Richard presently understood that the thin goats’ hair curtains which even the crusaders had learnt to adopt from their Oriental neighbours as protections against these enemies, being continually disarranged to give the Prince drink or to put cool applications to his wound, the winged foes were sure to enter, and with their exasperating hum further destroy all chance of rest. The Prince had not slept since he had been wounded, and was well-nigh distraught with wakefulness, and with the continual suffering, which was only diminished at the first moment that a cold lotion touched his arm. The Hospitaliers had sent in some ice from Mount Hermon, but no one knew how to apply it, and even Dame Idonea had despised it.
Fortunately, however, Richard had spent a few weeks on his first arrival in the infirmary of the Knights of St. John, and before his recovery had become familiar with their treatment of both ice and mosquito curtains; and when Edmund of Lancaster came into the tent cautiously in early dawn, he could hardly credit his eyes, for the squire whom he believed to be in close custody was beside his brother, holding the cold applications on the arm, and it was impossible to utter inquiry or remonstrance, for the Prince was in the profoundest, most tranquil slumber.
Nor did he awake till the camp was astir in the morning with the activity that in this summer time could only be exerted before the sun had come to his full strength. Then, when at length he opened his eyes, he pronounced himself to be greatly refreshed; and the physician at the same time found the state of the wound greatly improved. A cheerful answer was returned by the patient to the message of anxious inquiry sent from his Princess at Acre and then looking up kindly at Richard, he said, “Boy, if my wife saved my life once, I think thou hast saved it a second time.”
“Brother!” here broke in the Earl of Lancaster, “I would not grieve you, but for your own safety you ought to know of the grave suspicion that has fallen on this youth.”
“I know that you all have suspected him from the first, Edmund,” returned the Prince coolly, “but I little expected that the first hour of my sickness would be spent in slaking your hatred of him.”
“You do not know the reasons, brother,” said Edmund, confused; “nor are you in a state to hear them.”
“Wherefore not?” said Edward. “Thanks to him, I have my wits clear and cool, and ere the day is older his cause shall be heard. Fetch Gloucester, fetch the rest of the council, and let me hear your witnesses against him! What! do you think I could rest or amend while I know not whether I have a traitor or not beside me?”
There could be no doubt that Edward was fully himself after his night’s rest, determined and prompt as ever. No one durst withstand him, and Edmund went to take measures for his being obeyed. Meantime, the Prince grasped Richard by the wrist, and looking him through with the keen blue eyes that seemed capable of piercing any disguise, he said, “Boy, hast thou aught that thou wouldst tell to thy kinsman Edward in this strait, that thou couldst not say to the Prince in council?”
“Sir,” said Richard, with choking voice, “I was on my way to give that very warning, when I found that the blow had fallen. My Lord,” he added, lowering his tone, as he knelt by the Prince’s couch, “Simon lives; I met him on Mount Carmel.”
“I thought so,” muttered the Prince. “And this is his work?”