AT THE PLACE OF ARMS
Notwithstanding all that has been told, Hugh and Dick never slept more
soundly than they did that night, nor was their rest broken by any
dreams. At half past five in the morning--for they must be stirring
early--David came to call them. He too, it seemed, had slept well. Also
in the light of day the worst of his fear had left him.
“I am wondering, Sir Hugh,” he said, looking at him curiously, “whether
I saw certain things last night down yonder at the Place of Arms and in
the boat, or whether I thought I saw them.”
“Doubtless you thought you saw them, David,” answered Hugh, adding with
meaning, “and it is not always well to talk of things we think that we
have seen.”
The lad, who was sharp enough, nodded. But as he turned to hand Hugh
some garment his eye fell upon the swan-crested helm that was still
nailed by the long war-shaft with two black feathers and one white to
the carved olivewood post of the bed.
“It must have been a mighty arm that shot this arrow, Sir Hugh,” he said
reflectively, “which could pierce a casque of Milan steel from side to
side and a hardwood post beyond. Well for the owner of the helm that his
head was not inside of it.”
“Very well, and a very mighty arm, David. So mighty that I should say
nothing about it for fear lest it should set another arrow upon another
string and shoot again.”
“God’s truth, not I!” exclaimed David, “and for your comfort, sir, know
that none saw us leave this house or reënter it last night.”
Then Hugh and Dick clothed themselves and saw to their weapons and mail,
but this they did not don as yet, fearing lest the weight of it should
weary them in that great heat. Although the day was so young, this heat
was terrible, more oppressive indeed than any they had yet known in
Venice.
When they were ready David left them to see to the horse which de Cressi
would ride in his combat with Cattrina. Hugh, as became a God-fearing
knight whom Sir Andrew Arnold had instructed from childhood, crossed
himself, knelt down and said his prayers, which that morning were long
and earnest. Indeed he would have confessed himself also if he could,
only there was no priest at hand who knew his language, Sir Geoffrey’s
chaplain being away. After watching him a while even Grey Dick, whose
prayers were few, followed his example, kneeling in front of his bow as
though it were an image that he worshipped. When they had risen again,
he said:
“You grieve that there is none to shrive us, master, but I hold
otherwise, since when it was told what company we kept last night
absolution might be lacking. This would weigh on you if not on me, who,
after what I have learned of Father Nicholas and others, love but one
priest, and he far away.”
“Yet it is well to have the blessings of Holy Church ere such a business
as ours, Dick; that is, if it can be come by.”
“Mayhap, master. But for my part I am content with that of Murgh, which
he gave us, you may remember, or so I understood him. Moreover, did he
not teach that he and all are but ministers of Him above? Therefore I go
straight to the head of the stair,” and he nodded toward the sky. “I am
content to skip all those steps which are called priests and altars and
popes and saints and such-like folk, living or dead. If Murgh’s wisdom
be true, as I think, these are but garnishings to the dish which can
well be spared by the hungry soul.”
“That may be,” Hugh answered dubiously, for his faith in such matters
was that of his time. “Yet were I you, Dick, I’d not preach that
philosophy too loud lest the priests and popes should have something to
say to it. The saints also, for aught I know, since I have always heard
that they love not to be left out of our account with heaven.”
“Well, if so,” answered Dick, “I’ll quote St. Murgh to them, who is a
very fitting patron for an archer.” Then once again he glanced at the
helm and the arrow with something not unlike fear in his cold eye.
Presently they went down to the eating chamber where they had been told
that breakfast would be ready for them at seven of the clock. There they
found Sir Geoffrey awaiting them.
“I trust that you have slept well, Sir Hugh,” he said. “You were a wise
knight to go to rest so early, having before you such a trial of your
strength and manhood, and, so to speak, the honour of our King upon your
hands.”
“Very well indeed; thank you, sir,” answered Hugh. “And you?”
