King Philip, who should have been preparing for the East, was listening
to counsels much more to his liking. Conrad of Montferrat was there,
with large white fingers explaining on the table, and a large white face
set as lightly as a mouse-trap. His Italian mind, with that strange
capacity for subserving business with passion, had a task of election
here. The Marquess knew that Richard would sooner help the devil than
him to Jerusalem; not only on this account, but on every conceivable
account did he hate Richard. If he could embroil the two leaders of the
Crusade, there was his affair: Philip would need him. In Paris also was
Saint-Pol, fizzling with mischief, and behind him, where-ever he went,
stalked Gilles de Gurdun, murder in his heart. The massive Norman was a
fine foil to the Count: they were the two poles of hatred. The Duke of
Burgundy was not there, but Conrad knew that he could be counted.
Richard owed him (so he said) forty pounds; besides, Richard had called
him a sponge--and it was true. There, lastly, was Des Barres, that fine
Frenchman, ready to hate anybody who was not French, and most ready to
hate Richard, who had broken up the Gisors wedding and put,
single-handed, all the guests to shame. Now, this was a company after
Prince John's own heart. Standing next to the English throne, he was an
excellent footstool; he felt the delicate position, he was flattered at
every turn. The Marquess found him most useful, not only because he was
on better terms with Philip than himself could hope to be, but because
he understood him better. John knew that there were two tender spots in
that moody King, and he knew which was the tenderer, pardieu! So
Conrad's gross finger, guided by John's, probed the raw of Philip's
self-esteem, and found a rankling wound, very proud flesh. Oh,
intolerable affront to the House of Capet, that a tall Angevin robber
should take up and throw away a daughter of France, and then whistle you
to a war in the East! Prince John, you perceive, knew where to rub in
the salt.

The storm broke when King Richard was again at Chinon. King Philip sent
messengers--William des Barres, the Bishop of Beauvais, and Stephen of
Meaux--about the homage due to him for Normandy and all the French
fiefs. So far well; King Richard was very urbane, as bland as such an
incisive dealer could be. He would do homage for Normandy, Anjou, and
the rest on such and such a day. 'But,' he added quietly, 'I attach the
co