‘By the Tower of Flies you will find them,’ said the Sheik, ’and late at night.  There are always some of his people walking there.  Seek out such a man as you have seen, and without fear accost him after his fashion, kissing him and saying, “Ah, Ali.  Ah, Abdallah, servant of Ali.”

‘I am very much obliged to you, Moffadin,’ said the Marquess.

* * * * *

That same night Jehane was in pain, and King Richard dared not leave her, nor the physicians either.  And in the morning early she was delivered of a child, a strong boy, and then lay back and slept profoundly.  Richard set two black women to fan the flies off her without stopping once under pain of death; and having seen to the proper care of the child and other things, returned alone through the blanching streets, glorifying and praising God.

CHAPTER IV

CONCERNING THE TOWER OF FLIES, SAINT-POL, AND THE MARQUESS OF MONTFERRAT

In the church of Saint Lazarus of the Knights, on Lammas Day, the son of Richard and Jehane was made a Christian by the Abbot of Poictiers.  Gossips were the Count of Champagne, the Earl of Leicester, and (by proxy) the Queen-Mother.  He was named Fulke.

At the moment of anointing the church-bell was rung; and at that moment Gilles de Gurdun spat upon the pavement outside.  Saint-Pol said to him, ‘We must do better than that, Gilles.’

And Gilles, ‘I pray God may spit him out.’

‘Oh, He!’ said Saint-Pol with a bitter laugh; ’He helps those who are helpful of themselves.’

‘I cannot help myself, Eustace,’ said Gurdun.  ’I have tried.  I had him unarmed before me at Messina, and he looked me down, and I could not do it.’

‘Have at his back, then.’

’I hope it may not come to that, said Gilles; ’and yet it may, if it must.’

‘Come with me to-night to the Tower of Flies,’ said Saint-Pol.  ’Here is my shameful sister brought out of church.  I cannot stay.’

‘I stay,’ said Gilles de Gurdun.  King Richard came out of church, and Jehane, and the child carried on a shield.

Jehane, who had much ado to walk without falling, saw not Gilles; but Gilles saw her, and the red in his face took a tinge of black.  While she was before him he gaped at her, with a dry tongue clacking in his mouth, consumed by a dreadful despair; but when she had passed by, swaying in her weakness, barely able to hold up her lovely head, he lifted his face to the white sky, and looked unwinking at the sun, wondering where else an equal cruelty could abide.  In this golden king, as cruel as the sun, and as swift, and as splendid!  Ah, dastard, dastard!  At the minute Gilles could have leapt at him and mauled the great shoulders with a dog’s weapons.  There was no solace for him but to bite.  So he dashed his forearm into his face, and sluiced his teeth in that.