e Mans. Heading them boldly, Richard threw
out his archers like a waterspray over the flats, and while these
checked the advance and had the van in confusion, thundered down the
slopes with his knights, caught the Marshal on the flank, smote him hip
and thigh, and swept the core of his army into the river. The Marshal's
battle was thus destroyed; but the wedge had made too clean a cleft.
Front and rear joined up and held; so Richard found himself in danger.
The Viscount of Beziers, who led the rearguard, engaged the enemy, and
pushed them slowly back towards the Aune; Richard wheeled his men and
charged, to take them in the rear. His horse, stumbling on the rotten
ground, fell badly and threw him: there were cries, 'Hola! Count Richard
is down!' and some stayed to rescue and some pushed on. William the
Marshal, on a white horse, came suddenly upon him as he lay. 'Mort de
dieu!' shrilled this good soldier, and threw up his spear arm. 'God's
feet, Marshal, kill one or other of us!' said Richard lightly: he was
pinned down by his struggling beast. 'I leave you to the devil, my lord
Richard,' said the Marshal, and drove his spear into the horse's chest.
The beast's death-plunge freed his master. Richard jumped up: even on
foot his head was level with the rider's shield. 'Have at you now!' he
cried; but the Marshal shook his head, and rode after his flying men.
The day was with Poictou, Le Mans must fall.

It fell, but not yet; nor did Richard see it fall. Gaston of Bearn
joined his master the next day. 'Hasten, hasten, fair lord!' he cried
out as soon as he saw him. Richard looked as if he had never known the
word.

'What news of Normandy, Gaston?'

'The English are through, Richard. The country swarms with them. They
hold Avranches, and now are moving south.'

'They are too late,' said Richard. 'Tell me what message you have from
the Fair-Girdled.'

'Wed or unwed, she is yours. But she is kept in a tower until Palm
Sunday. Then they bring her out and marry her to what remains of a black
Normandy pig. Not very much remains, but (they tell me) enough for the
purpose.'

'Spine of God,' said Richard, examining his finger-nails.

'Swear by His heart, rather, my Count,' Gaston said, 'for you have a red
heart in your keeping. Eh, eh, what a beautiful person is there! She
leaned her body out of the window--what a shape that girdle confines!
Bowered roses! Dian and the Nymphs! Bosomed familiars of old Pan! And
what emerald