The manuscripts tell a curious story with regard to this treachery. The reader will remember that at the beginning of the war Henry had entered into a league with the King of Aragon. This king was Alfonso II., well known as one of the most liberal protectors of the troubadours, who in return lavished their praise upon him. Bertran de Born was on terms of intimacy with him, and the manuscript tells us that ‘he was very glad that King Alfonso was amongst the besieging army, for he was his most especial friend.’ It appears that Castle Autafort was better provided with meat and drink than the camp, for King Alfonso, on the ground of their intimacy, asked Bertran for a supply of bread, wine, and meat. This the troubadour generously granted, but in return asked another favour, which was nothing less than that the King of Aragon should use his authority to remove the besieging engines from a certain side of the castle where the wall was rotten and would give way easily. Such a demand implied the fullest confidence in him to whom it was made, and this confidence unfortunately turned out to be misplaced. The King of Aragon immediately betrayed the secret to Henry; the assault was directed against the weak point of the defences, and the castle fell. Such is the story as told by Bertran’s biographer, and, if true, it fully accounts for the troubadour’s implacable hatred evinced by many poetic onslaughts on the private and political character of Alfonso. But we ought to hesitate in condemning on such doubtful evidence the conduct of a king who by the all but unanimous testimony of contemporary writers was a model of knightly virtues and wholly incapable of the base treachery here laid to his charge. However this may have been, Bertran’s castle was taken, and he a prisoner in the hands of his bitterest enemies. But even in this extremity Bertran’s genius did not forsake him, and it is on this occasion chiefly that we catch a glimpse of that undauntable strength of character which, combined with a keen insight into the secret springs of human impulse, explains his extraordinary sway over men’s minds. I follow closely the graphic account of the Provençal manuscript:—‘After the castle was taken Sir Bertran, with all his people, was brought to the tent of King Henry. And the King received him very ill, and said to him, ‘“Bertran, Bertran! you have boasted that never half of your sense would be needful to you at any time, but know that now you stand in need of the whole of it.” ‘“Sir,” replied Bertran, “it is true that I have said so, and I have spoken the truth.” ‘And the King said, “Then now, it seems, you have lost your wits altogether.” ‘“Sir,” said Bertran, “it is true that I have lost all my wits.” ‘“And how is that?” replied the King. ‘“Sir,” said Bertran, “the day that the valiant young Henry your son died I lost sense and cunning and consciousness.”