"No," said the peddler, "for I was about to tell you of it. But, hark! the 'gueux' are attacking the fallen reiters."
"Come," cried Geoffrey, "we must see what is passing; keep close together, make no noise. If any reiter escapes from the mêlée cut him down with your swords, or we shall be discovered."
The "gueux" possessed guns and fowling-pieces, and now they were pouring in a desultory fire upon the confused mass of fallen men around the barricade. There seemed to be hundreds of wild figures gathering to the scene of conflict, and fresh bodies of them were pouring from the woods.
Then a hand-to-hand fight ensued, so fierce in character that it was a combat of fiends rather than of men. No quarter was asked or given, it was a fight to the death.
Soon it was evident that the reiters were being overpowered, notwithstanding their superiority in equipment and discipline. Their foes were twenty to one, and many of the Germans were lying in a helpless mass of men and horses amid the great quarry stones. Their battle-cries grew feebler and feebler; Geoffrey saw that the end would soon come.
"But what then?" thought Geoffrey anxiously.
The "gueux" would be as dangerous to them as to the reiters, they would make no distinction between English and Germans, all fought alike for their detested enemy King Philip.
Once again the peddler intervened, as he sat behind Geoffrey.
"My lord, my lord," he said in an agitated voice, "we must be gone, or we shall likewise perish."
"We cannot pass the gueux," said Geoffrey, "and I cannot return to the camp; what third course is there?"