THE BATTLE.
It was now scarcely eight in the morning, though the battle had
endured three hours; and, as yet, victory so inclined to the earl that
nought but some dire mischance could turn the scale. Montagu had cut
his way to Warwick; Somerset had re-established his array. The fresh
vigour brought by the earl's reserve had well-nigh completed his
advantage over Gloucester's wing. The new infantry under Hilyard, the
unexhausted riders under Sir John Coniers and his knightly compeers,
were dealing fearful havoc, as they cleared the plain; and Gloucester,
fighting inch by inch, no longer outnumbering but outnumbered, was
driven nearer and nearer towards the town, when suddenly a pale,
sickly, and ghostlike ray of sunshine, rather resembling the watery
gleam of a waning moon than the radiance of the Lord of Light, broke
through the mists, and showed to the earl's eager troops the banner
and badges of a new array hurrying to the spot. "Behold," cried the
young Lord Fitzhugh, "the standard and the badge of the Usurper,--a
silver sun! Edward himself is delivered into our hands! Upon them,
bill and pike, lance and brand, shaft and bolt! Upon them, and crown
the day!"
The same fatal error was shared by Hilyard, as he caught sight of the
advancing troop, with their silvery cognizance. He gave the word, and
every arrow left its string. At the same moment, as both horse and
foot assailed the fancied foe, the momentary beam vanished from the
heaven, the two forces mingled in the sullen mists, when, after a
brief conflict, a sudden and horrible cry of "Treason! Treason!"
resounded from either band. The shining star of Oxford, returning
from the pursuit, had been mistaken for Edward's cognizance of the
sun. [Cont. Croyl., 555; Fabyan, Habington, Hume, S. Turner.] Friend
was slaughtering friend, and when the error was detected, each
believed the other had deserted to the foe. In vain, here Montagu and
Warwick, and there Oxford and his captains, sought to dispel the
confusion, and unite those whose blood had been fired against each
other. While yet in doubt, confusion, and dismay, rushed full into
the centre Edward of York himself, with his knights and riders; and
his tossing banners, scarcely even yet distinguished from Oxford's
starry ensigns, added to the general incertitude and panic. Loud in
the midst rose Edward's trumpet voice, while through the midst, like
one crest of foam upon a roaring sea, danced his plume of snow. Hark!
again, again--near and nearer--the tramp of steeds, the clash of
steel, the whiz and hiss of arrows, the shout of "Hastings to the
onslaught!" Fresh, and panting for glory and for blood, came on King
Edward's large reserve; from all the scattered parts of the field
spurred the Yorkist knights, where the uproar, so much mightier than
before, told them that the crisis of the war was come. Thither, as
vultures to the carcass, they flocked and wheeled; thither D'Eyncourt
and Lovell, and Cromwell's bloody sword, and Say's knotted mace; and
thither, again rallying his late half-beaten myrmidons, the grim
Gloucester, his helmet bruised and dinted, but the boar's teeth still
gnashing wrath and horror from the grisly crest. But direst and most
hateful of all in the eyes of the yet undaunted earl, thither, plainly
visible, riding scarcely a yard before him, with the cognizance of
Clare wrought on his gay mantle, and in all the pomp and bravery of a
holiday suit, came the perjured Clarence. Conflict now it could
scarce be called: as well might the Dane have rolled back the sea from
his footstool, as Warwick and his disordered troop (often and aye,
dazzled here by Oxford's star, there by Edward's sun, dealing random
blows against each other) have resisted the general whirl and torrent
of the surrounding foe. To add to the rout, Somerset and the on-guard
of his wing had been marching towards the earl at the very time that
the cry of "treason" had struck their ears, and Edward's charge was
made; these men, nearly all Lancastrians, and ever doubting Montagu,
if not Warwick, with the example of Clarence and the Archbishop of
York fresh before them, lost heart at once,--Somerset himself headed
the flight of his force.
"All is lost!" said Montagu, as side by side with Warwick the brothers
fronted the foe, and for one moment stayed the rush.
"Not yet," returned the earl; "a band of my northern archers still
guard yon wood; I know them,--they will fight to the last gasp!
