At last the Douglas and the Percy met and fought with swords of Milan steel till the blood spurted like rain and hail from their helmets. "Hold thee, Percy," said Douglas, "and I will bring thee to James, our Scottish king, where thou shalt have an earl’s wages and free ransom, for thou art the manfullest man that ever yet I conquered fighting in the field." "Nay, then," said Lord Percy. "I told thee before that never would I yield to any man of woman born." With that there came an arrow hastily from a mighty man, and struck Earl Douglas through the breast bone, and never more did he speak a word but only this: "Fight, my merry men, while ye may—my life’s days are done." Then Percy leaned on his hand, and when he saw the Douglas die, he said, "Woe is me. I would have parted with my land for three years to have saved thy life, for a better man of heart and hand was not in all the north country." But Sir Hugh Montgomery, a Scottish knight, when he saw the Douglas done to death, grasped a spear and rode through a hundred archers, never slackening his pace till he came to Lord Percy, whom he set upon, sending his mighty spear clean through his body, so that a man might see a long cloth-yard and more at the other side. There were no two better captains in Christendom than were that day slain. When one of the Northumberland archers saw this, he drew an arrow to his bow and set upon Montgomery, until the swan feathers of his arrows were wet with his heart’s blood. Not one man gave way, but still they stood hewing at each other, while they were able. This battle began in Cheviot, an hour before noon, nor was it half done at evensong, but they fought on by moonlight though many had scarce the strength to stand. Of fifteen hundred English archers only fifty-three remained, and of two thousand Scottish spearmen only fifty-five remained, all the rest being slain in Cheviot. With Lord Percy were slain, Sir John of Agerstone, Sir Roger the gentle Hartly, Sir William the bold Heron, Sir George the worthy Lovel, a renowned knight, and Sir Ralph the rich Rugby. Woe was it that Witherington was slain, for when both his legs were hewn in two he kneeled and fought on his knees. With the brave Douglas were slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, and worthy Sir Davy Liddle, that was his sister’s son; Sir Charles, a Murray who refused to flee, and Sir Hugh Maxwell. On the morrow they made biers of birch and grey hazel, and many widows bore weeping from the field the bodies of their dead husbands. Well may Teviotdale and Northumberland wail and moan for two such great captains. Word came to James the Scottish king at Edinburgh, that the brave Douglas, Lieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in Cheviot, and he wept and wrung his hands, and said, "Alas! Woe is me; there will never be such another captain in Scotland."