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 Alençon, 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 horsemen 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 space 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 space 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, assisted 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 passed the ranks of his own company Sir John Hacket came
forward and grasped him by the hand.
"My brave squire," he exclaimed. "Right nobly 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 noble 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, noble sir; I pray thee assist
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 trespass?"
"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
passionate weeping.