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... a slender, wiry man on the tall side of middle height, with tousled tawny hair standing up from a thin freckled face lightened by greenish-grey eyes. He seemed neither imposing nor menacing, standing there in his splendid, untidy attire, his right hand thrust under his gilded belt in his usual attitude. Milo had had little intercourse with his peers since his return from the Holy Land. He disliked war... He ravaged no other man's lands, and had filled a few gibbits with those who failed in like courtesy to him, until he had proved that determination to have peace did not betoken cowardice or incompetence. He was popularly reported to have had his temper completely soured by long captivity, a crippled arm, an unfruitful marriage and a spendthrift sire.... He had been content to administer his estates and occupy himself with strange learning, never considering what wild tales his peculiar conduct might set about... People believed that he was a secret poisoner. They were whispering of Bertrane's death... whispering that Milo de Morneville, who had learned such subtle mysteries from the Infidel, had wearied of an ailing woman whose brats had all died, so that his evil philters had wasted her into the grave. Milo knew how that tale would spread, wilder and more foul at every telling, until his name was a by-word through England. There was no defence he could make. He could not tear out every one of those wagging tongues that made free with his honour. He could not even lay hand again on that brave, foolish boy who had accused him to his face. Milo, Count of Morneville, returned from Crusade with a crippled shoulder, a sinister reputation and the nickname of Desert Leopard, had had his fill of warfare and desired only peace, which in the England of 1138 had to be fought for. When he chose to show mercy on this enemy Roald de Lennoy, found wounded on Morneville land, he could not guess that his act would embroil him in the most perilous conflict of his life.