illes. But Gilles knew
very well that there could be no fealty from him to this robber of a
duke. Gilles had seen Jehane; and when he could bear the sight no more
for fear his eyes should bleed, he went and walked about the streets to
cool his head. He swore by all the saints in the calendar of Rouen--and
these are many--that he would close this account. Let him be torn apart
by horses, he would kill the man who had stolen his wife and killed his
father and brother, were he duke, king, or Emperor of the West.
Meantime, in the church that golden-haired duke, set high on the throne
of Normandy, received between his hands the hands of the Normans; and in
a stall of the choir Jehane prayed fervently for him, with her arms
enfolding her bosom.

Gilles was seen again at Harfleur, when the King embarked for England.
He had a hood over his head; but Milo knew him by the little steady eyes
and bar of black above. When the great painted sails bellied to the
off-shore wind and the dragon-standard of England pointed the sea-way
northward into the haze, Milo saw Gilles standing on the mole, a little
apart from his friends, watching the galley which took Jehane out of
reach.

* * * * *

If Milo found the Normans like ginger in the mouth, it is not to be
supposed that the English suited him any better. He calls them
'fog-stewed,' says that they ate too much, and were as proud of that as
of everything else they did. Luckily, he had very little to do with
them, though not much less, perhaps, than his master. Dry facts content
him: how the King disembarked at Southampton and took horse; how he rode
through forests to Winchester; how there he was met by the bishop, heard
mass in the minster, and departed for Guildford; thence again, how
through wood and heath they came to Westminster 'and a fair church set
in meadows by a broad stream'--to tell this rapidly contents him. But
once in London the story begins to concentrate. It is clear there was
danger for Jehane. King Richard, it seems, caused her to be lodged 'in a
place of nuns over the river, in a place which is called in English
Lamehithe.'

This was quite true; danger there was, as Richard saw, who knew his
mother. But he did not then know how quick with danger the times were.
The Queen-Mother had upon her the letter of Don Sancho the Wise, and to
her the politics of Europe were an open book. One holy war succeeded
another, and one king; but what ki