"With an hundred and thirty knights Roger won all Sicily at Ceramis!" cried the valorous Duke. "Shall we fail now with St. Michael and Our Lady to aid?"
So forward it was; and the Saracens heard the great "God wills it!" rolling down the Christian line,—that battle-cry which made the fight blaze tenfold fiercer, and which infidels so learned to dread. A great victory, but something better for Richard. In the press he and De Valmont fought side by side; and when a sling-stone laid Louis prone, Longsword had stood above him, covering with his shield, and saved the Auvergner from the tramplings of friend or foe. Then when they cried "Victory!" and the scared infidels raced for their lives to get behind the walls, Richard bore Louis to his own tent; for the Auvergner's was far to the rear.
"Ah, Richard," said De Valmont, when they had pitched after the battle, "you would not have stood above me thus in Sicily."
"No, fair knight," answered Richard, frankly; "but God has seen the sins of us both, and we are rewarded."
"Come," cried the Provençal, firing, for he had a good heart under a haughty shell; "we swore forgiveness at Clermont; let us swear brotherhood, for we know each other now. We both are valiant men; we two fought with honor at least, though to my cost,—shall we not be as strong in friendship as in hate?"
So Richard took the Auvergner's hand, and gave him the kiss, not of peace, but of brotherhood. And when Sebastian, coming by, saw them, he smiled:—
"You do well, dear sons, for two friends have the strength of four apart, and true affection is of God!"
As soon as Louis was well enough to ride once more, the twain were ever together. And the companionship of Louis was an unspeakable boon; for to one whom he held his equal, De Valmont was a frank, open-hearted, merry-tongued fellow, the very comrade to chase off the imps of gloom that had of late encamped round Longsword's soul. But as they scoured the country, bringing in forage and seeking news of the enemy, Richard always had the same question for any prisoners:—
"Do you know aught of the Emir Iftikhar Eddauleh?" And when they told him no, he was most likely to give a nod to Herbert, which meant that the captives' heads were forfeit. Louis pitied him from the bottom of his soul.
"Dear friend," said the Provençal once, when they waited without Duke Godfrey's tent to report a skirmish, "you let this loss of Mary Kurkuas eat your heart away. Believe me, I loved her once as much as you, and yet—" here he laughed at memory of his own discomfiture—"I am still a very merry man. Are you angry?" Richard shook his head. "Then hear me out. Your Greek beauty was a very fée, as Roland's Aude. But hers are not the only bright eyes and red cheeks in the world. Cannot the Lord of St. Julien have the best and the fairest?—in Sicily, in France, in Syria? Mark what I have done,—my heiress in Toulouse could hold her head beside the Greek, and no shame to either. Say to yourself, 'The saints are unkind; I will not let them make me pout forever. Another cast of the dice, and better fortune—'" But here he stopped, for on the face of Richard was, not indeed rage, but a darkening of passion that Louis knew he had scarce dreamed of. And Richard answered very gently:—