Paul and the prince thus found themselves alone in the midst of a hostile host—­alone save for the presence of some half-dozen stout troopers attached to the service of Paul, who since his advance in worldly prosperity had been in a position to engage and retain the services of some men-at-arms of his own.  These faithful fellows, who had learned to love their young master, sat doggedly in their saddles, prepared to sell their lives dear, and to carry off if possible their master and the prince living from the field.  But they, too, realized how desperate was the situation; and the threatening and triumphant glances of their enemies, who now began to close up round them, showed that others had realized that the battle was already won by the Yorkist faction.

“King Edward, King Edward!” shouted the fierce soldiers as they grasped their weapons anew.  “Down with the Red Rose!  Down with all false princes!  Down with the traitors who would disturb the peace of the land!  King Edward, King Edward!”

The prince looked at Paul, and Paul looked at the prince.  The same thought was in the minds of both.

“We will at least sell our lives dear,” said young Edward in low tones.  “My trusty comrade, your loyalty to the Red Rose has been but a sorry thing for you.  I would I could have rewarded you with such honours as a prince has to give; but—­”

“It is honour enough for me, my liege, to die at your side—­to die, if it may be, in saving your life,” said Paul.  “Talk not so, I beseech you.  The happiness of my life has been in calling myself your servant.  It will be a happy death that is died at your side.”

“Not servant—­comrade, friend, brother,” said Ed ward, holding out his hand once again, with a look that Paul never forgot.  “No more, Paul.  I must play the man; and such words go deep, and bring the tears to mine eyes.  Paul, there are strange chances in battle, and it may be that you will live through it, and that I may be slain:  If such be so, tell my mother and my wife (for she is that to me, as I am her husband in love) that I died as a prince of the House of Plantagenet should do—­sword in hand and face to the foe.  Tell my mother that such a death is better than an inglorious life of exile, and bid her not weep for me.  There is yet another world than this in which we shall meet, where the strife of war is not heard and the malice of foes pursues us not.  Let her look forward to our meeting there.  It were a better prospect, in all truth, than an earthly crown, which methinks sits heavy on the head of him that wears it.”

Paul said nothing, for he could not trust himself to speak, and indeed the brief respite was at an end.  With loud and threatening cries the foe was closing round the devoted little band, and from the other side of the field he could see that a knot of horsemen were galloping in their direction, as though they had got some news of the presence of the prince.