CHAPTER XII
The Return to Rochelle
The conference was brief. "Have you seen Count Louis?" I asked their leader.
"No, monsieur, but we will help you to find him. Forward, brave boys; another blow for the Cause!"
They replied with a cheer—oh, how those Englishmen cheered!—and we raced on together, French and English, side by side, and death all around us. I glanced at Roger; he had been wounded again, but there was no time to speak.
The retreat in this part of the field had not become general; numbers of soldiers in tolerably good order were still battling stubbornly, and presently we reached the remnant of several troops of cavalry.
In front of them was the venerable Count of St. Cyr, his snow-white beard sweeping to his waist.
"My lord," I said, riding up, "can you tell me where to find Count Louis of Nassau?"
"Farther on the right, monsieur," he replied courteously; "but you will find it difficult to reach him. Ah, here they come!" and, glancing ahead, I perceived a cloud of horsemen preparing to swoop down upon us.
"Pray, my lord," pleaded his chaplain, who was close by, "say something to encourage your troops. They are faint and weary with fighting, and the odds against them are terrible."