Thither, then, with what men we may. You so marshal our soldiers, and
I will make good the retreat. Where is Sir Marmaduke Nevile?"
"Here!"
"Horsed again, young cousin! I give thee a perilous commission. Take
the path down the hill; the mists thicken in the hollows, and may hide
thee. Overtake Somerset; he hath fled westward, and tell him, from
me, if he can yet rally but one troop of horse--but one--and charge
Edward suddenly in the rear, he will yet redeem all. If he refuse,
the ruin of his king and the slaughter of the brave men he deserts be
on his head! Swift, a tout bride, Marmaduke. Yet one word," added
the earl, in a whisper,--"if you fail with Somerset, come not back,
make to the Sanctuary. You are too young to die, cousin! Away! keep
to the hollows of the chase."
As the knight vanished, Warwick turned to his comrades "Bold nephew
Fitzhugh, and ye brave riders round me,--so we are fifty knights!
Haste thou, Montagu, to the wood! the wood!"
So noble in that hero age was the Individual MAN, even amidst the
multitudes massed by war, that history vies with romance in showing
how far a single sword could redress the scale of war. While Montagu,
with rapid dexterity, and a voice yet promising victory, drew back the
remnant of the lines, and in serried order retreated to the outskirts
of the wood, Warwick and his band of knights protected the movement
from the countless horsemen who darted forth from Edward's swarming
and momently thickening ranks. Now dividing and charging singly, now
rejoining, and breast to breast, they served to divert and perplex and
harass the eager enemy. And never in all his wars, in all the former
might of his indomitable arm, had Warwick so excelled the martial
chivalry of his age, as in that eventful and crowning hour. Thrice
almost alone he penetrated into the very centre of Edward's body-
guard, literally felling to the earth all before him. Then perished
by his battle-axe Lord Cromwell and the redoubted Lord of Say; then,
no longer sparing even the old affection, Gloucester was hurled to the
ground. The last time he penetrated even to Edward himself, smiting
down the king's standard-bearer, unhorsing Hastings, who threw himself
on his path; and Edward, setting his teeth in stern joy as he saw him,
rose in his stirrups, and for a moment the mace of the king, the axe
of the earl, met as thunder encounters thunder; but then a hundred
knights rushed into the rescue, and robbed the baffled avenger of his
prey. Thus charging and retreating, driving back with each charge
farther and farther the mighty multitude hounding on to the lion's
death, this great chief and his devoted knights, though terribly
reduced in number, succeeded at last in covering Montagu's skilful
retreat; and when they gained the outskirts of the wood, and dashed
through the narrow opening between the barricades, the Yorkshire
archers approved their lord's trust, and, shouting, as to a marriage
feast, hailed his coming.
But few, alas! of his fellow-horsemen had survived that marvellous
enterprise of valour and despair. Of the fifty knights who had shared
its perils, eleven only gained the wood; and, though in this number
the most eminent (save Sir John Coniers, either slain or fled) might
be found, their horses, more exposed than themselves, were for the
most part wounded and unfit for further service. At this time the sun
again, and suddenly as before, broke forth,--not now with a feeble
glimmer, but a broad and almost a cheerful beam, which sufficed to
give a fuller view than the day had yet afforded of the state and
prospects of the field.
To the right and to the left, what remained of the cavalry of Warwick
were seen flying fast,--gone the lances of Oxford, the bills of
Somerset. Exeter, pierced by the shaft of Alwyn, was lying cold and
insensible, remote from the contest, and deserted even by his squires.
In front of the archers and such men as Montagu had saved from the
sword, halted the immense and murmuring multitude of Edward, their
thousand banners glittering in the sudden sun; for, as Edward beheld
the last wrecks of his foe, stationed near the covert, his desire of
consummating victory and revenge made him cautious, and, fearing an
ambush, he had abruptly halted.
When the scanty followers of the earl thus beheld the immense force
arrayed for their destruction, and saw the extent of their danger, and
their loss,--here the handful, there the multitude,--a simultaneous
exclamation of terror and dismay broke from their ranks.
"Children!" cried Warwick, "droop not! Henry at Agincourt had worse
odds than we!"
