"Sir Thomas Gifford," commanded the prince, "go to him. Take ten men-at-arms. We must win the keep!"
On then he led his gallant men along the street, but when they reached the central square the French also were pouring into it from all sides. Save for their utter surprise they would have made a better fight, but at the first onset the English lances scattered their hasty array like chaff. Horsemen they had almost none, and their knights who fought on foot were but half-armored.
Now also David Griffith and his Welshmen had arrived within the walls, and it seemed to the defenders of Bruyerre that their foemen were a multitude. A band of mercenaries from Alsace, three hundred strong, penned in a side street, surrendered without a blow at the first whizzing of the English arrows.
Sir Thomas Gifford was standing at the portal of the castle, and he saw a man in armor come hastily out into a light that shone beyond.
"Richard Neville," he asked, "how is it with thee? Art thou beaten?"
"The keep is ours," called back Richard; "but I have too many prisoners. There were six hundred men."
"St. George for England!" cried the astonished knight. "Thou hast done a noble deed of arms!"
"But Raoul de Bruyerre is dead, and so is Giles Monson, he who guided us," continued Richard. "How fareth the prince?"
"Go thou to him with thy good news," replied Sir Thomas. "I will take command here and finish thy work."
"Let us not remain with Sir Thomas," exclaimed the O'Rourke, behind Richard, "if there is to be more fighting."