t to the sea. The sky glowed with their fires
at night, and the autumn sun twinkled and gleamed from one end of the
horizon to the other upon the steel caps and flashing weapons of a
mighty host.

Anxious to secure his plunder, and conscious that the levies of France
were far superior in number to his own force, the Prince redoubled his
attempts to escape; but his horses were exhausted and his starving men
were hardly to be kept in order. A few more days would unfit them
for battle. Therefore, when he found near the village of Maupertuis a
position in which a small force might have a chance to hold its own, he
gave up the attempt to outmarch his pursuers, and he turned at bay, like
a hunted boar, all tusks and eyes of flame.

Whilst these high events had been in progress, Nigel with Black Simon
and four other men-at-arms from Bordeaux, was hastening northward to
join the army. As far as Bergerac they were in a friendly land, but
thence onward they rode over a blackened landscape with many a roofless
house, its two bare gable-ends sticking upward--a "Knolles' miter" as
it was afterward called when Sir Robert worked his stern will upon the
country. For three days they rode northward, seeing many small parties
of French in all directions, but too eager to reach the army to ease
their march in the search of adventures.

Then at last after passing Lusignan they began to come in touch with
English foragers, mounted bowmen for the most part, who were endeavoring
to collect supplies either for the army or for themselves. From them
Nigel learned that the Prince, with Chandos ever at his side, was
hastening south and might be met within a short day's march. As he still
advanced these English stragglers became more and more numerous, until
at last he overtook a considerable column of archers moving in the same
direction as his own party. These were men whose horses had failed them
and who had therefore been left behind on the advance, but were now
hastening to be in time for the impending battle. A crowd of peasant
girls accompanied them upon their march, and a whole train of laden
mules were led beside them.

Nigel and his little troop of men-at-arms were riding past the archers
when Black Simon with a sudden exclamation touched his leader upon the
arm.

"See yonder, fair sir," he cried, with gleaming eyes, "there where the
wastrel walks with the great fardel upon his back! Who is he who marches
behind him?"

Nigel looked