But the murmur among the archers, the lealest part of the earl's
retainers, continued, till there stepped forth their captain, a gray
old man, but still sinewy and unbent, the iron relic of a hundred
battles.
"Back to your men, Mark Forester!" said the earl, sternly.
The old man obeyed not. He came on to Warwick, and fell on his knees
beside his stirrup.
"Fly, my lord! escape is possible for you and your riders. Fly
through the wood, we will screen your path with our bodies. Your
children, father of your followers, your children of Middleham, ask no
better fate than to die for you! Is it not so?" and the old man,
rising, turned to those in hearing. They answered by a general
acclamation.
"Mark Forester speaks well," said Montagu. "On yon depends the last
hope of Lancaster. We may yet join Oxford and Somerset! This way
through the wood,--come!" and he laid his hand on the earl's rein.
"Knights and sirs," said the earl, dismounting, and partially raising
his visor as he turned to the horsemen, "let those who will, fly with
Lord Montagu! Let those who, in a just cause, never despair of
victory, nor, even at the worst, fear to face their Maker, fresh from
the glorious death of heroes, dismount with me!" Every knight sprang
from his steed, Montagu the first. "Comrades!" continued the earl,
then addressing the retainers, "when the children fight for a father's
honour, the father flies not from the peril into which he has drawn
the children. What to me were life, stained by the blood of mine own
beloved retainers, basely deserted by their chief? Edward has
proclaimed that he will spare none. Fool! he gives us, then, the
superhuman mightiness of despair! To your bows!--one shaft--if it
pierce the joints of the tyrant's mail--one shaft may scatter yon army
to the winds! Sir Marmaduke has gone to rally noble Somerset and his
riders; if we make good our defence one little hour, the foe may be
yet smitten in the rear, and the day retrieved! Courage and heart
then!" Here the earl lifted his visor to the farthest bar, and showed
his cheerful face--"Is this the face of a man who thinks all hope is
gone?"
In this interval, the sudden sunshine revealed to King Henry, where he
stood, the dispersion of his friends. To the rear of the palisades,
which protected the spot where he was placed, already grouped "the
lookers-on and no fighters," as the chronicler [Fabyan] words it, who,
as the guns slackened, ventured forth to learn the news, and who now,
filling the churchyard of Hadley, strove hard to catch a peep of Henry
the saint, or of Bungey the sorcerer. Mingled with these gleamed the
robes of the tymbesteres, pressing nearer and nearer to the barriers,
as wolves, in the instinct of blood, come nearer and nearer round the
circling watch-fire of some northern travellers. At this time the
friar, turning to one of the guards who stood near him, said, "The
mists are needed no more now; King Edward hath got the day, eh?"
"Certes, great master," quoth the guard, "nothing now lacks to the
king's triumph except the death of the earl."
"Infamous nigromancer, hear that!" cried Bungey to Adam. "What now
avail thy bombards and thy talisman! Hark yet--tell me the secret of
the last,--of the damnable engine under my feet, and I may spare thy
life."
Adam shrugged his shoulders in impatient disdain. "Unless I gave thee
my science, my secret were profitless to thee. Villain and numskull,
do thy worst."
The friar made a sign to a soldier who stood behind Adam, and the
soldier silently drew the end of the rope which girded the scholar's
neck round a bough of the leafless tree. "Hold!" whispered the friar,
"not till I give the word. The earl may recover himself yet," he
added to himself; and therewith he began once more to vociferate his
incantations. Meanwhile the eyes of Sibyll had turned for a moment
from her father; for the burst of sunshine, lighting up the valley
below, had suddenly given to her eyes, in the distance, the gable-ends
of the old farmhouse, with the wintry orchard,--no longer, alas!
smiling with starry blossoms. Far remote from the battlefield was
that abode of peace,--that once happy home, where she had watched the
coming of the false one!
Loftier and holier were the thoughts of the fated king. He had turned
his face from the field, and his eyes were fixed upon the tower of the
church behind. And while he so gazed, the knoll from the belfry began
solemnly to chime. It was now near the hour of the Sabbath prayers,
and amidst horror and carnage, still the holy custom was not
suspended.
"Hark!" said the king, mournfully, "that chime summons many a soul to
God!"
