he French increased momentarily; and the division under the Duke of
Normandy, that had not even taken any part as yet in the battle, rushed
to their horses, mounted and fled without so much as striking a blow.

The King of France, however, behaved with far greater gallantry than
either his son or the majority of his knights and nobles, and the battle
that he led was long and fiercely contested.

If, as the chronicler tells us, one-fourth of his soldiers had shown the
same bravery as he did, the fortunes of the day would have been vastly
different; but though personally brave, he was no genius in war, and his
fatal determination to fight the battle on foot was a gross blunder in
military tactics. Even when he and his division were being charged by
the Prince of Wales at full gallop, at the head of two thousand lances,
the men all flushed with victory, John made his own men dismount, and
himself did the same, fighting with his axe like a common soldier;
whilst his little son Philip crouched behind him, narrowly watching his
assailants, and crying out words of warning to his father as he saw
blows dealt at him from right or left.

The French were driven back to the very gates of Poitiers, where a great
slaughter ensued; for those gates were now shut against them, and they
had nowhere else to fly. The battle had begun early in the morning, and
by noon the trumpets were sounding to recall the English from the
pursuit of their flying foes.

Such a victory and such vast numbers of noble prisoners almost
bewildered even the victors themselves; and the Prince was anxious to
assemble his knights once more about him, to learn some of the details
of the issue of the day. That the French King had either been killed or
made prisoner appeared certain, for it was confidently asserted that he
had not left the field; but for some time the confusion was so great
that it was impossible to ascertain what had actually happened, and the
Prince, who had gone to his tent to take some refreshment after the
labours of the day, had others than his high-born prisoners to think for.

"Who has seen Sir James Audley -- gallant Sir James?" he asked, looking
round upon the circle of faces about him and missing that of the one he
perhaps loved best amongst his knights. "Who has seen him since his
gallant charge that made all men hold their breath with wonder? I would
fain reward him for that gallant example he gave to our brave soldiers
at the beginn