The inner atmosphere thickened and darkened. Could he have forged material lightning, Jaufre might then have perished. He stood staring at the red flare upon the horizon. His lips moved. “Jaufre, Jaufre! would you have the princess?”
The autumn wind blew against him. Overhead, the moon came out from clouds and blanched the platform where he stood and the long line of the wall. He turned, and looking to the huge castle, saw the rays silver the White Tower. He knew that this was where the princess lived. Hate went out of Garin’s heart and out of his eyes. “What is this,” he cried, but not aloud, “what is this that has come to me?”
He stayed a long while on the platform, that was now in light and now in shadow, for the sky had fleets of clouds. But at last he said good-night to the pacing sentinel, and, descending the stair, went to his lodging. Here, before the door, watched one of his own men. “Has Sir Aimar returned, Jean the Talkative?”
“No, lord,” said Jean from Castel-Noir. “He sent to find you, but no one knew where—It seems that all the lords and famous knights have been called into hall. Moreover, there are townsmen in the great court, and the mayor is inside with the lords. The bishop came up the hill at supper-time with a long train. There was a monk here, an hour agone, who said that there had been a miracle down there in the cathedral. One Father Eustace, who is very holy, was kneeling before Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne, and he put up his hands to her, like a child to his mother, and he said ‘Blessed, Divine Lady, when will Roche-de-Frêne have peace and happiness?’ Then, lord, what favour was granted to the holy man! Our Lady’s lips opened smilingly, and words came out of them in a sweet and gracious voice, to this effect: ‘When those two wed.’ Holy Eustace fell in a swoon, so wonderful was the thing, and when he came to went to my lord the bishop. Whereupon—”
But, “Talk less, Jean—talk less!” said Sir Garin, and went by, leaving Jean staring. Within the house, stretched upon the floor of the great lower room, lay his men asleep. They needed sleep; all in Roche-de-Frêne knew the strain of watching overtime, of fighting by day and by night. Two only whispered in a corner, by a guttering candle. These springing up as Garin entered proved to be Rainier and the younger squire of Aimar, the elder being with his master. “Stay till I call you,” said Garin to Rainier, and passing between the slumbering forms, ascended the stair to the chamber above. Here, before a small window was drawn a bench. He sat down, and looked forth at the moon passing from cloud to cloud.
Eight years ago he, like Father Eustace, had knelt before Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne and asked for a sign.... Of his age, inevitably, in a long range of concerns, Garin had not formerly questioned miracles. They occurred all the time, sworn to by Holy Church. But now, and passionately enough, he doubted that Father Eustace lied.
Here, sometime later, Aimar found him. “Why did you not come to the hall? Saint Michael! It had been worth your while!”
“I know not why I did not come.... I have been on the walls—I think that I have been struck by the moon.... What was done in hall?”
Aimar stood beside him. “This princess—I have not seen another like her in the world!”
“She came from fairyland and the wise saints’ land and the bravest future land.—What was done?”