He gave Paul an expressive glance; but the young knight answered gravely and steadfastly:
"My liege, ask me not that beyond my power to grant. We may not without sin raise our hands against the Lord's anointed, and I may not do the thing you ask. Death or captivity I will gladly share with you, or spend every drop of my blood to save you; but more than this no loyal knight may promise. Forgive me, my liege, if I offend in this."
But Edward held out his mailed hand with his own bright, sweet smile, grasping that of Paul, which he held in his own as he spoke.
"You are in the right, Paul, you are in the right. Perchance it were a coward thought; for should not a prince be ready for any blow of adverse fortune? But ride you into the battle beside me. Let us fight side by side, even as we have always hoped to do. I would that you were in very truth my brother, as in love you have long been. And if I fall whilst you escape, be it your office to break the tidings to my mother and my gentle Anne; for methinks, were it told them suddenly or untenderly, their hearts would break with the sorrow."
Paul gave this pledge willingly, though it scarce seemed possible to him that he should live to carry such tidings, seeing he would die a thousand deaths to save his prince from the foeman's steel. And then, with grave faces but brave hearts and unclouded brows, the comrades rode side by side into the town of Tewkesbury, whilst the army intrenched itself on the summit of a small eminence called the Home Ground, not half a mile away.
Already the rival army was mustering, and the Yorkist troops occupied the sloping ground to the south, that went by the name of the Red Piece. The Lancastrians had the best of the situation, as they were established amongst trenches and ditches, partly real and partly artificial; which would render any attack by the enemy difficult and dangerous.
"I trow it would be hard to drive from this ground these brave men thus posted," said Edward to Paul, as the two rode round the camp at the close of the day. "They have only to stand firm and hold their position, and all will be well. Oh that the night were past, and that a new day had come! I would I could see the end of this struggle. I would the veil of the future might be for one moment lifted."
But the future keeps its secrets well-well for us it is so-and the youthful and high-spirited young prince saw not the black cloud hanging already upon him. The soldiers greeted him with cheers and blessings; the generals bent the knee to him, and vowed to die to win him back his crown. The light of the setting sun illumined the field so soon to be red with human blood, and the vesper bell from the church hard by rang out its peaceful summons.
Edward looked round him, and laid his hand affectionately on Paul's shoulder.
"This is a fair earth," he said dreamily. "I wonder what the world beyond will be like, for those who leave this behind, as so many will do tomorrow."
Paul spoke not a word, but returned the look with one infinitely loving, and together the two rode back to the town.
Chapter 9: The Tragedy Of Tewkesbury
How the battle of Tewkesbury was lost and won is too well known to need description in detail here. Whether the Lancastrian army could have held the field before the Yorkist veterans had they been skilfully generalled will never now be known; but the fiery and impetuous Duke of Somerset, whose ill-judged ardour had forced the battle upon his followers, undoubtedly lost the day for them by his intemperate and reckless disregard of the dictates of common prudence. After opening the fight by a discharge of ordnance, he was mad enough to leave his intrenched position on the Home Ground, and carry his men into the open for a charge upon the opposing army. Here they were not only confronted by Edward's compact army, but were taken in the flank and rear by a company of spearmen who had been told off to guard against a possible ambush in a little wood; which, however, the hot-headed Somerset had never thought to place.
Thrown into confusion, the Lancastrians were routed, and confusion was rendered worse confounded by another impetuous act on the part of the fiery young duke. As he and his flying soldiers fell back upon the town of Tewkesbury, and reached the market place, they found Lord Wenlock and his men sitting idle and motionless there, as if there was no work for them to do.
The reason for this extraordinary apathy on the part of one of the leaders will never now be known. It was the curse of the strife of the Roses that treachery and a change of sides was always suspected, and too often with good cause, between men who had been friends and allies heretofore. The Duke of Somerset at once concluded that Lord Wenlock had turned traitor to the cause, and riding furiously up to him as he sat, he dashed out his brains with his battle-axe, without so much as pausing to ask a single question.
