, while his comrades were winning fame in the
battle-front. Alas! that a bright sword should rust in these barrens!

But with the uplands peace crept into his soul and some of the mystery
of his journey. It was a brave venture, whether it failed or no, for he
had already gone beyond the pale even of men's dreams. The face of
Louis hovered before him. It needed a great king even to conceive such a
mission.... He had been sent on a king's errand too. He stood alone for
France and the Cross in a dark world. Alone, as kings should stand, for
to take all the burden was the mark of kingship. His heart bounded
at the thought, for he was young. His father had told him of that old
Flanders grandam, who had sworn that his blood came from proud kings.

But chiefly he thought of Louis with a fresh warmth of love. Surely the
King loved him, or he would not have chosen him out of many for this
fateful work. He had asked of him the ultimate service, as a friend
should. Aimery reconstructed in his inner vision all his memories of the
King: the close fair hair now thinning about the temples; the small face
still contoured like a boy's; the figure strung like a bow; the quick,
eager gestures; the blue dove's eyes, kindly and humble, as became one
whose proudest title was to be a "sergeant of the Crucified." But those
same eyes could also steel and blaze, for his father had been called the
Lion, his mother Semiramis, and his grandsire Augustus. In these wilds
Aimery was his vicegerent and bore himself proudly as the proxy of such
a monarch.

The hour came when they met the Tartar outposts. A cloud of horse swept
down on them, each man riding loose with his hand on a taut bowstring.
In silence they surrounded the little party, and their leader made signs
to Aimery to dismount. The Constable had procured for him a letter in
Tartar script, setting out the purpose of his mission. This the outpost
could not read, but they recognised some word among the characters, and
pointed it out to each other with uncouth murmurings. They were strange
folk, with eyes like pebbles and squat frames and short, broad faces,
but each horse and man moved in unison like a centaur.

With gestures of respect the Tartars signalled to the Christians to
follow, and led them for a day and a night southward down a broad
valley, where vines and fruit trees grew and peace dwelt in villages.
They passed encampments of riders like themselves, and little scurries
of horse