A March on London: Being a Story of Wat Tyler's InsurrectionHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
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A March on London: Being a Story of Wat Tyler's Insurrection
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Tyler's Insurrection, 1381 -- Juvenile fiction
Edgar saw that indeed his case was hopeless. A lance had pierced his
body, and had broken short off; a minute later he had breathed his
last. Edgar sprung upon his horse again, and looked round. Of the whole
of their retainers but four remained, and all of these were wounded.
"Art hurt, Albert?" he asked.
"Naught to speak of, but I am sorely bruised, and my head rings with
the blows I have had on my helmet."
"And you, Sir Eustace? I fear that you have fared less well."
"Wounded sorely," the English knight said. "But I can sit my horse, and
methinks that it were best to ride off at once, seeing the Flemings are
flying. We can assuredly do no good by remaining."
Edgar agreed. "Methinks that we had best ride for Sluys, and get there
before the news of the defeat."
As they rode off they looked back. Behind them were a host of flying
men, and many of them were throwing away their steel caps and armour to
run the more quickly. The battle had lasted only half an hour, but by
that time nine thousand Flemings had fallen, of whom more than half had
been suffocated by the press. The flight, however, was far more fatal
than the battle, for the French, as soon as the fight was won, mounted
their horses, and chased the Flemings so hotly that twenty-five
thousand were killed. The body of Van Artevelde was found after the
battle. It was without a wound, but was so trampled on as to be almost
unrecognizable. His body was taken and hung on a tree.
As they galloped off Edgar reined back to Hal Carter, who was one of
the survivors.
"I see that you are badly hurt, Hal. As soon as we get fairly away we
will halt, and I will bandage your wounds."
"They are of no great account, Sir Edgar. It was worth coming over from
England to take part in such a fray; the worst part of it was that it
did not last long enough."
"It lasted too long for many of us, Hal. You saved my life by that
warning shout you gave, for, most assuredly, I must have been borne
from my saddle had the blow struck me, unawares."
"It was a cowardly trick to charge a man when he was otherwise
engaged," Hal said. "But you paid him well for it, master; you fairly
crushed his helmet in."
Three miles on they halted in a wood to give the horses breathing time,
when those unhurt bandaged the wounds of the others. It was found that
Sir Eustace was so severely wounded that he could not go much farther,
and that two of the men-at-arms were in as bad a case; the third was a
Fleming.
"It were best to leave us here," Sir Eustace said. "We cannot ride much
farther."
"That we will not do," Edgar said. "Torhut is but four miles away. We
can ride at an easy pace, for the Flemings will make for Courtray and
Ghent, and the French will pursue in that direction. 'Tis not likely
that any will ride so far south as this."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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