The Betrothed

Chapter 4

Beside yon brigg out ower yon burn,

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,

Shall many a falling courser spurn,

And knights shall die in battle keen.

PROPHECY OF THOMAS THE RHYMER.

The daughter of Raymond Berenger, with the attendants whom we have

mentioned, continued to remain upon the battlements of the Garde

Doloureuse, in spite of the exhortations of the priest that she

would rather await the issue of this terrible interval in the

chapel, and amid the rites of religion. He perceived, at length,

that she was incapable, from grief and fear, of attending to, or

understanding his advice; and, sitting down beside her, while the

huntsman and Rose Flammock stood by, endeavoured to suggest such

comfort as perhaps he scarcely felt himself.

"This is but a sally of your noble father's," he said; "and though

it may seem it is made on great hazard, yet who ever questioned

Sir Raymond Berenger's policy of wars?--He is close and secret in

his purposes. I guess right well he had not marched out as he

proposes, unless he knew that the noble Earl of Arundel, or the

mighty Constable of Chester, were close at hand."

"Think you this assuredly, good father?--Go, Raoul--go, my dearest

Rose--look to the east--see if you cannot descry banners or clouds

of dust.--Listen--listen--hear you no trumpets from that quarter?"

"Alas! my lady," said Raoul, "the thunder of heaven could scarce

be heard amid the howling of yonder Welsh wolves." Eveline turned

as he spoke, and looking towards the bridge, she beheld an

appalling spectacle. The river, whose stream washes on three sides

the base of the proud eminence on which the castle is situated,

curves away from the fortress and its corresponding village on the

west, and the hill sinks downward to an extensive plain, so

extremely level as to indicate its alluvial origin. Lower down, at

the extremity of this plain, where the banks again close on the

river, were situated the manufacturing houses of the stout

Flemings, which were now burning in a bright flame. The bridge, a

high, narrow combination of arches of unequal size, was about half

a mile distant from the castle, in the very centre of the plain.

The river itself ran in a deep rocky channel, was often

unfordable, and at all times difficult of passage, giving

considerable advantage to the defenders of the castle, who had

spent on other occasions many a dear drop of blood to defend the

pass, which Raymond Berenger's fantastic scruples now induced him

to abandon. The Welshmen, seizing the opportunity with the avidity

with which men grasp an unexpected benefit, were fast crowding

over the high and steep arches, while new bands, collecting from

different points upon the farther bank, increased the continued

stream of warriors, who, passing leisurely and uninterrupted,

formed their line of battle on the plain opposite to the castle.

At first Father Aldrovand viewed their motions without anxiety,

nay, with the scornful smile of one who observes an enemy in the

act of falling into the snare spread for them by superior skill.

Raymond Berenger, with his little body of infantry and cavalry,

were drawn up on the easy hill which is betwixt the castle and the

plain, ascending from the former towards the fortress; and it

seemed clear to the Dominican, who had not entirely forgotten in

the cloister his ancient military experience, that it was the

Knight's purpose to attack the disordered enemy when a certain

number had crossed the river, and the others were partly on the

farther side, and partly engaged in the slow and perilous

manoeuvre of effecting their passage. But when large bodies of the

white-mantled Welshmen were permitted without interruption to take

such order on the plain as their habits of fighting recommended,

the monk's countenance, though he still endeavoured to speak

encouragement to the terrified Eveline, assumed a different and an

anxious expression; and his acquired habits of resignation

contended strenuously with his ancient military ardour. "Be

patient," he said, "my daughter, and be of good comfort; thine

eyes shall behold the dismay of yonder barbarous enemy. Let but a

minute elapse, and thou shalt see them scattered like dust.--Saint

George! they will surely cry thy name now, or never!"

The monk's beads passed meanwhile rapidly through his hands, but

many an expression of military impatience mingled itself with his

orisons. He could not conceive the cause why each successive

throng of mountaineers, led under their different banners, and

headed by their respective chieftains, was permitted, without

interruption, to pass the difficult defile, and extend themselves

in battle array on the near side of the bridge, while the English,

or rather Anglo-Norman cavalry, remained stationary, without so

much as laying their lances in rest. There remained, as he

thought, but one hope--one only rational explanation of this

unaccountable inactivity--this voluntary surrender of every

advantage of ground, when that of numbers was so tremendously on

the side of the enemy. Father Aldrovand concluded, that the

succours of the Constable of Chester, and other Lord Marchers,

must be in the immediate vicinity, and that the Welsh were only

permitted to pass the river without opposition, that their retreat

might be the more effectually cut off, and their defeat, with a

deep river in their rear, rendered the more signally calamitous.

But even while he clung to this hope, the monk's heart sunk within

him, as, looking in every direction from which the expected

succours might arrive, he could neither see nor hear the slightest

token which announced their approach. In a frame of mind

approaching more nearly to despair than to hope, the old man

continued alternately to tell his beads, to gaze anxiously around,

and to address some words of consolation in broken phrases to the

young lady, until the general shout of the Welsh, ringing from the

bank of the river to the battlements of the castle, warned him, in

a note of exultation, that the very last of the British had

defiled through the pass, and that their whole formidable array

stood prompt for action upon the hither side of the river.

