Masters of the Guild | Page 2

already in his thoughts. The very birds of the air seemed to welcome her. The warm southern winds were full of their warbling--beccafico, loriot, merle, citronelle, woodlark, nightingale,--every tree, copse and tuft of grass held a tiny minstrel. When the great gate opened to a fanfare of trumpets, from the castle walls there came the murmur of innumerable doves. A castle had its dove-cote as it had its poultry-yard or rabbit-warren, but the birds were not always so fearless or so many.
The song was nearly finished when the singer became aware that some one else was in the garden. A small boy, with serious dark eyes and a white pigeon in his arms, stood close by. Ranulph smiled a persuasive smile which few children could resist.
"And who are you, my lad?"
"Peirol, the gooseherd's boy," the youngster replied composedly. "You're none of the family, are you?"
"Only a jongleur. You have a great many pigeons here."
"That's why I came in when I heard you playing. Does she--Lady Philippa-- like pigeons?"
"I think she does. In fact I know she does. Why?"
"Grandfather said she would not care how many pigeons were killed to make pies. Nobody really loves them much, but me. They're fond of me too."
The boy gave a low call and a soft rush of wings was heard in every direction. Pigeons flew from tree-top, tower, parapet and gable, alighting on his head and arms until he looked like a little pigeon-tree in full bloom.
"Some of them are voyageurs," he said, strewing salted pease for the strutting, cooing, softly crowding birds. "I'm training them every day. Some day I shall know more about pigeons than any one else in the world."
Ranulph had some ado not to smile; the speaker was so small and the tone so assured. "Perhaps you will," he said. "Are they as tame with others as they are with you?" "Some others," answered Peirol gravely. "People who are patient and know how to keep still. They like you."
A slaty-blue pigeon was already pecking at Ranulph's pointed scarlet shoe for a grain lodged there. The troubadour bent down, held out his hand, and the bird walked into it. He had played with birds often enough in his vagabond early years to know their feelings. But now a wave of merry voices broke upon the garden paths.
"Peirol," he said, "I will see you again. I have a little plan for you and the pigeons which will, I think, give pleasure to Lady Philippa."
One of the entertainments arranged to take place was a feast out of doors, in a woodland glade especially suited to it. Ranulph's inspiration had to do with this.
Among the guests the only stranger was Sir Gualtier (or Walter) Giffard, younger son of a Norman family. One of his ancestors had gone to England with Duke William a hundred years before, but the family had not been on good terms with later kings and its fortunes had somewhat fallen. Every one, however, spoke with respect of this knight and his elder brother, Sir Stephen, and they had been of service to Count Thibaut during his stay in England. This Giffard had never been so far south before, and he seemed to feel that he had got into some sort of enchanted realm. He was more soldier than courtier, but his eyes said a great deal. The luxurious abundance of a Provencal castle, the smooth ease of the serving, the wit and gaiety of the people, all were new to him. He had attended state banquets, but they were as unlike the entertainment here provided as was the stern simplicity of his boyhood home in Normandy, or the rough-and- tumble camp life of recent years.
The out-of-door dinner was not a hap-hazard picnic, but neither was it in the least stiff or formal. The servants went by a short cut across the meadow to prepare the tables, while knights and ladies followed the more leisurely path along the river bank. It was a walk through fairyland. The very waters were in a holiday mood. The current strayed from one side to the other, leaving clear still pools and enticing little backwaters, and singing past the elfin islets and huge overshadowing trees, like a gleeful spirit.
Lady Philippa had never looked more lovely. As the party was not to be seen on a public road, veils and wimples were discarded, and her bright brown hair, braided in two long braids, was crowned only by a circlet of gold set with pearls and emeralds. The trailing robes worn at formal dinners would also be out of place, and she wore a bliaut or outer robe of her favorite rose-colored silk, a wide border of gold embroidery giving it weight enough to make it hang in graceful lines. The sleeves were loose and long, the