"Nay, I meant no offence," protested the man who had expressed his intention of cutting Gripwell's comb. "I have ever a regard for a staunch veteran."
"'Tis too late to climb down, friend," replied Gripwell resolutely. "If so be that thou art unwilling to cross steel, let us discuss the matter in another way. I do perceive a bundle of stout staves in yonder corner. What sayest thou—art willing to try a bout with cudgels?"
Clearly the aggressor was anxious to avoid an encounter, but yielding to the clamour and ironical jeers of his comrades, he selected a weapon and stood on his guard.
"Have at thee," shouted the man-at-arms, and the next instant the bout began.
With a quick succession of dull taps as the cudgels met, both combatants warmed to their work. Blows were smartly parried and counter-strokes rapidly delivered. Arnold's antagonist was younger and more heavily built, but he lacked the endurance and coolness of the veteran. Slowly, but surely, amid the subdued enthusiasm of the spectators, the elder man forced his opponent backwards, till, with the sweat running down his face and his breath coming in quick gasps, the archer lost all control of himself. Whirling his heavy cudgel he strove by a succession of powerful strokes to break down the veteran's guard; till, seizing a favourable opportunity, Gripwell got home a shrewd blow on his antagonist's forehead, following it up by a sharp cut that sent the archer's weapon flying to the far end of the room.
"Thou art the better man," gasped the archer, clapping his hands to his bruised pate.
"Spoken like a sensible rogue," replied Arnold, throwing down his cudgel. "My hand, comrade! Thou, too, shalt share a cup with me, though I have but a groat in my pouch, of which one penny is for my bed. Host, a tankard of thy best ale."
Good humour having been restored, the rest of the evening passed in story and song, till tired out with the crowded events of the last few days, Geoffrey and his companions were glad to seek repose.
On the morrow it was decided that the man-at-arms and his comrades should travel in company with the archers, not only for the sake of protection on the road, but because the sturdy and honest soldiery, hearing the condition of Geoffrey and Oswald, insisted on sharing their meals with the lads who had undergone such adventurous ordeals in the land of the Fleur de Lys.
"I cannot see why King Harry—God bless him!—should call his army together at Southampton," remarked Voysey, the master-bowman, as the company took to the road once more. "I am a man of Rye, my comrades all hail from ancient and loyal Cinque Ports, and seeing the distance across the Channel is lesser than from Southampton, it is passing strange that we should have this long march thither, not that I complain—'tis a soldier's duty to obey orders."