"'Tis but for a day," said Richard, "and the weather is good. We are warned of foes by the way."
"We shall be ready for them," said Guy; then he added, "A page from my Lord the Earl of Warwick brought this."
It was a letter, and quickly it came open.
"It is from my mother! The saints be with her!" exclaimed Richard. "She is well. I will read it fully after we are on board. Thanks to the good earl."
Down the hill they went together, and on to a long pier, at the outer end of which was moored a two-masted vessel apparently of about four hundred tons' burden—a large vessel for those days—very high at bow and stern, but low amidships, as if she were planned to carry a kind of wooden fort at each end.
She was ready to cast off as soon as the young commander came on board; and he was greeted by loud cheers from her crowded decks.
"She is thronged to the full," said Richard.
The sailing-master stood before him. He was a square-built man, of middle age, with a red face and small, greenish-gray eyes. His beard and hair were closely cropped and stiff; he wore a steel body-coat and headpiece, but his feet were bare. An unpleasant man to look upon was Piers Fleming; and behind him stood one not more than half as old, but of the same pattern, so like he needed not to say that he was the master's son, as well as mate of the Golden Horn.
"The wind is fair, sir," said Fleming. "We go out with the tide, but a fog is coming up the Channel."
"Cast off," said Richard. "Yonder on the height is the prince with his lords and gentlemen, watching the going."