Four archers1 lay behind a clump2 of bushes ten yards in front of the thick hedge which shielded their companions. Amid the long line of bowmen those behind them were their own company, and in the main the same who were with Knolles in Brittany. The four in front were their leaders: old Wat of Carlisle, Ned Widdington the red-headed Dalesman, the bald bowyer Bartholomew, and Samkin Alyward, newly rejoined after a week's absence. All four were munching4 bread and apples, for Aylward had brought in a full haversack and divided them freely amongst his starving comrades. The old Borderer and the Yorkshireman were gaunt and hollow-eyed with privation, while the bowyer's round face had fallen in so that the skin hung in loose pouches5 under his eyes and beneath his jaws6.
Behind them lines of haggard, wolfish men glared through the underwood, silent and watchful7 save that they burst into a fierce yelp8 of welcome when Chandos and Nigel galloped9 up, sprang from their horses and took their station beneath them. All along the green fringe of bowmen might be seen the steel-clad figures of knights12 and squires13 who had pushed their way into the front line to share the fortune of the archers.
“I call to mind that I once shot six ends with a Kentish woldsman at Ashford—” began the Bowyer.
“Nay15, nay, we have heard that story!” said old Wat impatiently. “Shut thy clap, Bartholomew, for it is no time for redeless gossip! Walk down the line, I pray you, and see if there be no frayed17 string, nor broken nock nor loosened whipping to be mended.”
The stout18 bowyer passed down the fringe of bowmen, amidst a running fire of rough wit. Here and there a bow was thrust out at him through the hedge for his professional advice.
“Wax your heads!” he kept crying. “Pass down the wax-pot and wax your heads. A waxed arrow will pass where a dry will be held. Tom Beverley, you jack-fool! where is your bracer-guard? Your string will flay20 your arm ere you reach your up-shot this day. And you, Watkin, draw not to your mouth, as is your wont21, but to your shoulder. You are so used to the wine-pot that the string must needs follow it. Nay, stand loose, and give space for your drawing arms, for they will be on us anon.”
He ran back and joined his comrades in the front, who had now risen to their feet. Behind them a half-mile of archers stood behind the hedge, each with his great warbow strung, half a dozen shafts22 loose behind him, and eighteen more in the quiver slung23 across his front. With arrow on string, their feet firm-planted, their fierce eager faces peering through the branches, they awaited the coming storm.
The broad flood of steel, after oozing24 slowly forward, had stopped about a mile from the English front. The greater part of the army had then descended26 from their horses, while a crowd of varlets and hostlers led them to the rear. The French formed themselves now into three great divisions, which shimmered27 in the sun like silvery pools, reed-capped with many a thousand of banners and pennons. A space of several hundred yards divided each. At the same time two bodies of horsemen formed themselves in front. The first consisted of three hundred men in one thick column, the second of a thousand, riding in a more extended line.
The Prince had ridden up to the line of archers. He was in dark armor, his visor open, and his handsome aquiline28 face all glowing with spirit and martial29 fire. The bowmen yelled at him, and he waved his hands to them as a huntsman cheers his hounds.
“Well, John, what think you now?” he asked. “What would my noble father not give to be by our side this day? Have you seen that they have left their horses?”
“Yes, my fair lord, they have learned their lesson,” said Chandos. “Because we have had good fortune upon our feet at Crecy and elsewhere they think that they have found the trick of it. But it is in my mind that it is very different to stand when you are assailed30, as we have done, and to assail31 others when you must drag your harness for a mile and come weary to the fray16.”
“You speak wisely, John. But these horsemen who form in front and ride slowly towards us, what make you of them?”
“Doubtless they hope to cut the strings32 of our bowmen and so clear a way for the others. But they are indeed a chosen band, for mark you, fair sir, are not those the colors of Clermont upon the left, and of d'Andreghen upon the right, so that both marshals ride with the vanguard?”
“By God's soul, John!” cried the Prince, “it is very sure that you can see more with one eye than any man in this army with two. But it is even as you say. And this larger band behind?”
“They should be Germans, fair sir, by the fashion of their harness.”
