not laugh when you find yourselves where he will take you, for you can never tell what strange vow he may not have sworn to. I see that he has a patch over his eye. There will come bloodshed of that patch, or I am the more mistaken.'
'How chanced it at Poictiers, good Master Aylward?' asked one of the younger archers, leaning upon his elbows, with his eyes fixed respectfully upon the old bowman's rugged face.
'Ay, Aylward, tell us of it,' cried Hordle John.
'Here is to old Samkin Aylward!' shouted several at the further end of the room, waving their black-jacks in the air.
'Ask him!' said Aylward, modestly, nodding towards Black Simon. 'He saw more than I did. And yet, by the holy nails! there was not very much that I did not see either.'
'Ah, yes,' said Simon, shaking his head, 'it was a great day. I never hope to see such another. There were some fine archers who drew their last shaft that day. We shall never see better men, Aylward.'
'By my hilt! no. There was little Robby Withstaff, and Andrew Salblaster, and Wat Alspaye, who broke the neck of the German. Mon Dieu! what men they were! Take them how you would, at long butts or short, hoyles, rounds, or rovers, better bowmen never twirled a shaft over their thumbnails.'
'But the fight, Aylward, the fight!' cried several, impatiently.
'Let me fill my jack first, boys, for it is a thirsty tale. It was at the first fall of the leaf that the prince set forth, and he passed through Auvergne, and Berry, and Anjou, and Touraine. In Auvergne the maids are kind, but the wines are sour. In Berry it is the women that are sour, but the wines are rich. Anjou, however, is a very good land for bowmen, for wine and women are all that heart could wish. In Touraine I got nothing save a broken pate, but at Vierzon I
