Up went the ladder, and on it the English climbed fast
Up went the ladder, and on it the English climbed fast.
"A shorter ladder will do for this next mounting," whispered Giles Monson. "Then there is a wall, but sentries are seldom posted there."
Hardly had he spoken before a voice above them hailed in French:
"Who cometh there?"
A flight of arrows answered him, and no second question came down. Up went the ladder and on it the English climbed fast. The wall, when they reached it, was but a dozen feet high, and was hardly an obstacle. Beyond it Sir Henry halted until many men stood beside him. Then he spoke in a low tone.
"Pass the word," he said. "Pause not for aught, but follow me to the castle and the town gate. We must win that and let in the prince, though all die who are here."
He strode forward then, and ever in front of him went Giles Monson, his cap in his hand and his white hair flying.
Few lights were burning in any of the buildings, for it was long after curfew. There were no wayfarers along the narrow, winding streets through which, avoiding the middle of the town, Giles Monson guided the English. Hardly a weapon clanged, and no word was spoken, for every man knew that if an alarm were given too soon so small a force would be overwhelmed and all must die.
"Yon is the gate," whispered Giles at last. "'Tis a fort of itself, and it needs must have a strong guard."
"They are on the watch for foes from without," said Sir Henry. "Richard Neville, show thyself a good man-at-arms! Charge in at yonder portal with thy Irish, and we will form behind theeand press on to open the town gates and hold them."
The O'Rourke heard the command and he whistled shrilly to his men; still in front of Richard, through the deep gloom, flitted the white-haired guide, for the portal at which Sir Henry pointed; to the left was the open gate of the great tower, the donjon keep, the citadel of Bruyerre. A moat there was, but the bridge was in place, and the guards in armor were lolling lazily.
"Charge! For the king!" shouted Richard, as he sprang swiftly along the bridge; he dashed past the guards and was within the portal before they could draw their swords. Down they went under the Irish axes, and so the entrance to the keep was won. Then the fighting began, for there were many brave men in the citadel of Bruyerre and they were awaking. But they came out of their quarters in sudden bewilderment, singly or in squads, and in the dim light they at first hardly knew friend from foe. Scores were smitten in utter darkness by unseen hands, and everywhere were panic and confusion among the defenders.
"On!" shouted Giles Monson. "My Lord of Wartmont, I lead thee to the chamber of De Bruyerre!"
They were at the head of a flight of stairs, and before them was a long passage lighted by hanging lamps. Into the passage had rushed out—fromthe sleeping rooms on either side—a dozen swordsmen, and some of them had bucklers. Well was it for Richard then that Guy the Bow and the Longwood foresters had believed it their duty to follow their own young captain, for otherwise he had been almost alone. From the archers whizzed shaft after shaft, and hardly did he cross swords with any knight before the Frenchman's blade fell from his hand.
One towering form in a long blue robe was behind the others.
"Who are ye, in Heaven's name?" he had shouted. "St. Denis, they are fiends!"
"My Lord Raoul de Bruyerre," fiercely responded Giles Monson, "'tis the vengeance of Heaven upon thy false heart and thy cruelty. I am thy Sheffield man, thou robber!"
"Yield thee, my Lord of Bruyerre!" shouted Richard; but along the passage darted Giles Monson, bent on revenge.
"Thou art the traitor!" cried De Bruyerre, and drawing his sword he sprang to strike down the advancing Englishman. Too eager to heed his own safety, Giles Monson leaped upon the French knight and struck fiercely with his long dagger.
Both weapons reached their marks.
"Thou villain, thou hast slain the knight!" cried Richard. "He might have surrendered."
But Giles Monson had fallen beneath the sword of his victim, and would never speak more.
"Stay not here!" Richard commanded. "Follow me! The keep is not half taken."
It was but the truth, and yet the remaining fight was only to make all sure. One strong party of French soldiers was beaten because they rallied in the great hall and were helplessly penned in as soon as the massive doors were shut and braced on the outside.
"Rats in a trap!" said Ben o' Coventry, as he forced down a thick plank to hold a door. "We need not slay one of them."
"I would I knew how it fareth with the prince," said Richard. "Light every lamp and beacon. I will go to the portal."
Prince Edward and they who were with him were men certain to give a good account of themselves, but they had been none too many. The warders at the town-wall gate had been small hindrance. The moment the huge oaken wings swung back upon their hinges, up went the portcullis, out shot the bridge across the deep, black moat, and the blast of Sir Henry's horn was answered by the rapid thud of hoofs as the prince led on his men-at-arms.
"Straight for the middle square!" he shouted. "Onward to the keep!"
"It is ours if Richard Neville be still living,"calmly returned the knight. "Hark! the shouts—the uproar!"
"Sir Thomas Gifford," commanded the prince, "go to him. Take ten men-at-arms. We must win the keep!"
On then he led his gallant men along the street, but when they reached the central square the French also were pouring into it from all sides. Save for their utter surprise they would have made a better fight, but at the first onset the English lances scattered their hasty array like chaff. Horsemen they had almost none, and their knights who fought on foot were but half-armored.
Now also David Griffith and his Welshmen had arrived within the walls, and it seemed to the defenders of Bruyerre that their foemen were a multitude. A band of mercenaries from Alsace, three hundred strong, penned in a side street, surrendered without a blow at the first whizzing of the English arrows.
Sir Thomas Gifford was standing at the portal of the castle, and he saw a man in armor come hastily out into a light that shone beyond.
"Richard Neville," he asked, "how is it with thee? Art thou beaten?"
"The keep is ours," called back Richard; "but I have too many prisoners. There were six hundred men."
"St. George for England!" cried theastonished knight. "Thou hast done a noble deed of arms!"
"But Raoul de Bruyerre is dead, and so is Giles Monson, he who guided us," continued Richard. "How fareth the prince?"
"Go thou to him with thy good news," replied Sir Thomas. "I will take command here and finish thy work."
"Let us not remain with Sir Thomas," exclaimed the O'Rourke, behind Richard, "if there is to be more fighting."
"Nay, thou and thy kerns are garrison of the keep," said Sir Thomas.