The two bodies of horsemen had moved slowly over the plain, with a space of nearly a quarter of a mile between them. Now, having come two bowshots from the hostile line, they halted. All that they could see of the English was the long hedge, with an occasional twinkle of steel through its leafy branches, and behind that the spear-heads of the men-at-arms rising from amidst the brushwood and the vines. A lovely autumn countryside with changing many-tinted foliage33 lay stretched before them, all bathed in peaceful sunshine, and nothing save those flickering35 fitful gleams to tell of the silent and lurking36 enemy who barred their way. But the bold spirit of the French cavaliers rose the higher to the danger. The clamor of their war-cries filled the air, and they tossed their pennoned spears over their heads in menace and defiance37. From the English line it was a noble sight, the gallant38, pawing, curveting horses, the many-colored twinkling riders, the swoop39 and wave and toss of plume40 and banner.
Then a bugle41 rang forth42. With a sudden yell every spur struck deep, every lance was laid in rest, and the whole gallant squadron flew like a glittering thunderbolt for the center of the English line.
A hundred yards they had crossed, and yet another hundred, but there was no movement in front of them, and no sound save their own hoarse43 battle-cries and the thunder of their horses. Ever swifter and swifter they flew. From behind the hedge it was a vision of horses, white, bay and black, their necks stretched, their nostrils45 distended46, their bellies47 to the ground, whilst of the rider one could but see a shield with a plume-tufted visor above it, and a spear-head twinkling in front.
Then of a sudden the Prince raised his hand and gave a cry. Chandos echoed it, it swelled48 down the line, and with one mighty49 chorus of twanging strings and hissing50 shafts the long-pent storm broke at last.
Alas51 for the noble steeds! Alas for the gallant men. When the lust52 of battle is over who would not grieve to see that noble squadron break into red ruin before the rain of arrows beating upon the faces and breasts of the horses? The front rank crashed down, and the others piled themselves upon the top of them, unable to check their speed, or to swerve53 aside from the terrible wall of their shattered comrades which had so suddenly sprung up before them. Fifteen feet high was that blood-spurting mound54 of screaming, kicking horses and writhing55, struggling men. Here and there on the flanks a horseman cleared himself and dashed for the hedge, only to have his steed slain56 under him and to be hurled57 from his saddle. Of all the three hundred gallant riders, not one ever reached that fatal hedge.
But now in a long rolling wave of steel the German battalion58 roared swiftly onward59. They opened in the center to pass that terrible mound of death, and then spurred swiftly in upon the archers. They were brave men, well led, and in their open lines they could avoid the clubbing together which had been the ruin of the vanguard; yet they perished singly even as the others had perished together. A few were slain by the arrows. The greater number had their horses killed under them, and were so shaken and shattered by the fall that they could not raise their limbs, over-weighted with iron, from the spot where they lay.
Three men riding together broke through the bushes which sheltered the leaders of the archers, cut down Widdington the Dalesman, spurred onward through the hedge, dashed over the bowmen behind it, and made for the Prince. One fell with an arrow through his head, a second was beaten from his saddle by Chandos, and the third was slain by the Prince's own hand. A second band broke through near the river, but were cut off by Lord Audley and his squires, so that all were slain. A single horseman whose steed was mad with pain, an arrow in its eye and a second in its nostril44, sprang over the hedge and clattered60 through the whole army, disappearing amid whoops61 and laughter into the woods behind. But none others won as far as the hedge. The whole front of the position was fringed with a litter of German wounded or dead, while one great heap in the center marked the downfall of the gallant French three hundred.
Whilst these two waves of the attack had broken in front of the English position, leaving this blood-stained wreckage62 behind them, the main divisions had halted and made their last preparations for their own assault. They had not yet begun their advance, and the nearest was still half a mile distant, when the few survivors63 from the forlorn hope, their maddened horses bristling64 with arrows, flew past them on either flank.
At the same moment the English archers and men-at-arms dashed through the hedge, and dragged all who were living out of that tangled65 heap of shattered horses and men. It was a mad wild rush, for in a few minutes the fight must be renewed, and yet there was a rich harvest of wealth for the lucky man who could pick a wealthy prisoner from amid the crowd. The nobler spirits disdained67 to think of ransoms69 whilst the fight was still unsettled; but a swarm70 of needy71 soldiers, Gascons and English, dragged the wounded out by the leg or the arm, and with daggers73 at their throats demanded their names, title and means. He who had made a good prize hurried him to the rear where his own servants could guard him, while he who was disappointed too often drove the dagger72 home and then rushed once more into the tangle66 in the hope of better luck. Clermont, with an arrow through the sky-blue Virgin74 on his surcoat, lay dead within ten paces of the hedge; d'Andreghen was dragged by a penniless squire14 from under a horse and became his prisoner. The Earl of Salzburg and of Nassau were both found helpless on the ground and taken to the rear. Aylward cast his thick arms round Count Otto von Langenbeck, and laid him, helpless from a broken leg, behind his bush. Black Simon had made prize of Bernard, Count of Ventadour, and hurried him through the hedge. Everywhere there was rushing and shouting, brawling75 and buffeting76, while amidst it all a swarm of archers were seeking their shafts, plucking them from the dead, and sometimes even from the wounded. Then there was a sudden cry of warning. In a moment every man was back in his place once more, and the line of the hedge was clear.
