English, and Hugh agreed that there was much in what he
said. But Grey Dick, who was no courtier, did not agree. Indeed, of a
sudden he broke in, offering in his bad French to fight any cross-bow
man in Genoa at six score yards, so that the Duke might learn which was
the better weapon. But Hugh trod on his foot and explained that he meant
something quite different, being no master of the French tongue. So that
cloud passed by.

The end of it was that this Duke, or Doge, whose name they learned was
Simon Boccanera, gave them safe conduct through all his dominion, with
an order for relays of horses. Also he made use of them to take a letter
to the Doge of Venice, between which town and Genoa, although they hated
each other bitterly, there was at the moment some kind of hollow truce.
So having drunk a cup of wine with him they bade him farewell.

Next morning the horses arrived, and with them two led beasts to carry
their baggage, in charge of a Genoese guide. So they departed on their
long ride of something over two hundred English miles, which they hoped
to cover in about a week. In fact, it took them ten days, for the roads
were very rough and the pack-beasts slow. Once, too, after they had
entered the territory of Venice, they were set on in a defile by four
thieves, and might have met their end had not Grey Dick's eyes been so
sharp. As it was he saw them coming, and, having his bow at hand, for he
did not like the look of the country or its inhabitants, leaped to earth
and shot two of them with as many arrows, whereon the other two ran
away. Before they went, however, they shot also and killed a pack-beast,
so that the Englishmen were obliged to throw away some of their gear and
go on with the one that remained.

At length, on the eleventh afternoon, they saw the lovely city of
Venice, sparkling like a cluster of jewels, set upon its many islands
amid the blue waters of the Adriatic. Having crossed some two miles of
open water by a ferry which plied for the convenience of travellers,
they entered the town through the western gate, and inquired as best
they could (for now they had no guide, the Genoese having left them long
before) for the house of Sir Geoffrey Carleon, the English Envoy. For
a long while they could make no one understand. Indeed, the whole place
seemed to be asleep, perhaps because of the dreadful heat, which lay
over it like a cloud and seemed to burn them to the very bones.

Perplexed and outwo