And is the hostile troop arrived,
And have they won the day?
It must have been a bloody1 field
Ere Darwent fled away!
The Ettrick Shepherd.
Sleep did not close the eyes of the Earl of Oxford2 or his son; for although the success or defeat of the Duke of Burgundy could not now be of importance to their own private or political affairs, yet the father did not cease to interest himself in the fate of his former companion-in-arms; and the son, with the fire of youth, always eager after novelty,25 expected to find something to advance or thwart3 his own progress in every remarkable4 event which agitated5 the world.
Arthur had risen from his bed, and was in the act of attiring6 himself, when the tread of a horse arrested his attention. He had no sooner looked out of the window, than, exclaiming, “News, my father, news from the army!” he rushed into the street, where a cavalier, who appeared to have ridden very hard, was inquiring for the two Philipsons, father and son. He had no difficulty in recognizing Colvin, the master of the Burgundian ordnance8. His ghastly look bespoke9 distress11 of mind; his disordered array and broken arm or, which seemed rusted13 with rain, or stained with blood, gave the intelligence of some affray in which he had probably been worsted; and so exhausted14 was his gallant15 steed, that it was with difficulty the animal could stand upright. The condition of the rider was not much better. When he alighted from his horse to greet Arthur, he reeled so much that he would have fallen without instant support. His horny eye had lost the power of speculation16; his limbs possessed17 imperfectly that of motion, and it was with a half-suffocated voice that he muttered, “Only fatigue18 — want of rest and of food.”
Arthur assisted him into the house, and refreshments19 were procured20 but he refused all except a bowl of wine, after tasting which he set it down, and looking at the Earl of Oxford with an eye of the deepest affliction, he ejaculated, “The Duke of Burgundy!”
“Slain21?” replied the Earl; “I trust not!”
“It might have been better if he were,” said the Englishman; “but dishonor has come before death.”
“Defeated, then?” said Oxford.
“So completely and fearfully defeated,” answered the soldier, “that all that I have seen of loss before was slight in comparison.”
“But how, or where?” said the Earl of Oxford; “you were superior in numbers, as we were informed.”
“Two to one at least,” answered Colvin; “and when I speak of our encounter at this moment, I could rend22 my flesh with my teeth for being here to tell such a tale of shame. We had sat down for about a week before that paltry23 town of Murten or Morat, or whatever it is called. The governor, one of those stubborn mountain bears of Berne, bade us defiance24. He would not even condescend25 to shut his gates, but when we summoned the town, returned for answer, we might enter if we pleased — we should be suitably received. I would have tried to bring him to reason by a salvo or two of artillery26, but the Duke was too much irritated to listen to good counsel. Stimulated27 by that black traitor28, Campo-Basso, he deemed it better to run forward with his whole force upon a place, which, though I could soon have battered29 it about their German ears, was yet too strong to be carried by swords, lances, and hagbuts. We were beaten off with great loss, and much discouragement to the soldiers. We then commenced more regularly, and my batteries would have brought these mad Switzers to their senses. Walls and ramparts went down before the lusty cannoniers of Burgundy; we were well secured also by intrenchments against those whom we heard of as approaching to raise the siege. But on the evening of the twentieth of this month, we learned that they were close at hand, and Charles, consulting only his own bold spirit, advanced to meet them, relinquishing31 the advantage of our battlefield and strong position. By his orders, though against my own judgment32, I accompanied him with twenty good pieces, and the flower of my people. We broke up on the next morning, and had not advanced far before we saw the lances and thick array of halberds and two-handed swords which crested33 the mountain. Heaven, too, added its terrors — A thunderstorm; with all the fury of those tempestuous34 climates, descended35 on both armies, but did most annoyance36 to ours, as our troops, especially the Italians, were more sensible to the torrents37 of rain which poured down, and the rivulets38, which swelled39 into torrents, inundated40 and disordered our position. The Duke for once saw it necessary to alter his purpose of instant battle. He rode up to me, and directed me tp defend with the cannon30 the retreat which he was about to commence, adding, that he himself would in person, sustain me with the men-at-arms. The order was given to retreat. But the movement gave new spirit to an enemy already sufficiently41 audacious. The ranks of the Swiss instantly prostrated42 themselves in prayer — a practice in the field of battle which I have ridiculed43 — but I will