Runnymede and Lincoln Fair : $b A story of the Great CharterEdgar, John G. (John George)
History
Runnymede and Lincoln Fair : $b A story of the Great Charter
Edgar, John G. (John George)
Great Britain -- History -- John, 1199-1216 -- Fiction
“All is lost!” exclaimed De Moreville, in the tone of a man vexed to the
heart’s core. “By St. Moden, methinks the heirs of the heroes of
Hastings have lost their very manhood while feasting and bull-baiting in
the company of citizens. Beshrew me if children with willow wands could
not have made a better fight than the Anglo-Norman warriors have this
day done.”
“My lord,” said Sir Anthony Waledger, nervously, “it seems to me that we
had better save ourselves.”
De Moreville, in spite of the serious position in which he was, laughed
at the drunken knight’s suggestion.
“On my faith, Sir Anthony,” replied he, as he exchanged a smile with his
young nephew Richard at the knight’s expense, “methinks, for once, you
are in the right in thinking rather of safety than renown, for, if we
escape not, we either yield or die. But whither are we to go?”
“To Chas-Chateil,” suggested Hornmouth, in a significant tone. “No safer
stronghold in all England, if matters come to the worst.”
“True,” said De Moreville, thoughtfully. “But,” added he, slowly, “after
this day’s work, no fortress in England, however strong, will long hold
out against King Henry. Therefore it is expedient to hold our course
northward, and take refuge at Mount Moreville. But my daughter, left to
her fate in London, and London certain to be surrendered!”
“She will be safe under the wing of Dame Waledger,” replied Hornmouth,
“and all the more for your absence, seeing that she is a kinswoman of my
Lord of Salisbury, and can easily, therefore, secure protection. Come,
my good lord, time flies; let us ride. This day fortune is against you,
but you may live to conquer again. Our enemies have broken near the
north gate as they entered; let us charge towards it, and fly while
there is yet time.”
“Ay,” said De Moreville, fiercely, “let us charge, but slaughtering the
rascally rabble as we go. See how they swarm. On! on! St. Moden for De
Moreville! Strike! strike! and spare not!”
And, setting spurs to his steed, the Norman baron, at the head of his
riders, charged towards the north gate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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