First came the thick flight of their arrows, straight and deadly, going
down with flashes into the sea of men; and then great stones rolled
from the heights, boulders that crushed the life out of horse and man
and rolled straight through the mass of human bodies, leaving a track
of blood behind; and then more arrows, darting hither and thither in
the sunlight like rock-swallows; and again stones and boulders, till
the confusion and the panic were at their height, and the wild Seljuks
sprang down the sides of the gorge, yelling for death, swinging their
scimitars, to kill more surely by hand, lest they should waste arrows
on dead men.
The blood was ankle-deep in the pass, through which more and more of
the Christians were driven up to the slaughter by those who followed
them. The King was forcing his way through his own men, and with them,
toward the side where there were most enemies. His sluggish blood was
roused at last, and his sword was out. Nor was it long before he was
able to fight hand to hand; but many of those around him were slain,
because their arms were hampered in the close press. The Seljuks made
room by killing, and climbed upon the slain towards the living. In the
vast and screaming din, no one could have heard a voice of command, and
the air was darkening with the steam and reek of battle.
A full hour the Seljuks slew and slew, almost unharmed, and the
Christians were dead in thousands under their feet. The King, with a
hundred followers, was at bay by the roots of a huge oak tree, fighting
as best he might, and killing a man now and then, though wounded in the
face and shoulder, and sorely spent.
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