The very first glance showed him that the
leader who directed this movement was the Knight of Avenel, his
ancient master; and the next convinced him, that its effects would be
decisive. The result of the attack of fresh and unbroken forces upon
the flank of those already wearied with a long and obstinate struggle,
was, indeed, instantaneous.
The column of the assailants, which had hitherto shown one dark,
dense, and united line of helmets, surmounted with plumage, was at
once broken and hurled in confusion down the hill, which they had so
long endeavoured to gain. In vain were the leaders heard calling upon
their followers to stand to the combat, and seen personally resisting
when all resistance was evidently vain. They were slain, or felled to
the earth, or hurried backwards by the mingled tide of flight and
pursuit. What were Roland's feelings on beholding the rout, and
feeling that all that remained for him was to turn bridle, and
endeavour to ensure the safety of the Queen's person! Yet, keen as
his grief and shame might be, they were both forgotten, when, almost
close beneath the bank which he occupied, he saw Henry Seyton forced
away from his own party in the tumult, covered with dust and blood,
and defending himself desperately against several of the enemy who had
gathered around him, attracted by his gay armour. Roland paused not a
moment, but pushing his steed down the bank, leaped him amongst the
hostile party, dealt three or four blows amongst them, which struck
down two, and made the rest stand aloof; then reaching Seyton his
hand, he exhorted him to seize fast on his horse's mane.
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