“Ah! but,” said John, his eyes beginning to fill with tears, “there is the Grand Master of the Templars come now, and he says that to suck the poison is of no avail; and that nothing will save him but cutting away the living flesh as I would carve the wing of a bustard; and Dame Idonea says that is just the way King Cœur de Lion died, and the Princess is weeping, and the wound will not stop bleeding; and Hamlyn is gone to Acre for a surgeon, and they are all wrangling, and Dame Idonea boxed my ears at last, and said I was gaping there.” The boy absolutely burst into sobs and tears, and at the same moment a growl arose among the archers, of “Curses on the Moslem hounds! Not one shall escape! Death to every captive in our hands!”
“Nay, nay,” exclaimed Richard, looking up in horror; “the poor captives are utterly guiltless! Far more justly make me suffer,” murmured he sadly.
“All tarred with the same stick,” said the nearest; “serve them as they deserve.”
“Think,” added Richard, “if the Prince would see no dishonour done to the dead carcase of the murderer himself, would he be willing to have ill worked on living men, sackless of the wrong? English turning butchers—that were fit work for Paynims.”
“No, no, not one shall live to laugh at our Edward’s fall,” burst out the men; and a voice among them added, “Sure the young squire seems to know a vast deal about the guilty and the guiltless—the Montfort! Ay! Away with all foes to our Edward—”
“Best withdraw yourself, Sir,” said Hob Longbow; “their blood is up. Baulk them of their prey, and they will set on you next.”
Richard just then beheld a person from whose interposition he had much greater hopes, namely the Earl of Gloucester, who, though still a young man, was the chief English noble in the camp, and whose special charge the Saracen captives were. He hurried towards him, and asked tidings of the Prince.
“Ill tidings, I trow,” said the Earl, bitterly. “Ay, Richard de Montfort, you had best take heed to yourself, he was your best friend; and a sore lookout it is for us all. Between the old dotard his father and the poor babes his children, England is in woeful plight. Would that your father’s wits were among us still! There’s some curse on this fools’ errand of a Crusade, for here is the sixth prince it hath slain, and well if we lose not our Princess too. But what is all this uproar!”
“The men-at-arms, my Lord,” said Richard, “fierce to visit the crime on the captives.”
“A good riddance!” said Earl Gilbert; “the miscreants eat as much as ten score yeomen, and my knaves are weary with guarding them. If this matter brings all the pagans in Palestine on our hands, we shall have enough to do without looking after this nest of heathens.”