it would be difficult to describe the thundercloud of thought that came down upon fulviac's face when news was brought him of the capture of the girl yeoland and the decimation of the vanguard from geraint. there was something even satanic upon his face for the moment. he was not a pleasant person when roused, and roused he was that day like any ogre. his tongue ran through the whole gamut of blasphemy before he recovered a finer dignity and relapsed into a grim reserve. his men spoke to him with great suavity. he had decreed that nord of the hammer should be hanged for negligence, but the decree was unnecessary, since flavian's sword had already settled the matter.

the gilderoy forces therefore turned northwards, with their great baggage and siege train, and in due course came upon the gerainters bivouacking on the ridge where the battle had taken place. the green slopes were specked with dark motionless figures, dead horses, and the wreckage of war. men were burying the dead upon the battlefield. yeoland's guard had been slaughtered almost to a man; and the whole affair had damped very considerably the ardour of certain of the less trustworthy levies.

but fulviac was not the man to sit and snivel over a defeat; he knew well enough that he had good men behind him, tough fighting stuff, fired by fanaticism and a long sense of wrong. he harangued his whole force, black-guarded with his lion's roar those concerned in the march from geraint, treating them to such a scourging with words that they snarled and clamoured to be led on at once to prove their mettle. their leaders had been at fault, nor did fulviac keep their spirits cooling in the wind. the power of his own personality was great, and he had twenty thousand men at his back, who knew that to fail meant death and torture. they had received a check from the lord of gambrevault; it was absolutely essential to the cause that they should wipe out the defeat, recapture their saint and sacred banner, crush gambrevault once and for ever. to this strenuous tune they marched on towards the sea, and that night lit their fires on the hills that ringed gambrevault on the north.

as the sun climbed up and spread a curtain of gold over down and upland, those on the walls of gambrevault saw steel glinting on the hills, the pikes and casques of fulviac's horde. yeoland saw them from her casement, as she stood and combed her hair. flavian, watching with certain knights on the keep, confronted the event with a merry smile. the shimmering line of silver on the hills had broadened to a darker band, splashed lavishly with steel. the rebel host was coming on in a half moon, with each horn to the sea. its centre held towards the ford and the dismantled gambrevault mills, positions strongly held on the southern bank by a redoubt and stockaded trenches.

the criticisms delivered by those watching from the keep were various and forcible.

"by jeremy--a rare mob!"

"let them grip at gambrevault," said modred, "and they shall clutch at a cactus. look at that long baggage train in the rear. damn them, i guess they have the siege train from gilderoy."

"we shall sweat a trifle."

quoth tristram, "they have little time to spare for a leaguer, rotting in trenches, if they are to make the country rise. they'll not leaguer us."

flavian watched the advance under his hand.

"fortunately or unfortunately, gentlemen," he said, "we have taken their saint, their oracle, and their sacred banner. i imagine they will do their best to dispossess us. it is time we made for the meadows; i reckon we shall have hot work to-day."

when leaving the keep, flavian crossed the castle garden, and caught under the tunnel of yews the flutter of a woman's gown. sunlight glimmered through and wove a shimmering network in the air. green and violet swept the stones; a white face shone in the shadows.

he went to her and kissed her hands. his eyes were brave and joyous as she looked into them, and there was no shadow of fear upon his face. trumpets were blowing in the meadows, piercing the confused hum of men running to arms.

"war, ever war!"

"you are sad?"

"fulviac has the whole kingdom at his back."

"if he led the world, i should not waver."

"with me it is different; i am a woman and you know my heart."

"so well that i seek to know nothing else in the world, i desire no greater wisdom than my love. you are with me, and my heart sings. no harm can come to you whatever doom may fall on gambrevault."

"think you my thoughts are all of my own safety?"

"ah, golden one, never fear for me. what is life? a little joy, a little pain, and then eternity. i would rather have an hour's glory in the sun than fifty years of grey monotony. it is something to fight, and even to die, for the love of a woman. there is no shadow over my soul."

there was a great heroism in his voice, and her eyes caught the light from his. she touched his cuirass with her slim white fingers.

"god keep you!"

"ha, i do not smell of earth to-day, nor dream of requiems."

"no, you will come back to me."

"give me your scarf."

she took the green silk and knotted it about his arm; a rich colour shone in her cheeks, her eyes were warm and wonderfully luminous.

