Certainly, he saw, his camp there could be of no long tenure.  The Grifons, as they called the inhabitants, were about it like hornets; not a day passed without the murder of some man of his, or an ambush which cost him a score.  Thieving was a courtesy, raiding an amenity in a Grifon, it appeared.  Richard, hoping yet for the dowry and a peaceful departing, had laid a strict command that no harm should be done to any one of them unless he should be caught bloody-handed.  ‘Well and good!’ writes Milo; ’but this meant to say that no man might scratch himself for fear he should kill a louse.’  Nature could not endure such a direction, so Richard then (whose own temper was none of the longest) let himself go, fell upon a party of these brigands, put half to the sword and hanged the other half in rows before the landward gate of Messina.  You will say that this did not advance his treaty with King Tancred; but in a sense it did.  When the Messenians came out of their gates to attack him in open field, it was found and reported by Gaston of Bearn, who drove them in with loss, that William des Barres and the Count of Saint-Pol had been with them, each heading a company of knights.  Richard flew into a royal, and an Angevin, rage.  He swore by God’s back that he would bring the walls flat; and so he did.  ’This is the work of that little pale devil of France, then,’ he said.  ’A likely beginning, by my soul!  Now let me see if I can bring two kings to reason at once.’

He used the argument of the long arm.  Bringing up his engines from the ships, he pounded the walls of Messina to such purpose that he could have walked in barefoot in two or three places.  King Tancred came in person to sue for peace; but Richard wanted more than dowry by this time.  ‘The peace you shall have,’ he said, ’is the peace of God which passeth understanding, and for which, I take it, you are not yet ready, unless you bring hither with you Philip of France.’  This the unfortunate Tancred really could not do; but he did bring proxies of Philip’s.  Saint-Pol came, Des Barres, and the Bishop of Beauvais with his russet, soldier’s face.  King Richard sat considering these worthy men.

’Ah, now, Saint-Pol, you are playing a good part in this Christian adventure, I think!’ he broke out after a time.  Saint-Pol squared his jaw.  ‘If I had caught you in your late sally, my friend,’ Richard went on, ’I should have hanged you on a tree, knight or no knight.  Why, fool, do you think your shameful brother worth so much treachery?  With him before your eyes can you do no better?  I hope so.  Get you back, and tell King Philip this:  He and I are vowed to honesty; but if he breaks faith again, I have that in me which shall break him.  As for you, Bishop of Beauvais’—­one saw the old war-priest blink—­’I know nothing of your part in this business, and am willing to think charitably.  If you, an old man, have any of the grace of God left in you, bestow some of it on your master.  Teach him to serve God as you serve Him, Beauvais.  I will try to be content with that.’  He turned to Des Barres, the finest soldier of the three.  ‘William,’ he said more gently, for he really liked the man, ’I hope to meet you in a better field, and side by side.  But if face to face again, William,’ and he lifted his hand, ’beware of me.’