"Good!" laughed the troubadour. "That was a lucky answer, Peirol. And here
comes the cook to make the pie."

The cook, a stout beady-eyed little man, eyed the two somewhat sulkily,
but went away grinning over Ranulph's jokes and fingering Ranulph's
generous fee. 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 other two demoiselles were to
be taken to Ireland, where the King would doubtless find them husbands. If
they would not agree to this they were to be sold to a Moslem slave-dealer
whose galley was somewhere about. The servants and defenders of the castle
had been herded into various rooms and locked up. The cook himself did not
mind a little recklessness on the part of military adventurers such as
these routiers, but he felt that this sort of thing was perilous. He
intended to give them the slip at the first opportunity, and they could
cook their own soup if they liked.

The plot, infamous as it was, had unfortunately nothing impossible about
it. Four unprotected girls could be taken in guarded litters to the sea-
coast and shipped to Ireland or to Cadiz, Valencia, Alexandria or Morocco
with no difficulty whatever unless some one got wind of the fact. As for
the Irish King, a man who had the sort of record he had, was not likely to
quibble over the means used by Biterres in getting himself a bride. And
before the captives within the castle could reach even the nearest of
their friends and bring help, the whole troop would have left the country.

Through the huge carved open-work screen at the end of the hall, after