“Time and the mind have wings,” said Prince Gaucelm, “and it is not well to look too far into the future!” He rose from his chair. “Load not the camel and the day too heavily! Let us go now and watch the knights joust.” The tournament was held without the walls, in a long meadow sunk like a floor between verdant slopes of earth. At either end were pavilions, pitched for those who jousted. Midway of the lists appeared a wreathed platform, silken-canopied, built for the great. Right and left of this space of honour was found place for men-at-arms and castle retainers, and likewise for the magistrates of the town and the more important burghers. But on the other side of the lists there were slopes of turf with out-cropping stones and an occasional well-placed tree, and here the town poured out its workers, men and women. The crowd was cheerful. There surged a loud, beating sea of talk. Up and down and across sprang glitter and light, with sharp notes of colour. Squires and men-at-arms, heralds and pages gave their quota. Nor did there lack priest and pilgrim,—and that though the Church thundered against tournaments,—Jew, free-lance and travelling merchant, jongleur and stroller. All was gay beneath a bright blue sky, and esquires held the knights’ horses before the painted pavilions. The trumpets blew, and out of the castle gates and down the road cut in the living rock came the great folk. When they reached the meadow and the gallery built for them, and when presently all were seated, it was like a long bank of flowers, coloured glories. At each end of the lists waited twenty knights in mail with painted surcoats. Between, over the green meadow, rode and staidly consulted the marshals. Horses neighed, metal jingled, the folk laughed, talked, gesticulated, now and then disputed. Jongleurs picked at stringed instruments, trumpeters made a gay shower of notes. Towers and battlements closed the scene, and the walled town spread upon the hill-top.