"But thou hast done so aforetimes?"
"Ay, but then the boy was in safe keeping in the abbey of Netley. Now that he is too old, seeing that it is my wish and his desire not to remain within the priory walls, I must needs stay with him."
"Red Buckland, thou art becoming chicken-hearted in thine old age. The boy—a lusty youth he looks—cannot remain with thee for ever," argued the soldier. "Now, what say you; join our company once again, and bring him with thee? Methinks there are many such, nay, even younger and of less frame and brawn, who have already set out for the wars. Come, now; again I ask thee, wilt join?"
"Dickon, thou dost press me hard so that I can scarce refuse. Yet no answer will I give till I have spoken with my boy."
At that moment a trumpet sounded, and the men stood to their arms, forming up in two lines on either side of the road. The archers, armed with short swords or axes in addition to the deadly longbow, faced the men-at-arms, who, protected with breastplate, iron helmet, gorget and greaves, grasped their twelve-foot spears, gazing steadfastly in front as their leader rode slowly between the lines.
Sir John Hacket, Constable of the King's Castle at Portchester, and Governor of the Town of Portsmouth (to give him his official title), was then in his fortieth year, yet, from the effects of campaigning under exceptional circumstances in all parts of Western Europe, he looked considerably older, his hair being a snowy white, contrasting vividly with his brick-red complexion.
He was accoutred cap-à-pie in banded mail with aillettes, rerebraces, vambraces, and roundels, his richly embroidered surcoat being emblazoned with his arms.
By his left side hung a long falchion, while over the right hip was the misericorde, or dagger, with which a knight demanded his dismounted adversary's surrender or else gave him a coup de grâce.
On his head he wore a flat cap of crimson velvet, his steel bascinet being carried by a squire; while a mounted man-at-arms bore his lance.
As he proceeded between the lines of armed men, noting with undisguised satisfaction their martial bearing, Sir John's glance fell upon Redward and his son as they stood, with a knot of spectators from the neighbouring village, a little way behind the archers.