'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?'