The Winning of the Golden Spurs Part 30

Then a trumpet sounded from the English ranks, and the hail of arrows ceased as by magic. There was a loud discordant shout, the trampling of hundreds of feet, and through the now rapidly clearing smoke Raymond saw the Welsh and Irish levies dash out upon the demoralised foe. With their long knives they threw themselves on the Frenchmen, and, in the heat of the fight, all thought of quarter was ignored, and knights, worth a rich ransom, were slaughtered as they lay helpless on the ground with as little compunction as if they were peasants.

So intently was Raymond engaged in watching the struggle before him that for the time being he did not notice what was happening on the flanks of the first division, till suddenly the hoa.r.s.e voice of the Earl of Oxford was heard shouting, "Stand to your arms, fair knights and squires! The French are upon us!"

For the first time on that memorable day a desperate hand-to-hand conflict was about to take place.

CHAPTER XX

HIS LIFE FOR HIS FOE

UNSHEATHING his sword and holding his shield firmly on his left arm, the squire followed the example of the knights and men-at-arms, and hastened towards the left flank.

Already the French cavalry, led by the Duke of Alencon, had, by sheer weight of numbers, forced their way to within striking distance of their foes, and the long rows of white-coated archers, who formed the first rank of the defence, were swept aside by the rush of the mounted French knights, for at close quarters the bowmen were useless against the lances, swords, and axes of their mailed antagonists.

Before Raymond and his companions could throw themselves into the press, the hors.e.m.e.n had hewn a way right to the foot of the Royal Standard, beneath which the Prince of Wales and a chosen body of knights fought with magnificent courage.

The French and German knights, intent on securing the Prince, hurled themselves in a compact body towards the Standard, and as fast as one warrior fell, two more took his place, till it seemed that the desperate bravery of the attackers would attain its purpose.

Raymond found himself engaged by a tall, broad-shouldered antagonist, who bore on his shield the cognisance of the House of Luxemburg. For a s.p.a.ce they rained blows at each other, striving by sheer force to cut down their respective guards, till, by a sweeping blow, the Frenchman shivered the squire's sword, and only by swiftly leaping backwards was Raymond able to avoid the deadly stroke: So narrow was his escape that the point of the descending blade cut a long, clean gash in his surcoat ere it buried itself a foot deep in the carcase of a slain charger. Instantly the squire rushed in, struck the Luxemburger with the edge of his shield, then, ere the man could recover himself, plunged his dagger to the hilt in his brawny throat.

Without pausing to recover his breath, Raymond rushed towards a group of French knights who were surrounding a little knot of Englishmen.

It was the Prince's own bodyguard, who, hard pressed, strove their utmost to defend their young master. Sir Reynold Cobham, beaten to the ground, lay pinned down by the weight of his armour; the Earl of Warwick, wounded in the face by a lance thrust, was fiercely beset by two knights of Cologne, while Edward, though unscathed, was the mark of nigh a score of determined Frenchmen. Nimbly avoiding one stroke, parrying another, and diverting a thrust with his shield, the Prince fought like a trained veteran rather than a mere lad of fifteen.

At length a knight, armed with a huge double-handed sword, made a swinging cut at the Prince just as the latter had all his attention drawn by the fierce onslaught of a mounted knight of Sicily. For the moment it seemed as if nothing could save the Prince from instant death; but Raymond, regardless of his own safety, sprang forward, and with his shield and his own body strove to stay the blow. The knight's sword struck the squire's shield just above the upper leathern loop that held it to the wearer's arm. The tough metal plate was sheared through as if made of paper, and the blade, glancing upwards against the squire's bascinet, struck the Prince a harmless blow, merely slicing the crest of his helmet.

Raymond fell at the Prince's feet, but the Constable of Portchester, seeing his squire stricken to the earth, dashed out the swordsman's brains with a crashing blow of his mace. For a short s.p.a.ce Raymond lay breathless on the ground, then, feeling terribly dazed, he raised himself and looked around. To his utmost satisfaction he saw that the Prince of Wales was unhurt. Already the danger was past, for the Earls of Arundel and Northampton had brought up their division to the aid of the sorely pressed Prince, and the attackers, beaten at every point, were giving way in headlong flight.

At length the squire staggered to his feet, and, a.s.sisted by an archer of his company, he slowly and painfully made his way towards the camp. Darkness was falling, and the English, having been ordered to refrain from hazardous pursuit, stood in their ranks, while a vast plain, dotted with thousands of corpses, of which but few wore the red cross surcoats, silently testified to the hard-fought fight.

As Raymond pa.s.sed the ranks of his own company Sir John Hacket came forward and grasped him by the hand.

"My brave squire," he exclaimed. "Right n.o.bly hast thou borne thyself this day. The Prince hath spoken highly of thy courage and devotion, and, without doubt, tidings of thy deeds will come to the cars of the King. But, Raymond," he added sadly, "I have ill tidings for thee."

"My father?" gasped the squire, reading the Constable's unspoken words.

