The Barons’ host went on its knees that evening, its lines of steel seaming the green woods. Lords, knights, gentlemen, yeomen, burghers, knelt with their shields before them, their swords naked in the grass, their heads uncovered. Between the ranks of these silent, steel-clad figures came the Bishop of Worcester, and many priests with him, chanting as they came. The whole host was confessed, absolved, and blessed under the oak trees of the Fletching woods. It was as though the heart of England was shrived that day, before the national ordeal of battle. “Holy Cross, Holy Cross.” Men came running and shouting through the ranks, carrying bales of white cloth which they spread on the grass, and tore into hundreds of strips. Every fighting man was to carry the White Cross on his breast. And in the midst of it all Earl Simon and a great company of lords and gentlemen came riding through, wearing the White Cross on their surcoats. Swords and spears were tossed aloft, and the heart of the host went up in sound like the long roar of a stormy sea. Under a great oak tree De Montfort knighted many of the younger lords and gentlemen, among them Robert de Vere, John de Burgh the son of the great justiciary, and young Gilbert, Earl of Gloucester. Then he and his sons and his captains went everywhere, heartening their men, bidding them rest and eat, and keep strong and lusty against the morrow. As De Montfort was riding back with young Gloucester, and a few knights and gentlemen of his own household to the manor house where he had his quarters, he came upon several women standing under the shade of an old yew. It happened that Earl Simon had put abroad an order that no women should be suffered to follow the army on the march. If the King and his host had seven hundred courtesans in their camp, that was the King’s affair; De Montfort would have none of it. Earl Simon ordered his gentlemen to halt, and turned aside alone towards the yew tree. Two of the women had come forward, and were waiting as though to speak with the Earl. De Montfort had a frown on his face. Great soldier that he was, he had his rough and passionate moods; his strong sincerity sometimes ran away with his tongue. The two women went on their knees before Earl Simon’s horse. “Sire,” said the elder of the two, “put your anger away. We are here for love of the White Cross.” Straight speaking, and a straight look of the eyes were things that De Montfort loved. The armed men who watched and waited, wondered why Earl Simon tarried there talking, and did not send the women away. De Montfort’s face had begun to shine like the face of a saint. He looked very thoughtfully at the two women as they laid their lives in the hollow of his hand. The plan was Marpasse’s, but Denise would not suffer her comrade to carry it out alone. Their plan was to go as spies to Lewes that night, and bring back any news that they could gather as to what the King purposed to do on the morrow.