Hardly were these preparations completed than the rain descended in a torrential downpour, blotting out the horizon in a mirky blur, then, as suddenly as it came, the cloud passed over on its way towards Abbeville, and the sun again shone brilliantly, its warmth soon drying the sodden clothing of the soldiers.
Nearer and nearer came the dark masses of Frenchmen, till within a league of their enemies they halted. Shortly afterwards a group of horsemen could be seen riding towards the English position, and, amid breathless excitement, it was observed that four French knights were approaching.
Either from absolute contempt for their enemies or relying on the chivalrous instincts that frequently show themselves between opposing enemies, the Frenchmen rode within a bow-shot of the English lines, then, calmly trotting along the whole front of the army, they appeared to be making careful observations of the dispositions of their foe.
Several knights besought the Prince of Wales to be allowed to have their chargers brought them, so that they might earn a slight advancement by engaging the intrepid Frenchmen; others requested that the archers should shoot them down; but to all entreaties the Prince firmly but courteously returned a refusal, and in perfect silence the English allowed the French knights to complete their reconnaissance, and to retire in safety to their own host.
Slowly the hours passed, and still the French army showed no signs of advancing. The sun was now shining well behind the English, and would serve to dazzle the eyes of their attackers. Meanwhile the archers had planted their pointed stakes, and the men-at-arms in charge of the bombards had loaded these cumbersome engines and trained them on the plain across which the enemy must advance.
Once again the wearisome monotony was broken by the appearance of a man who was observed to make his way steadily and rapidly towards the English lines. When within bowshot he waved his arms in token of friendship, and four archers were sent out to escort him to the Prince. The new-comer was a tall, lightly-built man, with long, spider-like legs and arms, and sharp, projecting elbow-joints and knees. He was attired in a close-fitting dress of blue cloth that served to increase his angularities, and from his belt hung an ink-horn counterbalanced by a short knife.
"Mark ye," quoth Sir John Hacket to his squire, "yonder sly fox is on no lawful errand, and, certes, 'twill go hard with him if he plays the traitor with our Prince. Look at his protruding forehead and his shifty, blinking eyes. A creature like that would fawn to one's face and plunge a dagger into one's back! Hark to what he has to say."
The man spoke in a deep yet quavering voice, yet so loudly that Raymond could hear every word.
"My name, fair sir, is Alexandre Gourdain, and I am clerk in the household of King Philip."
"Forbear to trouble me with thy name and calling," replied the Prince curtly, "but deliver thy message."