Late in the afternoon I was knocked from my horse, but had wit enough left to scramble again into the saddle. I was tossed here and there with driving force as the battle swayed this way or that. My helmet was dented in from the swing of a mace. My right arm near the shoulder was numbed from over action and from a sword beat that had landed on it. But I came out of it with a whole skin and no bones broken which was enough to make me thankful. As for Charles of Gramont, I never laid eyes on him from the outbreak of the fight. It was long after dark when I found him inquiring among the troops who had been near me if they knew if I had fallen. When he saw me he threw out his hands. I must confess that a kind of weakness came over me at the sight of my companion. As though we were children we flew to each other’s arms and cried like babies. Then came the parting. It is true that the Black Prince asked us to go along with him to Bordeaux to stay there for the winter with the promise that he would take us with him in the early spring on a campaign into Spain. For a while we were divided two ways, but the longing for home won in the end. Charles was anxious to get home to put his house in order and (now that he was left alone) to give care to the estate. As for me, I knew that my brother, André, was lying awake far into the nights, wondering what had become of me and whether he would ever lay eyes on me again. Besides the fall was coming on (it was already September) and I knew the streams were full of fish and that the woods about my home were thick with game. You should have been present in our village when we rode in. The country folk (they had been warned of our coming beforehand) gathered from the fields. They wore their best of everything and I can tell you that their simple dress of velvet jerkins, their breeches of leather, their hats with feathers in them, never looked more welcome or more pleasing to my eye. You would have thought it was some great holiday for the country players were assembled. Jugglers and sleight-of-hand artists and to my surprise the man with the birds whom I had met on my journey out, came to greet us and to display the best of their wares. And in the midst of all the merrymaking it was my brother, André, who was the proudest man alive. He never left my side and when my name was mentioned, he boasted of my courage and my strength of will that led me on a quest through the heart of our enemies, till I had to turn my face away in shame. We settled down to the quiet life of the countryside. The first snows of winter came and the fields about the house were covered white, when a courier rode into the yard. He was from Bordeaux on his way to the great city of Paris to negotiate for peace and a return of the King. He had been commanded, he said, to deliver a letter from his master, the Black Prince. With my brother André looking over my shoulder, I broke the seal and read,