170 THE WONDER-BOOK OF HORSES 



There is no need to describe that last fierce 

 fight which ended in a hand-to-hand combat be- 

 tween Ogier and King Brehus. In all his lifetime 

 the gallant Dane had never met so equal a foe; 

 and had it not been for Broiefort's aid he would 

 not have come out of the fray alive. The combat 

 was a long one, and the fate of France depended 

 upon the issue. The sun had set, and the twi- 

 light was deepening into darkness, and yet 

 neither of the combatants seemed able to gain 

 any advantage over his foe. At last the treach- 

 erous pagan, by an overhanded sweep of his long 

 sword, struck Broiefort squarely on the neck. 

 The faithful horse, with a cry of anguish, fell 

 dead to the earth. Never had anything caused 

 Ogier so great grief. But his anger held down 

 his sorrow, and nerved him to desperation. He 

 made one final terrible thrust with his sword, and 

 his pagan foe was stretched lifeless by the side 

 of the steed he loved so well. 



Ogier took for his own the gray war-horse, 

 Marchevalle, which King Brehus had ridden in 

 the battle. But nothing could ever console him 

 for the loss of his faithful friend, Broiefort, the 

 matchless black Arabian. 



