The Spanish army, after coming nearly within cannon-shot of their adversary, paused.  It was plain that the States’ troops were not in so great a panic as the more sanguine advisers of the archduke had hoped.  They were not cowering among the shipping, preparing to escape.  Still less had any portion of them already effected their retreat in those vessels, a few of which had so excited the enemy’s ardour when they came in sight.  It was obvious that a great struggle, in which the forces were very evenly balanced, was now to be fought out upon those sands.  It was a splendid tournament—­a great duel for life and death between the champions of the Papacy and of Protestantism, of the Republic and of absolutism, that was to be fought out that midsummer’s day.  The lists were closed.  The trumpet signal for the fray would soon be blown.

The archduke, in Milanese armour, on a wonderfully beautiful snow-white Spanish stallion, moved in the centre of his army.  He wore no helmet, that his men might the more readily recognize him as he rode gallantly to and fro, marshalling, encouraging, exhorting the troops.  Never before had he manifested such decided military talent, combined with unquestionable personal valour, as he had done since this campaign began.  Friend and foe agreed that day that Albert fought like a lion.  He was at first well seconded by Mendoza, who led the van, and by Villars, La Bourlotte, Avalos, Zapena, and many other officers of note.  The mutinous Spanish and Italian cavalry, combined with a few choice squadrons of Walloon and German horse, were placed in front and on the flanks.  They were under the special supervision of the admiral, who marshalled their squadrons and directed their charging, although mounted on a hackney himself, and not intending to participate in the action.  Then came the battalia and rear, crowding very closely upon each other.

Face to face with them stood the republican host, drawn up in great solid squares of infantry, their standards waving above each closely planted clump of pikemen, with the musketeers fringing their skirts, while the iron-clad ponderous cavalry of Count Lewis and Marcellus Bax, in black casque and, corslet, were in front, restlessly expecting the signal for the onset.  The volunteers of high rank who were then serving on the staff of the stadholder—­the Duke of Holstein, the Prince of Anhalt, two young Counts Solms, and others—­had been invited and even urged to abandon the field while there was yet time for setting them on board the fleet.  Especially it was thought desirable that young Frederic Henry, a mere boy, on whom the hopes of the Orange-Nassau house would rest if Maurice fell in the conflict, should be spared the fate which seemed hanging over the commonwealth and her defenders.  But the son of William the Silent implored his brother with clasped hands not to send him from his side at that moment, so that Maurice granted his prayer, and caused him to be provided with a complete suit of armour.