arges, and
never make any unless I am prepared to pursue them; which is not the
case at present.'

'I must keep you in safe hold, sire,' the Archduke said. 'I must
communicate with my lord the Roman Emperor.'

'You are in your right, Luitpold,' said King Richard.

The end of the day's work was that the King of England was lodged in a
high tower, some sixty feet above the town wall.

* * * * *

Now consider the acts of Martin Vaux, smelling for the sea. In a little
time he did better than that, for he saw it from the top of a high
mountain, shining far off in the haze, and then had nothing to do but
follow down a river-bed, which brought him duly to Trieste. Thence he
got a passage to Venice, where the wineshops were too good or too many
for him. He talked of his misfortunes, of his broken shoes, of Austrian
beer, of his exalted master, of his extreme ingenuity and capacity for
all kinds of faithful service. Now Venice was, as it is now, a place
_colluvies gentium_. Gaunt, lonely Arabs stalked the narrow streets, or
dreamed motionless by the walls of the quay. The city was full of
strayed Crusaders, disastrous broken blades, of renegade Christians,
renegade Moslems, adaptable Jews, of pilgrims, and chafferers of relics
from the holy places. Martin's story spread like the plague, but not
(unhappily) to any advantage of King Richard imperturbable in his tower.
Martin Vaux then, having drunk up the charity of Venice, shipped for
Ancona. There too he met with attentions, for there he met a countryman
of his, the Sieur Gilles de Gurdun, a Norman knight.

When Sir Gilles heard that King Richard was in prison, but that Jehane
was not with him, he grew very red. That he had never learned of her
deeds at Acre need not surprise you. He had not heard because he had not
been to Acre with the French host, but instead had gone pilgrim to
Jerusalem, and thence with Lusignan to Cyprus. So now he took Martin
Vaux by the windpipe and shook him till his eyes stared like agate
balls. 'Tell me where Madame Jehane is, you clot, or I finish what I
have begun,' he said terribly. But Martin could tell him no more, for he
was quite dead. It was proper, even in Ancona, to be moving after that;
and Gilles was very ready to move. The hunger and thirst for Jehane,
which had never left him for long, came aching back to such a pitch that
he felt he must now find her, see her, touch her, or die. The King was
her onl