Everett-Green Evelyn
A Clerk of Oxford, and His Adventures in the Barons' War
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FATAL FIGHT
The mellow light of an August evening was falling upon the cloistered walls of the Abbey of Evesham, and in deep thought a martial figure was pacing the smooth sward of the quadrangle formed by the various buildings.
The face of the Earl of Leicester was lined by care; but the light in the eyes was not quenched, and the old eagle look was even more marked than before, now that the features were more sharp and chiselled.
One of the monks approached the Earl, and waited till he should pause in his walk. Then he delivered his message.
"A party of riders has just arrived, asking for the Earl of Leicester, and one of them calls himself your son."
De Montfort started, and looked round him eagerly.
"My son? Then bid him come to me at once;" and as the monk retired, the Earl repeated slowly, "My son, my son – which son? Henry and Guy are with me. It can scarce be Simon. He will come with banners flying and the sound of martial triumph. Sure it must be Amalric, with news from my dear ones in the south. He comes in good time, I trust and hope, to witness another gallant victory."
At that moment there was a little stir, and a few figures appeared in the archway which divided the grassy quadrangle from the outer world. Over the Earls face there flashed a look of welcome and pleasure.
"Amalric it is," he cried; "come in a good hour, and with good tidings, I trust and hope," and he tenderly embraced his son as he spoke.
Amalric knew nothing of the misfortune which had overtaken his brother. His heart was full of hope, and he eagerly made answer, —
"The hearts of the people are very warm in our cause. I have met with kindness and good-will wherever I have been. I have left my mother at Dover, where all men are her very loyal and true servants; whilst at Oxford all hearts are with us, and I have even brought thence a few comrades, eager to serve 'neath our banner once again."
And with a wave of his hand he indicated some half-dozen youths, clustered together in the gateway, amid whom were numbered Leofric Wyvill and Jack Dugdale.
The Earl looked at them with a softening of his glance, and came and spoke them kindly words.
"I trust we shall again achieve a victory," he said. "If I can but join forces with my son, methinks all will be well. Yet he hath tarried overlong, and delay at such times is fraught with danger. The issue of the struggle is yet undetermined, and let none join with us who will not stand beside us in the moment of disaster. Faint-hearted soldiers never yet won battle."
But Amalric's little band were not faint-hearted, and none of them moved at this word, save to toss their caps in the air, and cry, —
"God save the Earl of Leicester, the saviour of the kingdom! Confusion to his enemies! Success to the noble Earl!"
De Montfort gave them thanks for their good-will, and after charging his friendly hosts to look to their bodily wants, he linked his arm within that of his son, and began discoursing with him of many things.
Amalric had good news to give of his mother and sister, and of the loyalty to the cause displayed by the governors of the Cinque Ports, who had refused to give up their fortresses at the demand of the King's son. Simon had been to Dover, and obtained supplies lately; Amalric was astonished that he had not already joined his father, and the Earl's face looked careworn and grave.
"My heart misgives me about Simon," he said. "He was always rash and headstrong. I summoned him a long while since to meet me, and join forces; and had he obeyed without question, we might perchance this day be standing victors once again. But instead of coming to me, he has been marching through the country gathering reinforcements. These may serve us well, I do not doubt; yet sooner would I have had his help with a smaller band at an earlier date, than have waited all this while, with our enemies gathering strength daily. The Prince is nigh at hand, and he is no mean soldier, for all his rashness at the battle of Lewes. That blunder he is not likely to repeat, and I myself have trained him in the art of war on the Gascon plains. I trow he will not forget my lesson a second time!"
"And the King – where is he?" asked Amalric.
The Earl pointed to the chapel of the monastery.
"He is with us. He professes to call his son a rebel. Yet in his heart I know that he longs to see that rebellion crowned with success. Edward will place him once more on the throne, if he succeed; and he will again surround himself with foreign flatterers and sycophants. For ere that day dawn, the hearts of those who have beat high with love for their country's best weal will lie cold and still in death."
"Nay, father, say not so!" cried Amalric, with sudden pain in his voice, for it was not like the Earl thus to speak of impending disaster; his was rather a nature that looked forward to triumph and success.
"God grant it may not be so!" he answered; "but my heart is heavy within me this evening. I have a premonition that ere the sun set once more some great event will have befallen this land, but whether for weal or woe who can say?"
When Amalric that night joined Leofric in their quarters – a clean, bare cell, which they were to share together – he related to him all that his father had said.
"Dost think, good comrade, that a man, upon the eve of some great crisis in his life, can foresee what lies before him?"
Leofric shook his head doubtfully.
"Nay, I know not how that may be. Yet didst not thou thyself, Amalric, in bidding farewell to sweet Mistress Alys, speak as though thou didst portend misfortune to thy cause?"
