"How shall I account for this day's work to Alva?" answered the Netherlander sternly.
Rising in his stirrups he called to his men to follow him, and hurled himself on the young Nassau.
The two leaders singled each other out; they had last met in the tennis court at the Nassau palace in Brussels.
They smiled at each other, and both fired; Aremberg received the ball in his side, but fired again, then struck with his sword at the flame-like plume on the black casque.
It dipped and fell backwards; at the same moment a rush of "beggar" cavalry drove the Stadtholder before them.
He looked round, and perceived that all his men had fled save a few attendants; he had been shot twice through the side, his disease bowed him to the saddle with pain, the weight of his armour was almost intolerable; he cast away his helmet whose protection he despised, and retreated slowly, keeping his face to the enemy.
A musket ball struck his horse, which fell under him; two attendants picked him up and dragged the animal to its feet.
It staggered a few paces, then fell dead.
A second time Aremberg got to his feet; two rebel troopers approached him, he shot both, and continued to limp along the stone causeway on which the fresh blood was drying in the May sun.
He saw a large body of the enemy coming passionately behind him, and dragged himself painfully off the road on to a little meadow that sloped to the wood.