Sir Eudes and his son came forth in hauberk and helm. The knights for the ships and the land over the sea mounted, their followers mounted. Farewells were said. Those who were going drew into ranks. A priest blessed them. The people wept and cried out blessings. The monks raised a Latin chant. The sky was sapphire, a light wind carried to and fro the autumn leaves. Sir Eudes de Panemonde and his son touched their horses with their gilded spurs. The knights followed, the esquires and men-at-arms. Behind them the voices, at first swelling louder, sank as lengthened the road between. They pressed on, and now they lost that sound and lost the church, the monastery, and the castle of Panemonde.... Now the leper by the roadside was passed, still sitting beneath the cross, tinkling his bell. In the distance was seen the town that Garin had left that morning. The company did not enter it, but turned aside into a road that ran to the southward and then east and then south again. So at last, to-morrow at sunset, they would come to the port and to the ships that would bring them to Syria. Garin rode in a dream. He thought of Raimbaut and of Foulque, of Castel-Noir and Roche-de-Frêne, but most he thought of the Fair Goal, and tried to see her, in her court he knew not where. CHAPTER XI THIBAUT CANTELEU “WHO would risk never, risks ever,” said the Princess Audiart, and moving her rook, checked the marshal’s king. Her cousin Guida, a blonde of much beauty, sitting watching the game, made a sound of demurral. The marshal’s hand hovered over a piece. “Do not play courtly, Lord Stephen,” said the princess. “Play fairly!” Whereupon Stephen pushed forward a different piece and, releasing his own king, put hers in jeopardy. “Now what will you do, Audiart?” cried Guida. “You were too daring!” “That is as may be,” answered the princess, and studied the board.