but three English knights and seventy men. The rest were a mixed crew
of Bretons, Hainaulters and a few German mercenary soldiers, brave
men individually, as those of that stock have ever been, but lacking
interest in the cause, and bound together by no common tie of blood or
tradition.

On the other hand, the surrounding castles, and especially that of
Josselin, were held by strong forces of enthusiastic Bretons, inflamed
by a common patriotism, and full of warlike ardor. Robert of Beaumanoir,
the fierce seneschal of the house of Rohan, pushed constant forays and
excursions against Ploermel so that town and castle were both in daily
dread of being surrounded and besieged. Several small parties of the
English faction had been cut off and slain to a man, and so straitened
were the others that it was difficult for them to gather provisions from
the country round.

Such was the state of Bambro's garrison when on that March evening
Knolles and his men streamed into the bailey-yard of his Castle.

In the glare of the torches at the inner gate Bambro' was waiting to
receive them, a dry, hard, wizened man, small and fierce, with beady
black eyes and quick furtive ways.

Beside him, a strange contrast, stood his Squire, Croquart, a German,
whose name and fame as a man-at-arms were widespread, though like Robert
Knolles himself he had begun as a humble page. He was a very tall man,
with an enormous spread of shoulders, and a pair of huge hands with
which he could crack a horse-shoe. He was slow and lethargic, save in
moments of excitement, and his calm blond face, his dreamy blue eyes and
his long fair hair gave him so gentle an appearance that none save those
who had seen him in his berserk mood, raging, an iron giant, in the
forefront of the battle, could ever guess how terrible a warrior he
might be. Little knight and huge squire stood together under the arch of
the donjon and gave welcome to the newcomers, whilst a swarm of soldiers
crowded round to embrace their comrades and to lead them off where they
might feed and make merry together.

Supper had been set in the hall of Ploermel wherein the knights and
squires assembled. Bambro' and Croquart were there with Sir Hugh
Calverly, an old friend of Knolles and a fellow-townsman, for both were
men of Chester. Sir Hugh was a middle-sized flaxen man, with hard
gray eyes and fierce large-nosed face sliced across with the scar of a
sword-cut. There too were Geoffrey D'Ardaine