[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
I think, will stand fast." He indicated the spiked ranks of the schiltrons.
"I have no doubt of their courage," the Guardian agreed. "I only hope I may prove worthy of it."
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Arnault felt certain that no man could prove more worthy than Wallace; but before he could give voice to
that sentiment, a hoarse outcry went up from many points along the Scottish line. To the southeast, the
sun was glinting off armor and spearpoints, and flags and banners were rising into view. The English
vanguard had arrived: a mass of steel-clad knights, jostling forward in densely packed squadrons. Behind
them marched the massed infantry, interspersed with columns of archers and crossbowmen, moving into
battle formation as they advanced.
It was a daunting sight: one that caused many a man in the Scottish ranks to murmur a quiet prayer,
Arnault among them. A chill of foreboding shivered up his spine-and more than ever, he felt the lack of
Torquil's solid presence at his shoulder. But all he could do was commend his brother-knight to the
mercy of God, together with all the Scottish host.
A breeze swept up the hill, carrying the sounds from the enemy ranks: the muffled rumble of horses'
hooves, the jangle of harness, the sullen mutter of voices. Nothing daunted, Wallace spurred his horse
forward, riding at a canter along the Scottish lines. Brandishing his sword, he stood high in the stirrups
where all could see him, and addressed his men in a ringing voice.
"Men of Scotland, I have brought you to the ring!" he shouted. "Now let us see if you can dance!"
His challenge was answered with a cheer that could be clearly heard far to the south, where King
Edward sat astride his great warhorse in the midst of his army. Despite a cracked rib, sustained during
the night as he slept beside his horse at Linlithgow, the aging Lion of England had pressed forward at
dawn.
Now, having heard Mass with the Bishop of Durham, who would command the right wing, Edward of
England stared coldly up at the hillside with its great circles of bristling spears. Then he turned to the
Master of the Templars, who had ridden up beside him.
"Your intelligence was correct, Templar. Wallace was trying to sneak up from behind and cuff my ear.
He will pay for that impudence, now that we have him in our grasp."
Brian de Jay nodded in some satisfaction. "Aye, Sire. He has positioned his army badly, leaving himself
no room to maneuver. He is depending upon that ill-clothed rabble with their pig stickers to keep him
safe."
And if Comyn kept the remainder of his bargain, that ill-clothed rabble would be left defenseless, for the
meager Scots cavalry-who included some of Scotland's most influential earls-would turn and flee without
striking a blow. Jay had made no mention of that bargain, of course; and of the intelligence regarding the
Scots position, he had given the king to understand that he and the Master of Scotland had come upon a
skulking Scottish scout by happy chance, whereupon they had forced the prisoner to reveal the Scots
position; the prisoner, alas, had died. It also remained to be seen whether Wallace could be taken.
The English host drew up before the somewhat innocuous stretch of marshy ground that lay between
them and the Scottish schiltrons, squarely facing the enemy. The knights of the vanguard, under Roger
Bigod and Henry de Lacy, Earls of Norfolk and Lincoln respectively, took up position on the left, while
Bishop Bek's Durham chivalry formed the army's right wing. Between were ranged the spearmen in their
thousands, mostly Welsh, supported by bowmen armed with longbows and crossbows. With numbers so
greatly in their favor, spirits were running high among cavalry and footmen alike, equally eager to test their
strength against the foe.
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The knights on both flanks were already edging forward when the Earls of Norfolk and Lincoln rode up
from the vanguard to inform the king that they would soon be closing with the enemy, both men's faces
flushed with anticipation. Roger Bigod grinned broadly as he gestured toward the Scots.
"They've obliged us, Sire, by forming targets so large that they will be hard, indeed, to miss. A single shot
should strike the gold, I think."
"Have you learned nothing from our clashes with the rebellious Welsh?" Edward answered coldly. "Even
an untrained peasant can face up to your horsemen if he can hold a spear straight."
"Only if he has the nerve to stand his ground," de Lacy replied. "I swear to you, Sire, that we will rout
them at the first charge and pay them back for our dead at Stirling Bridge."
"The Scots aren't going anywhere," Edward said, unmoved by his subordinate's fervor. "And our men
have scarcely eaten in the past day. There's time to put food in their bellies before sending them to the
fight."
"Sire, it's Scots blood they hunger for-not food!" Bigod declared. "They can no more be reined in now
than a pack of hounds that have sighted the fox."
"It can only hearten the Scots to see us waver," de Lacy agreed.
Edward snorted-and winced at the pain of his cracked rib-but clearly, lack of sleep and food had not
dulled the fighting edge of his men. On the contrary, it had lent an almost feverish intensity to their
belligerence.
"Go, then," he said. "Clear the way for the bowmen, and then we'll make short work of those Scottish
schiltrons."
The two knights wheeled about and galloped back to join their men. Their voices echoed back up the
lines as they shouted orders and began the advance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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I think, will stand fast." He indicated the spiked ranks of the schiltrons.
