CHAPTER XII.
Between Mortain and Tournay, in a small road with high banks on either side, the shrubs and flowers of which were covered with a thick coating of dust, rode two of our old acquaintances, on the same morning that the review we have just described took place in the army of the king.
The first, armed in haubergeon and casque, with his haussecol, or gorget, hiding his long beard, and his helmet covering his short cut hair, it was no longer difficult to recognise as Jodelle the Brabançois, whom we saw last in an assumed character before Philip Augustus. By his side, more gaudily costumed than ever, with a long peacock's feather ornamenting his black cap, rode Gallon the fool.
Though two persons of such respectability might well have pretended to some attendants, they were alone; and Jodelle, who seemed in some haste, and not particularly pleased with his companion's society, was pricking on at a sharp pace. But Gallon's mare, on which he was once more mounted, had been trained by himself, and ambled after the coterel's horse, with a sweet sort of pertinacity from which there was no escaping.
"Why follow you me, fool, devil?" cried the Brabançois.--"Get thee gone! We shall meet again. Fear not! I am in haste; and, my curse upon those idiot Saxons that let you go, when I charged them to keep you, after you hunted me all the way from your camp to ours last night."
"Haw, haw!" cried Gallon, showing all his white sharp teeth to the very back, as he grinned at Jodelle;--"haw, haw! thou art ungrateful, sire Jodelle--Haw, haw! to think of a coterel being ungrateful! Did not I let thee into all Coucy's secrets two days ago? Did not I save thy neck from the hangman five months ago? And now, thou ungrateful hound, thou grudgest me thy sweet company.--Haw, haw! I that love thee,--haw, haw, haw! I that enjoy thy delectable society!--Haw, haw! Haw, haw! Haw, haw!" and he rolled and shouted with laughter, as if the very idea of any one loving the Brabançois was sufficient to furnish the whole world with mirth. "So, thou toldest thy brute Saxons to keep me, or hang me, or burn me alive, if they would, last night--ay, and my bonny mare too; saying, it was as great devil as myself. Haw, haw! maître Jodelle! They told me all. But they fell in love with my phiz; and let me go, all for the sweetness of my countenance. Who can resist my wonderous charms?" and he contorted his features into a form that left them the likeness of nothing human. "But I'll plague thee!" he continued; "I'll never leave thee, till I see what thou dost with that packet in thy bosom.--Haw, haw! I'll teaze thee! I have plagued the Coucy enough, for a blow he gave me one day. Haw, haw! that I have! Now, methinks, I'll have done with that, and do him some good service!"
"Thou'lt never serve him more, fool!" cried Jodelle, his eyes gleaming with sanguinary satisfaction; "I have paid him, too, for the blow he gave me--and for more things than that! His head is off by this time, juggler! I heard the order given myself--ay, and I caused that order. Ha! canst thou do a feat like that?"
"Haw, haw! Haw, haw, haw!" screamed Gallon, wriggling his snout hither and thither, and holding his sides with laughter. "Haw, haw! thou dolt! thou ass! thou block! thou stump of an old tree! By the Lord! thou must be a wit after all, to invent such a piece of uncommon stupidity.--Haw, haw, haw! Haw, haw! Didst thou think, that I would have furnished thee with a good tale against the Coucy, and given thee means of speech with the chancellor himself, without taking care to get the cow-killing, hammer-fisted homicide out of the way first?--Haw, haw! thou idiot. Haw, haw, haw!--Lord! what an ass a coterel is!--Haw, haw, haw!"
"Not such an ass as thou dreamest, fiend!" muttered Jodelle, setting his teeth close, and almost resolved to aim a blow with his dagger at the juggler as he rode beside him. But Gallon had always one of his eyes, at least, fixed upon his companion; and, in truth, Jodelle had seen so much of his extraordinary activity and strength that he held Gallon in some dread, and scarcely dared to close with him in fair and equal fight. He had smothered his vengeance for long, however, and he had no inclination to delay it much longer, as the worthy Brabançois had more reasons than one for resolving to rid himself of the society of a person so little trustworthy as Gallon, in the most summary manner possible--but the only question was how to take him at a disadvantage.
For this purpose, it was necessary to cover every appearance of wrath, that the juggler might be thrown off his guard. Jodelle smoothed his brow therefore, and, after a moment, affected to join in Gallon's laugh. "Thou art a cunning dealer!" said he--"thou art a cunning dealer, sir Gallon! But, in troth, I should like to know how thou didst contrive to beguile this De Coucy away from the army, as thou sayest, at such a moment."
"Haw, haw!" cried Gallon--"haw, haw! 'Twas no hard work. How dost thou catch a sparrow, sire Jodelle? Is it not by spreading out some crumbs? Well, by the holy rood! as he says himself, I sent him a goose's errand all the way down the river, to reconnoitre a party of men whom I made Ermold the page, make Hugo the squire, make Coucy the knight, believe were going to take the king's host on the flank!--Haw, haw! Oh rare!"
"By St. Peter! thou hast betrayed what I told thee when we were drinking two nights since," cried Jodelle. "Fool! thou wilt have my dagger in thee if thou heedest not!"
