Our knight’s career of glory approached its close. By the treachery of a monk, the abbey of St. Salvyn, seven leagues from Poictiers, fell into the possession of the French, who all that year, 1371, had been harassing the English territories. Chandos was deeply mortified at the loss of the abbey, it being within the scope of his seneschalship. To recover it by chivalric skill, or to bring his enemies to fair and manly battle, seemed equally impossible, and his high spirit was wounded at these insults to his military abilities. On the last day of December he made an unsuccessful attempt to recover the abbey; and when he returned to the town of Chauvigny, he dismissed two-thirds of his troops, knights of Poictou and England. Sir Thomas Percy, with thirty spears, had his leave to go in quest of adventures. His own mind was too ill at rest for him to indulge in mere chivalric exercises; and after he had wished them good speed he went back into the house full of melancholy thoughts. He would not retire to rest though the night was far advanced; but he remained in the kitchen warming himself by the fire, his servants endeavouring by their jests and tales to banish his uneasiness.
Before daylight a man with the haste and anxiety of the bearer of news of import came into the house.
“The Frenchmen are riding abroad,” said he to Sir John.
“How knowest thou that?”
“I left St. Salvyn with them,” was the answer.
“Which way did they ride?” demanded Chandos.
“Their exact course I wot not,” replied his informant; “but I saw them on the high road to Poictiers.”
“What Frenchmen?” required Sir John.
“Sir Louis of St. Julian, and Carnot the Breton.”
“Well,” quoth Chandos, “I care not: I have no mind to ride forth to-night: it may happen that they may be encountered, though I am not there.”