His next trouble was on account of her sister, his own wife, Milicent. At a council held in Jerusalem, one Walter, Count of Cæsarea, son-in-law to Hugh, Count of Jaffa, rose and accused his father-in-law of the crime of _lèse-majesté_. The accusation was prompted by the king himself, who had, or thought he had, good reason to be jealous of his wife’s relations with Count Hugh. And accordingly he hated Hugh. The barons heard the charge, and summoned Hugh to answer it in person, and to defend his honour, _en champ clos_, against his accuser. On the appointed day Walter of Cæsarea appeared in arms, but Hugh did not come. Whether that he was guilty, or whether that he was unwilling to risk his honour and life on the chance of a single fight, is uncertain. He was accordingly judged guilty in default, and the king marched against him. But Count Hugh was not so easily put down. He hastened to Ascalon, and made an alliance, to the horror of all good Christians, with those hereditary enemies of the faith, the inhabitants of that town. They joyfully joined him, and engaged to harass the country while he defended Jaffa. And then Hugh drew up his bridges, shut his gates, and sat down, announcing his determination to hold out to the last. There was no one in the kingdom with so great a reputation as he for personal bravery; no one so handsome, no one so strong, and no one of better birth. Moreover, he was the cousin-german to the queen, which gave him a reason, or at least a pretext, for visiting her frequently and privately.
But it could not be endured that civil war should rage so close to the very capital of the realm, and negotiations were entered into between the contending parties. Finally it was agreed that Hugh should put away his unnatural alliance with the Saracens, and should so far acknowledge the sentence of the barons by an exile of three years. Hugh repaired to Jerusalem with the king, where he waited till the preparations for his departure should be completed. One day, while he was playing dice outside a shop in the street, a Breton knight stabbed him with a sword, and Hugh fell apparently dead. He was not dead, however, and was ultimately cured of his wounds, but died in Sicily before the term of his exile was completed. Everybody thought that King Fulke had ordered the assassination, but the murderer stoutly declared, in the midst of the keenest tortures, that he had no accomplices, and that he had acted solely in what he thought obedience to the will of Heaven. Fulke ordered his limbs to be broken and cut off one after the other, all but his tongue, which was left free, in order that full confession might be made. Queen Milicent’s resentment pursued those who had compassed the exile of her lover. All who had been concerned in it went in terror and peril, knowing, “furens quid fœmina possit;” and even the king found it prudent to make the peace with his wife, and henceforth, even if he should be jealous, to conceal that passion as much as possible. But the count died in Sicily, and the queen’s resentment died with him.