g of England when (like a falcon
foiled in his stoop) he found himself outpaced and outgeneralled on the
moor. Shaken off by those he sought to entrap, baited by the badger he
hoped to draw, he took on something not to be shaken off, namely death,
and had drawn from him what he would ill spare, namely the breath of his
nostrils. To have done with all this eloquence, he caught a chill,
which, working on a body shattered by rages and bad living, smouldered
in him--a slow-eating fever which bit him to the bones, charred and
shrivelled him up. In the clutches of this crawling disease he joined
his forces with those of his Marshal, and marched to the relief of Le
Mans, where the French King was taking his ease. Philip fired the place
when he heard of his approach; so Henry got near enough to see the sky
throbbing with red light, and over all a cloud of smoke blacker than his
own despair. It is said that he had a fit of hard sobbing when he saw
this dreadful sight. He would not suffer the host to approach the
burning city, but took to his bed, turned his face to the tent-wall, and
refused alike housel and meat. News, and of the worst, came fast. The
French were at Chateaudun, the Countess of Brittany's men were
threatening Anjou from the north; all Touraine with Saumur and a chain
of border castles were subject to Richard his son. These things he heard
without moving from his bed or opening his eyes.

After a week of this misery two of his lords, the Marshal, namely, and
Bishop Hugh of Durham, came to his bedside and told him, 'Sire, here are
come ambassadors from France speaking of a peace. How shall it be?'

'As you will,' said the King; 'only let me sleep.' He spoke drowsily, as
if not really awake, but it is thought that he was more watchful than he
chose to appear.

They held a hasty conference, Geoffrey his bastard, the Marshal, the
Bishop: these and the French ambassadors. On the King's part they made
but one request; and Geoffrey made that. The King was dying: let him be
taken down to his castle of Chinon, not die in the fields like an old
hunting dog. This was allowed. He took no sort of notice, let them do
what they would with him, slept incessantly all the way to Chinon.

They brought him the parchments, sealed with his great seal; and he,
quite broken, set his hand to them without so much as a curse on the
robbery done his kingdom. But as the bearers were going out on tiptoe he
suddenly sat up in bed. 'Hugh,' h