The Red Saint by Warwick Deeping

Marpasse was up as soon as the first grey light began to spread above the hills, and it was possible for them to see their way. Denise had passed the night, lying with her head in Marpasse's lap, and sleeping soundly despite her promise to remain awake. Marpasse had smiled, and let her sleep, trusting to her own ears and eyes to warn her of the approach of any peril.

They were on the move while the land was still half in shadow, for Marpasse was as eager as any man to let Earl Simon know the truth about the King. Standing and looking back on Lewes as the dawn increased, Marpasse could gauge how cheaply the King and his captains held their enemy. There were Gascons too with Henry, and the Gascons should have known what manner of man they had to deal with in Earl Simon. Yet the green slopes of the downs, gleaming with dew as the golden light of the dawn began to play on them, were utterly deserted. The King's host lay snoring after its debauch, without a single troop of horse to patrol the hills. Only on the hill that was afterwards called Mount Harry could Marpasse distinguish what appeared to be a solitary sentinel. And he, too, was lying like a grey stone on the hillside, asleep at his post while the sun made the east splendid.