It was high time; for already the first division of the French was close upon them. If the charge of the horsemen had been terrible from its rush and its fire, this steady advance of a huge phalanx of armored footmen was even more fearsome to the spectator. They moved very slowly, on account of the weight of their armor, but their progress was the more regular and inexorable. With elbows touching—their shields slung in front, their short five-foot spears carried in their right hands, and their maces or swords ready at their belts, the deep column of men-at-arms moved onward. Again the storm of arrows beat upon them clinking and thudding on the armor. They crouched78 double behind their shields as they met it. Many fell, but still the slow tide lapped onward. Yelling, they surged up to the hedge, and lined it for half a mile, struggling hard to pierce it.
For five minutes the long straining ranks faced each other with fierce stab of spear on one side and heavy beat of ax or mace77 upon the other. In many parts the hedge was pierced or leveled to the ground, and the French men-at-arms were raging amongst the archers, hacking79 and hewing80 among the lightly armed men. For a moment it seemed as if the battle was on the turn.
But John de Vere, Earl of Oxford81, cool, wise and crafty82 in war, saw and seized his chance. On the right flank a marshy83 meadow skirted the river. So soft was it that a heavily-armed man would sink to his knees. At his order a spray of light bowmen was thrown out from the battle line and forming upon the flank of the French poured their arrows into them. At the same moment Chandos, with Audley, Nigel, Bartholomew Burghersh, the Captal de Buch, and a score of other knights sprang upon their horses, and charging down the narrow lane rode over the French line in front of them. Once through it they spurred to left and right, trampling84 down the dismounted men-at-arms.
A fearsome sight was Pommers that day, his red eyes rolling, his nostrils gaping85, his tawny86 mane tossing, and his savage87 teeth gnashing in fury, as he tore and smashed and ground beneath his ramping88 hoofs89 all that came before him. Fearsome too was the rider, ice-cool; alert, concentrated of purpose, with, heart of fire and muscles of steel. A very angel of battle he seemed as he drove his maddened horse through the thickest of the press, but strive as he would: the tall figure of his master upon his coal-black steed was ever half a length before him.
Already the moment of danger was passed. The French line had given back. Those who had pierced the hedge had fallen like brave men amid the ranks of their foemen. The division of Warwick had hurried up from the vineyards to fill the gaps of Salisbury's battle-line. Back rolled the shining tide, slowly at first, even as it had advanced, but quicker now as the bolder fell and the weaker shredded91 out and shuffled92 with ungainly speed for a place of safety. Again there was a rush from behind the hedge. Again there was a reaping of that strange crop of bearded arrows which grew so thick upon the ground, and again the wounded prisoners were seized and dragged in brutal93 haste to the rear. Then the line was restored, and the English, weary, panting and shaken, awaited the next attack.
But a great good fortune had come to them—so great that as they looked down the valley they could scarce credit their own senses. Behind the division of the Dauphin, which had pressed them so hard, stood a second division hardly less numerous, led by the Duke of Orleans. The fugitives94 from in front, blood-smeared95 and bedraggled, blinded with sweat and with fear, rushed amidst its ranks in their flight, and in a moment, without a blow being struck, had carried them off in their wild rout96. This vast array, so solid and so martial, thawed97 suddenly away like a snow-wreath in the sun. It was gone, and in its place thousands of shining dots scattered98 over the whole plain as each man made his own way to the spot where he could find his horse and bear himself from the field. For a moment it seemed that the battle was won, and a thundershout of joy pealed99 up from the English line.
But as the curtain of the Duke's division was drawn100 away it was only to disclose stretching far behind it, and spanning the valley from side to side, the magnificent array of the French King, solid, unshaken, and preparing its ranks for the attack. Its numbers were as great as those of the English army; it was unscathed by all that was past, and it had a valiant102 monarch103 to lead it to the charge. With the slow deliberation of the man who means to do or to die, its leader marshaled its ranks for the supreme104 effort of the day.