do so no more. When, after five minutes they sprung again on their feet, and began to advance rapidly, sounding their horns and crying their war-cries with all their usual ferocity — behold44, my lord, the clouds of Heaven opened, shedding on the Confederates the blessed light of the returning sun, while our ranks were still in the gloom of the tempest. My men were discouraged. The host behind them was retreating; the sudden light thrown on the advancing Switzers showed along the mountains a profusion45 of banners, a glancing of arms, giving to the enemy the appearance of double the numbers that had hitherto been visible to us. I exhorted46 my followers47 to stand fast, but in doing so I thought a thought, and spoke10 a word, which was a grievous sin. ‘Stand fast, my brave cannoniers,’ I said, ‘we will presently let them hear louder thunders, and show them more fatal lightnings, than their prayers have put down! ‘ — My men shouted — But it was an impious thought — a blasphemous48 speech — and evil came after it. We levelled our guns on the advancing masses as fairly as cannon were ever pointed49 — I can vouch50 it, for I laid the Grand Duchess of Burgundy myself — Ah, poor Duchess! what rude hands manage thee now! — The volley was fired, and ere the smoke spread from the muzzles51, I could see many a man and many a banner go down. It was natural to think such a discharge should have. checked the attack, and whilst the smoke hid the enemy from us, I made every effort again~to load our cannon, and anxiously endeavored to look through the mist to discover the state of our opponents. But ere our smoke was cleared away, or the cannon again loaded,, they came headlong down on us, horse and foot, old men and boys, men-at-arms and varlets, charging up to the muzzle52 of the guns, and over them, with total disregard to their lives. My brave fellows were cut down, pierced through and overrun, while they were again loading their pieces, nor do I believe that a single cannon was fired a second time.”
“And the Duke?” said the Earl of Oxford, “did be not support you?”
“Most loyally and bravely,” answered Colvin, “with his own body-guard of Walloons and Burgundians. But a thousand Italian mercenaries went off, and never showed face again. The pass, too, was cumbered with the artillery, and in itself narrow, bordering on mountains and cliffs, a deep lake close beside. In short, it was a place totally unfit for horsemen to act in. In spite of the Duke’s utmost exertions53, and those of the gallant Flemings who fought around him, all were borne back in complete disorder12. I was on foot fighting as I could, without hopes of my life, or indeed thoughts of saving it, when I saw the guns taken and my faithful cannoniers slain. But I saw Duke Charles hard pressed, and took my horse from my page that held him — Thou, too, art lost, my poor orphan54 boy I could only aid Monseigneur de la Croye and others to extricate55 the Duke. Our retreat became a total rout56, and when we reached our rear-guard, which we had left strongly encamped, the banners of the Switzers were waving on our batteries, for a large division had made a circuit through mountain-passes known only to themselves, and attacked our camp, vigorously seconded by that accursed Adrian de Bubenburg, who sallied from the beleaguered57 town, so that our intrenchments were stormed on both sides at once. — I have more to say, but having ridden day and night to bring you these evil tidings, my tongue clings to the roof of my mouth, and I feel that I can speak no more. The rest is all flight and massacre58, disgraceful to every soldier that shared in it. For my part, I confess my contumelious self-confidence and insolence59 to man, as well as blasphemy60 to Heaven. If I live, it is but to hide my disgraced head in a cowl, and expiate61 the numerous sins of a licentious62 life.”
With difficulty the broken-minded soldier was prevailed upon to take some nourishment63 and repose64, together with an opiate, which was prescribed by the physician of King Rene, who recommended it as necessary to preserve even the reason of his patient, exhausted by the events of the battle, and subsequent fatigue.
The Earl of Oxford, dismissing other assistance, watched alternately with his son at Colvin’s bedside. Notwithstanding the draught65 that had been administered, his repose was far from sound. Sudden starts, the perspiration66 which sprung from his brow, th~ distortions of his countenance67, and the manner in which he clenched68 his fists and flung about his limbs, showed that in his dreams he was again encountering the terrors of a desperate and forlorn combat. This lasted for several hours; but about noon fatigue and medicine prevailed over nervous excitation, and the defeated commander fell into a deep and untroubled repose till evening. About sunset he awakened70, and, after learning with whom and where he was, he partook of refreshments, and without any apparent consciousness of having told them before, detailed71 once more all the particulars of the battle of Murten.
