"Let the royal leech see to him;
for I had rather lose many men than the good Sir James. Ha,
Chandos, what have we here?"
A knight lay across the path with his helmet beaten down upon his
shoulders. On his surcoat and shield were the arms of a red
griffin.
"It is Robert de Duras the spy," said Chandos.
"Well for him that he has met his end," said the angry Prince.
"Put him on his shield, Hubert, and let four archers bear him to
the monastery. Lay him at the feet of the Cardinal and say that
by this sign I greet him. Place my flag on yonder high bush,
Walter, and let my tent be raised there, that my friends may know
where to seek me."
The flight and pursuit had thundered far away, and the field was
deserted save for the numerous groups of weary horsemen who were
making their way back, driving their prisoners before them. The
archers were scattered over the whole plain, rifling the
saddle-bags and gathering the armor of those who had fallen, or
searching for their own scattered arrows.
Suddenly, however, as the Prince was turning toward the bush which
he had chosen for his headquarters, there broke out from behind
him an extraordinary uproar and a group of knights and squires
came pouring toward him, all arguing, swearing and abusing each
other in French and English at the tops of their voices. In the
midst of them limped a stout little man in gold-spangled armor,
who appeared to be the object of the contention, for one would
drag him one way and one another, as though they would pull him
limb from limb.
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