Part 21

"You mew too lewdly to be true," he asserted, contemptuously. "Your sincere kiss-winner has no leisure to sing of it."

Sir Guy made him an extravagant bow.

"Suave Sir Jaufre," he said; "smooth Sir Jaufre, by that count you should write red ballads of battles."

There came a faint laugh from some of the hearers, others raised their eyebrows and drew nearer. The war of wits promised to quicken. Count Ernault, coming from the palace and conference with Duke Baldwin, spied the excited group and drew nigh. As he came near he heard Sir Jaufre interrogate his critic.

"Your meaning?"

Sir Guy, still with the same air of extravagant respect, explained, syllabling, with laborious slowness:

"I mean that if I am no lucky lover you are no famous fighter."

Sir Jaufre propped his hand on his chin for a moment as one drowned in deep thought. Then his eyes travelled slowly along the little line of listeners.

"Who can tell me the Latin for 'braggart'?" he asked, meditatively.

There was a little silence. Scholarship was not a strong point of Duke Baldwin's companions. Then Fernand Ximenes, to end or extend the embarrassment, asked:

"Why the Latin?"

Sir Jaufre made a deprecating gesture.

"That it may serve for Guy's epitaph to-night," he interpreted.

Sir Guy laughed again very softly, swaying a little backward and forward, as one exceedingly amused.

"Do you think," he asked, "that any one will kill me to-night for killing you this morning?"

Sir Jaufre spoke again, not to Guy, but still to the constrained, attentive circle:

"I do not know the Latin for 'braggart,'" he said, thoughtfully, "but I know the French for 'fool.'"

"Why, so do I," Sir Guy agreed, instantly; "it is Jaufre de Brabant."

Every one of the hearers laughed at this, coming so crisp and pat, but Sir Jaufre sprang to his feet.

"Up sword, and out!" he cried, and drew his weapon.

Sir Guy as swiftly bared his blade, and it seemed for a moment as if to the many images of life the court-yard presented that of a battle to the death was to be added. Only for a moment, for instantly Count Ernault thrust his white staff of marshalship between the combatants.

"House your swords, gentlemen," he insisted, peremptorily. "Do you not know the day's law? There shall be no challenge taken, no quarrel honored in arms, save in the tourney and under the eye of Duke Baldwin. For to-day the duke's son marries the Duchess Esclaramonde of Thebes, and on such a day there may be no brawling; wherefore, close hands in amity."

Sir Jaufre sulkily calm, Sir Guy seraphically affable, extended each a hand, and clasped in sign of formal peace. The somewhat awkward silence that followed on this stifled brawl and seeming reconciliation was strangely interrupted. Outside the great gate came the clear sound of the note of a horn, which immediately attracted the attention of every man in the court-yard and every woman at the palace windows.

"What belated knight is this?" cried Ambrose of Blois, pleased at the interruption, for he liked both the disputants.

The lord-marshal shook his head.

"I thought that every expected knight was in the castle," he answered, and had hardly finished speaking when the horn was wound a second time.

"It is a baron's summons," Ximenes exclaimed, pleased to air his intimacy with Frankish etiquette, and on the heels of his exclamation came a third time, louder and clearer, the note of the great horn.

"By the Lord!" cried Count Ernault, "this is a prince's parley," and he turned to the giants at the gate.