“Sweet Prince, beware! have a care how you adventure your life thus in the enemy’s ranks,” whispered Raymond in his ear, he alone keeping a cool head in the midst of so much that was exciting.  “See, here come some score of horsemen who know thee and would fain cut off thy retreat.  Let us here make a stand and receive the charge, else shall we all be overthrown together.”

This cautious counsel came only just in time.  Young Edward looked round to see that his reckless bravery had placed him for the moment in imminent peril; but he had all the courage of his race, and his heart quailed not for an instant.  Giving the word to his comrades to form a compact square, he placed himself where the onset was like to be the fiercest; nor was there time for his companions to interfere to place him in a position of greater safety.

With a great shout of rage and triumph the band of horsemen, who had recognized the person of the Prince, now rushed upon him, resolved either to carry him off a prisoner or leave him lying dead upon the field, so that the English might have little joy in their victory.  So fierce was the attack that the Prince was borne to the ground; and the Battle of Crecy might have been a dark instead of a bright page in England’s history, but for the gallantry of a little band of Welshmen headed by Richard de Beaumont, the bearer of the banner portraying the great red dragon of Merlin, which had floated all day over the bold Welsh contingent.

Flinging this banner over the prostrate form of the Prince, the brave soldier called on his men to charge the horses and cut them down.  This they did in the way before mentioned —­ throwing themselves underneath and stabbing them through the heart.  So their riders, finding even this last effort futile, joined in the headlong flight of their compatriots; and the Prince’s faithful attendants crowded round him to raise him up again, greatly rejoicing to find that though breathless and confused by the shock of his fall, he was none the worse for his overthrow, and was quickly able to thank the brave Welshmen who had so opportunely come to the rescue of him and his comrades.

“Now, we will back to the ranks and find my father,” said the Prince, when he had spoken his courteous thanks and looked round about to see if his comrades had suffered more than himself.

One or two had received slight wounds, and Raymond was leaning upon Gaston’s shoulder looking white and shaken; but he quickly recovered, and declared himself only bruised and breathless, and still holding fast to Gaston’s arm, followed the Prince up the hill amongst the heaps of dying and dead.

Gaston was flushed with his exertions, and in his heart was room for nothing but pride and joy in the glorious victory just achieved.  But whilst Raymond looked around him as he slowly moved, suffering more bodily pain than he wished his brother to know, his heart felt bruised and crushed like his body, and a sudden sense of the vanity of human life and ambition came suddenly upon him, so much so that he scarce knew whether he was in the flesh or in the spirit as he moved slowly and quietly onwards.