anting in one helpless and blood-smeared heap.

To Beaumanoir's simple mind it had seemed that at the supreme moment the
Saints of Brittany had risen at their country's call. Already, as he
lay gasping, his heart was pouring forth its thanks to his patron Saint
Cadoc. But the spectators had seen clearly enough the earthly cause of
this sudden victory, and a hurricane of applause from one side, with
a storm of hooting from the other showed how different was the emotion
which it raised in minds which sympathized with the victors or the
vanquished.

William of Montaubon, the cunning squire, had made his way across to
the spot where the steeds were tethered, and had mounted his own great
roussin. At first it was thought that he was about to ride from the
field, but the howl of execration from the Breton peasants changed
suddenly to a yell of applause and delight as he turned the beast's head
for the English circle and thrust his long prick spurs into its side.
Those who faced him saw this sudden and unexpected appearance. Time was
when both horse and rider must have winced away from the shower of their
blows. But now they were in no state to meet such a rush. They could
scarce raise their arms. Their blows were too feeble to hurt this mighty
creature. In a moment it had plunged through the ranks, and seven of
them were on the grass. It turned and rushed through them again, leaving
five others helpless beneath its hoofs. No need to do more! Already
Beaumanoir and his companions were inside the circle, the prostrate men
were helpless, and Josselin had won.

That night a train of crestfallen archers, bearing many a prostrate
figure, marched sadly into Ploermel Castle. Behind them rode ten men,
all weary, all wounded, and all with burning hearts against William of
Montaubon for the foul trick that he had served them.

But over at Josselin, yellow gorse-blossoms in their helmets, the
victors were borne in on the shoulders of a shouting mob, amid the
fanfare of trumpets and the beating of drums. Such was the combat of
the Midway Oak, where brave men met brave men, and such honor was gained
that from that day he who had fought in the Battle of the Thirty was
ever given the highest place and the post of honor, nor was it easy
for any man to pretend to have been there, for it has been said by that
great chronicler who knew them all, that not one on either side failed
to carry to his grave the marks of that stern encounter.