Part 80 (1/2)
”Nay, Benedict, ask me not yet, only rest ye a.s.sured Sir Rollo shall not trouble us this side Belsaye. But pray, how doth our brave Sir Brian?”
”Well enough, Beltane; he lieth in a litter, being tended by thy n.o.ble lady mother. A small lance-thrust 'neath the gorget, see'st thou, 'twill be healed--Ha, they charge us again--stand firm, pikes!” So shouting, Sir Benedict wheeled his horse and Beltane with him, and once again the road echoed to the din of battle.
Thus all day long they fought their way south along the forest-road, as, time and again, Sir Pertolepe's heavy chivalry thundered down upon them, to check and break before that hedge of deadly pikes. So marched this valiant rear-guard, parched with thirst, choked with dust, grim with blood and wounds, until, as the sun sank westwards, the woods thinned away and they beheld at last, glad-eyed and joyful, the walls and towers of fair Belsaye town. Now just beyond the edge of the woods, Sir Benedict halted his shrunken column, his dusty pikemen drawn up across the narrow road with archers behind supported by his cavalry to hold Sir Pertolepe's powers in check amid the woods what time the nuns with the spent and wounded hasted on towards the city.
Hereupon Beltane raised his vizor and setting horn to lip, sounded the rally. And lo! from the city a glad and mighty shout went up, the while above the square and frowning keep a great standard arose and flapping out upon the soft air, discovered a red lion on a white field.
”Aha, Beltane!” quoth Sir Benedict, ”yon is a rare-sweet sight--behold thy father's Lion banner that hath not felt the breeze this many a year--”
”Aye, lords,” growled Walkyn, ”and yonder cometh yet another lion--a black lion on red!” and he pointed where, far to their left, a red standard flaunted above the distant glitter of a wide-flung battle line.
”Hast good eyes, Walkyn!” said Sir Benedict, peering 'neath his hand toward the advancing host, ”aye, verily--'tis Ivo himself. Sir Pertolepe must have warned him of our coming.”
”So are we like to be crushed 'twixt hammer and anvil,” quoth Sir Hacon, tightening the lacing of his battered casque.
”So will I give thee charge of our knights and men-at-arms--what is left of them, alas!--to meet Black Ivo's banner, my doleful Hacon!”
spake Sir Benedict.
”Nay, Benedict,” said Sir Hacon, grim-smiling, ”my dole is but caution!” So saying, he closed his vizor and rode away to muster his chivalry to meet their new a.s.sailants the while Sir Benedict fell to re-forming his scanty ranks of pikemen and archers. Meantime Beltane, sitting his weary charger, glanced from Sir Pertolepe's deep array of knights and men-at-arms that thronged and jostled each other in the narrow forest-road to the distant flash and glitter of Duke Ivo's mighty van-ward, and from these again to the walls of Belsaye. And as he looked thither he saw the great drawbridge fall, the portcullis raised, and the gates flung wide to admit the fugitives; even at that distance he thought to recognise the Abbess, who paused to turn and gaze towards him, as, last of all, she rode to safety into the city.
Then my Beltane sighed, and, closing his vizor, turned to find Ulf beside him with Roger and Walkyn, who stood to watch the while Sir Benedict rode to and fro, ordering his company for their perilous retreat across the plain. Swift and silent his war-worn veterans fell to their appointed ranks; his trumpets blew and they began to fall back on Belsaye town. Grimly silent they marched, and ever Beltane gazed where, near and ever more near, flashed and flickered Duke Ivo's hard-riding van-ward.
And now from the forest-road Sir Pertolepe's company marched, and forming in the open, spurred down upon them.
”Stand firm, pikes!” roared c.n.u.t.
”Aim low, archers!” squealed small Prat, and forthwith the battle joined.
The weary rear-guard rocked and swayed beneath the onset, but Prat and his archers shot amain, arrows whistled while pike and gisarm thrust and smote, as, encompa.s.sed now on three sides, they fell back and back towards the yawning gates of Belsaye; and ever as he fought, Beltane by times turned to watch where Duke Ivo's threatening van-ward galloped--a long line of gleaming s.h.i.+elds and levelled lances gay with the glitter of pennon and banderol.
Back and back the rear-guard staggered, hewing and smiting; twice Beltane reeled 'neath unseen blows and with eyes a-swim beheld Roger and Ulf, who fought at either stirrup: heard of a sudden shrieks and cries and the thunder of galloping hooves; was aware of the flash of bright armour to his left, rank upon rank, where charged Duke Ivo's van-ward before whose furious onset Sir Benedict's weary pikemen were hurled back--their centre swayed, broke, and immediately all was dire uproar and confusion.
”Ah, Beltane--these be fresh men on fresh horses,” cried Sir Benedict, ”but hey--body o' me--all's not lost yet--malediction, no! And 'tis scarce half a mile to the gates. Ha--yonder rides l.u.s.ty Hacon to stay their rush--in upon them. Beltane--Ho, Pentavalon!”
Shouting thus, Sir Benedict plunged headlong into the raging fury of the battle; but, as Beltane spurred in after him, his weary charger, smitten by an arrow, reared up, screaming, yet ere he fell, Beltane, kicking free of the stirrups, rolled clear; a mighty hand plucked him to his feet and Ulf, roaring in his ear, pointed with his dripping axe.
And, looking whither he pointed, Beltane beheld Sir Benedict borne down beneath a press of knights, but as he lay, pinned beneath his squealing charger, Beltane leapt and bestrode him, sword in hand.
”Roger!” he shouted, ”Ulf--Walkyn--to me!”
All about him was a swaying trample of horses and men, an iron ring that hemmed him in, blows dinted his long s.h.i.+eld, they rang upon his helmet, they battered his triple mail, they split his s.h.i.+eld in sunder; and 'neath this hail of blows Beltane staggered, thrice he was smitten to his knees and thrice he arose, and ever his long blade whirled and darted.
”Yield thee, sir knight--yield thee!” was the cry.
”Ho, Roger!” he shouted hoa.r.s.ely, ”Ulf--Walkyn, to me!”
An axe bit through his great helm, a sword bent against his stout mail, a knight spurred in upon him, blade levelled to thrust again, but Beltane's deadly point darted upward and the snorting charger plunged away--riderless.
But now, as he fought on with failing arm, came a joyous roar on his right where Ulf smote direly with b.l.o.o.d.y axe, upon his left hand a broad-sword flickered where Roger fought silent and grim, beyond him again, Walkyn's long arms rose and fell as he whirled his axe, and hard by Tall Orson plied goring pike. So fought these mighty four until the press thinned out and they had cleared them a s.p.a.ce amid the battle, the while Beltane leaned him, spent and panting, upon his reeking sword.
Now, as he stood thus, from a tangle of the fallen near by a bent and battered helm was lifted and Sir Benedict spake, faint and short of breath: