At earliest dawn upon the 13th, the Barons set out from Newcastle. A dense fog overhung the country, appearing to increase as they advanced northwards; and it was still early, though they had ridden fast and far, when several of the party began to suggest the expediency of a return, urging, that in their utter ignorance of their own locality, as well as of the position of the enemy, they might be blindly rushing upon unknown perils.[410] But Balliol, with a resolute determination that has often extricated brave men out of difficulties, refused to listen to such suggestions, avowing his own intention of proceeding at all risks, and the waverers were ashamed to turn back. Onwards they pressed, whilst close upon their right lay Warkworth, swarming with the Scottish foe; but enshrouded in the obscurity of the friendly mist they passed the river Coquet in safety, and continued their adventurous progress. The fog rolled away as the morning advanced, displaying to the delighted eyes of the little band the friendly walls of Alnwick, and they were hastening with alacrity towards its welcome shelter, when they perceived a small body of about sixty knights, who were engaged in tilting in a neighbouring meadow. The tilting party was composed of William and his attendant suite, who paid little or no attention to the approach of a band of horsemen, mistaking them for a party of Earl Duncan’s mounted force returning to the Scottish camp, until a nearer view of the advancing barons revealed the English cognizances. One moment of reflection would have warned the king not to imperil the whole fortune of the war upon such an unequal contest; but no such thoughts crossed the mind of William, and, with the hasty exclamation, “Now will it be seen who is a true knight,” he dashed at once against the enemy with all the reckless gallantry of a knight-errant. The result can be easily imagined. His horse was immediately slain--for this was no tilting match, and his opponents aimed at securing their prize--and before he could disengage himself from the dying charger, William was a helpless captive. His nobles determined to share his fate; many of his suite, who had not been present at the catastrophe, riding in and surrendering to the English barons to avoid the imputation of deserting their sovereign; and, before the close of the same fatal Saturday, the Barons of Yorkshire again entered Newcastle with their illustrious captive in their charge.[411]