“Aye,” said Garin. “I come from the host, bearer of a letter to the princess from my lord Stephen the Marshal. If, lady, you are she—” “I am Audiart,” said the princess, and held out her hand for the letter. Garin bent his knee, took from his breast the letter wrapped in silk, and gave it. The princess drew off her glove, broke the seal and read, sitting the white Arabian by the murmuring spring. Those with her waited without movement that might disturb. Trees of the grove whispered in the evening air, splashed gold from the sun lay here and there like fairy wealth. The marshal wrote of ambushments, attacks, repulses, conflicts where Roche-de-Frêne had been victorious. But the two counts were together now, and the odds were great. New men had come to them from Aquitaine. The host was great of spirit, and he, Stephen the Marshal, would do his best. But let none be dismayed if there came some falling back toward the town. So the frank marshal, a good general and truth-teller. The princess read, sat for a moment with her eyes upon the light falling through the trees, then spoke, giving to her knights the substance of the letter. “So it runs, sirs! So the wheel turns and turns, and no mind can tell—But the mind may be courageous, though it knows not the body’s fortunes.” She folded the marshal’s letter, put it within her silken purse, and drew on her glove. She spoke to Garin. “How do they call you, sir? Are you man of ours?” “I am your man, lady. I am Garin, younger brother of Foulque of Castel-Noir, and I am likewise called Garin of the Golden Island.” “Ride beside us to the town,” said the princess, “and give tidings of the host.” Garin mounted Noureddin. Rainier bore his helmet and shield. The company left the grove for the open road. The road and all the earth lay in the gold of evening, and in the distance, lifted against the clear sapphire of the east, was Roche-de-Frêne. Garin rode beside the princess and gave the news of the host. She questioned with keen intelligence, and he answered, it seemed, to her liking. When she had gained what she wished, she rode for a time in silence, then, “I knew not that Foulque of Castel-Noir had a brother.” “Years ago,” said Garin, “I took the cross and went to Palestine. This summer I came home and found the land afire. With two score men I left Castel-Noir, and with them joined the marshal and the host.” “He speaks of you in his letter and gives you high praise. It is Lord Stephen’s way to praise justly.” “I would do my devoir,” said Garin. Roche-de-Frêne lay before them. Castle and town and all the country roundabout were bathed by a light golden and intense. “_Garin de l’Isle d’Or_,” said the princess. “There is a troubadour named so—and he sang, too, in the land beyond the sea. Are you he?” “Yes.” “You sing of one whom you name the _Fair Goal_?” “Aye, princess,” said Garin. “She is my lady.” “Lives she in this land?”