"Heaven be praised, my son! I was afraid that the monks of Netley had made thee fitted for nought but a life within a monastery; yet thou wouldst do well to ponder over this matter, for a life midst the sound of arms is not lightly taken up. Thou hast seen but little of the world, and look only on the glowing side of a soldier's life. The risks and hardships of forced marches, famine, sickness, ay, and possibly defeat, cannot be lightly put aside, though, when once passed, one is apt to look back upon them as but trifling adventures."
"Nevertheless, I would fain go to France and fight for our King to help him in his just enterprise."
Poor Raymond! little did he think that there would be fighting in plenty in store for him ere he set foot on French soil!
There were nearly four miles to be covered ere their destination was reached, and, though favoured by the tide, the work of pulling a heavy boat began to tell even on the hardy frame of the archer, so, in reply to Raymond's entreaty to be allowed to take the oars, his sire consented and relinquished the heavy sticks.
But his son's attempt at rowing failed to please his exacting father, especially when the blades threw up showers of spray under the vigorous yet inexperienced efforts of the young man.
"Steady, Raymond! I would fain arrive at Botley with a dry skin, and methinks, a little less strength would avail better! Put thy back into it, my boy, rather than thine arms—so! I call to mind when I rowed down the Scheldt in a pitch-dark night, when the splash of an oar or the creaking of a thole would have loosened a hail of arrows from five hundred archers on either bank."
"Tell me about it, father?"
"Nay, lad; the story will keep. But look ahead. Dost mark a row of black posts standing above the water on yonder side?"
Raymond looked.
"Yes; but what are they?"