THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY
The whole distance to be crossed was not above a quarter of a mile. But
they had no sooner debouched beyond the cover of the trees than they
were aware of people fleeing and screaming in the snowy meadows upon
either hand. Almost at the same moment a great rumour began to arise,
and spread and grow continually louder in the town; and they were not
yet half-way to the nearest house before the bells began to ring
backwards from the steeple.
The young duke ground his teeth together. By these so early signals of
alarm he feared to find his enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a
footing in the town, he knew that his small party would soon be broken
and exterminated in the open.
In the town, however, the Lancastrians were far from being in so good a
posture. It was as Dick had said. The night-guard had already doffed
their harness; the rest were still hanging--unlatched, unbraced, all
unprepared for battle--about their quarters; and in the whole of Shoreby
there were not, perhaps, fifty men full armed, or fifty chargers ready
to be mounted.
The beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of men who ran about
the streets crying and beating upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly
short space at least two-score out of that half-hundred. These got
speedily to horse, and, the alarm still flying wild and contrary,
galloped in different directions.
Thus it befell that, when Richard of Gloucester reached the first house
of Shoreby, he was met in the mouth of the street by a mere handful of
lances, whom he swept before his onset as the storm chases the bark.
A hundred paces into the town, Dick Shelton touched the duke’s arm; the
duke, in answer, gathered his reins, put the shrill trumpet to his
mouth, and blowing a concerted point, turned to the right hand out of
the direct advance. Swerving like a single rider, his whole command
turned after him, and, still at the full gallop of the chargers, swept
up the narrow by-street. Only the last score of riders drew rein and
faced about in the entrance; the footmen, whom they carried behind them,
leapt at the same instant to the earth, and began, some to bend their
bows, and others to break into and secure the houses upon either hand.
Surprised at this sudden change of direction, and daunted by the firm
front of the rear-guard, the few Lancastrians, after a momentary
consultation, turned and rode farther into town to seek for
reinforcements.
The quarter of the town upon which, by the advice of Dick, Richard of
Gloucester had now seized, consisted of five small streets of poor and
ill-inhabited houses, occupying a very gentle eminence, and lying open
towards the back.
The five streets being each secured by a good guard, the reserve would
thus occupy the centre, out of shot, and yet ready to carry aid wherever
it was needed.
Such was the poorness of the neighbourhood that none of the Lancastrian
lords, and but few of their retainers, had been lodged therein; and the
inhabitants, with one accord, deserted their houses and fled, squalling,
along the streets or over garden walls.
In the centre, where the five ways all met, a somewhat ill-favoured
alehouse displayed the sign of the Chequers; and here the Duke of
Gloucester chose his headquarters for the day.
To Dick he assigned the guard of one of the five streets.
“Go,” he said, “win your spurs. Win glory for me: one Richard for
another. I tell you, if I rise, ye shall rise by the same ladder. Go,”
he added, shaking him by the hand.
But, as soon as Dick was gone, he turned to a little shabby archer at
his elbow.
“Go, Dutton, and that right speedily,” he added. “Follow that lad. If ye
find him faithful, ye answer for his safety, a head for a head. Woe unto
you, if ye return without him! But if he be faithless--or, for one
instant, ye misdoubt him--stab him from behind.”
In the meanwhile Dick hastened to secure his post. The street he had to
guard was very narrow, and closely lined with houses, which projected
and overhung the roadway; but narrow and dark as it was, since it opened
upon the market-place of the town, the main issue of the battle would
probably fall to be decided on that spot.
The market-place was full of townspeople fleeing in disorder; but there
was as yet no sign of any foeman ready to attack, and Dick judged he had
some time before him to make ready his defence.
The two houses at the end stood deserted, with open doors, as the
inhabitants had left them in their flight, and from these he had the
furniture hastily tossed forth and piled into a barrier in the entry of
the lane. A hundred men were placed at his disposal, and of these he
threw the more part into the houses, where they might lie in shelter and
deliver their arrows from the windows. With the rest, under his own
immediate eye, he lined the barricade.
Meanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had continued to prevail
throughout the town; and what with the hurried clashing of bells, the
sounding of trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of horse, the cries
of the commanders, and the shrieks of women, the noise was almost
deafening to the ear. Presently, little by little, the tumult began to
subside; and soon after, files of men in armour and bodies of archers
began to assemble and form in line of battle in the market-place.
A large portion of this body were in murrey and blue, and in the mounted
knight who ordered their array Dick recognised Sir Daniel Brackley.
Then there befell a long pause, which was followed by the almost
simultaneous sounding of four trumpets from four different quarters of
the town. A fifth rang in answer from the market-place, and at the same
moment the files began to move, and a shower of arrows rattled about the
barricade, and sounded like blows upon the walls of the two flanking
houses.
The attack had begun, by a common signal, on all the five issues of the
quarter. Gloucester was beleaguered upon every side; and Dick judged, if
he would make good his post, he must rely entirely on the hundred men of
his command.
