"How? Didst thou not give me a letter to send to her?"
"Only in case I did not return."
"Didst thou? Didst thou? Certes now I remember! But now I think on the matter, I must have forgotten that, for I did send it," replied Sir John, with pardonable deceit and well-feigned dismay. "But mind it not, Raymond, 'twas after all for the best, and, mark my words, she'll have thee—sure enough."
On the morrow the march was resumed, the King having decided to lay siege to Calais, and slowly the long lines of English troops, every man heavily laden with booty, proceeded from the field of Crécy.
Edward had long looked with covetous eyes upon the port of Calais, for owing to the death of his Flemish ally, Jacques d'Artevelde, at the hands of fellow-countrymen, and the consequent estrangement with the Flemings, the King was in need of a continental port for the distribution of English wool, and, once Calais were taken, the nest of pirates who made their headquarters there, to the great annoyance of English ships, would be dispersed. Also an entry for his troops would be secured within easy distance from the English coast. So, with these strong incentives, Edward hastened to reduce the town.
Within a week of Crécy, the English lay in a triple ring around the land side of the town, while a strong fleet cruised constantly between Grisnez and Gravelines to prevent any succour being sent by sea, and, without attempting to carry the defences by assault, Edward relied upon famine to bring about the downfall of Calais.
Throughout the long winter of 1346-47 the blockade was maintained, and the works of the besiegers resembled the outer walls of a city rather than temporary trenches, so that the English were in a position both to keep the citizens of Calais within their walls and to repel any attempt on the part of the French to raise the siege.
Early in the spring dysentery broke out in the ranks of the English, and amongst those who were attacked was Sir Raymond. In spite of the rough yet devoted attention of his men, the skill of the harassed physicians, and the solicitude of his friends, the young knight was, for a time, in great danger, and even when the crisis was passed his progress towards recovery was slow and tedious.
One day as he lay alone in his tent, weak and worn, Raymond heard the well-known sound of troops marching hurriedly out of camp, and the blare of trumpets denoted that something untoward was afoot.
Feebly he called the names of the men who usually waited on him, but in vain; there was no response to his summons, and at length the tramp of feet died away, leaving the camp as silent as the grave, save for the flapping of the canvas as the keen wind whistled around the tents.