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"And how could man die better?" asked the archer. "If I had my
wish, it would be to fall so--not, mark you, in any mere skirmish
of the Company, but in a stricken field, with the great lion
banner waving over us and the red oriflamme in front, amid the
shouting of my fellows and the twanging of the strings. But let
it be sword, lance, or bolt that strikes me down: for I should
think it shame to die from an iron ball from the fire-crake or
bombard or any such unsoldierly weapon, which is only fitted to
scare babes with its foolish noise and smoke."
"I have heard much even in the quiet cloisters of these new and
dreadful engines," quoth Alleyne. "It is said, though I can
scarce bring myself to believe it, that they will send a ball
twice as far as a bowman can shoot his shaft, and with such force
as to break through armor of proof."
"True enough, my lad. But while the armorer is thrusting in his
devil's-dust, and dropping his ball, and lighting his flambeau, I
can very easily loose six shafts, or eight maybe, so he hath no
great vantage after all.


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