"Now, men, lay about you.
"A Percy! A Percy!" The active little horses swung round instantly, and faced the crowd surging up against them.

This was the style of fighting to which the border men were accustomed.

Active as the Welsh were, the border ponies were as quick in their movements, wheeling and turning hither and thither, but keeping ever within a short distance of each other.

The troopers hewed down the foe with their heavy swords; and, being partly protected by their armour, they possessed a great advantage over their opponents.
Oswald and his uncle fought slightly in advance of the others, lending a helping hand to each other, when the pressure was greatest.

On one occasion a Welshman seized Alwyn's leg, while he was engaged with a foeman on the other side, and strove to throw him from his horse.
Oswald wheeled his pony, and with a sweeping blow rid his uncle of his foe; but, at the same moment, a man leapt up behind him, while two others assailed him in front.
The Welshman's sinewy arms prevented him from again raising his sword, and he would have been slain by those in front, had he not, at the moment, slipped his right foot from his stirrup and thrown himself from his horse, his leg sweeping off the man who held him behind, and hurled him to the ground beneath him.
The Welshman's grasp instantly relaxed; but, as Oswald tried to rise, a blow fell upon his helmet, and four Welshmen threw themselves upon him.
He threw his arms around two of them, and rolled over and over with them, thereby frustrating the efforts of their companions to strike or stab him, through some unguarded point in his armour; when suddenly there was a mighty shout, two tremendous blows were struck in quick succession, then there was a shout, "Hold them still, Master Oswald, hold them still!" Oswald tightened his grasp on his assailants, who were now striving to rise.