“'And to be conqueror called, that cometh of special grace,'” he said and smiled. After a bit there came blood to his lips, but he sat up joyously:—
"'And now I see where a soul cometh hitherward sailing,
With glory and with great light, God it is, I wot.'"
And so he fell backward dead.
There were other dead men lying all about. The few French that were not slain were fleeing to their ship, and the English after them pell-mell, hacking and hewing. The peddler lifted Calote off her knees and led her away. They walked wearily many miles, stumbling through the summer darkness. When the dawn came, the peddler made a bed of moss and leaves for Calote, but she would not lie in it. She sat a-sighing, with her head in her hand.
“S-s-sleep, mistress!” said the peddler, “a-and forget!”
“I 'll never forget that they are cowards!—cowards!” she cried passionately. “Is 't these shall save the kingdom to the King?”
“''W-'ware thee from w-wanhope, w-would thee betray,'” said the peddler, speaking out of the Vision. “Th-these men be not w-warriors, but tillers of the soil; peaceable folk. They have been ca-cared for and fought for all their l-life long. Not cowards, but un-un-accustomed. We met them as we rode; they came to c-call the lord of the manor to s-succour them. Peter was sore distressed f-for thee.”
“Natheless, they ran away,” she said. “They were afeared.”
“N-not the parson,” declared the peddler. “He was n-no coward. I did never know a b-better man; and he was one of them. The ki-kingdom 's not to be taken this year. P-patience!”
“Thou art no coward neither,” she assented, a little comforted. “And thou also art one of them.”