No more could the good knight say, and back he rode without company.
There were those who thought it hard of the king, but better it was that he should hold his reserves for utter need.
Nevertheless, the aspect seemed to be growing darker to the true English hearts that were fighting in the press. They saw not, as the king did, that, owing to his cunning plan of battle, more in number of the English than of the enemy were at any instant actually smiting, save at the center, around the prince himself.
Dark as was the seeming, the heart of none was failing.
"To the prince! To the prince!" shouted Richard Neville, as the space in front of him was cleared somewhat of foemen. "Follow me!" Forward he went, and loudly rang out behind him the battle shouts of his men. They were fewer than at the beginning, but boldly and loyally they had closed up shoulder to shoulder.
Richard's horse was slain under him by a thrust from a German pike; but the rider was lifted to his feet in time to meet the rush of the King of Bohemia and his friends. Their horses were sadly hampered by that hitching together of bridles, and were rearing, plunging, unmanageable. More than one blow had the old, blind hero given that day, as he had willed. None knew now by whose arrows his horse and those of his comrades went down, but after they were unhorsed the wild tide of the battle passed over them, for none of them rose again.
"To the prince!" shouted Richard fiercely. "I saw his crest go down!"
The arrows and darts flew fast as the young hero of Wartmont fought his way in amid the crash of swords and lances.
"Now, Heaven be praised!" he cried out, "I see the prince! He liveth!"
He said no more, for before him stood a tall knight with a golden wing upon his helmet, and wielding a battle-axe.