It needed not many arguments to show Richard the truth of his
situation; and indeed, after his first burst of passion, he sat
him calmly down, and with gloomy looks, head depressed, and arms
folded on his bosom, listened to the Archbishop's reasoning on
the impossibility of his carrying on the Crusade when deserted by
his companions. Nay, he forbore interruption, even when the
prelate ventured, in measured terms, to hint that Richard's own
impetuosity had been one main cause of disgusting the princes
with the expedition.
"CONFITEOR," answered Richard, with a dejected look, and
something of a melancholy smile--"I confess, reverend father,
that I ought on some accounts to sing CULPA MEA. But is it not
hard that my frailties of temper should be visited with such a
penance--that, for a burst or two of natural passion, I should be
doomed to see fade before me ungathered such a rich harvest of
glory to God and honour to chivalry? But it shall NOT fade. By
the soul of the Conqueror, I will plant the Cross on the towers
of Jerusalem, or it shall be planted over Richard's grave!"
"Thou mayest do it," said the prelate, "yet not another drop of
Christian blood be shed in the quarrel.
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