Such speeches came ceaselessly to the ears of the twins, as they took their places on a raised seat at the end of the green; and their noble faces grew radiant with joy.
“Are we not well repaid, Alured, for all the storms and sorrows of former years?”
“That are we indeed, Hugo; and now we lack but one thing to complete our happiness—that our good friend Du Guesclin were here to share it.”
“Right, brother. Truly I owe him much, for, but for him, we two had never met again.”
“And I,” said Alured, “owe him yet more—mine own life, and it may be mine own soul likewise. I would we had some tidings of the good knight; we have heard nought since yon wandering minstrel brought word, two years agone, how he was made prisoner at Auray by old John Chandos, and how, when it was noised abroad that he was taken, every old wife in Brittany spun a double portion daily, that she might in some sort aid to pay his ransom.”
“God keep him, wherever he be. But see, the archery is about to begin.”
It was, and the brothers had seldom seen better practice, even among the Moorish bowmen of Spain; for in those days every English yeoman was a crack shot, and had often to aim at other marks than a harmless target. More than one of those present had seen the glittering chivalry of France fall like autumn leaves before their arrows on the fatal field of Crecy, and King John the Good led captive by English archers amid the heaped-up slain of Poitiers; and the best competitors were so evenly matched, that even the two practised warriors who adjudged the prize took some time to decide.
“May Old England’s grey-goose shafts ever fly as strongly and truly!” said Alured, as he handed the prize to the winner.
“And may they be ever loosed by hands as deft and loyal!” added Hugo.
Next came the leaping, in which two local athletes ran each other so close that the match seemed a drawn one; but in the last trial, one of the two just touched the bar with his toes, and came down on his face with such a whack that Gaffer Green said with an unfeeling chuckle—