A score of lances in rest—a score of galloping horses—loud shouts of angry men-at-arms—one moment of deadly peril—but then the brave kerns with the last of the boats were springing into it, and the French riders drew rein at the water's edge under a shower of javelins, only to know that they were too late.
It was just then, moreover, that Sir Thomas Holland, having listened eagerly to a Longwood archer, was shouting loudly, "To horse, brave knights all! The Neville hath found boats!" and orders followed to all foot soldiery within call.
"They come," said Richard, waiting his gallant kerns, "but yonder boats will hold only eight men each, well crowded. We can gain no landing against men-at-arms. Yonder, above, is a steeper bank, where horsemen can not reach the brink—O'Rourke, on! Up stream!"
It was not far to go, and the French lancers could do no more than follow as best they might, over rough ground and through dense undergrowth. They were even out of sight, by reason of the clifflike bank, when Richard Neville and some of his bowmen made the boats full almost to sinking, and were swiftly ferried over.
"Haste now, indeed!" he ordered, but not loudly, as he stepped ashore. "A few boat loads more and we can hold our own."
Whoever commanded the Frenchmen believed his enemies to be going on up the river, for he and his appeared on the bank again a full half mile above. Again and again had the wherries borne their English passengers, and now they were going back for Sir Thomas Holland and the knights who dismounted with him.
"Is the Neville mad?" he exclaimed. "He is forming his archery on the hill. Look! 'Tis not ill done. There come King Philip's men-at-arms! Heaven help him! We are too late!"
"But the boy is not mad at all," replied Sir Peter Legh. "The French horses go down. There are not enough of them."
On the height, truly, had Richard formed his threescore or more of kerns and bowmen, with others fast arriving, but it was behind a thick, low hedge of old thorn bushes, fit to break a rush of cavalry. Here, therefore, was shattered the line of the French men-at-arms; and while they strove to force their horses through the thorns, they were good marks for the arrows of Arden. Their horses were but lost animals, and the good knights who rolled upon the ground surrendered rather than have Irish spears driven between the bars of their helmets. So rapid, so deadly was this killing of horses that not one did get away.
"I told thee!" said Sir Peter to Sir Thomas, in the boat that bore them. "We shall find that he hath done a brave deed this day."