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ken, but the knights, led by the warlike bishop of Beauvais, who had fought beside King Richard on the Crusade and against him in the French wars with equal joy and ferocity, were by no means beaten. French and English spread over the field in small groups, each fighting its own battle, each victorious group leaving its dead and wounded where they fell, mingled with the dead and wounded of their enemies, to take on another group. There was little difference in numbers on this wing of the battle, none at all in skill, courage, or determination. Within the first half hour, Geoffrey knew that there would be no quick conclusion. The French would not panic and run, and neither would the English. Both sides would fight until exhaustion or night ended the battle unless one was truly overwhelmed. |
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Once his initial impetus was halted, Geoffrey's men had a chance to catch up with him. Richard of Elsfield's left side was red with blood, and Tostig had lost his sword because his right arm was broken and cut to the bone. In addition, two English men-at-arms were dead or out of action when that little fracas was over. Geoffrey drew enormous breaths and eased his aching sword arm. Miraculously, he was as yet untouched. His eyes checked his men as his ears checked the battle in general. From the latter source he could not gain much information beyond the fact that both armies were completely engaged. The roar made up of shouts of encouragement, cries of pain and surprise, and battle calls combined with the clang of metal upon metal and the thud of weapons upon wood and leather seemed general. |
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"Testig, go back to camp," Geoffrey ordered. "No, do not argue. You are useless to me, with your arm broken and so cut, and you will be a danger to me because I will forever be trying to protect you. Go! Now! While we have time to breathe." |
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Geoffrey's voice checked. Far away, very faintly through the other sounds of battle, there was a howling. No matter how dim or distant, the sound was unmistakable in its slow swelling. It was the wail of panic, the lament of men |
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