spotted skins over their mail, the men of Syria, knighthood of
Egypt--trampling underfoot their own kind. But the steel chain held
most of these; the knights had bound horse to horse: wide on the left
the Templars and Hospitallers fanned out and swept all stragglers into
the net. So within hoops of iron, as it were, the slaughter began,
silent, breathless, wet work. Here James d'Avesnes was killed, a good
knight; and here Des Barres went down in a huddle of black men, and had
infallibly perished but that King Richard himself with his axe dug him
out. 'Your pardon, King of the World,' sobbed Des Barres, kissing his
enemy's knee. 'Pooh,' says Richard, 'we are all kings here. Take my
sword and get crowns'; and so he turned again into battle, and Des
Barres pressed after him. That was the beginning of a firm friendship
between the two. Des Barres eschewed the counsels of Saint-Pol from that
day.

But there was treachery still awake and about. When the rout was begun
Richard reined up for a minute, to breathe his horse and watch the way
of the field. He sat apart from his friends, seeing the lines ride by.
All in a moment inexplicably, as when in a race of the tide comes a
sudden thwart gust of wind and changes the face of the day, there was a
scurry, a babble of voices, the stampede of men fighting to kill: the
Turks with Christians on their backs came trampling, struggling
together. A sword glinted close to Richard--'Death to the Angevin
devil!' he heard, and turning received in mid shield De Gurdun's sword.
At the same moment a knight ran full tilt into the assailant, knocked
him off his horse, and himself reeled, powerless to strike. This was
Des Barres, paying his debts. The King smiled grimly to see the
wholesome treachery, and Gurdun's dismay at it. 'Gilles, Gilles,' says
he, 'be sure you get me alone in the world when next you strike at my
back. Now get you up, Norman, and fight a flying enemy, if you please. I
will await your return.' De Gurdun saluted, but avoided his lord's face,
and rode after the Turks. Des Barres stood, deep-breathing, by the King.

'Will he come back, sire?' asked the French knight.

'Not he,' said Richard; 'he is ashamed of himself.' He added, 'That is a
very honest man, to whom I have done a wrong. But listen to this, Des
Barres; if I had not wronged him, I was so placed that I should have
injured a most holy innocent soul. Let be. I shall meet De Gurdun again.
He may have me yet if he do