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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Sir Nigel"


The broad flood of steel, after oozing slowly forward, had stopped
about a mile from the English front. The greater part of the army
had then descended from their horses, while a crowd of varlets and
hostlers led them to the rear. The French formed themselves now
into three great divisions, which shimmered in the sun like
silvery pools, reed-capped with many a thousand of banners and
pennons. A space of several hundred yards divided each. At the
same time two bodies of horsemen formed themselves in front. The
first consisted of three hundred men in one thick column, the
second of a thousand, riding in a more extended line.
The Prince had ridden up to the line of archers. He was in dark
armor, his visor open, and his handsome aquiline face all glowing
with spirit and martial fire. The bowmen yelled at him, and he
waved his hands to them as a huntsman cheers his hounds.
"Well, John, what think you now?" he asked. "What would my noble
father not give to be by our side this day? Have you seen that
they have left their horses?"
"Yes, my fair lord, they have learned their lesson," said Chandos.
"Because we have had good fortune upon our feet at Crecy and
elsewhere they think that they have found the trick of it. But it
is in my mind that it is very different to stand when you are
assailed, as we have done, and to assail others when you must drag
your harness for a mile and come weary to the fray.


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