‘It were little wide of truth,” he said, “to calculate that one half of the Duke’s army fell by the sword, or were driven into the lake. Those who escaped are great part of them scattered72, never again to unite. Such a desperate and irretrievable rout was never witnessed. We fled like deer, sheep, or any other timid animals, which only remain in company because they are afraid to separate, but never think of order or of defence.”
“And the Duke?” said the Earl of Oxford.
“We hurried him with us,” said the soldier, “rather from instinct than loyalty73, as men flying from a conflagration74 snatch up what they have of value without knowing that they are doing. Knight75 and knave76, officer and soldier, fled in the same panic, and each blast of the horn of Un in our rear added new wings to our flight.”
“And the Duke?” repeated Oxford.
“At first he resisted our efforts, and strove to turn back on the foe77; but when the flight became general, he galloped78 along with us, without a word spoken or a command issued. At first we thought his silence and passiveness, so unusual in a temper so fiery79, were fortunate for securing his personal safety. But when we rode the whole day without being able to obtain a word of reply to all our questions — when he sternly refused refreshments of every kind, though he had tasted no food all that disastrous80 day — when every variation of his moody81 and uncertain temper was sunk into silent and sullen82 despair, we took counsel what was to be done, and it was by the general voice that I was despatched to entreat83 that you, for whose counsels alone Charles has been known to have had some occasional deference84, would come instantly to his place of retreat, and exert all your influence to awaken69 him from this lethargy, which may otherwise terminate his existence!”
“And what remedy can I interpose?” said Oxford. “You know how he neglected my advice, when following it might have served my interest as well as his own. You are aware that my life was not safe among the miscreants85 that surrounded the Duke, and exercised influence over him.”
“Most true,” answered Colvin; “but I also know he is your ancient companion-in-arms, and it would ill become me to teach the noble Earl of Oxford what the laws of chivalry86 require. For your lordship’s safety, every honest man in the army will give willing security.”
“It is for that I care least,” said Oxford, indifferently; “and if indeed my presence can be of service to the Duke — if I could believe that he desired it — ”
“He does — he does, my lord!” said the faithful soldier, with tears in his eyes. “We heard him name your name, as if the words escaped him in a painful dream.”
“I will go to him, such being the case,” said Oxford. — “I will go instantly. Where did he propose to establish his headquarters?”
“He had fixed87 nothing for himself on that or other matters; but Monsieur de Contay named La Riviere, near Salins, in Upper Burgundy, as the place of his retreat.”
“Thither88, then, will we, my son, with all haste of preparation. Thou, Colvin, hadst better remain here, and see some holy man, to be assoilzied for thy hasty speech on the battlefield of Morat. There was offence in it without doubt, but it will be ill atoned90 for by quitting a generous master when he liath most need of your good service and it is but an act of cowardice91 to retreat into the cloister92 till we have no longer active duties to perform in this world.”
“It is true,” said Colvin, “that should I leave the Duke now, perhaps not a man would stay behind that could stell a cannon properly. The sight of your lordship cannot but operate favorably on my noble master, since it has waked the old soldier in myself. If your lordship can delay your journey till to-morrow I will have my spiritual affairs settled, and my bodily health sufficiently restored to be your guide to La Riviere and for the cloister, I will think of it when I have regained93 the good name which l have lost at Murten. But I will have masses said, and these right powerful, for the souls of my poor cannoniers.”
The proposal of Colvin was adopted, and Oxford, with his son, attended by Thiebault, spent the day in preparation, excepting the time necessary to take formal leave of King Rene, who seemed to part with them with regret. In company with the ordnance officer of the discomfited94 Duke, they traversed those parts of Provence, Dauphine, and Franche Compte, which lie between Aix and the place to which the Duke of Burgundy had retreated; but the distance and inconvenience of so long a route consumed more than a fortnight on the road, and the month of July 1476 was commenced, when the travellers arrived in Upper burgundy, and at the Castle of La Riviere, about twenty miles to the south of the town of Salins. The castle, which was but of small size, was surrounded by very man tyents, which were pitched in a crowded, disordered, and unsoldierlike manner, very unlike the discipline unusually observed in the camp of Charles the Bold. That the Duke was present there, however, was attested95 by his broad banner, which, rich with all its quarterings, streamed from the battlements of the castle. The guard turned out to receive the strangers, but in a manner so disorderly, that the Earl looked to Colvin for explanation. The master of the ordnance shrugged96 up his shoulders, and was silent.
