Seven times did Henry of Navarre in person lead his troopers to the charge; but suddenly, in the midst of the din of battle and the cheers of victory, a message of despair went from lip to lip throughout the royal lines.  The king had disappeared.  He was killed, and the hopes of Protestantism and of France were fallen for ever with him.  The white standard of his battalia had been seen floating wildly and purposelessly over the field; for his bannerman, Pot de Rhodes, a young noble of Dauphiny, wounded mortally in the head, with blood streaming over his face and blinding his sight, was utterly unable to control his horse, who gallopped hither and thither at his own caprice, misleading many troopers who followed in his erratic career.  A cavalier, armed in proof, and wearing the famous snow-white plume, after a hand-to-hand struggle with a veteran of Count Bossu’s regiment, was seen to fall dead by the side of the bannerman:  The Fleming, not used to boast, loudly asserted that he had slain the Bearnese, and the news spread rapidly over the battle-field.  The defeated Confederates gained new courage, the victorious Royalists were beginning to waver, when suddenly, between the hostile lines, in the very midst of the battle, the king gallopped forward, bareheaded, covered with blood and dust, but entirely unhurt.  A wild shout of “Vive le Roi!” rang through the air.  Cheerful as ever, he addressed a few encouraging words to his soldiers, with a smiling face, and again led a charge.  It was all that was necessary to complete the victory.  The enemy broke and ran away on every side in wildest confusion, followed by the royalist cavalry, who sabred them as they fled.  The panic gained the foot-soldiers, who should have supported the cavalry, but had not been at all engaged in the action.  The French infantry threw away their arms as they rushed from the field and sought refuge in the woods.  The Walloons were so expeditious in the race, that they never stopped till they gained their own frontier.  The day was hopelessly lost, and although Mayenne had conducted himself well in the early part of the day, it was certain that he was excelled by none in the celerity of his flight when the rout had fairly begun.  Pausing to draw breath as he gained the wood, he was seen to deal blows with his own sword among the mob of fugitives, not that he might rally them to their flag and drive them back to another encounter, but because they encumbered his own retreat.

The Walloon carbineers, the German riders, and the French lancers, disputing as to the relative blame to be attached to each corps, began shooting and sabring each other, almost before they were out of the enemy’s sight.  Many were thus killed.  The lansquenets were all put to the sword.  The Swiss infantry were allowed to depart for their own country on pledging themselves not again to bear arms against Henry IV.