So the hot-headed Irish chieftain had to bide behind stone walls to his great chagrin, while Richard went out gladly, with but a small party, to hunt for the prince through the shadowy, tumultuous streets of the half-mad town of Bruyerre.
There were faces at window crevices, and there were men and women in half-opened doorways. Richard continually announced to them, as had been the general order of the prince:
"In! In! Quarter to all who keep their houses, and death to all who come out!"
Brave as might be the burghers of Bruyerre, not many of those who heard cared to rush out alone, to be speared or cut down.
Before this, nevertheless, enough had gatheredat one point to feel some courage; and into this band Richard was compelled to charge.
With him were barely a dozen axemen and bowmen, yet he shouted in Norman French, as if to some larger force behind:
"Onward, men of Kent! forward quickly! Bid the Irish hasten! St. George for England! For the king!"
The burghers had no captain, and they hardly knew their own number in the gloom. 'Twas a hot rush of desperate men against those who were irresolute. The burghers broke and fled to their houses, and on went Richard, having lost only a few of his small force.
The garrison had rallied faster and faster, and now almost surrounded in the square were the prince and his knights. Little they cared. Indeed, Sir Henry of Wakeham had said:
"What do you advise, my Lord Prince? We might even cut our way back to the castle, if we were sure of it. If we have that, we have command of the town."
"Hold your own here," replied the prince; "I think they give way somewhat."
Just then a band of bowmen, who had cleared out a side street, came forth as Richard went by.
"With me!" he called to them. "Let us join the prince. Beware how ye send your shafts into yondermêlée, lest ye harm a friend!"
"Hark!" exclaimed Sir Henry. "It is Richard Neville! They have beaten him. Where can Sir Thomas be? I fear there is black tidings!"
"Fight on!" replied the prince. "At all events he bringeth us some help."
Closely aimed arrows, well-thrown spears, cleaving of sword and axe were help indeed; but better than all was the clear, ringing voice of Richard, in English first, and then in Norman French:
"My Lord the Prince, we have the keep and castle! Sir Thomas Gifford holdeth it. De Bruyerre is killed. His men are dead or taken. Bid these fools here surrender. They have naught for which to fight."
"God and St. George for England!" roared Sir Henry of Wakeham.
"Hail to thee, Richard Neville!" sang out the prince. "Victory! The town is ours! Bruyerre is taken!"
All the Frenchmen heard, as well as all the English. What was joy to one party was utter discouragement to the other.
"Surrender!" commanded the prince. "The fool who fighteth now hath his blood upon his own head!"
Spears were lowered, swords were sheathed, crossbows were dropped, brave men-at-arms gave their names to Sir Henry and his knights, and the peril in the great square was over.
"Well for us," coolly remarked Sir Henry. "The guards from the ramparts were arriving. My Lord of Cluse did not rightly number the garrison."
Nor had the English believed that so many townsmen could turn out so speedily. Nevertheless, when arms were given up the Frenchmen were no longer soldiers, and their numbers were of no more value.
"Richard Neville, I will well commend thee to my father! I think he will give thee thy spurs."
So spake the prince, with his hands on the shoulders of his friend, and looking into his face admiringly.
"Prince Edward," broke out the heir of Wartmont warmly, "I have done little. The taking of Bruyerre is thine. It was all thy plan."
"Mine? Nay," said the prince. "The best of it was prepared by Raoul de Bruyerre, when he held Giles Monson wickedly, that now an Englishman might be ready to let us in. So did his evil deed come back to his ruin."
"Aye," said Sir Henry; "but the dawn is in the sky, and the troops must be stationed fast. We will not stay to sack the town; but there are stores to gather, and there are knights of high degree to put to ransom. We have work to do."
So, quickly and wisely, went out the commands of the English captains, and the prize was made secure before the sun was an hour high.
Bitter enough was then the shame and wrath of knights and nobles of the garrison, as they learned by how small a force their great stronghold had been surprised and taken. It should have been held for a year, they said, against all the army of King Edward.
All that bright summer day the business of sending away the garrison and of securing the best plunder of Bruyerre went industriously forward; but it was not in the hands of the Black Prince. Hardly had he finished eating a good repast in the castle, after having had courteous speech with Madame of Bruyerre and her household, before he gave command:
"Sir Robert Clifton, I appoint thee to the care of this place until I send thee orders from the king. He is now twelve miles away, and I must give him a report of this affair. Sir Henry and Gifford and Neville will go with me."
It was to horse and mount, then, while Robert Clifton cared for Bruyerre. The sun was looking down upon the midday halting of King Edward's own division of his army, when his son and his companions stood before him to tell him what they had done, and how.
Close and searching, as became a good general, were the questions of the king; but when all was done Sir Henry of Wakeham spoke boldly:
"Sire, is it not to be said that thy son andRichard Neville have in this feat of arms well earned their spurs and chain of knighthood?"
"Truly!" came low but earnestly from Richard's uncle, the Earl of Warwick.
There was no smile upon the firm lips of the king, whatever his proud eyes might seem to say, and he replied:
"Not so, my good companion in arms. Think of thine own battles, many and hard fought. It were not well to forward them too fast. Neither my Edward nor Richard of Wartmont shall wear spurs until they have stood the brunt of one great passage of arms. Leave but a fair garrison in Bruyerre, for none will trouble them. We will march on to seek the field where we may meet the host of Philip of Valois. Word hath arrived that he is coming with all haste."
Forward, therefore, moved the forces of the king, and with them rode the two young companions in arms as simple squires; but the mighty field whereon they were to win their spurs was only a few days in the future.
FOOTNOTE:[A]The kern was a light-armed foot soldier, who usually carried a spear and knife.
[A]The kern was a light-armed foot soldier, who usually carried a spear and knife.
[A]The kern was a light-armed foot soldier, who usually carried a spear and knife.
Great had been the turmoil, the separation of comrades and of detachments, at the taking of Bruyerre. Hardly had Richard spoken twice to Sir Thomas Holland or Sir Peter Legh. Now, however, that the army of the king was once more moving forward, there was chance for them to ride together. Not until then, indeed, did it come clearly to Richard's mind how highly men thought of him for the taking and holding of the keep. Also, Sir Henry Wakeham had praised him much for his conduct in the perilous scaling of the walls by Giles Monson's secret pathway.
