"Yield thyself, Sir Knight!" exclaimed Raymond.
For a moment the Count gazed with undisguised astonishment at the man whom he had last seen as a prisoner in his stronghold, then, recovering himself, he put spur to his horse and rode furiously at the squire.
The combatants were evenly matched, for the advantage of the Frenchman's complete coat of mail was balanced by the comparative freshness of his opponent and his steed. The knight had lost his lance, so that the fight was with swords.
Reining back his horse, Raymond skilfully avoided the first rush, the Count's sword-point missing his unguarded face by a hand's breadth, while the squire's return blow fell harmlessly on his adversary's shield. Instantly Raymond closed in, and before the knight could turn his steed to meet the counter-attack, the squire's sword had bit deeply into his enemy's thigh. Then their blades met, and amid a shower of sparks and the clicking and rasping of steel, Raymond found himself at pains to defend his unvisored face, and it was not long before the blood was flowing freely from a cut on his cheek. But the Count's previous exertions and the loss of blood from several deep wounds were beginning to tell. His blows did not fall with the same strength that marked his first rush, though the squire could not break down his guard.
Long they fought, their horses prancing and curveting as if realising that their efforts would materially aid their masters' sword-play, till Raymond's untried blade snapped off close to the hilt, and, with the exception of a short knife, he was left weaponless.
A quick pull at the reins, and the squire's horse ranged alongside that of the Norman. The next instant Raymond had grasped his opponent round the body, and with a mighty heave sought to tear him from the saddle.
Between the two plunging steeds the combatants fell, locked in a close embrace, Raymond uppermost; but before he could make good his advantage and demand his enemy's surrender a stunning kick from the Count's horse left its master at the Englishman's mercy.
Raymond rose to his feet bruised and breathless, and at that moment a band of soldiers came hurrying towards them. The newcomers were the wild-looking Welsh mercenaries, intent on plunder; and, unable to make them understand who he was, the squire was for a while in danger of being set upon by these lawless booty-seeking warriors. Standing over the body of the prostrate knight, he beckoned, shouted, and threatened, till a highly-pitched voice behind him demanded who and what he was.
Raymond turned and saw a gigantic, swarthy, and black-bearded man, clad in a bronze-coloured suit of armour, having a green dragon emblazoned on his surcoat and shield.
"Squire to Sir John Hacket of Hamptonshire," he replied breathlessly. "I pray thee bid these rascals desist."