latter knew that they had no mercy to expect, and
although weakened by the loss of nearly a third of their number in the
fighting on shore, sprang from their benches, and rushed to oppose
their assailants, with the desperation of despair. They were led by
Ruggiero Mocenigo, who, furious at the failure of his schemes, and
preferring death to the shame of being carried to Venice as a pirate
and a traitor, rushed upon the Venetians with a fury which, at first,
carried all before it. Supported by his Moors and renegades he drove
back the boarders, and almost succeeded in clearing the deck of his
vessel.

He himself engaged hand-to-hand with the commander of the Venetian
galley, and at the third thrust ran him through the throat; but the
Venetians, although they had yielded to the first onslaught, again
poured over the bulwarks of the galley. Polani, burning to punish the
man who had so repeatedly tried to injure him, accompanied them,
Francis keeping close beside him.

"Ruggiero Mocenigo, traitor and villain, your time has come!"

Ruggiero started at hearing his name thus proclaimed, for on board his
own ship he was simply known as the captain; but in the dim light he
recognized Polani, and at once crossed swords with him.

"Be not so sure, Polani. Perhaps it is your time that has come."

The two engaged with fury. Polani was still strong and vigorous. His
opponent had the advantage of youth and activity. But Polani's weight
and strength told, and he was forcing his opponent back, when his foot
slipped on the bloodstained deck. He fell forward; and in another
moment Ruggiero would have run him through the body; had not the weapon
been knocked up by Francis, who, watching every movement of the fight,
sprang forward when he saw the merchant slip.

"This time, Ruggiero, my hands are free. How about your vengeance now?"

Ruggiero gave a cry of astonishment, at seeing the lad whom he believed
to be lying in chains, five hundred miles away, facing him. For a
moment he recoiled, and then with the cry, "I will take it now," sprang
forward. But this time he had met an opponent as active and as capable
as himself.

For a minute or two they fought on even terms, and then Ruggiero fell
suddenly backwards, a crossbow bolt, from one of the Venetians on the
poop of the vessel, having struck him full in the forehead.

Without their leader, the spirit of the pirates had fled. They still
fought, steadily and desperately, but it wa