They had raised their last encampment with the rising of the moon that they might the sooner set foot in the Netherlands.
The charcoal-burner knew nothing of this, he did not even know whose army he looked upon; he trembled and crossed himself and clung tightly to his children, while he crouched down in a bed of foxgloves behind a huge beech and peered, with an awe-struck curiosity, at this new and terrible sight.
Alva's army was not large, being no more than ten thousand men, but these ten thousand were the most famous veterans in the world, and both their organization and equipment were perfect, while there was no general in the world whose fame equalled that of Ferdinando Alvarez de Toledo, the great Duke of Alva.
The vanguard of this army, as it hastened through the forest of Thionville, consisted of two of the Italian regiments—those of Sicily and Naples, commanded severally by Spaniards, Julien, Romero, and Alfonso de Ulloa—and considered the finest foot-soldiers in the world.
They marched with quick strides, their colours furled, their general riding before them; the stout figures of the Calabrese, the slender strength of the Sicilians, adorned with rich arms and silk scarves and plumes of brilliant colours, and the fierce, gay, dark faces, made a strange picture of force and energy hastening through the lonely night.
Behind them came two companies of women, some on foot, walking with perfect discipline and order, some riding on the baggage waggons or the sumpter-mules.
These were the camp-followers, but neither poor nor ragged; they were as well-appointed as any well-born lady, and many had a page or attendant; behind the wantons rode a small company of priests with a little escort of horsemen.
So the Southern regiments passed; the charcoal-burner gazed after them like one struck out of his senses.
At a distance of half a league (for the spaces between the three divisions were being rapidly diminished as the army neared the goal) came the next contingent, consisting of the artillery, which jangled quickly away into the night with rattle of wheels, crack of whip, and shout of driver, and twelve hundred Spanish cavalry, at the head of which rode Don Ferdinando de Toledo, the Duke's son, and Prior of that Great Order of the Church Militant—the Knights of St. John—wearing the noble vesture of his stately office.
Behind him came the musketeers, all wearing inlaid and engraved armour, and each attended, as if he had been an officer, by a squire who bore his musket—that new weapon not seen before in any army.