working his way warily down through the duchy, feeling for the French on his left, and for the Bretons on his right.  He never found the French; they were far south of him, pushing through Orleans to join Richard at Le Mans.  But the Countess of Brittany’s men, under Hugh of Dinan, were sacking Avranches when old Henry heard the bad news from Touraine.  That country and Maine were as the apple of his eye; yet he dared not leave Avranches fated behind him.  All he could do was to send William the Marshal with a small force into Anjou, while he himself spread out westward to give Hugh of Dinan battle and save Avranches, if that might be.  So it was that King Philip slipped in between him and Le Mans.  By this time Richard was master of Tours, and himself on the way to Le Mans, nosing the air for William the Marshal.  This was in the beginning of April.  Then on one and the same day he risked all he had won for the sake of a girl’s proud face, and nearly lost his life into the bargain.

He had to cross the river Aune above La Fleche.  That river, a sluggish but deep little stream, moves placidly among osiers on its way to swell the Loire.  On either side the water-meadows stretch for three-quarters of a mile; low chalk-hills, fringed at the top, are ramparts to the sleepy valley.  Creeping along the eastern spurs at dawn, Richard came in touch with his enemy, William the Marshal and his force of Normans and English.  These had crossed the bridge at La Fleche, and came pricking now up the valley to save Le Mans.  Heading them boldly, Richard threw out his archers like a waterspray over the flats, and while these checked the advance and had the van in confusion, thundered down the slopes with his knights, caught the Marshal on the flank, smote him hip and thigh, and swept the core of his army into the river.  The Marshal’s battle was thus destroyed; but the wedge had made too clean a cleft.  Front and rear joined up and held; so Richard found himself in danger.  The Viscount of Beziers, who led the rearguard, engaged the enemy, and pushed them slowly back towards the Aune; Richard wheeled his men and charged, to take them in the rear.  His horse, stumbling on the rotten ground, fell badly and threw him:  there were cries, ’Hola!  Count Richard is down!’ and some stayed to rescue and some pushed on.  William the Marshal, on a white horse, came suddenly upon him as he lay.  ’Mort de dieu!’ shrilled this good soldier, and threw up his spear arm.  ’God’s feet, Marshal, kill one or other of us!’ said Richard lightly:  he was pinned down by his struggling beast.  ’I leave you to the devil, my lord Richard,’ said the Marshal, and drove his spear into the horse’s chest.  The beast’s death-plunge freed his master.  Richard jumped up:  even on foot his head was level with the rider’s shield.  ‘Have at you now!’ he cried; but the Marshal shook his head, and rode after his flying men.  The day was with Poictou, Le Mans must fall.

It fell, but not yet; nor did Richard see it fall.  Gaston of Bearn joined his master the next day.  ‘Hasten, hasten, fair lord!’ he cried out as soon as he saw him.  Richard looked as if he had never known the word.