“I know no such lord,” said Garin sadly. “I would I were he myself.” “Then perhaps you may meet with some famous troubadour. I will serve none,” said Elias, “who is not in some measure famous. I prefer that he be knight as well as poet. Be so kind as to round it in such an one’s ear that you know a famed jongleur. Say to him that if God has not given him voice wherewith to sing or to relate his chansons, tensos, and sirventes, I, who sing like rossignol and who learned narration in Tripoli and Alexandria, will do him at least some justice. But if he sings like rossignol himself or, God-like, speaks his own compositions, then say that I am the best accompanist—harp, lute, or viol—between Spain and Italy. Say that, even though he be armed so cap-à-pie, there will arise occasions when he is not in voice, or is weary or out of spirits. Then how well to have such as I beside him! Then tell him that I have the completest memory, that I learn most quickly and neither forget nor misplace, and that never do I take a liberty with my master’s verse. When you have come that far, make a pause; then, while he ponders, resume. Say that, doubtless, at that moment, a hundred jongleurs, scattered up and down the land, are chance learning and wrongly giving forth his mightiest, sweetest poems. Were it not well—ask him—himself to teach them to one with memory and delivery beyond reproach, who in turn might teach others? So, from mouth to mouth, all would go as it should, and he be published correctly. Let that sink in. Then tell him that I am helpful in lesser ways,—silent when silence is wanted, always discreet, a good bearer of letters and messages, quick at extrications, subtle as an Italian. Say that I am a good servant and honour him who feeds me and never mistake where the salt stands. Say that I am skilful beyond most, and earnest ever for the advancement and honour of my master. Lastly, say that I am agreeable, but not too agreeable, in the eyes of women.” “That is necessary?” asked Garin. “Absolutely,” answered the jongleur. “Your lover is as jealous as God. There must not be two Gods in one miracle play.” “Does every troubadour,” asked Garin, “love greatly?” “He thinks he does,” said Elias. “Do not forget, if you meet a truly famed one, Elias of Montaudon. You may also say that I have been in the company of many poets, and that I know the secret soul of Guy of Perpignan.” Both left the boulder and stepped into the road. Garin laid his hand on Paladin’s neck. “My lord is Raimbaut the Six-fingered,” he said. “His wife, my lady, is half-aged and evil to look upon, and she rails at every one save Raimbaut, whom she fears.” “That is ill-luck,” said the jongleur. “There is, perhaps, some neighbouring lady—” “No. Not one.” “To be very courtly,” said the jongleur, “one must be in love with Love. You need not at all see a woman as she is. It suffices if she is young and not deformed, and of noble station.” “She must always be noble?”