ake of him; he spoke to none of his affairs, none
dared speak to him. Milo writes in his book, 'The King came back from
Styria as one who should arise from the grave with all the secrets of
the chattering ghosts to brood upon. Some worm gnawed his vitals, some
maggot had drilled a hole in his brain. I know not what possessed him or
what could possess him beside a devil. This I know, he never sent to me
for direction in spiritual affairs, nor (so far as I could learn) to any
other religious man. He never took the Sacrament, nor seemed to want it.
But be sure he wanted it most grievously.' So, insanely ridden, he lived
for three years, one of which would have worn a common man to the bones.
But the fire still crackled, freely fed; his eyes were burning bright,
his mind (when he gave it) was keen, his head (when he lent it) seemed
cool. What was he living for? Did Death himself look askance at such a
man? Or find him a good customer who sent him so many souls? Two things
only were clear: he sent messenger after messenger to Rome, and he
returned his wife's dowry. Those must mean divorce or repudiation of
marriage. Certainly the Queen's party took it so, though the Queen
herself clung pitifully to her throne; and the Queen's party grew the
larger for the belief.

Such as it was, the Queen's party nested in Aquitaine and the Limousin,
with all the turbulent lords of that duchy under its flag. Prince John
himself was with Berengere at Cahors, biting his nails as was usual with
him, one eye watching for Richard's vengeance, one eye wide for any
peace-offering from the French King. He dared not act overtly against
Richard, nor dared to take up arms for him. So he waited. The end was
not very far off.

Count Eustace of Saint-Pol was the moving spirit in these parts, grown
to be an astute, unscrupulous man of near thirty years. His spies kept
him well informed of Richard's intolerable state; he knew of the
embassies to Rome, of the fierce murdering moods, of the black moods, of
the cheerless revelry and fruitless energy of this great stricken
Angevin. 'In some such hag-ridden day my enemy may be led to overtax
himself,' he considered. To that end he laid a trap. He seized and
fortified two hill-castles in the Limousin, between which lay straggling
a village called Chaluz. 'Let us get Richard down here,' was his plan.
'He will think the job a light one, and we shall nip him in the hills.'
The Bishop of Beauvais lent a hand, so di