The followers of both leaders who saw the deed were struck with new terror. With loud cries of "Treason, treason!" they threw down their arms and fled they knew not whither, and the retreat became a confused rout, in which the thought of each man was to save his own life.
Such, in brief, was the deplorable story of the battle of Tewkesbury. But we are concerned less with the main course of the fortunes of the day than with the individual adventures of certain persons concerned, who, if isolated acts of gallantry and devotion could have saved the day, would have turned the fortunes of even the fatal field of Tewkesbury.
The prince was stationed in the main body of the army, under the care, as was supposed by his anxious mother, of the military Prior of St. John's Longstruther. And by his side was his faithful shadow, Paul, whose solemn purpose that day was to keep beside the prince throughout the course of the battle, and shield him from harm even at the cost of his own life. Some strange foreboding had fallen upon Paul, and he scarce expected to see the light of another day; but this presentiment of coming ill he bravely hid from his companion, and the two rode into the ranks with smiling faces, and looked across at the opposing lines of the enemy with a steadfast and lofty courage. Then the prince turned to his companion.
"Our first battle, good Paul; for though as a child I saw fighting, I never took part in it before. I am glad that we ride side by side this day. Let us show our loyal people, whatever be the fortunes of the field, that Englishmen can strike hard blows, and that they never turn their backs upon the foe. If we ride not to victory, Paul, let us ride to death with a courage that shall not disgrace the kingly blood that both of us can boast in some measure."
Then they looked to their weapons, and sat very silent, waiting what would befall.
Perhaps those that take part in a fierce fight know less about the details than any others. Paul was presently aware that he and the men about him, the prince still at his side, were charging down the little eminence upon which they had been posted, straight at the serried ranks of the Yorkist army, which kept its position, and awaited their coming with cool intrepidity. Paul had not time to think or reason, or he would surely have wondered at the rashness of quitting an advantageous position, and putting themselves to such disadvantage before the foe. All he knew was that the duke's company had moved first, and had charged upon the enemy, and that their military monk had given the word to follow and support their friends; which was done without a moment's hesitation, whether the movement were, strategically speaking, right or wrong.
And then, all in a moment as it seemed, the prince and his comrade found themselves in a fierce melee, in which for a while they could scarce move hand or foot, jammed in by the press of men and steeds, but surrounded by friends and comrades, who were eagerly pressing forward toward the foe. Cries and shouts rent the air, mingled sometimes with the shriek or groan which told that a well-directed blow had gone home to its mark. The press became denser, and then less dense; some riderless horses from the front rank came tearing back through the crush, forcing their way in a sort of mad terror; and Edward, snatching his battle-axe from its resting place across his saddle bow, swung it over his head, and shouted to his companion:
"Follow me, Paul! yonder lies the foe. I will strike a blow for my father's liberty and crown this day, whether I live or die."
The way was open now, and Paul saw plainly that they were close to the ranks of the foe. But there was no drawing back, even had he wished it; his blood was up now, and not even fear for the possible peril of the prince could withhold him from the charge. He knew not whether the person of the prince was known, and whether young Edward ran any especial danger in thus flinging himself upon the enemy. But it was no longer his place to think-the moment for action had arrived; and following Edward's example, he dashed into the thick of the fray, the impetuosity and fury of his charge bearing down all before him, and hewing down man and horse as he clave a passage through the ranks for the prince, who closely followed.
They were not alone. A gallant little company was following in their track, and with cries of "An Edward, an Edward, a Prince of Wales!" smote down the rival warriors with a fury which for the moment nothing could withstand. There is surely something magnetic in a war cry or in a patriotic song, for it inspires those who use it with an ardour and a strength which for the moment seem invincible.
To Paul and the prince it seemed as if the day were all but won. Wherever they turned they dealt death and destruction. The wing of the army upon which they charged was wavering and disorganized; the infantry recoiled before the fierce charge of the horsemen, and the opposing cavalry was mostly in another part of the field.
