Once through it they spurred to left and right, trampling down the
dismounted men-at-arms.
A fearsome sight was Pommers that day, his red eyes rolling, his
nostrils gaping, his tawny mane tossing, and his savage teeth
gnashing in fury, as he tore and smashed and ground beneath his
ramping hoofs all that came before him. Fearsome too was the
rider, ice-cool; alert, concentrated of purpose, with, heart of
fire and muscles of steel. A very angel of battle he seemed as he
drove his maddened horse through the thickest of the press, but
strive as he would: the tall figure of his master upon his
coal-black steed was ever half a length before him.
Already the moment of danger was passed. The French line had
given back. Those who had pierced the hedge had fallen like brave
men amid the ranks of their foemen. The division of Warwick had
hurried up from the vineyards to fill the gaps of Salisbury's
battle-line. Back rolled the shining tide, slowly at first, even
as it had advanced, but quicker now as the bolder fell and the
weaker shredded out and shuffled with ungainly speed for a place
of safety. Again there was a rush from behind the hedge. Again
there was a reaping of that strange crop of bearded arrows which
grew so thick upon the ground, and again the wounded prisoners
were seized and dragged in brutal haste to the rear. Then the
line was restored, and the English, weary, panting and shaken,
awaited the next attack.
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