Will you let starve your liege-lord ?' At this the bolts were drawn, the bridge went down with a clatter, and Bertran de Born came out--a fine stout man, all in a pother, with a red, perplexed face, angry eyes, hair and beard cut in blocks, a body too big for his clothes--a man of hot blood, fumes and rages.

Richard at sight of him, this unquiet sniffer of offences, this whirled about with stratagems, threw back his head and laughed long and loud.
'O thou plotter of thine own dis-ease! O rider of nightmares, what harm can I do thee?
Not, believe me, a tithe of thy desert.

Come thou here straightly, Master Bertran, and take what I shall give thee.' 'By God, Lord Richard--' said Bertran, and boggled horribly; but the better man waited, and in the end he came up sideways.

Richard swung from his horse, took his host by the shoulders, shook him well, and kissed him on both cheeks.

'Spinner of mischief, red robber, singer of the thoughts of God!' he said, 'I swear I love thee through it all, Bertran, though I should do better to wring thy neck.