Forward they leapt, and swift and terrible they fell among the ranks of the advancing Genoese.

Yes, and ere ever one had found its billet, its quiver-mate was hastening on its path.

Then--oh! the sunlight showed it all--the Genoese rolled over by scores, their frail armour bitten through and through by the grey English arrows.

By scores that grew to hundreds, that grew till the poor, helpless men who were yet unhurt among them wailed out in their fear, and, after one short, hesitant moment, surged back upon the long lines of men-at-arms behind.
From these arose a great shout: "_Trahison! Trahison! Tuez! Tuez!_" Next instant the appalling sight was seen of the chivalry of France falling upon their friends, whose only crime was that their bow-strings were wet, and butchering them where they stood.

So awful and unexpected was this spectacle that for a little while the English archers, all except Grey Dick and a few others cast in the same iron mould, ceased to ply their bows and watched amazed.
The long shafts began to fly again, raining alike upon the slaughterers and the slaughtered.