And Ralph, with renewed interest, watched the movements of the man-at-arms or mounted archer, who was riding out of the mist with great caution, putting every bush and rock between himself and the place whence the sounds came.
"Why, there's another away to the left, and here's another. They are masters in their work, anyway," muttered Ralph, as he watched the picturesque figures, fully accoutred, and well mounted, pushing their small horses over the coarse grass. The boy was so intent on the motions of these men that he did not give sufficient care to cover himself, and he was suddenly startled by the nearest horseman reining in his horse and dropping the reins, while he took deliberate aim at him with the crossbow he held ready at his hip, calling at the same time,--
"Come down, thou French jackanapes thou, or I'll--"
Ralph needed no second bidding.
"They are English; they are English," he almost screamed with delight, as he scrambled over the boulders, and at length stood by the side of the archer.
It took but few words to tell the scout who he was, and what was going on, and in another minute Ralph found himself amid a group of splendid knights and men-at-arms, with a strong force of archers on foot and horseback behind them.
"What!" said a cheery voice. "Whom have we here? As I live, 'tis my young hero of the lists at Carisbrooke. Marry, and I am right glad."
Ralph had turned to the speaker, and was rejoiced to find it was no other than Sir Richard Cornwall. After the greetings were over, he explained briefly how urgent the need was for pressing on at once, and cutting off the retreat of the Frenchmen with their prisoners, and in a few minutes more the young esquire had the delight of being mounted on a stout horse, armed with a lance, and riding in the front rank of the men-at-arms between Sir Richard Cornwall and Lord Broke, who were listening to his account of the battle of St Aubin du Cormier, and all that had happened since, and learnt in his turn of how it came about that the English troops were there.
It seemed that the news of the disaster which had occurred in Brittany was at first disbelieved in the Isle of Wight. The catastrophe was too awful for any one to believe. At last, as more certain news arrived, and there was no longer any room to doubt, the distress was terrible. Depopulated as the island had been previously, and just as it was now recovering its prosperity under the able rule of Sir Edward Woodville, assisted by the favourable treaties of peace with France and the Low Countries, this sudden calamity plunged the whole island into despair. There was scarcely a family, rich or poor, who had not lost some relative; and the total absence of any particulars made it all the more distressing. No one knew whether their relations were dead or not. At first it was reported that every man was killed, but a later account said that it was believed some few were alive, desperately wounded, and like to die, but as no names were mentioned, the anxiety and doubt were only rendered all the more acute.
As soon as Henry VII. heard of the disaster, he despatched at once Robert Lord Broke, Sir John Cheney, Sir Richard Cornwall, and many more "lusty and courageous captaynes," with eight thousand men-at-arms. But, like many other recent English expeditions, the force arrived too late, and although the troops were of the best quality, there was not enough of them.