e hour of
need!' said the Duke d'Alencon on hearing those words. Whilst the
Genoese were holding back, there fell from heaven a rain, heavy and
thick, with thunder and lightning very mighty and terrible. Before long,
however, the air began to clear and the sun to shine. The French had it
right in their eyes and the English at their backs. When the Genoese had
recovered themselves and got together, they advanced upon the English
with loud shouts, so as to strike dismay; but the English kept quite
quiet, and showed no sign of it. Then the Genoese bent their cross-bows
and began to shoot. The English, making one step forward, let fly their
arrows, which came down so thick upon the Genoese that it looked like a
fall of snow. The Genoese, galled and discomfited, began to fall back.
Between them and the main body of the French was a great hedge of
men-at-arms who were watching their proceedings. When the King of France
saw his bowmen thus in disorder he shouted to the men-at-arms, 'Up now
and slay all this scum, for it blocks our way and hinders us from getting
forward.'" Then the French, on every side, struck out at the Genoese, at
whom the English archers continued to shoot.

"Thus began the battle between Broye and Crecy, at the hour of vespers."
The French, as they came up, were already tired and in great disorder:
"howbeit so many valiant men and good knights kept ever riding forward
for their honor's sake, and preferred rather to die than that a base
flight should be cast in their teeth." A fierce combat took place
between them and the division of the Prince of Wales. Thither penetrated
the Count d'Alenccon and the Count of Flanders with their followers,
round the flank of the English archers; and the King of France, who was
foaming with displeasure and wrath, rode forward to join his brother
D'Alencon, but there was so great a hedge of archers and men-at-arms
mingled together that he could never get past. Thomas of Norwich, a
knight serving under the Prince of Wales, was sent to the King of England
to ask him for help. "'Sir Thomas,' said the king, 'is my son dead or
unhorsed, or so wounded that he cannot help himself?' 'Not so, my lord,
please God; but he is fighting against great odds, and is like to have
need of your help.' 'Sir Thomas,' replied the king, 'return to them who
sent you, and tell them from me not to send for me, whatever chance
befall them, so long as my son is alive, and tell them that I