and tall,
well armed, the red cross of St. George on his breast, and he fought with
a mighty sword. Together, then, we made at him, two to one, as needs
must be, for this was no gentle passage of arms, but open battle. One
sweep of his sword I made shift to avoid, but the next lighting on my
salade, drove me staggering back for more yards than two or three, and I
reeled and fell on my hands. When I rose, Alphonse de Partada was
falling beneath a sword-stroke, and I was for running forward again; but
lo! the great English knight leaped in the air, and so, turning, fell on
his face, his hands grasping at the ground and his feet kicking.

Later I heard from D'Aulon that he had bidden John the Lorrainer mark the
man with his couleuvrine, for that he did overmuch mischief. But,
thinking of nought save to be foremost in the breach, I ran in, stumbling
over the dead man's body, and shouldered at the same time by Alphonse,
who warded off a stab of a pike that was dealt at me. Then it was a fair
mellay, our men pressing after us through the gap, and driving us forward
by mere weight of onset, they coming with all speed against our enemies
that ran together from all parts of the keep, and so left bare the
further wall. It was body to body, weight against weight, short strokes
at close quarters, and, over our heads, bills striking and foining at the
English. Each man smote where he could; we wavered and swayed, now off
our feet in the press, now making some yard of ground, and evil was the
smell and thick the dust that arose. Meanwhile came the sound of the
riving of planks from the other side of the palisade; above the steel
points and the dust I saw the Maid's pennon advancing with the face of my
lady painted thereon, and I pressed towards it, crying "St. Andrew" with
such breath as was in me. Then rang out the Maid's voice, like a
clarion, "St. Denis!" and so, stroke echoing stroke, and daggers going at
close quarters, beaten on and blinded, deaf and breathless, now up, now
down, we staggered forward, till I and the Maid stood side by side, and
the English broke, some falling, some flying to the out-gate.

And, when all was done, there was I, knowing little enough of what had
come and gone, dazed, with my sword bloody and bent, my head humming, and
my foot on the breast of an English knight, one Robert Heron. Him I took
to prisoner, rescue or no rescue, and so sat we down, very weary, in the
midst of blood and broken