n," he panted, covering the prostrate archer with his shield,
"up, Giles, an ye can--we're close beset--"

"But we be here, look'ee Roger--'tis we, look'ee!" cried a voice
behind.

"Aye, it do be us!" roared another voice, and Roger's assailants were
borne back by a line of vicious-thrusting pikes.

"Art hurt, Giles?"

"Nay," quoth the archer, getting to unsteady legs, "but they've spoiled
me Genevra's veil, methinks--and our flag is something smirched, but,
as for me, I'll sing ye many a song yet!"

"Then here's twice I've saved thee, Giles, so art two accursed notches
from my--"

A mace beat Roger to his knees, but, ere his assailant could strike
again, Giles's broadsword rose and fell.

"So are we quits, good Roger!" he cried, "Ha, see--they break! On,
pikes, on! Bows and bills, sa-ha!"

Up rose the dust, forward swept the battle as Black Ivo's hosts gave
back before the might of Mortain; forward the blue banner reeled and
staggered where fought Beltane fierce and untiring, his long shield
hacked and dinted, his white plumes shorn away, while ever his hardy
foresters smote and thrust on flank and rear. Twice Black Roger fell
and twice Giles leapt 'twixt him and death, and perceiving his haggard
eyes and the pallor of his grimed and bloody cheek, roared at him in
fierce anxiety:

"Fall out, Roger, fall out and rest ye, man!"

"Not whiles I can stand, archer!"

"Art a fool, Roger."

"Belike I am, Giles--"

"And therefore do I love thee, Rogerkin! Ha, bear up man, yonder is
water--a muddy brook--"

"O blessed Saint Cuthbert!" panted Roger.

Now before them was a water-brook and beyond this brook Black Ivo's
harassed columns made a fierce and desperate rally what time they
strove to re-form their hard-pressed ranks; but from Duke Beltane's
midmost battle the trumpets brayed fierce and loud, whereat from a
thousand parched throats a hoarse cry rose, and chivalry and foot, the
men of Mortain charged with levelled lance, with goring pike, with
whirling axe and sword, and over and through and beyond the brook the
battle raged, sweeping ever southwards.

Presently before them the ground sloped sharply down, and while Beltane
shouted warning to those behind, his voice was drowned in sudden
trumpet-blast, and glancing to his left, he beheld at last all those
knights and men-at-arms who had ridden with his father in their reserve
all day--a glittering column, rank on rank, at whose head, his sable
armour a