While thus the scene on the eminence of Hadley, Edward, surrounded by
Hastings, Gloucester, and his principal captains, took advantage of
the unexpected sunshine to scan the foe and its position, with the eye
of his intuitive genius for all that can slaughter man. "This day,"
he said, "brings no victory, assures no crown, if Warwick escape
alive. To you, Lovell and Ratcliffe, I intrust two hundred knights,--
your sole care the head of the rebel earl!"
"And Montagu?" said Ratcliffe.
"Montagu? Nay, poor Montagu, I loved him as well once as my own
mother's son; and Montagu," he muttered to himself, "I never wronged,
and therefore him I can forgive. Spare the marquis.--I mislike that
wood; they must have more force within than that handful on the skirts
betrays. Come hither, D'Eyncourt."
And a few minutes afterwards, Warwick and his men saw two parties of
horse leave the main body, one for the right hand, one the left,
followed by long detachments of pikes, which they protected; and then
the central array marched slowly and steadily on towards the scanty
foe. The design was obvious,--to surround on all sides the enemy,
driven to its last desperate bay. But Montagu and his brother had not
been idle in the breathing-pause; they had planted the greater portion
of the archers skilfully among the trees. They had placed their
pikemen on the verge of the barricades made by sharp stakes and fallen
timber, and where their rampart was unguarded by the pass which had
been left free for the horsemen, Hilyard and his stoutest fellows took
their post, filling the gap with breasts of iron.
And now, as with horns and clarions, with a sea of plumes and spears
and pennons, the multitudinous deathsmen came on, Warwick, towering in
the front, not one feather on his eagle crest despoiled or shorn,
stood, dismounted, his visor still raised, by his renowned steed.
Some of the men had by Warwick's order removed the mail from the
destrier's breast; and the noble animal, relieved from the weight,
seemed as unexhausted as its rider; save where the champed foam had
bespecked its glossy hide, not a hair was turned; and the on-guard of
the Yorkists heard its fiery snort as they moved slowly on. This
figure of horse and horseman stood prominently forth amidst the little
band. And Lovell, riding by Ratcliffe's side, whispered, "Beshrew me,
I would rather King Edward had asked for mine own head than that
gallant earl's!"
"Tush, youth," said the inexorable Ratcliffe, "I care not of what
steps the ladder of mine ambition may be made!"
While they were thus speaking, Warwick, turning to Montagu and his
knights, said,--
"Our sole hope is in the courage of our men. And, as at Towton, when
I gave the throne to yon false man, I slew, with my own hand, my noble
Malech, to show that on that spot I would win or die, and by that
sacrifice so fired the soldiers, that we turned the day, so now--oh,
gentlemen, in another hour ye would jeer me, for my hand fails: this
hand that the poor beast hath so often fed from! Saladin, last of thy
race, serve me now in death as in life. Not for my sake, oh noblest
steed that ever bore a knight,--not for mine this offering!"
He kissed the destrier on his frontal, and Saladin, as if conscious of
the coming blow, bent his proud crest humbly, and licked his lord's
steel-clad hand. So associated together had been horse and horseman,
that had it been a human sacrifice, the bystanders could not have been
more moved. And when, covering the charger's eyes with one hand, the
earl's dagger descended, bright and rapid, a groan went through the
ranks. But the effect was unspeakable! The men knew at once that to
them, and them alone, their lord intrusted his fortunes and his life;
they were nerved to more than mortal daring. No escape for Warwick--
why, then, in Warwick's person they lived and died! Upon foe as upon
friend, the sacrifice produced all that could tend to strengthen the
last refuge of despair. Even Edward, where he rode in the van, beheld
and knew the meaning of the deed. Victorious Towton rushed back upon
his memory with a thrill of strange terror and remorse.
"He will die as he has lived," said Gloucester, with admiration. "If
I live for such a field, God grant me such a death!"
As the words left the duke's lips, and Warwick, one foot on his dumb
friend's corpse, gave the mandate, a murderous discharge from the
archers in the covert rattled against the line of the Yorkists, and
the foe, still advancing, stepped over a hundred corpses to the
conflict. Despite the vast preponderance of numbers, the skill of
Warwick's archers, the strength of his position, the obstacle to the
cavalry made by the barricades, rendered the attack perilous in the
extreme.
