But a great feast was held, at which Queen Berengere sat by the King in a gold chair, and was served on knees by the chief officers of the household, the kingdom, and the duchy.  Also, after dinner, full and free homage was done her—­a desperate long ceremony.  The little lady had great dignity; and if they found her stiff, it is to be hoped they remembered her very young.  But although everybody saw that Richard was in the clutches of his ague throughout these performances, so much so that when he was not talking his teeth chattered in his head, and his hand spilt the wine on its way to the mouth—­none were prepared for what was to come, unless such intimates as Gaston of Bearn or Mercadet, his Gascon con captain, may have known it.  At the close of the homage-giving he rose up in his throne, threw back his purple robe, and showed to all beholders the wrinkled mail beneath it.  He was, in fact, in chain-armour from shoulders to feet.  For a moment all looked open-mouthed.  He drew his sword with a great gesture, and held it on high.

‘Peers and noble vassals,’ he called out in measured tones (in which, nevertheless, deep down the shaking fit could be discerned, vibrating the music), ’the work calls us; Acre is in peril.  Kings, who are servants of the King of Kings, put by their private concerns; queens, who bow to one throne only, to that bow with haste.  Now, you of the Cross, who follows me to win the Cross?  The ships are ready, my lords.  Shall we go?’

The great hall was struck dumb.  Queen Berengere, only half understanding, looked scared about her.  One could not but pity the extinguishment of her poor little great affairs.  Queen Joan grew very red.  She had the spirit of her family, was angry, fiercely whispered in her brother’s ear.  He barely heard her; he shook her words from his ears, stamped on the pavement.

’Never, never!  I am for the Cross!  Lord Jesus, behold thy knight!  The work is ready, shall I not do it?  I call Yea! for this turn.  Ha, Anjou!  To the ships, to the ships!’

His sword flickered in the air; there followed it, leaping after the beam, a great swish of steel, soon a forest of swords.

‘Ha, Richard!  Ha, Anjou!  Ha, Saint George!’ So they made the rafters volley; and so headlong after King Richard tumbled out into the dusk and sought the ships.  The new Queen was crying miserably on the dais, Queen Joan tapping her foot beside her.  Late at night they also put out to sea.  On his knees, facing the shrouded East, King Richard spent his wedding night, with his bare sword for his partner.

CHAPTER III

WHO FOUGHT AT ACRE