"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 cheek. His noisy captors
stood around him in a circle, eying him hungrily like dogs who
have been beaten from their quarry. There were Gascons and
English, knights, squires and archers, all pushing and straining.
"I pray you, fair Prince, to get rid of these rude fellows," said
King John, "for indeed they have plagued me sorely. By Saint
Denis! my arm has been well-nigh pulled from its socket.
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