It was now at the end of October. The Prince was in want of money, and his army of food. The soldiers too began to murmur, and he marched them towards the French frontier to offer battle to the Duke. But the Duke would not fight.
Leaving Quesnoy-le-Comte to go to Cambrésis, the Prince’s army fell in with ten companies of Germans and eight Spanish ensigns and three cohorts of cavalry. They at once joined battle, and in the midst of the mêlée was Ruffele Henricis, the Duke’s son, crying out at the top of his voice:
“No quarter! No quarter! Long live the Pope!”
Now Don Henricis found himself opposite to a company of arquebusiers which was led by Ulenspiegel, and he threw himself upon them with all his men. Ulenspiegel said to his sergeant:
“I will cut out this murderer’s tongue for him!”
“Very good,” said the sergeant.
And Ulenspiegel took careful aim, and his bullet shattered the tongue and the entire jaw-bone of Don Ruffele Henricis, son of the Duke. At the same time Ulenspiegel brought down the son of the Marquess Delmares, and in a little while more the eight ensigns and the three cohorts of cavalry were thoroughly worsted.
After this victory Ulenspiegel went seeking for Lamme everywhere through the camp, but he could not find him.
“Alas,” he said, “he is gone! Lamme is gone; my friend, my great fat friend! In his warlike ardour he must have forgotten how heavy his belly was, and tried to follow the Spaniards in their flight. Out of breath he must have fallen like a sack on the wayside. And then the enemy will have picked him up for ransom—a ransom of good Christian fat! O Lamme, my friend, where are you? Where are you, my great fat friend?”
Ulenspiegel sought him everywhere but found him not and had to nurse his grief in silence.