Sir John Grey hurried home, and found, that, during his long absence, all in the house where he was quartered, except one or two of his own personal attendants and the necessary guard, had retired to rest. Ere he sought his pillow also, however, he sat down and wrote some hurried lines, which he signed and sealed; and then, with a silent step seeking the chamber where Richard of Woodville slept, with two or three yeomen across the door, he went in, and gazed for a moment at the young knight, as he lay upon his little pallet, with his arm under his head, and a well-pleased smile upon his slumbering face.
"That is not the sleep of guilt," said Sir John in a low murmur to himself. "There, that gives him my Mary, if I fall to-morrow;" and thus saying, he laid the paper he had written upon Woodville's bosom, and retired to his own chamber.
CHAPTER XLV.
[THE BATTLE.]
The morning of the twenty-fifth of October, St. Crispin's day, dawned bright, but not altogether clear. There was a slight hazy mist in the air, sufficient to soften the distant objects; but neither to prevent the eye from ranging to a great distance, nor the sun, which was shining warm above, from pouring his beams through the air, and tinging the whole vapour with a golden hue. Early in the morning, both armies were on foot; but more bustle and eagerness were observable in the French camp, than amongst the English, who showed a calmer and less excited spirit, weighing well the hazards of the day, and though little doubting of victory, still feeling that no light and joyful task lay before them.
The French, however, were all bustle and activity. Men-at-arms were seen hurrying from place to place, gathering around their innumerable banners, ranging themselves under their various leaders, or kneeling and taking vows to do this or that, of which inexorable fate forbade, in most cases, the accomplishment. Nothing was heard on any side but accents of triumph and satisfaction, prognostications of a speedy and almost bloodless victory over an enemy, to whom they were superior by at least six times the number of the whole English host,--and bloody resolutions of avenging the invasion of France, and the capture of Harfleur, by putting to death all prisoners except the King and other princes, from whom large ransoms might be expected; for a vain people is almost always a sanguinary one. A proud nation can better afford to forgive. Nothing was heard, I have said, but such foolish boastings, and idle resolutions: but I ought to have excepted some less jocund observations, which were made here and there in a low tone, amongst the older, but not wiser of the French nobility, prompted by the superstitious spirit of the times, which was apt to draw auguries from very trifling indications.
"Heard you how the music of these islanders made the whole air ring throughout the night?" said one.
"And ours was quite silent," said another.
"We have no instruments," rejoined a third. "This King of theirs is fond of such toys, and plays himself like a minstrel, I am told: but I remarked a thing which is more serious; their horses neighed all night, as if eager for a course, and ours uttered not a sound."
"That looks bad, indeed," observed one of the others.