‘Here, my lord,’ said Des Barres, clearing his throat, ’comes a gentleman who has sought your Grace with better cause than mine.’

‘Who is your gentleman?’ Richard asked him.

‘It is De Gurdun, sire, a Norman knight whose name should be familiar.’

‘I know him perfectly,’ said Richard.  He turned to one of the bystanders, saying, ‘Fetch that gentleman to me.’  The man ran nimbly to meet De Gurdun.

Des Barres, watching narrowly, saw Gilles start, saw him look, almost saw the bracing of his nerves.  What exactly followed was curious.  Gilles moved his horse forward slowly.  King Richard, standing in leather doublet and plumed cap, waited for him, his arms folded.  Des Barres on horseback, an enemy; the bystanders, tattered, savage, high-fed men, enemies also; in front the most implacable enemy of all.

When De Gurdun was within spear-reach he stopped his horse and sat looking at the King.  Richard returned the look; it was an eyeing match, soon over.  Gurdun swung off the horse, threw the rein to a soldier, and tried footing it.  The steady duel of the eyes continued until Gilles was actually within sword’s distance.  Here he stopped once more; finally gave a queer little grunt, and went down on one knee.  Des Barres sighed as he eased his heart.  The tension had been terrible.

Richard said, ’De Gurdun, stand up and answer me.  You seek my life, as I understand.  Is it so?’

Sir Gilles began to stammer.  ’No man has loved the law—­no knight ever loved lady—­’ and so on; but Richard cut him short.

‘Answer me, man,’ he said, in a voice which was nearly as dry as his father’s, ‘do you wish for my life?’

‘King,’ said Gilles, his great emotion lending him dignity, ’if I do, is it a strange matter?  You have had my father’s and brother’s.  You have mine in your hand.  You corrupted and then stole my beloved.  Are these no griefs?’

Richard grew impatient; he could never bear waiting.

‘Do you wish my life?’ he asked again.  Gilles was overwrought.  ’By God on high, but I do wish it!’ he cried out, almost whimpering.

King Richard threw down his sword.  ‘Take it then, you fool,’ he said.  ‘You talk too much.’

A silence fell upon the party, so profound that the cicala in the dry hedge shrilled to pierce the ear.  Richard stood like a stock, with Des Barres gaping at him.  Gurdun was all of a tremble, but swung his sword about in his sword-hand.  After a while he took a deep breath, a fumbling step forward; and Des Barres, leaning out over the saddle, caught him by the surcoat.

‘Drop that man, Des Barres,’ said Richard, without moving his eyes from the Norman.  Des Barres obeyed; and as the silence resumed Gilles began twitching his sword again.  When a lizard rustled in the grass a man started as if shot.

Gilles gave over first, threw his sword away with a sob.  ‘God ha’ mercy, I cannot!  I cannot!’ he fretted, and stood blinking the tears from his eyes.  Richard picked up his weapon and returned it to him.  ’You are brave enough, my friend,’ he said, ’for better work.  Go and do better in Syria.’