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I just throw this off by way of description, and to show what MIGHT be done if I chose to indulge in this style of composition; but as in the battles which are described by the kindly chronicler, of one of whose works this present masterpiece is professedly a continuation, everything passes off agreeably--the people are slain, but without any unpleasant sensation to the reader; nay, some of the most savage and blood-stained characters of history, such is the indomitable good-humor of the great novelist, become amiable, jovial companions, for whom one has a hearty sympathy--so, if you please, we will have this fighting business at Chalus, and the garrison and honest Bertrand of Gourdon, disposed of; the former, according to the usage of the good old times, having been hung up or murdered to a man, and the latter killed in the manner described by the late Dr.Goldsmith in his History.
As for the Lion-hearted, we all very well know that the shaft of Bertrand de Gourdon put an end to the royal hero--and that from that 29th of March he never robbed nor murdered any more.

And we have legends in recondite books of the manner of the King's death.
"You must die, my son," said the venerable Walter of Rouen, as Berengaria was carried shrieking from the King's tent.

"Repent, Sir King, and separate yourself from your children!" "It is ill jesting with a dying man," replied the King.

"Children have I none, my good lord bishop, to inherit after me." "Richard of England," said the archbishop, turning up his fine eyes, "your vices are your children.