The birds still continued their passage, one gliding with wings outstretched, the other still beating the air with redoubled haste; then, even as they looked, both birds swayed in their flight, and fell into the water within two score paces of each other. Without further remark Redward pushed the boat clear of the reeds, and rowed towards his spoil. One of the geese was still transfixed by an arrow, the other's neck had a small wound, showing that the shaft had passed completely through it. "Another groat gone!" exclaimed the archer, ruefully contemplating the bird that had failed to stop the arrow. "But that was a grand shot of thine, Raymond, I trow," he added in a bantering tone; "'twas not learned of the monks of Netley?" Then, observing a flush of mortification overspread the boy's features, he continued, "Never mind, my son, even the best archer in the kingdom would be at a loss in a small boat at first." Presently they rounded an abrupt spur of land on their left, and came to a spot where the creek narrowed considerably, being enclosed by lofty hills on either side. A broad white road descended these hills to the water's edge, where it was broken by the flowing tide. A rough wooden hut, with a large open boat close at hand, marked the spot where wayfarers were ferried across to the opposite side, where a horn, chained to a post, was blown as a signal to attract the ferryman. "This is the road 'twixt Southampton and Portsmouth," said the archer, indicating the dusty streak by a nod of his head. "At Bursledon, on this side, is the fortalice of the Hewitts, though from here 'tis hidden by the trees. On the other side is Swanwick Shore, whence come some of the best mariners who man the cogs of Southampton. But, mark ye! Here comes a great company of armed men; by St. Etienne of Tours, it makes my heart glad to hear the clatter of harness once more! I wonder under whose banners they march?" And resting on his oars, Redward Buckland shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun, and peered steadfastly up the hill where the white road was now alive with men, a grey cloud of dust hanging over them like a marsh mist in autumn, through which the Cross of St. George blazoned on the white surcoats of the archers stood out bravely against the dark foliage. When the vanguard reached the foot of the hill, a bowshot from where the watchers sat in their little craft, a tucket sounded and the company halted. Then Redward's accustomed eyes lighted upon their banner, which bore a golden half-moon on an azure field, and unable to contain himself, he stood upright, waving his cap in boisterous delight. "By Our Lady, 'tis as I thought--the company of the Governor of Portchester! Haste we to the shore, Raymond, that I may welcome mine old comrades!" CHAPTER II THE SHADOW OF WAR