All through the camp religious exercises were proceeding, and when at last Walter of Hereford brought our hero to the tent of Earl Simon, they found him prostrate in fervent prayer.
“Father and leader,” said the young earl with deep reverence, “I have brought thee a long-lost son.”
The earl rose.
“My son! Hubert! Can it be thou, risen from the dead?”
“Come to share thy fate for weal or woe, my beloved lord. From thy hands I received knighthood: at thy side will I conquer or die.”
The dawn was at hand. The birds began their matin songs, when the stern blast of the trumpet drowned their tiny warblings.
The army arose as one man. At first all was confusion, as when bees swarm, which was rapidly reduced into order, as the leaders went up and down with the standard bearers, and the men fell into their ranks. When all was still the earl, the great earl, came forth, armed cap-a-pie, mounted on his charger. The herald proclaimed silence. The deep, manly voice was heard:
“Beloved brethren! We are about to fight this day for the liberty of this realm, in honour of God, His blessed Mother, and all the Saints, for the defence of our Mother Church of England, and for the faith of Christ.
“Let us therefore pray to our Lord God, that since we are His, He would grant us victory in the battle, and commend ourselves to Him, body, soul, and spirit.”