‘What news of Normandy, Gaston?’

’The English are through, Richard.  The country swarms with them.  They hold Avranches, and now are moving south.’

‘They are too late,’ said Richard.  ’Tell me what message you have from the Fair-Girdled.’

’Wed or unwed, she is yours.  But she is kept in a tower until Palm Sunday.  Then they bring her out and marry her to what remains of a black Normandy pig.  Not very much remains, but (they tell me) enough for the purpose.’

‘Spine of God,’ said Richard, examining his finger-nails.

‘Swear by His heart, rather, my Count,’ Gaston said, ’for you have a red heart in your keeping.  Eh, eh, what a beautiful person is there!  She leaned her body out of the window—­what a shape that girdle confines!  Bowered roses!  Dian and the Nymphs!  Bosomed familiars of old Pan!  And what emerald fires!  What molten hair!  The words came shortly from her, and brokenly, as if her carved lips disdained such coarse uses!  Richard, her words were so:  “Take a message to my lord,” quoth she.  “I am his in life or death.  I seek to do him service.  Wed or unwed, what is that to me?  I am still Jehane.”  Thus she—­but I?  Well, well, my sword spake for me when I carved that beef-bone bare.’  The Bearnais pulled his goatee, and looked at the ends of it for split hairs.  But Richard sat very still.

‘Do you know, Gaston, whom you have seen?’ he said presently, in a trembling whisper.

‘Perfectly well,’ said the other.  ’I have seen a pale flower ripe for the sun.’

‘You have seen the Countess of Poictou, Gaston,’ said Richard, and took to his prayers.

Through these means, for the time, he was held off his father’s throat.  But for Jehane and her urgent affairs these two had grappled at Le Mans.  As it was, not Richard’s hand was to fire the cradle-city which had seen King Henry at the breast.  Before nightfall he had made his dispositions for a very risky business.  He set aside the Viscount of Beziers, Bertram Count of Roussillon, Gaston of Bearn, to go with him, not because they were the best men by any means, but so that he might leave the best men in charge.  These were certainly the Dauphin, the Viscount of Limoges, and the Count of Angoulesme, each of whom he had proved as an enemy in his day.  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said to these three, ’I am about to go upon a journey.  Of you I shall require a little attention, certain patience, exact obedience.  It will be necessary that you be before the walls of Le Mans in three days.  Invest them, my lords, keep up your communications, and wait for the French King.  Give no battle, offer no provocation, let hunger do your affair.  I know where the King of England is, and shall be with you before him.’  He went on to be more precise, but I omit the details.  It was difficult for them to go wrong, but if the truth is to be known, he was in a mood which made him careless about that.  He was free.  He was going on