Most of his men perished in the morass, his guides mistaking the paths, and thus bringing them into contact with the outposts of the besiegers.
Their leader, under the cover of night, succeeded in making good his retreat to La Fère, at the head of a mere straggling group of beaten men!
That same night a different scene took place in the great military tent of Lord Clinton: he was entertaining the Lords Pembroke and Gray, and many of the leaders of the Spanish army were there.
The night was chilly, and a fine rain was falling. Around the camp fire sat warriors of world-wide fame, and the English aides-de-camp, watchful for the comforts of their lord's guests, marked each word that fell from their lips.
Especially did Almoral, Count Egmont, call forth their fervent admiration.
"He is like a young war-god," whispered Ralph to William. "Never saw I so glorious a specimen of the genus homo. Oh, to follow such a leader as that into the hot din of battle!"
"Listen to what he is saying," replied his brother in a low voice; "methinks our chance of such an honour will soon come." For Almoral was relating how that very night his reiters had captured a messenger sent by Coligni to Montmorency.
"He had short shrift, I suppose!" said Brederode, with a hoarse laugh.
"By my faith, no!" replied Egmont. "When I had read his message, I sent him on his way to the French Constable, and bade him deliver it duly. For this was the message—
"'Par l'amour de Dieu, des sècours, ou nous allons perir.'"