The lord count appeared to hear this sirvente with pleasure, like a prince who laid the good counsel it contained to heart, and intended to put it in practice. The sirvente was followed by a song in twelve parts, and the song by a poem in three cantos; and when all was said and done, the lord count, who was much fatigued, took up the globe and sceptre, and went into his chamber to get a few minutes’ sleep, of which, indeed, he was much in need. His attendants had scarcely unclasped his mantle of state, before he was informed that a jongleur must speak with him, having affairs of interest to communicate, which would not bear delay. The lord count ordered him to be admitted.
The jongleur advanced two steps, and bent his knee to the ground.
“Speak!” said the count.
“May it please your lordship to order that you should be in private with your servant?”
Raymond Beranger made a sign to his people that he wished to be alone with the jongleur.
“Who are you?” asked he, as soon as the door was shut.
“I am,” said the jongleur, “the person who answered ‘Amen,’ in the church of St. Saviour, when your lordship vowed, sword in hand, to render justice to the high and low, the rich and poor, to foreigners as well as your own subjects.”
“In whose name do you ask justice?”
“In the name of the Empress Praxida of Germany, unjustly accused of adultery by Guthram de Falkemberg and Walter de Than, and condemned by her husband, the Emperor Henry the Fourth, to die, unless a champion, within a twelvemonth and a day, successfully defend her innocence against her accusers.”
“Why has she chosen such a singular messenger for this important mission?”