Seven volleys of arrows followed one upon the other, and in the very
thick of the discharges Dick was touched from behind upon the arm, and
found a page holding out to him a leathern jack, strengthened with
bright plates of mail.
“It is from my Lord of Gloucester,” said the page. “He hath observed,
Sir Richard, that ye went unarmed.”
Dick, with a glow at his heart at being so addressed, got to his feet
and, with the assistance of the page, donned the defensive coat. Even as
he did so, two arrows rattled harmlessly upon the plates, and a third
struck down the page, mortally wounded, at his feet.
Meantime the whole body of the enemy had been steadily drawing nearer
across the market-place; and by this time were so close at hand that
Dick gave the order to return their shot. Immediately, from behind the
barrier and from the windows of the houses, a counterblast of arrows
sped, carrying death. But the Lancastrians, as if they had but waited
for a signal, shouted loudly in answer; and began to close at a run upon
the barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, with visors lowered.
Then followed an obstinate and deadly struggle, hand to hand. The
assailants, wielding their falchions with one hand, strove with the
other to drag down the structure of the barricade. On the other side,
the parts were reversed; and the defenders exposed themselves like
madmen to protect their rampart. So for some minutes the contest raged
almost in silence, friend and foe falling one upon another. But it is
always the easier to destroy; and when a single note upon the tucket
recalled the attacking party from this desperate service, much of the
barricade had been removed piecemeal, and the whole fabric had sunk to
half its height, and tottered to a general fall.
And now the footmen in the market-place fell back, at a run, on every
side. The horsemen, who had been standing in a line two deep, wheeled
suddenly, and made their flank into their front; and as swift as a
striking adder, the long, steel-clad column was launched upon the
ruinous barricade.
Of the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and steed, and was ridden
down by his companions. The second leaped clean upon the summit of the
rampart, transpiercing an archer with his lance. Almost in the same
instant he was dragged from the saddle and his horse despatched.
And then the full weight and impetus of the charge burst upon and
scattered the defenders. The men-at-arms, surmounting their fallen
comrades, and carried onward by the fury of their onslaught, dashed
through Dick’s broken line and poured thundering up the lane beyond, as
a stream bestrides and pours across a broken dam.
Yet was the fight not over. Still, in the narrow jaws of the entrance,
Dick and a few survivors plied their bills like woodmen; and already,
across the width of the passage, there had been formed a second, a
higher, and a more effectual rampart of fallen men and disembowelled
horses, lashing in the agonies of death.
Baffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of the cavalry fell back;
and as, at the sight of this movement, the flight of arrows redoubled
from the casements of the houses, their retreat had, for a moment,
almost degenerated into flight.
Almost at the same time, those who had crossed the barricade and charged
farther up the street, being met before the door of the Chequers by the
formidable hunchback and the whole reserve of the Yorkists, began to
come scattering backwards, in the excess of disarray and terror.
Dick and his fellows faced about, fresh men poured out of the houses; a
cruel blast of arrows met the fugitives full in the face, while
Gloucester was already riding down their rear; in the inside of a minute
and a half there was no living Lancastrian in the street.
Then, and not till then, did Dick hold up his reeking blade and give the
word to cheer.
Meanwhile Gloucester dismounted from his horse and came forward to
inspect the post. His face was as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in
his head like some strange jewel, and his voice, when he spoke, was
hoarse and broken with the exultation of battle and success. He looked
at the rampart, which neither friend nor foe could now approach without
precaution, so fiercely did the horses struggle in the throes of death,
and at the sight of that great carnage he smiled upon one side.
“Despatch these horses,” he said; “they keep you from your vantage.
Richard Shelton,” he added, “ye have pleased me. Kneel.”
The Lancastrians had already resumed their archery, and the shafts fell
thick in the mouth of the street; but the duke, minding them not at all,
deliberately drew his sword and dubbed Richard a knight upon the spot.
“And now, Sir Richard,” he continued, “if that ye see Lord Risingham,
send me an express upon the instant. Were it your last man, let me hear
of it incontinently. I had rather venture the post than lose my stroke
at him. For mark me, all of ye,” he added, raising his voice, “if Earl
Risingham fall by another hand than mine, I shall count this victory a
defeat.”
“My lord duke,” said one of his attendants, “is your grace not weary of
exposing his dear life unneedfully? Why tarry we here?”
“Catesby,” returned the duke, “here is the battle, not elsewhere. The
rest are but feigned onslaughts. Here must we vanquish. And for the
exposure--if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked at you
upon the street, ye would count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory
worth a life. Howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other
posts. Sir Richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this entry,
where he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood. Him can we trust. But mark
it, Sir Richard, ye are not yet done. The worst is yet to ward. Sleep
not.”
He came right up to young Shelton, looking him hard in the eyes, and
taking his hand in both of his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the
blood had nearly spurted. Dick quailed before his eyes. The insane
excitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read therein filled him
with dismay about the future. This young duke’s was indeed a gallant
spirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war; but after the battle, in
the days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, that mind,
it was to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the fruits of
death.