And looking back on the past, he could understand how intolerable a life of helplessness would be among the equals whom Henry had so often stung with his keen wit, and that to a man of his peculiar tone of mind there was infinitely more liberty in thus sinking to the lowest depths, where his infirmities were absolute capital to him, than in being hedged about with the restraints of his rank. Any way, it was impossible to interfere, even for the child’s sake, and all Richard could do to console himself was to look forward to his return from the Crusade an esquire or even a knight, with exploits that Henry might respect—a standing in the Court that would give him some right to speak—perhaps in time a home and lady wife to whom his brother would intrust his child, who would then be growing out of a mere toy. Or might not his services win him a fresh grant of the earldom, and could he not then prove his sincerity by laying it at the true Earl’s feet? Pretty Bessee, too! Richard remembered stories current in the family, of their grandmother, Amicia, Countess of Leicester in her own right, being forced when a young girl to wed the stern grim old persecuting Simon de Montfort, and how vain had been her struggles against her doom. He lost himself in graceful romantic visions of the young knight whose love he would watch and foster, and whose marriage to his lovely niece should be securely concluded ere her rank should be made known, when her guardian uncle would yield all to her. And from that day forth Richard looked out with keen eyes among the playfellows of the little princes for Bessee’s future knight. CHAPTER VII AMONG THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE “But man is more than law, and I may have Some impress of myself upon the world; One poor brief life, helping to feed the flame Of chivalry, and keep alive the truth That courage, honour, mercy, make a knight.” _Queen Isabel_, _by S. M._ “LAND in sight! Cheer up, John, my man!” said Richard, leaning over a bundle of cloaks that lay on the deck of a Genoese galley. The cross floated high aloft, accompanied by the lions of English royalty; the bulwark was hung round with blazoned shields, and the graceful white sails were filled by a gay breeze that sent the good ship dancing over the crested waves of the Mediterranean, in company with many another of her gallant sisters, crowded with the chivalry of England. Woeful was however the plight of great part of that chivalry. Merrily merrily bounded the bark, but her sport felt very like death to many of her freight, and among others to poor little John de Mohun.