ind Alain's bier, which was already in the
street.

The Sire de Pirenne lay upon a huge square of red samite edged with
gold, draped over the flat bed of a four-wheeled cart. Red ribbons were
woven into the spokes of the wheels. The two farm horses that drew the
cart, chosen for their docility, also wore red surcoats. Red, for
martyrdom. Red for the blood poor Alain had shed. Simon sighed inwardly
and hoped that God considered Alain a martyr and had taken him up to
heaven. Had he not died while in the service of the Church? Was this not
a crusade in all but name?

Alain was dressed in a white linen surcoat and a white silk mantle.
Simon, Henri de Puys and the other four knights had dressed him
themselves. What agony! The struggle to get poor dead Alain's big frame
into his garments had taken nearly an hour.

Thank heaven de Puys had stopped Simon from trying to dress Alain in his
mail shirt and hose, as Simon had originally intended. De Puys pointed
out that Alain's family were poor, and that Alain's younger brother
would have need of the expensive armor. So the armor would be sent back
to the Gobignon domain along with the news that Alain was dead.

Oh, the woe Alain's widowed mother and younger brother would feel when
Simon's letter reached them! Friar Mathieu had helped him compose the
impossible lines, but Simon still felt they were not gentle enough, not
comforting enough. He hated himself for feeling relieved that Alain's
family was too far away for him to deliver the news in person. He had
done the best he could, sending the letter and Alain's armor to his
chaplain at Chateau Gobignon with instructions to take it personally to
the de Pirennes and read it to them, offering them all possible
consolation, they being almost certainly unlettered.

Around Alain's waist was clasped his jeweled belt of knighthood, and to
his leather boots were fastened his knight's silver spurs. His
velvet-gloved hands, resting on his chest, grasped the hilt of his naked
longsword. Simon would buy another sword for his brother. His helmet,
polished to mirror brightness by his sobbing equerry, rested beside his
blond head. His shield, square at the top and pointed at the bottom,
blazoned with five black eaglets on a gold ground, lay crosswise at his
feet. Those things Alain must take to his final rest.

Simon's stomach was a hollow of anguish. Those splendid arms, and Alain
had never had a chance to use any of them.

A breeze stir