“Oh, ill, extremely ill. I do not know what is the matter with me or
Venice either, whereof the very air seems poisoned. Feel the heat and
see the haze! It is most unnatural. Moreover, although in your bed
doubtless you saw it not, a great ball of fire blazed and burnt over the
city last night. So bright was it that even in a darkened room each of
us could see the colour of the other’s eyes. Later, too, as I watched at
the window, there came a thin streak of flame that seemed to alight on
or about this very house. Indeed I thought I heard a sound as of iron
striking upon iron, but could find no cause for it.”
“Wondrous happenings, sir,” said Grey Dick. “Glad am I that we were not
with you, lest the sight of them should have made us fearful on this
morning of combat.”
“Wondrous happenings indeed, friend Richard,” said Sir Geoffrey
excitedly, “but you have not heard the half of them. The herald, who has
just been here with the final articles of your fray signed by the Doge
and Cattrina, has told me much that I can scarce believe. He says that
the great galley from this port which is called _Light of the East_
drifted up to the quay at the Place of Arms last night on her return
voyage from Cyprus, filled with dead and with no living thing aboard her
save the devil himself in a yellow robe and a many-hued head-dress like
a cock’s-comb with a red eye. He swears that this fiend landed and that
the mob set on him, whereon two, some say three, other devils clad in
long black gowns appeared out of the water and drove them back. Also,
it seems that this same cock’s-combed Satan stole a boat and rowed about
the city afterward, but now none can find him, although they have got
the boat.”
“Then they should be well satisfied,” said Hugh, “since its owner has
lost nothing but the hire, which with Satan at the oars is better than
might be hoped. Perhaps he was not there after all, Sir Geoffrey.”
“I know not, but at least the galley _Light of the East_ is there, for
ever since the dawn they have been taking the dead out of her to bury
them. Of these they say things too terrible to repeat, for no doctor can
tell of what sickness they died, never having seen its like. For my part
I pray it may not be catching. Were I the Doge I would have towed her
out to sea and scuttled her, cargo and all. Well, well, enough of these
wild tales, of which God alone knows the truth. Come, eat, if you can in
this heat. We must be on the Place of Arms by half-past eight. You and
the captain go thither in my own boat, Sir Hugh; your horse David Day
takes on presently. Now, while you breakfast, I’ll explain to you these
articles, one by one, for they are writ in Italian, which you cannot
read. See you forget them not. These Venetians are punctilious of such
forms and ceremonies, especially when the case is that of combat to the
death, which is rare among them.”
The articles, which were lengthy, had been read, and the breakfast, or
so much as they could eat of it, consumed. At last Hugh, accompanied by
a Venetian squire of high birth sent by the Doge to bear his casque and
other armour, stood in the vestibule waiting for the ambassador’s barge
of state. With him was Grey Dick, accompanied by no one and carrying the
mail shirt in which he was to fight, like a housewife’s parcel beneath
his arm, although he wore bow on back, axe and dagger at side and iron
cap upon his head.
Presently, while they lingered thus, out from a side-door appeared
Lady Carleon, clothed in a white garment such as women wear when their
dressing is half done, down which her grey hair hung dishevelled.
“I am come thus unkempt, Sir Hugh,” she said, “for, not feeling well, I
could not rise early, to bid you good-bye, since I am sure that we shall
not meet again. However much that black-browed Doge may press it, I
cannot go down yonder to see my countrymen butchered in this heat. Oh!
oh!” and she pressed her hand upon her heart.
“What’s the matter, madam?” asked Hugh anxiously.
“A pain in my breast, that is all, as though some one drove a dagger
through me. There, there, ‘tis gone.”
“I thank you for your goodness, Lady Carleon,” said Hugh when she was
herself again; then paused, for he knew not what to add.
“Not so, Sir Hugh, not so; ‘tis for your sakes in truth since you
remember you never told me what you would wish done--afterward. Your
possessions also--where are they to be sent? Doubtless you have money
and other things of value. Be sure that they shall be sealed up. I’ll
see to it myself, but--how shall I dispose of them?”
