The Last of the Barons — Volume 12 by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton
page 40 of 62 (64%)
page 40 of 62 (64%)
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Gloucester, his helmet bruised and dinted, but the boar's teeth still
gnashing wrath and horror from the grisly crest. But direst and most hateful of all in the eyes of the yet undaunted earl, thither, plainly visible, riding scarcely a yard before him, with the cognizance of Clare wrought on his gay mantle, and in all the pomp and bravery of a holiday suit, came the perjured Clarence. Conflict now it could scarce be called: as well might the Dane have rolled back the sea from his footstool, as Warwick and his disordered troop (often and aye, dazzled here by Oxford's star, there by Edward's sun, dealing random blows against each other) have resisted the general whirl and torrent of the surrounding foe. To add to the rout, Somerset and the on-guard of his wing had been marching towards the earl at the very time that the cry of "treason" had struck their ears, and Edward's charge was made; these men, nearly all Lancastrians, and ever doubting Montagu, if not Warwick, with the example of Clarence and the Archbishop of York fresh before them, lost heart at once,--Somerset himself headed the flight of his force. "All is lost!" said Montagu, as side by side with Warwick the brothers fronted the foe, and for one moment stayed the rush. "Not yet," returned the earl; "a band of my northern archers still guard yon wood; I know them,--they will fight to the last gasp! Thither, then, with what men we may. You so marshal our soldiers, and I will make good the retreat. Where is Sir Marmaduke Nevile?" "Here!" "Horsed again, young cousin! I give thee a perilous commission. Take the path down the hill; the mists thicken in the hollows, and may hide |
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