At the word our men wheeled into line of battle, the armored knights in the van, in two open ranks, then the men-at-arms in three more of closer array. The archers were not to charge with us, but, with a dozen knights and a hundred men-at-arms under Lord Mountjoy, were to form a rearguard lest other bodies of the Welsh close in upon us. Both Sir Geoffrey and I had won favor in the Lord Constable’s eyes by somewhat we had accomplished in the fighting at the ford; and now I led the forces of Mountjoy at his right and Geoffrey those of Carleton and Teramore on his left hand. In a moment came the furious shock of battle and all the frightful scenes of the struggle by the river’s edge—with the vantage now on the side of our enemies. Many of the steeds of our gallant knights transfixed themselves upon the Welsh lances; and their riders, brought to the ground, fell victims to swords or javelins or were crushed beneath the hoofs of our own oncoming ranks. But the line of spears was utterly broken; and the other knights and men-at-arms drove furiously into the mass before them. Swords and lances did their terrible work, and in the briefest time hundreds of our enemies had fallen. The Constable fought that day with a huge mace, and, swinging it about his head as it were a willow wand, he seemed like the great god Thor of the heathen worship of old. But now for every two or three of the Welsh one of our knights or men-at-arms perished also. Some of the tribesmen, struck down by the swords of the riders, thrust upwards at our horses with swords and knives as we passed over them, and so cast down many a rider into the mêlée of dashing hoofs and glancing blades; and many times furious warriors, laying hold upon the riders, brought them to the earth and to speedy death. Their archers and javelin throwers aimed at our necks and faces; and though many of their shafts flew wide or even struck down their own, others found their marks indeed and added to our fatal losses. From one desperate moment to another, for a length of time ever unknown to me, the struggle and the slaying went on unchecked. Our numbers grew ever fewer, and we were gaining scarce a yard of ground. For all the heaps of fallen, the Welsh fought on with undiminished fury; and ’twas evident that they would slay the last of us ere we could force the pass. Lionel of Montmorency had fallen with half his men, as also Dunwoodie and Sir William, his brother and heir. The Lord Constable himself was wounded, and, panting with fatigue and loss of blood, had dropped his mace to fight again with broadsword. Sir Geoffrey of Carleton had once saved him from the hands of a huge Welsh warrior who sought to drag him from his saddle; and now the two fought almost back to back in an ever narrowing circle of enemies.