The Greeks were elated by the easy victory they had won. Instead of pushing on to take the main body of the host by surprise, as they had the gate-guard, they were stopping to slaughter the remnants of the guard. They gave no heed to their flanks or rear. In the meantime, too, groups of Crusaders were coming up continually and gathering behind the comrades in the main street of Stenon. There were belted knights among these reinforcements, but in the heat of the moment none thought to question the leadership which Hugh assumed by instinct.
"This is no time for arrows, Messers," he said curtly. "Nor may we await the coming of more of our friends. Lances and swords! Forward with God!"
"Forward!" they echoed him. "Our Lady of Mercy!" "St. Remi for Champagne!" "St. Nicholas to the rescue!" "Hola, men of Burgundy!" "St. Mark for Venice!" "Hainault! Hainault!"
Matteo, at Hugh's elbow, started to whisper in his ear; but as the jongleur saw Hugh's eye sweep the field, he settled in his saddle with a smile of content.
Hugh couched his lance.
"Follow me, Messers!" he flung over his shoulder.
Like a landslide that mass of armoured men and horses shot down the slope of the hill and smote the unprotected flank of the Greeks, slicing through opposition as a sword slices through a leather doublet. On the farther side of the field they turned and charged back into the melee, emerging finally at the spot where they had first struck. Behind them was a wide swath of dead men and horses.
The Greeks were checked. The captains of the bandoi were rallying their men for a withdrawal. But Hugh was not satisfied. He led his column around again, and charged the enemy from the front.
This time the blow was expected, and the charge met a wall of spears. Arrows hissed and stung. Sling-stones rapped on helms. Holes gaped in the charging ranks. But still the Crusaders won through, and the Greeks, threatened with disintegration, closed around them in one swirling, milling medley of death and agony. The column was split asunder, disintegrated in its turn, and became a series of independent groups, each fighting to save itself or clear the press.
Hugh, with Matteo and Ralph, was completely separated from the rest. So desperate was their onset that they plunged beyond the enemy ranks and were caught up in the stream of retreating Greeks and carried with them toward the gate of Galata. Enemies surrounded them, but the comrades struggled on. Hugh's lance had been shivered early in the fray. He fought now with his sword and Beosund's high-flung heels, for the good horse loved the combat as did his master.