mighty lists would fall. Arcite now put up his helmet, and, curveting
his horse through the open space, smiled to Emily, when a fire from
Pluto started out of the earth; the horse shied, and his rider was
thrown on his head on the ground. When he was lifted, his breast was
broken, and his face was as black as coal. Then there was grief in
Athens; every one wept. Soon after, Arcite, feeling the cold death
creeping up from his feet and darkening his face and eyes, called
Palamon and Emily to his bedside, when he joined their hands, and died.
The dead body was laid on a pile, dressed in splendid war gear; his
naked sword was placed by his side; the pile was heaped with gums,
frankincense, and odours; a torch was applied; and when the flames rose
up, and the smoky fragrance rolled to heaven, the Greeks galloped round
three times, with a great shouting and clashing of shields."

The Man of Law's tale runs in this wise:

"There dwelt in Syria once a company of merchants, who scented every
land with their spices. They dealt in jewels, and cloth of gold, and
sheeny satins. It so happened that while some of them were dwelling in
Rome for traffic, the people talked of nothing save the wonderful
beauty of Constance, the daughter of the emperor. She was so fair that
every one who looked upon her face fell in love with her. In a short
time the ships of the merchants, laden with rich wares, were furrowing
the green sea, going home. When they came to their native city they
could talk of nothing but the marvellous beauty of Constance. Their
words being reported to the Sultan, he determined that none other
should be his wife; and for this purpose he abandoned the religion of
the false prophet, and was baptised in the Christian faith.
Ambassadors passed between the courts, and the day came at length when
Constance was to leave Rome for her husband's palace in Syria. What
kisses and tears and lingering embraces! What blessings on the little
golden head which was so soon to lie in the bosom of a stranger! What
state and solemnity in the procession which wound down from the shore
to the ship! At last it was Syria. Crowds of people were standing on
the beach. The mother of the Sultan was there; and when Constance
stepped ashore, she took her in her arms and kissed her as if she had
been her own child. Soon after, with trumpets and melody and the
trampling of innumerable horses, the Sultan came. Everything was joy
and happi