Arthur was in the field several months with Philip, and though he had to endure all that powerful warrior’s severe discipline, he fought for him as valiantly as he would have done for himself. All this time the enemy remained unsubdued; but at last the King, having cut off all probable chance of escape, looked for a decisive result. The day for the attack was fixed, and everything was made ready. On the evening before the battle, after issuing his orders, the King retired to his tent to read some letters which a messenger had brought from Paris. The chancellor urgently entreated him to return, for disorder was spreading, and the finances were in such desperate condition that he could procure no more money.  
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“Ha!” said the King to himself, “how shall we meet the needs of the Empire? There is but one way. The Jews must empty their pockets. The ban shall be raised. We expelled them to please the Pope, who is now secretly plotting with my enemies against me and annoying me in every way.” The King called for his secretary, but instead of that official a knight suddenly entered the tent. Recognizing Arthur, he waited for him to speak.
 
“Oh, my King,” said Arthur excitedly, “I have had news from my uncle.”
 
Philip frowned and asked, “What does John want now?”
 
“My news is not from John; I am speaking of Richard. He is free. He is no longer a prisoner in the castle of Trifels.”
 
“How,” interrupted the King, “has the ransom been furnished?”
 
“He is free,” repeated Arthur; “a deserter from the Netherlands brought the tidings. Richard has embarked on the Holland coast. They recognized him, though he went there in disguise.”
 
“Alone!” said the astonished King. “Oh, the Lion-hearted!”
 
“Without doubt he has crossed to England,” continued Arthur excitedly, “and now it is time my King, for me to hasten to his assistance.”
 
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“Thoughtless youth!” broke in Philip, “would you forsake me before the end of the campaign and ingloriously leave before we know whether Richard has actually reached his fatherland?”
 
Arthur grew thoughtful, and retired to consult H?el and Alan. The latter was eager to go, for he was not enthusiastic in his devotion to Philip; he would rather have fought for Richard. But H?el twirled his gray mustache and shook his head. He feared Richard’s rash and unstable disposition, and knew that he could not be relied upon. “Philip is right in this matter,” he said. “Let us first dispose of this Fleming; after that it will be time to think of the other matter.”
 
The battle was fought the next day, and resulted in the defeat of the Count of Flanders after a stout resistance. The King himself led his warriors, sword in hand, in an attack upon the enemy, who were seeking to hold a bridge. His battle-cry, “Montjoie St. Denis!”[18] spread panic in the ranks of his foes, and “Plantagenet!” “Plantagenet!” resounded where Arthur and his knights were fighting.
 
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The victory was won. The enemy were driven over the bridge, and threw away their arms. The King warmly co............