the hunt for analogues.
Thence on to Poictiers, where the country (being his own) was perhaps
more familiar; indeed, while he was climbing the grey peaks of
Montagrier with his goal almost in sight, he turned scholiast and
glossed his former raptures.

'You are not to tell me, Gaston,' he declared, 'that my Jehane has been
untrue. She was never more wholly mine than when she gave herself to
that other, never loved me more dearly. Such power is given to women to
lead this world. It is the power of the Word, who cut Himself off and
made us His butchers in pure love. I shall do my part. I shall wed the
French girl, who in my transports will never guess that in reality
Jehane will be in my arms.' Tears filled his eyes. 'For we shall be
wedded in the sight of heaven,' he said sighing.

'Deus!' cried Gaston here, 'Such marriages may be more to the taste of
heaven than of men, Richard. Man is a creature of sense.'

'He hath a spiritual part,' said Richard, 'so rarely hidden that only
the thin fingers of a girl may get in to touch it. Then, being touched,
he knows that it is quick. Let me alone; I am not all mud nor all devil.
I shall do my duty, marry the French girl, and love my golden Jehane
until I die.'

'That is the saying of a poet and king at once, said Gaston, and really
believed it.

So they came at dusk to Autafort, a rock castle on the confines of
Perigord, held by Bertran de Born.

It looked, and was, a robber's hold, although it had a poet for
castellan. Its walls merely prolonged the precipices on which they were
founded, its towers but lifted the mountain spurs more sharply to the
sky. It dominated two watersheds, was accessible only on one side, and
then by a ridgeway; from it the valley roads and rockstrewn hillsides
could be seen for many leagues. Long before Richard was at the gate the
Lord of Autafort had had warning, and had peered down upon his suzerain
at his clambering. 'The crows shall have Richard before Richard me,'
said Bertran de Born; so he had his bridge pulled up and portcullis let
down, and Autafort showed a bald face to the newcomers.

Gaston grinned. 'Hospitality of Aquitaine! Hospitality of your duchy,
Richard.'

'By my head,' said the Count, 'if I sleep under the stars I sleep at
Autafort this night. But hear me charm this plotter.' He called at the
top of his voice, 'Ha, Bertran! Come you down, man.' The surrounding
hills echoed his cries, the jackdaws wheeled about the turrets;