"Oh rare!" shouted Gallon, "Oh rare! What then, did I tell the Coucy true, when I said Count Julian of the Mount, and William de la Roche Guyon, were there with ten thousand men?--Haw, haw! did I tell him true, coterel? Talk not to me of daggers, lout, or I'll drive mine in under thy fifth rib, and leave thee as dead as a horse's bones on a common. Haw, haw! I thought the Coucy would have gone down with all the men of Tankerville, and have chined me that fair-faced coward, that once fingered this great monument of my beauty;" and he laid his finger on his long unnatural snout, with so mingled an expression of face, that it was difficult to decide whether he spoke in vanity or mockery. "But he only went down to reconnoitre," added the juggler. "The great ninny! he might have swallowed father and lover up at a mouthful, and then married the heiress if he had liked! And he calls me fool, too! Oh rare!--But where art thou going, beau sire Jodelle? I saw all your army a-foot before I left them to come after you; and I dreamed that they were going to cut off the king at the passage by Bovines; and doubtless thou art bearer of an order to Sir Julian, and Count William, with the Duke of Limburg and the men of Ardennes, to take him in the rear. Haw, haw! there will be fine smashing of bones, and hacking of flesh. I must be there to have the picking of the dead men."
Thus ran on Gallon, rambling from subject to subject, but withal betraying so clear a knowledge of all the plans of the imperial army, that Jodelle believed his information to be little less than magical; though indeed Gallon was indebted for it to strolling amongst the tents of the Germans the night before, and catching here and there, while he amused the knights and squires with his tricks of jonglerie, all the rumours that were afloat concerning the movements of the next day. From these, with a happiness that madness sometimes has, he jumped at conclusions, which many a wiser brain would have missed, and, like a blind man stumbling on a treasure, hit by accident upon the exact truth.
As his conversation with Jodelle arrived at this particular point, the road which they were pursuing opened out upon a little irregular piece of ground, bisected by another by-path, equally ornamented by high rough banks. Nevertheless, neither of these roads traversed the centre of the little green or common; the one which the travellers were pursuing skirting along the side, under the sort of cliff by which it was flanked, and the other edging the opposite extreme. At the intersection of the paths, however, on the very top of the farther bank, stood a tall elm tree, which Gallon measured with his eye as they approached.
"Haw, haw!" cried he, delighting in every recollection that might prove unpleasant to his neighbours.--"Haw, haw! Beau sire Jodelle! Monstrous like the tree on which they were going to hang you, near the Pont de l'Arche! Haw, haw, haw! The time when you were like to be hanged, and I saved you--you remember?"
"Thou didst not save me, fool!" replied the Brabançois: "'twas king John saved me. I would not owe my life to such a foul fool as thou art, for all that it is worth. The king saved my life to do a great deed of vengeance, which I will accomplish yet before I die," added Jodelle, "and then I'll account with him too, for what I owe him--he shall not be forgot! no, no!" and the plunderer's eyes gleamed as he thought of the fate that the faithless monarch had appointed for him, and connected it with the vague schemes of vengeance that were floating through his own brain.
"Haw, haw!" cried Gallon. "If thou goest not to hell, sire Jodelle, thou art sure t'will not be for lack of thanklessness, to back your fair bevy of gentlemanly vices. John, the gentle, sent thee thy pardon, that thou mightest murder De Coucy for prating of his murdering Arthur,--I know that as well as thou dost; but had my tongue not been quicker than his messenger's horse, thou wouldst soon have been farther on your road to heaven than ever you may be again. Oh rare! How the crows of the Pont de l'Arche must hate me! Haw, haw! vinegar face! didst ever turn milk sour with thy sharp nose?--Hark! Hear you not a distant clatter? Your army is marching down towards the bridge, prince Pumkin," he rambled on; "I'll up into yon tree, and see; for this country is as flat as peas porridge."
So saying. Gallon sprang to the ground, climbed the bank in an instant, and walked up the straight boll of the tree, as easily as if he had been furnished with a ladder; giving a quick glance round, however, every step, to see that Jodelle did not take any advantage of him.
His movements had been so rapid, that with the best intentions thereunto in the world, the coterel could not have injured him in his ascent; and when he was once up, he began to question him on what he saw.
"What do I see?" said Gallon. "Why, when I look that way, I see German asses, and Lorraine foxes, and English curs, and Flanders mules, all marching down towards the river as quietly as may be; and when I look the other way, I perceive a whole band of French monkeys, tripping on gaily without seeing the others; and when I look down there," he continued, pointing to Jodelle, "I see a Provençal wolf, hungry for plunder, and thirsty for blood;" and Gallon began to descend the tree.
As he had spoken, there was a sound of horses heard coming up the road, and Jodelle spurred close up under the bank, as if to catch a glance of the persons who were approaching; but, at the same moment, he quietly drew his sword. Gallon instantly perceived his manœuvre, and attempted to spring up the tree once more.
Ere he could do so, however, Jodelle struck at him; and though he could only reach high enough to wound the tendon of his leg, the pain made the juggler let go his hold, and he fell to the top of the bank, nearly on a level with the face of the coterel, who, rising in his stirrups, with the full lunge of his arm, plunged his sword into his body.
