The hall was very large, and so the talk of many people, subdued in tone as, of late years, good manners had learnt to demand, created no more than a pleasant deep humming. For the most part the talk ran upon love, arms, and policy, the latest, most resounding public events, and the achievements and abilities, personal adventures and misadventures, of various members of the company. At the raised table it was high politics and what was occurring in the world of rulers, for that was what the duke liked to talk about and the prince bent the conversation to suit his guest. Bishop Ugo liked it, too. Ugo’s mind ran at times from realm to realm, but there was a main land in which he was most at home. In that he passioned, schemed, and strove for Holy Church’s temporal no less than spiritual ascendancy. The Hohenstauffen and Pope Alexander—Guelph and Ghibelline—Church and Empire—the new, young French King Philip, suzerain of Roche-de-Frêne—Henry the Second of England and his sons, specifically his son Richard, not so far from here, in Aquitaine—so ran the talk. The visiting duke spoke much, in the tone of peer to them of whom he spoke. Ugo listened close-lipped; now and then he entered eloquently, and always in the Papal service. The prince said little. It was not easy to discover where he stood. The barons at the table took judicious part. The dazzling Alazais displayed a flattering interest, and the duke, noting that, gave his destrier further rein, shook a more determined lance. He spoke of that same Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, a man much talked of by his time, and he related instances that showed that Richard’s strength and weakness. He bore hard upon a fantastic generosity which, appealed to, could at times make Richard change and forsake his dearest plans. The Princess Audiart sipped her wine. She heard the duke as in a dream. Atop of all the voices in the hall her mind was off in a forest glade.... She looked across at the prince her father. She had not told him of that adventure—of how she had desperately tired of Our Lady in Egypt and of her aunt the Abbess and of most of her own women, and would spend one day a-shepherdessing, and had done so. She was going to tell him—even though she reckoned on some anger. She had for Gaucelm a depth of devotion.... A forest glade, and an evil knight and a squire in brown and green—and now what were they talking of?