"Ay, my boy, 'tis thy father. He fell in the thickest of the fight, and thou hast lost a n.o.ble sire and I a brave soldier. Now, bear up, Raymond, and get thee to the camp and attend to thy hurts, for thou wilt be required anon."

Wounded in body and mind, the young squire was led to the camp, where it was found that the Frenchman's sword had driven the stout steel bascinet heavily against his temple, leaving a dark blue bruise to show how near he had been to death. Simple remedies were applied, and, having divested himself of his armour, Raymond recovered himself sufficiently to set out to find the body of his father, bearing a torch to aid him in his quest.

He remembered well the place where he had last seen him, close to a little stunted thorn that grew on the edge of the slope which the Prince's division had held so well.

A veritable mound of bodies showed how firmly the archers had stood, and how fierce had been the contest, for in a circle around the tree lay a heap of red-crossed surcoats, their wearers lying still in death with their faces to the foe, while around lay the bodies of their attackers, three deep in places, their rich dress and armour proving that the flower of French chivalry was unable to vanquish, although it had broken through, that double line of English archers and men-at-arms.

The men of the Hampshire companies had suffered more severely than any, and Raymond, as he pursued his quest, came across many faces which he sadly recognised.

Here and there, dotted over the ghastly field, were feeble glimmers of torches showing that others were engaged in the doleful task of looking for their fallen comrades, though in some instances ghouls were engaged in their dastardly work of robbing the dead.

At length the ruddy glare of the torch threw its beams upon the form which Raymond recognised only too well. Stretched on his back, his sightless eyes staring up at the starry sky, lay Redward, the outlaw and master-bowman, the body bearing the ghastly traces of eight separate wounds, all of which were in front, proving that to the last he had fought with his face to the foe.

Sorrowfully Raymond gazed upon his slain sire; then, realising that the sooner he performed the last rites there would be the less chance of the spoiler's fell work, he proceeded to carefully remove the body to the shelter of the stunted tree, so that he could return to the camp to find, if possible, the priest attached to the company.

As he lifted the heavy corpse he was startled to hear a feeble voice exclaim, "Blessings on thy kindness, n.o.ble sir; I pray thee a.s.sist me."

Recovering from his astonishment, the squire discovered, pinned beneath his father's body, a wounded knight. Swiftly Raymond bent to his aid, and, cutting asunder the laces of his bascinet, he found the stranger to be none other than Sir Reginald Scarsdale!

"Faith! I did think this would have been the end of me," quoth the knight. "Hast a draught of wine?"

Raymond shook his head. "I am returning to the camp, an' if it please thee, I'll help thee back to thy company."

"Do so, squire, for, what with a crack over the head with a Frenchman's mace, and the weight of yon bowman atop o' me, I feel too weak to stand of mine own will. What dost thou here?"

"Yonder lies my father."

"Thy father? By St. Wilfrid of Ripon, he was a gallant man! Had he not stood over me the rascals would have settled my account. I pray thee tell me his name?"

For a moment Raymond paused, then, in a sudden outburst of confidence, he exclaimed, "Redward Revyngton!"

"What! Redward Revyngton! And to think that the man whom I, with a mad desire for vengeance, hounded out of the country should have given his life for me! Did he wot whom I was?"

"Ay," said Raymond. "For but a few hours agone he and I saw thee in converse with his brother, Sir Maurice."

"Then out on me for my revengeful spirit! When it lay in his power to thrust me through the back with a dagger, or even to let me be slain by my enemies, what did he do? He saved my life! This indeed is rendering good for evil."

"And ye forgive him his trespa.s.s?"

"Ay, young squire. Right willingly."

"Then in my sorrow I thank Heaven," replied Raymond, and in silence they returned slowly to the camp, Sir Reginald leaning heavily on the arm of the outlaw's son.

The moment the wounded knight was given into safe hands Raymond hastened to his quarters, where he enlisted the services of the priest and four stout archers. The latter took spades and torches with them, and the melancholy procession set out for the scene of Redward's last stand, Raymond with Sir John Hacket, who wished to pay his last respects to his trusted servant, leading the way.

Rapidly the bowmen plied their spades, and soon a deep grave gaped at the foot of the solitary thorn. Raymond bent and kissed the cold brow, then, amid the solemn voice of the priest reciting the psalm, _Domine, refugium_, the body of the brave old master-bowman was laid to rest.

Bare-headed and dry-eyed, Raymond watched the dark earth being shovelled down upon the mortal remains of his sire, then, when the task was accomplished, he turned and walked slowly back to the camp.

There, in the retirement of his tent, his pent-up feelings found relief, and throwing himself on the ground, he burst into a flood of pa.s.sionate weeping.

CHAPTER XXI

THE REJECTED GUERDON

MORNING came, and with it the trumpets again sounded for the troops to a.s.semble. Was it that a renewal of the fight was expected? Nay, for the French were in headlong flight, their King being already well on the way to La Broye. But Edward, sensible of the advantage gained, had determined to advance on Calais.