Meanwhile during that brief moment of exultation105 when the battle appeared to be won, a crowd of hot-headed young knights and squires swarmed106 and clamored round the Prince, beseeching107 that he would allow them to ride forth.
“See this insolent108 fellow who bears three martlets upon a field gales109!” cried Sir Maurice Berkeley. “He stands betwixt the two armies as though he had no dread110 of us.”
“I pray you, sir, that I may ride out to him, since he seems ready to attempt some small deed,” pleaded Nigel.
“Nay, fair sirs, it is an evil thing that we should break our line, seeing that we still have much to do,” said the Prince. “See! he rides away, and so the matter is settled.”
“Nay, fair prince,” said the young knight11 who had spoken first. “My gray horse, Lebryte, could run him down ere he could reach shelter. Never since I left Severn side have I seen steed so fleet as mine. Shall I not show you?” In an instant he had spurred the charger and was speeding across the plain.
The Frenchman, John de Helennes, a squire of Picardy, had waited with a burning heart, his soul sick at the flight of the division in which he had ridden. In the hope of doing some redeeming112 exploit, or of meeting his own death, he had loitered betwixt the armies, but no movement had come from the English lines. Now he had turned his horse's head to join the King's array, when the low drumming of hoofs sounded behind him, and he turned to find a horseman hard upon his heels. Each had drawn his sword, and the two armies paused to view the fight. In the first bout25 Sir Maurice Berkeley's lance was struck from his hand, and as he sprang down to recover it the Frenchman ran him through the thigh113, dismounted from his horse, and received his surrender. As the unfortunate Englishman hobbled away at the side of his captor a roar of laughter burst from both armies at the spectacle.
“By my ten finger-bones!” cried Aylward, chuckling114 behind the remains115 of his bush, “he found more on his distaff that time than he knew how to spin. Who was the knight?”
“By his arms,” said old Wat, “he should either be a Berkeley of the West or a Popham of Kent.”
“I call to mind that I shot a match of six ends once with a Kentish woldsman—” began the fat Bowyer.
“Nay, nay, stint116 thy talk, Bartholomew!” cried old Wat. “Here is poor Ned with his head cloven, and it would be more fitting if you were saying aves for his soul, instead of all this bobance and boasting. Now, now, Tom of Beverley?”
“We have suffered sorely in this last bout, Wat. There are forty of our men upon their backs, and the Dean Foresters on the right are in worse case still.”
“Talking will not mend it, Tom, and if all but one were on their backs he must still hold his ground.”
Whilst the archers were chatting, the leaders of the army were in solemn conclave117 just behind them. Two divisions of the French had been repulsed118, and yet there was many an anxious face as the older knights looked across the plain at the unbroken array of the French King moving slowly toward them. The line of the archers was much thinned and shredded. Many knights and squires had been disabled in the long and fierce combat at the hedge. Others, exhausted119 by want of food, had no strength left and were stretched panting upon the ground. Some were engaged in carrying the wounded to the rear and laying them under the shelter of the trees, whilst others were replacing their broken swords or lances from the weapons of the slain. The Captal de Buch, brave and experienced as he was, frowned darkly and whispered his misgivings120 to Chandos.
But the Prince's courage flamed the higher as the shadow fell, while his dark eyes gleamed with a soldier's pride as he glanced round him at his weary comrades, and then at the dense121 masses of the King's battle which now, with a hundred trumpets122 blaring and a thousand pennons waving, rolled slowly over the plain. “Come what may, John, this has been a most noble meeting,” said he. “They will not be ashamed of us in England. Take heart, my friends, for if we conquer we shall carry the glory ever with us; but if we be slain then we die most worshipfully and in high honor, as we have ever prayed that we might die, and we leave behind us our brothers and kinsmen123 who will assuredly avenge124 us. It is but one more effort, and all will be well. Warwick, Oxford, Salisbury, Suffolk, every man to the front! My banner to the front also! Your horses, fair sirs! The archers are spent, and our own good lances must win the field this day. Advance, Walter, and may God and Saint George be with England!”
Sir Walter Woodland, riding a high black horse, took station by the Prince, with the royal banner resting in a socket125 by his saddle. From all sides the knights and squires crowded in upon it, until they formed a great squadron containing the survivors of the battalions126 of Warwick and Salisbury as well as those of the Prince. Four hundred men-at-arms who had been held in reserve were brought up and thickened the array, but even so Chandos' face was grave as he scanned it and then turned his eyes upon the masses of the Frenchmen.
