A few minutes, five perhaps, and this terrible scene was over, for of the seven thousand Genoese but a tithe remained upon their feet, and the interminable French lines, clad in sparkling steel and waving lance and sword, charged down upon the little English band.
"Now for the feast!" screamed Grey Dick.

"That was but a snack to sharp the appetite," and as he said the words a gorgeous knight died with his arrow through the heart.
It came, the charge came.

Nothing could stop it.

Down went man and horse, line upon line of them swept to death by the pitiless English arrows, but still more rushed on.

They fell in the pits that had been dug; they died beneath the shafts and the hoofs of those that followed, but still they struggled on, shouting: "Philip and St.Denis!" and waving their golden banner, the Oriflamme of France.
The charge crept up as a reluctant, outworn wave creeps to a resisting rock.