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
"'Tis well for him that this armour was good," Sir Robert said. "Had it
not been, it would have gone hard with him. It must be steel of proof
indeed, for I saw the blow struck, and there are but few helmets that
would not have been crushed by it."
"He has a deep gash near the neck," the leech said. "The lacings and
straps of the helmet and gorget must have been cut by a sharp sword,
and another blow has fallen on the same spot. Methinks he has dropped
as much from loss of blood as from the blow on the head."
Edgar had by this time taken off his own helmet. As soon as he did so,
Sir Robert De Beaulieu, who was somewhat grizzled with age, said:
"In truth, sir knight, you and your companion are young indeed to have
fought so doughtily as you have done to-day; you are young to be
knights, and yet you have shown a courage and a skill such as no knight
could have surpassed. We had thought the affair finished when that
stout knight, Sir Hugh Calverley, was down with two others, and but
three or four remained on their feet. Then suddenly your party burst
upon us, coming from we knew not where, and had you but been reinforced
more rapidly the town would have been lost."
Edgar made no reply, for at the moment Hal Carter leant heavily against
him.
"I can do no more, Sir Edgar," he murmured; "I am spent."
Edgar caught the brave fellow in his arms and supported him, while two
men-at-arms, who had assisted to carry Albert in, unstrapped Hal's
armour and gently laid him down on a couch. He was bleeding from half a
dozen wounds, and his face was pale and bloodless. Edgar knelt by his
side and raised his head.
"I will see to him, sir knight," the surgeon said. "I have bandaged
your comrade's injuries, and methinks that he will soon come round."
Then he examined Hal's wounds.
"He will do," he said. "Assuredly there are none of them that are
mortal; 'tis but loss of blood that ails him. I will but bandage them
hastily now, for there are many other cases waiting for me, and
methinks, sir, that you yourself need looking to."
"I am unhurt," Edgar said, in surprise.
"Your doublet is stained with blood from the shoulder to the wrist,"
Sir Robert said. "A spear-head has penetrated at the shoulder-joint and
torn a gash well-nigh to the neck. 'Tis well that it is not worse."
Two of his men-at-arms had by this time taken off Sir Robert's armour
also.
"You have ruined my helmet, Sir Edgar, and cut so deep a notch in it
that I know not how my head escaped. You have gashed a hole in my
gorget and dinted the armour in half a dozen places, and I failed to
make a single mark on yours. Never was I engaged with so good a
swordsman. I could scarcely believe my eyes when you lifted your vizor,
for it seemed to me that you must be in the prime of your manhood, and
possessed of strength altogether out of the common."
"I have practised a good deal," Edgar said, quietly, "having indeed
little else to do, so it is not surprising that my muscles are hard."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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