In the late night he ended, and a hush came down on the camp while the music floated away, going up from the dark ring of men and the fire-lit faces, touching perhaps the knees of the Pyrenees and drifting thence wherever echoes go.  And the sparks of the camp-fire went straight upwards as they had done for hours, and the men that sat around it saw them go:  for long they had not seen the sparks stream upwards, for their thoughts were far away with the mandolin.  And all at once they cheered.  And Rodriguez bowed to the one whose tent he had entered, and sought permission to fight for them in the morning.

With good grace this was accorded him, and while he bowed and well expressed his thanks he felt Morano touching his elbow.  And as soon as he had gone aside with Morano that fat man’s words bubbled over and were said.

“Master, fight not for these men,” he exclaimed, “for they listen to song till midnight while the others prepare for battle.  The others will win the fight, master, and where will your castle be?”

“Morano,” said Rodriguez, “there seems to be truth in that.  Yet must we fight for the right.  For how would it be if those that have denied song should win and thrive?  The arm of every good man must be against them.  They have denied song, Morano!  We must fight against them, you and I, while we can lay sword to head.”

“Yes, indeed, master,” said Morano.  “But how shall you come by your castle?”

“As for that,” said Rodriguez, “it must some day be won, yet not by denying song.  These have given a welcome to song, and the others have driven it forth.  And what would life be if those that deny song are to be permitted to thrive unmolested by all good men?”

“I know not, master,” said Morano, “but I would have that castle.”

“Enough,” said Rodriguez.  “We must fight for the right.”

And so Rodriguez remained true to those that had heard him sing.  And they gave him a casque and breast-plate, proof, they said, against any sword, and offered a sword that they said would surely cleave any breast-plate.  For they fought not in battle with the nimble rapier.  But Rodriguez did not forsake that famous exultant sword whose deeds he knew from many an ancient song; which he had brought so far to give it its old rich drink of blood.  He believed it the bright key of the castle he was to win.

And they gave Rodriguez a good bed on the ground in the tent of the three leaders, the tent to which he first came; for they honoured him for the gift of song that he had, and because he was a stranger, and because he had asked permission to fight for them in their battle.  And Rodriguez took one look by the light of a lantern at the rose he had carried from Lowlight, then slept a sleep through whose dreams loomed up the towers of castles.

Dawn came and he slept on still; but by seven all the camp was loudly astir, for they had promised the enemy to begin the battle at eight.  Rodriguez breakfasted lightly; for, now that the day of his dreams was come at last and all his hopes depended on the day, an anxiety for many things oppressed him.  It was as though his castle, rosy and fair in dreams, chilled with its huge cold rocks all the air near it:  it was as though Rodriguez touched it at last with his hands and felt a dankness of which he had never dreamed.