“No; but she came in soon after he had vanished.”
“Vanished! What, like Fay Morgaine’s castles? Tell me in sooth, John; it imports me to know. What did this stranger, when thou spakest thus of the House of Montfort?”
“He answered,” said John; “he did not answer courteously—he said, that I was a malapert little ass, and demanded again where this young Montfort’s tent was. So then I said, that if a Montfort dared to show his traitor’s face in this camp, the Prince would hang him as high as Judas; for I wanted to be rid of him, Richard! it was so dreadful to see thy face, and hear thy voice talking French, and asking for dead traitors.”
“French!” said Richard. “Methought thou knewst no French!”
“I—I have heard it long now, more’s the pity,” faltered John, “and—and I’d have spoken anything to be rid of that shape.”
“And wert thou rid? What befell then?”
“It cursed the Prince, and King, and all of them,” said John with a shudder; “it looked black and deadly, and I crossed myself, and said the Blessed Name, and no doubt it writhed itself and went off in brimstone and smoke, for I shut my eyes, and when I looked up again it was gone!”
“Gone! Didst look after him?”
“Oh, no! Earthly things are all food for a brave man’s sword,” said Master John, drawing himself up very valiantly, “but wraiths and things from beneath—they do scare the very heart out of a man. And I lay, I don’t know how, till Dame Idonea came in; and she said either the foul fiend had put on thy shape because he boded thee ill, or it was one of the traitor brood looking for his like.”
“Tell me, John,” said Richard anxiously; “surely he was not in all points like me. Had he our English white cross?”