War had been declared with all due form and ceremony between England and France, and King Philip was now eager to return to the Continent.

He had obtained from Mary all the assistance she could wring from reluctant England.

For though the Queen entered with all her heart and soul into his projects, as became the daughter of Catharine of Aragon, English people felt that this was no quarrel of theirs, and they remembered that when the "Spanish match" was hotly debated, a provision had been made in the royal contract "that England should not be made a party to Philips Continental wars."

During the four months that he had been in England the King had exerted himself strenuously to overcome this reluctance, and he had so far succeeded that a well-equipped contingent of eight thousand stalwart Englishmen had joined his army.

Lords Pembroke, Clinton and Gray were in chief command of their countrymen, and many a gallant young high-born Englishman had joined the force, eager to gain military renown.

Such was the feeling, undoubtedly, that influenced the three sons of the Earl of Northumberland to accompany it, and similar hopes beat high in the breasts of the two Jefferays and Geoffrey de Fynes.

The King took his last adieu of Mary at the old palace of Greenwich; he was never to see the fond, forsaken woman again!

Poor Mary, who would not pity her?

Philip hastened to Brussels, where the great army was assembling which was to invade France and bring King Henry the Second to his knees.

It was a motley army, consisting altogether of thirty-five thousand foot and twelve thousand horse, besides a strong train of artillery.

The flower of the infantry was drawn from Spain, Spanish warriors of great experience, and bearing a reputation second to none in the world.

The English force was entirely made up of foot soldiers, the cavalry of the army being mercenary troops from Germany, known as "Schwartzreiters."

These "reiters" were the most dreaded troops of the age. Dark, swarthy men, of whom Brant?me speaks as "noirs comme de beaux diables," each carrying five or six pistolets in his belt, with swords and, sometimes, a short arquebus.

Truly a formidable armament!

These were augmented by a fine corps of Burgundian lances, and a great number of noble Castilian youths, eager to fight for the honour of Spain under the eye of their King.

The whole army was under the command of Emanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy, a youthful warrior of but twenty-nine years of age, yet possessing already a great reputation as a clever, dashing soldier.

This was the man whom Philip (probably for reasons of State) was strongly supporting in his suit for the hand of the Princess Elizabeth of England—an alliance which that astute lady firmly declined.

Besides the Duke of Savoy there were other illustrious soldiers in command of Philip's army—the Counts Egmont, Horn, Mansfeld being of the number.

Egmont was the hero of the army, as he was destined to become the darling of his nation!

Handsome beyond the usual share of mortals, young, ambitious, "sans peur et sans reproche," he was the "preux chevalier" of Europe.

Alas! that he was destined to die a felon's death in the market-place of Brussels, with his illustrious brother-in-arms, Count Horn.

Such was the army, such were its leaders. For miles and miles tents in many thousands shone in the sunlight, in the pleasant month of August, on the heights above the ancient town of St. Quentin. At the foot of the great camp a morass and the River Somme intervened between it and the beleaguered city.

Well might the hearts of Englishmen beat high as they beheld the river and thought of Agincourt and Crécy! Such thoughts filled the hearts of four horsemen grouped together on the highest plateau whereon stood the English camp.

It was the 9th of August, and the day was breaking, flooding the scene before them with rosy light. The pennons surmounting the snow-white tents of the Spanish camps fluttered lightly in the breeze, which was scarcely enough to unfurl the heavily emblazoned standards of the great chiefs present.

There were the ensigns of Eric and Henry, Dukes of Brunswick, of the gigantic Lewes of Brederode, of Almoral, Count of Egmont and of Count Horn.

"Look, boys," cried Lord Clinton to Geoffrey, William and Ralph, whom he had made his aides-de-camp. "Look well, the town is awake right early to-day, and Coligni's men are mustering heavily around the great gates. They are about to attempt a sortie, unless I am deceived.

"You, Geoffrey, will remain here on watch with me; but you, Ralph, ride at top speed to the Duke's tent and give the alarm; and you, William, to Count Egmont. Haste, haste!" he cried, "the sortie has begun!"

It was a wondrous scene.

Out from the town poured the Dauphin's regiment under the command of the brave but rash Teligni, and in a few minutes the object of the sortie became evident. Close to the walls, between them and the Somme, stood many houses of the humbler sort, and an avenue of thick plane-trees grew beside them.

In a few minutes the houses were enveloped in flames, and the soldiers were levelling the trees to the ground with axes.

