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CHAPTER XIV. THE CORSELET OF CAMBRIC.
IT is nine o clock. All is quiet in the camp. The fires have been extinguished as a measure of prudence, and only the moon is allowed to gleam.
In the plain, however, a few tumblers displayed their feats by torchlight to a few spectators, but ere long, losing their public, they were fain to pack up their traps and seek repose beneath some forest tree. By degrees every noise died away. Hardly a chirrup was heard to give life to a lovely night; still, now and then, one heard from afar the ringing of steel. It was some watch on its rounds. The armour glittered a moment in the moonbeams and then disappeared, and that was all.
Let us, too, go our rounds, and see what is passing in the camp. We will begin with the Royal tent. If you were not with me, my dear young people, I would defy you to enter it. Never was treasure or sacred relic so carefully guarded. Charles slept in a great bed of state, and a hundred of his bravest and stoutest men were appointed to guard him. Forty knights kept watch, changing guard three times a night, according to the muster-roll—ten at the head, ten at the foot, and ten on either side, each with a drawn sword and a torch.