He had thought he had grown old, but the indignity woke his youth again, and he fretted passionately.

If death was his portion, he longed for it to come cleanly in soldier fashion.
One night his squire disappeared.

The Tartars, when he tried to question them, only laughed and pointed westward.

That was the last he heard of the lad from the Boulonnais.
And then on a frosty dawn, when the sun rose red-rimmed over the barrens, he noted a new trimness in his escort.

They rode in line, and they rode before and behind him, so that his captivity was made patent.
On a ridge far to the west he saw a great castle, and he knew the palace of Houlagou.