“There!” said Mark, “what did I tell you?”
“Come on!” shouted Caesar Bevis, and he ran to assist the fallen. He fell on Crassus, who chanced to be nearest, with such violence that Val gave way, when Bevis left him to attack Ted. Ted Pompey, nothing loth, lifted his sword and stepped to meet him.
“Bill! Fred!” shouted Mark; and these three, hustling before Caesar Bevis, charged under Pompey’s sword, for he could not hit three ways at once; and, thump, he measured his length on the grass.
“Cords!—Ropes!” shouted Mark. “Bill—the rope. Hold him down, Fred! O! You awful stupe! O!”
He stood stock-still, mouth agape; for Bevis, pushing Fred aside as he was going to kneel on Ted as men kneel on a fallen horse’s head, seized Ted by the arm and helped him up.
“Three to one’s not fair,” he said. “Ted, get your sword and fight Me.”
Ted looked round for his sword, which had rolled a yard or two. At the same moment Varro, having got on his feet again, rushed up and struck Caesar a sharp blow on his left arm. He turned, Varro struck again, but Fred guarded it off on his sword. Three soldiers, with Varro, surrounded Fred and Bevis, and, for the moment, they could do nothing but fence off the blows. Ted Pompey having found his sword, ran to aid Varro, when Mark hit him: he turned to strike at Mark, but a body of soldiers, with George and Tim at their head, rushed by, fighting with others, and bore Mark and Ted before them bodily. In a second all was confusion. On both sides the leaders were separated from their troops, the battle spread out, covering forty yards or more, and twenty individual combats raged at once. All the green declivity was covered with scattered parties, and no one knew which had the better.
“Keep together! Keep together!” shouted Varro, as he struck and rushed to and fro. “I tell you, keep together! Ted! Ted! Pompey! Keep together!”
Swish! slash! clatter! thump!
“Hurrah!”