"Aye," said Richard; "and now I will tell thee, thou true man, when I write to her I will bear thee witness that to thee and Ben o' Coventry is it due that she hath not lost her son."
"I would like her to think well of me," said Guy, smiling with pleasure; "but I pray thee speak well to the prince of the O'Rourke and his long-legged kerns, and of David Griffith. They deserve well of the king."
"Trust me for that," said Richard. "And now, ere the dark hour, I must read my mother's letter. Truth to tell, I could not so much as look at it while I was watching that traitor Fleming, and preparing for what I thought might come. I have already thanked all the men and visited my prisoners. Brave ransom will some of them pay."
"And the prize money for us all," added Guy, with a chuckle. "We may be rich when we return from France."
So he went forward, and Richard sat down to his letter, to read the good words his mother sent him, and to dream of Wartmont and of Longwood, and of the old days before the war.
Then there was sleeping, save for those who could not sleep for their hurts or their misfortunes. It was well on in the forenoon of the following day before the Golden Horn and her captive companion sailed gayly in among the forest of masts that had gathered at La Hogue.
Only a short hour later the young Lord of Wartmont, with some of his chosen followers and those of his prisoners that were highest in rank, stood in an open space among the camps of King Edward's army.
The king himself was there, and with him were earls and knights and captains not a few. By his side stood the brave Black Prince; but it was to the king that Richard and those who were with him bent the knee, while the young man made his report of the taking of La Belle Calaise.
He was modest enough; but the bright eyes of the prince kindled finely as he heard it, and he said in a low voice to his father:
"Did I not tell thee I was right to intrust a ship to him?"