"Victory, victory!" shouted those about Paul and the prince; and to the enthusiastic and excited lads it seemed as if the day was already theirs. The name of the Prince of Wales was in all mouths. It was shouted by each soldier as he fell upon his foe, and the enemy appeared to recoil before it. Onward and ever onward pressed the eager little band, until it was entirely separated from the main body of the army; and so certain were all who took part in that isolated skirmish that the fortunes of the day were with the House of Lancaster, that the peril of their position struck none of the prince's followers till, thinned by the blows of their adversaries, and weary with the impetuosity of their own charge, they paused and drew together; whilst the foe, glad of a moment's breathing space, did not molest them.
There are pauses even on the battlefield when a few words can be exchanged, and the prince, flushed with the foretaste (as it seemed to him) of a glorious victory, turned to Paul with kindling eyes.
"War is a glorious game in all truth, Paul. I would not have been elsewhere for all the world. But you bleed-you are wounded. Tell me where. I knew not that you were hurt. You must ride back to the town and be tended there."
"Nay, it is nought; I do not even feel it. I know not who struck me, nor when. I will bind this scarf about my arm, and all will be well. And think you not, my liege, that it were well to return to the lines ourselves? I promised your royal mother and the Lady Anne that you should not adventure yourself too much today within the enemy's lines. But all such charge passed from my memory in the heat of the fight."
"Ay, and my place was here, in the midst of my good soldiers. Oh, it has been a glorious day! 'Lancaster will remember it ever. And see, Paul-see how they fly on yonder height! See how the battle rages and becomes a flight! It is the same everywhere. The Red Rose triumphs. Proud York is forced to fly. Shall we join them, and lead again to victory? They are chasing them to the very walls of the town."
Paul looked in the direction indicated, and a change came over his face. He had the wonderful long, keen sight which often comes to those who have grown up in the open air, and have been used from childhood to the exercise of hunting and hawking. The prince saw only the flying rout, which he concluded to be the soldiers of York; but Paul could distinguish more. He could see the colours, and the badges they wore, and he recognized with a sinking heart the terrible fact that it was the followers of the Red Rose who were flying before the mailed warriors of Edward of York.
The change in his countenance did not escape young Edward's keen eye, and he at once divined the cause, The bright flush faded from his own face, and his gaze was turned in the same direction again.
Alas! it was but too plain now; for the rout was plainly in the direction of the town, and it was easy to understand that had it been the Yorkists who had fled they would have taken an opposite direction, in order to reach their own lines.
For a moment prince and subject sat spellbound, watching that terrible sight in deep silence. But then the peril of their own position, and the deadly danger that menaced the prince if the situation should be realized by their foes surrounding them here, flashed across Paul like a vivid and terrible lightning gleam.
He turned and laid his hand upon the shoulder of the prince.
"My liege," he said, "we may not linger here. We must regain our comrades, and see if we may rally them yet. All may not be lost, but it were madness to remain here. Let me call our followers together, and we will charge back through the foe to our own lines. It is not safe to be here."
Edward made no reply. The face that had been flushed with victory and bright with hope was now set in those stern lines which seem to speak of a forlorn hope. He saw their peril as clearly as Paul; but if the day were lost, what mattered it if his life were yet whole in him? The face he silently turned upon his companion seemed to have grown years older whilst he had been speaking.
And to make matters worse, the knowledge of the disaster to their own side spread to the soldiers who had followed the prince, and that instant demoralization which so often accompanies and aggravates defeat seized upon the men. They flung away their heavier arms, and with a shout of "Treason, treason!" – for they were assured there had been foul play somewhere-fled each man by himself, without a thought for aught save his own life.
Paul and the prince thus found themselves alone in the midst of a hostile host-alone save for the presence of some half-dozen stout troopers attached to the service of Paul, who since his advance in worldly prosperity had been in a position to engage and retain the services of some men-at-arms of his own. These faithful fellows, who had learned to love their young master, sat doggedly in their saddles, prepared to sell their lives dear, and to carry off if possible their master and the prince living from the field. But they, too, realized how desperate was the situation; and the threatening and triumphant glances of their enemies, who now began to close up round them, showed that others had realized that the battle was already won by the Yorkist faction.
