"Message, fair sir? Nay, I bear no message, but have come to tell thee that, though counselled to tarry till to-morrow, my master has decided to begin the fight——"
"One moment! Thou bring'st this news on thy own behalf?"
"Yea, fair sir."
"And seekest a guerdon?"
"Yea, fair sir; I do but ask——"
"Enough, thou recreant! Think'st thou that I would list to a double-faced rogue to learn the movements of a gallant foe? Hence with ye! Ho, archers! Strip this coward's coat from off his back, and give him a score lusty stripes with your bow-cords. Then turn him loose, and if he go not back to his master, feather him with shafts. Get thee gone, knave."
"Is it not as I said?" remarked the Constable of Portchester in an undertone. "See, the archers take a delight in their task."
The twenty strokes were laid on with all the force of the soldiers' sinewy arms, then, threatened by a hundred drawn bows, the miserable wretch was pushed out of the lines and sent on his way towards the army he had stooped to betray.
Signs of animation were now observed in the dense masses of the enemy. The heavily-armed cavalry rode forth in a disorderly mob, brandishing their arms and shouting; then, retiring on the main body, their places were taken by a body of archers, nearly two thousand strong, who slowly advanced towards the foot of the rising ground, where the English were posted in firm array.
"'Tis the crossbowmen of Genoa. Steady, my lads; their bolts will be singing over our heads anon," shouted Sir John, and at the same moment the Prince of Wales gave the signal for the archers to stand and make ready.