Never could a demeanour have been more steadfast than hers in the face of an ever-growing dismay. All through the blazing heat of the forenoon the Count of Nullepart and I remained with her upon the battlements, regarding that fair and wide-stretching plain below. Full many leagues were unrolled before us. Here were the dotted points of the spires and clustered houses of the imperial city of Toledo; there was the flashing silver ribbon of the Tagus curling in and out among the hills and meadows. Yet, strain our eyes as we might, there was never a sign of the Castilian host, nor of the redoubtable Sir Richard Pendragon and his mounted company. In the face of this mystery we knew not what to believe. A great army had vanished from before our eyes. The white tents, hundreds in number, that were spread over the broad plain, were still exposed to the glare of the pitiless sun, yet all that day not a solitary soldier was to be seen about them. Such a remarkable circumstance encouraged even stout minds to attribute the whole matter to the exercise of the dark powers. For some were only too ready to believe that they were wielded by the Englishman. Indeed, it was recalled by many that he had more than once been heard to confess himself as a wizard. Night fell again, yet still Sir Richard Pendragon came not. And as far as the most distant horizon no sign of an armed host was visible. The Countess Sylvia refused her food that evening, and summoned the chaplain of his lordship’s grace, a holy father of the Cistercians. She spent the night upon her knees in the chapel. When the morning dawned she came out again to the battlements to resume her watch. Although her cheeks were wan and her looks were sad, they had lost nothing of their noble ardour. It seemed that foreboding had fallen upon her. And then in the lowest depths of her distress, she summoned the Count of Nullepart to her harshly, and bade him go immediately and cut off the ears of the spawn of darkness. It was in vain that the Count of Nullepart urged his mistress to relent. Yet I must tell you, good reader, that in her present humour he durst not enforce her too much, lest he also were shorn. So, finding that his reluctance did but inflame her instancy, he had no other course save to go forth to obey.