So settle down, sirs, and be quiet now, and you'll hear fine words if it please you to attend! The redoubtable Prince of Wales kept Bertrand prisoner for a long time; he wouldn't release him, and no one dared say a word about it, for the Prince, I understand, had one obvious concern – that his father King Edward, at this time back in England, might be forced by some act of rebellion to resume his war with France, which had caused such suffering to so many. And that was indeed about to happen, as I've heard.

But Bertrand was finally released in return for ransom. What happened was this: one day the Prince had risen from dinner and adjourned to his private apartments with his barons to serve spiced wine. Soon their talk turned to fine tales of love and war, of knights who'd died or been captured and ransomed, and of crusading matters – how Saint Louis, on his mission to save his soul, had let himself be captured at Tunis and been weighed to fix his ransom at his own weight in gold. Finally the Prince couldn't help but interject:

‘If a good warrior knight is captured in fair and chivalrous fight, and surrenders as a prisoner under oath, he shouldn't leave or break free from imprisonment till his captor says “You may go!” But nor should so high a ransom be set that he can't afford to arm himself again.’

The lord of Albret pricked up his ears at this and felt he had to comment. ‘My noble lord,’ he said, ‘don't take offence if I tell you what's being said behind your back.’

‘Truly,’ the Prince replied, ‘if any good knight who dines with me hears anything to my detriment, I shan't feel well disposed towards him if he keeps it from me, and fails to warn me of a threat to my life or advise me how my honour might be enhanced.’

‘Then I'll speak plainly,’ Albret said. ‘People are saying you're holding prisoner a certain knight I could well name, because you're frightened to release him for fear of the damage he might inflict.’

‘I've often heard that, too,’ said Olivier de Clisson.