"
"Not so ill," I answered, "but it is my last. Now we must fight as we
can with sword and axe until we be sped."
William nodded, and the women in the cave began to wail while I unstrung
my bow and set it in its case, from habit I think, seeing that I never
hoped to look upon it again.
Just then from the French ships in the harbour there came a great
blaring of trumpets giving some alarm, and the Frenchmen of a sudden,
ceasing from their attack, turned and ran towards the shore. I stepped
out of the cave with William and looked. There on the sea, drawing near
from the east before a good wind, I saw ships, and saw, too, that from
their masts flew the pennons of England, for the golden leopards gleamed
in the sun.
"It is our fleet, William," I said, "come to talk with these French."
"Then I would that it had come sooner," answered William. "Still, better
now than not at all."
Thus were we saved, through Hamo de Offyngton, the Abbot of Battle
Abbey, or so I was told afterwards, who collected a force by land and
sea and drove off the French after they had ravaged the Isle of Wight,
attacked Winchelsea, and burned the greater part of Hastings.
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