intance gave very little satisfaction to Sir Reginald, who was
almost ready to despair of Eustace's courage and manhood when he found
he had "gone back to his books," and manifested, if not so much serious
displeasure, yet even more annoyance, on this occasion, than when,
shortly after, he found that Leonard Ashton spent every moment at his
own disposal in the company of _le Borgne Basque_. That worthy,
meeting the young gentleman, had easily persuaded him that Gaston's
cautions only proceeded from fears of stories that might with too much
truth be told against himself, and by skilful flatteries of the young
Englishman's self-importance, and sympathy with his impatience of the
strict rule of the Knight of Lynwood, succeeded in establishing over
him great influence.

So fared it with the two young Squires, whilst the army began to enter
the dominions of the King of Castile. Here a want of provisions was
severely felt, for such was the hatred borne to Pedro the Cruel, that
every inhabitant of the country fled at his approach, carrying off, or
destroying, all that could be used as food. It was the intention of
Bertrand du Guesclin, the ally of Enrique of Trastamare, to remain
quietly in his camp of Navaretta, and allow hunger to do its work with
the invading force, but this prudent plan was prevented by the folly of
Don Tello, brother of Enrique, who, accusing Bertrand of cowardice, so
stung his fiery spirit that he resolved on instant combat, though
knowing how little dependence could be placed on his Spanish allies.

The challenge of the Prince of Wales was therefore accepted; and never
were tidings more welcome than these to the half-famished army,
encamped upon the banks of the Ebro, on the same ground on which, in
after years, English valour was once more to turn to flight a usurping
King of Spain.

CHAPTER IV

The moon was at her height, and shone full into the half-opened tent of
Sir Reginald Lynwood. At the further end, quite in darkness, the
Knight, bare-headed, and rosary in hand, knelt before the dark-robed
figure of a confessor, while at a short distance lay, on a couch of
deer-skins, the sleeping Leonard Ashton. Before the looped-up curtain
that formed the door was Gaston d'Aubricour, on one knee, close to a
huge torch of pine-wood fixed in the earth, examining by its flaring
smoky light into the state of his master's armour, proving every joint
with a small hammer. Near him, Eustace, with th