“I would they were just fifty paces nigher, and they move not. Ho! Jack Straw, shall we shoot?”
For the latter-named was nigh us now; he shook his head and said nothing as he stood looking at the enemy’s line.
“Fear not but they are the right folk, Jack,” quoth Will Green.
“Yea, yea,” said he, “but abide awhile; they could make nought of the highway, and two of their sergeants had a message from the grey-goose feather. Abide, for they have not crossed the road to our right hand, and belike have not seen our fellows on the other side, who are now for a bushment to them.”
I looked hard at the man. He was a tall, wiry, and broad-shouldered fellow, clad in a handsome armour of bright steel that certainly had not been made for a yeoman, but over it he had a common linen smock-frock or gabar
