The two champions
strove mightily, but Boso was above, and for nothing would unloose his
hold. The bailly of Peredur hastened fiercely to the rescue of their
captain. Those whose lances were still unbroken charged till the
staves were splintered; when their lances failed them at need, they
laid on with their swords, working havoc amongst the Britons. At any
price the Romans would rescue their captain, and the Britons were
in the same mind to succour Boso in his jeopardy. Never might heart
desire to see battle arrayed more proudly. Never was there a fairer
strife of swords, never a more courteous contention of valiant men.
Plume and helmet were abased to the dust, shields were cloven, the
hauberk rent asunder, ash staves knapped like reeds, girths were
broken, saddles voided, and strong men thrown, and brave men wounded
to the death. The thunder of the shouting filled the field. The
Britons cried as Arthur had taught them, and the Romans answered with
the name of Rome. The one party did all that valiant men were able
to guard their captive in their midst, and the other to pluck their
captain from amongst them. So confused was the contention, so
disordered the combat, that men as they strove together hardly knew
Roman from Briton, friend from foe, save only by the cry they shouted,
and by the tongue they spoke in the stour.
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