During this speech, which had much to recommend it, Richard, as I have told you, did his thinking by himself.  He always cooled as suddenly as he boiled over; and now, warily regarding the right hand and the left of this monstrous fable, he saw that, though Saint-Pol might have played fox in it, another must have played goat.  He could not fail to remember Louviers, and certain horrid mysteries which had offended him then with only vague disgust, as for matters which were outside his own care.  Now they all took shape satyric, like hideous heads thrust out of the dark to loll their tongues at him.  To the shock of his first dismay succeeded the onset of rage, white and cold and deadly as a night frost.  Eh, but he would meet his teeth in some throat!  But he would go slowly to work, clear the ground and stalk his prey.  The leopard devises creeping death.  He made up his mind.  Gaston he sent to the South, to Angoulesme, to Perigord, to Auvergne, to Cahors.  The horn must be heard at the head of every brown valley, the armed men shadow every white road.  He himself went to his city of Poietiers.

Bertran de Born saw him go, and rubbed his hair till it stood like reeds shaken by the wind.  Whether he loved mischief or not (and some say he breathed it); whether he had a grudge against Anjou not yet assuaged; whether he was in league with Prince John, or had indeed thought to do Prince Richard a service, let philosophers, experts of mankind, determine.  If he had a turn for dramatics he had certainly indulged it now, and given himself strong meat for a new Sirvente of Kings.  At least he was very busy after Richard’s departure, himself preparing for a long journey to the South.

CHAPTER VI

FRUITS OF THE TENZON:  THE BACK OF SAINT-POL, AND THE FRONT OF MONTFERRAT

Count Richard found time, while he was at Poietiers awaiting the Aquitanian levies, to write six letters to Jehane Saint-Pol.  Of these some, with their bearers, fell by the wayside.  As luck would have it, Jehane received but two, the first and the last.  The first said:  ’I am in the way of liberty, but by a red road.  Have hopes of me.’  Jehane was long in answering.  One may picture the poor soul taking the dear and wicked thing into the little chapel, laying it on the altar-stone warm from her vest, restoring it after office done to that haven whence she must banish its writer.  Fortified, she replied with, ’Alas, my lord, the way of liberty leads not to me; nor can I serve you otherwise than in bonds.  I pray you, make my yoke no heavier.—­Your servant, in little ease, Jehane.’  This wistful unhappy letter gave him heartache; he could scarcely keep himself at home.  Yet he must, being as yet sure of nothing.  He replied in a second and third, a fourth and a fifth letter, which never reached her.  The last was sent when he had begun what he thought fit to do at Tours, saying, ’I make war, but the cause is righteous.  Never misjudge me, Jehane.’  There were many reasons why she should not answer this.