Day had dawned about an hour when, by his permission, and of the spies who, as we have seen, had been sent into Worchester, was admitted to the chamber of the Earl of Leicester, whom he found just putting on his steel hauberk, proposing soon to set forth upon his march.
"I have had a narrow escape, my lord!" cried the scout; "all the rest are taken."
"But the news--the news!" exclaimed De Montfort, with a degree of heedlessness for human life which most veteran warriors acquire--"the news! What did you learn?"
"Little or nothing, my lord," answered the man, somewhat sullenly. "I heard my companions ordered to be hanged, and saw Prince Edward's troops arriving in haste and disarray, after a long night march. But I could only save myself by speed, and therefore could learn nothing more."
"It is enough--it is enough!" cried De Montfort. "There, fellow, is your reward!--Edward arriving in disarray at Worcester!--That is enough! Now, on to Evesham with all speed--join my boy's forces, and then return to crush this nest of hornets with my foot!"
He spoke proud and exultingly. Ah, little did he know that at that moment his son's forces were defeated and dispersed, thirteen of his gallant barons killed, and a whole host of noble prisoners following the army of Edward into Worcester!
CHAPTER XXI.
The march of a feudal army of that day was a beautiful thing to see. Although a part of the splendour which it afterwards assumed, when the surcoats of the knights were embroidered with their arms, was not yet displayed, still those arms were emblazoned upon the banners and on the shields, still the richest colours that the looms of France, Italy, and England could supply, were to be found in the housings of the horses, and in the pourpoints and coats of the knights, and in the beautiful scarfs, called cointises, then lately introduced, which, passing over the right shoulder and under the left arm, fluttered like many tinted streamers in the air, with every breath of wind.
Yes, it was a beautiful sight to see; and wisely does the rugged front of war deck itself with every brilliant accessory, to hide the dark and murderous look which would otherwise scare the hearts of men.
It was a beautiful sight; and as Hugh de Monthermer detached with a body of horse-archers and men-at-arms from the main army to reconnoitre the neighbouring country--stood for a moment on a little hill, looking down the lovely vale of Evesham, and watched the host of De Montfort winding on its way from Kemestow, probably a more magnificent scene never met the eyes of man.