Now the battle was to begin, for the two armies were drawn up in fighting array, and Rainouart took his place at the head of his cowards opposite the Saracens, from which race he sprang. The charge was sounded, and the two armies met with a shock, and many a man fell from his horse and was trampled under foot. 'Narbonne! Narbonne!' shouted Aimeri, advancing within reach of a crossbow shot, and he would have been slain had not his sons dashed to his rescue. Count William did miracles, and the Saracens were driven so far back that Rainouart feared that the battle would be ended before he had struck a blow. Followed by his troop of cowards Rainouart made straight for the enemy, and before him they fell as corn before a sickle. 'Strike, soldiers,' shouted he; 'strike and avenge the noble Vivian; woe to the King Desramé if he crosses my path.' And a messenger came and said to Desramé, 'It is Rainouart with the iron staff, the strongest man in the world.' Rainouart and his cowards pressed on and on, and the Saracens fell back, step by step, till they reached the sea, where their ships were anchored. Then Rainouart drove his staff in the sand, and by its help swung himself on board a small vessel, which happened to be the very one in which the nephews of William were imprisoned. He laid about him right and left with his staff, till he had slain all the gaolers, and at last he came to a young man whose eyes were bandaged and his feet tied together. 'Who are you?' asked Rainouart. 'I am Bertrand of France, nephew of William Short Nose. Four months ago I was taken captive by the Pagans, and if, as I think, they carry me into Arabia, then may God have pity on my soul, for it is all over with my body.' 'Sir Count,' answered Rainouart, 'for love of William I will deliver you.' Bertrand was set free and his companions also. Seizing the weapons of the dead Saracens, they scrambled on shore, and, while fighting for their lives, looked about for their uncle, whom they knew at last by the sweep of his sword, which kept a clean space round him. More than once Rainouart swept back fresh foes that were pressing forwards till the tide of battle carried him away and brought him opposite Desramé the King. 'Who are you?' asked Desramé, struck by his face, for there was nothing royal in his dress or his arms. 'I am Rainouart, vassal of William whom I love, and if you do hurt to him I will do hurt to you also.' 'Rainouart, I am your father,' cried Desramé, and he besought him to forswear Christianity and to become a follower of Mahomet; but Rainouart turned a deaf ear, and challenged him to continue the combat. Desramé was no match for his son, and was soon struck from his horse. 'Oh, wretch that I am,' said Rainouart to himself, 'I have slain my brothers and wounded my father--it is my staff which has done all this evil,' and he flung it far from him.