‘Folly of a fool!’ he snorted to his neighbour, Savaric de Dreux:  ’there pricks our lord the King, as if to a party of hawks.’

‘Wait,’ said Savaric.  ’Where away now?

’To bandy gibes with Saint-Pol, pardieu.  Where else should he go at this hour?’

‘Saint-Pol will never do him a villainy,’ said Savaric.

‘No, no.  But De Gurdun is there.’

‘Wait now,’ says Savaric again.  ’Look, look!  Who comes out of the smoke?’

They could see the beleaguered tower perfectly, brown and warm-looking in the sun; below it, still smoking, the village of Chaluz, a heap of charred brickwork.  They saw a man in clean white come creeping out of the smoke, stooping at a run.  He hid wherever he could behind the broken wall, but always ran nearer, stooped and ran with bent body over his bent knees.  He worked his way thus, gradually nearer and nearer to the tower; and Des Barres watched him anxiously.

‘Some camp-thief making off—­’

‘Look, look!’ cried Savaric.  The white man had come out by the tower, was now kneeling in the open; at the same moment a man slipped down a rope from the tower-top.  Before he had touched earth they saw the kneeling man pull a bowstring to his ear and let fly.  Next the fellow on the rope, touching ground, ran fleetly forward and, springing on the white-robed man, drove him to the earth.  They saw the flash of a blade.

‘That is strange warfare,’ said Des Barres, greatly interested.

‘There is warfare in heaven also,’ said Savaric.  ‘See those two eagles.’  Two great birds were battling in the cold blue.  Feathers fell idly, like black snow-flakes; then one of the eagles heeled over, and down he came.

But when they looked towards the tower again they saw a great commotion.  Men running, horses huddled together, one in red held up by one in green.  Then a riderless chestnut horse looked about him and neighed.  Des Barres gave a short cry.  ’O God!  They have shot King Richard between them.  Come, Savaric, we must go down.’

‘Stop again,’ said that other.  ’Let us sweep up those assassins as we go.  There I see another thief in white.’  Des Barres saw him too.  ’Spur, spur!’ he called to his knights; ‘follow me.’  He got his line in motion, they all galloped across the sunny slopes like a light cloud.  But as they drove forward the play was in progress; they saw it done, as it were, in a scene.  One white figure lay heaped upon the ground, another was running by the wall towards him, furtively and bent, as the first had come.  The third actor, he of the tower, had not heard the runner, but was still stooped over the man he had evidently killed, groping probably for marks or papers upon him.