"I have no doubt of their courage," the Guardian agreed. "I only hope I may prove worthy of it."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Arnault felt certain that no man could prove more worthy than Wallace; but before he could give voice to
that sentiment, a hoarse outcry went up from many points along the Scottish line. To the southeast, the
sun was glinting off armor and spearpoints, and flags and banners were rising into view. The English
vanguard had arrived: a mass of steel-clad knights, jostling forward in densely packed squadrons. Behind
them marched the massed infantry, interspersed with columns of archers and crossbowmen, moving into
battle formation as they advanced.
It was a daunting sight: one that caused many a man in the Scottish ranks to murmur a quiet prayer,
Arnault among them. A chill of foreboding shivered up his spine-and more than ever, he felt the lack of
Torquil's solid presence at his shoulder. But all he could do was commend his brother-knight to the
mercy of God, together with all the Scottish host.
A breeze swept up the hill, carrying the sounds from the enemy ranks: the muffled rumble of horses'
hooves, the jangle of harness, the sullen mutter of voices. Nothing daunted, Wallace spurred his horse
forward, riding at a canter along the Scottish lines. Brandishing his sword, he stood high in the stirrups
where all could see him, and addressed his men in a ringing voice.
"Men of Scotland, I have brought you to the ring!" he shouted. "Now let us see if you can dance!"
His challenge was answered with a cheer that could be clearly heard far to the south, where King
Edward sat astride his great warhorse in the midst of his army. Despite a cracked rib, sustained during
the night as he slept beside his horse at Linlithgow, the aging Lion of England had pressed forward at
dawn.
Now, having heard Mass with the Bishop of Durham, who would command the right wing, Edward of
England stared coldly up at the hillside with its great circles of bristling spears. Then he turned to the
Master of the Templars, who had ridden up beside him.
"Your intelligence was correct, Templar. Wallace was trying to sneak up from behind and cuff my ear.
He will pay for that impudence, now that we have him in our grasp."
Brian de Jay nodded in some satisfaction. "Aye, Sire. He has positioned his army badly, leaving himself
no room to maneuver. He is depending upon that ill-clothed rabble with their pig stickers to keep him
safe."
And if Comyn kept the remainder of his bargain, that ill-clothed rabble would be left defenseless, for the
meager Scots cavalry-who included some of Scotland's most influential earls-would turn and flee without
striking a blow. Jay had made no mention of that bargain, of course; and of the intelligence regarding the
Scots position, he had given the king to understand that he and the Master of Scotland had come upon a
skulking Scottish scout by happy chance, whereupon they had forced the prisoner to reveal the Scots
position; the prisoner, alas, had died. It also remained to be seen whether Wallace could be taken.
The English host drew up before the somewhat innocuous stretch of marshy ground that lay between
them and the Scottish schiltrons, squarely facing the enemy. The knights of the vanguard, under Roger
Bigod and Henry de Lacy, Earls of Norfolk and Lincoln respectively, took up position on the left, while
Bishop Bek's Durham chivalry formed the army's right wing. Between were ranged the spearmen in their
thousands, mostly Welsh, supported by bowmen armed with longbows and crossbows. With numbers so
greatly in their favor, spirits were running high among cavalry and footmen alike, equally eager to test their
strength against the foe.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
The knights on both flanks were already edging forward when the Earls of Norfolk and Lincoln rode up
from the vanguard to inform the king that they would soon be closing with the enemy, both men's faces
flushed with anticipation. Roger Bigod grinned broadly as he gestured toward the Scots.
"They've obliged us, Sire, by forming targets so large that they will be hard, indeed, to miss. A single shot
should strike the gold, I think."
"Have you learned nothing from our clashes with the rebellious Welsh?" Edward answered coldly. "Even
an untrained peasant can face up to your horsemen if he can hold a spear straight."
"Only if he has the nerve to stand his ground," de Lacy replied. "I swear to you, Sire, that we will rout
them at the first charge and pay them back for our dead at Stirling Bridge."
"The Scots aren't going anywhere," Edward said, unmoved by his subordinate's fervor. "And our men
have scarcely eaten in the past day. There's time to put food in their bellies before sending them to the
fight."
"Sire, it's Scots blood they hunger for-not food!" Bigod declared. "They can no more be reined in now
than a pack of hounds that have sighted the fox."
"It can only hearten the Scots to see us waver," de Lacy agreed.
Edward snorted-and winced at the pain of his cracked rib-but clearly, lack of sleep and food had not
dulled the fighting edge of his men. On the contrary, it had lent an almost feverish intensity to their
belligerence.
"Go, then," he said. "Clear the way for the bowmen, and then we'll make short work of those Scottish
schiltrons."
The two knights wheeled about and galloped back to join their men. Their voices echoed back up the
lines as they shouted orders and began the advance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]