Colvin having sent in notice of his arrival, and that of the English Earl, Monsieur de Contay caused them presently to be admitted, and expressed much joy at their arrival.
“A few of us,” he said, “true servants of the Duke, are holding council here, at which your assistance, my noble Lord of Oxford, will he of the utmost importance. Messieurs De la Croye, De Craon, Rubempre, and others, nobles of Burgundy, are now assembled to superintend the defence of the country at this exigence.”
They all expressed delight to see the Earl of Oxford, and had only abstained97 from thrusting their attentions on him the last time he was in the Duke’s camp, as they understood it was his wish to observe incognito98.
“His Grace,” said De Craon, “has asked after you twice, and on both times by your assumed name of Philipson.”
“I wonder not at that, my Lord of Craon,” replied the English nobleman; “the origin of the name took its rise in former days, when I was here during my first exile. It was then said, that we poor Lancastrian nobles must assume other names than our own, and the good Duke Philip said, as I was brother-in-arms to his son Charles, I must be called after himself, by the name of Philipson. In memory of the good sovereign, I took that name when the day of need actually arrived, and I see that the Duke thinks of our early intimacy99 by his distinguishing me so. — How fares his Grace?”
The Burgundians looked at each other, and there was a pause.
“Even like a man stunned100, brave Oxford,” at length De Contay replied. “Sieur d’Argentin,26 you can best inform the noble Earl of the condition of our sovereign.”
“He is like a man distracted,” said the future historian of that busy period. “After the battle of Granson, he was never, to my thinking, of the same sound judgment as before. But then, he was capricious, unreasonable101, peremptory102, and inconsistent, and resented every counsel that was offered, as if it had been meant in insult; was jealous of the least trespass103 in point of ceremonial, as if his subjects were holding him in contempt. Now there is a total change, as if this second blow had stunned him, and suppressed the violent passions which the first called into action. He is silent as a Carthusian, solitary104 as a hermit105, expresses interest in nothing, least of all in the guidance of his army. He was, you know, anxious about his dress; so much so, that there was some affectation even in the rudenesses which he practised in that matter. But, woe106’s me, you will see a change now; he will not suffer his hair or nails to be trimmed or arranged. He is totally heedless of respect or disrespect towards him, takes little or no nourishment, uses strong wines, which, however, do not seem to affect his understanding; he will hear nothing of war or state affairs, as little of hunting or of sport. Suppose an anchorite brought from a cell to govern a kingdom, you see in him, except in point of devotion, a picture of the fiery active Charles of Burgundy.”
“You speak of a mind deeply wounded, Sieur d’Argentin,” replied the Englishman. “Think you it fit I should present myself before the Duke?”
“I will inquire,” said Contay; and leaving the apartment, returned presently, and made a sign to the Earl to follow him.
In a cabinet, or closet, the unfortunate Charles reclined in a large arm-chair, his legs carelessly stretched on a footstool, but so changed that the Earl of Oxford could have believed what he saw to be the ghost of the once fiery Duke. Indeed, the shaggy length of hair which, streaming from his head, mingled107 with his beard; the hollowness of the caverns108, at the bottom of which rolled his wild eyes; the falling in of the breast, and the advance of the shoulders, gave the ghastly appearance of one who has suffered the final agony which takes from mortality the signs of life and energy. His very costume (a cloak flung loosely over him) increased his resemblance to a shrouded109 phantom110. De Contay named the Earl of Oxford; but the Duke gazed on him with a lustreless111 eye, and gave him no answer.
“Speak to him, brave Oxford,” said the Burgundian in a whisper; “he is even worse than usual, but perhaps he may know your voice.”
Never, when the Duke of Burgundy was in the most palmy state of his fortunes, did the noble Englishman kneel to kiss his hand with such sincere reverence112. He respected in him, not only the afflicted113 friend, but the humbled114 sovereign, upon whose tower of trust the lightning had so recently broken. It was probably the falling of a tear upon his hand which seemed to awake the Duke’s attention, for he looked towards the Earl, and said, “Oxford — Philipson — my old — my only friend, hast thou found me out in this retreat of shame and misery115?”
“I am not your only friend, my lord,” said Oxford. “Heaven has given you many affectionate friends among your natural and loyal subjects. But though a stranger, and saving the allegiance I owe to my lawful116 sovereign, I will yield to none of them in the respect and deference which I have paid to your Grace in prosperity, and now come to render to you in adversity.”
