pinched with grief and old before its time.
Saint-Pol stamped his foot. 'Whom shall we trust in Anjou?' he said to
Des Barres. Des Barres shrugged. The Duke of Burgundy grumbled something
about 'd----d women,' and King Philip ordered his sister to bed. They
got her out of the room after a painful scene, and fell to wrangling
again, trying to screw some resolution into the white prince whom they
all intended to use as a cat's-paw. About eight o'clock in the
morning--they still at it--came a shatter of hoofs in the courtyard,
which made Count John jump in his skin. A herald was announced.

Reeking he stood, and stood covered, in the presence of so much majesty.

'Speak, sir,' said King Philip; and 'Uncover before France, you dog,'
said young Saint-Pol. The herald kept his cap where it was.

'I speak from England to the English. This is the command of my master,
Richard King of the English, Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou. Bid our
brother, the illustrious Count of Mortain, attend us at Fontevrault with
all speed for the obsequies of the King our father. And those who owe
him obedience, let them come also.'

There was low murmuring in the chamber, which grew in volume, until at
last Burgundy thundered out, 'England is here! Cut down that man.' But
the herald stood his ground, and no one drew a sword. John dismissed him
with a few smooth words; but he could not get rid of his friends so
easily. Nor could they succeed with him. If Montferrat had been there
they might have screwed him to the pitch. Montferrat had a clear course:
any king of England who would help him to the throne of Jerusalem was
the king of England he would serve. But Philip would not commit himself,
and Burgundy waited on Philip. As for Saint-Pol, he was nothing but a
sword or two and an unquenchable grudge. And forbidding in the
background stood Alois, with reproach in her sunken eyes. The end of it
was that Count John, after a while, rode out towards Fontevrault with
all the pomp he could muster. Thither also, it is clear, went Madame
Alois.

'I was with my master,' says Milo in his book, 'when they brought him
the news. He was not long home from the South, had been hawking in the
meadows all day, and was now in great fettle, sitting familiarly among
his intimates, Jehane on his knee. Bertran de Born was in there singing
some free song, and the gentle Viscount of Beziers, and Lady Elis of
Montfort (who sat on a cushion and played with Dame Jehane's h