None of them had a word to say, but with troubled faces left the presence; which shows (to some men’s thinking) that Richard’s strength lay in his cause.  That was not the opinion of Des Barres, nor is it mine.  Meeting them afterwards, when he made a pact of friendship and alliance with Tancred, and renewed that which he had had with Philip, he showed them a perfectly open countenance.  Nevertheless, he took possession of Messina, as he had said he would, and built a great tower upon the wall, which he called Mate-Grifon.  Then he sent for his sister and Jehane, and kept a royal Christmas in the conquered city.

Trouble was not over.  There were constant strifes between nation and nation, man and man.  Winter storms delayed the Queen-Mother; Richard fretted and fumed at the wasting of his force, but saw not the worst of the matter.  If vice was eating his army, jealousy was eating Philip’s sour little heart, and rage that of Saint-Pol.  Saint-Pol, with Gurdun to back him, had determined to kill the English King; with them went, or was ready to go, Des Barres.  He was not such a steady hater by any means.  Some men seek temptation, others fall under it; Des Barres was of this kind.

Of temptation there was a plenty, since Richard was the most fearless of men.  When he had forgiven an injury it did not exist for him any more.  He was glad to see Des Barres, glad to play, talk, grumble, or swear with him—­a most excellent enemy.  One day, idling home from a hawking match, he got tilting with the Frenchman, with reeds for lances.  Neither seemed in earnest until Richard’s horse slipped on a loose stone and threw him.  This was near the gate.  You should have seen the change in Des Barres.  ‘Hue!  Hue!  Passavant!’ he yelled, possessed with the devil of destruction; and came pounding at Richard as if he would ride over him.  At the battle-cry a swarm of fellows—­Frenchmen and Brabanters—­came out and about with pikes.  Richard was on his feet by that time, perfectly advised what was astir.  He was alone, but he had a sword.  This he drew, and took a stride or two towards Des Barres, who had pulled up short of him, and was panting.  The pikemen, who might have hacked him to pieces, paused for another word.  A second of time passed without it, and Richard knew he was safe.  He went up to Des Barres.

‘Learn, Des Barres,’ he said, ’that I allow no cries about my head save those for Saint George.’

‘Sire,’ said Des Barres, ‘I am no man of yours.’

‘It is truly said,’ replied Richard, ‘but I will dub you one’; and he smote him with the flat of his sword across the cheek.  The blood leapt after the sword.

‘Soul of a virgin!’ cried Des Barres, white as cloth, except for the broad weal on his face.

‘Your soul against mine, graceless dog,’ said the King.  ’Another word and I pull you down.’  Just then who should come riding out of the gate but Gilles de Gurdun, armed cap-a-pie?