The King replied with a roar which all the camp might have heard. 'Ha! Sacred Face, let him kneel, Bohun. That is a new custom for him, useful science for a man of his trade. All men of the sword come to it sooner or later--sooner or later, by God!' Hereupon Richard, very deliberately, rose to his feet and stepped forward to the throne. His great height was a crowning abomination. The King blinked up at him, showing his tushes. 'What now, sir?' he said. 'Later for me, sire, if kneeling is to be done by soldiers,' said Richard. The King controlled himself by swallowing. 'And yet, Richard,' he said, dry as dust, 'And yet, Richard, you have knelt to the French lad soon enough.' 'To my liege-lord, sire? Yes, it is true.' 'He is not your liege-lord, man,' roared the King. 'I am your liege-lord, by heaven. I gave and I can take away. Heed me now.' 'Fair sire,' says Richard, 'observe that I have knelt to you. I am not here for any other reason, and least of all to try conclusions of the voice. I have come out of my lands with my company to give you obedience. Be sure that they, on their part, will pay you proper honour (as I do) if you will let them.' 'You come from lands I have given you, as Henry came, as Geoffrey came, to defy me,' said the old man, trembling in his chair. 'What is your obedience worth when I have measured theirs: Henry's obedience! Geoffrey's obedience! Pish, man, what words you use.' He got up and stamped about the tent like an irritable dwarf, crook-legged and long-armed, pricked, maddened at every point. 'And you tell me of your men, your lands, your company! Good men all, a fair company, by the Rood of Grace! Tell me now, Richard, have you Raimon of Toulouse in that company? Have you Béziers?' 'No, sire,' said Richard, looking serenely down at the working face. 'Nor ever will have,' snarled the King. 'Have you the Knight of Béarn?' 'I have, sire.' 'Ill company, Richard. It is a white-faced, lying beast, with a most goatish beard. Have you your singing monk?' 'I have, sire.' 'Shameful company. Have you Adhémar of Limoges?' 'Yes, sire.' 'Silly company. Leave him with his women. Have you your Abbot Milo?' 'Yes.' 'Sick company.' His head sank into his breast; he found himself suddenly tired, even of reviling, and had to sit down again. Richard felt a tide of pity; looking down at the huddled old man, he held out his hand. 'Let us not quarrel, father,' he said; but that brought up the King's head, like a call to arms. 'A last question, Richard. Have you dared bring here Bertran de Born?' He was on his feet again for the reply, and the two men faced each other. Everybody knew how serious the question was. It sobered the Count, but drove the pity out of him.