Fighting began in one corner of the market place and then suddenly a cry went up.
“The oxen! Get to the oxen!”
There was a surge forward and even as the crowd began to take the patient beasts from between the shafts, Marshal Soult, surrounded by half a dozen Officers and a large number of mounted troops, came hurrying into the market place.
The men who were unfastening the oxen were beaten off by force.
“There will be hundreds of them outside the town!” someone shouted.
“I will shoot the first man who lays a hand on my animals!” Marshal Soult roared. “Listen to me, you fools. The oxen we have here in St. Jean have been assembled to drag our guns to the summit of Roncesvalles. That is where we are going to meet the British and beat them.”
He slashed at a soldier near him with his swor
