In the lustre of his new designs he began to forget his cross in fortune. Precisely what these were we had yet to discover; yet, as we returned into my fair native country, it was clear that the mind of Sir Richard Pendragon was moved by some new ambition. On several occasions he brought his horse to a stand in order that he might proudly survey the distant hills. And having done this he would cause them to re-echo with his great baying laughter.
“O Dickon, Dickon!” he roared, “thou who art of the seed of that Uthyr that was Arthur’s sire, and that was german-cousin to Giant Cormoran that gorged upon Christian children in his Cornish fastness, what an inveterately nimble humour thou hast, thou ruby-coloured one, with thy lean look and thy high integrity!”
Then, having thus spoken, he would beat his thigh with his fist in such wise as to provoke his curious beast Melanto to strive furiously to throw him.
To the Count of Nullepart and myself the behaviour of this mad Englishman grew ever more mysterious. Every night he declared to us “that nothing forced the head veins like a cross in fortune.” And then very gravely he would ask “whether the poltroonery of that French poulter’s hare had in anywise daunted our faith in the quality of king’s blood, because let it not be forgotten that it was borne by a good mother’s son who walked modestly before the nations.”
For my own part, being of the northern provinces, which have the most penetration of any district of Spain, I must confess that my faith in Sir Richard Pendragon had been greatly impaired by the outcome of our journey to Paris. Still, it was far from my intention to suggest this to one who esteemed that personage so highly.
Therefore I still professed my allegiance, yet, I am afraid, in a lukewarm manner. The Count of Nullepart, however, assured our leader, with every appearance of gravity, that his faith in his strategy was unshaken. Indeed, he pledged himself to embrace whatever further courses he might devise.
Now, good reader, as you are to learn, the Count of Nullepart’s resolve was to be tried sorely. And I, who had expressed no such confidence in our singular commander, was also to be put grievously to the test.
It was not at once that Sir Richard Pendragon’s new design was unfolded to us. In fact, it might be said that it was not disclosed until it had been actually and marvellously wrought.
At first, in spite of the change in the Englishman’s demeanour, I am bound to confess that I was very disconsolate when we returned into Spain. It is true that Sir Richard was again as proud, sanguine, and warlike as if he were riding at the head of ten thousand of King Louis’s men-at-arms, yet not for an instant could I forget that he went without attendance. I was extremely mindful of our failure, the more particularly as the Countess Sylvia was in such sore need of the succour we could not bring. Also I was fearful of the reception we were like to meet with at the doomed castle of Montesina.
When I mentioned these fears to the Count of Nullepart he expressed the conviction that all would be well. Indeed he declared that his faith was unshaken in our incomparable leader. In this I felt that he mocked me. Therefore I was fain to mention to Sir Richard Pendragon the bitter pass in which we stood; whereupon he, in the strangest fashion conceivable, stopped his horse in the middle of a hilly district, and roared until it seemed that the whole earth was trembling with the bolts of Jupiter.