Though mortally wounded, Gallon, without word or groan, rolled down the bank, and clung to the legs of his enemy's horse, impeding the motions of the animal as much as if it had been clogged; while at the same time Jodelle now urged it furiously with the spur; for the sound of coming cavaliers, and the glance of a knight's pennon from behind the turn of the road, at about an hundred yards' distance, showed him that he must either ride on, or take the risk of the party being inimical to his own.
Three times the horse, plunging furiously under the spur, set its feet full on the body of the unfortunate juggler; but still he kept his hold, without a speech or outcry, till suddenly shouting "Haw, haw!--Haw, haw, haw!--The Coucy! the Coucy! Haw, haw!" he let go his hold; and the coterel galloped on at full speed, ascertaining by a single glance, that Gallon's shout announced nothing but the truth.
De Coucy's eyes were quick, however; and his horse far fleeter than that of the coterel. He saw Jodelle, and recognised him instantly; while the dying form of Gallon, and the blood that stained the dry white sand of the road, in dark red patches round about, told their own tale, and were not to be mistaken. Without pausing to clasp his visor, or to brace his shield, the knight snatched his lance from his squire, struck his spurs into the flanks of his charger; and, before Jodelle had reached the other side of the little green, the iron of the spear struck him between the shoulders, and, passing through his plastron as if it had been made of parchment, hurled him from his horse, never to mount again. A shrill cry like that of a wounded vulture, as the knight struck him, and a deep groan as he fell to the ground, were the only sounds that the plunderer uttered more. De Coucy tugged at his lance for a moment, endeavouring to shake it free from the body; but, finding that he could not do so without dismounting, he left it in the hands of his squire, and returned to the spot where Gallon the fool still lay, surrounded by part of the young knight's train.
"Coucy, Coucy!" cried the dying juggler, in a faint voice, "Gallon is going on the long journey! Come hither, and speak to him before he sets out!"
The young knight put his foot to the ground, and came close up to his wounded follower, who gazed on him with wistful eyes, in which shone the first glance of affection, perhaps, that ever he had bestowed on mortal man.
"I am sorry to leave thee, Coucy!" said he, "I am sorry to leave thee, now it comes to this--I love thee better than I thought. Give me thy hand."
De Coucy spoke a few words of kindness to him, and let him take his hand, which he carried feebly to his lips, and licked it like a dying dog.
"I have spited you very often, Coucy," said the juggler; "and do you know I am sorry for it now, for you have been kinder to me than any one else. Will you forgive me?"
"Yes, my poor Gallon," replied the knight: "I know of no great evil thou hast done; and even if thou hast, I forgive thee from my heart."
"Heaven bless thee for it!" said Gallon.--"Heaven bless thee for it!--But hark thee, De Coucy! I will do thee one good turn before I die. Give me some wine out of thy boutiau, mad Ermold the page, and I will tell the Coucy where I have wronged him, and where he may right himself. Give me some wine, quick, for my horse is jogging to the other world."
Ermold, as he was desired, put the leathern bottle, which every one travelled with in those days, to the lips of the dying man; who, after a long draught, proceeded with his confession. We will pass over many a trick which he acknowledged to have played his lord in the Holy Land, at Constantinople, and in Italy, always demanding between each, "Can you forgive me now?" De Coucy's heart was not one to refuse pardon to a dying man; and Gallon proceeded to speak of the deceit he had put upon him concerning the lands of the Count de Tankerville. "It was all false together," said he. "The Vidame of Besançon told me to tell you, that his friend, the Count de Tankerville, had sent a charter to be kept in the king's hands, giving you all his feofs; and now, when he sees you with the army, commanding the men of Tankerville, the vidame thinks that you are commanding them by your own right, not out of the good will of the king. Besides, he told me, he did not know whether your uncle was dead or not; but that Bernard, the hermit of Vincennes, could inform you."
"But why did you not--?" demanded De Coucy.
"Ask me no questions, Coucy," cried Gallon: "I have but little breath left; and that must go to tell you something more important still. From the top of yon tree, I saw the king marching down to the bridge at Bovines; and, without his knowing it, the enemy are marching after him. If he gets half over, he is lost. I heard Henry of Brabant last night say, that they would send a plan of their battle to the Duke of Limburg, Count Julian, and William de la Roche Guyon, whose troops I sent you after, down the river. He said too," proceeded Gallon, growing apparently fainter as he spoke,--"he said too, that it was to be carried by one who well knew the French camp. Oh, Coucy, my breath fails me. Jodelle, the coterel--he is the man, I am sure--the papers are on him.--But, Coucy! Coucy!" he continued, gasping for breath, and holding the knight with a sort of convulsive grasp, as he saw him turning to seek the important packet he mentioned,--"do not go, Coucy! do not go to the camp--they think you a traitor.--Oh, how dim my eyes grow!--They will have your head off--don't go--you'll be of no use with the head off--Haw, haw! haw, haw!" And with a faint effort at his old wild laugh. Gallon the fool gave one or two sharp shudders, and yielded the spirit, still holding De Coucy tight by the arm.