"I am well pleased," said Sir Peter, "that the order of march putteth thee and thy outlaws with Sir Thomas and me. So they take not us for deer and make targets of us, we are likely to render a good report to the king."
"Aye," added Sir Thomas dryly, "I knew not why even thy wild Irish kerns and thy Welsh savages took thee, more than another, for theirchieftain, but I learned that they were like thy bowmen. Every man of them hath had a price set upon his head, for his good deeds before he was pardoned into the army."
"The king's deer will be safer after this campaign," said Sir Peter, "if, indeed, he is marching this army to meet the host of France. But that I trust him well, I would deem him safer on the other side of the Seine."
Now any who knew the province of Normandy and the parts that they were in, could see that the river Seine ran at the left of their march. It was between them and any seeming road to the taking of Calais. Well up the stream, in the direction they were taking, was the good city of Paris, with many strong forts, although it had no encircling wall. It lay open, with castles and fortified posts outside of its streets and palaces. At Paris, even now, there was a strong force of French, said to be equal in numbers to the English army. More forces were fast marching thitherward, but still King Edward was pushing on, as if he expected to capture the French capital by a swift dash and a surprise.
This was therefore the meaning of Sir Peter Legh, and it had been in the thoughts of many other men.
"Word hath come by many of the king's scouts," replied Richard, "that every bridge overthe Seine hath been broken down by the French themselves, so that our army can by no means reach the other bank."
"Sir Thomas Holland," asked Sir Peter, "knowest thou what saith the king to that?"
"Nay," said Sir Thomas bluntly, "but I heard one Geoffrey of Harcourt, when a spy rode to him to tell that the last Seine bridge was down."
"What answered he?" asked Sir Peter.
"'Now all the saints be praised!' he said," responded Sir Peter. "'Philip of Valois doeth our business well. Their bridges are gone, and they can throw no force across the river to annoy our flank or rear. We have but a holiday march, unmolested.'"
Richard listened, that he might gather a lesson of war; but he said to the knights:
"I do but bethink me of what was said by one of my own men when he heard concerning the bridges. He is a carpenter from Coventry."
"What said he?" asked a deep voice behind them, as it were eagerly.
Then turned they all in their saddles, for there rode Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt, and with him was the prince.
"My Lord Marshal," said Richard, "he did but laugh, and he laughed loudly. Then he told his mates: 'Ye are but fools, and the king is wise. Give me our forest men and the two companies ofKent and the London pikemen that are from the shipbuilding wards of London town. Then, if so be the king wanteth a bridge he can have one. We will even shape it in the woods in the morn, and have it over the stream at sunset.'"
"Richard Neville," said the marshal, "keep thou that saying to thyself, but search out thy man. Bid him and his to pick their wood workers, man by man. We shall have tools in plenty. The men do know each other. I was even now troubled in mind concerning handicraftsmen."
"No need, my Lord Marshal," reverently responded Richard. "I did hear more, and I can bring thee men that have built bridges over bigger streams than these."
"Richard of Wartmont," now broke in the prince, "ride thou with me a space. I would know more of thy men."
Then rode they silently until well apart from the others, and the prince said to his friend:
"This concerning the bridges will please the king. He hath said to me, of the commons and of thy Saxon kin, that now he hath a power that will grow fast, as he will help it grow. It hath not heretofore come to the hand of any king of England, and so some of them have been even too hardly dealt with by the great earls."
"I and mine are the king's men," said Richard, "and the king's only. But I learn many newthings of war. It is more than hard fighting. But the King of France will have a great host."
"Oh that it were twice as great!" exclaimed the prince. "If my father can but gather it all, and as many more, at Paris, he will surely take Calais."
Richard could but laugh, and he replied:
"Far be it from me to read beforehand the counsel of so great a captain. I think that even when all is done, and he hath won his will, there will be those who will say that he never thought to do so."
"It is so ever," said the prince, "and therefore all the more surely doth he win. But I think any man might read beforehand the plan of this campaign. Only that none expected so much aid from Philip in this matter of the bridges."
There is both pleasure and profit to be had in discerning well the doings of the great, whereby battles are won or lost, and whereby thrones are builded or are overturned. Richard thought within himself that day and other days: "I do grow older as we march, and men have often said that war is a great school for such as will be taught. There be those who learn not anything. I will not be one of them."
On pressed the army, plundering as it went, and great spoil went back to England, but in its division the king cared for the lowly as well as forthe great, and there was no murmuring or dissatisfaction among the men in the rants.
Again and again was the river Seine approached by the detachments of the left wing. Truly, every bridge had been broken with care, to prevent a crossing of the English. Richard had also many talks with Ben of Coventry and with men who were brought by him. These also were presented, a dozen at a time, to Sir Geoffrey and the Earl of Warwick, for the two marshals were of one accord in this matter. No tools were dealt out, however, nor was any work set the workmen, until a day when the vanguard halted at a place called Poissy. There was no French army here to meet them, and yet the city of Paris itself was but a few miles farther on.
It was a gay sight, the lances and the pennons that rode out with the van. Next came the royal standard, and under it, in full armor and with his crowned helmet on, full knightly rode the king.
"Poissy!" he said. "Their last bridge, and it shall be for me, although they have broken it down. Where is that London shipwright? Ha, man, look yonder! What sayest thou?"
A short man, sturdy of build, was the shipwright, for he had already been brought.
"My Lord the King," he responded, "I did go on with the young Neville and that man of hisfrom Coventry. The bridge is good enough. The French took off the planks and some timbers, but they forgot to burn."
"Where are the timbers?" asked the king.
"Little on this side the river, but much on the other," said the shipwright. "All that is lacking we can make from these trees."
"Time!" exclaimed the king. "I must have the bridge forthwith! To your axes!"
"Boats first," said the shipwright. "There be many on the far bank."
"Sire," interposed the Earl of Warwick, "I pray thee have patience. Richard of Wartmont hath sent word to me concerning boats. I shall hear again shortly."
"See that he fail not," said the king hardly, for ever did his temper grow stern and unmerciful in such an hour as was this.
