And, unlocking a strange yet strongly made clasp, Redward threw open the lid, and for a moment the boy's eyes were dazzled with the martial nature of its contents. There was a complete suit of armour, similar to that worn by the Constable of Portchester, though lacking the rich ornamentations, other portions of armour, and a small store of equipments such as were worn by mounted men-at-arms and soldiers of superior quality.
Redward noticed the flash of excitement in his son's eyes as they lighted upon the suit of armour.
"Nay, my son," said he, "'tis not for thee—at least, not till thou hast proved worthy of it. Here is a suitable garb, a quilted and padded coat—a trifle large for thee, perhaps, yet 'tis better to err on the generous side. This I found at the sack of Tournay, and 'tis warranted to turn a sword-cut or to stop an arrow at two score paces. This breastplate will also serve—and this steel cap. Now as to thy arms. Here is a sword, slightly heavy for thee, yet anon thou'lt become accustomed to the feel of it, though a bowman stands an ill chance should he suffer a troop of lances to come within striking distance! Now into yonder corner throw thy crossbow, for, as I have shown, 'tis but a clumsy and unwieldy tool for an Englishman. Here is a better—a full-sized English longbow; that is the king of weapons! To-morrow we'll hie to the butts, and ere a week hath passed a sturdy archer thou'lt be or thou art no son of mine!"
Raymond took the proffered articles and, with the pride of youth, fitted them on, to the no small satisfaction of his sire. Still garbed in his martial attire, he remained for a space listening to his father's tales of past campaigns, till at length, worn out with excitement, he retired for the night.
When he had gone, Redward pored over the contents of the chest, handling each article with an almost reverent care, then replacing everything save Raymond's accoutrements, he relocked the heavy box, and was soon tossing uneasily on his rough couch.
For over an hour Redward lay awake pondering over the events of the day, but just as sleep was about to gain the mastery, a hoarse shout fell upon his ear. Another followed, and a veritable babel of shrieks betokened that something untoward was happening in the village.
[CHAPTER III]
OF THE MIDNIGHT DESCENT OF THE FRENCH INVADERS
THE first shout was enough to rouse the old archer into active alertness, for, with his experience of camp life, he was accustomed to awaken readily at the least noise. Hastily springing up, he rushed to the window, swung aside the wooden flap and the flimsy fabric that served to admit the light, and looked out. The darkness was intense, save for some small tongues of dark red flame that were beginning to shoot up from one of the houses near the waterside, the fire casting a dull glare upon the neighbouring buildings and serving but to intensify the inky blackness of the night.
"A fire," he said aloud, yet on second thoughts the ever-increasing shrieks, groans, shouts, and curses that were borne on the air belied his surmise. Moreover, his quick ear detected commands and ejaculations in a foreign language—the tongues of Picardy, Normandy, and Spain.
His ready brain grasped the situation—it must be a raid by the French and Spaniards, who at that time swarmed in the English Channel.