let us put an end to it. At sunrise the
horses will be ready. Good night."

Leaving her beside the dying embers, he went out upon the ramparts.
The fog was impenetrable; one could not even see the light in the
sorcerer's window.

"Damned Arabian!" growled Lapo, brandishing his fist. He sat down
beside the gate-tower, and rested his chin on his hands.

"How cold it is," he thought, "how lonely and dismal! Warfare is
what I need. Dear Lord, let me soon be killing men briskly, and
warming myself in the burning streets of Ferrara. That is what I was
begotten for. I have been lost in a maze."

Dawn approached, and Lapo was still dozing beside the gate-tower.

With the first hint of light the sentinel challenged; voices
answered outside the gate. It was old Grangioia and his sons,
calling up that they had come to visit their daughter.

"Well arrived," Lapo grunted, his brain and body sluggish from the
chill. He ordered the gate swung open.

Too late, as they rode into the courtyard, he saw that there were
nearly a score of them, all with their helmets on. Then in the fog
he heard a noise like an avalanche of ice--the clatter of countless
steel-clad men scrambling up the hillside.

While running along the wall, Lapo Cercamorte noted that the
horsemen were hanging back, content to hold the gate till reinforced.
On each side of the courtyard his soldiers were tumbling out of
their barracks and fleeing toward the keep, that inner stronghold
which was now their only haven. Dropping at last from the ramparts,
he joined this retreat. But on gaining the keep he found with him
only some thirty of his men; the rest had been caught in their beds.

Old Baldo gave him a coat of mail. Young Foresto brought him his
sword and shield. Climbing the keep-wall, Cercamorte squinted down
into the murky courtyard. That whole place now swarmed with his foes.

Arrows began to fly. A round object sailed through the air and
landed in the keep; it was the head of the Arabian.

"Who are these people?" asked Baldo, while rapidly shooting at them
with a bow. "There seem to be many knights; half the shields carry
devices. Ai! they have fired the barracks. Now we shall make them out."

The flames leaped up in great sheets, producing the effect of an
infernal noon. The masses in the courtyard, inhuman-looking in their
ponderous, barrel-shaped helmets, surged forward at the keep with a
thunderous outcry:

"Grangioia! Grangioia! Havoc on Cercamo