Their leader, however, still stood his ground on the crest, though hardly pressed on all sides, and used his club both to strike and parry with a skill which aroused the warmest admiration on the part of the prince.

In vain his followers attempted to come to his rescue; each time they struggled up the heap they were beaten back again by those on the crest.
"Yield thee prisoner," the assailants of their leader shouted, and the prince in his excitement echoed the cry.

The lad, however, heard or heeded them not.

He still kept his flag aloft in his left hand.

With a sudden spring he struck down one of his opponents, plucked up their flag from the ground, and then fought his way back through his foes to the edge of the battleground; then a heavy blow struck him on the temple, and, still holding the flags, he rolled senseless to the foot of the heap.