If the Queen-Mother was afraid of anything in the world, it was of the devil in the race she had mothered.  It had thwarted her in their father, but it cowed her in her sons.  Most of all, I think, in Richard she feared it, because Richard could be so cold.  A flamy devil as in young Henry, or a brimstone devil as in Geoffrey of Brittany, or a spitfire devil as was John’s—­with these she could cope, her lord had had them all.  But in Richard she was shy of the bleak isolation, the self-sufficing, the hard, chill core.  She dreaded it, yet it drew her; she was tempted to beat vainly at it for the passion’s sake; and so in this case she dared to do.  She would cheerfully have killed the minion, but she dared the King first.

When she opened to him the matter of Don Sancho’s letter, none knew better than Richard that the matter might have been good.  Yet he would have nothing to say to it.  ‘Madame,’ his words were, ’this is an idle letter, if not impertinent.  Don Sancho knows very well that I am married already.’

‘Eh, sire!  Eh, Richard!’ said the Queen-Mother, ’then he knows more than I.’

‘I think not, Madame,’ the King replied, ’since I have this moment informed you.’

The Queen swallowed this; then said, ’This wife of yours, Richard, who is not Duchess of Normandy, will not be Queen, I doubt?’

Richard’s face grew haggard; for the moment he looked old.  ’Such again is the fact, Madame.’

‘But—­’ the Queen began.  Richard looked at her, so she ended there.

Afterwards she talked with the Archbishop of Canterbury, with the Marshal, with Longchamp of Ely, and her son John.  All these worthies were pulling different ways, each trying to get the rope to himself.  With that rope John hoped to hang his brother yet.  ‘Dearest Madame,’ he said, ’Richard cannot marry in Navarre even if he were willing.  Once he has been betrothed, and has broken plight; once he saw his mistress betrothed, and broke her plight.  Now he is wedded, or says that he is.  Suppose that you get him to break this wedlock, will you give him another woman to deceive?  There is no more faithless beast in the world than Richard.’

‘Your words prove that there is one at least,’ said the Queen-Mother with heat.  ‘You speak very ill, my son.’

Said John, ‘And he does very ill, by the Bread!’

William Marshal interposed.  ’I have seen much of the Countess of Anjou, Madame,’ said this honest gentleman.  ’Let me tell your Grace that she is a most exalted lady.’  He would have said more had the Queen-Mother endured it, but she cried out upon him.

‘Anjou!  Who dares put her up there?’

‘Madame,’ said William, ‘it was my lord the King.’  The Queen fumed.

Then the Archbishop said, ’She is nobly born, of the house of Saint-Pol.  I understand that she has a clear mind.’

‘More,’ cried the Marshal, ‘she has a clear heart!’

’If she had nothing clear about her I have that which would bleach her white enough,’ said the Queen-Mother; and Longchamp, who had said nothing at all, grinned.