He stopped before a window embrasure and looked out upon the moon-flooded court and the ring of his men and the Castel-Noir men. When he turned back to Foulque they took up the years as they had gone for the black castle. They had gone without great events until had befallen this war. That being the case, the two were presently at the huge happenings in the princedom of Roche-de-Frêne. Foulque knew of the fate of Raimbaut the Six-fingered. Jean the Charcoal-burner had brought the news. Since that, Castel-Noir had stood somewhat shiveringly upon its rock, the probabilities being that its own hour was near. And yet Foulque, and Garin with him, agreed that since the band that had entered this fief and beat down Raimbaut and his castle was now gone without finding Castel-Noir, it might not think to return upon its tracks, leaving richer prey for sparrow or hare. Foulque considered that the ravagers had been Free Companions, mercenaries bought by Montmaure from far away, not knowing nook and corner of the country they devastated. Montmaure, angered, had made his threat when Raimbaut, renouncing the immediate allegiance, held for Roche-de-Frêne. He had kept it, sending fire and death. But Castel-Noir might stay hidden in its fir wood. Foulque, a born sceptic, here showed one contrary streak. He was credulous now of all evil from Jaufre de Montmaure being turned aside from aught that pertained to Garin. “Certes, not after procuring you knighthood and gold!” Garin learned of the war at large. In the spring Prince Gaucelm had gathered a great host. Under Stephen the Marshal it had met and beaten as great a number, Count Savaric at the head. Savaric had been wounded, thrust back, him and his host, into his own land. Then had come with a greater host Jaufre de Montmaure, like an evil wind. His father, too, recovering, rushed again from Montmaure. Prince Gaucelm and all his knights and a host of men withstood them. Everywhere there was ringing of shields and flying of arrows. Where Montmaure came, came blight. A walled town had been taken and sacked; another, they said, was endangered. Rumour ran that Roche-de-Frêne itself must stand a siege. Montmaure was gathering a huge number of spears and countless footmen, and had an Italian who was making for him great engines. But naught this side waking to find to-night a dream could now weaken Foulque’s optimism! “Roche-de-Frêne’s no ripe plum to be picked and eaten! Pick thunderbolts from an oak that will outlive Montmaure!”