sgas and his fellows
burst amongst the Medians with lowered lances and covering shields.
They slew many, and flung many others from their saddles. They rode
over the fallen, trampling them beneath the hoofs of the horses, till
they reached the very cohort of that king who had slain Sir Bedevere.
Mounted on strong destriers the bold vassals followed after Hiresgas,
wheeling to right or left, as he led, till they pierced to the
gonfalon, showing the arms of the king. Hiresgas spied his foe. He
turned his horse, and pushing through the press, drew near, and smote
Bocus full on the helm. The baron was a mighty man; the stroke
was fierce, and his blade was keen and strong. He struck well and
craftily. The blow sheared through helmet and coif. It divided the
head to the shoulders, so that the soul of King Bocus sped away to the
Adversary. Hiresgas stretched out his arm, seizing the body ere it
might fall to the ground. He set his enemy before him on his horse,
and held him fast, the limbs hanging on either side. Then he made his
way from the stour, the dead man uttering neither lamentation nor cry.
The knight was grim, and his war-horse mighty. His kinsfolk gathered
behind him, that the Medians should do him no mischief. By the aid of
his fellows he won out of the battle, and carried his burthen to the
very place where his uncle lay. There, joint by joint, he hacked
King Bocus asunder. When his task was ended, Sir Hiresgas called his
comrades about him. "Come," said he, "come, true men's sons, to the
slaying of these Romans. Romans! nay, cutpurses, rather, whoresons,
paynims who have neither trust in God, nor faith in our true religion.
Rome has brought them from the east for the destruction of our lives
and our kin. On then, friends, let us wipe out these pagans, the
pagans, and such renegade Christians as have joined them to slay
Christendom more surely. Forward, to sharpen your manhood upon them."
Hiresgas led his household back to the battle. Tumult and shouting
filled the plain. Helmet and brand glittered in the sun, but the steel
often was dulled with blood, or was shattered on the shield. The fair
duke, Guitard of Poitiers, bore him as a valiant man. He held his own
stoutly against the King of Afric. The two lords contended together,
hand to hand, but it was the King of Afric died that day. Guitard
passed across his body, smiting down many Africans and Moors. Holdin,
Duke of the Flemings, was a wise prince, circumspect