During all the time that the battle was raging, King Edward was watching from his hill-top, his glance never for one moment straying from the panorama of the battlefield, as the combat deepened into a mortal one. The French cavalry was close upon the Black Prince. He and his men were in great danger. He was young and inexperienced. The Earl of Northampton hastily sent a messenger to the king, begging him to come down to his son's aid. King Edward, who had been watching the prince's manoeuvres with breathless interest, and had determined on his course in regard to the lad, answered the messenger with a question. "Is my son killed?" "No sire, please God," replied the messenger. "Is he wounded?" "No, sire." "Is he thrown to the ground?" "No, my lord, not so, but he is in the thick of the fray and is in great need of your assistance." "Return to those who sent you," answered the king, "and tell them not to send for me again while my son is still alive, but to let the youth win his spurs, for I intend if it please God that this day be his." Such a retort as this showed plainly that King Edward had the greatest confidence in his son's courage and ability and the bold words being repeated to the prince and his men, so raised their spirits that they fought more valiantly than before. Again and again the French army charged on the enemy, but it was of no use. At one moment, the Black Prince was in mortal danger, having been wounded and thrown to the ground, and was only saved by a brave knight, Richard de Beaumont, who was carrying the huge banner of Wales, and who, seeing the prince fall, instantly threw the banner over him as he lay on the ground, and stood on it until he had driven back the enemy, after which the prince was raised up and revived, and took his place again in the battle. Through all that long summer evening of August 26th, and far into the night, the Black Prince and his army fought the army of France, fought until the flower of the French force lay dead, and their troops were utterly discouraged, and disorganised. Then seeing that the case was hopeless for them, and that the victory had been won by the sturdy little English army, John of Hainault seized the bridle of King Philip's horse and led him away, led him away from the danger and tumult of the battle-field. Out into the quiet country they rode in silence, with five horsemen only following them. On they journeyed through the blackness of the night and on until they reached Amiens. But of their flight or journey or destination, not one of the victors thought or cared, for the battle-field had become the seat of wild rejoicing and of revelry.