‘Fever, my poor coz,’ said Richard, with a kind hand upon his shoulder.  Philip burst out with his symptoms, wailing like a child:  ’The devil bites me.  I vomit black.  My skin is as dry as a snake’s.  Yesterday they bled me three ounces.’  Richard walked back with him among the tents, conversing cheerfully, and for a few days held his old ascendancy over Philip; but only for a few.  Other of the leaders he saw:  some gave him no welcome.  The Marquess of Montferrat kept his quarters, the Duke of Burgundy was in bed.  The Archduke of Austria, Luitpold, a hairy man with light red eyelashes, professed great civility; but Richard had a bad way with strangers.  Not being receptive, he took no pains to pretend that he was.  The Archduke made long speeches, Richard short replies; the Archduke made longer speeches, Richard no replies.  Then the Archduke grew very red, and Richard nearly yawned.  This was at the English King’s formal reception by the leaders of the Crusade.  With the Grand Master of the Temple he got on better, liking the looks of the man.  He did not observe Saint-Pol on King Philip’s left hand; but there he was, flushed, excited, and tensely observant of his enemy.  That same night, when they held a council of war, there was seen a smoulder of that fire which you might have decently supposed put out.  King Philip came down in a mighty hurry, and sat himself in the throne; Montferrat, Burgundy, and others of that faction serried round about him.  The English and Angevin chiefs were furious, and the Archduke halted between two opinions.  By the time (lateish) when King Richard was announced Gaston of Bearn and young Saint-Pol had their swords half out.  But Richard came and stood in the doorway, a magnificent leisurely figure.  All his party rose up.  Richard waited, watching.  The Archduke (who really had not seen him before) rose with apologies; then the French followed suit, singly, one here and one there.  There only remained seated King Philip and the Marquess of Montferrat.  Still Richard waited by the door; presently, in a quiet voice, he said to the usher, ’Take your wand, usher, to that paralytic over there.  Tell him that he shall use it, or I will.’  The message was delivered:  at an angry nod from King Philip the Marquess got darkly up, and Richard came into the hall with King Guy of Jerusalem.  These two sat down one on each side of France; and so the council began.

It was hopeless from the outset—­a posse of hornets droned into fury by the Archduke.  While he talked the rest maddened, longing for each other’s blood, failing that of Luitpold.  Richard, who as yet had no plans of his own, took no interest whatever in plans.  He acted throughout as if the Marquess was not there, and as if he wished with all his heart that the Archduke was not there.  On his part, the Marquess would have given nearly all he owned to have behaved so to Guy of Lusignan set over him; but the Marquess had not that art of lazy scorn which belongs to the royal among beasts:  he glowered, he was sulky.  Meantime the Archduke buzzed his age-long periods, and Richard (clasping his knee) looked at the ceiling.  At last he sighed profoundly, and ’God of heaven and earth!’ escaped him.  King Philip burst into a guffaw—­his first for many a day—­and broke up the assembly.  Richard had himself rowed out to Jehane in her ship.