“Adversity, indeed!” said the Duke; “irremediable, intolerable adversity! I was lately Charles of Burgundy, called the Bold — now am I twice beaten by a scum of German peasants; my standard taken, my men-at-arms put to flight, my camp twice plundered117, and each time of value more than equal to the price of all Switzerland fairly lost; myself hunted like a caitiff goat or chamois — The utmost spite of hell could never accumulate more shame on the head of a sovereign!”
“On the contrary, my lord,” said Oxford, “it is a trial of Heaven, which calls for patience and strength of mind. The bravest and best knight may lose the saddle; he is but a laggard118 who lies rolling on the sand of the lists after the accident has chanced.”
“Ha, laggard, say’st thou?” said the Duke, some part of his ancient spirit awakened by the broad taunt119; “Leave my presence, sir, and return to it no more, till you are summoned thither — ”
“Which I trust will be no later than your Grace quits your dishabille, and disposes yourself to see your vassals120 and friends with such ceremony as befits you and them,” said the Earl composedly.
“How mean you by that, Sir Earl? You are unmannerly.”
“If I be, my lord, I am taught my ill-breeding by circumstances. I can mourn over fallen dignity; but I cannot honor him who dishonors himself by bending, like a regardless boy, beneath the scourge121 of evil fortune.”
“And who am I that you should term me such?” said Charles, starting up in all his natural pride and ferocity; “or who are you but a miserable122 exile, that you should break in upon my privacy with such disrespectful upbraiding123?”
“For me,” replied Oxford, “I am, as you say, an unrespected exile nor am I ashamed of my condition, since unshaken loyalty to my king and his successors has brought me to it. But in you, can I recognize the Duke of Burgundy in a sullen hermit, whose guards are a disorderly soldiery, dreadful only to their friends; whose councils are in confusion for want of their sovereign, and who himself lurks124, like a lamed125 wolf in its den7, in an obscure castle, waiting but a blast of the Switzer’s horn to fling open its gates, which there are none to defend; who wears not a knightly126 sword to protect his person, and cannot even die like a stag at bay, but must be worried like a hunted fox?”
“Death and hell, slanderous127 traitor!” thundered the Duke, glancing a look at his side, and perceiving himself without a weapon, — “It is well for thee I have no sword, or thou shouldst never boast of thine insolence going unpunished. — Contay, step forth128 like a good knight, and confute the calumniator129. Say, are not my soldiers arrayed, disciplined, and in order?”
“My lord,” said Contay, trembling (brave as be was in battle) at the frantic130 rage which Charles exhibited, “there are a numerous soldiery yet under your command, but they are in evil order, and in worse discipline, I think, then they were wont131.”
“I see it — I see it,” said the Duke “idle and evil counsellors are ye all. — Hearken, Sir of Contay, what have you and the rest of you been doing, holding as you do large lands and high fiefs of us, that I cannot stretch my limbs on a sick-bed, when my heart is half broken, but my troops must fall into such scandalous disorder as exposes me to the scorn and reproach of each beggarly foreigner?”
“My lord,” replied Contay more firmly, “we have done what we could. But your Grace has accustomed your mercenary generals and leaders of Free Companies to take their orders only from your own mouth, or hand. They clamor also for pay, and the treasurer132 refuses to issue it without your Grace’s order, as he alleges133 it might cost him his head; and they will not be guided and restrained, either by us or those who compose your council.”
The Duke laughed sternly, but was evidently somewhat pleased with the reply.
“Ha, ha!” he said, “it is only Burgundy who can ride his own wild horses, and rule his own wild soldiery. Hark thee, Contay — To-morrow I ride forth to review the troops — for what disorder has passed allowance shall be made. Pay also shall be issued — but woe to those who shall have offended too deeply! Let my grooms134 of the chamber135 know to provide me fitting dress and arms. I have got a lesson” (glancing a dar’h look at Oxford), “and I will not again be insulted without the means of wreaking136 my vengeance137. Begone, both of you. And, Contay, send the treasurer hither with his accounts, and woe to his soul if I find aught to complain of! Begone, I say, and send him hither.”
They left the apartment with suitable obeisance138. As they retired139, the Duke said abruptly140, “Lord of Oxford, a word with you. Where did you study medicine? In your own famed university, I suppose. Thy physic bath wrought141 a wonder. Yet, Doctor Philipson, it might have cost thee thy life.”