The army had now been led to the very place where all the plan of the king was to be tested, for winning or for losing, and here, mayhap, might his life or his crown be cast away.
Barely an hour earlier, however, lower down the river side, Richard Neville and a party of his men had been scouting, by command of Sir Thomas Holland. With him was the O'Rourke, and it was the Irish chief whose keen eyes were the first to discern an important prize.
"Richard of Wartmont," he shouted, "Seestthou? Boats on the other shore! They are not even guarded."
"I could not swim this water," replied Richard. "Can any of them?"
"Aye, were it thrice—ten times as wide," said the O'Rourke. "I myself."
"Off with thy armor and axe!" cried Richard. "Call thy best swimmers. Bring me those boats. Guy the Bow, send a good runner to Sir Thomas Holland or Sir Peter Legh. Bid them, from me, to tell the earl or Sir Geoffrey I want a force to hold with on the other shore."
Before he had finished speaking, the Irish chief and a dozen of his kerns were in the flood, swimming as if they had been so many water fowl; but each man's long skein dagger knife was in his belt, and in his left hand was a short spear, like those of the Welsh. They would not land unarmed.
"God speed them!" shouted Richard. "At no place heretofore have we seen a boat that we might hope to obtain."
'Twas a swiftly running river, and too wide for any but such swimmers as were these; but they made light of it. Ere they could cross, their coming was seen by men on the other shore, but none who were armed met them as they came out of the water. Surely it had been grave negligence of King Philip's officers to leave there so many as four fishing boats, even if these were small. Wildand shrill rang out the slogan of the Irish, as they seized upon oars and paddles and prepared to launch their prizes.
"They are out of arrow shot," said Richard to those who were with him; "we could give them no aid."
Even as he spoke, the glint of spears might be seen above bushes at no great distance down the opposite bank. No doubt there were horsemen coming. The Irish had been unwise to shout, but boat after boat was slipping into the stream.
"Haste! haste!" groaned Richard, "they will be lost, and the boats with them!"
A score of lances in rest—a score of galloping horses—loud shouts of angry men-at-arms—one moment of deadly peril—but then the brave kerns with the last of the boats were springing into it, and the French riders drew rein at the water's edge under a shower of javelins, only to know that they were too late.
It was just then, moreover, that Sir Thomas Holland, having listened eagerly to a Longwood archer, was shouting loudly, "To horse, brave knights all! The Neville hath found boats!" and orders followed to all foot soldiery within call.
"They come," said Richard, waiting his gallant kerns, "but yonder boats will hold only eight men each, well crowded. We can gain nolanding against men-at-arms. Yonder, above, is a steeper bank, where horsemen can not reach the brink—O'Rourke, on! Up stream!"
It was not far to go, and the French lancers could do no more than follow as best they might, over rough ground and through dense undergrowth. They were even out of sight, by reason of the clifflike bank, when Richard Neville and some of his bowmen made the boats full almost to sinking, and were swiftly ferried over.
"Haste now, indeed!" he ordered, but not loudly, as he stepped ashore. "A few boat loads more and we can hold our own."
Whoever commanded the Frenchmen believed his enemies to be going on up the river, for he and his appeared on the bank again a full half mile above. Again and again had the wherries borne their English passengers, and now they were going back for Sir Thomas Holland and the knights who dismounted with him.
"Is the Neville mad?" he exclaimed. "He is forming his archery on the hill. Look! 'Tis not ill done. There come King Philip's men-at-arms! Heaven help him! We are too late!"
"But the boy is not mad at all," replied Sir Peter Legh. "The French horses go down. There are not enough of them."
On the height, truly, had Richard formed his threescore or more of kerns and bowmen, withothers fast arriving, but it was behind a thick, low hedge of old thorn bushes, fit to break a rush of cavalry. Here, therefore, was shattered the line of the French men-at-arms; and while they strove to force their horses through the thorns, they were good marks for the arrows of Arden. Their horses were but lost animals, and the good knights who rolled upon the ground surrendered rather than have Irish spears driven between the bars of their helmets. So rapid, so deadly was this killing of horses that not one did get away.
"I told thee!" said Sir Peter to Sir Thomas, in the boat that bore them. "We shall find that he hath done a brave deed this day."
More loudly did they both aver that thing when they came to the scene of the skirmish.
"Knights of ransom!" exclaimed Sir Thomas. "Did any escape?"
"I know not," said Richard, "but if more boats be at hand, above or below, they are to be sought for. May not these four ply here, while we march up the stream?"
"No use to scout below," replied Sir Thomas. "We are now twenty men-at-arms, on foot, and near a hundred of thy kerns and bowmen. March! We may all die, but we may win the bridge head."
On the other bank they could see the columns of Earl Warwick's men, sent hurriedly to re-enforcethem, and shortly the O'Rourke shouted, "Another boat, and yet another twice larger, at the bank."
"That may save us," said Sir Peter, "but I would we were more in number."
So said the king himself, as he sat upon his palfrey and gazed across the Seine, not long thereafter. The French had not left the bridge without a guard, even if they had broken it down. Men of all arms were there, with many crossbowmen, and at first they had but laughed and derided what they supposed to be the utter disappointment of King Edward.
"Sire," exclaimed Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt, "the earl is right! Yonder are Richard of Wartmont and his men."
"Too few! Too few!" muttered the king. "He is over rash. He hath lost all."
All had been lost, indeed, but for the swift plying of the larger boats and the manner of their packing with brave men.
Sir Thomas Holland had now been joined by Gifford and Wakeham and good swords not a few, and the archers had swarmed into all boats like bees; with them were their stings, moreover, and most of all, mayhap, they came upon the French at the bridge as a surprise.
Loudly were they jeering, and the crossbowmen were even hurling a few useless bolts that fell halfway, as if to show the king what errorhe had made. There were many unarmed also, that crowded closely, mocking at the English.
Not upon these, but upon spearmen and crossbowmen, there suddenly fell a flight of cloth-yard shafts, doing deadly work. In a moment the unarmed mob was tangled with the soldiery, and all these were in confusion. How many English were coming they knew not, for Sir Henry of Wakeham had cunningly stretched out his line full widely, and it looked like a strong force. There were a few good French knights who set their spears in rest and charged rashly, to be unhorsed and taken, but the mixed mass behind them surged away from the bridge head. Here, too, had been a fort, not strong, but good enough for an occasion, and it was not at all broken.
