“Bad,” said Jaufre, and faintly, faintly knew that it was good.
The days went by in Angoulême and there came again the heralds who had been sent to Montmaure. They brought Count Savaric’s and Count Jaufre’s submission to the will of their suzerain—since no other could be done and sunshine be kept to grow in! They brought news of the lifting of the siege of Roche-de-Frêne. On the morrow came one who had been in Roche-de-Frêne. He had to tell of joy that overflowed.
The Princess Audiart left the court of Richard Lion-Heart for her own land and capital town. She went with a great escort which Richard would give her. The danger now from the dragon that had ravaged her country lay only in the scattered drops of venom that might be encountered,—wild bands, Free Companies, wandering about, ripe for mischief, not yet sunk back into their first lairs. She and Duke Richard made pact of amity between his house and hers, and she went from Angoulême on a grey day, beneath a cloud-roof that promised snow. At the Abbey of the Fountain she dismounted, entered to say farewell to the Abbess Madeleine and to kneel for Church’s blessing. She had ladies now in her train. These entered with her, and two knights, the Count of Beauvoisin and Sir Garin of the Black Castle. Forth and upon the road, Beauvoisin rode at her right. He had the duke’s signet, lord’s power to bear her safely through every territory that owed allegiance to Richard.
The snow fell, but the air was not cold. They rode through the afternoon wrapped in a veil of large white flakes. In the twilight they reached a fair-sized town where great and rich preparation had been made for them. The next day also the snow fell, and they fared forward through a white country. Then the snow ceased, the clouds faded and a great heaven of blue vaulted the world. The sun shone and melted the snow, there came a breath as of the early spring.
In the middle of the day they pitched the princess’s pavilion in the lee of a hill or in some purple wood. They built a fire for her and her ladies and, a distance away, a campfire. Dinner was cooked and served; rest was taken, then camp was broken and they rode on again. Time and route were spaced so that at eve they entered town or village or castle gate. Beauvoisin had sent horsemen ahead—when the princess and her company entered, they found room and cheer with varying pomp of welcome. The night passed, in the morning stately adieux were made; they travelled on.
Riding east and south, they came now into and crossed fiefs that held from Montmaure who held from Aquitaine. Beauvoisin kept hawk-watch and all knights rode with a warrior mien. Care was taken where the camp should be made. Among those sent ahead to town or castle were poursuivants who made formal proclamation of Duke Richard’s mind.—But though they saw many who had been among the invaders of Roche-de-Frêne, and though the country wore a scowling and forbidding aspect,—where it did not wear an aspect relieved and complaisant,—they made transit without open or secret hindrance. They came nearer, nearer to borders of Roche-de-Frêne. In clear and gentle weather the princess entered that fief which had been held by Raimbaut the Six-fingered.
This was a ravaged region indeed, and there was no town here for sleeping in and no great castle that stood. When the sun was low in the western sky they set the princess’s pavilion, and one for her ladies, at the edge of a wood. A murmuring stream went by; there were two great pine trees and the fire that was lighted made bronze pillars of their trunks. Something in them brought into Audiart’s mind the Palestine pillars before the shrine of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne.
The sun was a golden ball, close to the horizon. Wrapped in her mantle, she sat on a stone by the fire and watched it. Her ladies, perceiving that she wished to be alone, kept within the pavilions. Beauvoisin and his knights sat or reclined about their fire farther down the stream. Farther yet a third great fire blazed for the squires and men-at-arms. Upon a jutting mound a knight and a squire sat their horses, motionless as statues, watching that naught of ill came near the pavilions.
One upon the bank of the stream drew farther from the knights’ fire and nearer to that of the princess, then stood where she might see him. She turned her head as if she felt him there.
“Come to the fire, Sir Garin,” she said.