The meadow was pitched by the high road running from the north, and now from this road there turned toward the lists, the holiday crowd, and the wreathed gallery, a troop of half a hundred mounted men, at their head one who seemed of importance. Not only the rustling people on the green banks, but the lists now making final preparation, and the silken-canopied gallery took cognizance of the approach. The troop came nearer. A tall man rode in front upon a bay mare. Behind him an esquire held aloft a spear with a small green-and-silver banner attached. A poursuivant, gorgeously clad, detached himself from the mass and cried out: “Montmaure!” “Ha!” exclaimed Gaucelm the Fortunate. “Here is Count Savaric!” He spoke to the seneschal. “Take five or six of the best and go meet him. Bring him here with due honour.” “Perhaps,” said Alazais, “he will joust. He is a mighty man of his arms and bears down good knights.” The unlooked-for guests were now riding close at hand, coming upon the edge of the meadow, full before the platform of state. So important was this arrival, that for the moment it halted interest in the tourney. All turned to watch the troop with the green-and-silver banner. Montmaure was less powerful than Roche-de-Frêne, but not greatly less. Roche-de-Frêne held from the French King Philip. Montmaure did homage for his lands to Richard, Duke of Aquitaine. But there was a certain fief, a small barony,—to wit, the one that included Castel-Noir and Raimbaut the Six-fingered’s keep,—for which Montmaure had put his hands between the hands of Gaucelm of Roche-de-Frêne. To the extent of three castles with their villages Gaucelm was his liege lord. Now, as he came beneath the platform and immediately opposite that prince, he gave ceremonious recognition of the fact. Turning in his saddle, he drew his sword an inch from its sheath, holding the pommel toward the prince, then let it slip home again. Gaucelm the Fortunate made a sign of acceptance. The superb cavalcade passed on and in another moment was met by the welcoming seneschal. It seemed that Montmaure would not joust, though several of his knights wished no better hour’s play. It was explained that he was travelling to Montferrat, proceeding on a visit to the marquis his kinsman. Last night he had slept with such a baron. To-day, servitors and sumpter-mules had gone on, but the count with his immediate following would halt at Roche-de-Frêne to enquire after the health and well-being of Prince Gaucelm.