terrible flight of arrows, cut their way
through, and charged the men-at-arms. By this time nearly forty
thousand men were pressing round the little English phalanx; but the
combat was renewed, hand to hand, with more energy than ever, while
the Earls of Northampton and Arundel moved up with their division, to
repel the tremendous attack.

King Edward still remained with his powerful reserve, viewing the
battle from the windmill above. The Earl of Warwick now called a
knight, named Thomas of Norwich, and despatched him to the king.

"Sir Thomas," demanded Edward, "is my son killed, or overthrown, or
wounded beyond help?"

"Not so, my liege," answered the knight; "yet he is in a rude shock of
arms, and much does he need your aid."

"Go back, Sir Thomas, to those who sent you," rejoined the king, "and
tell them from me, that whatever happens, to require no aid from me,
so long as my son is in life. Tell them, also, that I command them to
let the boy win his spurs; for, God willing, the day shall be his, and
the honor shall rest with him, and those into whose charge I have
given him."

The prince, and those around him, seemed inspired with fresh courage
by this message; and efforts surpassing all that had preceded were
made by the English soldiers. The French men-at-arms, as they still
dashed down on the ranks, met the same fate as their predecessors;
and, hurled wounded from their dying horses, were thrust through by
the short lances of the half-armed Welshmen, who rushed hither and
thither through the midst of the fight. Charles of Luxembourg, who led
the German cavalry, seeing his banner down, his friends slain, his
troops routed, and himself wounded severely in three places, fled,
casting off his rich surcoat, to avoid recognition.

This prince's father, the veteran King of Bohemia, was seated on
horseback at a little distance from the fight. The old man had fought
in almost every quarter of Europe; but, though still full of valor, he
was now blind. Unable himself to mark the progress of the fight, he
continued to inquire anxiously, and soon discovered that the day was
lost.

"My son," demanded the veteran monarch of his attendants; "my
son!--can you still see my son?"

"The King of the Romans is not in sight, sire," was the reply; "but
doubtless he is somewhere engaged in the _melee_."

"Lords," continued the old king,--drawing his own conclusions from
what he heard, and resolved not to quit the field aliv