CHAPTER V. THE BATTLE.
The mist still continued so thick that Montagu was unable to discernthe general prospects of the field; but, calm and resolute in his post,amidst the arrows which whirled round him, and often struck, blunted,against his Milan mail, the marquis received the reports of hisaides-de-camp (may that modern word be pardoned?) as one after one theyemerged through the fog to his side.
"Well," he said, as one of these messengers now spurred to the spot, "wehave beaten off Hastings and his hirelings; but I see not 'the SilverStar' of Lord Oxford's banner." [The Silver Star of the De Veres had itsorigin in a tradition that one of their ancestors, when fighting inthe Holy Land, saw a falling star descend upon his shield. Fatal to mennobler even than the De Veres was that silver falling star.]
"Lord Oxford, my lord, has followed the enemy he routed to the farthestverge of the heath."
"Saints help us! Is Oxford thus headstrong? He will ruin all if he bedecoyed from the field! Ride back, sir! Yet hold!"--as another of theaides-de-camp appeared. "What news from Lord Warwick's wing?"
"Sore beset, bold marquis. Gloucester's line seems countless; it alreadyoutflanks the earl. The duke himself seems inspired by hell! Twice hashis slight arm braved even the earl's battle-axe, which spared the boybut smote to the dust his comrades!"
"Well, and what of the centre, sir?" as a third form now arrived.
"There rages Edward in person. He hath pierced into the midst. ButSomerset still holds on gallantly!" Montagu turned to the firstaide-de-camp.
"Ride, sir! Quick! This to Oxford--No pursuit! Bid him haste, with allhis men, to the left wing, and smite Gloucester in the rear. Ride, ride,for life and victory! If he come but in time the day is ours!" [Fabyan.]
The aide-de-camp darted off, and the mist swallowed up horse andhorseman.
"Sound trumpets to the return!" said the marquis. Then, after a moment'smusing, "Though Oxford hath drawn off our main force of cavalry, we havestill some stout lances left; and Warwick must be strengthened. On tothe earl! Laissez aller! A Montagu! a Montagu!" And lance in rest,the marquis and the knights immediately around him, and hitherto notpersonally engaged, descended the hillock at a hand-gallop, and were metby a troop outnumbering their own, and commanded by the Lords D'Eyncourtand Say.
At this time Warwick was indeed in the same danger that had routed thetroops of Hastings; for, by a similar position, the strength of thehostile numbers being arrayed with Gloucester, the duke's troops hadalmost entirely surrounded him [Sharon Turner]; and Gloucester himselfwondrously approved the trust that had consigned to his striplingarm the flower of the Yorkist army. Through the mists the blood-redmanteline he wore over his mail, the grinning teeth of the boar's headwhich crested his helmet, flashed and gleamed wherever his presence wasmost needed to encourage the flagging or spur on the fierce. And thereseemed to both armies something ghastly and preternatural in the savagestrength of this small slight figure thus startlingly caparisoned, andwhich was heard evermore uttering its sharp war-cry, "Gloucester to theonslaught! Down with the rebels, down!"
Nor did this daring personage disdain, in the midst of his fury, toincrease the effect of valour by the art of a brain that never ceasedto scheme on the follies of mankind. "See, see!" he cried, as he shotmeteor-like from rank to rank, "see, these are no natural vapours!Yonder the mighty friar, who delayed the sails of Margaret, chants hisspells to the Powers that ride the gale. Fear not the bombards,--theirenchanted balls swerve from the brave! The dark legions of Air fightfor us! For the hour is come when the fiend shall rend his prey!" Andfiendlike seemed the form thus screeching forth its predictions fromunder the grim head-gear; and then darting and disappearing amidst thesea of pikes, cleaving its path of blood!