“Madame, I will tell you when I return,” said Hugh shortly.
“Nay, nay, Sir Hugh; pray do not return. Those who are gone had best
keep gone, I think, who always have had a loathing of ghosts. Therefore,
I beg you, tell me now, but do not come back shining like a saint and
gibbering like a monkey at dead of night, because if you do I am sure
I shall not understand, and if there is an error, who will set it
straight?”
Hugh leaned against a marble pillar in the hall and looked at his
hostess helplessly, while Sir Geoffrey, catching her drift at length,
broke in:
“Cease such ill-omened talk, wife. Think you that it is of a kind to
give brave men a stomach in a fight to the end?”
“I know not, Geoffrey, but surely ‘tis better to have these matters
settled, for, as you often say, death is always near us.”
“Ay, madam,” broke in Grey Dick, who could bear no more of it, “death
is always near to all of us, and especially so in Venice just now.
Therefore, I pray you tell me--in case we should live and _you_ should
die, you and all about you--whether you have any commands to give as
to what should be done with your gold and articles of value, or any
messages to leave for friends in England.”
Then, having uttered this grim jest, Dick took his master by the arm and
drew him through the door.
Afterward, for a reason that shall be told, he was sorry that it had
ever passed his lips. Still in the boat Sir Geoffrey applauded him,
saying that his lady’s melancholy had grown beyond all bearing, and that
she did little but prate to him about his will and what colour of marble
he desired for his tomb.
After a journey that seemed long to Hugh, who wished to have this
business over, they came to the Place of Arms. Their route there,
however, was not the same which they had followed on the previous night.
Leaving the short way through the low part of the town untraversed, they
rowed from one of the canals into the harbour itself, where they were
joined by many other boats which waited for them and so on to the quay.
Hugh saw at once that the death ship, _Light of the East_, was gone, and
incautiously said as much to Sir Geoffrey.
“Yes,” he answered, “one of my rowers tells me that they have towed her
to an island out at sea, since the stench from her holds was more than
could be borne. But how did you know that she lay at this particular
quay, Sir Hugh?”
“I thought you said so,” he answered carelessly, adding, to change the
subject: “Look, our fray will not lack for spectators,” and he pointed
to the thousands gathered upon the great tilting-ground.
“No, no, all Venice will be there, for these people love a show,
especially if there be death in it.”
“Mayhap they will see more of him than they wish before all is done,”
muttered Grey Dick, pausing from the task of whetting his axe’s edge
with a little stone which he carried in his pouch. Then he replaced the
axe in its hanger, and, drawing Hugh’s sword from its sheath, began to
give some final touches to its razor edge, saying: “Father Sir Andrew
Arnold blessed it, which should be enough, but Milan steel is hard and
his old battle blade will bite none the worse for an extra sharpening.
Go for his throat, master, go for his throat, the mail is always
thinnest there.”
“God above us, what a grim man!” exclaimed Sir Geoffrey, and so thought
all in that boat and in those around them. At least they looked at Dick
askance as he whetted and whetted, and then, plucking out one of the
pale hairs from his head, drew it along the edge of the steel, which
severed it in twain.
“There! That’ll do,” said Grey Dick cheerfully, as he returned the long
sword to its sheath, “and God help this Cattrina, I say, for he comes
to his last battle. That is, unless he runs away,” he added after
reflection.
Now they landed and were received by heralds blowing trumpets, and
conducted through a great multitude of people with much pomp and
ceremony to a pavilion which had been pitched for them, where they must
arm and make ready.
This then they did, helped or hindered by bowing squires whose language
they could not understand.
At length, when it lacked but a quarter to the hour of nine, David Day
led Hugh’s horse into the wide entrance of the pavilion, where they
examined its armour, bridle, selle and trappings.
