THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY (_concluded_)
Dick, once more left to his own counsels, began to look about him. The
arrow-shot had somewhat slackened. On all sides the enemy were falling
back; and the greater part of the market-place was now left empty, the
snow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed with gore, scattered
all over with dead men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered
arrows.
On his own side the loss had been cruel. The jaws of the little street
and the ruins of the barricade were heaped with the dead and dying; and
out of the hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there were not
seventy left who could still stand to arms.
At the same time the day was passing. The first reinforcements might be
looked for to arrive at any moment; and the Lancastrians, already shaken
by the result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, were in an
ill temper to support a fresh invader.
There was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking houses; and
this, in the frosty, winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon.
Dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little insignificant
archer, binding a cut in his arm.
"It was well fought," he said, "and, by my sooth, they will not charge
us twice."
"Sir," said the little archer, "ye have fought right well for York, and
better for yourself. Never hath man in so brief space prevailed so
greatly on the duke's affections. That he should have entrusted such a
post to one he knew not is a marvel. But look to your head, Sir
Richard! If ye be vanquished--ay, if ye give way one foot's-breadth--axe
or cord shall punish it; and I am set, if ye do aught doubtful, I will
tell you honestly, here to stab you from behind."
Dick looked at the little man in amaze.
"You!" he cried. "And from behind!"
"It is right so," returned the archer; "and because I like not the
affair I tell it you. Ye must make the post good, Sir Richard, at your
peril. O, our Crookback is a bold blade and a good warrior; but whether
in cold blood or in hot, he will have all things done exact to his
commandment. If any fail or hinder, they shall die the death."
"Now, by the saints!" cried Richard, "is this so? And will men follow
such a leader?"
"Nay, they follow him gleefully," replied the other; "for if he be exact
to punish, he is most open-handed to reward. And if he spare not the
blood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal of his own, still in the
first front of battle, still the last to sleep. He will go far, will
Crookback Dick o' Gloucester!"
The young knight, if he had before been brave and vigilant, was now all
the more inclined to watchfulness and courage. His sudden favour, he
began to perceive, had brought perils in its train. And he turned from
the archer, and once more scanned anxiously the market-place. It lay
empty as before.
"I like not this quietude," he said. "Doubtless they prepare us some
surprise."
And, as if in answer to his remark, the archers began once more to
advance against the barricade, and the arrows to fall thick. But there
was something hesitating in the attack. They came not on roundly, but
seemed rather to await a further signal.
Dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a hidden danger. And sure
enough, about half-way up the little street, a door was suddenly opened
from within, and the house continued, for some seconds, and both by
door and window, to disgorge a torrent of Lancastrian archers. These, as
they leaped down, hurriedly stood to their ranks, bent their bows, and
proceeded to pour upon Dick's rear a flight of arrows.
At the same time, the assailants in the market-place redoubled their
shot, and began to close in stoutly upon the barricade.
Dick called down his whole command out of the houses, and facing them
both ways, and encouraging their valour both by word and gesture,
returned as best he could the double shower of shafts that fell about
his post.
Meanwhile house after house was opened in the street, and the
Lancastrians continued to pour out of the doors and leap down from the
windows, shouting victory, until the number of enemies upon Dick's rear
was almost equal to the number in his face. It was plain that he could
hold the post no longer; what was worse, even if he could have held it,
it had now become useless; and the whole Yorkist army lay in a posture
of helplessness upon the brink of a complete disaster.
The men behind him formed the vital flaw in the general defence; and it
was upon these that Dick turned, charging at the head of his men. So
vigorous was the attack that the Lancastrian archers gave ground and
staggered, and, at last, breaking their ranks, began to crowd back into
the houses from which they had so recently and so vaingloriously
sallied.
Meanwhile the men from the market-place had swarmed across the
undefended barricade, and fell on hotly upon the other side; and Dick
must once again face about, and proceed to drive them back. Once again
the spirit of his men prevailed; they cleared the street in a triumphant
style, but even as they did so the others issued again out of the
houses, and took them, a third time, upon the rear.
The Yorkists began to be scattered; several times Dick found himself
alone among his foes and plying his bright sword for life; several
times he was conscious of a hurt. And meanwhile the fight swayed to and
fro in the street without determinate result.
Suddenly Dick was aware of a great trumpeting about the outskirts of the
town. The war-cry of York began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many
and triumphant voices. And at the same time the men in front of him
began to give ground rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon
the market-place. Some one gave the word to fly. Trumpets were blown
distractedly, some for a rally, some to charge. It was plain that a
great blow had been struck, and the Lancastrians were thrown, at least
for the moment, into full disorder, and some degree of panic.
And then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last act of Shoreby
Battle. The men in front of Richard turned tail, like a dog that has
been whistled home, and fled like the wind. At the same moment there
came through the market-place a storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing,
the Lancastrians turning back to strike with the sword, the Yorkists
riding them down at the point of the lance.
Conspicuous in the mellay, Dick beheld the Crookback. He was already
giving a foretaste of that furious valour and skill to cut his way
across the ranks of war, which, years afterwards, upon the field of
Bosworth, and when he was stained with crimes, almost sufficed to change
the fortunes of the day and the destiny of the English throne. Evading,
striking, riding down, he so forced and so manoeuvred his strong
horse, so aptly defended himself, and so liberally scattered death to
his opponents, that he was now far ahead of the foremost of his knights,
hewing his way, with the truncheon of a bloody sword, to where Lord
Risingham was rallying the bravest. A moment more and they had met; the
tall, splendid, and famous warrior against the deformed and sickly boy.
Yet Shelton had never a doubt of the result; and when the fight next
opened for a moment, the figure of the earl had disappeared; but still,
in the first of the danger, Crookback Dick was launching his big horse
and plying the truncheon of his sword.
Thus, by Shelton's courage in holding the mouth of the street against
the first attack, and by the opportune arrival of his seven hundred
reinforcements, the lad, who was afterwards to be handed down to the
execration of posterity under the name of Richard III., had won his
first considerable fight.