Meanwhile, the king stood fast. He had employed horsemen to charge up the hill; and with equal good sense, he ordered those about him to dismount, and fight on foot against the English, who were coming upon them on horseback. John’s resistance was as injurious to his realm as the flight of his sons. His brethren of the order of the Star were, like himself, true to their vow, and did not retreat. “And they fought by troops and by companies, as they chanced to meet and fall in together.” But the multitude fled to Poitiers, which closed its gates. “So there was on the road and before the gate such a horrible spectacle of men slaughtered and trampled down as is wonderful to think of; and the French surrendered the moment they caught sight of an Englishman ever so far off.” Meanwhile, the field was still contested. “King John himself did wonders; he was armed with a battle-axe, with which he fought and defended himself. By his side was his youngest son, who well deserved the surname of the Bold, who guided his blind valour, crying out to him every moment: ‘Look to your right, father! to your left!’ But the throng of assailants continually increased, all being eager to make so rich a capture. The English and Gascons poured in so fast on the king’s division that they broke through the ranks by force; and the French were so intermixed with their enemies that at times there were five men attacking one gentleman. There was much pressing at this time, through eagerness of taking the king; and those that were nearest to him, and knew him, cried out: ‘Surrender yourself, or you are a dead man.’ In that part of the field was a young knight from St. Omer, who was engaged by a salary in the service of the king of England; his name was Denys de Morbeyne, who for five years had attached himself to the English, on occasion of his having been banished in his younger days from France, for a murder committed in an affray at St. Omer. It fortunately happened for this knight that he was at the time near to the king of France, when the latter was so much pulled about; he, by dint of force--for he was very strong and robust--pushed through the crowd, and said to the king in good French: ‘Sir, sir, surrender yourself.’ The king, who found himself very disagreeably situated, turning to him, asked: ‘To whom shall I surrender myself--to whom? Where is my cousin, the prince of Wales? If I could see him, I would speak to him.’ ‘Sir,’ replied Sir Denys, ‘he is not here; but surrender yourself to me, and I will lead you to him.’ ‘Who are you?’ said the king. ‘Sir, I am Denys de Morbeyne, a knight from Artois; but I serve the king of England, because I cannot belong to France, having forfeited all I possessed there.’ The king then gave him his right hand glove, and said: ‘I surrender myself to you.’ There was much crowding and pushing about, for everyone was eager to cry out: ‘I have taken him.’ Neither the king nor his youngest son, Philip, was able to get forward