"god keep you!"

so he kissed her lips and left her.

the rebel horde had rolled down in their thousands from the hills. flavian saw their black masses moving from the woods, as he rode down from the great gate. it was evident to him that fulviac would try and force the ford and win his way to the open meadows beyond. the river ran fast with a deep but narrow channel, and there was only one other ford some nine miles upstream. his own men were under arms in the meadows. with his knights round him, flavian rode down to the redoubt and trenches by the river-bank, packed as they already were with archers and men-at-arms. he was loudly cheered as he reined in and scanned the rebel columns moving over the downs.

fulviac had ridden forward with a company of spears to reconnoitre. he saw the captured banner of the maid hoisted derisively on gambrevault keep; he saw the redoubt and the stockades covering the ford; the foot massed in the meadows; flavian's mounted men-at-arms drawn up under the castle walls. sforza and several captains of note were with fulviac. the man was in a grim mood, a slashing titanic humour. the passage of the river was to be forced, flavian's men engaged in the meadows. he would drive them into gambrevault before nightfall. then they would cast their leaguer, bring up the siege train taken from gilderoy, and batter at gambrevault till they could storm the place.

early in the day fulviac detached a body of two thousand men under colgran, a noted free-lance, to march upstream, cross by the upper ford, and threaten flavian on the flank. the fighting began at ten of the clock, when fulviac's bowmen scattered along the river and opened fire upon the stockades. flavian's archers and arbalisters responded. a body of five thousand rebels advanced with great mantlets upon wheels to the northern bank and entrenched themselves there. a second body, with waggons laden with timber and several flat-bottomed boats, poured down to the river a mile higher up, and began to throw a rough, raft-like bridge across the stream. at half-past ten masses of men-at-arms splashed through the water at the ford, under cover of a hot fire from the archers lining the bank, and began an assault upon the redoubt and the stockades.

by twelve o'clock the bridge higher up the stream had been completed, and a glittering line of pikes poured across, to be met on the southern bank by geoffrey longsword and a body of men-at-arms. it was hand to hand, and hot and strenuous as could be. men grappled, stabbed, hacked, bellowed like a herd of bulls. flavian had reinforced the defenders of the ford, who still held fulviac at bay, despite a heavy archery fire and the almost continuous assaults poured against the stockades. yet by one o'clock fulviac's levies had forced the passage of the bridge and gained footing on the southern bank. longsword's men, outnumbered and repulsed, were falling back before the black masses of foot that now poured into the meadows.

the situation was critical enough, as flavian had long seen, as he galloped hotly from point to point. fulviac's rebels had shown more valour than he had ever prophesied. flavian packed all his remaining foot into the trenches, and putting himself at the head of his knights and mounted men-at-arms, rode down to charge the troops who had crossed by the pontoons. here chivalry availed him to the full. by a succession of tremendous rushes, he drove the rebels back into the river, did much merciless slaughter, cut the ropes that held the bridge to the southern bank, so that the whole structure veered downstream. the peril seemed past, when he was startled by the cry that the redoubt had been carried, and that fulviac held the ford.

looking south, he saw the truth with his own eyes. his troops were falling back in disorder upon gambrevault, followed by an ever-growing mass, that swarmed exultantly into the meadows. the last and successful assault had been led by fulviac in person. flavian had to grip the truth. the rebels outnumbered him by more than five to one; and he had underrated their discipline and fighting spirit. he was wiser before the sun went down.

"come, gentlemen, we shall beat them yet."

"shall we charge them, sire?"

"blow bugles, follow me, sirs; i am in no mood for defeat."

that afternoon there was grim work in the gambrevault meadows. five times flavian charged fulviac's columns, hurling them back towards the river, only to be repulsed in turn by the fresh masses that poured over by the ford. he made much slaughter, lost many good men in the mad, whirling mêlées. desperate heroism inspired on either hand. once he stood in great peril of his own life, having been unhorsed and surrounded by a mob of rebel pikes. he was saved by the devotion and heroism of modred and his household knights. with the chivalry of a galahad, he did all that a man could to keep the field. colgran's flanking column appeared over the downs, and fulviac had his whole host on the southern bank of the river. the masses advanced like one man, pennons flying, trumpets clanging. flavian would have charged again, but for the vehement dissuasion of certain of his elder knights. he contented himself with covering the retreat of his foot, while the great gate of gambrevault opened its black maw to take them in. many of his mercenaries had deserted to the rebels. so stubborn and bloody had been the day, that he had lost close upon half his force by death and desertion; no quarter had been given on either side. he heard the surging shouts of exultation from the meadows, as he rode sullen and wearied into gambrevault. the great gates thundered to, the portcullises rattled down. fulviac had his man shut up in gambrevault.