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Updated: May 3, 2025
Then to her aunt, the Abbess of the Benedictine sisters thou, Dennis, wilt see her placed there in honour and safety, and my sister will care for her future provision as her wisdom shall determine." "I leave you at this pinch!" said Dennis Morolt, bursting into tears "I shut myself up within walls, when my master rides to his last of battles!
But if you call on me to march from hence, leaving the same castle defenceless, and to offer up my life in a battle which you acknowledge to be desperate, I must needs say my tenure binds me not to obey thee." "Base mechanic!" said Morolt, laying his hand on his dagger, and menacing the Fleming. But Raymond Berenger interfered with voice and hand "Harm him not, Morolt, and blame him not.
He was speedily joined by his favourite squire, to whom the unusual heaviness of his master's looks was cause of much surprise, for till now they had ever been blithest at the hour of battle. The squire held in his hand his master's helmet, for Sir Raymond was all armed, saving the head. "Dennis Morolt," said the veteran soldier, "are our vassals and liegemen all mustered?"
But even while engaged in this mortal struggle, the eye of Morolt scarcely left his master; and when he saw him fall, his own force seemed by sympathy to abandon him, and the British champion had no longer any trouble in laying him prostrate among the slain. The victory of the British was now complete.
"But what shall wipe out the shame?" demanded Berenger "how shall I dare to show myself again among press of knights, who have broken my word of battle pledged, for fear of a Welshman and his naked savages? No! Dennis Morolt, speak on it no more. Be it for weal or wo, we fight them to-day, and upon yonder fair field."
But, Dennis Morolt, this thing must be we must fight the Welshmen within these three hours, or the name of Raymond Berenger must be blotted from the genealogy of his house." "And so we will we will fight them, my noble master," said the esquire; "fear not cold counsel from Dennis Morolt, where battle is the theme.
It was evident that Gwenwyn, recalling the parties who had been engaged in partial devastation, was bending with his whole forces towards the bridge and the plain beyond it. "Let us rush down and secure the pass," said Dennis Morolt; "we may debate with them with some equality by the advantage of defending the bridge.
"And therefore are his countrymen rightly matched against the Welsh," replied Dennis Morolt, "that their solid and unyielding temper may be a fit foil to the fiery and headlong dispositions of our dangerous neighbours, just as restless waves are best opposed by steadfast rocks. Hark, sir, I hear Wilkin Flammock's step ascending the turret-stair, as deliberately as ever monk mounted to matins."
"I hear my daughter's voice," he added hastily; "I would not again meet her, again to part from her. To Heaven's keeping I commit thee, honest Fleming. Follow me, Dennis Morolt." The old Castellane descended the stair of the southern tower hastily, just as his daughter Eveline ascended that of the eastern turret, to throw herself at his feet once more.
"It must fly before the Constable comes up, Dennis Morolt," said Berenger, "else it will fly triumphant over all our bodies." "In the name of God and the Holy Virgin!" said Dennis, "what may you mean, Sir Knight? not that we should fight with the Welsh before the Constable joins us?"
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