Warwick's rendezvous was Coventry; and to that city, at the earl's call, hastened thousands of men, to repair the loss which he had sustained by the defection of Clarence. Thither came Henry of Exeter and Edmund Somerset; and John De Vere, Earl of Oxford, with a host of warriors devoted to the house of Lancaster; and John Neville, Marquis of Montagu, who, although not supposed to relish the company of Lancastrians, appeared eager in his brother's quarrel to sacrifice the prejudices of his life and redeem the fatal error he had committed at Pontefract. At this stage of affairs, the Duke of Clarence endeavored to open a door for the earl's reconciliation to the king. Such an attempt was indeed hopeless; but the duke, perhaps suffering some twinges of conscience on account of his treachery, sent to excuse himself for changing sides, and to entreat Warwick to make peace with Edward. His message was treated with lofty scorn. "I would rather," said the earl, "die true to myself, than live like that false and perjured duke; and I vow not, until I have either lost my life or subdued mine enemies, to lay down the sword to which I have appealed." With a resolution not to be broken, Warwick, with Oxford leading his van, marched from Coventry; and, hoping to arrest the Yorkist army ere the king was admitted into London, he advanced southward with all speed. Learning, however, that the archbishop had proved false, and that the citizens had proved obsequious, the earl, on reaching St. Albans, halted to allow his men to repose from their fatigues, and on Saturday moved forward to Barnet, standing on a hill midway between St. Albans and London. Here the earl, resolving to await the approach of his royal foe, called a halt; and, having ordered his vanguard to take possession of the little town, he encamped on a heath known as Gladsmuir, and forming part of an extensive chase, stocked with beasts of game. The king did not long keep the earl waiting. No sooner did the martial monarch hear that his great foe had left Coventry and was approaching the metropolis, than he girded on his armor, with a heart as fearless of the issue as had animated the mightiest of his ancestors when, on a summer morning, he marched to Evesham to strike down the puissance of Simon de Montfort. It was with no faint hopes of success, indeed, that, at the head of an army devoted to his cause, Edward, clad in magnificent armor, and mounted on a white steed, with crimson caparisons, lined with blue and embroidered with flowers of gold, rode out of London, cheered by the good wishes of the citizens, surrounded by the companions of his exile, and attended by George of Clarence, whom he could not prudently trust elsewhere, and by Henry of Windsor, whom he could not safely leave behind.