Richard looked, and in the distance he could see a glittering and a flag, but after a long gaze he replied:
"It is too soon. Those are but a band of skirmishers."
So it proved; and the long, hot hours went slowly by. At length the king ordered that every man should be supplied with food and drink, that they might not fight fasting.
Darker grew the clouds until they hung low over all the sky. Blue flashes of lightning were followed by deafening thunder peals, and then there fell a deluge of warm rain.
The English archers were posted in the front ranks along the harrow beams, but the rain harmed not their bows. Every bowstring was as yet in its case, with its hard spun silk securely dry.
"Hearken well, all," said Richard, addressing his men. "The prince ordereth that there shall be no shouting. Fight with shut lips, and send forth no shaft without a sure mark."
"We are to bite, and not to bark," said Ben o' Coventry in a low voice. Then he added aloud: "Yon marshy level is better for the rain. A horse might sink to his pasterns."
"The ditch runneth full," said Richard. "The king chose his battle ground wisely."
"We are put behind the archery now," said David Griffith to his Welshmen. "So are the Irish; but our time to fight will come soon enough."
Most of the men-at-arms belonging to each beam of the harrow were drawn up at the inner end, ready to mount and ride, but wasting no effort now of horse or man.