His brother laughed again with a bitter mirth. “Well, what’s left? Let’s see! If you can get Raimbaut’s consent, you might become an errant knight and go vagabonding through the land! ‘Fair sir, may I fight thee—all for the glory of valour and for thy horse and trappings?’—‘Fair dame, having no business of mine own, may I take thine upon me? Tell me thy grievance, and I will not enquire if it be founded or no. Nor when, pursuing chivalry, I have redressed it, will I refuse rich gifts.’—Bah!” cried Foulque. “I had rather eat, drink, fight, and sleep with Raimbaut!” “Aye,” said Garin; then painfully, “You are picturing the common run of things. There have been and there are and there will be true and famous knights—aye, and learned, who make good poesy and honour fair ladies, and are courteous and noble and welcome in every castle hall! I mean not to be of the baser sort. And those knights I speak of had, some of them, as meagre a setting forth as mine—” “In _romans_!” answered Foulque. “You are a fool, Garin! Take the other road—take the other road!” “I’ve made my choice.” “Raimbaut the Six-fingered against the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius, who is close friend to Bishop Ugo, who is ear and hand to the Pope—” “I choose.” “Now,” cried Foulque, choking, “by the soul of our father, little lacks but I call Sicart and Jean and have you down into the dungeon! You are too untamed—you are too untamed!” “In your dungeon,” said Garin, “I would think, ‘How like is this to abbey cell and cloister!’” A silence fell. Only mistral whistled and eddied around the black tower. Then said Foulque tensely: “What has come to you? Two nights ago I saw you ready to put your hands in those of Holy Church—” He broke off, facing the man from the tower top, framed now in the great door. “Horsemen, my masters!” cried the watchman; “horsemen at the two pines!” Foulque flung up his arms. “He is coming! Mayhap he will work upon you—seeing that a brother cannot! Let me by—” Garin stood at the window watching the abbot and the twenty with him—ecclesiastical great noble and his cowled following—stout lay brothers and abbey serfs well clad and fed—the abbot’s palfrey, sleek mules and horses—all mounting with a jingle of bits and creaking of leather, but with a suave lack of boisterous laughter, whoop, and shout, the grey zig-zag cut in the crag upon which was perched Castel-Noir. When they were immediately below the loophole window, he turned and, leaving the hall, went to the castle gate and stood beside Foulque. When Abbot Arnaut and his palfrey reached them he sprang, squire-like, to the stirrup, gave his shoulder to the abbot’s gloved hand. When the great man was dismounted, he knelt with his brother for the lifted fingers and blessing. The abbot was marshalled across the court to the hall, followed by those two from Saint Pamphilius whom his nod indicated. Jean and Sicart disposed of the following. Foulque’s anxious drill bore fruits; everything went as if oiled.