"Yes, excellency," he said, "they are good horses, notably the two barbs which the Soldan Djem presented to his eminence, but there are other two now in our stables, belonging to the Sieur de Bayard, the like of which I have never seen. They are this way, excellency, if you will but accompany me." I readily assented, and passing by the barbs, whose slight delicate frames belied their powers of speed and endurance, we came to a couple of stalls, in which there were a pair of war-horses that fully justified the head groom's praise. They were both English, and I recognised the breed, as Hawkwood had brought three or four with him from Britain, saying, and with truth, that they were the only animals that could ever carry him when in full mail. But the two before me in the stables were as superior to Hawkwood's as a barb is to a mule. One was the great bay Bayard was riding on the day of my trial, when he accompanied the duke and his staff back to Arezzo. The other was a blue roan, whose colour did not show off his size to advantage, but whose broad chest, sloping shoulders, and lean flanks marked his power. His eyes were mild and soft, yet full of fire, and his small head was set like that of a stag upon his strong neck. Two grooms, bearing on their liveries the arms of the house of Terrail, of which the Seigneur de Bayard was chief, were in attendance, and set to work with a somewhat unnecessary zeal on our appearance to polish the coats of their charges which already shone like satin. Whilst engaged in admiring these splendid animals, I heard the deep bay of the hound behind me, and turning, saw Bayard himself who had come to visit his favourites. I complimented him on the possession of two such steeds, as who would not have done, and Bayard said-- "Yes, they are fine animals, truly the finest I have ever seen, except perhaps the one-eyed Savoy, who was also of the same breed; and yet I am not sure," and he ran his eyes over the horses. "They were given to me, along with Bran here"--he touched the head of the hound--"by His Majesty, Henry of England, when I was taken prisoner in the English War." "A noble gift." "Yes--from a noble prince. And you really admire them, cavaliere?" "Yes--and I knew Savoy too, and doubt if he was better." "What can knight want more? A good horse, a good hound,"--and his face saddened a little--"a true love. _Pardieu!_ but I must see to that last. My castle on the Garonne needs a chatelaine." I said nothing, knowing of the one great sorrow of his life, which he bore so bravely, and which I knew had bitten to his heart for all his gay words.