he king,
my father, and your good friends and kinsmen shall revenge us.
Therefore, sirs and comrades, I require you to do your duty this day;
for if God be pleased, and Saint George aid, this day you shall see me
a good knight."

The battle began with a charge of three hundred French knights up the
narrow lane. No sooner had they appeared than the vineyards and hedges
rained arrows upon them, killing and wounding knights and horses; the
animals, wild with pain, flinging and trampling their masters; the
knights, heavy with armor and disabled by wounds, strewing that fatal
lane with their bodies; while still the storm of steel-pointed shafts
dealt death in their midst.

The horsemen fell back in dismay, breaking the thick ranks of footmen
behind them, and spreading confusion wherever they appeared. At this
critical moment a body of English horse, who were posted on a little
hill to the right, rushed furiously upon the French flank. At the same
time the archers poured their arrows upon the crowded and disordered
mass, and the prince, seeing the state of the enemy, led his men-at-arms
vigorously upon their broken ranks.

"St. George for Guienne!" was the cry, as the horsemen spurred upon the
panic-stricken masses of the French.

"Let us push to the French king's station; there lies the heart of the
battle," said Lord Chandos to the prince. "He is too valiant to fly, I
fancy. If we fight well, I trust, by the grace of God and St. George, we
shall have him. You said we should see you this day a good knight."

"You shall not see me turn back," said the prince. "Advance, banner, in
the name of God and St. George!"

On went the banner; on came the array of fighting knights; into the
French host they pressed deeper and deeper, King John their goal. The
field was strewn with dead and dying; panic was spreading in widening
circles through the French army; the repulsed horsemen were in full
flight and thousands of those behind them broke and followed. King John
fought with knightly courage, his son Philip, a boy of sixteen, by his
side, aiding him by his cries of warning. But nothing could withstand
the English onset. Some of his defenders fell, others fled; he would
have fallen himself but for the help of a French knight, in the English
service.

"Sir, yield you," he called to the king, pressing between him and his
assailants.

"To whom shall I yield?" asked the king. "Where is my cousin, the prince
of Wales?"

"He is