"He is gone!" said the knight, disengaging himself from his grasp. "Our army marching upon Bovines!" continued he: "can it be true? They were not to quit Tournay for two days.--Up, Ermold, into that tree, and see whether you can gain any sight of them. Quick! for we must spur hard, if it be true.--You, Hugo, search the body of the coterel.--Quick, Ermold--hold by that branch--there, your foot on the other! See you any thing now?"
With some difficulty, Ermold de Marcy, though an active youth, had climbed half-way up the tree that Gallon had sprung up like a squirrel; and now, holding round it with both legs and arms, he gazed out over the far prospect. "I see spears," cried he,--"I see spears marching on by the river--and I can see the bridge too!"
"Are there any men on it?" cried De Coucy:--"how far is it from the foremost spears?"
"It is clear yet!" replied the page; "but the lances in the van are not half a mile from it!"
"Look to the right!--look to the right!" cried the knight; "towards Mortain, what see you?"
"I see a clump or two of spears," replied the youth, "scattered here and there; but over one part, that seems a valley, there rises a cloud;--it maybe the morning mist--it may be dust:--stay, I will climb higher;" and he contrived to reach two or three branches above. "Lances, as I live!" cried he: "I see the steel heads glittering through the cloud of dust, and moving on, just above the place where the hill cuts them. They are rising above the slope--now they dip down again--thousands on thousands--never did I see such a host in Christendom or Paynimry!"
"Come down, Ermold, and mount!" cried the knight. "Two of the servants of arms, take up yon poor fellow's body!" he continued, "and bear it to the cottage where we watered our horses but now--then follow towards the bridge with all speed.--Now, Hugo, hast thou the packet? 'Tis it, by the holy rood!" he added, taking a sealed paper that the squire had found upon Jodelle. "To horse! to horse! We shall reach the king's host yet, ere the van has passed the bridge. He must fight there or lose all." And followed by the small body of spears that accompanied him, Guy de Coucy spurred on at full gallop towards the bridge of Bovines.
The distance might be about four miles; but ere he had ridden one-half of that way, he came suddenly upon a body of about twenty spears, at the top of a slight rise that concealed each party till they were within fifty yards of the other. "Down with your lances!" cried De Coucy; "France! France! A Coucy! a Coucy!" and in an instant the spears of his followers, to the number of about seventy, were levelled in a long straight row.
"France! France!" echoed the other party; and, riding forward, De Coucy was met in mid space by the Chancellor Guerin,--armed at all points, but bearing the coat and cross of a knight hospitaller--and Adam Viscount de Melun, who had together ridden out from the main body of the army, to ascertain the truth of some vague reports, that the enemy had left Mortain, and was pursuing with all his forces.
"Well met. Sir Guy de Coucy," said Guerin. "By your cry of France but now, I trust you are no traitor to France, though strange accusations against you reached the king last night; and your absence at a moment of danger countenanced them. I have order," he added, "to attach you for treason."
"Whosoever calls me traitor, lies in his teeth," replied the knight rapidly, eager to arrive at the king's host with all speed. "My absence was in the kings service; and as to attaching me for treason, lord bishop," he added with a smile, "methinks my seventy lances against your twenty will soon cancel your warrant. I dreamed not that the king would think of marching to-day, being Sunday, or I should have returned before. But now, my lord, my errand is to the king himself, and 'tis one also that requires speed. The enemy are following like hounds behind the deer. I have here a plan of their battle. They hope to surprise the king at the passage of the river. He must halt on this side, or all is lost. From that range of low hills, most likely you will see the enemy advancing.--Farewell."
Guerin, who had never for a moment doubted the young knight's innocence, did not of course attempt to stay him, and De Coucy once more galloped on at full speed. He soon began to fall in with stragglers from the different bodies of the royal forces; camp followers, plunderers, skirmishers, pedlars, jugglers, cooks, and all the train of extraneous living lumber attached to an army of the thirteenth century. From these he could gain no certain information of where the king was to be found. Some said he had passed the bridge,--some said he was yet in the rear; and, finding that they were all as ignorant on the subject as himself, the young knight sped on; and passing by several of the thick battalions which were hurrying on through clouds of July dust towards the bridge, he demanded of one of the leaders, where was the king.
"I heard but now, that he was in that green meadow to the right," replied the other knight; "and, see!" he added, pointing with his lance, "that may be he, under those ash-trees."
De Coucy turned his eyes in the direction the other pointed, and perceived a group of persons, some on horseback, some on foot, standing round one who, stretched upon the grass, lay resting himself under the shadow of a graceful clump of ash-trees. Close behind him stood a squire, holding a casque in his hand; and another, at a little distance, kept in the ardour of a magnificent battle-horse, that, neighing and pawing the grass, seemed eager to join the phalanx that defiled before him.
It was evidently the king who lay there; and De Coucy, bringing his men to a halt, at the side of the high road, along which the rest were pressing, troop after troop, towards the bridge, spurred on, followed by his squires alone, and rode up to the group at once.
Philip Augustus raised his eyes to De Coucy's face as he came up; and, at a few paces, the young knight sprang from his horse, and casting his rein to Hugo de Barre, approached the monarch.
