Until Calais is taken, leave not our person for any cause, and ask no more such boons lest you lose our favour.  Nay, we have no more words for you since many others seek them.  Stand back, Sir Hugh!  What say you, my lord of Warwick?  Ay, it is a gruesome task, but let the Welshmen out, those wounded will be well rid of their pain, and Christ have mercy on their souls.  Forget not when it is finished to gather all men that they may give thanks to God for His great mercies.”

Well nigh a year had gone, for once again the sun shone in the brazen August heavens.  Calais had fallen at last.  Only that day six of her noblest citizens had come forth, bearing the keys of the fortress, clad in white shirts, with ropes about their necks, and been rescued from instant death at the hands of the headsman by the prayer of Queen Philippa.

In his tent sat Hugh de Cressi, who, after so much war and hardship, looked older than his years, perhaps because of a red scar across the forehead, which he had come by during the siege.  With him was his father, Master de Cressi, who had sailed across from Dunwich with a cargo of provisions, whereof, if the truth were known, he had made no small profit.  For they were sold, every pound of them, before they left the ship’s hold, though it is true the money remained to be collected.

“You say that Eve is well, my father?”

“Aye, well enough, son.  Never saw I woman better or more beautiful, though she wears but a sad face.  I asked her if she would not sail with me and visit you.  But she answered:  ’Nay, how can I who am another man’s wife?  Sir Hugh, your son, should have killed the wolf and let the poor swan go.  When the wolf is dead, then, perchance, I will visit him.  But, meanwhile, say to him that Red Eve’s heart is where it always was, and that, like all Dunwich, she joys greatly in his fame and is honoured in his honour.’  Moreover, to Grey Dick here, she sends many messages, and a present of wines and spiced foods for his stomach and of six score arrows made after his own pattern for his quiver.”

“But for me no gift, father?” said Hugh.

“Nothing, son, save her love, which she said was enough.  Also, in all this press of business and in my joy at finding you safe I had almost forgotten it, there is a letter from the holy Father, Sir Andrew.  I have it somewhere in my pouch amid the bills of exchange,” and he began to hunt through the parchments which he carried in a bag within his robe.

At length the letter was found.  It ran thus: 

To Sir Hugh de Cressi, knight, my beloved godson: 

With what rejoicings I and another have heard of your knightly deeds through the letters that you have sent to us and from the mouths of wounded soldiers returned from the war, your honoured father will tell you.  I thank God for them, and pray Him that this may find you unhurt and growing ever in glory.