Away spurred the knight of Norwich, and ere many minutes had elapsed he gave the message to the king at the foot of the windmill; for there had the king been standing all the while watching the course of the battle with better perception than could be had by any of those who were in it. He could therefore discern in what manner Philip of Valois was defeating himself, crushing his own forces.
"Is my son dead, or unhorsed, or so wounded that he can not help himself?" he calmly inquired of the messenger.
"No, Sire," responded Norwich; "but he is in a hard passage at arms, and sorely needeth your help."
"Return thou, Sir Thomas, to those who sent thee," said the king, "and bid them not to send to me so long as my son liveth. Let the boy win his spurs; for, if God so order it, I will that the day may be his, and that the honor may be with him and with them to whom I gave it in charge."
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.