“You are young enough to climb a tree; are your eyes good?”

“I commonly was the first that saw the hare in her form, when we went coursing at home, sir.”

“Then up this tree with you! keep outlook along the road, and hide yourself as best you may in the boughs.  Throw this russet cloak over your harness.”  It was shrewdly chill in the grey November morning, a hoarfrost lying white on the fields.  I took the cloak gladly and bestowed myself in the tree, so that I had a wide view down Lihons way, whence we expected our enemies, the road running plain to see for leagues, like a ribbon, when once the low sun had scattered the mists.  It was a long watch, and a weary, my hands being half frozen in my steel gauntlets.  Many of our men slept; if ever a wayfarer crossed the bridge hard by he was stopped, gagged, and trussed in a rope’s end.  But wayfarers were few, and all were wandering afoot.  I was sorry for two lasses, who crossed on some business of their farm, but there was no remedy.

These diversions passed the time till nigh noon, when I whispered to Xaintrailles that I saw clouds of dust (the roads being very dry) a league away.  He sent Barthelemy and another to waken any that slept, and bade all be ready at a word.

Now there came shouts on the wind, cries of venerie, loud laughter, and snatches of songs.

And now, up in my perch, I myself broke into a laugh at that I saw.

“Silence, fool!” whispered Xaintrailles.  “Why laugh you, in the name of Behemoth?”

“The Burgundians are hunting hares,” I whispered; “they are riding all disorderly, some on the road, some here and there about the plain.  One man has no lance, another is unhelmeted, many have left their harness behind with the baggage!” Even as I spoke rose up a great hunting cry, and a point of the chase was blown on a trumpet.  The foremost Burgundians were spurring like madmen after some beast, throwing at it with their lances, and soon I saw a fox making our way for its very life.

“To horse,” cried Xaintrailles, and, leaving thirty men to hold the bridge, the whole of our company, with spears in rest, drove down on these hare-hunters of Burgundy.

Two hundred picked men in all, fully armed, were we, and we scattered the foremost riders as they had scattered the hares.  Saddles were emptied, archers were cut down or speared ere they could draw bows, the Burgundians were spurring for their lives, many cried mercy, and were taken to ransom, of whom I had my share, as I shall tell.

But a few men made a right good end.  Thomas Kyriel, a knight of England, stood to his banner, his archers rallied about it, with three or four knights of Burgundy.  There, unhelmeted for the most part, they chose the way of honour, but they were of no avail where so many lances were levelled and so many swords were hewing at so few.  There was a great slaughter, but Geoffrey de Thoisy, nephew to the Bishop of Tournay, plucked from danger fortune, for he so bore him that he being fully armed we took him for Messire Antoine de Vienne, a very good knight.  For his courage we spared him, but Antoine, being unhelmeted and unknown, was smitten on the head by Barthelemy Barrette, with a blow of a casse-tete.