These would form an obvious shelter to an attacking force, and their destruction was a necessity.

Meanwhile the Admiral (Coligni) was lining the ramparts with arquebusiers, to protect the forces on sortie.

The English camp was the first to receive the alarm and to come into action, as Lord Clinton saw to his great joy.

On all sides they were hurrying up, and presently from their serried ranks a heavy musketry fire poured forth. The distance was great, for the Somme and the morass lay between them and their foe, and this Lord Clinton instantly perceived.

"Ride, boy, to Count Brederode, and bid him bring up some field-pieces," he cried hotly to William, who dashed off on his errand.

Now the French arquebusiers began a heavy fusillade on the advancing besiegers, and soon a thick veil of smoke hid the town of St. Quentin from view.

Little harm was being done by the hot musketry fire, and Lord Clinton soon saw that the object of the garrison would be attained.

"Oh, Brederode, Brederode! when will your guns speak?" he cried, as he heard the enemy's trumpets sound the recall.

Suddenly a roar of artillery rent the air, and the brave foe began to retreat slowly and sullenly. Many a gallant man lay dead outside the walls, stricken by that fierce fire; but their work was done—the Admiral's object was gained.

The town of St. Quentin, though rich and prosperous, was protected only by ancient fortifications, long since "out of date," and in ruinous condition.

The garrison consisted of but one thousand men, and these were miserably armed; there was practically no artillery.

When the gallant Admiral had thrown himself into the town he found but one culverin on the ramparts, and for that one no ammunition had been provided!

The town was not provisioned for a siege—a month's rations for the troops was all that Coligni could find in St. Quentin.

Then the Admiral took a desperate step which nothing but the cruel exigencies of war could justify.

All the aged and infirm, all the sick and helpless, were ordered to leave the city, and seven hundred individuals were thus expelled, most of them to perish from want and misery!

The women were shut up in the cathedral and the churches, "lest their terror and their tears should unman the troops." Coligni himself was the very life and soul of the defence; foremost in every danger, sharing all hardships, and cheering all despairing hearts, he was prepared to die under the ruins of the town—he would never surrender to the foe!

Meanwhile, a great French army, numbering eighteen thousand foot and six thousand horse, was approaching to the relief of St. Quentin under the Constable Montmorency.

It was mainly composed of German mercenary troops, but the chivalry of France were represented there in splendid array, proud to fight under such leaders as Montmorency, the Prince of Condé, the Duke de Nevers, Daudelot (the brother of the Admiral), and many another illustrious chief.

The relief army had encamped on the banks of the Somme at La Fère and Ham; the Admiral sent messengers to Montmorency imploring instant succour.

The next day, August 8th, Daudelot strove to break through the lines of the besiegers at the head of two thousand men, and he failed miserably!

Most of his men perished in the morass, his guides mistaking the paths, and thus bringing them into contact with the outposts of the besiegers.

Their leader, under the cover of night, succeeded in making good his retreat to La Fère, at the head of a mere straggling group of beaten men!

That same night a different scene took place in the great military tent of Lord Clinton: he was entertaining the Lords Pembroke and Gray, and many of the leaders of the Spanish army were there.

The night was chilly, and a fine rain was falling. Around the camp fire sat warriors of world-wide fame, and the English aides-de-camp, watchful for the comforts of their lord's guests, marked each word that fell from their lips.

Especially did Almoral, Count Egmont, call forth their fervent admiration.

"He is like a young war-god," whispered Ralph to William. "Never saw I so glorious a specimen of the genus homo. Oh, to follow such a leader as that into the hot din of battle!"

"Listen to what he is saying," replied his brother in a low voice; "methinks our chance of such an honour will soon come." For Almoral was relating how that very night his reiters had captured a messenger sent by Coligni to Montmorency.

"He had short shrift, I suppose!" said Brederode, with a hoarse laugh.

"By my faith, no!" replied Egmont. "When I had read his message, I sent him on his way to the French Constable, and bade him deliver it duly. For this was the message—

"'Par l'amour de Dieu, des sècours, ou nous allons perir.'"

"You did well, Egmont," said Philibert of Savoy, "for I know the fiery old Constable well, and this message will sting him to frenzy.

"Ah! would that to-morrow were the day of battle; for, mark you, we stand in a strange position of peril. In front of us is St. Quentin, which we dare not abandon. Northward lies the French army, whi............