s in rest--bows bent. Forward banner!"

Arthur, by no means approving of the companionship assigned him,
contrived to wedge in his pony a little in the rear of Sir John's two
Squires, as the whole squadron rode down the slope of the hill, and up
the ascent on which the Castle stood. Loud cries and shrieks from
within began to strike their ears--the clash of arms--all the tumult of
attack and defence raging fearfully high and wild.

"Ho, ho! friend Oliver!--we have you in a trap!" said old Chandos, in
high glee, as he drew up close without the walls. "Neville, guard the
gates!"

He signed to about half his band to remain without, and cut off the
retreat of the enemy. The Jew doctor chose his post in their rear,
close to the Castle moat--but not so Arthur. Unnoticed and forgotten,
he still kept close behind the Squire, who rode alongside of Sir John
Chandos, as he crossed the drawbridge. The Castle gate was open, and
showed a wild confused mass of struggling men and flashing arms. It
was the last, most furious onset, when Clisson, enraged by the long
resistance of so weak a garrison, was concentrating his strength in one
effort, and, in the excitement of the assault, he had failed to remark
that his sentinels had transgressed his orders, and mingled with the
crowd, who were striving, by force of numbers, to overwhelm the small
troop of defenders of the bartizan.

In rushed Chandos, shouting his war-cry!--In dashed his stout warriors,
and loud and fierce pealed forth "St. George! St George!" drowning the
now feebler note of "Montjoie, St. Denis!" and fearful were the shrieks
of horror and of pain that rose mingled with it. Hemmed in, attacked in
front and rear, their retreat cut off, the French looked in vain for
escape; some went down beneath the tremendous charge of the English,
some cried for mercy, and surrendered as prisoners. Oliver de Clisson
himself, seeing that all was lost, swinging round his head his heavy
battle-axe, opened for himself a way, and, with a few followers, broke
through the men whom Chandos had left outside, and, cutting down a
groom who was holding it, captured one of his led horses, on which he
rode off at his leisure, confident in his own gigantic strength.

So little resistance had been offered, that Arthur's bold advance had
involved him in little danger; he was borne onwards, and only was
conscious of a frightful tumult, where all seemed to be striking and
crushing together. At