“I think not of fools, nor of their folly,” said Richard carelessly; and the Archduke, turning his back on him, withdrew from the ground.
Richard looked after him as he retired.
“There is a sort of glow-worm courage,” he said, “that shows only by night. I must not leave this banner unguarded in darkness; by daylight the look of the Lions will alone defend it. Here, Thomas of Gilsland, I give thee the charge of the standard—watch over the honour of England.”
“Her safety is yet more dear to me,” said De Vaux, “and the life of Richard is the safety of England. I must have your Highness back to your tent, and that without further tarriance.”
“Thou art a rough and peremptory nurse, De Vaux,” said the king, smiling; and then added, addressing Sir Kenneth, “Valiant Scot, I owe thee a boon, and I will pay it richly. There stands the banner of England! Watch it as novice does his armour on the night before he is dubbed. Stir not from it three spears' length, and defend it with thy body against injury or insult. Sound thy bugle if thou art assailed by more than three at once. Dost thou undertake the charge?”
“Willingly,” said Kenneth; “and will discharge it upon penalty of my head. I will but arm me, and return hither instantly.”
The Kings of France and England then took formal leave of each other, hiding, under an appearance of courtesy, the grounds of complaint which either had against the other—Richard against Philip, for what he deemed an officious interference betwixt him and Austria, and Philip against Coeur de Lion, for the disrespectful manner in which his mediation had been received. Those whom this disturbance had assembled now drew off in different directions, leaving the contested mount in the same solitude which had subsisted till interrupted by the Austrian bravado. Men judged of the events of the day according to their partialities, and while the English charged the Austrian with having afforded the first ground of quarrel, those of other nations concurred in casting the greater blame upon the insular haughtiness and assuming character of Richard.
“Thou seest,” said the Marquis of Montserrat to the Grand Master of the Templars, “that subtle courses are more effective than violence. I have unloosed the bonds which held together this bunch of sceptres and lances—thou wilt see them shortly fall asunder.”
“I would have called thy plan a good one,” said the Templar, “had there been but one man of courage among yonder cold-blooded Austrians to sever the bonds of which you speak with his sword. A knot that is unloosed may again be fastened, but not so the cord which has been cut to pieces.”