Before Raymond and his companions could throw themselves into the press, the horsemen had hewn a way right to the foot of the Royal Standard, beneath which the Prince of Wales and a chosen body of knights fought with magnificent courage.
The French and German knights, intent on securing the Prince, hurled themselves in a compact body towards the Standard, and as fast as one warrior fell, two more took his place, till it seemed that the desperate bravery of the attackers would attain its purpose.
Raymond found himself engaged by a tall, broad-shouldered antagonist, who bore on his shield the cognisance of the House of Luxemburg. For a space they rained blows at each other, striving by sheer force to cut down their respective guards, till, by a sweeping blow, the Frenchman shivered the squire's sword, and only by swiftly leaping backwards was Raymond able to avoid the deadly stroke: So narrow was his escape that the point of the descending blade cut a long, clean gash in his surcoat ere it buried itself a foot deep in the carcase of a slain charger. Instantly the squire rushed in, struck the Luxemburger with the edge of his shield, then, ere the man could recover himself, plunged his dagger to the hilt in his brawny throat.
Without pausing to recover his breath, Raymond rushed towards a group of French knights who were surrounding a little knot of Englishmen. It was the Prince's own bodyguard, who, hard pressed, strove their utmost to defend their young master. Sir Reynold Cobham, beaten to the ground, lay pinned down by the weight of his armour; the Earl of Warwick, wounded in the face by a lance thrust, was fiercely beset by two knights of Cologne, while Edward, though unscathed, was the mark of nigh a score of determined Frenchmen. Nimbly avoiding one stroke, parrying another, and diverting a thrust with his shield, the Prince fought like a trained veteran rather than a mere lad of fifteen.
At length a knight, armed with a huge double-handed sword, made a swinging cut at the Prince just as the latter had all his attention drawn by the fierce onslaught of a mounted knight of Sicily. For the moment it seemed as if nothing could save the Prince from instant death; but Raymond, regardless of his own safety, sprang forward, and with his shield and his own body strove to stay the blow. The knight's sword struck the squire's shield just above the upper leathern loop that held it to the wearer's arm. The tough metal plate was sheared through as if made of paper, and the blade, glancing upwards against the squire's bascinet, struck the Prince a harmless blow, merely slicing the crest of his helmet.
Raymond fell at the Prince's feet, but the Constable of Portchester, seeing his squire stricken to the earth, dashed out the swordsman's brains with a crashing blow of his mace. For a short space Raymond lay breathless on the ground, then, feeling terribly dazed, he raised himself and looked around. To his utmost satisfaction he saw that the Prince of Wales was unhurt. Already the danger was past, for the Earls of Arundel and Northampton had brought up their division to the aid of the sorely pressed Prince, and the attackers, beaten at every point, were giving way in headlong flight.
At length the squire staggered to his feet, and, assisted by an archer of his company, he slowly and painfully made his way towards the camp. Darkness was falling, and the English, having been ordered to refrain from hazardous pursuit, stood in their ranks, while a vast plain, dotted with thousands of corpses, of which but few wore the red cross surcoats, silently testified to the hard-fought fight.
As Raymond passed the ranks of his own company Sir John Hacket came forward and grasped him by the hand.
"My brave squire," he exclaimed. "Right nobly hast thou borne thyself this day. The Prince hath spoken highly of thy courage and devotion, and, without doubt, tidings of thy deeds will come to the cars of the King. But, Raymond," he added sadly, "I have ill tidings for thee."
"My father?" gasped the squire, reading the Constable's unspoken words.