Roche-de-Frêne lay before them. Castle and town and all the country roundabout were bathed by a light golden and intense. “Garin de l’Isle d’Or,” said the princess. “There is a troubadour named so—and he sang, too, in the land beyond the sea. Are you he?”
“Yes.”
“You sing of one whom you name the Fair Goal?”
“Aye, princess,” said Garin. “She is my lady.”
“Lives she in this land?”
“I know not. I have been in her presence but once—and that was long ago. I think that she lives afar.”
“Ah,” thought the princess, “behold your poet-lover, straining and longing toward he knows not what nor whom—save that it is afar!” Aloud she said, “If we are besieged in Roche-de-Frêne brave songs, as well as brave deeds, will have room.”
Turning to the south and then to the east they rode by the river and so came to the fosse, ramparts, and towers, guardians of the bridge-head, and then upon the bridge itself. Right and left they saw the gilded water, in front the hill of Roche-de-Frêne, with, for diadem, the strong town walled and towered, and high and higher yet, the mighty castle. The horses’ hoofs made a deep sound, then they were away from the bridge and climbing the road to the river-gate. A horn was winded, clear and silver. Now they were riding through the streets, filled with folk. Garin thought of an autumn day, and looked at the tower of the cathedral, higher now than then.... The street climbed upward, the castle loomed, vast as a dream in the violet light.
“The castle will give you lodging, sir knight,” said the princess.
Here was the moat, across it Red Tower and Lion Tower. Garin looked up at the great blue banner, and then along the battlements to where waved the green of the garden trees. Again there flashed into mind that autumn day, and that he had wondered if ever he would enter here, a knight, and serve his suzerain.