A mace beat Roger to his knees, but, ere his assailant could strike again, Giles's broadsword rose and fell.
"So are we quits, good Roger!" he cried, "Ha, see—they break! On, pikes, on! Bows and bills, sa-ha!"
Up rose the dust, forward swept the battle as Black Ivo's hosts gave back before the might of Mortain; forward the blue banner reeled and staggered where fought Beltane fierce and untiring, his long shield hacked and dinted, his white plumes shorn away, while ever his hardy foresters smote and thrust on flank and rear. Twice Black Roger fell and twice Giles leapt 'twixt him and death, and perceiving his haggard eyes and the pallor of his grimed and bloody cheek, roared at him in fierce anxiety:
"Fall out, Roger, fall out and rest ye, man!"
"Not whiles I can stand, archer!"
"Art a fool, Roger."
"Belike I am, Giles—"
"And therefore do I love thee, Rogerkin! Ha, bear up man, yonder is water—a muddy brook—"
"O blessed Saint Cuthbert!" panted Roger.
Now before them was a water-brook and beyond this brook Black Ivo's harassed columns made a fierce and desperate rally what time they strove to re-form their hard-pressed ranks; but from Duke Beltane's midmost battle the trumpets brayed fierce and loud, whereat from a thousand parched throats a hoarse cry rose, and chivalry and foot, the men of Mortain charged with levelled lance, with goring pike, with whirling axe and sword, and over and through and beyond the brook the battle raged, sweeping ever southwards.