St. Pol's soldiers had not reckoned on fighting; they were busied in packing together a crowd of precious things, when the axes of the Butchers, and death in their train, took them by surprise. St. Pol, being well mounted, made good his escape, without bestowing further thought on the fate of his troops. Soon the camp was won, and in a few moments not a Frenchman remained alive within it; while the Flemings took possession of all the gold and silver goblets, and of the countless treasures which the French had brought with them.
On the field of battle the conflict had not yet ceased; about a thousand horsemen still persisted in their defense; they had resolved to sell their lives as dear as possible. Among them were more than a hundred noble knights, who had vowed not to survive this defeat, and so fought on with a calm and despairing courage. But at length they were driven on toward the walls of the city into the bitter marsh, and their steeds sank into the treacherous banks of the Ronduite brook. The knights could no longer manage or assist their horses; so they sprang upon the ground, ranged themselves in a circle, and continued the fight with desperate energy. Many of them were, however, stifled in the bitter marsh, which soon became a lake of blood, wherein were seen heads, and arms, and legs of slain warriors mingled with helmets and broken swords, and which has preserved a memorial of this dismal tragedy in its present name, "The Bloody Marsh."
When some Lilyards, among whom were John van Gistel, and a number of the men of Brabant, saw that escape was impossible, they mingled with the Flemings and shouted:
“Flanders! the Lion! Hail, hail Flanders!"
They thought thus to elude the notice of their countrymen; but a Clothworker rushed from the throng toward John van Gistel, and struck him a blow on the head which crushed his skull to fragments, muttering the while:
"Did not my father tell you, traitor, that you would not die in your bed?"
The others were soon recognized by the make of their weapons, and hewn down or pierced without pity, as traitors and recreants.
The young Guy felt a profound pity for the remaining knights who maintained so brave and obstinate a defense, and called to them to surrender, assuring them that their lives should be spared. Convinced that neither courage nor intrepidity could avail them, they yielded and were disarmed, and given into the custody of John Borluut. The most illustrious of these noble captives was Thibaud II, subsequently Duke of Lorraine; the remainder were all of noble race, and famed as valiant knights; their number was about sixty.
And now there remained on the field not a single enemy to be vanquished; only here and there in the distance were seen a few fugitives hastening to secure a safe retreat. The Flemings, amazed that their fighting was over, and maddened with rage and excitement, rushed in crowds in pursuit of these hapless Frenchmen; near the Plague hospital at St. Mary Magdalen, they overtook a company of St. Pol's troops, and put every man to death; a little further on they found Messire William van Mosschere, the Lilyard, who had fled from the field with a few followers. Seeing himself surrounded, he fell on his knees and begged for mercy, pledging himself to serve Robert de Bethune as a loyal vassal. But no one listened to him; the axes of the Butchers ended his pleadings and his life. And thus passed the rest of the day; until within reach of the Flemings no Frenchman, nor ally or friend of Frenchmen, was any longer to be found.
CHAPTER VIII
Although a great part of the Flemish troops was engaged in pursuit of the flying enemy, there still remained some companies drawn up in order on the battlefield.
John Borluut gave orders to his men to keep a strict watch on the field until the following day, according to the custom of war. The division led by Borluut consisted now of three thousand men of Ghent; and in addition to these, many others had remained on the ground, either wounded or exhausted by fatigue. And now that the victory was won, and the chains of their fatherland broken, the Flemings testified their joy by repeated cries of, "Flanders and the Lion! Victory! Victory!" Their shouts were echoed back from the walls of the city by the men of Ypres and Courtrai with even greater energy. They, too, might well shout victory; for while the battle was raging on the Groningen Place, the castellan. Van Lens, had made a sortie from the citadel, and would have reduced the city to ashes, had not the men of Ypres made so vigorous a resistance, that they drove him back into the citadel after a long conflict. The castellan found that scarcely a tenth part of his soldiers had escaped the rage of the citizens.
The captains and knights now returned to the camp, and thronged round the golden knight, to express to him their fervent gratitude; but, fearful of betraying himself, he answered not a word. Guy, who was standing
