The King and his attendants had shaken off the crowd who had followed them from Guildford along the Pilgrims' Way and now, the mounted archers¹ having beaten off the more persistent² of the spectators, they rode at their ease in a long, straggling, glittering train over the dark undulating plain of heather.

 

In the van was the King himself, for his hawks⁴ were with him and he had some hope of sport. Edward at that time was a well-grown, vigorous man in the very prime of his years, a keen sportsman, an ardent⁵ gallant⁶ and a chivalrous⁷ soldier. He was a scholar too, speaking Latin, French, German, Spanish, and even a little English.

 

So much had long been patent to the world, but only of recent years had he shown other and more formidable characteristics: a restless ambition which coveted⁸ his neighbor's throne, and a wise foresight⁹ in matters of commerce, which engaged him now in transplanting Flemish weavers¹⁰ and sowing the seeds of what for many years was the staple¹¹ trade of England. Each of these varied¹² qualities might have been read upon his face. The brow, shaded by a crimson¹³ cap of maintenance, was broad and lofty. The large brown eyes were ardent and bold. His chin was clean-shaven, and the close-cropped dark mustache did not

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