"I trow I did," answered the youth, thoughtfully. "I know not how or why, but there came upon me the feeling that I was looking my last upon that sweet face, and I could have wept aloud had not my manhood cried shame upon such weakness. Yet methinks she saw somewhat of the trouble in my face, for ere we parted she did give me the ring from her hand, and never before had she given me token of her own to wear – nothing beyond that silken banner, which, if I fall to-morrow, Leofric, must be my shroud. Let it not fall into the hands of the foe. I would go down to my grave wrapped in its martial folds."
Leofric made no response, his heart was too full for words; and long after Amalric was sleeping quietly he lay broad awake, turning many things over in his mind, and wondering if this presage of evil, felt by both father and son, was a foreboding of some misfortune soon to fall upon them.
Leofric had had no intention a short time back of meddling more in wars. He was now a Master in Oxford, with a career before him there, and the profession of arms had no real charm for him. Yet when Amalric had suddenly appeared there, to take leave of Alys and of his old friends and comrades, and had told all he knew of the position of parties, and of the peril which threatened the cause dear to many through the action of the escaped Prince, Leofric's heart had burned within him, and it had seemed impossible to him to let his friend and once master ride forth perhaps to his death without his esquire at his side.
So Leofric had resolved once more to leave Oxford, once more to face the perils and uncertainties of war. There were others who were of like mind with him, and Amalric had gathered together a compact little body-guard, who had accompanied him upon the slightly circuitous route he had decided to take, and were with him now at Evesham Abbey, where he had joined his father.
Next morning, with the first dawn of the day, the little community was astir. Mass was said in the chapel, and the King and Earl, and all the more devout of the leaders and men, attended with pious devotion. Then they repaired to the refectory to breakfast, but had not been long seated before Nicholas, the Earl's barber and personal attendant, came running hastily in.
"Good news, my lord and gentlemen!" he cried, "good news, indeed! The banners of Lord Simon are approaching us from the direction of Kenilworth. He will be with us ere another hour has passed."
The Earl sprang to his feet in great excitement.
"Art sure they are the De Montfort banners, and not those of the Prince?" he asked; and Nicholas, who combined a knowledge of heraldry with other miscellaneous accomplishments usual in one of his craft, declared that he was absolutely certain of this, and described the banners he had seen, and their blazonry.
"These are without doubt the banners of my son," said the Earl; "I will myself mount the Abbey tower, and mark the order in which they advance."
The King calmly remained seated at table, and the Prior and many of the others remained with him; but the Earl and his son, and two or three others amongst whom was Leofric, ascended the tower, and gazed long and earnestly at the advancing host, which could plainly now be seen coming toward them.
The banners of De Montfort floated in the front ranks; but even as the Earl looked with sparkling eyes upon them, a sudden change was made. These banners were halted and sent to the rear, whilst the leopards of young Edward were now brought forward and placed in the van.
The Earl understood in a moment what had happened, and his face took a strange grey pallor.
"Simon has been overcome," he said; "his banners have been wrested from him. It is our foes, our victorious foes, who are marching to meet us – not our friends."
A moment of dead silence ensued, and then Amalric said with an air of cheerful confidence, —
"Let them come. We are here to meet them. We will show them battle without fear."
At this moment he felt his arm touched, and glancing round saw that Leofric was standing beside them with a white, troubled face. He did not speak, but only pointed in two directions different from that in which they had all been gazing. The Earl and his son looked too, and from Amalric's lips there broke a startled exclamation.
The Prince was advancing upon them from one point, but he was not the only assailant. Upon two other sides there now appeared the banners of Gloucester and Mortimer, hemming in the devoted little army of De Montfort upon flank and rear. The only unmenaced side was where the Avon with its flowing waters cut him off from all hope of retreat.
Truly the Prince had learned his lesson. This simultaneous advance showed a masterly generalship that was wholly unlike the headstrong recklessness which had characterized his actions only the previous year.
"By the arm of St. James," cried the Earl, "they come on right skilfully; they approach in admirable order. They have learned this style from me, not from themselves." Then turning towards his sons, who stood looking on in amaze, he said: "Let us commend our souls unto God; as for our bodies, they are our enemies'."
"Nay, father, do not despair!" cried Amalric passionately.
"I will not," answered the Earl sadly; "yet I fear me that the pride and rashness of my sons has been mine undoing. Our friends have been turned to foes by their haughtiness, and when peril threatened they have proved disobedient and unready."
Henry hung his head. He knew how often his father had had good cause to chide him for these very faults; and now throwing himself almost on his knees before his sire, he cried, —
"Father, if the fault be ours, let us bear the brunt of the battle. Do thou fly whilst there be yet time, to be the prop and stay of the country another day. We will do our best to die like brave soldiers, and thou wilt avenge our fall when thou shalt return once more victorious."
Amalric would have joined his brother's plea, but the Earl spoke with almost stern decision.
