Dick, once more left to his own counsels, began to
look about him. The arrow-shot had somewhat slackened.
On all sides the enemy were falling back; and the
greater part of the market-place was now left empty,
the snow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed
with gore, scattered all over with dead men and horses,
and bristling thick with feathered arrows.
On his own side the loss had been cruel. The
jaws of the little street and the ruins of the barricade
were heaped with the dead and dying; and out of the
hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there
were not seventy left who could still stand to arms.
At the same time, the day was passing. The first
reinforcements might be looked for to arrive at any
moment; and the Lancastrians, already shaken by the
result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught,
were in an ill temper to support a fresh invader.
There was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking
houses; and this, in the frosty winter sunshine, indicated
ten of the forenoon.
Dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little
insignificant archer, binding a cut in his arm.
“It was well fought,” he said, “and,
by my sooth, they will not charge us twice.”
“Sir,” said the little archer, “ye
have fought right well for York, and better for yourself.
Never hath man in so brief space prevailed so greatly
on the duke’s affections. That he should
have entrusted such a post to one he knew not is a
marvel. But look to your head, Sir Richard!
If ye be vanquished—ay, if ye give way
one foot’s breadth—axe or cord shall
punish it; and I am set if ye do aught doubtful, I
will tell you honestly, here to stab you from behind.”
Dick looked at the little man in amaze.
“You!” he cried. “And from
behind!”
“It is right so,” returned the archer;
“and because I like not the affair I tell it
you. Ye must make the post good, Sir Richard,
at your peril. O, our Crookback is a bold blade
and a good warrior; but, whether in cold blood or
in hot, he will have all things done exact to his
commandment. If any fail or hinder, they shall
die the death.”
“Now, by the saints!” cried Richard, “is
this so? And will men follow such a leader?”
“Nay, they follow him gleefully,” replied
the other; “for if he be exact to punish, he
is most open-handed to reward. And if he spare
not the blood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal
of his own, still in the first front of battle, still
the last to sleep. He will go far, will Crookback
Dick o’ Gloucester!”
The young knight, if he had before been brave and
vigilant, was now all the more inclined to watchfulness
and courage. His sudden favour, he began to
perceive, had brought perils in its train. And
he turned from the archer, and once more scanned anxiously
the market-place. It lay empty as before.
