"Is that a letter for Messire van Lonchyn, traitor? No! it is one to the castellan Van Lens; and you are a spy. A bitter death shall you die!"
While speaking, he tugged so violently at the beard that the ribbons by which it was fastened gave way; in an instant Breydel recognized the miscreant, and thrust him away so violently that the spy fell against one of the poles of the tent.
"Oh, Brakels! Brakels! your last hour is come!" exclaimed the astounded Dean.
The cries of the Butchers had attracted a crowd from the surrounding tents; and all began to demand, with loud and angry clamor, that the traitor should be delivered up to their vengeance.
Brakels fell on his knees, and with clasped hands begged for mercy; he crawled to the feet of Breydel, and implored him:
"Oh, master! have compassion on me—I will serve our fatherland so loyally—spare me! do not put me to death!"
Breydel looked down on him with rage and contempt; and, in lieu of other answer, kicked him with his foot, so that he rolled to the other end of the tent. Meanwhile, the Butchers had the greatest difficulty in restraining the crowds, who were raging around the tent, and filling the air with cries of vengeance.
''Give us the scoundrel!" was their wild cry. "Into the fire with him! throw him into the fire!"
"I care not," said Breydel, with an authoritative look at his comrades, "that your axes should be stained with the blood of this viper. Give him up to the crowd!"
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when a man strode forth from the crowd, and threw a cord round the neck of Brakels; then, the other end being seized by a thousand hands, he was hurled to the ground and dragged out of the tent. His shrieks of agony mingled fearfully with the cries of the infuriated crowd. They dragged him round and round the camp, and then returning to the fire, still yelling and shouting, they drew him through it again and again, until the flames had obliterated every feature of his countenance. Then on they rushed in their mad race, and vanished in the darkness with the lifeless corpse trailing behind them. Long were their cries heard on the breeze; but at length wearied, and sated with revenge, they hung the mangled body of the traitor on a pole close to the fire; then every one betook himself to his tent; and an hour later a profound silence had succeeded to this hideous uproar.
CHAPTER IV
Guy had Issued orders that the whole army, under its several captains, should muster on the Groningen Place, in front of the camp, on the following morning; he wished to pass them all in review. In obedience to these orders, the Flemings were drawn up in a square on the appointed place. They stood like the four foundation walls of some mighty edifice, each troop being composed of eight closely compacted divisions. Deconinck's four thousand Clothworkers formed the front of the right wing. The first file of his troops consisted of archers, whose heavy crossbows hung diagonally over their shoulders; while a quiver, filled with steel-pointed shafts, was suspended at their side. They bore no other defensive armor than an iron plate, which was fastened over their breasts by four straps of leather. Over the six other divisions, thousands of spears arose ten feet high into the air. This weapon, the renowned "good-day," was with reason much dreaded by the French; for with it a horse might easily be pierced through and through. No armor could withstand Its formidable stroke; the knight on whom it fell was inevitably unhorsed.
On the same side stood also the light troops of Ypres; their advanced division was composed of five hundred men, whose apparel was red as coral. From their graceful helmets downy plumes waved low as their shoulders; massive clubs, armed with points of steel, stood with the butt-end at the feet of each soldier; while the hilt, grasped by their strong fists, rested against their loins. Small plates of iron were buckled around their arms and thighs. The other divisions of this gallant host were all clothed in green, and their unstrung bows of steel reared themselves high above their heads.
The left wing was entirely composed of the ten thousand men furnished by Breydel. On one side of it the countless axes of the Butchers flashed before the eyes of their companions in arms, so that they were obliged to turn away their heads from time to time, so keen and dazzling were the rays of the sun reflected from these mirrors of steel. The Butchers were not heavily equipped; short brown trousers, and a jerkin of the same color, formed their only clothing. Their arms were bare to the elbows, according to their custom; for they took pride in displaying their compact and brawny muscles. Many were of fair complexion, but embrowned by exposure to the sun; huge scars, records of former combats, crossed their faces like deep furrows, and these they regarded as the laurel-wreaths which attested their bravery. The features of Breydel formed a strong contrast to the sombre sharp-cut faces of his followers; for while the ferocious expression of most of these filled the beholder with terror, Breydel's appearance was pleasing and noble. Fine blue eyes glowed beneath his bushy eyebrows; his fair hair fell in long wavy curls over his shoulders; and a short and delicate beard lengthened still more the graceful oval of his countenance. The contour and expression of his features were most pleasing when, as at this moment, he was full
