;
others on narrow points of Latinity. There was a feud among the
Platonists on a matter of interpretation, in which already
stilettos had been drawn. More bitter still was the strife about
mistresses--kitchen-wenches and courtesans, where one scholar stole
shamelessly from the other and decked with names like Leshia and
Erinna.... Philip sickened at what he had before tolerated, for he had
brought back with him from the north a quickened sense of sin. Maybe
the Bishop of Beauvais had been right. What virtue was there in this new
knowledge if its prophets were apes and satyrs! Not here grew the Wood
of Life. Priapus did not haunt its green fringes.

His mind turned towards Venice. There the sea was, and there men dwelt
with eyes turned to spacious and honourable quests, not to monkish hells
and heavens or inward to unclean hearts. And in Venice in a tavern off
the Merceria he spoke with destiny.

It was a warm evening, and, having dined early, he sought the balcony
which overlooked the canal. It was empty but for one man who sat at
a table with a spread of papers before him on which he was intently
engaged. Philip bade him good evening, and a face was raised which
promptly took his fancy. The stranger wore a shabby grey doublet, but he
had no air of poverty, for round his neck hung a massive chain of gold,
and his broad belt held a richly chased dagger. He had unbuckled his
sword, and it lay on the table holding down certain vagrant papers which
fluttered in the evening wind. His face was hard and red like sandstone,
and around his eyes were a multitude of fine wrinkles. It was these
eyes that arrested Philip. They were of a pale brown as if bleached by
weather and gazing over vast spaces; cool and quiet and friendly, but
with a fire burning at the back of them. The man assessed Philip at
a glance, and then, as if liking what he found in him, smiled so that
white furrows appeared in his tanned cheeks. With a motion of his hand
he swept aside his papers and beckoned the other to sit with him. He
called on the drawer to bring a flask of Cyprus.

"I was about to have my evening draught," he said. "Will you honour me
with your company, sir?"

The voice was so pleasant that Philip, who was in a mood to shun talk,
could not refuse. He sat down by the board, and moved aside a paper to
make room for the wine. He noticed that it was a map.

The Bishop of Cambray had made him curious about such things. He drew
it to him, an