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"And if I should not live to see her again, I would have her know that my thoughts have been constantly of her." "Is not this Khawadji a caitiff knight of France? He does not seem like a Moor." The Norman nodded. "He is Garin de Biterres, a miscreant of Guienne. My brother balked him in some villainy years ago. He took me for Walter when he saw me, and let it out.
The pigeon-chase had taken the attention of de Biterres and his men so completely for a few minutes that Ranulph, without seeming to do so, came near to Lady Philippa. A tiny roll of paper encased in a withered leaf dropped from his fingers on the furred edge of her mantle. She bent to shake off the leaf and her hand closed quietly over the letter.
For the rest, sweet lady, I rejoice that I am within these walls, because you are here, and yet would I gladly go to the ends of the earth if so I might hasten your deliverance. "Ever your servant, "RANULPH D'AVIGNON." The loyal and generous words were like balm upon wounds. The last speech that Garin de Biterres had made to her that night conveyed a terrifying possibility.
Furthermore he vouchsafed the information that the leader of the mercenaries intended to leave the castle next day for the nearest seaport, where he and his men would take a ship for Ireland. Lady Philippa was destined to be the bride of Biterres himself; Alazais was to marry the second in command, Griffon de Malemort.
The hall was not large enough for this to go on indefinitely, and Ranulph suddenly bolted into the outer air, where the shouting, laughing crowd paused for breath and the pigeons went soaring into the sky. The party from the table on the dais came out to look on, and Garin de Biterres, as he saw the mounting birds, grew suspicious. "Here, Jean! Michaud!" he said sharply. "Loose the hunting hawks!"
If the rescuing party did not come before Biterres took his prisoners away and it was hardly to be hoped that they could at least they should have a fair start in pursuit of him and evidence enough to punish him, if they received even one of these missives. Peirol heard the scheme with wide-eyed gravity. At the end he nodded.
In those days he had been what Biterres now supposed him one of those vagabond singers who sang popular songs and often did tricks of jugglery, or danced, or gave acrobatic exhibitions, wherever they found an audience. The panier in which the pigeons drowsed was probably taken for a collection of costumes and properties. The pigeons could not get through the barred window of his room.
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