"Richard Neville," had said Sir Peter, "follow me. If we can gain yonder tower and those palisades, the bridge is won."
Who would have deemed that a man in armor of proof could run so well! But Sir Peter was even shoulder to shoulder with Guy the Bow and Richard when they rushed into the empty fortalice.
"Won!" shouted Sir Peter. "Let in our own, but the French will rally; they will be back upon us quickly enough."
Sir Henry and the rest had a sharp fight of many minutes ere they could break through, butnow the place was garrisoned, and the boats could come in safety to the wharf below, behind the line of palisades.
"Sire," said Sir Geoffrey, "I will myself go over and care for the matter."
"Thou wilt not," replied the king. "I will not risk thy head in that cage until more men-at-arms may be with thee. There! 'tis Sir Henry of Wakeham's own banner! I knew it not. The boy and his outlaws have gained our crossing. Go, Sir Geoffrey, and take with thee the bridge-builders."
It was well for him and them, nevertheless, that their headlong rashness had not cost them their lives, as it would have done, but for the promptness and power of their re-enforcements.
"Wakeham," said Sir Geoffrey, in the bridgehead fort, "I may hardly trust my eyes. Here could Philip have given us vast trouble, and now we have none. We will have a camp here quickly, with ten thousand men in it, lest we lose this advantage."
There were boats enough now, and the forces on that bank were growing fast. They were pushing out, moreover, and they were skirmishing briskly with sundry parties of the enemy who seemed to be without a general. Therein was the secret of this matter. Philip of France had been taken unawares by the bold, swift dash of Edward's army. Its vanguard had reached Poissy,mayhap, two days before the French captains had deemed it possible for it to get there.
The night came and went, and it was the next midday when Richard Neville stood on the wharf, watching the London shipwrights ply their tools and swing the timbers into place.
"A man who would move an army," he said aloud, "must needs learn how to build a bridge. I can row a boat, but I must swim better. Those Irish are as nimble as fishes in the water."
A deep voice hailed him at the moment, and he quickly turned.
"Sir Geoffrey!" he exclaimed.
"This to the king," said the marshal, holding out a very small parcel, like a letter. "Come thou not back, save by the king's command, till thou hast carried this also to the earl. Take with thee only a boat load of thy men, but go not alone, for thy errand must not miscarry."
So happened it, then, that only David Griffith and a dozen Welshmen went with him, whose tongue he spoke not; but on the other shore his boat was waited for by the Earl of Warwick and none other, by chance.
"Glad am I," said Richard, giving him Sir Geoffrey's parcel, and the earl read hastily.
"To the king!" he shouted. "I go with thee. The good knight reasons well. We must harry and burn to the Paris streets, that we mayknow what power is there. He hath word that the allies and the levies of Philip of France are very near to come."
"The bridge buildeth fast," said Richard. "Ben of Coventry saith that by the morrow there will be a footway for twain abreast."
"Aye," replied the earl, "but not for horses nor for wains. Three days more for them."
The English army was now holding both sides of the stream, and the quarters of the king were in the old chateau of Poissy, not far from the bridge. Small was his care for state, however, and plain was his ordering, as of a soldier in the field. None hindered the earl marshal, and the king's officer of the house, that day, was Sir John of Chandos, good knight and true.
A greeting, a courteous reverence from Sir John to the earl, a word or so of command, and Richard was before the king in the audience hall of the chateau.
Cold, hard, and stern, like iron and like ice, was the face of his Majesty, as he opened and read the letter from Sir Geoffrey.
"Neville," said he to Richard, "hast thou spoken to any but the earl?"
"Not so, Sire," said Richard. "I did meet him at the river bank."
"Thou art young," said the king; "be prudent also, on thy head. Tell no man, high or low, thatPhilip hath already forty thousand men in Paris. If thou shalt betray that matter, thou diest."
"He useth not his tongue overmuch," said the earl, for the king's word pleased him not. "But he hath somewhat more to say."
"Let him say on," growled the king, for it was shown that he was sore wroth ere they came.
"If it please the King," said Richard boldly, "a peasant whom I saw not fled from the city and had speech with some of the Welshmen. He was of Brittany, and their language was like to their understanding of each other. He saith not forty thousand, but less than half, only that they are mostly men-at-arms, with few horses to ride upon. There be many foot soldiers from Brittany. I would go around the city in one night, if David Griffith and another might go with me. Do not I speak French as do those I am to meet?"
"Wilt thou let him go, Warwick?" said the king. "It were death if he were taken."
"Richard, go thou!" said the earl. "If any question thee, tell that thou art Richard de la Saye, for I now give thee that estate of mine in Brittany. Thou wilt not speak falsely.—Sire, hath he not earned La Saye?"
"Verily, if he keep his head and bring back true tidings, he will have earned a manor or so," said the king less hardly. "I were in bettermood with better news, but I have word from York. The archbishop is calling out all forces, for the Scottish clans are mustering and their host will march for the border forthwith. Moreover, our barons are sluggards, and our own re-enforcements do not come. We must even beat the French with what we have. Not a man more than we landed with at La Hague."
"I will retire, then," said the earl. "I will send Richard speedily."
Out they did go, but Sir John of Chandos shook his head and looked ruefully at Richard.
"Heed him not!" said the earl. "Keep thy heart strong. Make thou the circuit of Paris and come again. It will be the easier because I shall this night attack with a strong force the suburb and castle of St. Germain, near the city."
Many other things he said, but Richard sent for David Griffith, and they talked long together. Two more of Griffith's clansmen were called in, and both agreed with no murmuring.
On foot, clad in full armor, with his helmet closed, armed with but sword and dagger, attended only by the three Welshmen, as if they were armed serving men, did Richard at the gloaming walk slowly along the St. Germain road. By another way, he knew, the earl marshal was at that hour pushing forward his force, but the sound of the combat had not yet begun.
