Philip Augustus; or, The Brothers in Arms

by G. P. R. James

"Not a step, for a thousand empires!" replied the king, drawing down his visor and unsheathing his sword, as he beheld three or four German knights spurring towards him at full career, followed by a large troop of footmen, contending with the burghers of Compiègne. "We must do our devoir as a knight as well as a king, Sir Stephen."

"Mine then as a knight!" cried Stephen of Longchamp, laying his lance in rest; and on he galloped at the foremost of the German knights, whom he hurled dead from his horse, pierced from side to side with the iron of the spear.

The German that followed, however, without, spending a blow on the French knight's casque, plunged his sword in his horse's chest, at a spot where the iron barding was wanting. Rider and horse went down at once; and the German, springing to the ground, drew a long knife from his side, and knelt upon his prostrate adversary's chest.

"Denis Mountjoy!" cried the king, galloping on to the aid of his faithful follower. "Denis Mountjoy! au secours!"; But before he could arrive, the German knight had plunged his knife through the bars of the fallen man's helmet, and Stephen Longchamp was no more. The monarch avenged him, however, if he could not save; and, as the Saxon's head was bent down, accomplishing his bloody purpose, he struck him so fierce a blow on the back of his neck, with the full sway of a vigorous and practised arm, that the hood of his mail shirt yielded at once to the blow, and the edge of the weapon drove on through the backbone.

At that moment, however, the king found himself surrounded on every side by the German foot, who hemmed him in with their short pikes. The only knight who was near him was the Count de Montigny, bearing the royal banner; and nothing was to be seen around but the fierce faces of the Saxon pikemen looking out from under their steel caps, drawing their circle closer and closer round him, and fixing their eager eyes upon the crown that he wore on the crest of his helmet--or else the forms of some German knights at a short distance, whirling about like armed phantoms, through the clouds of dust that enveloped the whole scene.

Still Philip fought with desperate valour, plunging his horse into the ranks of the pikemen, and dealing sweeping blows around with his sword, which four or five times succeeded in clearing the space immediately before him.

Well and nobly too did the Count de Montigny do his devoir, holding with one hand the royal banner, which he raised and depressed continually, to give notice to all eyes of the monarch's danger, and striking with the other on every side round Philip's person, which he thus protected for many minutes from the near approach of his enemies.

It was in vain, however, that the king and his banner-bearer displayed such feats of chivalrous valour. Closer and closer the German burgesses hemmed them in. Many of the Saxon knights became attracted by the sight of the royal banner, and were urging their horses through the melée towards the spot where the conflict was raging so fiercely, when one of the serfs crept close to the king's charger. Philip felt his horse reeling underneath him; and, in a moment, the animal fell to the ground, bearing its rider down along with it.

A hundred of the long, three-edged knives, with which many of the Saxons fought that day, were instantly at the King's throat, and at the bars of his helmet. One thought of Agnes--one brief prayer to Heaven, was all that seemed allowed to Philip Augustus; but that moment, the shout of "Auvergne! Auvergne!" rang upon his ear and yielded hope.

With his head bent down to his saddle-bow, receiving a thousand blows as he came, his horse all in foam and blood, his armour hacked, dented, and broken, Thibalt d'Auvergne clove the hostile press with the fierce rapidity of a falcon in its stoop. He checked his horse but by the royal banner; he sprang to the ground; dashed, weltering to the earth, the boors who were kneeling on the prostrate body of the king, and, striding over it, whirled his immense mace round his head, at every blow sending the soul of some Saxon on the cold pilgrimage of death. The burgesses reeled back; but at the same time the knights who had been advancing, hurled themselves upon the Count d'Auvergne, and heaped blow upon blow on his head.