"Geoffrey," exclaimed Sir Thomas Carberry, who had just left the King's presence, "the time hath come when we must prove our courage and devotion. Dost mark yon mill, at the head of the river? The red roof is to be seen above the trees on thy left."
"Yes, sir," replied the squire. "Methinks that foes are in force there, since the smoke of many camp fires rises skywards."
"Nay, 'tis the fires of the wood-cutters of Peronne. But to the point: my company must seize yon mill at all costs, and hold the ford above but hard by the mill till the main body of the army can cross. See to it that the mounted men-at-arms only are to essay this task—of the archers we have no need. Now, hasten, for every moment is precious."
Led by Sir Thomas Carberry in person, with Geoffrey and Oswald and Richard Ratclyffe riding close behind him, the eighty men-at-arms rode steadily through the open valley towards the ford. Then, as the company rounded an intervening spur of ground, the mill again appeared in sight.
Scattered in and around the rambling stone building were several French knights, crossbowmen and men-at-arms. Although placed there for the express purpose of guarding the important passage, it was not until the head of the English column showed itself that the defenders realized the danger. Standing in his stirrups Sir Thomas shouted his battle-cry; then with a roar the horsemen thundered towards the ford.
Ere the horses could gain the water sufficient time had elapsed to enable the crossbowmen to wind their cumbersome weapons, and with a dull bass hum the heavy quarrels began to speed over and betwixt the Englishmen, some finding a billet in the bodies of the charging horsemen or their steeds. Now and again a horse would sink to earth, throwing its rider headlong, while those following had much ado to prevent themselves from being overthrown by the still plunging animal. Sometimes a thrown rider would struggle to his feet and begin to stumble blindly after his comrades, but more often the thrown warrior would lie still and motionless, never again to hear the shouts of his victorious comrades in arms.
Now the head of the column was in the swift-flowing river. The water soaked through Geoffrey's mailed shoes and greaves, but the squire heeded it not: his whole attention was directed against a knot of mail-clad Frenchmen who were urging their steeds into the stream to contest the possession of the ford.
With a crash the sharpened lance-points met, but owing to the retarding influence of the water the shock was not so great as that of the tilt-yard. Some of the less skilful riders were hurled from their saddles to perish miserably in the river, but the majority, casting aside their unwieldy lances, fell upon each other with axe, mace and sword.
Of what happened during the next few moments Geoffrey had but a dim recollection. It was cut, thrust, and parry, steel ringing on steel, horses champing and neighing, wounded men shrieking dismally till their miserable cries were stifled by the silent yet swift-running current, and above all the hoarse shouts of the English men-at-arms who were not to be gainsaid in their determination to win the ford.
At length the mêlée thinned, and the squire found himself opposed to a knight clad in bronzed armour, and armed with a long two-handled sword. Wedged firmly in his high-pommelled saddle the Frenchman had slung his shield behind his back, and, with the reins dropped upon his horse's mane, he was able to devote his whole strength to the wielding of his mighty weapon.