"We shall soon reach an outpost of the foe," he was thinking, when in a shadowed hollow beyond him he heard one speak in French:
"Who cometh, in the king's name?"
"Normandy, with a countersign."
"Advance, Normandy, with the sign."
"For Philip the King, Guienne!"
"And all is well, Guienne," replied the sentry.
There was a slight clank of armor, for the French outpost was but changing sentries, and the officer rode away.
"Now we know sign and countersign," said Richard, and he carefully instructed his companions.
Hardly had he done so before a glare of red light, not far to the right, told of hayricks set on fire by Warwick's men. There came sounds of trumpets also, and of shouting, for the attack had begun.
"Forward, now," said Richard; "we are safe, if once within their lines."
Loud and angry was the summons of the French vidette, startled sorely.
"De la Saye, Normandy, with a countersign," responded Richard.
"Advance, De la Saye and Normandy, with a sign," replied the sentry.
"To Philip the King, Guienne," said Richard, "and I bid thee save thy neck. The English are charging in."
"The Count d'Ivry," began the sentry.
"Cease thy chatter!" exclaimed Richard. "Go tell the count, from De la Saye, that Earl Warwick is upon him. Bid him, from me, to send word speedily to the king, lest he lose his head."
"Aye, Sieur de la Saye," spoke yet another voice from one who sat upon a horse in the road. "Thou hast scouted far and well. I am the Count de la Torre, of Provence. I will report well of thee to the king. Our other scouts are worthless. What force sawest thou with the earl?"
"A thousand men-at-arms, about three thousand foot, in the advance. What more behind them knoweth no man. But there surely is no need to lose St. Germain this night."
Fiercely loud were the sayings of the count concerning the carelessness and bad management of the French captains. They had lost the bridge of Poissy. They were keeping but poor guard elsewhere. Now, but for this Sieur de la Saye, of Brittany, naught would have been known of Warwick's dash upon the city.
Therefore forward marched Richard and his Welshmen, and for a distance De la Torre rode beside them, questioning right soldierly concerning all that they had seen. But he spoke not, he said, the tongue of the peasants of Brittany.
"Were we all born in Paris," said David, after the count left him, "we could hardly be safer than we now are. But our peril will come in getting out."
"Great will it be," said Richard, "if we escape not before they change the countersign. We will walk fast and work while we may."
There were many camps to look upon, by their camp fires, and not too nearly. Richard himself had speech of even knights and men-at-arms, all of them disturbed in mind by the sudden advance of Earl Warwick. Each in turn, as it were, upbraided the slow arriving of King Philip's allies and levies, and especially of certain large bodies of mercenaries from the low countries and from Italy.
The Welshmen found no troops from Brittany until near the dawn, and then it was but at an outpost. Sleepy and dull were the half score of pikemen who were rudely aroused to hear the Sieur de la Saye scolding their brigadier for carelessness, and compelling him to repeat the countersign more correctly.
Griffith and his two men spake, and then they were silent, suddenly.
"On, my Lord of Wartmont!" whispered David hoarsely. "On, for thy head! Some of these men came from within two leagues of La Saye. One cometh to the brigadier."
A few quick paces and they were beyond the camp firelight. It was a place of trees and bushes. Sharp voices heard they contending and inquiring.
"Some one else hath come," said Richard. "The officer of the guard, with horsemen. Into the forest! Haste!"
Down dropped they behind cover, but men-at-arms went charging down the road, for one of the peasant pikemen had told to the brigadier, and then to a knight:
"The château La Saye is a heritage of the English Earl Warwick, and it hath no French owner."
"Go! a spy!" roared the knight. "We will teach him a lesson!"
A youth brought up near Longwood and three Welshmen from the hills were not men easily to be found in a forest; surely not by heavily armed French cavalry. It was high noon, nevertheless, when Richard marched wearily into an encampment over which floated the flag of Sir Thomas Gifford.
Free was his welcome; but when he stood before his good friend the knight he did but put a finger to his lips, and say:
"Sir Thomas, the king, and him only!"
"Speak thou no other word!" exclaimed Sir Thomas. "Come with me speedily. The earltold me of thy going. Glad am I to see thee again alive."
No other was allowed to question them as they went; but Sir Geoffrey of Harcourt, and not Earl Warwick, was with King Edward when his young spy of Paris stood before him.
"Speak thou slowly and with care," he said, and Richard told his tale.
"Three days, and Philip's main host will be within striking distance?" murmured the king at last. "Chandos, go thou to Warwick and bid him smite fast and hard, burning tower and hamlet. Harcourt, move every man and horse across the bridge as fast as it will bear them. Our five days here will be enough for rest. On the sixth we must be a full day's march in advance of this huge mob of French, Germans, Bohemians, Italians, and what not. Now, my lords and gentlemen, for a great battlefield and for the taking of Calais. Our barons of the north counties must deal with David of Scotland and his overtreacherous raid."
Out went all orders speedily, but the prince, with half the army, was already on the farther bank of the Seine. Richard's men were there also, and he was sent to join them; but bitter and destructive was the work done by the earl marshal in the outskirts of Paris, while the bridge was finishing, and while the army moved on, out of camp after camp.
Even as the king had commanded, the sixth day found his rear guard half a day's march beyond Poissy, seemingly in hot retreat. Philip of France had been as busy as had been his English rival, and his vast host was also moving. But it was not well in hand, nevertheless, for after that, from camp to camp, from river to river, day after day, the perfectly trained forces of Edward kept just beyond his reach, as if they were enticing him to follow.
There was many a sharp skirmish, and the French captains believed that their foe had often but narrowly escaped.
'Twas the king's plan, nor did he at any time hasten his march, and at last he said to his two marshals, mockingly:
"Philip hath me now, indeed, between his host and this river Somme and the sea. But I think the men and the beasts are not overwearied, and we have left but a desert behind us. Yet three days now, and we may need to retreat no more."
"'Tis yet an hour before the tide will be out, but I believe that horsemen might cross now."
The speaker was a clownish-looking man wearing the wooden shoes and coarse blouse of a French peasant. He stood at the stirrup of a knight in black armor, whose questions he was answering.
