Part 46 (2/2)
Close at his heels in a solid wedge rode the Prince, Chandos, Nigel, Lord Reginald Cobham, Audley with his four famous squires, and a score of the flower of the English and Gascon knighthood. Holding together and bearing down opposition by a shower of blows and by the weight of their powerful horses, their progress was still very slow, for ever fresh waves of French cavaliers surged up against them and broke in front only to close in again upon their rear. Sometimes they were swept backward by the rush, sometimes they gained a few paces, sometimes they could but keep their foothold, and yet from minute to minute that blue and silver flag which waved above the press grew ever a little closer. A dozen furious hard-breathing French knights had broken into their ranks, and clutched at Sir Walter Woodland's banner, but Chandos and Nigel guarded it on one side, Audley with his squires on the other, so that no man laid his hand upon it and lived.
But now there was a distant crash and a roar of ”Saint George for Guienne!” from behind. The Captal de Buch had charged home. ”Saint George for England!” yelled the main attack, and ever the counter-cry came back to them from afar. The ranks opened in front of them. The French were giving way. A small knight with golden scroll-work upon his armor threw himself upon the Prince and was struck dead by his mace. It was the Duke of Athens, Constable of France, but none had time to note it, and the fight rolled on over his body. Looser still were the French ranks. Many were turning their horses, for that ominous roar from the rear had shaken their resolution. The little English wedge poured onward, the Prince, Chandos, Audley and Nigel ever in the van.
A huge warrior in black, bearing a golden banner, appeared suddenly in a gap of the shredding ranks. He tossed his precious burden to a squire, who bore it away. Like a pack of hounds on the very haunch of a deer the English rushed yelling for the oriflamme. But the black warrior flung himself across their path. ”Chargny! Chargny a la recousse!” he roared with a voice of thunder. Sir Reginald Cobham dropped before his battle-ax, so did the Gascon de Clisson. Nigel was beaten down on to the crupper of his horse by a sweeping blow; but at the same instant Chandos' quick blade pa.s.sed through the Frenchman's camail and pierced his throat. So died Geoffrey de Chargny; but the oriflamme was saved.
Dazed with the shock, Nigel still kept his saddle, and Pommers, his yellow hide mottled with blood, bore him onward with the others. The French hors.e.m.e.n were now in full flight; but one stern group of knights stood firm, like a rock in a rus.h.i.+ng torrent, beating off all, whether friend or foe, who tried to break their ranks. The oriflamme had gone, and so had the blue and silver banner, but here were desperate men ready to fight to the death. In their ranks honor was to be reaped. The Prince and his following hurled themselves upon them, while the rest of the English hors.e.m.e.n swept onward to secure the fugitives and to win their ransoms. But the n.o.bler spirits--Audley, Chandos and the others--would have thought it shame to gain money whilst there was work to be done or honor to be won. Furious was the wild attack, desperate the prolonged defense. Men fell from their saddles for very exhaustion.
Nigel, still at his place near Chandos' elbow, was hotly attacked by a short broad-shouldered warrior upon a stout white cob, but Pommers reared with pawing fore feet and dashed the smaller horse to the ground.
The falling rider clutched Nigel's arm and tore him from the saddle, so that the two rolled upon the gra.s.s under the stamping hoofs, the English squire on the top, and his shortened sword glimmered before the visor of the gasping, breathless Frenchman.
”Je me rends! je axe rends!” he panted.
For a moment a vision of rich ransoms pa.s.sed through Nigel's brain. That n.o.ble palfrey, that gold-flecked armor, meant fortune to the captor. Let others have it! There was work still to be done. How could he desert the Prince and his n.o.ble master for the sake of a private gain? Could he lead a prisoner to the rear when honor beckoned him to the van? He staggered to his feet, seized Pommers by the mane, and swung himself into the saddle.
An instant later he was by Chandos' side once more and they were bursting together through the last ranks of the gallant group who had fought so bravely to the end. Behind them was one long swath of the dead and the wounded. In front the whole wide plain was covered with the flying French and their pursuers.
The Prince reined up his steed and opened his visor, whilst his followers crowded round him with waving weapons and frenzied shouts of victory. ”What now, John!” cried the smiling Prince, wiping his streaming face with his ungauntleted hand. ”How fares it then?”
”I am little hurt, fair lord, save for a crushed hand and a spear-p.r.i.c.k in the shoulder. But you, sir? I trust you have no scathe?”
”In truth, John, with you at one elbow and Lord Audley at the other, I know not how I could come to harm. But alas! I fear that Sir James is sorely stricken.”
The gallant Lord Audley had dropped upon the ground and the blood oozed from every crevice of his battered armor. His four brave Squires--Dutton of Dutton, Delves of Doddington, Fowlhurst of Crewe and Hawkstone of Wainhill--wounded and weary themselves, but with no thought save for their master, unlaced his helmet and bathed his pallid blood-stained face.
He looked up at the Prince with burning eyes. ”I thank you, sir, for deigning to consider so poor a knight as myself,” said he in a feeble voice.
The Prince dismounted and bent over him. ”I am bound to honor you very much, James,” said he, ”for by your valor this day you have won glory and renown above us all, and your prowess has proved you to be the bravest knight.”
”My Lord,” murmured the wounded man, ”you have a right to say what you please; but I wish it were as you say.”
”James,” said the Prince, ”from this time onward I make you a knight of my own household, and I settle upon you five hundred marks of yearly income from my own estates in England.”
”Sir,” the knight answered, ”G.o.d make me worthy of the good fortune you bestow upon me. Your knight I will ever be, and the money I will divide with your leave amongst these four squires who have brought me whatever glory I have won this day.” So saying his head fell back, and he lay white and silent upon the gra.s.s.
”Bring water!” said the Prince. ”Let the royal leech see to him; for I had rather lose many men than the good Sir James. Ha, Chandos, what have we here?”
A knight lay across the path with his helmet beaten down upon his shoulders. On his surcoat and s.h.i.+eld were the arms of a red griffin.
”It is Robert de Duras the spy,” said Chandos.
”Well for him that he has met his end,” said the angry Prince. ”Put him on his s.h.i.+eld, Hubert, and let four archers bear him to the monastery.
Lay him at the feet of the Cardinal and say that by this sign I greet him. Place my flag on yonder high bush, Walter, and let my tent be raised there, that my friends may know where to seek me.”
The flight and pursuit had thundered far away, and the field was deserted save for the numerous groups of weary hors.e.m.e.n who were making their way back, driving their prisoners before them. The archers were scattered over the whole plain, rifling the saddle-bags and gathering the armor of those who had fallen, or searching for their own scattered arrows.
Suddenly, however, as the Prince was turning toward the bush which he had chosen for his headquarters, there broke out from behind him an extraordinary uproar and a group of knights and squires came pouring toward him, all arguing, swearing and abusing each other in French and English at the tops of their voices. In the midst of them limped a stout little man in gold-spangled armor, who appeared to be the object of the contention, for one would drag him one way and one another, as though they would pull him limb from limb. ”Nay, fair sirs, gently, gently, I pray you!” he pleaded. ”There is enough for all, and no need to treat me so rudely.” But ever the hubbub broke out again, and swords gleamed as the angry disputants glared furiously at each other. The Prince's eyes fell upon the small prisoner, and he staggered back with a gasp of astonishment.
”King John!” he cried.
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