"And what are we to make of this English page?" inquired one of the horsemen.
"Kill him!" cried Philip, bending upon me his eyes fully and fiercely, like a hawk that has long been kept in the dark.
"No, sire," protested John of Hainault calmly; "I have pledged my word for his safety; he must mount and accompany us as a prisoner."
"By St. Denis!" exclaimed Philip. "Why cumber ourselves with such as he is, when a thrust would settle the question at once?"
"My lord," replied John of Hainault gravely, "my word is passed; and that is conclusive in my view as to his life being spared, however worthless it may be."
No more time was wasted. I was ordered to mount my horse. I obeyed readily, making the best of a bad business, and, disarmed and vigilantly guarded, accompanied the cavaliers who escorted Philip of Valois from the field in which he had met with a defeat more terrible than any that had befallen the warriors of France since that day when the paladins of Charlemagne were attacked and routed by a half-Spanish, half-Moorish host, at the pass of Roncesvalles.
Mournfully and sadly the vanquished warriors rode on through the fields of Picardy; and so much darker grew the night as they pursued their way, that, at one time, they believed they had lost the path, and feared that they would find themselves at the English camp. Late at night, however, they perceived before them the lights of La Broyes, and, with hearts somewhat lightened, they approached the gate. But, as it happened, the gate was shut for the night, and the vanquished Valois was refused admittance into his own fortress.
"Summon the governor," said Philip, in a commanding tone.
Having been hastily summoned, the governor appeared on the battlements.
"Who is it that calls at such an hour?" demanded the functionary, in a mood by no means serene.