"Far be it from me, my sons, to turn my back in the hour of peril. I have grown old in wars, and my life hastens to an end. There is that in my blood which will not let me flee before danger, for never, methinks, did our forefathers so fly. But you, my sons, do you retire, lest you perish in the flower of your youth – you who are to succeed me (God grant it) and prolong our race, illustrious in the glories of war."
But not one of the young men would consent to move. They would conquer or die, fighting at their father's side beneath the banner of De Montfort.
No time was to be lost in mustering the men and putting them in battle array. The situation was a desperate one. They were hemmed in on all sides. There was but one hope, and that a forlorn one – the chance of cutting their way through Edward's ranks before those of Gloucester and Mortimer could close up.
It was but little that Leofric saw of that desperate and fatal fight at Evesham. Soon after the impact of the deadly struggle, when foe met foe in unexampled fury, Amalric received a deadly wound, and falling upon his horse's neck, would have slipped to the ground and been trampled underfoot, had not Leofric and Jack, with the energy and determination of despair, got him between them, and by fighting every inch of the way with a resolute valour which overcame all obstacles, bore him at last into the precincts of the Priory, where they were safe. Nor did Leofric omit to carry with him the precious banner, which he knew his comrade was certain to ask for if his eyes ever unclosed in this world again.
The good monks tended the dying youth with care and skill, but knew from the first that the case was hopeless. Leofric knelt beside him, striving to win one glance of recognition or one farewell word; and Jack hurried to and fro between them and the tower, bringing news of the battle, which was grimly fought, but which had been from almost the first moment a hopeless struggle.
"The traitorous Welsh are flying! They will be our undoing!" he cried. "They are fleeing away like smoke before the wind, causing confusion and dismay in our ranks!"
Amalric's eyes suddenly opened, as though something in the urgency of Jack's tones had penetrated to his senses.
"The battle – how goes it?" he faintly asked.
"I fear me badly – for us," answered Leofric gently.
"My father?" questioned Amalric, with wistful eyes.
Leofric looked at Jack, who answered quickly, —
"I saw him fighting as though the strength of ten were in him. I trow had we but fifty such as he, not all the Princes and nobles in the land would turn the tide of fight against us!"
Amalric's eyes opened more widely, and fixed themselves upon Jack's face.
"Go, and bring me back word of him, good comrade," he said. "Ye should not have borne me hence. I would I might have fallen fighting by my noble fathers side."
"It was his will that thou shouldst be taken out of the press," answered Leofric gently, and for a while the wounded man said no more; but presently he roused himself to ask, "Is there any hope for my life?"
Perhaps what he saw in Leofric's face was answer enough, for he said, as though he had received a reply, —
"Methought not. I feel my life ebbing away. I would seek the help and counsel of one of our good monks. But first, I have a charge to thee, my trusty friend and comrade. Thou hast the banner safe; thou wilt see that it is my shroud when they lay me in the dust. But take now this ring from my finger; I have somewhat to say to thee anent it."
Leofric obeyed, and gently took Alys's ring from the pulseless hand of his friend.
"Let me kiss it once," he said; "and then keep it for her, and give it back to her, telling her how I fell, and that I loved her to the last. But, Leofric, she hath never loved me, save with the love which a sister bears a brother, or as friend bears to friend. I have sought the other love, but I have found it not. Sweet she was, and gentle and tender, and her father approved my suit. But in my heart of hearts I knew that her love was never mine. Tell her I am well content now that it should be so. I die the easier for knowing that her heart will not be widowed. I doubt not that one day she will make another happy with that love which I trusted once myself to win."
This was not all spoken at once, but bit by bit as the dying man could gather strength. Leofric listened with a beating heart, holding the ring to the lips of his companion.
"Yet she gave you this token," he said.
"Yes, but only in that sort of pity and love with which a maid will always regard the departure, perhaps to his death, of one who has truly loved her. Methinks perhaps her heart, too, told her that we should meet no more. Sweet Alys, farewell, farewell. Now methinks I have done with life. It is after all but a battlefield to fit us for the haven of peace beyond. Pray God be with my father in his hour of extremity, and give to us a meeting on the other side!"
Leofric bent his head and spoke a low-toned Amen; then one of the monks approached to administer the last rites of the Church, and hear the faint confession breathed by those white lips.
How went the battle? Leofric was rent in twain by the desire to fling himself into that fight and die for the cause he had embraced, and by reluctance to leave his comrade whilst the spark of life still lingered.
Suddenly Jack came rushing back, his breastplate covered with blood, his sword reeking, his whole aspect distraught. He had no horse under him, and he staggered slightly as he pressed onwards; but when Leofric sprang to his side, he said, —
"I am not wounded – would that I were – I am but choked with dust and reek. Undo my vizor and give me air. Leofric, the battle is ended. The great Earl is dead!"
