Part 5 (1/2)
”They are my sons,” answered the forester; ”and withal thy loyal subjects, gracious lady, ready to give their lives for thee and thine.”
After a few further pa.s.sages of speech, the chief forester led the way to his own dwelling--which was a strongly built and well concealed place, where, attended by his good wife, the Queen might rest secure until the battle had been fought and won.
Meanwhile the forester and his sons donned their war-gear, and when the time was ripe they took their stand with the rest of those who fought beneath the banner of the Queen.
It was in the gray dawning of an autumn day when the two armies met.
The battle was fought on a hill in the Mottram towns.h.i.+p, where the ancient Church of Mottram now stands. But there was no sacred building there on that gray morning of long ago, when the clas.h.i.+ng of arms awoke the echoes, and the air was heavy with the shrieks of dying men.
The army of Matilda was posted on the hill. Their position was strong and commanding. From it they could note the approach of the foe, and fight him with advantage. In the midst of their array rose the standard of the Princess--the royal banner of the great Henry--and by its side the bonnie flag of Scotland floated in the breeze.
As the gray light broke from the east, the watchers on the hill beheld the first line of Stephen's forces emerge from the woods. The King's army was a mighty host, the bright spears gleamed in the light of dawn, and the archers carried great quivers full of deadly goose-tipped shafts.
The royal force came on, and the leading ranks broke into a battle-chant as they neared the hill foot, and bent to meet the slope.
The archers winged their shafts, the axes, bills, and pikes advanced; a rain of arrows beat whistling from the ranks upon the hill, and the great fight commenced.
Bit by bit the soldiers of Stephen advanced up the hill. They left many dead upon the slopes, but still the host went on. The army of Matilda hung thick and ma.s.sive upon the crest, and waited with unbroken front for the closing of the foe; they rained down their flights of arrows, but kept their ranks unbroken, with bristling rows of pikes in front.
At length the advancing host drew near. The foremost men rushed bravely on, they clutched the wall of pikes with their hands, and strove to hew a way to victory. But the arrows fell among them, dealing death in full measure, and the brave men fell. Others took their places, and again the goose-shafts flew.
Now the advancing army remembered the trick of Norman William on the field of Senlac. At a given signal they turned and fled in apparent confusion. With a wild yell the unwary Highland men broke from their post upon the summit, and charged down to slay. Then, swift as lightning, the warriors of Stephen turned. Their archers met the onrush of the pursuers with a staggering volley of shafts. The pikes and bills charged up the slope. The axes hacked the brawny Scots, and the broken ranks upon the hill, opening wider yet to receive their retreating comrades, let in the charging body of the foe. After that there was a mingled ma.s.s of slaying men about the summit. The hosts of King Stephen girt the hill round, so that there was no escape for the men who stood upon it. Death was everywhere, death for the victors and the vanquished; for the soldiers of the Princess died as soldiers should, and they slew great numbers of the foe.
[Ill.u.s.tration: MOTTRAM CHURCH AND THE WAR HILL, THE SITE OF THE BATTLE MENTIONED IN THE LEGEND.]
That was the last stand for the Princess Matilda in that part of Ches.h.i.+re, and the old chronicles say that the blood shed in the battle ran in a stream down the slopes, and formed a great pool at the foot of the hill.
As the gray of the morrow's dawn fell upon the scene of battle, the pale light fell also upon a group of living beings, who stood upon the summit of the hill among the hosts of the dead.
Matilda, the Queen, was there--beaten and dismayed, since all hope was lost. The chief forester of Longdendale stood there also, and he, too, sighed, as one whose heart is broken--he had just been groping among the corpses, and had found what he sought.
”Are thy fears well founded?” asked Matilda, anxiously.
The old man pointed to the inert forms of five dead men.
”They were all I had--and I am an old man. Now they are gone, my very name must perish.”
The royal lady looked at him for a moment, her whole being trembling with grief.
”My heart is broken,” she said. ”Yet what is my loss to thine?”
The old man took her hand, and kissed it.
”I am a loyal man--and an Englishman. I gave them freely to the cause of my Queen. Who am I that I should complain?”
Royal lady and lowly-born forester gazed into each other's eyes for a brief s.p.a.ce--their looks conveying thoughts which were too sacred for words--and then the Queen's train moved down the hill, and the old man was left alone--alone with his sorrow and his dead.