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384 had ridden in from the prince with words of heart-stirring praise for what they had done, and with orders that they should still bide in the forefront of the army.

Bound one of the fires were clustered four or five of the leading men of the archers, cleaning the rust from their weapons and glancing impatiently from time to time at a great pot which smoked over the blaze. There was Aylward squatting cross-legged in his shirt, while he scrubbed away at his chain-mail brigandine, whistling loudly the while. On one side of him sat old Johnston, who was busy in trimming the feathers of some arrows to his liking; and on the other Hordle John, who lay with his great limb asprawl, and his headpiece balanced upon his uplifted foot. Black Simon of Norwich crouched amid the rocks, crooning an Eastland ballad to himself, while he whetted his sword upon a flat stone which lay across his knees; while beside him sat Alleyne Edricson, and Norbury, the silent squire of Sir Oliver, holding out their chilled hands tow the crackling faggots.

'Cast on another culpon, John, and stir the broth with thy sword-sheath,' growled Johnston, looking anxiously for the twentieth time at the reeking pot.

'By my hilt!' cried Aylward, 'now that John hath come by this great ransom, he will scarce abide the fare of archer lads. How say you, camarade? When you see Hordle once more, there will be no penny ale and fat bacon but Gascon wines and baked meats every day of the seven. 'I know not about that,' said John, kicking his helmet up into the air and catching it in his hand. 'I do but know that whether the broth be ready or no, I am about to dip this into it.'

'It simmers and it boils,' cried Johnston, pushing his hard-lined face through the smoke. In an instant the pot had been plucked from the blaze, and its contents had been scooped up in half a dozen steel headpieces which balanced betwixt their owners' knees, while, with spoon with gobbet of bread, they devoured their morning meal