“The beast sweats already,” said Hugh, “and so do I, who, to tell truth,
dread this heat more than Cattrina’s sword. Pray that they get to the
business quickly, or I shall melt like butter on a hot plate.”
Then his lance was given to him, a lance that was sharp and strong.
When they had been tested by them both, Hugh mounted the grey and at the
agreed signal of a single blast upon a trumpet, walked it slowly from
the pavilion, Dick going at his side on foot.
At their coming a shout went up from the assembled thousands, for in
truth it seemed, as Sir Geoffrey had said, as though all the folk in
Venice were gathered on that place. When they had finished shouting the
people began to criticise, finding much in the appearance of this pair
that moved their ready wit. Indeed there was little show about them, for
Hugh’s plain armour, which lacked all ornament or inlay, was worn with
war and travel, and his horse came along as soberly as if it were going
out to plough. Nor was there anything fine about the apparel of Grey
Dick, who wore a loose chain shirt much out of fashion--it was that
which Sir Andrew had given to Hugh--an iron cap with ear-pieces, and
leather buskins on his legs. In his hand was his axe, heavy but not
over large; at his side hung a great knife, and on his back was the long
black bow and a quiver of arrows.
Thus arrayed, taking no heed of the jests and chatter of the multitude,
they were led to the front of the bedecked timber stand which they had
seen on the previous night. In the centre of this stand, occupying a
kind of tribune, sat the Doge Dandolo in state, and with him many nobles
and captains, while to right and left the whole length of the course,
for the stand was very long, were packed a countless number of the
best-born men and women in Venice. These, however, were but a tithe of
the spectators, who encircled the Place of Arms in one serried horde
which was kept back by a line of soldiers.
Arriving in front of the Doge’s tribune, the pair halted and saluted
him, whereon he and his escort rose and saluted them in turn. Then
another trumpet blew and from a second pavilion at the other end of
the course appeared Cattrina, wearing a splendid suit of white armour,
damascened in gold, with a silver swan upon the helm and a swan painted
on his shield.
“Very fine, isn’t it?” said Grey Dick to his master, “only this time
I hope he’s inside the steel. Ask to see his face before you fight,
master.”
On came Cattrina on a noble black horse, which pawed and caracoled
notwithstanding the heat, while after him strode a gigantic figure
also clad from top to toe in white mail, who fiercely brandished a
long-handled battle-axe.
“Ambrosio!” said Dick. “Now I ought to feel as much afraid as though
that fellow wore a yellow cap and fur cape and pearls like another
warrior whom we met last night. Yet, to speak the truth, I believe he
has the fainter heart of the two. Also if he swings that chopper about
so much he’ll grow tired.”
To the multitude, however, the gallant appearance of this pair, whom
they looked on as the champions of Venice against foreigners, appealed
not a little. Amidst clapping of hands and “_evvivas!_” they advanced
to the Doge’s tribune and there made their salutations, which the
Illustrious acknowledged as he had those of the Englishmen.
Then the heralds intervened and again all the articles of combat were
read and translated, although to these, of which they were weary,
Hugh and Dick listened little. Next they were asked if they had any
objections to make and with one voice answered, “None.” But on the same
question being put to their adversaries, the Swiss, Ambrosio, said that
he with whom he must fight appeared to be armed with a bow, which was
against the articles. Thereon Dick handed the bow and quiver to David,
bidding him guard them until he asked for them again as he would his own
life. In the event of his death, however, David was to give them to Sir
Hugh, or if they both should die, to his own master, Sir Geoffrey. All
of these things David promised to do.
Next followed a long discussion as to whether the four of them were
to fight in pairs, Cattrina and Ambrosio against Hugh and Dick
simultaneously, or whether Ambrosio was to fight alone with Dick, and
Cattrina with Hugh. Upon Cattrina and Ambrosio being asked their wishes,
the former said that he desired to fight alone, as he feared lest the
English archer, if he overcame Ambrosio, should turn on him also, or
perhaps hamstring his horse.
