France was in a deplorable condition. The country was torn by a fierce strife betwixt the Orleanists—or Armagnacs, as they were oft-times termed—and the Burgundians. Every baron and knight did as he might, trade was paralyzed, the poor were oppressed, and from Picardy to Provence, and from Brittany to Dauphiné, chaos prevailed.
In his own interest Sir Oliver had frequently to cross to France, for his turbulent neighbours, coveting the fair fields surrounding the feudal castle of Taillemartel, did not hesitate to encroach upon his lands. Thus, much to the English knight's regret, he found himself embroiled in the affairs of a foreign country.
"There is a boat coming up the rithe," exclaimed Geoffrey, pointing to a small, indistinct object slowly moving against the strong tide that ebbed through the many channels by which Chichester Harbour is intersected.
"Methinks thou'rt right," replied the man-at-arms, shading his eyes with his hand, for the sun had broken through the mist and its rays were dazzling on the water. "Yea, 'tis a craft of sorts. Would my sight were as good as in the time of the affray of Otterburn."
"'Tis but a fisherman," replied the lad, after some minutes had elapsed. "Yet he roweth as if he bore tidings."
"Ay; I wot when first I saw him that 'twas not thy father's cog," replied Gripwell, unwilling to admit the inferiority of his sense of vision, although he had recently confessed it. "But, certes, he is not one of the men of Warblington, and since he cometh herewards methinks his errand is no idle one," he added.
"Then let us hasten to the wharf and learn his tidings," said Geoffrey, as he turned towards the stairway.
With the rising of the sun the portcullis had been drawn up and the drawbridge lowered. So, passing the vigilant sentinel who kept watch and ward at the gate of the outer bailey, the lad and his companion made their way across the mead, past the church that, by a strange strategical blunder, stood betwixt the castle and the sea, and at length reached the little stone quay which, at all but the lowest tides, permitted the approach of the largest vessels of that period.
"'Tis Wat, of Sinah," exclaimed Geoffrey, as the rower turned his head to make sure of his sinuous course 'twixt the mud banks that were already showing above the ebbing waters.
"How now, Wat?" quoth the man-at-arms, as the boat rubbed sides with the landing-place, and the fisherman, well-nigh breathless with his exertions, tossed his oars into the little craft and scrambled up a rough wooden ladder.