But still the untiring might of Warwick defied the press of numbersthat swept round him tide upon tide. Through the mist, his black armour,black plume, black steed, gloomed forth like one thundercloud in themidst of a dismal heaven. The noble charger bore along that mightyrider, animating, guiding all, with as much ease and lightness as theracer bears its puny weight; the steed itself was scarce less terribleto encounter than the sweep of the rider's axe. Protected from arrow andlance by a coat of steel, the long chaffron, or pike, which projectedfrom its barbed frontal dropped with gore as it scoured along. No lineof men, however serried, could resist the charge of that horse andhorseman. And vain even Gloucester's dauntless presence and thrillingbattle-cry, when the stout earl was seen looming through the vapour, andhis cheerful shout was heard, "My merry men, fight on!"
For a third time, Gloucester, spurring forth from his recoiling andshrinking followers, bending low over his saddle-bow, covered by hisshield, and with the tenth lance (his favourite weapon, because the onein which skill best supplied strength) he had borne that day, launchedhimself upon the vast bulk of his tremendous foe. With that doggedenergy, that rapid calculation, which made the basis of his character,and which ever clove through all obstacles at the one that, ifdestroyed, destroyed the rest,--in that, his first great battle, as inhis last at Bosworth, he singled out the leader, and rushed upon thegiant as the mastiff on the horns and dewlap of the bull. Warwick, inthe broad space which his arm had made around him in the carnage, reinedin as he saw the foe and recognized the grisly cognizance and scarletmantle of his godson. And even in that moment, with all his heated bloodand his remembered wrong and his imminent peril, his generous and lionheart felt a glow of admiration at the valour of the boy he had trainedto arms,--of the son of the beloved York. "His father little thought,"muttered the earl, "that that arm should win glory against his oldfriend's life!" And as the half-uttered word died on his lips, thewell-poised lance of Gloucester struck full upon his bassinet, and,despite the earl's horsemanship and his strength, made him reel in hissaddle, while the prince shot by, and suddenly wheeling round, cast awaythe shivered lance, and assailed him sword in hand.
"Back, Richard! boy, back!" said the earl, in a voice that soundedhollow through his helmet; "it is not against thee that my wrongs callfor blood,--pass on!"
"Not so, Lord Warwick," answered Richard, in a sobered and almost solemnvoice, dropping for the moment the point of his sword, and raising hisvisor, that he might be the better heard,--"on the field of battle allmemories sweet in peace must die! Saint Paul be my judge, that even inthis hour I love you well; but I love renown and glory more. On theedge of my sword sit power and royalty, and what high souls prizemost,--ambition; these would nerve me against my own brother's breast,were that breast my barrier to an illustrious future. Thou hast giventhy daughter to another! I smite the father to regain my bride. Lay on,and spare not!--for he who hates thee most would prove not so fell a foeas the man who sees his fortunes made or marred, his love crushed or yetcrowned, as this day's battle closes in triumph or defeat. REBEL, DEFENDTHYSELF!"
No time was left for further speech; for as Richard's sword descended,two of Gloucester's followers, Parr and Milwater by name, dashed fromthe halting lines at the distance, and bore down to their young prince'said. At the same moment, Sir Marmaduke Nevile and the Lord Fitzhughspurred from the opposite line; and thus encouraged, the band on eitherside came boldly forward, and the melee grew fierce and general. Butstill Richard's sword singled out the earl, and still the earl, parryinghis blows, dealt his own upon meaner heads. Crushed by one sweep of theaxe fell Milwater to the earth; down, as again it swung on high, fellSir Humphrey Bourchier, who had just arrived to Gloucester with messagesfrom Edward, never uttered in the world below. Before Marmaduke's lancefell Sir Thomas Parr; and these three corpses making a barrier betweenGloucester and the earl, the duke turned fiercely upon Marmaduke, whilethe earl, wheeling round, charged into the midst of the hostile line,which scattered to the right and left.
"On! my merry men, on!" rang once more through the heavy air. "They giveway, the London tailors,--on!" and on dashed, with their joyous cry, themerry men of Yorkshire and Warwick, the warrior yeomen! Separated thusfrom his great foe, Gloucester, after unhorsing Marmaduke, g
alloped offto sustain that part of his following which began to waver and retreatbefore the rush of Warwick and his chivalry.
