, ay, and possibly defeat, cannot be lightly put aside, though, when once pa.s.sed, one is apt to look back upon them as but trifling adventures.”

”Nevertheless, I would fain go to France and fight for our King to help him in his just enterprise.”

Poor Raymond! little did he think that there would be fighting in plenty in store for him ere he set foot on French soil!

There were nearly four miles to be covered ere their destination was reached, and, though favoured by the tide, the work of pulling a heavy boat began to tell even on the hardy frame of the archer, so, in reply to Raymond's entreaty to be allowed to take the oars, his sire consented and relinquished the heavy sticks.

But his son's attempt at rowing failed to please his exacting father, especially when the blades threw up showers of spray under the vigorous yet inexperienced efforts of the young man.

”Steady, Raymond! I would fain arrive at Botley with a dry skin, and methinks, a little less strength would avail better! Put thy back into it, my boy, rather than thine arms--so! I call to mind when I rowed down the Scheldt in a pitch-dark night, when the splash of an oar or the creaking of a thole would have loosened a hail of arrows from five hundred archers on either bank.”

”Tell me about it, father?”

”Nay, lad; the story will keep. But look ahead. Dost mark a row of black posts standing above the water on yonder side?”

Raymond looked.

”Yes; but what are they?”

”All that is left of what was once a Danish galley, the scourge of our sh.o.r.e. There she lies, much the same as when burned by the great Alfred, now five hundred years or more ago. May a like fate befall every foreign craft that comes to harry our coasts!”

Soon the channel became yet narrower, till the trees on the opposite banks met overhead. Redward had resumed the oars, and bend after bend of the river soon slipped past.

”There's Botley Mill,” said he, pointing to a low building, thatched-roofed and enclosed by walls of timber and mud, while above the rustle of the trees could be heard the dull roar of the stream as it swept under the water-wheel.