All eyes were turned now towards the little hill, where, clearly defined in the red light of the burning huts, stood the small party of horsemen, hanging a dark black spot upon the very verge, backed by the blaze of the conflagration. They might easily be mistaken for a group of knights; and a little wood of birches some way behind, looked not unlike a considerable clump of spears. To such a point, indeed, was Lord Pembroke himself deceived, that he judged it fit to move a strong body of horse round to the right of the hill, thus hemming in the knight between the town and the castle.
De Coucy saw the movement, and rejoiced in it. Nor did he move a step, as long as the fire of the huts continued to blaze; wishing, as far as possible, to embarrass the enemy by the singularity of his behaviour, in the faint hope that every additional cause of confusion, joined to those which must always attend a night-attack, might in some degree facilitate the escape of the prince.
The fire however expired, and the grey light of the morning was beginning to spread more and more over the scene, when De Coucy turned his rein, and, skirting round the little birch wood we have mentioned, at last endeavoured to force his way through the iron toils that were spread around him. To the right, as he wheeled round the wood, the early light showed the strong body of cavalry Lord Pembroke had thrown forward. On his left now lay the castle, and straight before him a body of archers that had issued from thence with the earl of Salisbury and half a dozen knights at their head. De Coucy hesitated not a moment, but laid his lance in the rest, and galloped forward to the attack of the latter at full speed.
One of the knights rode out before the rest to meet him, but went down, horse and man, before his spear, and rolled on the plain, with the iron of the lance broken off deep in his breast. On spurred De Coucy, swinging his battle-axe over the head of a Norman who followed, when his horse, unfortunately, set his foot on the carcase of the fallen man--slipped--fell irrecoverably, and the knight was hurled to the ground.
He sprang on his feet, however, in a moment, and, catching the bridle of Lord Salisbury's horse, dashed the iron chamfron to atoms with his battle-axe, and hurled the animal reeling on his haunches. The earl spurred up his charger. "Yield! yield! De Coucy!" cried he;--"Good treatment! Fair ransom! William's friendship! Yield you, or you die!"
"Never!" exclaimed De Coucy, turning; and at a single blow striking down a man on foot that pressed upon him behind;--"never will I be John of England's prisoner!"
"Be Salisbury's!--be William Longsword's!" shouted the earl loudly, eager to save his noble foe from the lances that were now bearing him down on all sides. But De Coucy still raged like a lion in the toils; and, alone in the midst of his enemies--for the ranks had closed round and cut him off even from the aid of his little band--he continued for many minutes to struggle with a host, displaying that fearful courage which gained him a name throughout all Europe.
At length, however, while pressed upon in front by three lances, a powerful man-at-arms behind him raised above his head a mace that would have felled Goliah. The knight turned his head; but to parry it was impossible, for both his sword and shield arms were busy in defending himself from the spears of the enemy in front; and he must have gone down before the blow like a felled ox, had not Lord Salisbury sprung to the ground, and interposed the shield, which hung round his own neck, in a slanting direction between the tremendous mace and De Coucy's helmet. The blow however fell; and, though turned aside by William Longsword's treble target, its descent drove the earl's arm down upon De Coucy's head, and made them both stagger.
"Salisbury, I yield me!" cried De Coucy, dropping his battle-axe: "rescue or no rescue, generous enemy, I am thy true prisoner; and thereunto I give thee my faith. But, as thou art a knight and a noble, yield me not to thy bad brother John. We know too well how he treats his prisoners."
"Salisbury's honour for your surety, brave De Coucy!" replied the earl, clasping him in his mailed arms, and giving a friendly shake, as if in reproach for the long-protracted struggle he had maintained. "By the Lord! old friend, when you fought by my side in Palestine, you were but a whelp, where you are now a lion! But know ye not yet, the town has been in our hands this hour, and my fair nephew Arthur taken in his bed, with all the wild revellers of Poitou, as full of wine as leathern bottles?"