But the orders of Edward were prompt and vigorous. He cared not for
the waste of life, and as one rank fell, another rushed on. High
before the barricades stood Montagu, Warwick, and the rest of that
indomitable chivalry, the flower of the ancient Norman heroism. As
idly beat the waves upon a rock as the ranks of Edward upon that
serried front of steel. The sun still shone in heaven, and still
Edward's conquest was unassured. Nay, if Marmaduke could yet bring
back the troops of Somerset upon the rear of the foe, Montagu and the
earl felt that the victory might be for them. And often the earl
paused, to hearken for the cry of "Somerset" on the gale, and often
Montagu raised his visor to look for the banners and the spears of the
Lancastrian duke. And ever, as the earl listened and Montagu scanned
the field, larger and larger seemed to spread the armament of Edward.
The regiment which boasted the stubborn energy of Alwyn was now in
movement, and, encouraged by the young Saxon's hardihood, the
Londoners marched on, unawed by the massacre of their predecessors.
But Alwyn, avoiding the quarter defended by the knights, defiled a
little towards the left, where his quick eye, inured to the northern
fogs, had detected the weakness of the barricade in the spot where
Hilyard was stationed; and this pass Alwyn (discarding the bow)
resolved to attempt at the point of the pike, the weapon answering to
our modern bayonet. The first rush which he headed was so impetuous
as to effect an entry. The weight of the numbers behind urged on the
foremost, and Hilyard had not sufficient space for the sweep of the
two-handed sword which had done good work that day. While here the
conflict became fierce and doubtful, the right wing led by D'Eyncourt
had pierced the wood, and, surprised to discover no ambush, fell upon
the archers in the rear. The scene was now inexpressibly terrific;
cries and groans, and the ineffable roar and yell of human passion,
resounded demonlike through the shade of the leafless trees. And at
this moment, the provident and rapid generalship of Edward had moved
up one of his heavy bombards. Warwick and Montagu and most of the
knights were called from the barricades to aid the archers thus
assailed behind; but an instant before that defence was shattered into
air by the explosion of the bombard. In another minute horse and foot
rushed through the opening. And amidst all the din was heard the
voice of Edward, "Strike, and spare not; we win the day!" "We win the
day! victory! victory!" repeated the troops behind. Rank caught the
sound from rank, and file from file; it reached the captive Henry, and
he paused in prayer; it reached the ruthless friar, and he gave the
sign to the hireling at his shoulder; it reached the priest as he
entered, unmoved, the church of Hadley. And the bell, changing its
note into a quicker and sweeter chime, invited the living to prepare
for death, and the soul to rise above the cruelty and the falsehood,
and the pleasure and the pomp, and the wisdom and the glory of the
world! And suddenly, as the chime ceased, there was heard, from the
eminence hard by, a shriek of agony,--a female shriek,--drowned by the
roar of a bombard in the field below.
On pressed the Yorkists through the pass forced by Alwyn. "Yield
thee, stout fellow," said the bold trader to Hilyard, whose dogged
energy, resembling his own, moved his admiration, and in whom, by the
accent in which Robin called his men, he recognized a north-
countryman; "yield, and I will see that thou goest safe in life and
limb. Look round, ye are beaten."
"Fool!" answered Hilyard, setting his teeth, "the People are never
beaten!" And as the words left his lips, the shot from the recharged
bombard shattered him piecemeal.
"On for London and the crown!" cried Alwyn,--"the citizens are the
People!"
At this time, through the general crowd of the Yorkists, Ratcliffe and
Lovell, at the head of their appointed knights, galloped forward to
accomplish their crowning mission.
