“Look! look!” he said, grinding his teeth in agony.  I raised my eyes:  where was the one pass between the rim of stern rocks?  Nothing:  the enemy behind us- that grim wall in front:  what wonder that each man looked in his fellow’s face for help, and found it not.  Yet I refused to believe that there was any troth either in the wild stories that I had heard when I was a boy, or in this story told me so clearly by my eyes now.

I called out cheerily, “Hugh, come here!” He came.  “What do you think of this?  Some mere dodge on Harald’s part?  Are we cut off?” “Think!  Sir Florian?  God forgive me for ever thinking at all; I have given up that long and long ago, because thirty years ago I thought this, that the House of Lilies would deserve anything in the way of bad fortune that God would send them:  so I gave up thinking, and took to fighting.  But if you think that Harald had anything to do with this, why-why-in God’s name, I wish I could think so!”

I felt a dull weight on my heart.  Had our house been the devil’s servants all along?  I thought we were God’s servants.

The day was very still, but what little wind there was, was at our backs.  I watched Hugh’s face, not being able to answer him.  He was the cleverest man at war that I have known, either before or since that day; sharper than any hound in ear and scent, clearer sighted than any eagle; he was listening now intently.  I saw a slight smile cross his face; heard him mutter, “Yes!  I think so:  verily that is better, a great deal better.”  Then he stood up in his stirrups, and shouted, “Hurrah for the Lilies!  Mary rings!” “Mary rings!” I shouted, though I did not know the reason for his exultation:  my brother lifted his head, and smiled too, grimly.  Then as I listened I heard clearly the sound of a trumpet, and enemy’s trumpet too.

“After all, it was only mist, or some such thing,” I said, for the pass between the hills was clear enough now.

“Hurrah! only mist,” said Amald, quite elated; “Mary rings!” and we all began to think of fighting:  for after all what joy is equal to that?

There were five hundred of us; two hundred spears, the rest archers; and both archers and men at arms were picked men.

“How many of them are we to expect?” said I.  “Not under a thousand, certainly, probably more, Sir Florian.” (My brother Arnald, by the way, had knighted me before we left the good town, and Hugh liked to give me the handle to my name.  How was it, by the way, that no one had ever made him a knight?)

“Let every one look to his arms and horse, and come away from these silly cows’ sons!” shouted Arnald.

Hugh said, “They will be here in an hour, fair Sir.”

So we got clear of the cattle, and dismounted, and both ourselves took food and drink, and our horses; afterwards we tightened our saddle-girths, shook our great pots of helmets on, except Amald, whose rustyred hair had been his only head-piece in battle for years and years, and stood with our spears close by our horses, leaving room for the archers to retreat between our ranks; and they got their arrows ready, and planted their stakes before a little peat moss:  and there we waited, and saw their pennons at last floating high above the corn of the fertile land, then heard their many horse-hoofs ring upon the hard-parched moor, and the archers began to shoot.