This thrilling and astounding clamour, to which each Welshman lent

his voice with all the energy of defiance, thirst of battle, and

hope of conquest, was at length answered by the blast of the

Norman trumpets,--the first sign of activity which had been

exhibited on the part of Raymond Berenger. But cheerily as they

rang, the trumpets, in comparison of the shout which they

answered, sounded like the silver whistle of the stout boatswain

amid the howling of the tempest.

At the same moment when the trumpets were blown, Berenger gave

signal to the archers to discharge their arrows, and the men-at-

arms to advance under a hail-storm of shafts, javelins, and

stones, shot, darted, and slung by the Welsh against their steel-

clad assailants.

The veterans of Raymond, on the other hand, stimulated by so many

victorious recollections, confident in the talents of their

accomplished leader, and undismayed even by the desperation of

their circumstances, charged the mass of the Welshmen with their

usual determined valour. It was a gallant sight to see this little

body of cavalry advance to the onset, their plumes floating above

their helmets, their lances in rest, and projecting six feet in

length before the breasts of their coursers; their shields hanging

from their necks, that their left hands might have freedom to

guide their horses; and the whole body rushing on with an equal

front, and a momentum of speed which increased with every second.

Such an onset might have startled naked men, (for such were the

Welsh, in respect of the mail-sheathed Normans,) but it brought no

terrors to the ancient British, who had long made it their boast

that they exposed their bare bosoms and white tunics to the lances

and swords of the men-at-arms, with as much confidence as if they

had been born invulnerable. It was not indeed in their power to

withstand the weight of the first shock, which, breaking their

ranks, densely as they were arranged, carried the barbed horses

into the very centre of their host, and well-nigh up to the fatal

standard, to which Raymond Berenger, bound by his fatal vow, had

that day conceded so much vantage-ground. But they yielded like

the billows, which give way, indeed, to the gallant ship, but only

to assail her sides, and to unite in her wake. With wild and

horrible clamours, they closed their tumultuous ranks around

Berenger and his devoted followers, and a deadly scene of strife

ensued.

The best warriors of Wales had on this occasion joined the

standard of Gwenwyn; the arrows of the men of Gwentland, whose

skill in archery almost equalled that of the Normans themselves,

rattled on the helmets of the men-at-arms; and the spears of the

people of Deheubarth, renowned for the sharpness and temper of

their steel heads, were employed against the cuirasses not without

fatal effect, notwithstanding the protection, which these afforded

to the rider.

It was in vain that the archery belonging to Raymond's little

band, stout yeomen, who, for the most part, held possession by

military tenure, exhausted their quivers on the broad mark

afforded them by the Welsh army. It is probable, that every shaft

carried a Welshman's life on its point; yet, to have afforded

important relief to the cavalry, now closely and inextricably

engaged, the slaughter ought to have been twenty-fold at least.

Meantime, the Welsh, galled by this incessant discharge, answered

it by volleys from their own archers, whose numbers made some

amends for their inferiority, and who were supported by numerous

bodies of darters and slingers. So that the Norman archers, who

had more than once attempted to descend from their position to

operate a diversion in favour of Raymond and his devoted band,

were now so closely engaged in front, as obliged them to abandon

all thoughts of such a movement.

Meanwhile, that chivalrous leader, who from the first had hoped

for no more than an honourable death, laboured with all his power

to render his fate signal, by involving in it that of the Welsh

Prince, the author of the war. He cautiously avoided the

expenditure of his strength by hewing among the British; but, with

the shock of his managed horse, repelled the numbers who pressed

on him, and leaving the plebeians to the swords of his companions,

shouted his war-cry, and made his way towards the fatal standard

of Gwenwyn, beside which, discharging at once the duties of a

skilful leader and a brave soldier, the Prince had stationed

himself. Raymond's experience of the Welsh disposition, subject

equally to the highest flood, and most sudden ebb of passion, gave

him some hope that a successful attack upon this point, followed

by the death or capture of the Prince, and the downfall of his

standard, might even yet strike such a panic, as should change the

fortunes of the day, otherwise so nearly desperate. The veteran,

therefore, animated his comrades to the charge by voice and

example; and, in spite of all opposition, forced his way gradually

onward. But Gwenwyn in person, surrounded by his best and noblest

champions, offered a defence as obstinate as the assault was

intrepid. In vain they were borne to the earth by the barbed

horses, or hewed down by the invulnerable riders. Wounded and

overthrown, the Britons continued their resistance, clung round

the legs of the Norman steeds, and cumbered their advance while

their brethren, thrusting with pikes, proved every joint and

crevice of the plate and mail, or grappling with the men-at-arms,

strove to pull them from their horses by main force, or beat them

down with their bills and Welsh hooks. And wo betide those who

were by these various means dismounted, for the long sharp knives

worn by the Welsh, soon pierced them with a hundred wounds, and

were then only merciful when the first inflicted was deadly.

