"By Our Lady! 'Tis our trusted Constable of Portchester!" exclaimed Edward. "And by report thou didst hold thyself right gallantly on yesterday's field. Ah, Sir John, we have something in store to make amends for our former forgetfulness. Advance thy banner!"
The Constable, taking his banner from the hands of the guidon-bearer, stepped forward, and, with bended knee, presented the blue silk emblazoned with the golden crescent to the King, who, drawing a dagger from his belt, deftly cut off the pointed end of the pennon. Handing the severed portion to a knight in attendance, the King returned the banner to Sir John.
The action, simple as it seemed, roused the company to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, for their adored leader had achieved the great distinction of being created a knight-banneret, the greatest honour to be paid by the sovereign, only on the field of battle.
Ere the cheering had died away, the Prince of Wales had plucked his father's sleeve, and whispered in his ear.
"Of a truth, 'tis the squire who brought the Count of Tancarville to our camp! And he is the man that came betwixt thee and thine enemies in the thickest of the fray! 'Tis our pleasure to bestow honours freely to-day, though, methinks, they be well deserved, and no man will chide us for being too freehanded. Thy squire's name, Sir John?"
"He is named Raymond Buckland, sire."
"Come hither, squire," commanded the King, alighting from his palfrey and taking a sword from the hand of the Earl of Warwick.
The supreme moment of Raymond's life was at hand, but the squire, instead of kneeling to receive the honour of knighthood, advanced a few paces and stood irresolutely before his sovereign.
"On thy knees, squire!" commanded Edward.
"Nay, sire, I cannot," replied the unhappy Raymond. Low murmurs of astonishment arose from the King's attendants, while Sir John Hacket, placing his hand heavily on his squire's shoulder, hissed into his ear, "Kneel, thou fool! Art bereft of thy senses?"