"My lord," said he earnestly, as soon as he was within hearing, "I beseech you to order a halt, and command your troops who have passed the bridge to return. The enemy are not half a mile from you; and before half the army can pass, you will be attacked on all sides."
De Coucy spoke rapidly, and the king answered in the same manner. "Sir Guy de Coucy," said he, without rising, however, "you are accused to me of treason. Ought I to listen to counsel from a man in that situation?"
"My lord the king," replied the knight, "God send you many such good traitors as I am! There is the enemy's plan of attack;--at least, so I believe, for I have not opened it. You will see by the seal it is from the Duke of Brabant; and by the superscription, that it is to the Duke of Limburgh, together with Count Julian of the Mount, and Count William de la Roche Guyon, his allies. I reconnoitred their forces last night; they amount to fifteen thousand men; and lie three miles down the river."
The king took the paper, and hastily cut the silk with his dagger. "Halt!" cried he, after glancing his eye over it. "Mareuil de Malvoisin, command a halt!--Ho, Guerin!" he cried, seeing the minister riding quickly towards him. "Have you seen the enemy?"
"They are advancing with all speed, sire," shouted the hospitaller as he rode up. "For God's sake, sire, call back the troops! They are coming up like the swarms of locusts we have seen in Palestine. Their spears are like corn in August."
"We will reap them," cried Philip, starting up with a triumphant smile upon his lip,--"we will reap them!--To arms! Warriors, to arms!" And putting his foot in the stirrup, he stood with his hand upon the horse's neck, turning to those about him, and multiplying his orders with the prompt activity of his keen all-grasping mind. "The oriflamme has passed the bridge; speed to bring it back, Renault.--Hugo, to the Count of St. Pol! bid him return with all haste.--De Coucy, I did you wrong--forget it, and strike this day as you are wont.--Guerin, array the host as we determined. See that the faithful communes be placed in our own battle, but let Arras and Amiens hold the second line. Let the barons and the knights stretch out as far as may be;--remember! every man's own lance and shield must be his safeguard.--Eustache, speed to the Count de Beaumont; bid him re-pass the river at the ford, and take his place at the right.--Now, Guerin, hasten! Let the sergeants of Soissons begin the battle, that the enemy may be broken ere the knights charge.--Away, De Coucy! Lead Tankerville well, and win the day.--Guillaume de Mortemar, stay by our person."
Such were some of the orders given by Philip Augustus: then, springing on his horse, he received his casque, and, raising the visor, sat in silence gazing upon the field, which was clear and open on all sides, except the road, through which the troops were still seen approaching towards the bridge; and which, in the other direction, wound away towards Tournay, through some small woods and valleys that hid the rear guard from view.
In the meanwhile, Guerin, whose long experience as a knight hospitaller qualified him well to marshal the army, hastened to array all the troops that had yet arrived on the plain, taking care to keep the entrance of the bridge free, that the forces which had already passed and were returning upon their steps, might take up their position without confusion and disarray. At that moment, a messenger arrived in breathless haste from the rear of the army, stating that the enemy were already engaged with the light troops of Auxerre, who sustained themselves with difficulty, and demanded help. But even while he spoke, the two bodies engaged issued forth upon the plain; and the spears of the whole imperial army began to bristle over the hills.
The trumpets of the French sounded as their enemies appeared; and it seemed that the emperor was not a little surprised to find his adversary so well prepared to meet him.
Whether the unexpected sight of so large a body of troops drawn up to oppose them embarrassed the confederates and deranged their plans, or whether Philip's first line covering the bridge they did not perceive that a great part of his forces were still either on the other side of the river, or engaged in repassing it, cannot now be told; but they took no advantage of so favourable a moment for attack. The body engaged with the rear of Philip's army was called back; and wheeling to the right of the road by which they came, they took up their position on the slope of the hills to the north of the plain, while Philip eagerly seized the opportunity of displaying his forces on the southern side, thus having the eyes of his soldiers turned away from the burning sun, that shone full in the faces of the adverse host. An army commanded by many chiefs, is of course never well led; for what may be gained by consultation is ever lost by indecision; and the two great faults thus committed by the confederates were probably owing to the uncertainty of their councils.
However that might be, they suffered Philip greatly to recover the unity of his forces, and to take up the best position on the field; after which succeeded a pause, as if they hesitated to begin the strife, though theirs had been the party to follow and to urge their enemy to a battle, and though they had overtaken him at the precise moment which they had themselves planned, and in which an attack must have proved the most disastrous.
CHAPTER XIII.
For several minutes after the two armies were thus ranged opposite each other, both stood without motion, gazing on the adverse host. The front line was composed almost entirely of cavalry, which formed in those days the great strength of an army, and uniformly decided the event of a battle; but between the long battalions of the knights and men-at-arms were ranged close bodies of cross-bowmen and archers, who waited but a signal to commence the engagement with their missiles.
Standing thus face to face, with but a narrow space between them, the two hosts seemed as if contemplating the glittering array of the field, which, if we may believe the "branch of royal lineages," offered on either part as splendid a pageant as ever a royal court exhibited on fête or tournament. "There," it says in its naif jargon, "you might see many a pleasant coat of arms, and many a neat and gentle device, tissued of gold and various shining colours, blue, vermilion, yellow, and green. There were to be seen serried shields, and neighing horses, and ringing arms, pennons and banners, and helms and glittering crests."
