Alas! that he was destined to die a felon's death in the market-place of Brussels, with his illustrious brother-in-arms, Count Horn.
Such was the army, such were its leaders. For miles and miles tents in many thousands shone in the sunlight, in the pleasant month of August, on the heights above the ancient town of St. Quentin. At the foot of the great camp a morass and the River Somme intervened between it and the beleaguered city.
Well might the hearts of Englishmen beat high as they beheld the river and thought of Agincourt and Crécy! Such thoughts filled the hearts of four horsemen grouped together on the highest plateau whereon stood the English camp.
It was the 9th of August, and the day was breaking, flooding the scene before them with rosy light. The pennons surmounting the snow-white tents of the Spanish camps fluttered lightly in the breeze, which was scarcely enough to unfurl the heavily emblazoned standards of the great chiefs present.
There were the ensigns of Eric and Henry, Dukes of Brunswick, of the gigantic Lewes of Brederode, of Almoral, Count of Egmont and of Count Horn.
"Look, boys," cried Lord Clinton to Geoffrey, William and Ralph, whom he had made his aides-de-camp. "Look well, the town is awake right early to-day, and Coligni's men are mustering heavily around the great gates. They are about to attempt a sortie, unless I am deceived.
"You, Geoffrey, will remain here on watch with me; but you, Ralph, ride at top speed to the Duke's tent and give the alarm; and you, William, to Count Egmont. Haste, haste!" he cried, "the sortie has begun!"
It was a wondrous scene.
Out from the town poured the Dauphin's regiment under the command of the brave but rash Teligni, and in a few minutes the object of the sortie became evident. Close to the walls, between them and the Somme, stood many houses of the humbler sort, and an avenue of thick plane-trees grew beside them.
In a few minutes the houses were enveloped in flames, and the soldiers were levelling the trees to the ground with axes.