A dozen Swiss went down beneath that onslaught, and another dozen that
had been swept aside and over the precipice were half-way to the valley
before that cavalcade met any check. Masuccio's remaining men strove
lustily to stem this human cataract, now that they realised how small was
the number of their assailants. They got their partisans to work, and
for a few moments the battle raged hot upon that narrow way. The air was
charged with the grind and ring of steel, the stamping of men and horses
and the shrieks and curses of the maimed.
The Lord of Aquila, ever foremost, fought desperately on. Not only with
his sword fought he, but with his horse as well. Rearing the beast on
its hind legs, he would swing it round and let it descend where least it
was expected, laying about him with his sword at the same time. In vain
they sought to bring down his charger with their pikes; so swift and
furious was his action, that before their design could be accomplished,
he was upon those that meditated it, scattering them out of reach to save
their skins.
In this ferocious manner he cleared a way before him, and luck served him
so well that what blows were wildly aimed at him as he dashed by went
wide of striking him. At last he was all but through the press, and but
three men now fronted him. Again his charger reared, snorting, and
pawing the air like a cat, and two of the three knaves before him fled
incontinently aside. But the third, who was of braver stuff, dropped on
one knee and presented his pike at the horse's belly.
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