"Let all men be taken to mercy," cried the King, "who are willing to surrender. Quick, send messengers, uncle of Exeter, to command them to give quarter."
"My Lord the King! my Lord the King!" cried the voice of a man, galloping up in haste, "the rear-guard of the enemy have rallied, and are already in your camp, pillaging and slaying wherever they come."
"Ha, then, we will fight them too," cried the monarch. "Keep the field, my Lord Duke, and prevent those fugitives from collecting together;" and gathering a small force of cavalry, Henry himself rode back at speed towards the village of Maisoncelles. But when he reached the part of the camp where his baggage had been left, the King found that the report of the French rear-guard having rallied, was false. Tents had been overthrown, it is true, houses had been burnt, wagons had been pillaged; and the work of plunder was still going on. But the only force in presence consisted of some six or seven hundred armed peasantry, headed by about six score men-at-arms, with three or four gentlemen apparently of knightly rank. The cavaliers, who had dismounted, instantly sprang on their horses and fled when the English horse appeared; and Henry, fearing to endanger his victory, shouted loudly not to pursue.
"I beseech you, my Liege, let me bring you back one of them," cried the knight in the black armour, who was on the King's left; and ere Henry could reply, digging his spurs deep into his horse's sides, he was half a bow-shot away after the fugitives. They fled fast, but not so fast as he followed.
"We must give him aid, or he is lost," cried the King, riding after; but ere he could come up, the knight had nearly reached the three hindmost horsemen, shouting loudly to them to turn and fight.
Two did so; but hand to hand he met them both, stunned the horse of one by a blow upon the head, and then turning upon the other, exclaimed, "We have met at length, craven and scoundrel! We have met at length!"
The other replied not, but by a thrust of his sword at the good knight's visor. It was well aimed; and the point passed through the bars and entered his cheek. At the same moment, however, the black knight's heavy mace descended upon his foeman's head, the crest was crushed, the thick steel gave way, and down his enemy rolled--hung for a moment in the stirrup--and then fell headlong on the ground.
Light as air, the victor sprang from his saddle, and setting his foot upon his adversary's neck, gazed fiercely upon him as he lay. There were some few words enamelled above the visor; and crying aloud, "Ave, Maria!" the black knight shook his mace high in the air, then dropped it by the thong without striking, and, unclasping his own helmet, as the King came up, exposed the head of Richard of Woodville. Such was the last deed of the battle of Agincourt.