"Ho, Geoffrey, I have sought thee high and low: methought thou hadst bitten the dust," exclaimed a well-known voice as Oswald Steyning approached, his unhelmed head swathed in a blood-stained scarf.
"I have indeed bitten the dust, Oswald," replied Geoffrey with a smile, "yet, thanks be to God, I have received no hurt. But thou bearest some token of the fray?"
"A mere cut," replied Sir Oliver's squire lightly.
"And Sir Thomas and the rest of the company?"
"Beyond a few slight but honourable wounds Sir Thomas is unscathed, but alas! Ratclyffe is no more."
"Tis sad news. And Gripwell——?"
"As blithe as a maid on May Day. Certes, he hath good cause, for but a short while ago I saw him with mine own eyes taking two French knights to the camp. If he see England again never another day's work will he need to do, for his prisoners are worth four thousand crowns apiece."
"I pray thee lend me thine aid with this one," said Geoffrey, pointing to his captive. "'Tis none other than Sir Raoul d'Aulx."
"Therein thou art fortunate," replied Oswald. "Let us quit this field, for my stomach turns at the sight of it."
With a squire supporting him on either side Sir Raoul was placed on his feet and assisted towards the rear, where the baggage and horses had been placed under guard, and where the captives were being taken for safety; but, ere Geoffrey and his charge reached the fringe of the corpse-encumbered field, a man-at-arms rode past them in hot haste.