“I like it not, fair sir. The weight is overgreat,” he whispered to the Prince.
“How would you order it, John? Speak what is in your mind.”
“We should attempt something upon their flank whilst we hold them in front. How say you, Jean?” He turned to the Captal de Buch, whose dark, resolute127 face reflected the same misgivings.
“Indeed, John, I think as you do,” said he. “The French King is a very valiant man, and so are those who are about him, and I know not how we may drive them back unless we can do as you advise. If you will give me only a hundred men I will attempt it.”
“Surely the task is mine, fair sir, since the thought has come from me,” said Chandos.
“Nay, John, I would keep you at my side. But you speak well, Jean, and you shall do even as you have said. Go ask the Earl of Oxford for a hundred men-at-arms and as many hobblers, that you may ride round the mound yonder, and so fall upon them unseen. Let all that are left of the archers gather on each side, shoot away their arrows, and then fight as best they may. Wait till they are past yonder thorn-bush and then, Walter, bear my banner straight against that of the King of France. Fair sirs, may God and the thought of your ladies hold high your hearts!”
The French monarch, seeing that his footmen had made no impression upon the English, and also that the hedge had been well-nigh leveled to the ground in the course of the combat, so that it no longer presented an obstacle, had ordered his followers128 to remount their horses, and it was as a solid mass of cavalry129 that the chivalry130 of France advanced to their last supreme effort. The King was in the center of the front line, Geoffrey de Chargny with the golden oriflamme upon his right, and Eustace de Ribeaumont with the royal lilies upon the left. At his elbow was the Duke of Athens, High Constable131 of France, and round him were the nobles of the court, fiery132 and furious, yelling their warcries as they waved their weapons over their heads. Six thousand gallant men of the bravest race in Europe, men whose very names are like blasts of a battle-trumpet—Beaujeus and Chatillons, Tancarvilles and Ventadours—pressed hard behind the silver lilies.
Slowly they moved at first, walking their horses that they might be the fresher for the shock. Then they broke into a trot133 which was quickening into a gallop10 when the remains of the hedge in front of them was beaten in an instant to the ground and the broad line of the steel-clad chivalry of England swept grandly forth to the final shock. With loose rein134 and busy spur the two lines of horsemen galloped at the top of their speed straight and hard for each other. An instant later they met with a thunder-crash which was heard by the burghers on the wall of Poitiers, seven good miles away.
Under that frightful135 impact horses fell dead with broken necks, and many a rider, held in his saddle by the high pommel, fractured his thighs136 with the shock. Here and there a pair met breast to breast, the horses rearing straight upward and falling back upon their masters. But for the most part the line had opened in the gallop, and the cavaliers, flying through the gaps, buried themselves in the enemy's ranks. Then the flanks shredded out, and the thick press in the center loosened until there was space to swing a sword and to guide a steed. For ten acres there was one wild tumultuous swirl137 of tossing heads, of gleaming weapons which rose and fell, of upthrown hands, of tossing plumes138 and of lifted shields, whilst the din3 of a thousand war-cries and the clash-clash of metal upon metal rose and swelled like the roar and beat of an ocean surge upon a rock-bound coast. Backward and forward swayed the mighty throng139, now down the valley and now up, as each side in turn put forth its strength for a fresh rally. Locked in one long deadly grapple, great England and gallant France with iron hearts and souls of fire strove and strove for mastery.
Sir Walter Woodland, riding hard upon his high black horse, had plunged140 into the swelter and headed for the blue and silver banner of King John. Close at his heels in a solid wedge rode the Prince, Chandos, Nigel, Lord Reginald Cobham, Audley with his four famous squires, and a score of the flower of the English and Gascon knighthood. Holding together and bearing down opposition141 by a shower of blows and by the weight of their powerful horses, their progress was still very slow, for ever fresh waves of French cavaliers surged up against them and broke in front only to close in again upon their rear. Sometimes they were swept backward by the rush, sometimes they gained a few paces, sometimes they could but keep their foothold, and yet from minute to minute that blue and silver flag which waved above the press grew ever a little closer. A dozen furious hard-breathing French knights had broken into their ranks, and clutched at Sir Walter Woodland's banner, but Chandos and Nigel guarded it on one side, Audley with his squires on the other, so that no man laid his hand upon it and lived.
