upon the grass and ran over to join their own party.

"Nay, nay!" cried Knolles, raising his visor and advancing. "This may
not be. You have been held to mercy when we might have slain you, and
by the Virgin I will hold you dishonored, all three, if you stand not
back."

"Say not so, Robert Knolles," Evan Cheruel answered. "Never yet has
the word dishonor been breathed with my name, but I should count myself
faineant if I did not fight beside my comrades when chance has made it
right and proper that I should do so."

"By Saint Cadoc! he speaks truly," croaked Beaumanoir, advancing in
front of his men. "You are well aware, Robert, that it is the law of
war and the usage of chivalry that if the knight to whom you have
surrendered is himself slain the prisoners thereby become released."

There was no answer to this and Knolles, weary and spent, returned to
his comrades. "I would that we had slain them," said he. "We have lost
our leader and they have gained three men by the same stroke."

"If any more lay down their arms it is my order that you slay them
forthwith," said Croquart, whose bent sword and bloody armor showed how
manfully he had borne himself in the fray. "And now, comrades, do not
be heavy-hearted because we have lost our leader. Indeed, his rhymes
of Merlin have availed him little. By the three kings of Almain! I can
teach you what is better than an old woman's prophecies, and that is
that you should keep your shoulders together and your shields so close
that none can break between them. Then you will know what is on either
side of you, and you can fix your eyes upon the front. Also, if any be
so weak or wounded that he must sink his hands his comrades on right and
left can bear him up. Now advance all together in God's name, for the
battle is still ours if we bear ourselves like men."

In a solid line the English advanced, while the Bretons ran forward
as before to meet them. The swiftest of these was a certain Squire,
Geoffrey Poulart, who bore a helmet which was fashioned as a cock's
head, with high comb above, and long pointed beak in front pierced with
the breathing-holes. He thrust with his sword at Calverly, but Belford
who was the next in the line raised his giant club and struck him a
crushing blow from the side. He staggered, and then pushing forth from
the crowd, he ran round and round in circles as one whose brain is
stricken, the blood dripping from the holes of his brazen beak. So for
a l