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stood； and no assault could move them。 They could lean against
each other back to back while they waited and allowed their foemen
to tire themselves out。 Again and again the gallant Bretons tried
to make a way through。 Again and again they were beaten back by a
shower of blows。
Beaumanoir； his head giddy with fatigue； opened his helmet and
gazed in despair at this terrible； unbreakable circle。 Only too
clearly he could see the inevitable result。 His men were wearing
themselves out。 Already many of them could scarce stir hand or
foot； and might be dead for any aid which they could give him in
winning the fight。 Soon all would be in the same plight。 Then
these cursed English would break their circle to swarm over his
helpless men and to strike them down。 Do what he might； he could
see no way by which such an end might be prevented。 He cast his
eyes round in his agony； and there was one of his Bretons slinking
away to the side of the lists。 He could scarce credit his senses
when he saw by the scarlet and silver that the deserter was his
own well…tried squire； William of Montaubon。
〃William！ William！〃 he cried。 〃Surely you would not leave me？〃
But the other's helmet was closed and he could hear nothing。
Beaumanoir saw that he was staggering away as swiftly as he could。
With a cry of bitter despair； he drew into a knot as many of his
braves as could still move； and together they made a last rush
upon the English spears。 This time he was firmly resolved； deep
in his gallant soul； that he would come no foot back； but would
find his death there amongst his foemen or carve a path into the
heart of their ranks。 The fire in his breast spread from man to
man of his followers； and amid the crashing of blows they still
locked themselves against the English shields and drove hard for
an opening in their ranks。
But all was vain！ Beaumanoir's head reeled。 His senses were
leaving him。 In another minute he and his men would have been
stretched senseless before this terrible circle of steel； when
suddenly the whole array fell in pieces before his eyes； his
enemies Croquart； Knolles； Calverly； Belford； all were stretched
upon the ground together； their weapons dashed from their hands
and their bodies too exhausted to rise。 The surviving Bretons had
but strength to fall upon them dagger in hands； and to wring from
them their surrender with the sharp point stabbing through their
visors。 Then victors and vanquished lay groaning and panting in
one helpless and blood…smeared heap。
To Beaumanoir's simple mind it had seemed that at the supreme
moment the Saints of Brittany had risen at their country's call。
Already； as he lay gasping； his heart was pouring forth its thanks
to his patron Saint Cadoc。 But the spectators had seen clearly
enough the earthly cause of this sudden victory； and a hurricane
of applause from one side； with a storm of hooting from the other
showed how different was the emotion which it raised in minds
which sympathized with the victors or the vanquished。
William of Montaubon； the cunning squire； had made his way across
to the spot where the steeds were tethered； and had mounted his
own great roussin。 At first it was thought that he was about to
ride from the field； but the howl of execration from the Breton
peasants changed suddenly to a yell of applause and delight as he
turned the beast's head for the English circle and thrust his long
prick spurs into its side。 Those who faced him saw this sudden
and unexpected appearance。 Time was when both horse and rider
must have winced away from the shower of their blows。 But now
they were in no state to meet such a rush。 They could scarce
raise their arms。 Their blows were too feeble to hurt this mighty
creature。 In a moment it had plunged through the ranks； and seven
of them were on the grass。 It turned and rushed through them
again； leaving five others helpless beneath its hoofs。 No need to
do more！ Already Beaumanoir and his companions were inside the
circle； the prostrate men were helpless； and Josselin had won。
That night a train of crestfallen archers； bearing many a
prostrate figure； marched sadly into Ploermel Castle。 Behind them
rode ten men； all weary； all wounded； and all with burning hearts
against William of Montaubon for the foul trick that he had served
them。
But over at Josselin； yellow gorse…blossoms in their helmets； the
victors were borne in on the shoulders of a shouting mob； amid the
fanfare of trumpets and the beating of drums。 Such was the combat
of the Midway Oak； where brave men met brave men； and such honor
was gained that from that day he who had fought in the Battle of
the Thirty was ever given the highest place and the post of honor；
nor was it easy for any man to pretend to have been there； for it
has been said by that great chronicler who knew them all； that not
one on either side failed to carry to his grave the marks of that
stern encounter。
XXIV。 HOW NIGEL WAS CALLED TO HIS MASTER
My sweet ladye；〃 wrote Nigel in a script which it would take the
eyes of love to read； 〃there hath been a most noble meeting in the
fourth sennight of Lent betwixt some of our own people and sundry
most worthy persons of this country； which ended； by the grace of
our Lady； in so fine a joust that no man living can call to mind
so fair an occasion。 Much honor was gained by the Sieurde
Beaumanoir and also by an Almain named Croquart； with whom I hope
to have some speech when I am hale again； for he is a most
excellent person and very ready to advance himself or to relieve
another from a vow。 For myself I had hoped； with Godde's help； to
venture that third small deed which might set me free to haste to
your sweet side； but things have gone awry with me； and I early
met with such scathe and was of so small comfort to my friends
that my heart is heavy within me； and in sooth I feel that I have
lost honour rather than gained it。 Here I have lain since the
Feast of the Virgin； and here I am like still to be； for I can
move no limb； save only my hand； but grieve not； sweet lady； for
Saint Catharine hath been our friend since in so short a time I
had two such ventures as the Red Ferret and the intaking of the
Reaver's fortalice。 It needs but one more deed； and sickerly when
I am hale once more it will not be long ere I seek it out。 Till
then； if my eyes may not rest upon you； my heart at least is ever
at thy feet。〃
So he wrote from his sick…room in the Castle of Ploermel late in
the summer； but yet another summer had come before his crushed
head had mended and his wasted limbs had gained their strength
once more。 With despair he heard of the breaking of the truce；
and of the fight at Mauron in which Sir Robert Knolles and Sir
Walter Bentley crushed the rising power of Brittany … a fight in
which many of the thirty champions of Josselin met their end。
Then； when with renewed strength and high hopes in his heart he
went forth to search for the famous Croquart who proclaimed
himself ever ready night or day to meet any man with any weapon；
it was only to find that in trying the paces of his new horse the
German had