While still under the glamour he was given knighthood at the royal
hands, and presently was weaned from unwholesome fancies by falling in
love. The girl, Alix of Valery, was slim like a poplar and her eyes were
grey and deep as her northern waters. She had been a maid of Blanche
the Queen, and had a nun's devoutness joined to a merry soul. Under her
guiding Aimery made his peace with the Church, and became notable for
his gifts to God, for he derived great wealth from his Flemish forbears.
Yet the yeast of youth still wrought in him, and by Alix's side at night
he dreamed of other lands than his grey-green Picardy. So, when the King
took the croix d'outre mer and summoned his knights to the freeing of
Jerusalem, Sir Aimery of Beaumanoir was the first to follow. For to him,
as to others like him, the goal was no perishable city made by mortal
hands, but that beata urbs without foundations which youth builds of its
dreams.

He heard mass by the King's side and, trembling with pride, kissed the
royal hands and set out on his journey. His last memory of Louis was of
a boyish figure in a surcoat of blue samite, gazing tenderly on him as
of bidding farewell to a brother.

The Grand Master of the Templars, sitting in a furred robe in a warm
upper chamber, for he had an ague on him, spoke gloomily of the mission.
He would have preferred to make alliance with the Soldan of Egypt, and
by his aid recover the Holy Cities. "What Khakan is this?" he cried, "to
whom it is a journey of a lifetime to come nigh? What kind of Christian
will you make of men that have blood for drink and the flesh of babes
for food, and blow hither and thither on horses like sandstorms? Yours
is a mad venture, young sir, and I see no good that can come of it."
Nevertheless he wrote letters of commendation to the Prince of Antioch
and the Constable of Armenia; and he brought together all those about
the place who had travelled far inland to make a chart of the journey.

Aimery heeded little the Templar's forebodings, for his heart had grown
high again and romance was kindling his fancy. There was a knuckle of
caution in him, for he had the blood of Flemish traders in his veins,
though enriched by many nobler streams. "The profit is certain," a cynic
had whispered to him ere they left Aigues Mortes. "Should we conquer we
shall grow rich, and if we fail we shall go to heaven." The phrase had
fitted some of his moods, notably the black ones at Limasol, but no