ow seemed an assured victory for
King Henry.

Both De Montfort and the King had thrown themselves into the melee
with all their reserves. No longer was there semblance of organization.
Division was inextricably bemingled with division; friend and foe formed
a jumbled confusion of fighting, cursing chaos, over which whipped the
angry pennons and banners of England's noblest houses.

That the mass seemed moving ever away from Lewes indicated that the
King's arms were winning toward victory, and so it might have been had
not a new element been infused into the battle; for now upon the brow of
the hill to the north of them appeared a great horde of armored knights,
and as they came into position where they could view the battle, the
leader raised his sword on high, and, as one man, the thousand broke
into a mad charge.

Both De Montfort and the King ceased fighting as they gazed upon this
body of fresh, well armored, well mounted reinforcements. Whom might
they be? To which side owned they allegiance? And, then, as the
black falcon wing on the banners of the advancing horsemen became
distinguishable, they saw that it was the Outlaw of Torn.

Now he was close upon them, and had there been any doubt before, the
wild battle cry which rang from a thousand fierce throats turned the
hopes of the royalists cold within their breasts.

"For De Montfort! For De Montfort!" and "Down with Henry!" rang loud and
clear above the din of battle.

Instantly the tide turned, and it was by only the barest chance that
the King himself escaped capture, and regained the temporary safety of
Lewes.

The King of the Romans took refuge within an old mill, and here it was
that Norman of Torn found him barricaded. When the door was broken down,
the outlaw entered and dragged the monarch forth with his own hand to
the feet of De Montfort, and would have put him to death had not the
Earl intervened.

"I have yet to see my mark upon the forehead of a King," said Norman of
Torn, "and the temptation be great; but, an you ask it, My Lord Earl,
his life shall be yours to do with as you see fit."

"You have fought well this day, Norman of Torn," replied De Montfort.
"Verily do I believe we owe our victory to you alone; so do not mar the
record of a noble deed by wanton acts of atrocity."

"It is but what they had done to me, were I the prisoner instead,"
retorted the outlaw.

And Simon de Montfort could not answer that, for it was but the simple