But now there was a distant crash and a roar of “Saint George for Guienne!” from behind. The Captal de Buch had charged home. “Saint George for England!” yelled the main attack, and ever the counter-cry came back to them from afar. The ranks opened in front of them. The French were giving way. A small knight with golden scroll-work upon his armor threw himself upon the Prince and was struck dead by his mace. It was the Duke of Athens, Constable of France, but none had time to note it, and the fight rolled on over his body. Looser still were the French ranks. Many were turning their horses, for that ominous142 roar from the rear had shaken their resolution. The little English wedge poured onward, the Prince, Chandos, Audley and Nigel ever in the van.
A huge warrior143 in black, bearing a golden banner, appeared suddenly in a gap of the shredding144 ranks. He tossed his precious burden to a squire, who bore it away. Like a pack of hounds on the very haunch of a deer the English rushed yelling for the oriflamme. But the black warrior flung himself across their path. “Chargny! Chargny a la recousse!” he roared with a voice of thunder. Sir Reginald Cobham dropped before his battle-ax, so did the Gascon de Clisson. Nigel was beaten down on to the crupper of his horse by a sweeping145 blow; but at the same instant Chandos' quick blade passed through the Frenchman's camail and pierced his throat. So died Geoffrey de Chargny; but the oriflamme was saved.
Dazed with the shock, Nigel still kept his saddle, and Pommers, his yellow hide mottled with blood, bore him onward with the others. The French horsemen were now in full flight; but one stern group of knights stood firm, like a rock in a rushing torrent146, beating off all, whether friend or foe90, who tried to break their ranks. The oriflamme had gone, and so had the blue and silver banner, but here were desperate men ready to fight to the death. In their ranks honor was to be reaped. The Prince and his following hurled themselves upon them, while the rest of the English horsemen swept onward to secure the fugitives and to win their ransoms. But the nobler spirits—Audley, Chandos and the others—would have thought it shame to gain money whilst there was work to be done or honor to be won. Furious was the wild attack, desperate the prolonged defense147. Men fell from their saddles for very exhaustion148.
Nigel, still at his place near Chandos' elbow, was hotly attacked by a short broad-shouldered warrior upon a stout white cob, but Pommers reared with pawing fore34 feet and dashed the smaller horse to the ground. The falling rider clutched Nigel's arm and tore him from the saddle, so that the two rolled upon the grass under the stamping hoofs, the English squire on the top, and his shortened sword glimmered149 before the visor of the gasping151, breathless Frenchman.
For a moment a vision of rich ransoms passed through Nigel's brain. That noble palfrey, that gold-flecked armor, meant fortune to the captor. Let others have it! There was work still to be done. How could he desert the Prince and his noble master for the sake of a private gain? Could he lead a prisoner to the rear when honor beckoned153 him to the van? He staggered to his feet, seized Pommers by the mane, and swung himself into the saddle.
An instant later he was by Chandos' side once more and they were bursting together through the last ranks of the gallant group who had fought so bravely to the end. Behind them was one long swath of the dead and the wounded. In front the whole wide plain was covered with the flying French and their pursuers.
The Prince reined154 up his steed and opened his visor, whilst his followers crowded round him with waving weapons and frenzied155 shouts of victory. “What now, John!” cried the smiling Prince, wiping his streaming face with his ungauntleted hand. “How fares it then?”
“I am little hurt, fair lord, save for a crushed hand and a spear-prick in the shoulder. But you, sir? I trust you have no scathe101?”
“In truth, John, with you at one elbow and Lord Audley at the other, I know not how I could come to harm. But alas! I fear that Sir James is sorely stricken.”
The gallant Lord Audley had dropped upon the ground and the blood oozed156 from every crevice157 of his battered158 armor. His four brave Squires—Dutton of Dutton, Delves159 of Doddington, Fowlhurst of Crewe and Hawkstone of Wainhill—wounded and weary themselves, but with no thought save for their master, unlaced his helmet and bathed his pallid160 blood-stained face.
He looked up at the Prince with burning eyes. “I thank you, sir, for deigning161 to consider so poor a knight as myself,” said he in a feeble voice.
The Prince dismounted and bent162 over him. “I am bound to honor you very much, James,” said he, “for by your valor163 this day you have won glory and renown164 above us all, and your prowess has proved you to be the bravest knight.”
“My Lord,” murmured the wounded man, “you have a right to say what you please; but I wish it were as you say.”