To the left of the imperial army appeared Ferrand, Count of Flanders, with an immense host of hardy Flemings, together with the Count de Boulogne and several other of the minor confederates; while, opposed to him, was the young Duke of Champagne, the Duke of Burgundy, and the men of the commune of Soissons. To the right of the imperial army was a small body of English, with the Duke of Brabant and his forces in face of the Comte de Dreux, the Bishop of Beauvais, and a body of the troops of the clergy; while in the centre of each host, and conspicuous to both, were Otho, Emperor of Germany, and Philip Augustus of France, commanding in person the chosen knights of either monarchy.
In the midst of the dark square of lances that surrounded the emperor was to be seen a splendid car, from the centre of which rose a tall pole, bearing on the top the imperial standard, a golden eagle hovering above a dragon; while, beside Philip Augustus, was borne the royal banner of France,[29] consisting of an azure field embroidered with fleurs de lis of gold. On either hand of the king were ranged the knights selected to attend his person, whom we find named as William des Barres, Barthelmy de Roye, Peter de Malvoisin, Gerard Scropha, Steven of Longchamp, William of Mortemar, John of Rouvrai, William de Garlande, and Henry, Count de Bar, all men distinguished in arms, and chosen for their high and chivalrous qualities.
A dead silence pervaded the field. Each host, as we have said, gazed upon the other, still and motionless, waiting in awful expectation the first movement which should begin the horrid scene of carnage about to follow. It wanted but a word--a sign--the levelling of a lance--the sounding of a trumpet, to cast the whole dark mass of bloodthirsty insects there assembled into strife and mutual destruction: but yet there was a pause; as if each monarch felt the dreadful responsibility which that signal would bring upon his head, and hesitated to give it. Some reflections of the kind certainly passed through the mind of Philip Augustus; for, turning to William de Mortemar, he said, "We must begin the fight--I seek not their blood, but God gives us a right to defend ourselves. They have leagued to crush me, and the carnage of this day be upon their head. Where is the oriflamme?" he continued, looking round for the consecrated banner of St. Denis.
"It has not yet repassed the river, sire," replied Gerard Scropha. "I heard the tramp of the communes still coming over the bridge, and filling up the ranks behind. The oriflamme was the first banner that passed, and therefore of course will be the last that returns.
"We must not wait for it then," said the king. "Henry de Bar, speed to Guerin, who is on the right, with the Count de St. Paul; bid them begin the battle by throwing in a few men-at-arms to shake that heavy line of the Flemings. Then let the knights charge."
The young count bowed low, and set spurs to his horse; but his very passage along the line was a signal for the confederates to commence the fight. A flight of arrows and quarrels instantly darkened the sky, and fell thick as hail amongst the ranks of the French; the trumpets sounded, the lances were levelled, and two of the king's chaplains, who were placed at a little distance behind him, began to sing the hundred and forty-third Psalm, while the tears rolled plentifully from their eyes, from the effects of mingled fear, agitation, and devotion.
In the meanwhile, an hundred and fifty sergeants of arms charged the whole force of the Count of Flanders, according to the order of the king. His intention was completely fulfilled.[30] Dropping the points of their lances, the French men-at-arms cast themselves into the midst of the Flemish knights, who, indignant at being attacked by men who had not received the honours of chivalry, fell upon them furiously, with little regard to their own good order.
In an instant, the horses of the French men-at-arms were all slain; but being men of the commune of Soissons, trained to fight on foot as well as on horseback, they prolonged the fight hand to hand with the enemy's knights, and completely succeeded in throwing the centre of the imperial left wing into disarray. At that moment, the battalion of knights, under the Count de St. Paul, charged in support of the men-at-arms, and with their long lances levelled in line swept all before them, cleaving through the host of Flemings, and scattering them abroad upon the plain, as a thunderbolt strikes a pine, and rends it into atoms.
The strife, thus begun upon the right wing of the royal army, soon communicated itself to the centre; where, on a small mound sat Philip Augustus, viewing with a calm observing eye the progress of the battle, though gradually the dust and steam of the fight, and the confused groups of the combatants, falling every moment into greater disorder, would have confounded a less keen and experienced glance than his.
Though the left was now also engaged, the monarch's eye principally rested upon the right wing of his forces, where the Count of St. Paul, the Dukes of Burgundy and Champagne, were still struggling hard with the Flemings, whose second and third line, having come up, had turned the fortune of the day, and were driving back the French towards the river.
"By the Lord of Heaven! Burgundy is down!" cried Philip. "Ho, Michael, gallop to Sir Guy de Coucy; tell him to charge with the men of Tankerville, to support the good Duke of Burgundy! Away!"
The sergeant to whom he spoke galloped off like lightning to the spot where De Coucy was placed as a reserve.
"By Heaven! the duke is down, and his banner too!" continued the king, turning to Guerin, who now had joined him. "De Coucy moves not yet. St. Denis to boot! they will turn our flank. Is the knight a coward or mad?--Away, Guerin! Bid him charge for his honour."
