t he may fetch his book and tell us what are the arms of de
Noyon and Cattrina, with all their colourings and details."

The Doge beckoned to an officer in a broidered tabard, who with bows,
without needing to fetch any book, described the crest and arms of
Cattrina in full particular. He added that, to his knowledge, these were
borne by no other family or man in Italy, France, or England.

"Then you would know them if you saw them?" said Hugh.

"Certainly, cavalier. On it I stake my repute as a herald."

Now while all wondered what this talk might mean, the Doge and Acour
most of any, although the latter grew uneasy, fearing he knew not what,
Hugh whispered to Dick. Then Dick loosed the mouth of the leather sack
he carried, and out of it tumbled on to the marble floor a whole suit of
blood-stained armour.

"Whence came these?" asked Hugh of Dick.

"Off the body of the night, Sir Pierre de la Roche, whom you slew at
Crecy. I stripped him of them myself."

"Whose crest and cognizance are these, herald?" asked Hugh again,
lifting the helm and shield and holding them on high that all might see.

The herald stepped forward and examined them.

"Without doubt," he said slowly, "they are those of the lord of
Cattrina. Moreover," he added, "five years ago I limned yonder swan
upon this very shield with my own hand. I did it as a favour to Cattrina
there, who said that he would trust the task to none but an artist."

Now the silence grew intense, so much so that the rustle of a lady's
dress sounded loud in the great hall.

"What say you now, my lord of Cattrina?" asked the Doge.

"I say that there is some mistake, Illustrious. Even if there were
none," he added slowly, "for their own good and lawful purposes knights
have changed armour before to-day."

"There is no mistake!" cried Hugh in a ringing voice. "This signor of so
many names is a signor of many coats also, which he can change to save
his skin. He wore that of Sir Pierre de la Roche to protect himself from
the vengeance of the King of England and of the English squire whom he
had wronged. He took mercy from the hand of that squire, who, as he knew
well, would have shown him none had he guessed the truth. He left the
poor knight, whom he had bribed to be his double, to die beneath that
same squire's hand who thought him named de Noyon. Therefore the blood
of this de la Roche is on his head. Yet these are small matters of
private conduct, and one that is gre