I Serve by Rosanne E. Lortz Read Free Book Online Page B

horsemen leaped forward impeding the Genoese in their flight and urging them to remember their duty. But soon it became apparent that the crossbowmen had lost all heart; they would not return to the ridge no matter how much urging they received. With swords turned into scythes, the French horsemen began to cut them down. The Genoese, instead of being an asset, were now an obstacle that must be removed.
    “ Send me a volley into their horse,” commanded the prince. The English archers complied. The riot beneath the ridge grew louder as the neighs of stricken steeds combined with the groans of dying men. Philip sent more men into the fray, attempting to overcome the accuracy of our archers with the sheer magnitude of his host. Through unflagging perseverance, several companies of their mounted knights crossed the sea of confusion to reach our lines. Our archers broke ranks immediately and retired to the flank; their arrows were no match for armed riders in such close proximity. Our men-at-arms braced themselves for the onslaught. The hidden pits slowed the French horses down a little, but it was still a thunderous clash when their host met ours in hand to hand combat.
    “ Montjoy and Saint Denis!” they cried.
    “ England and Saint George!” was our response. It was well that our archers had felled so many of their knights; we had more than enough to do with the ones who reached us. I laid about me right and left with my sword, fighting frantically to keep the Frenchmen off and to stay near my master’s side. Chandos fought more coolly, with his experienced eye trained on the prince all the while.
    “ God’s blood!” roared Sir James Audley, after we had been immersed in the melee for half an hour or more. “This battle presses thicker than marsh fog.”
    “ I can keep near him no longer!” said Chandos, and indeed, the rushing tide of men had swept between us and the prince. His highness was still mounted, but the jet-black brilliance of his armor had dulled to an earthy red. Only a few of our knights kept pace with him as he cut deeper and deeper into the lines of the enemy.
    “ He’s fearless as his father!” cried Chandos, as the prince urged forward his horse to cross swords with a knight twice his girth. In a moment more we could barely see him; our whole company was pushed back and engaged in hard battle.
    “ Shall we send for help?” demanded Audley.
    “ What says Warwick?” replied Chandos.
    But Warwick was as separated from us as the prince, far to the right of the fray. “Boy!” said Chandos quickly, “Do you see Warwick over yonder?”
    “ Aye,” said I confidently, and pointed him out where he stood.
    “ Go to him. Ask him how the battle stands from there. And tell him we cannot keep the prince in blade’s range of his bodyguard. If he will, bid him send for the second division to come to our aid.”
    It was no easy matter to reach Warwick. The slope of the hill had liquefied from the rain, the blood, and the heavy trampling. I slipped several times in the mud as I dodged here and there to avoid encountering the enemy. One little man-at-arms gave chase and I was forced to delay my mission to parry his blows. But the mud proved as treacherous to him as it had to me. His legs lost footing and I drove my sword into the joints of his armor, right where the breastplate meets the helmet.
    After dispatching this assailant, I looked again for Warwick. I sighted the red pennant with the yellow bar fluttering nearby. But before I could reach it, I heard a familiar bellow and glimpsed the one-eyed bull making the sound. Behind me stood Sir Thomas Holland, the man who had captured the Constable at Caen. His shield hung carelessly in his left hand while he struck out fiercely with his right. I stepped backwards before I was trampled or cut in two. “We are friends!” cried I. “Leave off, man!”
    “ You are English, boy?” Sir Thomas cried in disbelief. “Sweet mother of God! Then take a stand!