“That is necessary?” asked Garin.
“Absolutely,” answered the jongleur. “Your lover is as jealous as God. There must not be two Gods in one miracle play.”
“Does every troubadour,” asked Garin, “love greatly?”
“He thinks he does,” said Elias. “Do not forget, if you meet a truly famed one, Elias of Montaudon. You may also say that I have been in the company of many poets, and that I know the secret soul of Guy of Perpignan.”
Both left the boulder and stepped into the road. Garin laid his hand on Paladin’s neck.
“My lord is Raimbaut the Six-fingered,” he said. “His wife, my lady, is half-aged and evil to look upon, and she rails at every one save Raimbaut, whom she fears.”
“That is ill-luck,” said the jongleur. “There is, perhaps, some neighbouring lady—”
“No. Not one.”
“To be very courtly,” said the jongleur, “one must be in love with Love. You need not at all see a woman as she is. It suffices if she is young and not deformed, and of noble station.”