“So,” said Aimar, “did we all—barons, knights, and no less a soul than Thibaut Canteleu. But the bishop looked darkly.” “No doubt Father Eustace will presently be vouchsafed an explanation!—Light wed darkness, and Heaven approve!—Ha! what then, is Heaven?” “But then Ugo became smooth and fine, and wove a sweet garland of words for the wise princess. And so, for this time, that passed.—Came that which the council had been called to judge of. Heralds from Montmaure, appearing this morning before the river-gate, asking for parley, were blindfolded and brought to her in hall.” Garin turned. “What said Jaufre de Montmaure?” “What is wrong with you, Garin of the Golden Island? Heaven forfend your sickening with the fever!—Montmaure offers a truce from sunrise to sunrise, offers, moreover, to pitch pavilions two bow shots from the walls. Then, saith the two of him,—or rather saith Jaufre with a supporter signed by Count Savaric,—then let this be done! Let the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, followed by fifty knights, and Count Jaufre de Montmaure, followed by fifty, meet with courtesy and festival before these pavilions—the end, the coming face to face, the touching hands, the speaking together of two who never yet have had that fortune. So, perchance, a different music might arise!” “How might that be? Her soul does not accord with his.” Garin left the window, paced the room, came back to the flooding moonlight. “What said the princess?” “She gave to all in hall the words of the heralds and asked for counsel. Then this baron spoke and that knight and also Thibaut Canteleu, and they spoke like valiant folk, one advising this course and one that. And Bishop Ugo spoke. Then the princess stood up, thanked all and gave decision.” “She will take her knights, and with courtesy and festival she will meet and touch hands and speak with Jaufre, there by his pavilions?” “Just,” said Aimar.... “Do you know, Garin, that when you make poems of the Fair Goal, you make men see a lady not unlike the princess of this land?” CHAPTER XVIII COUNT JAUFRE THE day was soft and bright, neither hot nor cold, and at the mid-morning. Half-way between the walls of Roche-de-Frêne and the host of Montmaure, in a space clear of any cover that might be used for ambushes, rose a blue pavilion, a green and silver pavilion, and one between that carried these colours blended. Before the blue pavilion hung a banner with a blue field and the arms of Roche-de-Frêne, before the green and silver Montmaure’s banner; before the third pavilion the two ensigns were fixed side by side. Those who had pitched the pavilions and made lavish preparation were servants of Montmaure. Montmaure was the host this day. Led blindfold into Roche-de-Frêne, through the streets and in at the castle gate, had gone four great barons, hostages for the green and silver’s faith.