Denise would not be put away.
“Marpasse,” she said, “this is our Lord’s true passion working in me. Nor shall the cup from which He drank be snatched from me to-night.”
Marpasse was silent, feeling a greatness near her that awed her rebellious impulses. She kissed Denise, and was very humble, thinking that she herself had brought this thing to pass.
“Come then,” she said, “it may be that God goes with us to-night.”
Aymery, standing with one arm over his horse’s neck, watched them disappear into the darkness, the swineherd going with them to show them the road to the town. The whole northern sky still burnt with a faint glow of gold, and in the south a hundred fires flickered amid the black folds of the downs. And Aymery watched these distant fires, thinking with grim impatience of the King’s host that lay yonder like a great dragon ready to tear and slay.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
The King and Richard the Roman were lodged that night at the Priory of St. Pancras, Prince Edward with De Warenne in the castle of Lewes. Nor would it have been easy to choose between St. Pancras Priory and Lewes Town in the matter of furious and indiscriminate drinking. Some said that the King’s host mustered sixty thousand men. One thing was certain, that a very great number of them were drunk that night, and that the lords and captains were no better than the men.
“The King will hunt swine to-morrow.”
Such was the night’s apothegm, and men flung it with variations and with a liberal garnishing of oaths into each other’s faces. The metaphor was acceptable to those who were in their cups, and much repetition piled assurance upon assurance. The great army of the King had its head full of drunken insolence. Its mouth uttered one huge oath. It would only have to show itself on the morrow, and De Montfort’s dirty burghers would take to their heels and run.
Bonfires had been lit everywhere, and round them were crowds of grotesque faces that bawled, and gulped, and fed. There was no lack of food and drink, sheep and oxen were roasted whole; men gorged themselves like dogs about the carcases. Cressets flared upon the castle towers, and Prince Edward had set twenty trumpeters to blow fanfares before the gate. The Priory bells were jangling like fuddled men quarrelling with one another. There was no discipline anywhere, no sign of a high purpose, no forethought for the morrow. “The King will hunt swine!” Men bellowed it to one another, and the superstition contented them.