’You come from lands I have given you, as Henry came, as Geoffrey came, to defy me,’ said the old man, trembling in his chair.  ’What is your obedience worth when I have measured theirs:  Henry’s obedience!  Geoffrey’s obedience!  Pish, man, what words you use.’  He got up and stamped about the tent like an irritable dwarf, crook-legged and long-armed, pricked, maddened at every point.  ’And you tell me of your men, your lands, your company!  Good men all, a fair company, by the Rood of Grace!  Tell me now, Richard, have you Raimon of Toulouse in that company?  Have you Beziers?’

‘No, sire,’ said Richard, looking serenely down at the working face.

‘Nor ever will have,’ snarled the King.  ‘Have you the Knight of Bearn?’

‘I have, sire.’

’Ill company, Richard.  It is a white-faced, lying beast, with a most goatish beard.  Have you your singing monk?’

‘I have, sire.’

‘Shameful company.  Have you Adhemar of Limoges?’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Silly company.  Leave him with his women.  Have you your Abbot Milo?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sick company.’  His head sank into his breast; he found himself suddenly tired, even of reviling, and had to sit down again.  Richard felt a tide of pity; looking down at the huddled old man, he held out his hand.

‘Let us not quarrel, father,’ he said; but that brought up the King’s head, like a call to arms.

‘A last question, Richard.  Have you dared bring here Bertran de Born?’ He was on his feet again for the reply, and the two men faced each other.  Everybody knew how serious the question was.  It sobered the Count, but drove the pity out of him.

‘Dare is not a word for Anjou, sire,’ he replied, picking his phrases; ‘but Bertran is not with me.’  Before the old man could break again into savagery he went on to his main purpose.  ’Sire, short speeches are best.  You seek to draw my ill-humours, but you shall not draw them.  As son and servant of your Grace I came in, and so will go out.  As a son I have knelt to the King my father, as servant I am ready to obey him.  Let that marriage, designed in the cradle by the French King and you, go on.  I will do my part if Madame Alois will do hers.’

Richard folded his arms; the King sat down again.  A queer exchange of glances had passed between his father and brother at the mention of that lady’s name.  Richard, who saw it, got the feeling of some secret between them, the feeling of being in a trap; but he said nothing.  The King began his old harping.

‘Attend to me now, Richard,’ he said, with much work of the eyebrows; ’if that ill-gotten beast Bertran had been of your meinie our last words had been said.  Beast!  He is a toothed snake, that crawled into my boy’s bed and bit passion into him.  Lord Jesus, if ever again I meet Bertran, help Thou me to redden his face!  But as it is, I am content.  Rest you here with me, if so rough