, and a great host they were,
spreading over the country till whichever way you looked you saw men
flocking round the Golden Dragon, which was the banner of the
Saracens. But it was not Count William's way to think about numbers,
and he ordered his trumpeters to sound the charge. Spurring his horse,
he dashed from one part of the fight to the other, striking and
killing as he went, and heeding as little the wounds that he got as
those that he gave, and _they_ were many. The Franks whom he led
followed after him, and slew the Pagans as they came on; but the
Christians were in comparison but a handful, and their enemies as the
sands of the sea. The young warriors whom William had brought with him
were prisoners or dying men, and from far he saw Vivian, whom he loved
the best, charging a multitude with his naked sword. 'Montjoie!
Montjoie!' cried he, 'O noble Count! O Bertrand my cousin, come to my
aid! O my Lady Gibourc, never more shall my eyes look upon you!'

Bertrand heard and pressed to his side. 'Ride to the river,' he said,
'and I will protect you with my life'; but Vivian was too weak even to
sit on his horse, and fell half fainting at the feet of Bertrand.

At this moment there rode at them a large troop of Saracens, headed by
their King Haucebier, and the Christian Knights knew that all was
lost. 'It is too late now for me to think of life,' said Vivian, 'but
I will die fighting,' and again they faced their enemies till
Bertrand's horse was killed under him. Then Vivian seized the horse of
a dead Infidel, and thrust the bridle into Bertrand's hand, 'Fly, for
God's sake, it is your only chance. Where is my uncle? If he is dead
we have lost the battle.'

But Bertrand did not fly, though every instant made the danger more
deadly. 'If I forsake you, if I take flight,' he said, 'I shall bring
eternal shame upon myself.'

'No, no,' cried Vivian, 'seek my uncle down there in the Aliscans, and
bring him to my aid.'

'Never till my sword breaks,' answered Bertrand, and laid about him
harder than ever. And to their joy they heard a war cry sounding in
their ears, and five Frankish Counts, cousins of Vivian and of
Bertrand, galloped up. Fight they did with all their might, but none
fought like Vivian. 'Heavens! what a warrior!' cried the Counts as
they saw his blows, while the Saracens asked themselves if the man
whom they had killed at mid-day had been brought back to life by the
help of devils. 'If we let them esca