“What does the red banner mean?”
“Mean!” and Marpasse bit her lips in her excitement; “death to all, no prisoners, and no quarter if the King wins. That is the song of the Red Dragon.”
Denise said nothing. Marpasse glanced at her with a sudden, sidelong stare.
“You will not grudge him that one kiss,” she said, “for to-night we may go a-searching for dead friends by torchlight.”
The two dragons of war were trailing their coils nearer to one another. The King’s red banner came tossing up the slope, he himself riding before it, holding his shield aloft with the lions of gold thereon.
“Simon, je vous défie!”
That was his cry that morning, a cry that his men took up, and screamed at the silent masses that watched and waited on the slopes above. The royal host was flushed now and confident, trusting in their numbers and in the great lords whose banners blew everywhere.
Edward the Prince was the firebrand that morning. He was pricking his horse to and fro like a mad boy, and his lips were bloody under his great helmet. For he had the Londoners before him, those Londoners who had thrown offal and foul words at his mother. The son had taken a vow to wipe out those words with blood.
Trumpets rang out on the King’s right. Edward threw his spear into the air, caught it, and stood up in the stirrups.
“Death to the dogs! At the gallop, sirs, come.”