But as day followed night, all men saw the change in him, Christians and Saracens alike.  A spirit of quiet savagery seemed to possess him; the cunning, with the mad interludes, of a devil.  He set patient traps for the Saracens in the hills, and slaughtered all he took.  One day he fell upon a great caravan of camels coming from Babylon to Jerusalem, and having cut the escort to pieces, slew also the merchants and travellers.  He seemed to give the sword the more heartily in that he sought it for himself, but could never get it.  No doubt he deserved to get it.  He performed deeds of impossible foolhardy gallantry, the deeds of a knight-errant; rode solitary, made single-handed rescues, suffered himself to be cut off from his posts, and then with a handful of knights, or alone, indeed, carved his way back to Darum.  Des Barres, the Earl of Leicester and the Grand Master, never left his side; Gaston of Bearn used to sleep at the foot of his bed and creep about after him like a cat; but this terrible mood of his wore them out.  Then, at last, the Count of Champagne came back with Milo and more bad news.  Joppa was in sore straits, again besieged; the Bishop of Sarum was returned from the West, having a branch of dead broom in his hand and stories of a throttled kingdom on his lips.

Before any other Richard had Milo alone.  The good abbot is very reticent about the interview in his book.  What he omits is more significant than what he says.  ‘I found my master,’ he writes, ’sitting up in his bed in his hauberk of mail.  They told me he had eaten nothing for two days, yet vomited continually.  He had killed five hundred Saracens meantime.  I suppose he knew who I was.  “Tell me, my good man,” he said (strange address!), “the name of the person to whom Madame d’Anjou took you.”

’I said, “Sire, we went to the Lord of the Assassins, whom they call Old Man of Musse.”

’"Why did you go, monk?” he asked, and felt about for his sword, but could not find it.  Yet it was close by.  I said, “Sire, because of a report which had reached the ears of Madame that the Marquess and the Old Man were in league to have you murdered.”  To this he made no reply, except to call me a fool.  Later he asked, “How died the Marquess?”

’"Sire,” I answered, “most miserably.  He went up Lebanon to see the Old Man, and came presently down again with two of the Assassins in his company, but none of his train.  These persons, being near his city of Sidon, at a signal agreed upon stabbed him with their long knives, then cut off his right hand and despatched it to the Old Man by one of them.  The other stayed by the corpse, and was so found peacefully sleeping, and burned.”

’The King said nothing, but gave me money and a little jewel he used to wear, as if I had done him a service.  Then he nodded a dismissal, and I, wondering, left him.  He did not speak to me again for many weeks.’

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