"By St. Maurice, I know not, and care less; most likely I shall slay twenty infidels, and be slain by the twenty-first!"
"The saints forbid!"
"The saints forbid nothing. I have said in my heart, 'Ill-fortune, enough of you! Begone!'" And the others marvelled at Longsword's merry mood. "Forward, and St. Michael with us!" his command. "Forward! forward!" came from all the rest, for they sniffed adventure when Richard Longsword led.
Richard gave Rollo a little tap on the flank, that sent the huge brute racing better than any spur, and they plunged away at a brisk gallop.
Very fair that spring day. Underfoot the wild flowers were springing; the turf had a fresh green, and all the silver poplars and oaks were putting on young leaves. When the troop watered their steeds by a tinkling brook, they saw the water strewn with scattered apple blossoms. Everything was sweet, balmy, and kind. Who under such a sun could keep sad, and grimace at God and His world? Not Richard Longsword. He broke into a gay battle-song of Theroulde's; then the others took it up, and they made the myrtles and oleanders quiver with their chorus as they rode along.
"Surely the saints are with us this day!" cried Richard, when the last catch died on the air. They were skirting the Orontes, now hidden by the trees, now riding by its bright current, and watching the swans spread their white sails to the soft east wind. But Longsword had not forgotten the more serious duty that called him afield.
"You, De Carnac, and two more, dismount. Walk to the crest of this hillock, and get a long sweep of the valley," was his order.
Presently the three came back with tidings that there was a company of horsemen, Saracens presumably, camped in the meadow just beyond a little terebinth grove.
Richard drew up his men with the promptness born of a score of like encounters.
"God wills it! At them!" such his shout. And the forty, all as one, swept from their covert over the grassy savannah—were round the grove and upon the infidels before one could count an hundred. Easy victory; for the Moslems, perhaps three score, had many of their horses picketed, and were preparing a meal. The false Prophet had beguiled them into setting no sentry.