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Page 238
that art was of no help. Simon's mounted men were making havoc among the footmen, driving them somewhat back in spite of their numbers.
Even though the horses gave Simon's troop much advantage, there was little effort to harm them. Any horse was precious to the poor hillmen, and a war-trained stallion taken as booty was great wealth. Slowly the battle moved toward the palisade. The fires were almost out now, but a pall of smoke hung in the air and occasionally as a gust hit a smouldering log or thatch a new gout of smoke would rise. The nearer they came to the encampment, the harder it was to see. Suddenly, at the gate, a band hammered for admittance, crying hoarsely in Welsh for the defenders to open to them. They were bloodspattered and appeared to be unarmed.
Grudgingly the gates opened, enough to let in a man at a time. But no man slipped in. Grappling hooks caught the exposed edges. Willing hands pulled suddenly, fiercely.
"Disengage!" Simon roared, clapping spurs to his horse again. "Forward!"
On his word every rider roweled blood from his mount's sides and forced him toward the gate, which swayed back and forth as those within and those without struggled against each other. The horses reared and screamed, striking out with their hooves. Perhaps a quarter of Simon's men fought their way free of the combat that they were engaged in and followed him through the gates and into the Welsh encampment.
That was the end of the battle, although not the end of the blood-letting. Few men had remained within, only the wounded, the very young, and the very old. When those at the gate had been vanquished, however, it took a little time to round up and confine the women and children. Many of them fought as hard as the men and some more effectively because Simon's men dared not strike back with weapons. The men might not

 
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