[PROLOGUE]
S-s-st, there, good gossip, wake up, I pray thee! Hearest thou not voices yonder in our lordship's tent? Methinks I can see between the trees the glimmer of his council-candle. Even now he doth plan the attack, whilst this cursed cross-bow is playing the very devil of a traitor! The stubborn latch balks at speeding the string. Come—come, wake thee, Jock! Spare me thy deft hand to its mending, or the first peep o' day will discover me impotent to fly a bolt against our crook-back enemy beyond the brook."
"Crook-back cross-bow—i' th' s-s-string——" muttered the one addressed with drowsy incoherence.
"I tell thee, Jock, wake up!" the first speaker persisted. "Listen, I say! Dost hear the hum of voices in brave Richmond's tent? Fix me this damned cross-bow! Eftsoons it will come daydawn, man!"
"Daydawn, sayst thou?" returned the other, starting into broad wakefulness and arising to a sitting posture. "Why, Dickon, thou canst scarce glimpse thy five fingers before thine eyes; and the stars shine as merrily in the vault as ever they did yestereve. What's the noise i' the wood?" he added, sinking sleepily back upon his bent elbow.
"'Tis the sound of the rolling wheels of the crakys of war. Mark how the blazing links of those who attend upon them weave fantastic shadows amidst the trees. There! the cross-bow hath repented of its waywardness and mended itself. 'Tis said of these shooting-cylinders in yon wood that they can hurl a leaden slug of two score times the weight of a caliver billet."
"Marry, Dickon," the other said, "and that be not the least part of the weight of my nether stocks from lying knee-deep in this foul morass, thou mayst dub me a shove-groat sword and buckler man. Where thinkest thou," he added, "that King Richard hath gathered his forces?"
"I'll lay thee a round wager, friend Belwiggar, that the morning light will find him across the brook," replied Dickon, disposing his huge body for further rest upon the top of his cross-bow.
"I would it were not so," observed Belwiggar, yawning. "For here are we with our bonnetful of men at the very tail of the triangle. 'Twill be fight or die, comrade, and tyrant Richard deal with the hindermost." Whereupon the speaker clambered to a higher point of ground and prepared to resume his interrupted sleep.
Scenes and dialogues similar to the one here presented were being enacted in every corner of the field. Especially did a spirit of disquiet and apprehensive concern pervade that part of it so aptly termed by Belwiggar "the tail of the triangle." All along the borders of the morass, the banks of the creek, and within the dense forest were to be heard anxious whisperings, mingled plentifully with muttered oaths and threats of dire vengeance against a bitterly hated monarch; and despite the earliness of the hour, within the leader's tent the activities of a day destined to be so heavily fraught with historical significance had already been inaugurated.