“James,” said the Prince, “from this time onward I make you a knight of my own household, and I settle upon you five hundred marks of yearly income from my own estates in England.”
“Sir,” the knight answered, “God make me worthy165 of the good fortune you bestow166 upon me. Your knight I will ever be, and the money I will divide with your leave amongst these four squires who have brought me whatever glory I have won this day.” So saying his head fell back, and he lay white and silent upon the grass.
“Bring water!” said the Prince. “Let the royal leech167 see to him; for I had rather lose many men than the good Sir James. Ha, Chandos, what have we here?”
A knight lay across the path with his helmet beaten down upon his shoulders. On his surcoat and shield were the arms of a red griffin.
“It is Robert de Duras the spy,” said Chandos.
“Well for him that he has met his end,” said the angry Prince. “Put him on his shield, Hubert, and let four archers bear him to the monastery168. Lay him at the feet of the Cardinal169 and say that by this sign I greet him. Place my flag on yonder high bush, Walter, and let my tent be raised there, that my friends may know where to seek me.”
The flight and pursuit had thundered far away, and the field was deserted170 save for the numerous groups of weary horsemen who were making their way back, driving their prisoners before them. The archers were scattered over the whole plain, rifling the saddle-bags and gathering171 the armor of those who had fallen, or searching for their own scattered arrows.
Suddenly, however, as the Prince was turning toward the bush which he had chosen for his headquarters, there broke out from behind him an extraordinary uproar172 and a group of knights and squires came pouring toward him, all arguing, swearing and abusing each other in French and English at the tops of their voices. In the midst of them limped a stout little man in gold-spangled armor, who appeared to be the object of the contention173, for one would drag him one way and one another, as though they would pull him limb from limb. “Nay, fair sirs, gently, gently, I pray you!” he pleaded. “There is enough for all, and no need to treat me so rudely.” But ever the hubbub174 broke out again, and swords gleamed as the angry disputants glared furiously at each other. The Prince's eyes fell upon the small prisoner, and he staggered back with a gasp150 of astonishment175.
“King John!” he cried.
A shout of joy rose from the warriors176 around him. “The King of France! The King of France a prisoner!” they cried in an ecstasy177.
“Nay, nay, fair sirs, let him not hear that we rejoice! Let no word bring pain to his soul!” Running forward the Prince clasped the French King by the two hands.
“Most welcome, sire!” he cried. “Indeed it is good for us that so gallant a knight should stay with us for some short time, since the chance of war has so ordered it. Wine there! Bring wine for the King!”
But John was flushed and angry. His helmet had been roughly torn off, and blood was smeared upon his cheek. His noisy captors stood around him in a circle, eying him hungrily like dogs who have been beaten from their quarry178. There were Gascons and English, knights, squires and archers, all pushing and straining.
“I pray you, fair Prince, to get rid of these rude fellows,” said King John, “for indeed they have plagued me sorely. By Saint Denis! my arm has been well-nigh pulled from its socket.”
“What wish you then?” asked the Prince, turning angrily upon the noisy swarm of his followers.
“We took him, fair lord. He is ours!” cried a score of voices. They closed in, all yelping179 together like a pack of wolves. “It was I, fair lord!”—“Nay, it was I!”—“You lie, you rascal180, it was I!” Again their fierce eyes glared and their blood-stained hands sought the hilts of their weapons.
“Nay, this must be settled here and now!” said the Prince. “I crave181 your patience, fair and honored sir, for a few brief minutes, since indeed much ill-will may spring from this if it be not set at rest. Who is this tall knight who can scarce keep his hands from the King's shoulder?”
“It is Denis de Morbecque, my lord, a knight of St. Omer, who is in our service, being an outlaw182 from France.”
“I call him to mind. How then, Sir Denis? What say you in this matter?”
“He gave himself to me, fair lord. He had fallen in the press, and I came upon him and seized him. I told him that I was a knight from Artois, and he gave me his glove. See here, I bear it in my hand.”
“It is true, fair lord! It is true!” cried a dozen French voices.
“Nay, sir, judge not too soon!” shouted an English squire, pushing his way to the front. “It was I who had him at my mercy, and he is my prisoner, for he spoke111 to this man only because he could tell by his tongue that he was his own countryman. I took him, and here are a score to prove it.”
“It is true, fair lord. We saw it and it was even so,” cried a chorus of Englishmen.
