So saying, Hamlyn dashed forwards; and Richard, in double alarm, made his way to the space in the centre of the camp, where he found himself on the outskirts of a crowd, talking in the various tongues of English, French, and Lingua Franca. “He lives—the good Princess—the dogs of infidels—poison—” were the words he caught. He flung himself from his horse, and was about to interrogate the nearest man, when John of Dunster came hurrying towards him from the tents, and threw himself upon him, sobbing with agitation and dismay. “What is it? Speak, John! The Prince!” “Oh, if you had but been there! It will not cease bleeding. O Richard, he looks worse than my father when he came home!” “Let me hear! Where? How is he hurt?” “In the arm and brow,” said the boy. “The arm!” said Richard, much relieved. “Ah, but they say the dagger is poisoned! Stay, Richard, I’ll tell you all. Dame Idonea turned me out of the tent, and she will not let any one in. It was thus—even now the Prince was lying on the day-bed in his own outer tent, no one else there save myself. I believe everybody was asleep, I know I was—when Nick Dustifoot called me, and bade me tell the Prince there was a messenger from the Emir of Joppa, asking to see him. So the Prince roused himself up, and bade him come in. He was one of those quick-eyed Moorish-looking infidels, in the big turbans and great goat’s hair cloaks; and he went down on his knees, and hit the ground with his forehead, and said Salam aleikum—traitor that he was—and gave the Prince a letter. Well, the Prince muttered something about his head aching so sorely that he could scarce see the writing, and had just put up his hand to shade his eyes from the light, when the dog was out with a dagger and fell on him! The Prince’s arm being raised, caught the stroke, you see; and that moment his foot was up,” said John, acting the kick, “and down went the rogue upon his back! And I—I threw myself right down over him!” “Did you, my brave little fellow? Well done of you!” cried Richard. “And the Prince wrested the dagger out of the rogue’s hand, only he tore his own forehead sorely, as the point flew up with the shock—and then stabbed the villain to the heart—see how the blood rushed over me! Then the Prince pulled me up, and called me a brave lad, and set me on my feet, and asked me if I were sure I was not hurt. And by that time the archers were coming in, when all was over; and Long Robin must needs snatch up a joint stool and have a stroke at the Moor’s head. I trow the Prince was wrath with the cowardly clown for striking a dead man. He said I alone had been any aid!” “‘Well?” anxiously asked Richard, gathering intense alarm as he saw that the boy’s trouble still exceeded his elation, even at such commendation as this.