“I have ever thought my life cheap,” said Oxford, “when the object was to help my friend.”
“Thou art indeed a friend,” said Charles, “and a fearless one. But go — I have been sore troubled, and thou has tasked my temper closely. To-morrow we will speak further; mean — time, I forgive thee, and I honor thee.”
The Earl of Oxford retired to the Council-hall, where the Burgundian nobility, aware of what had passed, crowded around him with thanks, compliments, and congratulations. A general bustle142 now ensued; orders were hurried off in every direction. Those officers who had duties to perform which had been neglected, hastened to conceal143 or to atone89 for their negligence144. There was a general tumult145 in the camp, but it was a tumult of joy; for soldiers are always most pleased when they are best in order for performing their military service; and license146 or inactivity, however acceptable at times are not, when continued, so agreeable to their nature, as strict discipline and a prospect147 of employment.
The treasurer, who was, luckily for him, a man of sense and method, having been two hours in private with the Duke, returned with looks of wonder, and professed148, that never in Charles’s most prosperous days, had he showed himself more acute in the department of finance, of which he had but that morning seemed totally incapable149; and the merit was universally attributed to the visit of Lord Oxford, whose timely reprimand had, like the shot of a cannon dispersing150 foul151 mists, awakened the Duke from his black and bilious152 melancholy153.
On the following day Charles reviewed his troops with his usual attention, directed new levies154, made various dispositions155 of his forces, and corrected the faults of their discipline by severe orders, which were enforced by some deserved punishments (of which the Italian mercenaries of Campo-Basso had a large share), and rendered palatable156 by the payment of arrears157, which was calculated to attach them to the standard under which they served!
The Duke also, after consulting with his council, agreed to convoke158 meetings of the States in his different territories, to dress certain popular grievances159, and grant some boons160 which he had hitherto denied; and thus began to open a new account of popularity with his subjects, in place of that which his rashness had exhausted.
收听单词发音 |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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attiring
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| v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的现在分词 ) | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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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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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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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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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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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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rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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24
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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25
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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26
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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27
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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28
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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29
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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30
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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31
relinquishing
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的现在分词 )； 放弃 | |
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32
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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33
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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34
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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35
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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36
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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37
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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38
rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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39
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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40
inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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41
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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42
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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43
ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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45
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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46
exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
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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48
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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49
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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50
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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51
muzzles
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| 枪口( muzzle的名词复数 )； （防止动物咬人的）口套； （四足动物的）鼻口部； （狗）等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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52
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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53
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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54
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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55
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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56
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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57
beleaguered
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| adj.受到围困[围攻]的；包围的v.围攻( beleaguer的过去式和过去分词)；困扰；骚扰 | |
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58
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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59
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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60
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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61
expiate
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| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
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62
licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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63
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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64
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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65
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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66
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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67
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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68
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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70
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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71
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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72
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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73
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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74
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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75
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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76
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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77
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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78
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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79
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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80
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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81
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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82
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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83
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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84
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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85
miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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86
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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87
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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88
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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89
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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90
atoned
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| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
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91
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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92
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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93
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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94
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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95
attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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96
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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97
abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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98
incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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99
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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100
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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101
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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102
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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103
trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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104
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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105
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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106
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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107
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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108
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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109
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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110
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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111
lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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112
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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113
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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115
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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116
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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117
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
laggard
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| n.落后者；adj.缓慢的，落后的 | |
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119
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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120
vassals
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| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
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121
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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122
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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123
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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124
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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125
lamed
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| 希伯莱语第十二个字母 | |
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126
knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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127
slanderous
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| adj.诽谤的，中伤的 | |
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128
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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129
calumniator
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| n.中伤者，诽谤者 | |
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130
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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131
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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132
treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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133
alleges
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的第三人称单数 ) | |
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134
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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135
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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136
wreaking
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的现在分词 ) | |
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137
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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138
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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139
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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140
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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141
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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142
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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143
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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144
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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145
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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146
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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147
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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148
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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149
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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150
dispersing
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| adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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151
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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152
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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153
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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154
levies
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| （部队）征兵( levy的名词复数 )； 募捐； 被征募的军队 | |
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155
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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156
palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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157
arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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158
convoke
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| v.召集会议 | |
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159
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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160
boons
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| n.恩惠( boon的名词复数 )；福利；非常有用的东西；益处 | |
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