"How earnest thou by them?" asked Geoffrey in astonishment.
"Thou hadst best not to ask, Master Geoffrey," replied the man-at-arms with a sly wink. "'Tis but an old trick, known to all hardened campaigners. Food and drink we must have at all costs, and when the goodwife hath finished gossiping with her neighbour she can discover her loss with as much good grace as it pleaseth her. Certes! The miracle of the vanishing loaves of St. Valery will be a subject of discourse for a long time to come, I trow. But, come now, let us eat."
When darkness set in the three comrades waited till the last visible light was extinguished and the village plunged into slumber. Then cautiously they made their way to the little quay, against which half a score of strongly-built fishing boats and traders were fastened.
It was now just after high water, and already a steady current was setting out of the harbour.
"This one will suit our purpose," whispered Gripwell, pointing to a stout craft of about thirty feet in length, that lay in the outermost tier. "Tread softly, for the least sound will betray us."
Without mishap Geoffrey clambered over the deck of an intervening ship and gained the planks of the craft Arnold had indicated. She was of good beam, entirely open amidships, with a deck fore and aft, under which were two small cuddies for the accommodation of her crew and for the stowing of gear.
"Cast off yon rope," whispered Gripwell. "Yarely now, or we shall be left by the tide; I can touch bottom with an oar."
Swiftly the two restraining hawsers were unbent, and the boat began to glide stern foremost towards the open sea.
Seizing an oar Arnold worked with powerful yet silent strokes, till the craft's bow was turned seaward. Twice or thrice her keel scraped against the rocky bed of the stream, but, greatly to the new crew's relief, the strong ebb swept her clear, and soon the water began to deepen.
"Hist!" exclaimed Oswald. "Another boat comes this way."