|
|
|
|
|
|
forward, little use in worrying about accuracy and testing for wind drift. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Oddly, although the distance was not great and Walter could plainly hear the thunder of the oncoming hooves, there seemed to be plenty of time to think. The first idea that went through his head was that if he came out of this alive and was taken prisoner, he would ask Lord Geoffrey to pay his ransom rather than Richard of Cornwall. The thought made him ridiculously cheerful despite the fact that, in view of the forest of lances coming toward him, he was likely to be spitted like a pig in the next few minutes. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Then the first group was across the stream. Walter laughed aloud and pulled his sword, while beside and behind him he could hear men cursing, muttering, laughing, or drawing deep, gasping breaths as was characteristic of their unconscious preparation for battle, but no one tried to back out or edge away. Pembroke's reason for standing his ground was valid; each man knew his chances were better fighting hard than attempting to run. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Amid the other sounds the twang and hum of twenty bowstrings was almost inaudible, but hard on the heels of that deadly music came the screams of horses and men. The center of the oncoming army was hardest hit, since twenty bowmen cannot cover a wide range and Pembroke had sensibly ordered the men to concentrate their fire. Walter laughed again. Likely he would live through the first impact, anyway. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The forest of lances was becoming more like individual trees as some horses fell and others tripped over them. At the same time, other leapt sideways and tried to bolt or began to buck in reaction to pain, causing those behind or alongside to collide with them. Walter did not doubt his ability to protect himself so long as he was not spitted by a second or third lance while he warded off the immediate attack. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Then Richard shouted, and the whole group charged forward, bellowing at the top of their lungs. They had not far to go, but screaming, opening their ranks suddenly, and moving forward at what speed they could generate, further startled the already nervous horses of the enemy and confused the aim of the lance wielders. Walter saw Pembroke beat aside a lance so fiercely that the holder turned sideways in his saddle and lost a stirrup. Then his own sword made contact, and, almost simultaneously, them was an impact on his shield. He slatted |
|
|
|
|
|