"Ha! the Abbess!" they cried, "yield us the lady Abbess!" Into this close and desperate affray Sir Benedict spurred, striving with voice and hand to re-form his broken ranks, hewing him a path by dint of sword until he had won beside the Abbess.
"Yolande!" he shouted above the din, "keep thou beside me close—close, Yolande—stoop—ah, stoop thy head that I may cover thee—the debate waxeth a little sharp hereabouts!" Even as he spake he reeled 'neath the blow of a heavy mace, steadied himself, cut down his smiter, and thrust and smote amain until the grim, fierce-shouting ranks gave back before the sweep of that long sword.
"See, Yolande!" he panted, hard-breathing, "see yonder where my good
Hacon spurs in to our relief—ha, mighty lance!"
"Ah, Benedict," cried the Abbess, pale-lipped but calm of eye, "of what avail? 'Tis me they seek, though wherefore I know not, so—dear Benedict—let me go. Indeed, indeed 'tis best, so shall these fair lives be saved—ah, sweet Jesu, 'tis horrible! See—O see how fast they fall and die about us! I must go—I will go! My lord, let me pass— loose my bridle—"
A hunting horn fiercely winded among the woods hard by! A confused roar of harsh voices and forth of the green four terrible figures sprang, two that smote with long-shafted axes and two that plied ponderous broadswords; and behind these men were others, lean and brown-faced— the very woods seemed alive with them. And from these fierce ranks a mighty shout rent the air:
"Arise! Arise! Ha, Beltane—Pentavalon!"
Then did Sir Benedict, laughing loud and joyous, haste to re-form his swaying ranks, the bloody gap in his column closed up and Sir Pertolepe's knights, hemmed in thus, smote and were smitten and but scant few were they that won them free. And presently, through that red confusion brake Beltane with Roger and Ulf and Walkyn at his heels, and, sword in hand, he sprang and caught the Abbess in a close embrace.
"Mother!" he cried.
"Dear, dear son of mine—and thou art safe? Thanks be to God who hath heard the passion of thy mother's prayers!" Now Sir Benedict turned, and wheeling his horse, left them together and so beheld Sir Hacon near by, who, standing high in his stirrups, pointed to their rear.
"Benedict!" he panted, "ha, look—Brian is over-borne! Ho! a rescue—a rescue to Sir Brian of Hartismere!" So shouting, he drave back into the confusion of the staggering rear-guard with Sir Benedict spurring behind. But, as Sir Benedict rode, pushing past the files of his halted company, he felt hands that gripped either stirrup and glancing down beheld Ulf the Strong on his one flank and grim Walkyn upon the other. So came they where the road broadened out and where the battle raged swaying and surging above the form of Sir Brian prostrate in the dust where horsemen and footmen strove together in desperate grapple, where knightly shields, aflare with proud devices, rang 'neath the blows of Beltane's lusty foresters and Sir Benedict's veteran pikemen.