Already Aylward by his skill and strength had won his way to an
under-officership amongst them, and shared with Long Ned
Widdington, a huge North Countryman, the reputation of coming next
to famous Wat Carlisle in all that makes an archer. The men-
at-arms too were war-hardened soldiers, with Black Simon of
Norwich, the same who had sailed from Winchelsea, to lead them.
With his heart filled with hatred for the French who had slain all
who were dear to him, he followed like a bloodhound over land and
sea to any spot where he might glut his vengeance. Such also were
the men who sailed in the other ships, Cheshire men from the Welsh
borders in the cog Thomas, and Cumberland men, used to Scottish
warfare, in the Grace Dieu.
Sir James Astley hung his shield of cinquefoil ermine over the
quarter of the Thomas. Lord Thomas Percy, a cadet of Alnwick,
famous already for the high spirit of that house which for ages
was the bar upon the landward gate of England, showed his blue
lion rampant as leader of the Grace Dieu. Such was the goodly
company Saint-Malo bound, who warped from Calais Harbor to plunge
into the thick reek of a Channel mist.
A slight breeze blew from the eastward, and the highended,
round-bodied craft rolled slowly down the Channel. The mist rose
a little at times, so that they had sight of each other dipping
and rising upon a sleek, oily sea, but again it would sink down,
settling over the top, shrouding the great yard, and finally
frothing over the deck until even the water alongside had vanished
from their view and they were afloat on a little raft in an ocean
of vapor.
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