"King Edward, King Edward!" shouted the fierce soldiers as they grasped their weapons anew. "Down with the Red Rose! Down with all false princes! Down with the traitors who would disturb the peace of the land! King Edward, King Edward!"
The prince looked at Paul, and Paul looked at the prince. The same thought was in the minds of both.
"We will at least sell our lives dear," said young Edward in low tones. "My trusty comrade, your loyalty to the Red Rose has been but a sorry thing for you. I would I could have rewarded you with such honours as a prince has to give; but-"
"It is honour enough for me, my liege, to die at your side-to die, if it may be, in saving your life," said Paul. "Talk not so, I beseech you. The happiness of my life has been in calling myself your servant. It will be a happy death that is died at your side."
"Not servant-comrade, friend, brother," said Ed ward, holding out his hand once again, with a look that Paul never forgot. "No more, Paul. I must play the man; and such words go deep, and bring the tears to mine eyes. Paul, there are strange chances in battle, and it may be that you will live through it, and that I may be slain: If such be so, tell my mother and my wife (for she is that to me, as I am her husband in love) that I died as a prince of the House of Plantagenet should do-sword in hand and face to the foe. Tell my mother that such a death is better than an inglorious life of exile, and bid her not weep for me. There is yet another world than this in which we shall meet, where the strife of war is not heard and the malice of foes pursues us not. Let her look forward to our meeting there. It were a better prospect, in all truth, than an earthly crown, which methinks sits heavy on the head of him that wears it."
Paul said nothing, for he could not trust himself to speak, and indeed the brief respite was at an end. With loud and threatening cries the foe was closing round the devoted little band, and from the other side of the field he could see that a knot of horsemen were galloping in their direction, as though they had got some news of the presence of the prince.
Wounded as he was, and spent from having borne the brunt of that first gallant charge, Paul yet set his teeth and nerved himself for a last desperate rally. If they could cut their way through the ranks of the foes and gain the town, they might be safe at least for the moment; and that was the object of himself and his servants. Placing the reluctant prince in the midst, so as if possible to save at least him from steel or lead, the gallant little band with axes and pikes commenced hewing its way through the living wall which surrounded it. And so gallantly did the good steeds respond to the urging of their riders, and so fierce were the blows that rained down upon the heads of the footmen who barred their passage, that for a moment it seemed as if they would yet win their way back, and gain the protection of such of their comrades as had not shared in the general rout.
But alas! though the footmen gave way before them, the mounted soldiers, who were speeding across the field, saw at once the line they were taking, and galloped headlong to intercept them. Paul, in the fury of his hot young blood, dashed forward alone, and fell upon the foremost with so fierce a blow that his axe was wedged in the head-piece of his opponent, so that he was unable to draw it out. The man reeled in his saddle and fell, almost dragging Paul, who still had hold of the axe, with him; and before he could recover himself or draw his sword, he was set upon by half a score mounted riders.
For one moment he was aware of merciless blows raining down upon him, battering him to the earth; he felt suffocated, crushed, more utterly helpless and powerless than he had ever done in his life before. Quick thrills of pain were running through him, stars danced before his eyes; and through all this confusion and distress he was yet aware of some terrible danger menacing the prince-danger from which he had sworn to save him at the risk of his own life. He struggled fiercely and blindly with the foes who seemed to be above and about him, knocking the wind from his body, and holding his throat in an iron clasp. Consciousness was fast deserting him. The dancing stars had disappeared, leaving the blackest darkness behind them. He made one frantic effort to break the chain which seemed to be grinding his very life out of him, and then followed a space of blankness that must surely have been like death itself.
It might have been minutes, hours, days, or even years before Paul opened his eyes to the light of day once more, for all consciousness he had of the flight of time; but when he did so it was to meet the solicitous glance of a pair of friendly eyes, and to feel himself supported by strong arms, whilst some potent spirit was held to his lips, which, when he had drunk of it, seemed to drive away the mists and give him back his senses again.
