sat Jehane, in a red gown, upon her golden head a circlet of dull silver, with the leaves and thorns which made up the coronet of a countess.  Richard bade sound the silver trumpets, and his herald proclaim her three times, to the north, to the east, and to the south, as ’the most puissant and peerless princess, Madame Jehane, by the grace of God Countess of Poictou, Duchess of Aquitaine, consort of our illustrious dread lord Monsire Richard, Count and Duke of the same.’  Himself, gloriously attired in a bliaut of white velvet and gold, with a purple cloak over his shoulder, sustained in a tenzon with the chief trobadors of Languedoc, that she was ’the most pleasant lovely lady now on earth, or ever known there since the days of Madame Dido, Queen of Carthage, and Madame Cleopatra, Empress of Babylon’—­unfortunate examples both, as some thought.

Minstrels and poets of the greatest contended with him; Saill had her champion in Guillem of Cabestaing, Elis in Girault of Borneilh; the Dauphin of Auvergne sang of Tibors, and Peire Vidal of Lady Maent.  Towards the end came sideways in that dishevelled red fox (whom nothing shamed), Bertran de Born himself, looked askance at the Count, puffed out his cheeks to give himself assurance, and began to sing of Jehane in a way that brought tears to Richard’s eyes.  It was Bertran who dubbed her with the name she ever afterwards went by throughout Poictou and the south, the name of Bel Vezer.  Richard at the end clipped him in his arms, and with one arm still round his wicked neck led him to the tribune where Jehane sat blushing.  ’Take him into your favour, Lady Bel Vezer,’ he said to her.  ’Whatever his heart may be, he hath a golden tongue.’  Jehane, stooping, lent him her cheek, and Bertran fairly kissed her whom he had sought to undo.  Then turning, fired with her favour, he let his shrill voice go spiring to heaven in her praise.

For these feats Bertran was appointed to her household, as I have said.  He made no secret of his love for her, but sang of her night and day, and delighted Richard’s generous heart.  But indeed Jehane won the favour of most.  If she was not so beautiful as Saill, she was more courteous, if not so pious as Elis, more the woman for that.  There were many, misled by her petulant lips and watchful eyes, to call her sulky:  these did not judge her silence favourably.  They thought her cold, and so she was to all but one; their eyes might have told them what she was to him, and how when they met in love, to kiss or cling, their two souls burned together.  And if she made a sweet lover, she promised to be a rare Countess.  Her judgment was never at fault; she was noble, and her sedate gravity showed her to be so.  She was no talker, and had great command over herself; but she was more pale than by ordinary, and her eyes were burning bright.  The truth was, she was in a fever of apprehension, restless, doomed, miserable; devouringly in love, yet dreading to be loved.  So, more and more evidently in pain, she walked her part through the blare of festival as Pentecost drew nigh.