The report of the attack upon the rear guard had proved to be greatly exaggerated. Finding that the camp had been left slenderly guarded a seigneur living close to the village of Agincourt, Isambard by name, had gathered together a band of five hundred peasants, and falling upon the baggage guard had put them to flight. This done, the marauders set to work to pillage the baggage, till they were dispersed by the English lances.
Yet Isambard had not been unsuccessful, for part of his spoil consisted of the King's crown that had been made in anticipation of his coronation in Paris, and also a diamond-hilted sword belonging to the royal treasures.
But to counterbalance this gain 'tis said that no less than fourteen hundred defenceless and unarmed knights and squires of France had been slaughtered in cold blood. No wonder, therefore, was it that when Isambard presented his trophies to the Duc de Burgundy that irate prince, reproaching the seigneur as being the cause of the massacre, ordered him to be cast into prison.
"I fear we have not seen the end of this affair," remarked Oswald, as the two squires stood much disquieted by the side of their prisoner, and the gravity of their offence began to loom larger. "If this comes to the King's ears we are likely to be put to death."
"I, perchance, but not thou, Oswald," replied Geoffrey.
"How so? Did I not draw with thee?"
"Didst thou not hear me order thee to draw? Since thou art my father's squire and I am his representative in the field, thou art under my orders, though heretofore I have not exercised any authority over thee. Therefore, should it come to pass that the matter is taken up, thou canst—nay must—plead that 'twas by my command that thou didst resist the King's orders."
"Thou meanest me well, Geoffrey; but methinks 'twill not serve," replied Oswald as the generous nature of his friend's act became apparent to him. "However, 'tis of no use waiting for trouble; let us find Sir Thomas Carberry and confide in him."
Acting on this sensible advice the two squires assisted Sir Raoul, who had again recovered consciousness, to his feet, and having left him in a secure place in charge of two of the Warblington archers, who had strayed across their path, they set out to find the Constable of Portchester.
The field of battle was literally smothered with corpses of men and horses; shattered weapons lay everywhere, while in front of the still-standing row of stakes the barrier of slaughtered Frenchmen was piled breast-high. Amid these horrible surroundings archers were carelessly sauntering, withdrawing arrows that had sunk deep in the clayey soil to replenish their quivers, or stopping to plunder the body of some wealthy knight. Here and there walked small knots of soldiers searching for the corpse of their master, or engaged in succouring their wounded comrades, whose groans and cries of pain rose on all sides; but most of the English knights and squires, as well as a vast concourse of men-at-arms, had gathered round the Royal Standard that floated proudly over the fatal field.