But the king saw not what De Coucy saw, that a fresh corps of the confederates was debouching from the road behind the imperial army. If he attacked the Flemings before this body had advanced, he not only left his own rear unguarded, but the flank of the whole army totally exposed. He paused, therefore notwithstanding the critical situation of the Duke of Burgundy, till such time as this fresh body had, in the hurry and confusion of their arrival, advanced between him and the Flemings.
Then, however, the fifteen hundred lances he commanded were levelled in an instant: the trumpets sounded, the chargers sprang forward, and, hurled like an avalanche against the flank of this newly arrived corps, the squadron of De Coucy drove them in pell-mell upon the Flemings, forced the Flemings themselves back upon the troops of the emperor, and left a clear space for the soldiers of Burgundy and Champagne, to rally round their chiefs.
"Brave De Coucy!" cried the king, who had marked the manœuvre. "Good knight! Stout lance! All goes down before him. Burgundy is up. His banner waves again. Ride, Walter the young, and compliment the duke for me. Who are these coming down? I cannot see for the dust."
"They are the burgesses of Compiègne and Abbeville, and the oriflamme, sire," replied Guillaume des Barres. "They want a taste of the fight, and are forcing themselves in between us and those Saxon serfs, who are advancing straight towards us."
As he spoke the men of the communes, eager to signalise themselves in the service of a king who had done so much for them, marched boldly into the very front of the battle, and mingled hand to hand with an immense body of German infantry that were approaching rapidly towards the king.
The French communes, however, were inferior to the burly Saxons, both in number and in strength; and were, after an obstinate fight, driven back to the very foot of the mound on which Philip was placed. The knights and men-at-arms who surrounded him, seeing the battle so near the monarch's person, charged through the ranks of the burgesses, and, mingling with the Saxon infantry, cut them down in all directions with their long heavy swords. The German cavalry again spurred forward to support their own communes; and the fight became general around the immediate person of the monarch, who remained on the summit of the hillock, with no one but the Count de Montigny, bearing his standard, and Sir Stephen of Longchamp, who had refrained from following the rest into the melée.
"For God's sake! sire, retire a little!" said the knight: "if you are hurt, all is lost."
"Not a step, for a thousand empires!" replied the king, drawing down his visor and unsheathing his sword, as he beheld three or four German knights spurring towards him at full career, followed by a large troop of footmen, contending with the burghers of Compiègne. "We must do our devoir as a knight as well as a king, Sir Stephen."
"Mine then as a knight!" cried Stephen of Longchamp, laying his lance in rest; and on he galloped at the foremost of the German knights, whom he hurled dead from his horse, pierced from side to side with the iron of the spear.
The German that followed, however, without, spending a blow on the French knight's casque, plunged his sword in his horse's chest, at a spot where the iron barding was wanting. Rider and horse went down at once; and the German, springing to the ground, drew a long knife from his side, and knelt upon his prostrate adversary's chest.
"Denis Mountjoy!" cried the king, galloping on to the aid of his faithful follower. "Denis Mountjoy! au secours!"; But before he could arrive, the German knight had plunged his knife through the bars of the fallen man's helmet, and Stephen Longchamp was no more. The monarch avenged him, however, if he could not save; and, as the Saxon's head was bent down, accomplishing his bloody purpose, he struck him so fierce a blow on the back of his neck, with the full sway of a vigorous and practised arm, that the hood of his mail shirt yielded at once to the blow, and the edge of the weapon drove on through the backbone.
At that moment, however, the king found himself surrounded on every side by the German foot, who hemmed him in with their short pikes. The only knight who was near him was the Count de Montigny, bearing the royal banner; and nothing was to be seen around but the fierce faces of the Saxon pikemen looking out from under their steel caps, drawing their circle closer and closer round him, and fixing their eager eyes upon the crown that he wore on the crest of his helmet--or else the forms of some German knights at a short distance, whirling about like armed phantoms, through the clouds of dust that enveloped the whole scene.
Still Philip fought with desperate valour, plunging his horse into the ranks of the pikemen, and dealing sweeping blows around with his sword, which four or five times succeeded in clearing the space immediately before him.
Well and nobly too did the Count de Montigny do his devoir, holding with one hand the royal banner, which he raised and depressed continually, to give notice to all eyes of the monarch's danger, and striking with the other on every side round Philip's person, which he thus protected for many minutes from the near approach of his enemies.
It was in vain, however, that the king and his banner-bearer displayed such feats of chivalrous valour. Closer and closer the German burgesses hemmed them in. Many of the Saxon knights became attracted by the sight of the royal banner, and were urging their horses through the melée towards the spot where the conflict was raging so fiercely, when one of the serfs crept close to the king's charger. Philip felt his horse reeling underneath him; and, in a moment, the animal fell to the ground, bearing its rider down along with it.
A hundred of the long, three-edged knives, with which many of the Saxons fought that day, were instantly at the King's throat, and at the bars of his helmet. One thought of Agnes--one brief prayer to Heaven, was all that seemed allowed to Philip Augustus; but that moment, the shout of "Auvergne! Auvergne!" rang upon his ear and yielded hope.