Behind the column which still commemorates "the great battle" of that
day, stretches now a trilateral patch of pasture-land, which faces a
small house. At that time this space was rough forest-ground, and
where now, in the hedge, rise two small trees, types of the diminutive
offspring of our niggard and ignoble civilization, rose then two huge
oaks, coeval with the warriors of the Norman Conquest. They grew close
together; yet, though their roots interlaced, though their branches
mingled, one had not taken nourishment from the other. They stood,
equal in height and grandeur, the twin giants of the wood. Before
these trees, whose ample trunks protected them from the falchions in
the rear, Warwick and Montagu took their last post. In front rose,
literally, mounds of the slain, whether of foe or friend; for round
the two brothers to the last had gathered the brunt of war, and they
towered now, almost solitary in valour's sublime despair, amidst the
wrecks of battle and against the irresistible march of fate. As side
by side they had gained this spot, and the vulgar assailants drew
back, leaving the bodies of the dead their last defence from death,
they turned their visors to each other, as for one latest farewell on
earth.
"Forgive me, Richard," said Montagu,--"forgive me thy death; had I not
so blindly believed in Clarence's fatal order, the savage Edward had
never passed alive through the pass of Pontefract."
"Blame not thyself," replied Warwick. "We are but the instruments of
a wiser Will. God assoil thee, brother mine. We leave this world to
tyranny and vice. Christ receive our souls!"
For a moment their hands clasped, and then all was grim silence.
Wide and far, behind and before, in the gleam of the sun, stretched
the victorious armament, and that breathing-pause sufficed to show the
grandeur of their resistance,--the grandest of all spectacles, even in
its hopeless extremity,--the defiance of brave hearts to the brute
force of the many. Where they stood they were visible to thousands,
but not a man stirred against them. The memory of Warwick's past
achievements, the consciousness of his feats that day, all the
splendour of his fortunes and his name, made the mean fear to strike,
and the brave ashamed to murder! The gallant D'Eyncourt sprang from
his steed, and advanced to the spot. His followers did the same.
"Yield, my lords, yield! Ye have done all that men could do!"
"Yield, Montagu," whispered Warwick. "Edward can harm not thee. Life
has sweets; so they say, at least."
"Not with power and glory gone.--We yield not, Sir Knight," answered
the marquis, in a calm tone.
"Then die, and make room for the new men whom ye so have scorned!"
exclaimed a fierce voice; and Ratcliffe, who had neared the spot,
dismounted and hallooed on his bloodhounds.
Seven points might the shadow have traversed on the dial, and, before
Warwick's axe and Montagu's sword, seven souls had gone to judgment.
In that brief crisis, amidst the general torpor and stupefaction and
awe of the bystanders, round one little spot centred still a war.
But numbers rushed on numbers, as the fury of conflict urged on the
lukewarm. Montagu was beaten to his knee, Warwick covered him with
his body; a hundred axes resounded on the earl's stooping casque, a
hundred blades gleamed round the joints of his harness. A
simultaneous cry was heard; over the mounds of the slain, through the
press into the shadow of the oaks, dashed Gloucester's charger. The
conflict had ceased, the executioners stood mute in a half-circle.
Side by side, axe and sword still griped in their iron hands, lay
Montagu and Warwick.
The young duke, his visor raised, contemplated the fallen foes in
silence. Then dismounting, he unbraced with his own hand the earl's
helmet. Revived for a moment by the air, the hero's eyes unclosed,
his lips moved, he raised, with a feeble effort, the gory battle-axe,
and the armed crowd recoiled in terror. But the earl's soul, dimly
conscious, and about to part, had escaped from that scene of strife,
its later thoughts of wrath and vengeance, to more gentle memories, to
such memories as fade the last from true and manly hearts!
"Wife! child!" murmured the earl, indistinctly. "Anne! Anne! Dear
ones, God comfort ye!" And with these words the breath went, the head
fell heavily on its mother earth, the face set, calm and undistorted,
as the face of a soldier should be, when a brave death has been worthy
of a brave life.
"So," muttered the dark and musing Gloucester, unconscious of the
throng, "so perishes the Race of Iron. Low lies the last baron who
could control the throne and command the people. The Age of Force
expires with knighthood and deeds of arms. And over this dead great
man I see the New Cycle dawn. Happy, henceforth, he who can plot and
scheme, and fawn and smile!" Waking with a start from his revery, the
splendid dissimulator said, as in sad reproof, "Ye have been over
hasty, knights and gentlemen. The House of York is mighty enough to
have spared such noble foes. Sound trumpets! Fall in file! Way,
there,--way! King Edward comes. Long live the king!"