"Je me rends! je axe rends!" he panted.
For a moment a vision of rich ransoms passed through Nigel's
brain. That noble palfrey, that gold-flecked armor, meant fortune
to the captor. Let others have it! There was work still to be
done. How could he desert the Prince and his noble master for the
sake of a private gain? Could he lead a prisoner to the rear when
honor beckoned him to the van? He staggered to his feet, seized
Pommers by the mane, and swung himself into the saddle.
An instant later he was by Chandos' side once more and they were
bursting together through the last ranks of the gallant group who
had fought so bravely to the end. Behind them was one long swath
of the dead and the wounded. In front the whole wide plain was
covered with the flying French and their pursuers.
The Prince reined up his steed and opened his visor, whilst his
followers crowded round him with waving weapons and frenzied
shouts of victory. "What now, John!" cried the smiling Prince,
wiping his streaming face with his ungauntleted hand. "How fares
it then?"
"I am little hurt, fair lord, save for a crushed hand and a
spear-prick in the shoulder. But you, sir? I trust you have no
scathe?"
"In truth, John, with you at one elbow and Lord Audley at the
other, I know not how I could come to harm. But alas! I fear
that Sir James is sorely stricken.
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