With his head bent down to his saddle-bow, receiving a thousand blows as he came, his horse all in foam and blood, his armour hacked, dented, and broken, Thibalt d'Auvergne clove the hostile press with the fierce rapidity of a falcon in its stoop. He checked his horse but by the royal banner; he sprang to the ground; dashed, weltering to the earth, the boors who were kneeling on the prostrate body of the king, and, striding over it, whirled his immense mace round his head, at every blow sending the soul of some Saxon on the cold pilgrimage of death. The burgesses reeled back; but at the same time the knights who had been advancing, hurled themselves upon the Count d'Auvergne, and heaped blow upon blow on his head.
The safety of the whole host--the life and death, or captivity of the king--the destiny of all Europe--perhaps of all the world, depended at that moment on the arm of a madman. But that arm bore it all nobly up; and, though his armour was actually hewn from his flesh, and he himself bleeding from an hundred wounds, he wavered not a step; but, still striding over the body of the king, as he lay unable to rise, from the weight of his horse resting on his thigh, maintained his ground till, knight after knight arriving on both sides, the combat became more equal.
Still the fight around the royal banner was doubtful, when the battle-cry of De Coucy was heard approaching. "A Coucy! A Coucy! St. Michael! St. Michael!" rang over the plain; and the long lances of Tankerville, which had twice completely traversed and retraversed the enemy's line,[31] were seen sweeping on, in unbroken masses, like a thunder-cloud advancing over the heaven. The regular order they had still preserved, as well as their admirable training, and confidence in their leader, gave them vast superiority. The German pikemen were trampled under their tread. The knights were forced back at the point of the spear; the communes of Compiègne and Abbeville rallied behind them, and, in a short time, the field around the royal banner was once more clear of all enemies.
The first thing was to free the king from the weight of his horse, which had been stabbed in the neck, and was now quite dead. The monarch rose; but, before he remounted, though there were a thousand horses held ready for him, and a thousand voices pressing him to mount, he exclaimed, "Where is the Count d'Auvergne? I owe him life.--Stand back, Guillaume des Barres! your foot is on his chest. That is he in the black armour!"
It was indeed the unhappy Count d'Auvergne, who had borne up under a multitude of wounds, till the life of the king was in safety. He had then fallen in the melée, striking still, and lay upon a heap of dead that his hand had made. By the king's order, his casque was instantly unlaced; and Philip himself, kneeling beside him, raised his head upon his knee, and gazed in the ashy face to see if the flame of life's frail lamp was extinct indeed in the breast of him who had saved him from the tomb.
D'Auvergne opened his eyes, and looked faintly in the face of the monarch. His lips moved, but no sound issued from them.
"If thou diest, Auvergne," said Philip, in the fulness of his gratitude, "I have lost my best subject."
The count made another effort to speak. The king stooped over him, and inclined his ear. "Tell her," said the broken accents of the dying man,--"tell her--that for her love--I died--to save your life."
"I will," said Philip Augustus!--"on my faith, I will! and I know her not, or she will weep your fall."
There was something like a faint smile played round the dying knight's lip; his eyes fixed upon the king, and the spirit that lighted them passed away for ever!
"Farewell, Auvergne!" said the king. "Des Barres, see his body removed and honoured. And now, good knights," cried he, springing on horseback, "how fares the fight? My eyes have been absent too long. But, by my faith! you have worked well while I was down. The enemy's left is flying, or my sight deceives me."
"'Tis true, my lord;--'tis true!" replied Guillaume des Barres; "and Ferrand of Flanders himself is taken by the Duke of Burgundy."
"Thank God for that!" cried Philip, and he turned his eyes quickly to the centre. "They seem in strange confusion there. Where is the imperial standard? Where is Otho himself?"
"Otho has to do with Peter of Malvoisin and Gerard the Sow," replied William des Barres, laughing, "and finds them unpleasant neighbours doubtless. But do you know, sire, that a pike head is sticking in your cuirass?"
"Mind not that!" cried the king; "Let us charge! Otho's ranks are broken; his men dispersed; one gallant charge, and the day is ours. Down with your lances, De Coucy! Men of Soissons, follow the king! knights, remember your own renown! Burghers, fight for your firesides! Denis Mountjoy! Upon them! Charge!"
It was the critical moment. Otho might have rallied; and his forces were still more than double those of the king; while the Count de Boulogne and the English, though the Earl of Salisbury had been dashed from his horse by the mace of the bellicose Bishop of Beauvais, were still maintaining the fight to the left. The well-timed and well-executed charge of the king, however, accompanied, as he was, by the choice chivalry of his realm, who had gathered about him to his rescue, decided the fate of the day. The Germans fled in confusion. Otho himself narrowly escaped being taken; and though a part of the right wing of the confederates retreated in somewhat better array, yet the defeat even there was complete, and the Earl of Salisbury and the Count de Boulogne were both made prisoners.
For nearly six hours the combat lasted; and, when at last the flight was complete, the number of prisoners was so great, that Philip dared not allow his troops to pursue the fugitives for any length of way, lest he should be mastered at last by those he had just conquered.
At five o'clock the trumpets sounded to the standard to recall the pursuers; and thus ended the famous battle of Bovines--a strife and a victory scarcely paralleled in history.