Then the Englishmen were asked what they wished, and replied that they
did not care how it was arranged, being ready to fight either together
or separately, as the Doge might decree.
The end of it was that after long consultations with sundry experts in
such matters, the Most Illustrious decided that the Captains Ambrosio
and Richard the Archer should first engage on foot, and when that
business was settled the two knights should take their place in the
arena.
So the end of it was that more than half an hour after the combat should
have begun, Dick and the gigantic Ambrosio found themselves standing
face to face waiting for the signal to engage, the Swiss shouting
threats and defiance and Grey Dick grinning and watching him out of his
half-shut eyes.
At length it came in the shape of a single blast upon a trumpet. Now
seeing that Dick stood quite still, not even raising his axe, the Swiss
advanced and struck a mighty blow at him, which Dick avoided by stepping
aside. Recovering himself, again Ambrosio struck. This blow Dick caught
upon his shield, then, as though he were afraid, began to retreat,
slowly at first, but afterward faster till his walk broke into a run.
At this sight all that mighty audience set up a hooting. “Coward! Dog!
Pig of an Englishman!” they yelled; and the louder they yelled the more
quickly did Grey Dick run, till at last even Hugh grew puzzled wondering
what was in his mind and hoping that he would change it soon. So the
audience hooted, and Grey Dick ran and the giant Swiss lumbered along
after him, bellowing triumphantly and brandishing his battle-axe, which,
it was noted, never seemed to be quite long enough to reach his flying
foe.
When this had gone on for two or three minutes, Grey Dick stumbled and
fell. The Swiss, who was following fast, likewise tripped and fell over
him heavily, whereon the multitude shouted:
“Foul play! A dirty, foreign trick!”
In an instant Dick was up again, and had leapt upon the prostrate Swiss,
as all thought, to kill him. But instead the only thing he did was to
get behind him and kick him with his foot until he also rose. Thereat
some laughed, but others, who had bets upon their champion, groaned.
Now the Swiss, having lost his shield in his fall, rushed at Dick,
grasping his axe with both hands. As before, the Englishman avoided the
blow, but for the first time he struck back, catching the giant on the
shoulder though not very heavily. Then with a shout of “St. George and
England!” he went in at him.
Hither and thither sprang Dick, now out of reach of the axe of the Swiss
and now beneath his guard. But ever as he sprang he delivered blow upon
blow, each harder than the last, till there appeared scars and rents
in the fine white mail. Soon it became clear that the great Swiss was
overmatched and spent. He breathed heavily, his strokes grew wild, he
over-balanced, recovered himself, and at last in his turn began to fly
in good earnest.
Now after him went Dick, battering at his back, but, as all might see,
with the flat of his axe, not with its edge. Yes, he was beating him as
a man might beat a carpet, beating him till he roared with pain.
“Fight, Ambrosio, fight! Don’t fly!” shouted the crowd, and he tried to
wheel round, only to be knocked prostrate by a single blow upon the head
which the Englishman delivered with the hammer-like back of his axe.
Then Dick was seen to kneel upon him and cut the lashings of his helmet
with his dagger, doubtless to give the _coup de grâce_, or so they
thought.
“Our man is murdered!” yelled the common people, while those of the
better sort remained shamed and silent.
Dick rose, and they groaned, thinking that all was done. But lo!
stooping down he helped the breathless Swiss, whom he had disarmed, to
his feet. Then, taking him by the nape of the neck, which was easy, as
his helmet was off, with one hand, while in the other he held his bared
knife, Dick thrust him before him till they reached the tribune of the
Doge.
“Be pleased to tell the Illustrious,” he said, to Sir Geoffrey, “that
this braggart having surrendered, I spared his life and now return him
to his brother the Page quite unharmed, since I did not wish to wound
one who was in my power from the first. Only when he gets home I pray
that he will look at his back in a glass and judge which of us it is
that has been ‘beaten to a pulp.’ Let him return thanks also to his
patron saint, who put pity in my heart, so that I did not cut him into
collops, as I promised. For know, sir, that when I walked out yonder
it was my purpose to hew off his hands and shorten him at the knees.