He looked round him, and found himself lying upon a bloody field, dead and wounded strewn about him. He was upheld by the arm of one of his own stout servants; and no one else save a few wounded men or dead corpses was near. In a flash it all came back-the fight, the supposed victory, the disastrous defeat; and he groaned aloud, and struggled to regain his feet.
"The prince!" he cried, in tones sharpened by physical and mental anguish, "the prince! – where is he?"
"He is a prisoner; but he is unhurt. A gallant knight took him. His name, I learned from one of his men-at-arms, is Sir Richard Crofts; and he called out to his men, after you were down, that he would have no hurt done to the prince. He was to be taken prisoner and brought to the king-so he called him; and he had given out by proclamation that whoever brought to him the prince, alive or dead, should have a hundred pounds a year; and that the life of the prince should be spared. This I learned from the man-at-arms who stayed behind with me a while, to bind up a wound you had given him, and to help me to unlace your helmet, which was going nigh to choke you as you lay.
"Fear not for the prince, good master. His life is safe; and doubtless his noble aspect will win him favour with him they now call king.
"Nay, why do you struggle with me? you can scarce stand yet. Whither would you go? Let me catch some riderless steed and carry you to the town. Methinks the leaders have taken sanctuary with the queen in the church. You had better join them there."
"Ay, get me a horse," said Paul, with faint but vehement command; and he leaned heavily upon his sword as his servant departed to do his bidding.
Battered, sore wounded as he felt himself to be, instinct told him that he could act now as it would be impossible to do later, when his wounds began to stiffen and his muscles to refuse to obey his will. No bones were broken. He could still keep his feet and use his arms; and when the faithful servant brought up a horse and helped his master to mount, Paul felt that giddy and weak and suffering as he was, he could yet make shift to ride as far as it would be needful to do. The royal pennon floating over a certain tent not so very far away told him that his goal might yet be reached before his strength deserted him. The fiery spirit of which he again partook gave him temporary power. He scarce knew what he wished to do, save that he must stand beside his prince when he was brought to Edward's presence, and if harm befell him there, share it with him, as he had shared his peril that fatal day.
"Save yourself, good Adam," he said to his servant when he was once mounted; "I am going to follow the prince. But come not near the enemy's lines yourself, lest mischief befall you."
And before the astonished servant could speak a word of remonstrance, Paul had set spurs to his horse and had galloped off in the direction of the enemy's camp.
Within the lines there was the confusion incident to a battle, and no one heeded the battered rider, who, his helmet left behind and his mail dinted and disfigured by the hard blows it had received, had nothing about him to show to which army he belonged. Soldiers were leaning on their swords and eagerly discussing the fortunes of the day; and round and about Edward's royal tent a dense crowd had gathered, out of curiosity, it was said-and Paul heard the words-to see what manner of reception would be met at the monarch's hands by the youthful Edward, called "Prince," who had been brought into the lines by Sir Richard Crofts.
The proclamation respecting him was widely known throughout the camp, and it was said on all hands that the life of the prince would be safe; but whether he would share his father's captivity or be banished the kingdom with his French mother were points no one could answer.
And Paul rode silently and swiftly by, glad that no one heeded him or challenged him to give an account of himself.
Dismounting at last as he reached the outskirts of the crowd, and turning his horse loose to find its own master if it could, Paul was about to push his way into the eager knot of spectators, when a hand was laid upon his arm; and turning suddenly, he found himself confronted by a delicate page boy, whose white face and dilated eyes seemed to bespeak the extreme of emotion and distress. Before he had time to speak or to ask a question, the page addressed him; and as soon as the voice smote upon his ears Paul started and turned even paler than he had been; for he had heard those musical tones before, and in the fair page before him he recognized, to his horror and dismay, the gentle Lady Anne-young Edward's bride-here, alone and unprotected, in the heart of the foe's camp.
She saw that she was recognized, and laid her hand upon her lips in token of silence. Paul choked back the words that were upon his tongue, and looked at her in mute amaze.