"Sir Henry of Wakeham," the prince said, "send in thy men-at-arms. Post thy archers on the bank, right and left. We shall soon see if Godemar du Fay can bar the Somme against us."
"The archers are already posted," replied Sir Henry; "Neville and his Warwickshire men hold the right. The men of Suffolk and Kent are on the left."
"Forward, in the king's name!" commanded the young general, for his royal father had given him charge of the advance.
It was a critical moment, for if the ford ofBlanche Taque should not be forced, the entire English army would be hemmed in between the river Somme and the hosts of France. It was but little after sunrise, and Edward had sent orders to all his captains to move forward.
The river Somme was wider here than in its deeper channels above and below. The opposite bank was held by a force that was evidently strong, but its numbers were of less account at the outset. Only a few from either side could contend for the passage of Blanche Taque.
Therefore these were the chosen knights of all England who now rode into the water, finding it nearly up to their horse girths.
Forward from the other shore rode in the men-at-arms of Godemar du Fay to hold the ford for Philip of Valois.
"Now is our time!" shouted Richard to his archers. "Guy the Bow, let every archer draw his arrow to the head!"
Ill fared it then for the French riders when among them, aimed at horses rather than at men, flew the fatal messengers of the marksmen from the forest of Arden. Lances were fiercely thrust, maces and swords rang heavily upon helm and shield; but soon the French column fell into confusion. Its front rank failed of support and was driven steadily back. It was almost as if the English champions went on without pausing; and in afew minutes they were pushing forward and widening their front upon the land.
Blanche Taque was taken, for of Godemar du Fay's twelve thousand, only a thousand were men-at-arms. When the regular ranks of these were broken, his ill-disciplined infantry took to flight and the battle was over. All the while the tide was running out.
"Stand fast, O'Rourke!" called Richard to the impatient Irish chieftain, who was striding angrily back and forth in front of his line of axemen.
"Ay, but, my Lord of Wartmont," returned the O'Rourke, "there is fighting, and we are not in the battle. Hark!"
"Neville, advance! Thou and all thine to the front, seeking Wakeham. In the king's name, forward!"
A knight in bright armor had drawn rein at a little distance, and he pointed toward the ford as he spoke. It was crowded still by Sir Thomas Gifford's men-at-arms, but the battle on the other shore had drifted far away.
"Forward, O'Rourke!" shouted Richard. "Forward, Guy the Bow! Forward, David Griffith! Good fortune is with us. We are to be under the prince's own command."
Loud cheers replied, and with much laughter and full of courage Richard's force waded into the shallow Somme.
It was easy crossing now for all, with none to hinder. Then, as the last flags of the English rearguard fluttered upon the left bank of the Somme, good eyes might have discovered on the horizon the banners of the foremost horsemen of King Philip. He had marched fast and far that morning, and once more the English army seemed barely to have escaped him.
"A cunning hunter is our good lord the king," remarked Ben o' Coventry to his fellows as they pushed on.
"Thou art ever malapert," said Guy the Bow. "What knowest thou of the thoughts of thy betters?"
"He who runs may read," said Ben. "Can a Frenchman live without eating?"
"I trow not," responded Guy. "What is thy riddle?"
"Did we not waste the land as we came?" said Ben. "Hath not Philip these three days marched through the waste? I tell thee that when he is over the Somme he must fight or starve. Well for us, and thanks to the king, that we are to meet a host that is both footsore and half famished. I can put down a hungry man any day."
Deep indeed had been the wisdom of the king, and his army encamped that Thursday night, without fear of an attack, and the next morning they again went on.
Edward himself rode forward in the advance, after the noontide of Friday, and during the whole march he seemed to be searching the land with his eyes.
"Sir John of Chandos," he exclaimed at last, "see yon windmill on the hill. This is the place I sought. Ride thou with me." The hill was not very high, and its sides sloped away gently. The king dismounted at the door of the mill and gazed in all directions.
"They will come from the west," he said, "with the sun in their eyes. Yon is our battlefield. Here we will bide their onset. Chandos, knowest thou that I am to fight Philip of Valois on mine own land?"
"The village over there is called Crécy," replied Sir John. "Truly, the crown of France is thine, rather than Philip's!"
"Ay, so," said Edward, "whether or no he can keep it from me; but this broad vale and the village and the chateaux are my inheritance from my grandmother. Seest thou that ditch to the right, with its fellow on the left? I trust they have good depth. 'Tis a field prepared!"
After that he rode slowly, with his son and a gallant company, throughout the camps, talking kindly and familiarly with high and low alike, and bidding all to trust God and be sure of victory. Brave men were they, and well did they love theirking, but it was good for their courage that they should see his face and hear his voice, and assure their hearts that they had a great captain for their commander.
In number they were about as many as had sailed at the first from England, small losses by the way, and the absence of those left as garrisons of strongholds captured in Normandy, having been made good by later arrivals.
This first duty done, the king went to his quarters in the neighboring castle of La Broye, and here he gave a grand entertainment to all his captains and gentlemen of note. There was much music at the royal feast, and every man was inspired to do his best on the morrow. All the instruments sounded together loudly, at the close, when the warriors, who were so soon to fight to the death, arose to their feet and stood then in silence, while the king and the prince turned away and walked out of the hall together, no man following.
"Whither go they?" whispered the Earl of Hereford to Sir John Chandos.
"As it doth well become our king at this hour," replied Sir John. "They go to the chapel of La Broye to pray for victory. 'Twill do our men no harm to be told that the king and the prince are on their knees."
"Verily, my men shall know," said Richard Neville to Sir Thomas Gifford.
All of Edward's army, save the watchers and sentries, slept soundly that night. It was wonderful how little uncertainty they had about the result of the battle.
The morning came, but there were clouds in the sky and the air was sultry. It was Saturday, the 26th of August, 1346.
Edward the king posted himself at the windmill. On the slope and below it were a third of his men-at-arms and a strong body of footmen. This was the reserve. In front thereof, the remainder of the army was placed in the form of a great harrow, with its point—a blunt one enough—toward the hill, and its beams marked by the ditch lines.
