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Updated: June 7, 2025
I doubt not, Terlake, that you will show yourself a worthy son of a valiant father; and you, Ford, of yours; and you, Edricson, that you are mindful of the old-time house from which all men know that you are sprung.
"I have lost one very valiant and gentle squire this day. I can ill afford to lose another. How many men have fallen?" "I have pricked off the tally," said Aylward, who had come aboard with his lord. "There are seven of the Winchester men, eleven seamen, your squire, young Master Terlake, and nine archers." "And of the others?" "They are all dead save only the Norman knight who stands behind you.
"It is a shrine of Our Lady," said Terlake, "and a blind beggar who lives by the alms of those who worship there." "A shrine!" cried the knight. "Then let us put up an orison." Pulling off his cap, and clasping his hands, he chanted in a shrill voice: "Benedictus dominus Deus meus, qui docet manus meas ad proelium, et digitos meos ad bellum."
At the same time the Genoese sailors thrust with their oars against the side of the cog, and a rapidly widening rift appeared between the two vessels. "By St. George!" cried Ford, "we are cut off from Sir Nigel." "He is lost," gasped Terlake. "Come, let us spring for it." The two youths jumped with all their strength to reach the departing galley.
He had scarce dared to face the change which had come upon him, when a few sudden chance words showed it all up hard and clear, like a lightning flash in the darkness. He had ridden over to Poole, one November day, with his fellow-squire, Peter Terlake, in quest of certain yew-staves from Wat Swathling, the Dorsetshire armorer.
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