"Amen," replied the Constable. "For 'tis for this purpose that we are here."
CHAPTER XXIII
THE EVE OF AGINCOURT
The English army had crossed the Somme at a distance of more than sixty miles from the ford of Blanche-Taque, where Edward III had made his bold stroke eighty years previously. To regain the sea by descending the right bank of the river would mean a march that was beyond the strength of the weary soldiers; accordingly King Henry resolved to abandon his original plan and march direct to Calais.
It was not until the morning of October 24, that the invaders crossed the River Ternoise after a slight skirmish at the ford of Blangy. On and on they toiled, soaked by the October rain, half famished, and footsore through hard marching; yet the indomitable spirit that pervaded the dauntless band never for one moment showed signs of flagging.
On crossing the Ternoise the order of march had been reversed. The Hampshire companies, on whom the brunt of the vanguard actions had fallen, were ordered to fall in with the main body, while the advance guard was entrusted to the men of Yorkshire and Devon, under the command of the Duke of York.
"SIRE, WERE THERE ANY WHO DWELT IN FEAR OF THE ISSUE
OF THE BATTLE, WOULD THEY SLEEP SO QUIETLY?"
Steadily Geoffrey and Oswald trudged through the stiff clay that sorely impeded the progress of the soldiers. The squires had divested themselves of a portion of their armour, that dangled from the saddle-bow of their chargers. In common with many of the mounted men they had temporarily given up their steeds to those of the archers who would otherwise have fallen out by the wayside.
Twelve miles of that tedious route had been accomplished since the passage of the Ternoise, when a soldier, galloping madly on a foam-flecked horse, came thundering along the road, a shower of mud flying from the hoofs of his steed.