gundian men-at-arms without end or
number, the banner of the Maid waved wildly, now up, now down, in the mad
mellay, and ever they of Burgundy pressed on, and still our men, being
few and outnumbered, gave back. Yet still some of the many clubmen of
the townsfolk tumbled over as they ran, and the drawbridge was choked
with men flying, thrusting and thronging, wild and blind with the fear of
death. Then rose on our left one great cry, such as the English give
when they rejoice, or when they charge, and lo! forth from a little wood
that had hidden them, came galloping and running across the heavy wet
meadowland between us and Venette, the men-at-arms and the archers of
England. Then we nigh gave up all for lost, and fain I would have turned
my eyes away, but I might not.

Now and again the English archers paused, and loosed a flight of
clothyard shafts against the stream of our runaways on the bridge.
Therefore it was that some fell as they ran. But the little company of
our horsemen were now driven back so near us that I could plainly see the
Maid, coming last of all, her body swung round in the saddle as she
looked back at the foremost foemen, who were within a lance's length of
her. And D'Aulon and Pierre du Lys, gripping each at her reins, were
spurring forward. But through the press of our clubmen and flying
horsemen they might not win, and now I saw, what never man saw before,
the sword of the Maid bare in battle! She smote on a knight's shield,
her sword shivered in that stroke, she caught her steel sperthe into her
hand, and struck and hewed amain, and there were empty saddles round her.

And now the English in the meadow were within four lances' lengths of the
causeway between her and safety. Say it I must, nor cannon-ball nor
arrow-flight availed to turn these English. Still the drawbridge and the
inlet of the boulevard were choked with the press, and men were leaping
from bank and bridge into the boats, or into the water, while so mixed
were friends and foes that Flavy, in a great voice, bade archers and
artillerymen hold their hands.

Townsfolk, too, were mingled in the throng, men who had come but to gape
as curious fools, and among them I saw the hood of a cordelier, as I
glanced from the fight to mark how the Maid might force her way within.
Still she smote, and D'Aulon and Pierre du Lys smote manfully, and anon
they gained a little way, backing their horses, while our archers dared
not shoot, so