And while he spoke, behind, before, came the various cries nearer and nearer. The lion of March was in the toils.
“Now, my two-handed sword!” said Edward. “Gloucester, in this weapon learn my choice!”
But now all the principal barons and captains, still true to the king whose crown was already lost, flocked in a body to the chamber. They fell on their knees, and with tears implored him to save himself for a happier day.
“There is yet time to escape,” said D’Eyncourt, “to pass the bridge, to gain the seaport! Think not that a soldier’s death will be left thee. Numbers will suffice to encumber thine arm, to seize thy person. Live not to be Warwick’s prisoner,—shown as a wild beast in its cage to the hooting crowd!”
“If not on thyself,” exclaimed Rivers, “have pity on these loyal gentlemen, and for the sake of their lives preserve thine own. What is flight? Warwick fled!”
“True,—and returned!” added Gloucester. “You are right, my lords. Come, sire, we must fly. Our rights fly not with us, but shall fight for us in absence!”
The calm WILL of this strange and terrible boy had its effect upon Edward. He suffered his brother to lead him from the chamber, grinding his teeth in impotent rage. He mounted his horse, while Rivers held the stirrup, and with some six or seven knights and earls rode to the bridge, already occupied by Hastings and a small but determined guard.
“Come, Hastings,” said the king, with a ghastly smile,—“they tell us we must fly!”
“True, sire, haste, haste! I stay but to deceive the enemy by feigning to defend the pass, and to counsel, as I best may, the faithful soldiers we leave behind.”
“Brave Hastings!” said Gloucester, pressing his hand, “you do well, and I envy you the glory of this post. Come, sire.”