lateau. Driven by a terror that left them no thought
but to outstrip one another, the fleeing riders seem to give no heed to
the sight that unfolds before them. At the foot of the slope that they
are about to descend, stands the numerous Breton cavalry, drawn up in
battle array, under the command of Morvan and Vortigern. It is only a
cavalry of rustics, yet intrepid, veterans in warfare, perfectly
mounted. Carried by the headlong course of their horses beyond the edge
of the plateau and down the slope to the valley, the Franks rush in
confused order upon the Breton cavalry that is drawn up as if to bar
their passage; they rush onward, either unable to restrain their still
frightened steeds, or conceiving a vague hope of crushing the opposing
Bretons under the irresistible violence of their impetuous descent. The
Breton cavalry, however, instead of waiting for the Franks, quickly
parts in two corps, one commanded by Morvan, the other by Vortigern.
One corps seems to flee to the right, the other to the left. The space
from the foot of the hill to the river Scoer being thus left free by the
sudden and rapid manoeuvre of the Gauls, most of the Frankish horsemen
find themselves hardly able to rein in their horses in time to escape
falling into the water. A moment of disorder follows. It is turned to
advantage by Morvan and Vortigern. The Frankish riders being dispersed
and engaged with their steeds, Vortigern and Morvan turn about and fall
upon them. They take the foe upon the flanks, right and left; charge
upon them with fury; make havoc among them. Most of them are sabred to
death, or have their heads beaten in with axes, others are driven into
the river. During the fierce melee, the remnant of the infantry of Louis
the Pious, still fleeing from the furnace of the moor of Kennor, arrives
upon the spot in disorder. Trained in the trade of massacre, they
promptly reform their ranks and pour down upon the Breton cavalry. At
first victorious, these are finally crushed, overwhelmed by vastly
superior numbers. On the other side of the river the rustic Gallic
infantry still continue to hold their ground--husbandmen, woo-men and
shepherds armed with pikes, scythes and axes, and many of them supplied
with bows and slings. Behind this mass of warriors, and within an
enclosure defended by barricades of heaped up trunks of trees and
ditches, are assembled the women and children of the combatants. All
their families have fled distracted