At the other end of the broad, raised space Prince Gaucelm and the Venetian left talk of Venice trade, of Cyprus and Genoa, and came to status and event this side the Alps.
“Duke Richard of Aquitaine plays the rebel to his father the King of England and quarrels with his cousin the King of France and wars against his neighbour the Count of Toulouse. Count Savaric of Montmaure and his son Count Jaufre—”
The Princess Audiart won the game of chess, won fairly. “You couch a good lance and build a good house, Lord Stephen,” she said. “Yesterday, it was I who was vanquished!”
Guida had moved away, joining the group about the girl on the silk cushion. Stephen the Marshal took one of the ivory chessmen in his hand and turned it from side to side. “Montmaure!” he said. “Montmaure grows more puffed with pride than mortal man should be!”
The princess nodded. “Yes. My lord count sees himself as the great fish for whom the ocean was built.”
The marshal put down the chess-piece and took up another. “Have you ever seen Jaufre de Montmaure?”
“No.”
“I saw him at Périgueux. He is tall and red-gold like his father, but darker in hue. He has a hawk nose, and there is a strange dagger-scar across his cheek.—What is it, my Lady Audiart?”
The princess was sitting with parted lips and with eyes that looked far away. She shivered a little, shrugging her shoulders. “Nothing! A fancy. I remembered something. But a-many men have dagger scars.—Jaufre de Montmaure! No, I think that I never saw him. Nor do I wish to see him. Let him stay with Aquitaine and be his favourite!”