"I do beseech you, Sir John Hardy," said Hugh, "if we lose the day, look to my uncle, and force him from the battle, should it be needful."
"You stay on the field then, my lord, I suppose?" asked the old knight.
"I do," answered Hugh.
"Then, I stay too," replied Sir John Hardy.
"Nay, that is folly," cried Robin Hood. "Let each man fight so long as fighting may avail; but when the day is clearly lost, the brave man, who would spill his best blood to win it, then saves the life that God gave him to do God service at another time. But, see--all the leaders are gathering to that point! You had better go, my lord, and bring us tidings. We will ensure the ground till your return."
"Command the troop then till I come back, Sir John," said Hugh, and riding along the front of the line, under a shower of arrows from the enemy, he approached the spot--where, sheltered from the sight of the adversary's lines by a thick phalanx of foot spearsmen and men-at-arms,--was collected a group of noblemen of the first rank, seeming to hold a council round the royal standard, which was there erected.
When Hugh came near, however, he saw that the occasion was a sadder one. His uncle, the Lords of Mandeville, Basset, Crespigny, Beauchamp, and Le Despenser, were standing dismounted round the famous Earl of Leicester, who was stretched upon the ground, with his head and shoulders supported by the knee and arm of a monk. Deep in his breast, piercing through and through the steel hauberk, was buried the head of a broken lance, and in his right was a cloth-yard arrow. He had just concluded, what seemed his confession, in extremis; and the good man was murmuring over him in haste the hurried absolution of the field of battle. His countenance was pale; the dull shadow of death was upon it; the lips were colourless and the nostrils widely expanded, as if it caused an agonizing effort to draw his breath; but the eye was still bright and clear, and--while the man of God repeated the last words--it rolled thoughtfully over the faces of all around, resting with an anxious gaze upon those with whom he was most familiar.
"Draw out the lance," he said, speaking to the surgeon of his household, who stood near.
"If I do, my lord," replied the leech, "you cannot survive ten minutes."
"That is long, enough," said de Montfort. "My boy Henry is gone; I saw him fall, and I would not be much behind him. Draw it out, I say, I cannot breathe and I must needs speak to my friends. Le Despenser; make him draw it out; I shall have time enough for all I have to do."