St. George for England by G. A. Henty (ebook smartphone TXT) 📗

Lorraine were among the first who fell. The young Count of Blois, finding that he could not ride through the wall of steel, dismounted with his knights and fought his way on foot towards the banner of the Prince of Wales. For a time the struggle was desperate, and the young prince, with his household knights, was for a time well-nigh beaten back.

Walter, fighting close beside the prince, parried more than one blow intended for him, and the prince himself slew the Count of Blois, whose followers all fell around him. The Count of Flanders was also slain, and confusion began to reign among the assailants, whose leaders had now all fallen. Phillip himself strove to advance with his division into the fight, but the struggle between the Genoese and the men-at-arms was still continuing, and the very multitude of his troops in the narrow and difficult field which the English had chosen for the battle embarrassed his movements.

Charles of Luxembourg, King of the Romans, and afterwards Emperor of Germany, son of the old King of Bohemia, with a large body of German and French cavalry, now assailed the English archers, and in spite of their flights of arrows came to close quarters, and cutting their way through them joined in the assault upon the men-at-arms of the Black Prince. Nearly 40,000 men were now pressing round the little body, and the Earls of Northampton and Arundel moved forward with their divisions to his support, while the Earl of Warwick, who was with the prince, despatched Sir Thomas of Norwich to the king, who still remained with his powerful reserve, to ask for aid.

“Sir Thomas,” demanded the king, “is my son killed, overthrown, or wounded beyond help?”

“Not so, sire,” replied the knight, “but he is in a rude fight, and much needs your aid.”

“Go back, Sir Thomas, to those who sent you and tell them from me that whatsoever happens they require no aid from me so long as my son is in life. Tell them also that I command them to let the boy win his spurs, for, God willing, the day shall be his, and the honour shall rest with him and those into whose charge I have given him.”

The prince and those around him were filled with fresh ardour when they received this message. Each man redoubled his efforts to repel the forces that were incessantly poured down upon them by the French. On all sides these pressed around them, striving desperately, but ever in vain, to break through the solid ranks of the English. The French men-at-arms suffered, moreover, terribly from the attacks of the Welsh infantry. These men, clad in thick leather jerkins, nimble of foot, accustomed to a life of activity, were armed with shortened lances and knives, mingled fearlessly among the confused mass of French cavalry, creeping beneath the horses' bellies, standing up when they got a chance, and stabbing horses and men with their knives and pikes. Many were trampled upon or struck down, but numbering, as they did, 6000, they pervaded the whole mass of the enemy, and did terrible execution, adding in no small degree to the confusion caused by the shower of arrows from the archers within the circle of the men-at-arms. The instant a French knight fell, struck from his horse with a battle-axe or arrow, or by the fall of a wounded steed, the half-wild Welsh were upon him, and slew him before he could regain his feet.

The slaughter was immense. The Count of Harcourt, with his nephew the Count D'Aumale and his two gallant sons, fell together, and at last Charles of Luxembourg, seeing his banner down, his troops routed, his friends slain, and the day irreparably lost, and being himself severely wounded in three places, turned his horse and fled, casting off his rich emblazoned surcoat to avoid recognition. In the meantime Prince Charles's father, the veteran King of Bohemia, once one of the most famous warriors of Europe, but now old and blind, sat on horseback at a little distance from the fight; the knights around him told him the events as they happened, and the old monarch soon saw that the day was lost. He asked them for tidings of his son Charles of Luxembourg, but they were forced to reply that the banner of the King of the Romans was no longer in sight, but that, doubtless, he was somewhere engaged in the melee.

“Lords,” said the old man, “you are my vassals, my friends, and my companions, and on this day I command and beseech you to lead me forward so far that I may deal one blow of my sword in the battle.”

His faithful friends obeyed him, a number of knights arranged themselves around him, and lest they should lose him in the fight they tied their horses together by the bridles and charged down into the fray. Advancing directly against the banner of the Prince of Wales, the blind monarch was carried into the midst of the thickest strife.

There the little group of knights fought gallantly, and after the battle was over, the bodies of the king and his friends were found lying together, their dead horses still linked by the bridles.

During this terrible battle, which had been raging since three o'clock, Phillip had made strenuous efforts to aid his troops engaged in the front by continually sending fresh bodies to the assault. It was now growing dark, terror and confusion had already spread among the French, and many were flying in all directions, and the unremitting showers of English arrows still flew like hail among their ranks. As the king made his way forward, surrounded by his personal attendants to take part himself in the fight, his followers fell thick around him, and his horse was slain by an arrow. John of Hainault, who had remained by his side during the whole day, mounted upon a fresh horse and urged him to fly, as the day was lost. Phillip, however, persisted, and made his way into the melee, where he fought for some time with extreme courage, until almost all around him were slain, the royal standard bearer killed, and himself wounded in two places. John of Hainault then seized his bridle exclaiming “Come away, sire, it is full time; do not throw your life away foolishly; if you have lost this day you will win another,” and so almost forced the unwilling king from the field. Phillip, accompanied by the lords of Montmorency, Beaujeu, Aubigny, and Mansault, with John of Hainault, and sixty men-at-arms, rode to the Castle of Broye, and there halted for a few hours. At midnight he again set out, and in the morning arrived safely at Amiens.

The Black Prince held his station until night without yielding a single step to all the efforts of the French. Gradually, however, the assailants became less and less numerous, the banners disappeared, and the shouts of the leaders and the clang of arms died away, and the silence which prevailed over the field at once announced that the victory was complete and the enemy in full flight. An immense number of torches were now lighted through the English lines, and the king, quitting for the first time his station on the hill, came down to embrace his gallant son. Edward and his host rejoiced in a spirit of humility over the victory. No songs of triumph, no feastings or merriment were permitted, but a solemn service of the church was held, and the king and his soldiers offered their thanks to God for the victory He had given them. The English army lay all night under arms, and a number of scattered parties of the French, wandering about in the darkness, entered the lines and were slain or taken prisoners.

The dawn of the next morning was thick and foggy, and intelligence coming