The combat was at this point, and had raged for more than half an

hour, when Berenger, having forced his horse within two spears'

length of the British standard, he and Gwenwyn were so near to

each other as to exchange tokens of mutual defiance.

"Turn thee, Wolf of Wales," said Berenger, "and abide, if thou

darest, one blow of a good knight's sword! Raymond Berenger spits

at thee and thy banner."

"False Norman churl!" said Gwenwyn, swinging around his head a

mace of prodigious weight, and already clottered with blood, "thy

iron headpiece shall ill protect thy lying tongue, with which I

will this day feed the ravens."

Raymond made no farther answer, but pushed his horse towards the

Prince, who advanced to meet him with equal readiness. But ere

they came within reach of each other's weapons, a Welsh champion,

devoted like the Romans who opposed the elephants of Pyrrhus,

finding that the armour of Raymond's horse resisted the repeated

thrusts of his spear, threw himself under the animal, and stabbed

him in the belly with his long knife. The noble horse reared and

fell, crushing with his weight the Briton who had wounded him; the

helmet of the rider burst its clasps in the fall, and rolled away

from his head, giving to view his noble features and gray hairs.

He made more than one effort to extricate himself from the fallen

horse, but ere he could succeed, received his death-wound from the

hand of Gwenwyn, who hesitated not to strike him down with his

mace while in the act of extricating himself.

During the whole of this bloody day, Dennis Morolt's horse had

kept pace for pace, and his arm blow for blow, with his master's.

It seemed as if two different bodies had been moving under one act

of volition. He husbanded his strength, or put it forth, exactly

as he observed his knight did, and was close by his side, when he

made the last deadly effort. At that fatal moment, when Raymond

Berenger rushed on the chief, the brave squire forced his way up

to the standard, and, grasping it firmly, struggled for possession

of it with a gigantic Briton, to whose care it had been confided,

and who now exerted his utmost strength to defend it. But even

while engaged in this mortal struggle, the eye of Morolt scarcely

left his master; and when he saw him fall, his own force seemed by

sympathy to abandon him, and the British champion had no longer

any trouble in laying him prostrate among the slain.

The victory of the British was now complete. Upon the fall of

their leader, the followers of Raymond Berenger would willingly

have fled or surrendered. But the first was impossible, so closely

had they been enveloped; and in the cruel wars maintained by the

Welsh upon their frontiers, quarter to the vanquished was out of

question. A few of the men-at-arms were lucky enough to

disentangle themselves from the tumult, and, not even attempting

to enter the castle, fled in various directions, to carry their

own fears among the inhabitants of the marches, by announcing the

loss of the battle, and the fate of the far-renowned Raymond

Berenger.

The archers of the fallen leader, as they had never been so deeply

involved in the combat, which had been chiefly maintained by the

cavalry, became now, in their turn, the sole object of the enemy's

attack. But when they saw the multitude come roaring towards them

like a sea, with all its waves, they abandoned the bank which they

had hitherto bravely defended, and began a regular retreat to the

castle in the best order which they could, as the only remaining

means of securing their lives. A few of their lightfooted enemies

attempted to intercept them, during the execution of this prudent

manoeuvre, by outstripping them in their march, and throwing

themselves into the hollow way which led to the castle, to oppose

their retreat. But the coolness of the English archers, accustomed

to extremities of every kind, supported them on the present

occasion. While a part of them, armed with glaives and bills,

dislodged the Welsh from the hollow way, the others, facing in the

opposite direction, and parted into divisions, which alternately

halted and retreated, maintained such a countenance as to check

pursuit, and exchange a severe discharge of missiles with the

Welsh, by which both parties were considerable sufferers.

At length, having left more than two-thirds of their brave

companions behind them, the yeomanry attained the point, which,

being commanded by arrows and engines from the battlements, might

be considered as that of comparative safety. A volley of large

stones, and square-headed bolts of great size and thickness,

effectually stopped the farther progress of the pursuit, and those

who had led it drew back their desultory forces to the plain,

where, with shouts of jubilee and exultation, their countrymen

were employed in securing the plunder of the field; while some,

impelled by hatred and revenge, mangled and mutilated the limbs of

the dead Normans, in a manner unworthy of their national cause and

their own courage. The fearful yells with which this dreadful work

was consummated, while it struck horror into the minds of the

slender garrison of the Garde Doloureuse, inspired them at the

same time with the resolution rather to defend the fortress to the

last extremity, than to submit to the mercy of so vengeful an

enemy. [Footnote: This is by no means exaggerated in the text. A

very honourable testimony was given to their valour by King Henry

II., in a letter to the Greek Emperor, Emanuel Commenus. This

prince having desired that an account might be sent him of all

that was remarkable in the island of Great Britain, Henry, in

answer to that request, was pleased to take notice, among other

particulars, of the extraordinary courage and fierceness of the

Welsh, who were not afraid to fight unarmed with enemies armed at

all points, valiantly shedding their blood in the cause of their

country, and purchasing glory at the expense of their lives.]