The right beam of this English harrow was commanded by the Black Prince in person, and with him were the Earls of Warwick and Hereford, Geoffrey of Harcourt, and Sir John Chandos, with many another famous knight. Their force was less than a thousand men-at-arms, with many Irish and Welsh, but they were especially strong in bowmen, for the king retained few archers with him.
But little less was the strength of the left beam of the harrow, commanded by the earls of Northampton and Arundel.
"Fortune hath favored us!" exclaimed one of the men-at-arms to his young commander; "weare well placed here at the right. We shall be among the first to face the French!"
"Here cometh the prince," responded Richard, "with his Red Dragon banner of Wales. The royal standard is with the king at the mill."
Reviewing the lines with care, and giving many orders as he came, the prince rode up, clad in his plain black armor and wearing the helmet of a simple esquire.
"Richard Neville," he said, as he drew near, "see that thou dost thy devoir this day."
Richard's head bowed low as the prince wheeled away. As he again sat erect upon his war horse a voice near him muttered:
"Ho! seest thou? The French are coming!"
Richard looked, and in the distance he could see a glittering and a flag, but after a long gaze he replied:
"It is too soon. Those are but a band of skirmishers."
So it proved; and the long, hot hours went slowly by. At length the king ordered that every man should be supplied with food and drink, that they might not fight fasting.
Darker grew the clouds until they hung low over all the sky. Blue flashes of lightning were followed by deafening thunder peals, and then there fell a deluge of warm rain.
The English archers were posted in the frontranks along the harrow beams, but the rain harmed not their bows. Every bowstring was as yet in its case, with its hard spun silk securely dry.
"Hearken well, all," said Richard, addressing his men. "The prince ordereth that there shall be no shouting. Fight with shut lips, and send forth no shaft without a sure mark."
"We are to bite, and not to bark," said Ben o' Coventry in a low voice. Then he added aloud: "Yon marshy level is better for the rain. A horse might sink to his pasterns."
"The ditch runneth full," said Richard. "The king chose his battle ground wisely."
"We are put behind the archery now," said David Griffith to his Welshmen. "So are the Irish; but our time to fight will come soon enough."
Most of the men-at-arms belonging to each beam of the harrow were drawn up at the inner end, ready to mount and ride, but wasting no effort now of horse or man.
"The very rain hath fought for England," remarked the prince to his knights, as at the front they wheeled for their return. "There will be hard marching for the host of Philip of Valois."
"They must come through deep mud and tangled country, my Lord the Prince," replied the Earl of Warwick. "His huge rabble of horse and foot will be sore crowded and well wearied."
Moreover, there was much free speech among the knights concerning the difference between the opposing armies as to their training and discipline.
King Philip willed to begin the fight with an advance of his Genoese crossbowmen, fifteen thousand strong. It was bolts against arrows. The Genoese might have done better on another day, for their fame was great; but at this hour they were at the end of a forced march of six leagues, each man carrying his cumbrous weapon with its sheaf of bolts. This had weakened their muscles and diminished their ardor; besides, the sudden rain had soaked their bowstrings. The cords stretched when the strain of the winding winch was put upon them, and had lost their spring, so that they would not throw with good force. Their captains nevertheless drove them forward, at the French king's command.
From his post at the mill foot the royal general of England surveyed the field.
"The day waneth," he said to his earls, "but the waiting is over. The sun is low and sendeth the stronger glare into their eyes. Mark you how closely packed is that hedge of men-at-arms and lances behind the Genoese? Philip is mad!"
On pushed the crossbowmen, until they were well within the beams of the broad harrow, but there they halted, to do somewhat with their bolts,if they could; and they sent up a great shout. No answer came, for the English archers stood silent, holding each a cloth-yard arrow ready for the string.
Small harm was done by the feebly shot crossbow bolts, and the Genoese were ordered to go nearer. They made a threatening rush indeed; but then of their own accord they halted again and shouted, thinking perhaps to terrify the English army.
Steady as statues stood the archers until the Earl of Hereford, at a word from the prince, rode out to where he could be seen by all and waved his truncheon.
Up came the bows along the serried lines, while each man chose his mark as if he were shooting for a prize upon a holiday in merry England.
Those of the enemy who escaped to tell the tale said afterward that then it seemed as if it snowed arrows, so swiftly twanged the strings and sped the white shafts.
With yells of terror the stricken Genoese broke and fled; for by reason of Edward's order of battle they were in a cross fire from the two beams of the harrow, and few shots failed of a target among them.
Some of them even cut the damp strings of their useless crossbows as they went, lest they should be bidden to turn and fight again. They were now,however, only a pell-mell mob, and it was impossible to command them.
Behind the advance of the Genoese had been the splendid array of King Philip's men-at-arms—a forest of lances. In a fair field, and handled well, they were numerous enough to ride down the entire force of King Edward. Against such an attack the English king had cunningly provided. At no great distance in the rear of his knights rode Philip himself, with kings and princes for his company; and fierce was his wrath over the unexpected discomfiture of his luckless cross-bowmen.
"Slay me these cowardly scoundrels!" he shouted to his knights. "Charge through them, smiting as ye go!"
Forward rode the thousands of the chivalry of France and Germany and Bohemia, every mailed warrior among them being full of contempt for the thin barrier of English foot soldiers. All they now needed, it seemed to them, was to disentangle their panoplied war horses from that crowd of panic-stricken Genoese. It would also be well if they could pass the wet ground and avoid plunging against one another in the hurly burly.
But now was to be noted another proof of the wise forethought of the English king. He had had prepared, and the prince had placed at short intervals along the battle line, a number of the new machines called "bombards." These were short,hollow tubes, made either of thick oaken staves, bound together with strong straps of iron, or (as was said of some of them) the staves themselves were bars of iron. Before this day, none knew exactly when, there had been discovered by the alchemists a curious compound that, packed into the bombards, would explode with force when touched by fire, and hurl an iron ball to a great distance. It would hurt whatever thing it might alight upon; but the king's thought was rather that the loud explosions and the flying missiles might affright the mettled horses of the French men-at-arms.
Soon the air was full of the roaring of these bombards, and they served somewhat the king's purpose. But so little was then thought of this use of gunpowder at Crécy that some who chronicled the battle, not having been there to see and hear, failed even to mention it.