But would they reach the valley in time to save Charles d'Anjou? While they rushed and fell and fought their way through this forest, that battle line of Saracens was galloping over easy, rolling ground with only Charles's archers to impede them. Just now Simon was crashing through woods so thick he could not see the battlefield.
Then there was light ahead and a meadow of brown grass. Brillant broke through the brush at the bottom of the slope.
The red-turbaned line was a little past the place where Simon had come out. They were riding those light, fast Saracen horses.
Where were the lines of crossbowmen? Gone—and now Simon saw bodies scattered on the ground where the foot archers had stood.
Charles's banner was still on the same hilltop. In moments the Saracens would be upon him.
"Faster! Faster!" Simon shouted, slapping Brillant's neck as the huge war-horse ran at top speed to overtake the Saracen line.
Daoud charged on, his eyes fixed on the crowned figure under the red and black banner.
The pounding of hoofbeats in the air all around him was suddenly louder than he thought possible. He had been hearing the ululating, high-pitched war cries of his men, but now heard screams of pain and shouts of battle and deeper war cries, voices shouting in French.
Coming from the right flank.