This, in truth, was the regiment recruited from the loyalty of London;and little accustomed, we trow, were the worthy heroes of Cockaigne tothe discipline of arms, nor trained to that stubborn resistance whichmakes, under skilful leaders, the English peasants the most enduringsoldiery that the world has known since the day when the Roman sentinelperished amidst the falling columns and lava floods [at Pompeii], ratherthan, though society itself dissolved, forsake his post unbidden. "SaintThomas defend us!" muttered a worthy tailor, who in the flush of hisvalour, when safe in the Chepe, had consented to bear the rank oflieutenant; "it is not reasonable to expect men of pith and substanceto be crushed into jellies and carved into subtleties by horse-hoofsand pole-axes. Right about face! Fly!"--and throwing down his sword andshield, the lieutenant fairly took to his heels as he saw the chargingcolumn, headed by the raven steed of Warwick, come giant-like throughthe fog. The terror of one man is contagious, and the Londoners actuallyturned their backs, when Nicholas Alwyn cried, in his shrill voice andnorthern accent, "Out on you! What will the girls say of us in East-gateand the Chepe? Hurrah for the bold hearts of London! Round me, stout'prentices! let the boys shame the men! This shaft for Cockaigne!" Andas the troop turned irresolute, and Alwyn's arrow left his bow, they sawa horseman by the side of Warwick reel in his saddle and fall at onceto the earth; and so great evidently was the rank of the fallen man thateven Warwick reined in, and the charge halted midway in its career.It was no less a person than the Duke of Exeter whom Alwyn's shaft haddisabled for the field. This incident, coupled with the heartyaddress of the stout goldsmith, served to reanimate the flaggers, andGloucester, by a circuitous route, reaching their line a moment after,they dressed their ranks, and a flight of arrows followed their loud"Hurrah for London Town!"
But the charge of Warwick had only halted, and (while the wounded Exeterwas borne back by his squires to the rear) it dashed into the midst ofthe Londoners, threw their whole line into confusion, and drove them,despite all the efforts of Gloucester, far back along the plain. Thiswell-timed exploit served to extricate the earl from the main danger ofhis position; and, hastening to improve his advantage, he sent forthwithto command the reserved forces under Lord St. John, the Knight ofLytton, Sir John Coniers, Dymoke, and Robert Hilyard, to bear down tohis aid.
At this time Edward had succeeded, after a most stubborn fight, ineffecting a terrible breach through Somerset's wing; and the fogcontinued still so dense and mirk, that his foe itself--for Somerset hadprudently drawn back to re-form his disordered squadron--seemed vanishedfrom the field. Halting now, as through the dim atmosphere came fromdifferent quarters the many battle-cries of that feudal-day, by whichalone he could well estimate the strength or weakness of those inthe distance, his calmer genius as a general cooled, for a time, hisindividual ferocity of knight and soldier. He took his helmet from hisbrow to listen with greater certainty; and the lords and riders roundhim were well content to take breath and pause from the weary slaughter.
The cry of "Gloucester to the onslaught!" was heard no more. Feeblerand feebler, scatteringly as it were, and here and there, the note hadchanged into "Gloucester to the rescue!"
Farther off rose, mingled and blent together, the opposing shouts, "AMontagu! a Montagu! Strike for D'Eyncourt and King Edward!"--"A Say! ASay!"
"Ha!" said Edward, thoughtfully, "bold Gloucester fails, Montagu isbearing on to Warwick's aid, Say and D'Eyncourt stop his path. Our doomlooks dark! Ride, Hastings,--ride; retrieve thy laurels, and bring upthe reserve under Clarence. But hark ye, leave not his side,--he maydesert again! Ho! ho! Again, 'Gloucester to the rescue!' Ah, how lustilysounds the cry of 'Warwick!' By the flaming sword of Saint Michael, wewill slacken that haughty shout, or be evermore dumb ourself, ere theday be an hour nearer to the eternal judgment!"
Deliberately Edward rebraced his helm, and settled himself in hissaddle, and with his knights riding close each to each, that they mightnot lose themselves in the darkness, regained his infantry, and ledthem on to the quarter where the war now raged fiercest, round the blacksteed of Warwick and the blood-red manteline of the fiery Richard.