“What, then, you believe me not? when I tell you the arrows whizzed over my head, and the combatants shouted, and—”
“May the foul fiends fly away with me if I believe a word of it.”
Gerard took his arm, and quietly pointed to a tree close by.
“Why, it looks like—it is-a broad arrow, as I live!” And he went close, and looked up at it.
“It came out of the battle. I heard it, and saw it.”
“An English arrow.”
“How know you that?”
“Marry, by its length. The English bowmen draw the bow to the ear, others only to the right breast. Hence the English loose a three-foot shaft, and this is one of them, perdition seize them! Well, if this is not glamour, there has been a trifle of a battle. And if there has been a battle in so ridiculous a place for a battle as this, why then 'tis no business of mine, for my Duke hath no quarrel hereabouts. So let's to bed,” said the professional. And with this he scraped together a heap of leaves, and made Gerard lie on it, his axe by his side. He then lay down beside him, with one hand on his arbalest, and drew the bear-skin over them, hair inward. They were soon as warm as toast, and fast asleep.
But long before the dawn Gerard woke his comrade.
“What shall I do, Denys, I die of famine?”