tarving Englishmen shivering,
but it cleared slowly away as the sun rose. In the red silken pavilion
of the French King--the same which had been viewed by Nigel and Chandos
the evening before--a solemn mass was held by the Bishop of Chalons, who
prayed for those who were about to die, with little thought in his mind
that his own last hour was so near at hand. Then, when communion had
been taken by the King and his four young sons the altar was cleared
away, and a great red-covered table placed lengthwise down the tent,
round which John might assemble his council and determine how best he
should proceed. With the silken roof, rich tapestries of Arras round
the walls and Eastern rugs beneath the feet, his palace could furnish no
fairer chamber.

King John, who sat upon the canopied dais at the upper end, was now in
the sixth year of his reign and the thirty-sixth of his life. He was a
short burly man, ruddy-faced and deep-chested, with dark kindly eyes and
a most noble bearing. It did not need the blue cloak sewed with silver
lilies to mark him as the King. Though his reign had been short, his
fame was already widespread over all Europe as a kindly gentleman and a
fearless soldier--a fit leader for a chivalrous nation. His elder son,
the Duke of Normandy, still hardly more than a boy, stood beside him,
his hand upon the King's shoulder, and John half turned from time to
time to fondle him. On the right, at the same high dais, was the King's
younger brother, the Duke of Orleans, a pale heavy-featured man, with a
languid manner and intolerant eyes. On the left was the Duke of Bourbon,
sad-faced and absorbed, with that gentle melancholy in his eyes and
bearing which comes often with the premonition of death. All these were
in their armor, save only for their helmets, which lay upon the board
before them.

Below, grouped around the long red table, was an assembly of the most
famous warriors in Europe. At the end nearest the King was the veteran
soldier the Duke of Athens, son of a banished father, and now High
Constable of France. On one side of him sat the red-faced and choleric
Lord Clermont, with the same blue Virgin in golden rays upon his surcoat
which had caused his quarrel with Chandos the night before. On the other
was a noble-featured grizzly-haired soldier, Arnold d'Andreghen, who
shared with Clermont the honor of being Marshal of France. Next to them
sat Lord James of Bourbon, a brave warrior who was afterwards sl