t, out came the vassals in a swarm. 'To horse,
to horse, Bearnais! Where out of hell is Gaston of Bearn?' The devil of
Anjou was loose in Autafort that day.

Gaston came delicately last, drawing his beard through his fist, to see
Bertran de Born lie helpless in a lemon-bush hard by the wall. Richard,
quite beyond himself, exploded with his story, and so was sobered. While
Gaston made his comments, he, instead of listening, made comments of his
own.

'Dear Lord Richard,' said Gaston reasonably, 'if you do not know Bertran
by this time it is a strange thing and a pitiful thing. For it shows you
without any wit. He was appointed, it would seem, to be the thorn in
your rosebed of Anjou. What has he done since he was let be made but
set you all by the ears? What did he do by the young King but
miserably? What by Geoffrey? Is there a man in the world he hates more
than the old King? Yes, there is one: you. Take a token. The last time
they two met was in this very castle; and then the King your father
kissed him, and forgiving him Henry's death, gave him back his Autafort;
and Bertran too gave a kiss, that love might abound. Judas, Judas! And
what did Judas next? Dear Richard, let us think awhile, but not here.
Let us go to Limoges and think with the Viscount. But let us by all
means kill Bertran de Born first.'

During this speech, which had much to recommend it, Richard, as I have
told you, did his thinking by himself. He always cooled as suddenly as
he boiled over; and now, warily regarding the right hand and the left of
this monstrous fable, he saw that, though Saint-Pol might have played
fox in it, another must have played goat. He could not fail to remember
Louviers, and certain horrid mysteries which had offended him then with
only vague disgust, as for matters which were outside his own care. Now
they all took shape satyric, like hideous heads thrust out of the dark
to loll their tongues at him. To the shock of his first dismay succeeded
the onset of rage, white and cold and deadly as a night frost. Eh, but
he would meet his teeth in some throat! But he would go slowly to work,
clear the ground and stalk his prey. The leopard devises creeping death.
He made up his mind. Gaston he sent to the South, to Angoulesme, to
Perigord, to Auvergne, to Cahors. The horn must be heard at the head of
every brown valley, the armed men shadow every white road. He himself
went to his city of Poietiers.

Bertran de Born saw him go,