At all times there was growling183 and snapping betwixt the English and their allies of France. The Prince saw how easily this might set a light to such a flame as could not readily be quenched184. It must be stamped out now ere it had time to mount.
“Fair and honored lord,” he said to the King, “again I pray you for a moment of patience. It is your word and only yours which can tell us what is just and right. To whom were you graciously pleased to commit your royal person?”
King John looked up from the flagon which had been brought to him and wiped his lips with the dawnings of a smile upon his ruddy face.
“It was not this Englishman,” he said, and a cheer burst from the Gascons, “nor was it this bastard185 Frenchman,” he added. “To neither of them did I surrender.”
“To whom then, sir?” asked the Prince.
The King looked slowly round. “There was a devil of a yellow horse,” said he. “My poor palfrey went over like a skittle-pin before a ball. Of the rider I know nothing save that he bore red roses on a silver shield. Ah! by Saint Denis, there is the man himself, and there his thrice-accursed horse!”
His head swimming, and moving as if in a dream, Nigel found himself the center of the circle of armed and angry men.
The Prince laid his hand upon his shoulder. “It is the little cock of Tilford Bridge,” said he. “On my father's soul, I have ever said that you would win your way. Did you receive the King's surrender?”
“Nay, fair lord, I did not receive it.”
“Did you hear him give it?”
“I heard, sir, but I did not know that it was the King. My master Lord Chandos had gone on, and I followed after.”
“And left him lying. Then the surrender was not complete, and by the laws of war the ransom68 goes to Denis de Morbecque, if his story be true.”
“It is true,” said the King. “He was the second.”
“Then the ransom is yours, Denis. But for my part I swear by my father's soul that I had rather have the honor this Squire has gathered than all the richest ransoms of France.”
At these words spoken before that circle of noble warriors Nigel's heart gave one great throb187, and he dropped upon his knee before the Prince. “Fair lord, how can I thank you?” he murmured. “These words at least are more than any ransom.”
“Rise up!” said the smiling Prince, and he smote188 with his sword upon his shoulder. “England has lost a brave Squire, and has gained a gallant knight. Nay, linger not, I pray! Rise up, Sir Nigel!”
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收听单词发音
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1
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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15
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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17
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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20
flay
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| vt.剥皮；痛骂 | |
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21
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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22
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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23
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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24
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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25
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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26
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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27
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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30
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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32
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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33
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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34
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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35
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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36
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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39
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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40
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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41
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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42
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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43
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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44
nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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45
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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46
distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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48
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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49
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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50
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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51
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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52
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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53
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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54
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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55
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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56
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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57
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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58
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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59
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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60
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
whoops
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| int.呼喊声 | |
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62
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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63
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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64
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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65
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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67
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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68
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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69
ransoms
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| 付赎金救人，赎金( ransom的名词复数 ) | |
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70
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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71
needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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72
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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73
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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74
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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75
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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76
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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77
mace
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| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
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78
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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80
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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81
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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82
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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83
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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84
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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85
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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86
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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87
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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88
ramping
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| 土堤斜坡( ramp的现在分词 )； 斜道； 斜路； （装车或上下飞机的）活动梯 | |
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89
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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90
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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91
shredded
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| shred的过去式和过去分词 | |
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92
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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93
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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94
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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95
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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96
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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97
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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98
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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99
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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101
scathe
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| v.损伤；n.伤害 | |
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102
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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103
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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104
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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105
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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106
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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107
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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108
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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109
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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110
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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111
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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112
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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113
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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114
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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115
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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116
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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117
conclave
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| n.秘密会议，红衣主教团 | |
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118
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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119
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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120
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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121
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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122
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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123
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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124
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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125
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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126
battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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127
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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128
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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129
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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130
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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131
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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132
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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133
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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134
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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135
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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136
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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137
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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138
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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139
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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140
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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141
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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142
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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143
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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144
shredding
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的现在分词 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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145
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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146
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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147
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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148
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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149
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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151
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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152
rends
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| v.撕碎( rend的第三人称单数 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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153
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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155
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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156
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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157
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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158
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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159
delves
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的第三人称单数 ) | |
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160
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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161
deigning
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的现在分词 ) | |
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162
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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163
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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164
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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165
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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166
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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167
leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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168
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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169
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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170
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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171
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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172
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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173
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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174
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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175
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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176
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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177
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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178
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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179
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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180
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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181
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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182
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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183
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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184
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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185
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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186
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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187
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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188
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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