As they marched out in the early morning on the 4th of August, they saw a well-ordered army approaching, and Leicester’s barber, who happened to be the longest-sighted man amongst then, at first recognized all the standards as belonging to young De Montfort; only after he had ascended a church-tower did he perceive the emblems of De Clare and Edward mingled with them. De Montfort was thus greatly outnumbered and surprised. As the enemy approached in three well-arrayed divisions, “Ah,” said he, “that arrangement is not your own, I have taught you how to fight.” Then, as it became evident that he had neither time nor men to secure the victory, he added, “God have mercy on our souls, for our bodies are the Prince’s.” The stories of the fidelity of his party are touching. He begged his partisans to fly while there was time. They refused to leave him, while his son Henry begged him to make good his retreat, and leave him alone to fight the battle. He was not a man to listen to such advice. At length the assault came. He saw the best of his followers and his son killed or disabled around him. But still, though his horse was killed under him, “like a giant,” says one, “like an impregnable tower for the liberties of England,” says another of the Chroniclers, he fought on, wielding his sword with both hands, till he fell overpowered by the assault of numbers. Three hours completed the battle, which was little else than a massacre. “Thus lamentably fell the flower of all knighthood, leaving an example of steadfastness to others. But since there is no curse more baleful than a domestic enemy, who can wonder at his fall? those who had eaten his bread lifted their heels against him, they who loved him by word of mouth lied in their throat.”[42] [Sidenote: Kenilworth and the Fens hold out. 1266.] [Sidenote: Dictum of Kenilworth.]