had rather lose many men than the good Sir James. Ha, Chandos, what have
we here?"

A knight lay across the path with his helmet beaten down upon his
shoulders. On his surcoat and shield were the arms of a red griffin.

"It is Robert de Duras the spy," said Chandos.

"Well for him that he has met his end," said the angry Prince. "Put him
on his shield, Hubert, and let four archers bear him to the monastery.
Lay him at the feet of the Cardinal and say that by this sign I greet
him. Place my flag on yonder high bush, Walter, and let my tent be
raised there, that my friends may know where to seek me."

The flight and pursuit had thundered far away, and the field was
deserted save for the numerous groups of weary horsemen who were making
their way back, driving their prisoners before them. The archers were
scattered over the whole plain, rifling the saddle-bags and gathering
the armor of those who had fallen, or searching for their own scattered
arrows.

Suddenly, however, as the Prince was turning toward the bush which he
had chosen for his headquarters, there broke out from behind him an
extraordinary uproar and a group of knights and squires came pouring
toward him, all arguing, swearing and abusing each other in French and
English at the tops of their voices. In the midst of them limped a stout
little man in gold-spangled armor, who appeared to be the object of the
contention, for one would drag him one way and one another, as though
they would pull him limb from limb. "Nay, fair sirs, gently, gently, I
pray you!" he pleaded. "There is enough for all, and no need to treat me
so rudely." But ever the hubbub broke out again, and swords gleamed as
the angry disputants glared furiously at each other. The Prince's eyes
fell upon the small prisoner, and he staggered back with a gasp of
astonishment.

"King John!" he cried.

A shout of joy rose from the warriors around him. "The King of France!
The King of France a prisoner!" they cried in an ecstasy.

"Nay, nay, fair sirs, let him not hear that we rejoice! Let no word
bring pain to his soul!" Running forward the Prince clasped the French
King by the two hands.

"Most welcome, sire!" he cried. "Indeed it is good for us that so
gallant a knight should stay with us for some short time, since the
chance of war has so ordered it. Wine there! Bring wine for the King!"

But John was flushed and angry. His helmet had been roughly torn off,
and blood was smeared upon his c