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.

Returning to his deeds at Poietiers, I pick up the story from the Abbot
Milo, whom he found there. The Count, you may judge, kept his own
counsel. Milo was his confessor, but at this time Richard was not in a
confessing humour; therefore Milo had to gather scandal as he could.
There was very little difficulty about this. 'In the city of Tours,' he
writes, 'in those middle days of Advent, it appears that rumour, still
gadding, was adrift with names almost too high for the writing. There
were many there who had no business; the Count of Blois, for instance,
the Baron of Chateaudun, the