Then out rides our own little
hothead with the patch over his eye, and my Lord Audley with his four
Cheshire squires, and a few others of like kidney, and after them went
the prince and Chandos, and then the whole throng of us, with axe and
sword, for we had shot away our arrows. Ma foi! it was a foolish thing,
for we came forth from the hedges, and there was naught to guard the
baggage had they ridden round behind us. But all went well with us, and
the king was taken, and little Robby Withstaff and I fell in with a wain
with twelve firkins of wine for the king's own table, and, by my hilt!
if you ask me what happened after that, I cannot answer you, nor can
little Robby Withstaff either."

"And next day?"

"By my faith! we did not tarry long, but we hied back to Bordeaux, where
we came in safety with the King of France and also the feather-bed. I
sold my spoil, mes garcons, for as many gold-pieces as I could hold in
my hufken, and for seven days I lit twelve wax candles upon the altar of
St. Andrew; for if you forget the blessed when things are well with you,
they are very likely to forget you when you have need of them. I have a
score of one hundred and nineteen pounds of wax against the holy Andrew,
and, as he was a very just man, I doubt not that I shall have full weigh
and measure when I have most need of it."

"Tell me, master Aylward," cried a young fresh-faced archer at the
further end of the room, "what was this great battle about?"

"Why, you jack-fool, what would it be about save who should wear the
crown of France?"

"I thought that mayhap it might be as to who should have this
feather-bed of thine."

"If I come down to you, Silas, I may lay my belt across your shoulders,"
Aylward answered, amid a general shout of laughter. "But it is time
young chickens went to roost when they dare cackle against their elders.
It is late, Simon."

"Nay, let us have another song."

"Here is Arnold of Sowley will troll as good a stave as any man in the
Company."

"Nay, we have one here who is second to none," said Hawtayne, laying his
hand upon big John's shoulder. "I have heard him on the cog with a voice
like the wave upon the shore. I pray you, friend, to give us 'The Bells
of Milton,' or, if you will, 'The Franklin's Maid.'"

Hordle John drew the back of his hand across his mouth, fixed his eyes
upon the corner of the ceiling, and bellowed forth, in a voice which
made the torches flicker, the southland balla