“So, ho, a goodly fellowship come to see Richard take his leap in the dark.  My noble allies, I greet you as the representatives of our assembled league—­De Vaux, lives he or dies he, thou hast the thanks of thy prince—­There is yet another—­What, the bold Scot, who would climb heaven without a ladder?  He is welcome, too.  Come, Sir Hakim, to the work, to the work.”

The physician now felt the king’s pulse for a long time, then filled a cup with water, and dipt in it a small red purse, which he took from his bosom.  He was about to offer it to the king, but he prevented him, saying: 

“Hold an instant, let me lay my finger on thy pulse.”

The Arabian yielded his hand without hesitation.

“His blood beats calm as an infant’s; so throbs not theirs who poison princes,” said the king, “De Vaux, whether we live or die, dismiss this Hakim with honour.  Commend us, friend, to the noble Saladin.”

He then took the cup, and turning to the Marquis of Montserrat and the grand master:  “Mark what I say.  To the immortal honour of the first Crusader who shall strike lance or sword on the gate of Jerusalem and to the eternal infamy of whomsoever shall turn back from the plough on which he hath laid his hand.”  He drained the cup and sank back as if exhausted.

The hour had arrived when the royal patient might be awakened with safety.  The fever had entirely left him, and King Richard sitting up and rubbing his eyes demanded what present store of money was in the royal coffers.

“Be it greater or smaller,” he said, “bestow it all on the learned leech who hath given me back to the service of the Crusade.”

“I sell not the wisdom with which Allah has endowed me,” said the Arab.  “It is reward enough for me that so great a king as Melech Ric should thus speak to his servant.  But now let me pray you to compose yourself again on the couch.”

“I must obey thee, Hakim,” said the king.  “But what mean these shouts and distant music in the camp?”

The Marquis of Montserrat at that moment entered.

“Honoured prince,” he said, “I delight to see your majesty so far recovered, and that is a long speech for me to make who has partaken of the Duke of Austria’s hospitality.”

“What, you have been dining with the Teutonic wine skin!” said the monarch.  “And what frolic hath he found to cause all this disturbance?  Truly, Sir Conrade, I wonder at your quitting the revel.”

“What the Archduke does,” said Conrade de Montserrat, not heeding De Vaux’s sign, “is of little consequence to anyone; yet to say truth, this is a gambol I should not like to share in, since he is pulling down the banner of England, and displaying his own in its stead.”

“What say’st thou?” exclaimed Richard, springing from his couch and casting on his clothes with marvellous speed.  “Speak not to me—­I command thee, speak not a word to me—­Hakim, be silent I charge thee!” And with the last word he snatched his sword and rushed out.  Conrade held up his hands as if in astonishment.  De Vaux pushed rudely past him calling orders in haste to the equerries, which, imperfectly heard, spread an alarm as general as the cause seemed vague, through the whole British forces.