Also tumult broke out among the hundreds who watched, some of them taking one side and some the other, so that they fell upon each other with sticks and stones and fists, even the women joining in the fray, biting and tearing like bagged cats.

The scene was hideous and the sounds those of a sacked city, for many were hurt and all gave tongue, while shrill and clear above this hateful music rose the yells of Bridget, who had awakened from her faint and imagined all was over and that she fathomed hell.
Thrice the attackers were rolled back, but of those who defended a third were down, and now the Abbot took another counsel.
"Bring bows," he cried, "and shoot them, for they have none!" and men ran off to do his bidding.
Then it was that Emlyn's wit came to their aid, for when Bolle shook his red head and gasped out that he feared they were lost, since how could they fight against arrows, she answered-- "If so, why stand here to be spitted, fool?
Come, let us cut our way through ere the shafts begin to fly, and take refuge among the trees or in the Nunnery." "Women's counsel is good sometimes," said Bolle.

"Form up, Foterells, and march." "Nay," broke in Cicely, "loose Bridget first, lest they should burn her after all; I'll not stir else." So Bridget was hacked free, and together with the wounded men, of whom there were several, dragged and supported thence.

Then began a running fight, but one in which they still held their own.

Yet they would have been overwhelmed at last, for the women and the wounded hampered them, had not help come.