"Dead!" cried Leofric, startled in spite of himself, and the look upon Jack's face as it was exposed to view corroborated his words.
"I could not get near him, though I fought like a fury. Methinks my right arm has slain a score of men this day. I cared not how soon they hewed me down, and yet I escaped. But I was near; I heard and saw, and I heard what they said of him. They brought him news that Lord Henry had fallen, whereat he grasped his sword in both hands and cried, 'By the arm of St. James, then is it time that I died also!' With that he laid about him right and left with such fury that men fell like thistles around him. But others pressed on from behind, and all called aloud upon him to surrender – to surrender – " and Jack drew his breath hard in rage and scorn.
"But he did not?"
"Didst think he would? Nay, his was no coward blood that would surrender to caitiff churls. I, even I, heard that clarion voice ring out once more amid the din of battle. 'Never will I surrender to dogs and perjurers!' it cried. 'To God alone will I yield. To Him I give up my spirit.' And even so saying he fell, pierced by a hundred wounds;" and there Jack suddenly broke off, with a look upon his face of concentrated fury which for the moment Leofric did not understand.
"And Lord Henry is dead, thou dost say? What of Lord Guy?"
"Wounded and made prisoner. Some say he too will die; but the Prince has given orders that he is to have every care. The Prince is a noble victor; but for those dogs that he allies himself with – "
Jack set his teeth as though he could say no more.
"What have they done?" asked Leofric breathlessly.
"Wellnigh hacked his body in pieces," cried Jack, with quivering lips. "Roger Mortimer claims one hand to send to his wife as a trophy. Another they vow shall be sent to the Countess of Leicester at Dover – his own wife, Leofric, his own loving wife! I trow if the Prior had not come forth from the gates, with his monks after him, and carried away the headless trunk, that it would have been truly hacked to pieces by the savages who surrounded it. They are even now carrying it devoutly into the chapel, to lay it beneath the altar. But the head, the hands, the feet – they cannot prevail to save those. Our great and noble Earl – to think that it should come to this with him!"
Jack turned away to hide the tears which bodily exhaustion and mental distress forced from his eyes. Leofric, with a shocked face, returned to the side of Amalric, where the monk still retained a place, although the rites were all concluded.
Amalric's eyes flashed open once more.
"My father?" he asked.
"Thou wilt see him soon; he has gone before thee," answered Leofric gently; and Amalric understood at once. He closed his eyes with a faint smile. To him the strife of arms, the clash of wills, the storm and stress of life, meant nothing. He was drifting out upon an ocean where such things had neither part nor lot. Perhaps in that hour it soothed his spirit to know that his father had passed thither before him. The things of time had no concern for one who was launching forth upon the tide of eternity.
"Is he dead too?" asked Jack, with a break in his voice.
"It is better sometimes to die than to live," answered Leofric softly in his ear. Then both knelt down by the side of their comrade, and the monk commended the departing soul into the hands of God. When they arose, Amalric lay still with a smile upon his lips, and the monk, folding the hands upon the mailed breast, said reverently, "Requiescat in pace."
Jack's sobs could not be controlled; Leofric's tears were on his cheek, but he commanded himself, and whispered a word in the ear first of the monk and then of his companion.
Together they lifted the inanimate form and reverently carried it to the chapel, where before the altar, beneath a velvet pall, lay the mutilated body of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.
They laid Amalric down beside his father, and Leofric spread over him the silken banner which had been worked by the fingers of Alys and Linda.
It mattered not in the eyes of the monks that De Montfort and his sons lay under the ban of papal excommunication. England had never altogether submitted to the tyranny of the Pope, and at a moment like this nothing was remembered by those pious men save that the Earl had fought a good fight, had been their friend and the friend of the people, and had died a hero's death upon the field of battle.
For long was it reported that marvellous miracles were performed by the remains of the slaughtered warrior, and he was regarded by a large portion of the nation as both saint and martyr. Many were the songs composed to his memory, most of them being in Norman-French, of which this may be cited as a specimen, showing how greatly the hearts of the people were wrapped up in him: —
"I needs must sing, my heart so bids, although my words be drear;
With tearful eyes was made this song of England's barons dear,
Who for the peace made long ago went down unto the grave,
Their bodies maimed and mangled sore, our English land to save.
Now here lies low the flower of price,
Who knew so much of war,
Brave Montfort knight, his woful plight
The land shall long deplore
"But by his death the Earl Montfort the victory has won;
Like holy martyr Thomas, he to cruel death was done;
Like Thomas, would not that aught ill should holy Church betide;
Like Thomas, fought, and showing naught of flinching, like him died.
Now here lies low the flower of price,
Who knew so much of war,
Brave Montfort knight, his woful plight
The land shall long deplore."
Note. – Amalric de Montfort, though wounded and made prisoner, did not really perish upon the field of Evesham.
