Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

by John G. Edgar

  CHAPTER LI

  DE MOREVILLE IN BATTLE HARNESS

  As Pembroke was marching on Lincoln from the North, and the French andAnglo-Normans were arraying themselves for the combat, a very importantarrival took place. In fact, Hugh de Moreville--attended by Sir AnthonyWaledger, Ralph Hornmouth, and his young kinsman Richard--with a strongbody of horse at his back, entered the city by the south gate. DeMoreville’s arrival was hailed with cheers; for, however unpopulargenerally, his fame as a warrior made him welcome in the hour of danger;and the Count de Perche could not conceal his satisfaction as thehaughty Norman presented himself.

  Now it may as well be mentioned at once that De Moreville had not beenattracted to Lincoln by any enthusiasm for Prince Louis, of whom he wasweary, nor by any love of the French warriors, of whose arrogance he washeartily sick, and of whose affectations of superiority he was very muchmore impatient than others of his class. But since the night whenCollingham so suddenly found his way into Chas-Chateil, De Moreville hadbeen much more nervous on all points than of yore, and reflectingseriously on the past and speculating keenly on the future, he saw thathis interests were bound up with the cause of Prince Louis, and that adecisive triumph of young Henry’s adherents would lead to his utterruin. All would go that made him the great personage he was--castles,and manors, and feudal power; and he would have to hide his head in acloister or fare forth to foreign lands and fight as a soldier offortune.

  No man was therefore more interested in the issue of the struggle goingon; and having left his daughter at his house in Ludgate, under thecharge of Dame Waledger, he hastened to Lincoln, which he knew waslikely to be the place where the crisis of the war would come. But hedid not dream of giving any hint of the motives by which he wasanimated; and even De Perche was so convinced of the Norman’s heartygood-will towards Louis and himself, that he ascribed the arrival topure enthusiasm, and the count gave him so flattering a reception thatDe Moreville was fain to be more hypocritical than was his wont.

  “Ha! my good Lord De Moreville,” exclaimed De Perche, joyfully, “welcomein the hour of danger. Our enemies are even now at the gates, and arecoming in greater force than I anticipated.”

  “Let them come,” said De Moreville, smiling grimly; “we have no reasonto grow alarmed at their approach. William Marshal and William Albiniare Norman nobles, like myself, and falcons fear not falcons.”

  De Perche started and looked suspicious in De Moreville’s face; but theNorman smiled so frankly that the count blushed at the suspicion thathad crossed his mind, and said, carelessly--

  “O, mort Dieu! they are doubtless puissant foes.”

  “However,” replied De Moreville, “I have in my day fought with bravermen than they are, albeit no braggart, and I say by St. Moden I am readyto do so again, and ever shall be, while I breathe the breath of lifeand have strength enough to mount a steed and shake a spear.”

  “Who could dream of the Lord De Moreville knowing fear?” said De Perchebetween jest and earnest.

  “Anyhow,” said De Moreville, earnestly, “I have sworn allegiance to LordLouis, and I shrink not from any sacrifices which that allegianceinvolves. For one’s lord we are bound to suffer any distress, whetherheat or cold, and lose both hair and leather, and flesh and blood; and,sir count, I am not the man to shirk a duty. True it is that dutysometimes marches between rocks, and that the path of duty is often thepath of danger. Nevertheless----”

  “Nevertheless,” said De Perche, interrupting, “it is not less true thatthe path of duty is often the road to honour and glory; that is what youhave found it, as you were about to say; so,” added the count, gaily,“let us forth and meet our foes, and upon them with the lance, in thename of St. Denis and our good Lord Louis.”

  Accordingly, De Perche and De Moreville mounted and sallied into thestreets, to take each his part in the conflict that was even thenbeginning. And while the count joined his knights and headed theresistance well, the Norman baron that day maintained the reputationwhich he enjoyed in England and on the continent as a bold knight and aterrible man-at-arms. In the midst of the confusion and the panic whichprevailed throughout the baronial forces, De Moreville fought withenergy and courage not exceeded by any man in either army. It was he whomade the charge during which Falco was taken; it was he whose lancethrew Richard, surnamed Crocus, to the ground from which he was to beraised a corpse; it was he who, when his lance was broken, drew hismace, and, sweeping all before him, cleared the causeway of Falco’smercenaries when they were pushing on to open the north gate in order toallow Pembroke’s army to rush into the city. Moreover, even after thestruggle became close, and Collingham’s band were proving how well theymerited the fame they had won, and the French and Anglo-Normans, huddledtogether and terror-stricken, were yielding themselves like sheep to theshearer, De Moreville and his riders were still bearing themselvesvaliantly in the _mêlée_, and still breaking into the ranks of theconquering foe and riding triumphantly through Collingham’s men with thewell-known battle-cry of “St. Moden for De Moreville! Strike! strike!and spare not!”

  In the midst of one of his fiery courses, however, the Norman baronreined up at a short distance from the north gate, on a spot which wasliterally surrounded by the carcases of the horses that had been slain;and he ground his teeth in bitter wrath as he surveyed the scene beforehim, and listened to the shouts of the victors as they pressed on in amass towards the spot where, around De Perche, fighting bravely againstodds, the war still centred.

