Suddenly however there was a crash, as of falling men and horses,
with a shout of victory strangely mingled with a cry of agony, and
both sides became aware that their leaders had fallen. Each party
rushed to its fallen head. Friedel beheld Ebbo under his struggling
horse, and an enemy dashing at his throat, and, flying to the rescue,
he rode down the assailant, striking him with his sword; and, with
the instinct of driving the foe as far as possible from his brother,
he struck with a sort of frenzy, shouting fiercely to his men, and
leaping over the dry bed of the river, rushing onward with an
intoxication of ardour that would have seemed foreign to his gentle
nature, but for the impetuous desire to protect his brother. Their
leaders down, the enemy had no one to rally them, and, in spite of
their superiority in number, gave way in confusion before the furious
onset of Adlerstein. So soon, however, as Friedel perceived that he
had forced the enemy far back from the scene of conflict, his anxiety
for his brother returned, and, leaving the retainers to continue the
pursuit, he turned his horse.
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