From the English quarters, where every man was drawn up in battle array, Lord Clinton watched the progress of the battle and the movements of the contending armies, ready at any moment to take part therein.
He marked the Spanish cavalry drawing together in one dense mass in Egmont's quarters. By his side stood his young aides-de-camp.
"It will be a cavalry battle, I fear," he cried, "and England will have no share in the glory of the day!"
The young men around him, full of martial fire and thirsting for conflict and victory, groaned audibly in dismay.
Then Clinton turned suddenly to his faithful three, whom he had learned to love.
"Ah! I see how it is," he cried, "and you shall have the chance of glory you thirst for! Ride, all three of you, to Egmont, and tell him that the English force will follow swiftly on in the rear of his cavalry, in case he need support. Tell him I make him a gift of your three swords, if he can find place for you, and Heaven send you back to me in safety, and forgive me if I err!"
"Oh, thanks, my Lord, a thousand thanks!" cried the three with one voice, and in another moment they were thundering forth to the spot where Egmont's emblazoned standard fluttered heavily in the breeze.
They were just in time; a minute longer and they had been too late!
The sun had burst forth suddenly from a dark bank of clouds; it shone vividly on Count Egmont as he sat on his great Flemish war-horse, splendidly armed, in front of his eight thousand cavalry.