"What do you advise, my Lord Prince? We might even cut our way back to the castle, if we were sure of it. If we have that, we have command of the town."
"Hold your own here," replied the prince; "I think they give way somewhat."
Just then a band of bowmen, who had cleared out a side street, came forth as Richard went by.
"With me!" he called to them. "Let us join the prince. Beware how ye send your shafts into yonder mêlée, lest ye harm a friend!"
"Hark!" exclaimed Sir Henry. "It is Richard Neville! They have beaten him. Where can Sir Thomas be? I fear there is black tidings!"
"Fight on!" replied the prince. "At all events he bringeth us some help."
Closely aimed arrows, well-thrown spears, cleaving of sword and axe were help indeed; but better than all was the clear, ringing voice of Richard, in English first, and then in Norman French:
"My Lord the Prince, we have the keep and castle! Sir Thomas Gifford holdeth it. De Bruyerre is killed. His men are dead or taken. Bid these fools here surrender. They have naught for which to fight."
"God and St. George for England!" roared Sir Henry of Wakeham.