If it please your Grace, let this
Englishman choose such men as he trusts, and go ever before our march,
till we reach Syria, sending tidings back to us, and receiving them,
and bearing the brunt of danger for us."
"That would be indeed an honourable part," said the Queen,
thoughtfully, and she turned slowly pale, careless of her lady's
straight gaze. "He can never live to the end of it," she added, in a
low voice.
"It is better to die for the Cross than to die or live for any woman's
love," said Anne of Auch, and there was the music of faith in her soft
tones.
The Queen glanced at her, wondering how much she guessed, and suddenly
conscious that she herself had changed colour.
"And what device shall I set in this man's shield?" she asked, going
back to the beginning, in order to avoid what touched her too closely.
"A cross," answered Anne. "Let me see--why not your Grace's own? The
Cross of Aquitaine?"
But the Queen did not hear, for she was dreaming, and she saw Gilbert,
in her thoughts, riding to sure death with a handful of brave men,
riding into an ambush of the terrible Seljuks, pierced by their
arrows--one in his white throat as he reeled back in the saddle, his
eyes breaking in death. She shuddered, and then started as if waking.
"What did you say?" she asked. "I was thinking of something else."
"I said that your Grace might give him the Cross of Aquitaine for a
device," answered the Lady of Auch.
Her quiet black eyes watched the Queen, not in suspicion, but with a
sort of deep and womanly sympathy; for she herself had loved well, and
on the eighth day after she had wedded her husband, he had gone out
with others against the Moors in the southern mountains; and they had
brought him home on his shield, wrapped in salted hides, and she had
seen his face.
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