ose. I pray you, my lady, come with
me and see him for yourself.'

The face of Gibourc grew red when she heard the porter's words, and
she left the Palace and mounted the battlements, where she called
across the fosse, 'Warrior, what is your will?'

'Oh, lady!' answered he, 'open the gate, and that quickly. Twenty
thousand Saracens are close upon my track; if they reach me, I am a
dead man.'

'You cannot enter,' replied Gibourc. 'I am alone here except for this
porter, a priest, a few children, and some ladies whose husbands are
all at the war. Neither gate nor wicket will be opened until the
return of my beloved lord, William the Count.' Then William bowed his
head for a moment, and two tears ran down his cheeks.

'My lady, I am William himself,' said he. 'Do you not know me?'

'Infidel, you lie,' replied Gibourc. 'Take off your helmet, and let me
see who you are!'

But the Count in his thought felt the earth trembling under his feet
from the steps of the accursed ones. 'Noble Countess,' cried he, 'this
is no time to parley. Look round you! Is not every hill covered with
Pagans?'

'Ah, now I know you are not William,' answered she, 'for all the
Pagans in the world would never have stirred him with fear. By St.
Peter! neither gate nor wicket shall be opened till I have seen your
face. I am alone and must defend myself. The voices of many men are
alike.'

Then the Count lifted his helmet: 'Lady, look and be content. I am
William himself. Now let me in.'

Gibourc knew that it was indeed the Count who had returned, and was
about to order the gates to be opened when there appeared in sight a
troop of Saracens escorting two hundred prisoners, all of them young
Knights, and thirty ladies with fair white faces. Each one was loaded
with chains, and they cowered under the blows of their captors. Their
cries and prayers for mercy reached the ears of Gibourc, and,
changing her mind, she said quickly: 'There is the proof that you are
not William my husband, the "Strong Arm," whose fame has spread far!
For _he_ would never have suffered his brethren to be so shamefully
entreated while he was by!'

'Heavens!' cried the Count, 'to what hard tests does she put me! But
if I lose my head I will do her bidding, for what is there that I
would _not_ do for the love of God and of her!' Without a word more he
turned, and, relacing his helmet, spurred his horse at the Saracens
with his lance in rest. So sudden and fierce was his