"I could not keep away," she whispered, "when they told me all was lost and he had not returned. It was the only way. No one has heeded me in the tumult and strife. I heard all. I heard he was prisoner-that he was to be brought before Edward of York. Paul, I knew that you would be near him. I knew, if living, I should find you. See, they heed us not. They care not whether we be friends or foes. Take me through the crowd; take me to him. I am safe with you. Let us all die together."
Paul, utterly bewildered and astonished by this extraordinary meeting, could only obey in silence. It was all like some hideous, oppressive dream. Little by little he and his companion made their way through the throng until they reached the line of armed sentries who kept their stations outside the royal tent. Here they would have had to pause, had not Paul made a step forward and said boldly:
"I am the servant squire of the prisoner, and I claim the right to stand at his side and share his fate, whatever it may be. Let me and this lad, I pray you, go to him. We desire nothing better than to lay down our lives with him."
The sentries eyed the pair doubtfully. Their unarmed condition and Paul's visibly battered state told that these were no dangerous conspirators; and devotion to a lost cause always stirs the generous feelings of brave men. It may, however, be doubted whether the pair would have gained their wish had it not been for the fact that at this moment Edward himself appeared, disarmed, but otherwise treated with due honour and courtesy, attended by his captor, who was leading him to the king's tent in obedience to a summons just received.
The moment that she saw her betrothed husband, no power on earth would have been strong enough to hold back the fair-faced page, under whose boyish dress a faithful woman's heart was beating. The disguised maiden sprang forward and sank at the feet of her supposed master, seizing his hand and covering it with kisses as she tenderly murmured his name.
Edward instantly recognized her-Paul saw that at once; but the shock of the discovery steadied his nerves, as he realized the peril in which she had placed herself, and he looked round for one who might save her when he himself might be powerless to do so. It was at that moment-as the crowd stood speechless, touched and perplexed by the little scene, and reluctant to rough-handle so fair a boy, and one whose devotion was so bravely displayed-that Paul took occasion to step forward and present himself before Edward.
A look of relief instantly crossed the prince's face.
"I might have known that you would have been here-ever nearest in the hour of deadliest peril. Paul, whatever befalls me, take care of him." Low as the words were spoken, the prince dared not use the other pronoun. "Keep him safe. Take him to my mother; she will protect him from the menaced peril."
"I will, my liege, I will," said Paul; and it was he who raised the form of the trembling page, and together the three were pushed not ungently into the royal presence-Sir Richard being a man of kindly nature, and having been touched by the devotion evinced by these two youths (as he supposed them) in braving the dangers of the camp in order to be with their prince when he was called upon to answer for his life before the offended monarch.
Edward was standing in his tent, surrounded by his nobles, brothers, and his wife's kinsmen, as the young Plantagenet prince was brought before him. Perhaps England hardly possessed a finer man than its present king, who was taller by the head than almost any of those who stood round him, his dress of mail adding to the dignity of his mien, and his handsome but deeply-lined features, now set in stern displeasure, showing at once the indications of an unusual beauty and a proud and relentless nature.
The youthful Edward was brought a few paces forward by the attendants; whilst Paul stood in the background, longing to be beside his prince, but obliged to support the trembling form of Anne, who had been his liege's last charge to him.
"Is this the stripling they falsely call the Prince of Wales?" quoth Edward, stepping one pace nearer and regarding the noble lad with haughty displeasure. "How dost thou dare to come thus presumptuously to my realms with banners displayed against me?"
"To recover my father's kingdom and mine own inheritance," was the bold but unhesitating answer of the kingly youth, who, fettered and prisoner as he was, had all the fearless Plantagenet blood running in his veins.
The eagle eye of Edward flashed ominously, and making one more step toward his unarmed prisoner, he struck him in the face with his iron gauntlet. In a moment a dozen swords flashed from their scabbards. It seemed as if the bloodthirsty nobles awaited but this signal for the ruthless attack upon the deposed monarch's son which has left so dark a stain upon one page of history.