The Last of the Barons — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (reading an ebook .TXT) 📖

Hastings vanished. Edward had scarcely hurried on his helm, cuirass, and greaves, when Gloucester entered, calm in the midst of peril.

“Your enemies are marching to seize you, brother. Hark! behind you rings the cry, ‘A Fitzhugh! a Robin! death to the tyrant!’ Hark! in front, ‘A Montagu! a Warwick! Long live King Henry!’ I come to redeem my word,—to share your exile or your death. Choose either while there is yet time. Thy choice is mine!”

And while he spoke, behind, before, came the various cries nearer and nearer. The lion of March was in the toils.

“Now, my two-handed sword!” said Edward. “Gloucester, in this weapon learn my choice!”

But now all the principal barons and captains, still true to the king whose crown was already lost, flocked in a body to the chamber. They fell on their knees, and with tears implored him to save himself for a happier day.

“There is yet time to escape,” said D’Eyncourt, “to pass the bridge, to gain the seaport! Think not that a soldier’s death will be left thee. Numbers will suffice to encumber thine arm, to seize thy person. Live not to be Warwick’s prisoner,—shown as a wild beast in its cage to the hooting crowd!”

“If not on thyself,” exclaimed Rivers, “have pity on these loyal gentlemen, and for the sake of their lives preserve thine own. What is flight? Warwick fled!”

“True,—and returned!” added Gloucester. “You are right, my lords. Come, sire, we must fly. Our rights fly not with us, but shall fight for us in absence!”

The calm WILL of this strange and terrible boy had its effect upon Edward. He suffered his brother to lead him from the chamber, grinding his teeth in impotent rage. He mounted his horse, while Rivers held the stirrup, and with some six or seven knights and earls rode to the bridge, already occupied by Hastings and a small but determined guard.

“Come, Hastings,” said the king, with a ghastly smile,—“they tell us we must fly!”

“True, sire, haste, haste! I stay but to deceive the enemy by feigning to defend the pass, and to counsel, as I best may, the faithful soldiers we leave behind.”

“Brave Hastings!” said Gloucester, pressing his hand, “you do well, and I envy you the glory of this post. Come, sire.”

“Ay, ay,” said the king, with a sudden and fierce cry, “we go,—but at least slaughtering as we go. See! yon rascal troop! ride we through their midst! Havock and revenge!”

He set spurs to his steed, galloped over the bridge, and before his companions could join him, dashed alone into the very centre of the advanced guard sent to invest the fortress, and while they were yet shouting, “Where is the tyrant, where is Edward?”

“Here!” answered a voice of thunder,—“here, rebels and faytors, in your ranks!”

This sudden and appalling reply, even more than the sweep of the gigantic sword, before which were riven sallet and mail as the woodman’s axe rives the fagot, created amongst the enemy that singular panic, which in those ages often scattered numbers before the arm and the name of one. They recoiled in confusion and dismay. Many actually threw down their arms and fled. Through a path broad and clear amidst the forest of pikes, Gloucester and the captains followed the flashing track of the king, over the corpses, headless or limbless, that he felled as he rode.

Meanwhile, with a truer chivalry, Hastings, taking advantage of the sortie which confused and delayed the enemy, summoned such of the loyal as were left in the fortress, advised them, as the only chance of life, to affect submission to Warwick; but when the time came, to remember their old allegiance, [Sharon Turner, vol. iii. 280.] and promising that he would not desert them, save with life, till their safety was pledged by the foe, reclosed his visor, and rode back to the front of the bridge.

And now the king and his comrades had cut their way through all barrier, but the enemy still wavered and lagged, till suddenly the cry of “Robin of Redesdale!” was heard, and sword in hand, Hilyard, followed by a troop of horse, dashed to the head of the besiegers, and, learning the king’s escape, rode off in pursuit. His brief presence and sharp rebuke reanimated the falterers, and in a few minutes they gained the bridge.

“Halt, sirs,” cried Hastings; “I would offer capitulation to your leader! Who is he?”

A knight on horseback advanced from the rest. Hastings lowered the point of his sword.

“Sir, we yield this fortress to your hands upon one condition,—our men yonder are willing to submit, and shout with you for Henry VI. Pledge me your word that you and your soldiers spare their lives and do them no wrong, and we depart.”

“And if I pledge it not?” said the knight.

“Then for every warrior who guards this bridge count ten dead men amongst your ranks.”

“Do your worst,—our bloods are up! We want life for life! revenge for the subjects butchered by your tyrant chief! Charge! to the attack! charge! pike and bill!” The knight spurred on, the Lancastrians followed, and the knight reeled from his horse into the moat below, felled by the sword of Hastings.

For several minutes the pass was so gallantly defended that the strife seemed uncertain, though fearfully unequal, when Lord Montagu himself, hearing what had befallen, galloped to the spot, threw down his truncheon, cried “Hold!” and the slaughter ceased. To this nobleman Hastings repeated the terms he had proposed.

“And,” said Montagu, turning with anger to the Lancastrians, who formed a detachment of Fitzhugh’s force—“can Englishmen insist upon butchering Englishmen? Rather thank we Lord Hastings that he would spare good King Henry so many subjects’ lives! The terms are granted, my lord; and your own life also, and those of your friends around you, vainly brave in a wrong cause. Depart!”

“Ah, Montagu,” said Hastings, touched, and in a whisper, “what pity that so gallant a gentleman should leave a rebel’s blot upon his scutcheon!”

“When chiefs and suzerains are false and perjured, Lord Hastings,” answered Montagu, “to obey them is not loyalty, but serfdom; and revolt is not disloyalty, but a freeman’s duty. One day thou mayst know that truth, but too late.” [It was in the midst of his own conspiracy against Richard of Gloucester that the head of Lord Hastings fell.]

Hastings made no reply, waved his hand to his fellow-defenders of the bridge, and, followed by them, went slowly and deliberately on, till clear of the murmuring and sullen foe; then putting spurs to their steeds, these faithful warriors rode fast to rejoin their king; overtook Hilyard on the way, and after a fierce skirmish, a blow from Hastings unhorsed and unhelmed the stalwart Robin, and left him so stunned as to check further pursuit. They at last reached the king, and gaining, with him and his party, the town of Lynn, happily found one English and two Dutch vessels on the point of sailing. Without other raiment than the mail they wore, without