A haze which rose from the
marshy valley of Muisson covered both camps and set the starving
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.
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