honour that I stand here alone with sheathed
sword."

Lapo kicked the pike-shafts away, and, as the door fell inward,
jumped back on guard. At the threshold, unhelmeted, stood the knight
whose long surcoat was covered with the white eagles of Este. He
spoke as follows:

"Cercamorte, this array came up against you because it was published
that you had killed and flayed Raffaele Muti, and, out of jealous
malignancy, were wearing his skin as a vest. But just now a
marvellous thing has happened, for at the foot of the hill Raffaele
Muti has been found, freshly slain by a wandered arrow. Save for
that wound his skin is without flaw. Moreover, he lived and breathed
but a moment ago. So the whole tale was false, and this war against
you outrageous. All the gentlemen who came here have gone away in
great amazement and shame, leaving me to ask pardon for what they
have done. Forgive them, Cercamorte, in the name of Christ, for they
believed themselves to be performing a proper deed."

And when Lapo found no reply in his head, Ercole Azzanera, with a
humble bow, descended from the high tower and followed the others
away.

Lapo Cercamorte sat down on a stool. "All my good men," he murmured,
"and my dear gossip, Baldo! My castle rushed by so shabby a ruse; my
name a laughing-stock! And the Marquis Azzo gave them my house as
one gives a child a leaden gimcrack to stamp on. All because of this
damned vest, this silly talisman which was to gain me her love. 'In
the name of Christ,' says my friend, Ercole Azzanera. By the Same!
If I live I will go away to the heathen, for there is no more
pleasure in Christendom."

So he sat for a while, maundering dismally, then stood up and made
for the door. He reeled. He sank down with a clash. Madonna Gemma,
stealing out from the casement niche, knelt beside him, peered into
his face, and ran like the wind down the staircase. In the hall,
with lifted robe she sped over the corpses of Cercamorte's soldiers,
seeking wine and water. These obtained, she flew back to Lapo. There
the crone found her. Between them those two dragged him down to
Madonna Gemma's chamber, stripped him, tended his wounds, and
hoisted him into the bed.

Flat on his back, Cercamorte fought over all his battles. He
quarrelled with Baldo. Again he pondered anxiously outside of
Madonna Gemma's door. He instructed the Arabian to fashion him a
charm that would overspread his ugly face with comeliness, change
his uncouthne