will perhaps recollect that when Richard was at Cyprus he made
captive a young princess, the daughter of the king, and that he made a
present of her, as a handmaid and companion, to Queen Berengaria.
Berengaria and Joanna, when they left Cyprus, brought the young
princess with them, and when they were established with the king in
the palace at Acre, she remained with them. She was treated kindly, it
is true, and was made a member of the family, but still she was a
prisoner. Such captives were greatly prized in those days as presents
for ladies of high rank, who kept them as pets, just as they would, at
the present day, a beautiful Canary bird or a favorite pony. They
often made intimate and familiar companions of them, and dressed them
with great elegance, and surrounded them with every luxury. Still,
notwithstanding this gilding of their chains, the poor captives
usually pined away their lives in sorrow, mourning continually to be
restored to their father and mother, and to their own proper home.

Now it happened that the Archduke of Austria was a relative, by
marriage, of the King of Cyprus, and the princess was his niece;
consequently, when she arrived at the camp before Acre as a captive
in the hands of the queen, as might naturally have been expected, he
took a great interest in her case. He wished to have her released and
restored to her father, and he interceded with Richard in her behalf.
But Richard would not release her. He was not willing to take her away
from Berengaria. The archduke was angry with the king for this
refusal, and a quarrel ensued; and it was partly in consequence of
this quarrel, or, rather, of the exasperation of mind that was
produced by it, that Richard would not allow the archduke's banner to
float from the towers of Acre when the city fell into their hands.

The archduke felt very keenly the indignity which Richard thus offered
him, and though at the time he had no power to revenge it, he
remembered it, and remained long in a gloomy and resentful frame of
mind. And now, while Richard was endeavoring to encourage and
stimulate the soldiers to work on the walls, by inducing the knights
and barons to join him in setting the example, Leopold refused. He
said that he was neither the son of a carpenter nor of a mason, that
he should go to work like a laborer to build walls. Richard was
enraged at this answer, and, as the story goes, flew at Leopold in
his passion, and struck and kicked him.