The day was at the crest of light and heat when with her following she recrossed the bridge, rode up the slope of summer hill, and in at the gate of the town called the river-gate. Everywhere was a movement of people, a buzzing sound of work. The walls of Roche-de-Frêne were strong—but nothing is so strong that it cannot be strengthened! Likewise there were many devices, modern to the age or of an advanced efficiency. The princess had sent for a master-engineer, drawing him with rich gifts to Roche-de-Frêne. The town hummed like a giant hive, forewarned of the strong invader. Prince Gaucelm lay in the crypt under the cathedral. At night the horizon, north and west, burned red to show the steps of Montmaure. Over there, too, was Stephen the Marshal with a host—though with never so great a host as had Montmaure whom Aquitaine aided. In the high white light and dry heat Roche-de-Frêne, town and castle, toiled busily. The castle looked to the town, the town looked to the castle. In the town, by the walls, were gathered master-workman and apprentice, not labouring to-day at dyeing and weaving and saddlery, at building higher the church-tower; labouring to-day at thickest shield-making; studying to keep out sack and fire, death and pillage, rape and ruin, studying to keep out Montmaure. Thibaut Canteleu was mayor, chosen by the town last spring. He made the round of the walls with the princess. “By all showing,” said Thibaut, “the walls are greater and stronger than in the old siege.” “Not alone the walls,” the princess answered. “You are right there, my Lady Audiart! We are more folk and stronger. We begin this time,” said Thibaut, “well-nourished, and, after a manner of speaking, free. Also, which is a very big thing, liked and liking.” “I would, Thibaut Canteleu, that my father were here!” “Well, and my lady,” said Canteleu, “I think that he is. My father, rest his soul! was a good and a bold man, and, by the rood, I think that he is here—only younger and something added!” The princess stayed an hour and more by the walls, moving from point to point with the captains and directors of the work. At one place a company of men and women were seated, resting, eating bread, salad, and cheese, drinking a little red wine. She asked for a bit of bread and ate and drank with them. A child clung to its mother’s skirt, hiding its face. “It’s the princess—it’s the princess—and I have not on my lace cap, mother!” Audiart smiled down on her. “I like you just as well without!” She talked with the workers, then nodded her head and rode on. “Aye,” said Canteleu beside her. “This is such a tempered town as Julius Cæsar or King Alexander might have been blithe to have about them!” The princess studied him, walking by the bridle of her white Arabian. “What would you do, Thibaut Canteleu, if I gave you Montmaure for lord?”