The King sprang up with a joyous face.
"The game is afoot, my friends!" said he. "Dress, John! Dress,
Walter! Quick all of you! Squires, bring the harness! Let each
tend to himself, for the time is short."
A strange sight it was to see these forty nobles tearing off their
clothes and littering the deck with velvets and satins, whilst the
squire of each, as busy as an ostler before a race, stooped and
pulled and strained and riveted, fastening the bassinets, the
legpieces, the front and the back plates, until the silken
courtier had become the man of steel. When their work was
finished, there stood a stern group of warriors where the light
dandies had sung and jested round Sir John's guitar. Below in
orderly silence the archers were mustering under their officers
and taking their allotted stations. A dozen had swarmed up to
their hazardous post in the little tower in the tops.
"Bring wine, Nicholas!" cried the King. "Gentlemen, ere you close
your visors I pray you to take a last rouse with me. You will be
dry enough, I promise you, before your lips are free once more.
To what shall we drink, John?"
"To the men of Spain," said Chandos, his sharp face peering like a
gaunt bird through the gap in his helmet. "May their hearts be
stout and their spirits high this day!"
"Well said, John!" cried the King, and the knights laughed
joyously as they drank.
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