fighting Bishop of Durham (I fear, a
hireling shepherd), Geoffrey Talebot, Hugh of Saint-Circ. One reason of
this was that King Henry was in England, not yet come to an agreement
with the French King, nor likely to it if what we heard was true, yea,
or a tenth part of it. God forbid that I should write what these ears
heard; but this I will say. It was I who told the shocking tale to my
lord Richard, adding also this hint, that his former friend was involved
in it, Eudo Count of Saint-Pol. If you will believe me, not the tale of
iniquity moved him; but he received it with shut mouth, and eyes fixed
upon mine. But at the name of the Count of Saint-Pol he took a breath,
at the mention of his part in the business he took a deep breath, and
when he heard that this man was yet at Tours, he got up from his chair
and struck the table with his closed fist. Knowing him as I did, I
considered that the weather looked black for Saint-Pol.

'Next day Count Richard moved his hosts out of the fields by Poietiers
to the very borders of his country, and calling a halt at Saint-Gilles
and making snug against alarms, himself, with my lord Gaston of Bearn,
with the Dauphin of Auvergne also, and the Viscount of Beziers, crossed
the march into Touraine, and so came to Tours about a week before
Christmas, the weather being bright and frosty.'

It seems he did not take the abbot with him, for the rest of the good
man's record is full of morality, a certain sign that facts failed him.
There may have been reasons; at any rate the Count went into Tours in a
trenchant humour, with ears keen and wide for all shreds of report. And
he got enough and to spare. In the wet market-place, on the flags of the
great churchyard, by the pillars of the nave, in the hall, in the
chambers, in the inn-galleries; wherever men met or women whispered in
each other's necks, there flew the names of Alois, King Philip's sister,
and of King Henry, Count Richard's father. Richard made short work,
short and dry. It was in mid-hall in the Bishop's palace, one day after
dinner, that he met and stopped the Count of Saint-Pol.

'What now, beau sire?' says the Count, out of breath. Richard's eyes
were alight. 'This,' says he, 'that you lie in your throat.'

Count Eudo looked about him, and everywhere saw the faces of men risen
from the board intent on him. 'Strange words, beau sire,' says he, very
white. Richard raised his voice till the metal rang in it.

'But not strange