“It would be rather absurd,” Ranulph went on, stroking the feathers of the little dun pigeon Rien-du-Tout, “for a bird to outdo a man. Perhaps some day we shall even sail the air as now we sail the seas. Picture to yourself a winged galleon with yourself at the helm--about to discover a world beyond the sunset. It is all in having faith, I tell you. Unbelief is the dragon of the ancient fables.” The Norman smiled rather sadly. “Meanwhile,” he said, “having no flying ships and no new crusades to prove our mettle, we spend ourselves on such errands as we have, or beat the air vainly--like the pigeons. Were it not that a man owes loyalty to his house and to his King I would enlist under the piebald banner of the Templars. But my brother and I have set ourselves to win back the place that our fathers lost, and until that is done I have no errand with dragons.” Ranulph nodded, thoughtfully. “The King would be glad of more such service,” he said. “Good fortune be with you!” BELLEROPHON Hail, Poet--and farewell! Our day is past, Yet may we hear new songs before we die, The chanteys of the mightiest and the last,-- The squadrons of the sky. We knew the rhythm of myriad marching feet, Gray tossing seas that rocked the wind-whipped sail, The drumming hoofs of horses, and the beat Of stern hearts clad in mail. But you--earth-fettered we shall watch your wings Topping the mountains, battling winds,--to dare Challenge the lammergeyer where she swings Down the long lanes of air. And when you take the skylark for your guide, And soar straight up to sun-drenched shores of Time, Immortal singers there shall, eager-eyed, Await your new-born rhyme. Their songs are charm-songs, a divine caress, Or torrents that no power of man could tame, Or time-hushed gardens of grave loveliness, But yours,--a leaping flame! Hail, Poet! Yours the Dream Interpreted, Earth's haunting fairy-tale since life began,-- The Dragon of Unfaith, his magic dead, Slain by the Flying Man! II A TOURNAMENT IN THE CLOUDS Alazais de Montfaucon was to be married, and had chosen her dearest friend Philippa to be maid of honor. None of her friends except Philippa had seen the bridegroom; he was an English knight, Hugh l'Estrange. He had lands on the Welsh marches, and the charming Alazais was to be carried off by him, to live among savages. This, at least, was the impression of Beatriz d'Acunha and Catalina d'Anduze, who were also to be bridesmaids. Philippa, having lived in England, looked at the matter less dolefully. Still, when all was said, it was an immense change for Alazais, and she herself declared that if any one but Hugh had proposed it she would not think of such a thing. “We must provide you with a flock of these voyageur pigeons,” said Savaric de Marsan. “Then, when you are shut up in your stronghold with the Welsh on one side and Saxon outlaws on the other, you can appeal to your friends for help.”