  “All is lost!” exclaimed De Moreville, in the tone of a man vexed to theheart’s core. “By St. Moden, methinks the heirs of the heroes ofHastings have lost their very manhood while feasting and bull-baiting inthe company of citizens. Beshrew me if children with willow wands couldnot have made a better fight than the Anglo-Norman warriors have thisday done.”

  “My lord,” said Sir Anthony Waledger, nervously, “it seems to me that wehad better save ourselves.”

  De Moreville, in spite of the serious position in which he was, laughedat the drunken knight’s suggestion.

  “On my faith, Sir Anthony,” replied he, as he exchanged a smile with hisyoung nephew Richard at the knight’s expense, “methinks, for once, youare in the right in thinking rather of safety than renown, for, if weescape not, we either yield or die. But whither are we to go?”

  “To Chas-Chateil,” suggested Hornmouth, in a significant tone. “No saferstronghold in all England, if matters come to the worst.”

  “True,” said De Moreville, thoughtfully. “But,” added he, slowly, “afterthis day’s work, no fortress in England, however strong, will long holdout against King Henry. Therefore it is expedient to hold our coursenorthward, and take refuge at Mount Moreville. But my daughter, left toher fate in London, and London certain to be surrendered!”

  “She will be safe under the wing of Dame Waledger,” replied Hornmouth,“and all the more for your absence, seeing that she is a kinswoman of myLord of Salisbury, and can easily, therefore, secure protection. Come,my good lord, time flies; let us ride. This day fortune is against you,but you may live to conquer again. Our enemies have broken near thenorth gate as they entered; let us charge towards it, and fly whilethere is yet time.”

  “Ay,” said De Moreville, fiercely, “let us charge, but slaughtering therascally rabble as we go. See how they swarm. On! on! St. Moden for DeMoreville! Strike! strike! and spare not!”

  And, setting spurs to his steed, the Norman baron, at the head of hisriders, charged towards the north gate.

  But this charge proved no such child’s play as De Moreville hadexpected. The rascal rabble of which he had spoken so contemptuously wasCollingham’s band of patriots, who, after doing good service to theirking and country in the deadly struggle, had rallied to theircelebrated standard, bringing their prisoners with them, ere dispersingto secure their share of the booty, which they did not despise. Nofurther thought of fighting that day had they; for, save on the spotwhere De Perche still struggled, all resistance had
ceased, and theroyalists, not interested in the count’s fate, were striding through thestreets without finding a foe to encounter, or spreading themselves overthe city to begin the work of plunder. But when Collingham suddenlydescried De Moreville’s banner, and observed that the Norman baron wasabout to charge, he formed his men with marvellous rapidity into aphalanx resembling a wedge, and there, with their captives in the midst,they stood, presenting a wall of shields, every man grasping his axe orbending his bow, and their dauntless chief still towering in front, withhis heavy club in his hand, and his attitude that of good-humoureddefiance.

  It was not without an unwonted thrill that De Moreville beheld thatbrave phalanx as he spurred forward; but he was not a man to be easilydaunted. Bravely and resolutely he charged on that wall of shields; asbravely and resolutely his charge was resisted. He might as well haveridden lance in rest against the ramparts of the castle. De Moreville’srage knew no bounds. His heart beat wildly; his eyes rolled in flames;his nostrils snorted fire; violent exclamations burst from his lips; hiswhole frame quivered with his angry passions. Furious at his ownrepulse, he again, and this time more fiercely, led on his riders to theassault, and with a charge so vehement that he all but penetrated intothe midst. But as he came face to face and hand to hand with Collingham,he was hurled back with such force that his horse was thrown on itshaunches, and his band of cavalry was broken on the rampart of shieldsas a hammer on the anvil, young Richard de Moreville falling, bruisedand senseless, by the axe of the Icingla, and Sir Anthony remainingCollingham’s prisoner.

  “By the bones of St. Moden!” exclaimed De Moreville, as, having drawnback, he surveyed the wreck of what had been a gallant feudal following,“this passes all patience. Why do I live to be baffled by such a rabblerout? Why am I man in mail, and not monk in minster? Let us charge oncemore; for rather would I die by their hands, rather would I forfeit allchance of tasting the joys of Paradise, than live to remember that theyhad foiled me.”

  And laying his lance at rest, and spurring his horse, De Morevilleloudly shouted his battle-cry, and led on his riders with such ferocitythat Collingham’s phalanx gave way, and the men went whirling hither andthither, like leaves blown about by the November blasts. At that momentPhilip de Albini and John Marshal, attracted by the fray, rode hastilyup to take part in it, and De Moreville, dashing side by side with RalphHornmouth to the north gate, darted rapidly through it, and spurred fastaway on the first stage of his long journey.

  And now Collingham hasted to where Oliver stood, and said, “The Count dePerche has retreated to the churchyard of the cathedral.”

  Immediately the Icingla threw his battle-axe over his shoulder, andrushed off with the speed of the wind, muttering the word “Revenge!”