ven! i will ride back for him," cried

sir nigel.

"nay, nay, the camp is in arms, and it would be rank madness.

who are you, fellow?" he added in spanish, "and how is it that

you dare to wear the arms of castile?"

the prisoner was bent recovering the consciousness which had been

squeezed from him by the grip of hordle john. "if it please

you," he answered, "i and nine others are the body-squires of the

king, and must ever wear his arms, so as to shield him from even

such perils as have threatened him this night. the king is at the

tent of the brave du guesclin, where he will sup to night. but i

am a caballero of aragon, don sancho penelosa, and, though i be

no king, i am yet ready to pay a fitting price for my ransom."

"by saint paul! i will not touch your gold," cried sir nigel. "go

back to your master and give him greeting from sir nigel loring

of twynham castle, telling him that i had hoped to make his

better acquaintance this night, and that, if i have disordered

his tent, it was but in my eagerness to know so famed and

courteous a knight. spur on, comrades! for we must cover many a

league ere we can venture to light fire or to loosen girth. i had

hoped to ride without this patch to-night, but it seems that i

must carry it yet a little longer."

chapter xxxvi.

how sir nigel took the patch from his eye.

it was a cold, bleak morning in the beginning of march, and the

mist was drifting in dense rolling clouds through the passes of

the cantabrian mountains. the company, who had passed the night

in a sheltered gully, were already astir, some crowding round the

blazing fires and others romping or leaping over each other's

backs for their limbs were chilled and the air biting. here and

there, through the dense haze which surrounded them, there loomed

out huge pinnacles and jutting boulders of rock: while high above

the sea of vapor there towered up one gigantic peak, with the

pink glow of the early sunshine upon its snow-capped head. the

ground was wet, the rocks dripping, the grass and ever-greens

sparkling with beads of moisture; yet the camp was loud with

laughter and merriment, for a messenger had ridden in from the

prince with words of heart-stirring praise for what they had

done, and with orders that they should still abide in the

forefront of the army.

round one of the fires were clustered four or five of the leading

men of the archers, cleaning the rust from their weapons, and

glancing impatiently from time to time at a great pot which

smoked over the blaze. there was aylward squatting cross-legged

in his shirt, while he scrubbed away at his chain-mail

brigandine, whistling loudly the while. on one side of him sat

old johnston, who was busy in trimming the feathers of some

arrows to his liking; and on the other hordle john, who lay with

his great limbs all asprawl, and his headpiece balanced upon his

uplifted foot. black simon of norwich crouched amid the rocks,

crooning an eastland ballad to himself, while he whetted his

sword upon a flat stone which lay across his knees; while beside

him sat alleyne edricson, and norbury, the silent squire of sir

oliver, holding out their chilled hands towards the crackling

faggots

"cast on another culpon, john, and stir the broth with thy

sword-sheath," growled johnston, looking anxiously for the

twentieth time at the reeking pot.

"by my hilt!" cried aylward, "now that john hath come by this

great ransom, he will scarce abide the fare of poor archer lads.

how say you, camarade? when you see hordle once more, there will

be no penny ale and fat bacon, but gascon wines and baked meats

every day of the seven."

"i know not about that," said john, kicking his helmet up into

the air and catching it in his hand. "i do but know that whether

the broth be ready or no, i am about to dip this into it."

"it simmers and it boils," cried johnston, pushing his hard-lined

face through the smoke. in an instant the pot had been plucked

from the blaze, and its contents had been scooped up in half a

dozen steel head-pieces, which were balanced betwixt their

owners' knees, while, with spoon and gobbet of bread, they

devoured their morning meal.

"it is ill weather for bows," remarked john at last, when, with a

long sigh, he drained the last drop from his helmet. "my strings

are as limp as a cow's tail this morning."

"you should rub them with water glue," quoth johnston. "you

remember, samkin, that it was wetter than this on the morning of

crecy, and yet i cannot call to mind that there was aught amiss

with our strings."

"it is in my thoughts," said black simon, still pensively

grinding his sword, "that we may have need of your strings ere

sundown. i dreamed of the red cow last night."

"and what is this red cow, simon?" asked alleyne.

"i know not, young sir; but i