diminished Aretines within the shelter of their walls.
It was, indeed, but a petty engagement, yet to those concerned it was as
serious as any pitched battle, and afforded the same chance of a wreath
of laurel or a broken head. And it seems certain that our Dante deserved
the wreath of laurel. He showed a little pale at first, according to
Guido, when the moment came to engage, and it may be that there was a
little trembling of the unseasoned members that was not to be
overmastered. But in a twinkling our Dante was as calm as a tempered
veteran, and in the thickest of the scrimmage he urged himself as
indifferent to peril as if, like Achilles in the old story, he had been
dipped in Styx.

What he told me himself later, as we rode for home, though he spoke but
little of the business and unwillingly, in reply to my eager and
frequent questionings, did but confirm what Guido related. He had, he
admitted frankly, been somewhat scared at first, but instantly he had
thought of his lady, and with that thought all terror fell away from
him, and his one desire became so to carry himself in that encounter as
to be deserving of her esteem. Afterward he told me that while he was in
the tremors of that first and unavoidable alarm he was cheered by a
miracle. You know already how the God of Love, in very person, had
ridden, visible only to the eyes of Dante, by Dante's side that night,
though the vision vanished at the time when the lances of the
Dragon-flag rode out of the sheltering wood to welcome our coming. Well,
now it seems that, when Dante was assailed by that very human, pitiable,
and pardonable pain and frailty, he suddenly became aware again of the
God of Love that was riding hard by him, but this time a little in
front, and this time on a great black war-horse. It seemed to Dante that
the wonderful youth turned a little in his saddle as he rode, and showed
his comely face to Dante and smiled, and it appeared to Dante as if Love
said to him, "Where I go, will not you go too?" And at the sound of
those words, Dante's heart was as hot as fire within his body, and he
carried himself very valiantly in the battle, as every man should that
serves his city and loves a fair woman.

Now if you that read me be at all inclined to wonder why we rode back so
rapidly to Florence on the very top of our victory, I am very ready to
tell you the why. It was Messer Griffo's doing, which is as much as to
say that it was Monna Vittoria's doin