a squire of Picardy, had waited with a
burning heart, his soul sick at the flight of the division in which he
had ridden. In the hope of doing some redeeming exploit, or of meeting
his own death, he had loitered betwixt the armies, but no movement had
come from the English lines. Now he had turned his horse's head to join
the King's array, when the low drumming of hoofs sounded behind him,
and he turned to find a horseman hard upon his heels. Each had drawn his
sword, and the two armies paused to view the fight. In the first bout
Sir Maurice Berkeley's lance was struck from his hand, and as he sprang
down to recover it the Frenchman ran him through the thigh, dismounted
from his horse, and received his surrender. As the unfortunate
Englishman hobbled away at the side of his captor a roar of laughter
burst from both armies at the spectacle.

"By my ten finger-bones!" cried Aylward, chuckling behind the remains
of his bush, "he found more on his distaff that time than he knew how to
spin. Who was the knight?"

"By his arms," said old Wat, "he should either be a Berkeley of the West
or a Popham of Kent."

"I call to mind that I shot a match of six ends once with a Kentish
woldsman--" began the fat Bowyer.

"Nay, nay, stint thy talk, Bartholomew!" cried old Wat. "Here is poor
Ned with his head cloven, and it would be more fitting if you were
saying aves for his soul, instead of all this bobance and boasting. Now,
now, Tom of Beverley?"

"We have suffered sorely in this last bout, Wat. There are forty of our
men upon their backs, and the Dean Foresters on the right are in worse
case still."

"Talking will not mend it, Tom, and if all but one were on their backs
he must still hold his ground."

Whilst the archers were chatting, the leaders of the army were in
solemn conclave just behind them. Two divisions of the French had been
repulsed, and yet there was many an anxious face as the older knights
looked across the plain at the unbroken array of the French King
moving slowly toward them. The line of the archers was much thinned and
shredded. Many knights and squires had been disabled in the long and
fierce combat at the hedge. Others, exhausted by want of food, had no
strength left and were stretched panting upon the ground. Some were
engaged in carrying the wounded to the rear and laying them under the
shelter of the trees, whilst others were replacing their broken swords
or lances from the weapons of the slain. The