Sunday, the 14th of October, 1338, was a black day in the annals of Southampton.
A few days previously more of the troops had been withdrawn, thus leaving practically only the men of Southampton to guard the town. Rumours of a large hostile fleet within the sheltered waters of the Solent caused bodies of men to be hastily dispatched to Lepe, Lymington, and other neighbouring sea-coast towns, while Sir John Hacket, hurriedly summoned to Portsmouth on an urgent matter of defence, had taken the greater part of his company with him.
Redward's sub-division was amongst those left at Southampton, but he himself had crossed to Hythe, where he hired a horse and rode to the town of Lepe to gather tidings of the foemen. Thus there remained of his party some two score archers and men-at-arms, under the command of Richard Wyatt, the grizzled old warrior who had recognised his old comrade Redward at the passage of the Hamble River.
On this particular Sunday a white mist overspread Southampton. So dense was the fog that even the oldest inhabitants could not recall the like. Raymond and his comrades were busily engaged in overhauling their bows and shafts, for on that afternoon a shooting match had been arranged between ten men of the Constable's company and ten of the town guard of Southampton, for displays of archery were then usual at the close of church service.
"A pest take the fog!" grumbled the old man-at-arms. "If it does not lift 'twill be too thick to hold the contest."
"Even this room is full of it," cried an archer, twanging his bow-string with his thumb. "Look, this cord is as dead as the giant Ascupart, whom these Southampton folk brag so much about!"
"At all events, both parties fare alike. If we but win a groat apiece the weather can bide—that is, so long as we can see the butts!"
Just then the bells of St. Michael's and the Maison Dieu struck out to summon the townspeople to Mass, and soon the streets were teeming with gaily dressed folk, all hastening to their respective churches, though to the men in the tower they appeared but ghostly shapes gliding in the misty air.
"Who will come with me on to the top of the tower?" asked one of the archers. "I'd as lief get wet through in the open as perish with cold in this fog-laden room."
"I am with thee," replied Raymond.