olombieres. The great assembly
gathered to witness the triumph of France was struck with horror at the
marks of suffering on his face, and Philip himself, moved by a sudden
pity, called for a cloak to be spread on the ground on which the king
might sit. But Henry's fierce temper flashed out once more; he would not
sit, he said; even as he was he would hear what they asked of him, and why
they cut short his lands. Then Philip stated his demands. Henry must do
homage, and place himself wholly at the French king's mercy to do whatever
he should decree. Richard must receive, as Henry's heir, the fealty of the
barons of the lands on both sides the sea. A heavy sum was to be paid to
Philip for his conquests in Berri. Richard and Philip were to hold Le Mans
and Tours, and the other castles of Maine and Touraine, or else the
castles of the Vexin, until the treaty was completely carried out. Henry's
barons were to swear that they would force him to observe these terms.

As Henry hesitated for a moment at these crushing demands, a sudden
terrible thunder broke from the still air. Both kings fell back with
superstitious awe, for there had been no warning cloud or darkness.
After a little space they again went forward, and again out of the
serene sky came a yet louder and more awful peal. Henry, half fainting
with suffering, was only prevented from falling to the ground by the
friends who held him up on horseback while he made his submission to his
rival and accepted the terms of peace. Then for the last time he spoke
with his faithless son Richard. As the formal kiss of peace was given,
the count caught his father's fierce whisper, "May God not let me die
until I have worthily avenged myself on thee!" The terrible words were
to Richard only a merry tale, with which on his return he stirred the
French court to great laughter.

Henry was carried back the same day in a litter to Chinon. So sudden and
amazing a downfall was to the superstitious terror of the time, evident
token that the curse of Thomas had come to rest on him. The vengeance of
the implacable martyr seemed to follow him through every act of the
great drama. In Philip's scornful refusal to allow Henry to swear
obedience, "saving his honour and the dignity of his kingdom," the
zealots of the day saw a just retribution. At Chinon a deputation of
monks from Canterbury met him. "Trusting that in his affliction he might
pity the affliction of the Church," and grant demands l