Stay--one word more. If yonder boaster has more brothers who really wish
to fight, I’ll take them one by one and swear to them that this time
I’ll not give back a step unless I’m carried.”
“Do you indeed yield and accept the Englishman’s mercy?” asked the Doge
in a stern voice.
The poor Ambrosio, making no answer, blundered forward among the crowd
and there vanished, and this was the last that Dick ever saw or heard of
him. But, although he waited there a while, feeling the edge of his axe
and glaring about him, none of the captain’s companions came forward to
accept his challenge.
At length, with a shrug of his shoulders, Dick turned. Having taken his
bow and quiver from David, who could not conceal his indecent joy at the
utter humiliation of Ambrosio, whom he hated with a truly British hate,
he walked slowly to where Hugh sat upon his horse.
“The jest is done, master, and now for good earnest, since ‘tis your
turn. The Saints save me such another cow hunt in this hell’s heat. Had
I killed him at once I should be cooler now, but it came into my mind to
let the hound live. Indeed, to speak truth, I thought that I heard the
voice of Murgh behind me, saying, ‘Spare,’ and knew that I must obey.”
“I hope he will say nothing of the sort to me presently,” answered Hugh,
“if he is here, which I doubt. Why, what is it now? Those gold-coated
marshals are talking again.”
Talking they were, evidently at the instance of Cattrina, or his
counsellors, who had raised some new objections, which Sir Geoffrey
stepped forward to explain to them. But Hugh would not even hear him
out.
“Tell the man and all whom it may concern,” he said in an angry voice,
“that I am ready to fight him as he will, on horse or on foot, with
lance or sword or axe or dagger, or any or all of them, in mail or
without it; or, if it pleases him, stripped to the shirt. Only let him
settle swiftly, since unless the sweat runs into my eyes and dims them,
it seems to me that night is coming before it is noon.”
“You are right,” answered Sir Geoffrey, “this gathering gloom is ominous
and fearful. I think that some awesome tempest must be about to burst.
Also it seems to me that Cattrina has no stomach for this fray, else he
would not raise so many points of martial law and custom.”
Then wiping his brow with a silken handkerchief he returned to deliver
the message.
Now Hugh and Dick, watching, saw that Cattrina and those who advised him
could find no further loophole for argument. They saw, moreover, that
the Doge grew angry, for he rose in his seat, throwing off his velvet
robe of office, of which it appeared that he could no longer bear the
weight, and spoke in a hard voice to Cattrina and his squires. Next,
once more the titles of the combatants were read, and their cause of
combat, and while this went on Hugh bade Dick bind about his right arm
a certain red ribbon that Eve had given him, saying that he wished to
fight wearing his lady’s favour.
Dick obeyed, muttering that he thought such humours foolish and that a
knight might as well wear a woman’s petticoat as her ribbon. By now, so
dim had the light grown, he could scarce see to tie the knot.
Indeed, the weather was very strange.
From the dark, lowering sky above a palpable blackness sank downward
as though the clouds themselves were falling of their own weight, while
from the sea great rolls of vapour came sweeping in like waves. Also
this sea itself had found a voice, for, although it was so calm, it
moaned like a world in pain. The great multitude began to murmur, and
their faces, lifted upward toward the sky, grew ghastly white. Fear,
they knew not of what, had got hold of them. A voice cried shrilly:
“Let them fight and have done. We would get home ere the tempest
bursts.”
The first trumpet blew and the horses of the knights, which whinnied
uneasily, were led to their stations. The second trumpet blew and the
knights laid their lances in rest. Then ere the third trumpet could
sound, suddenly the darkness of midnight swallowed all the scene.
Dick groped his way to Hugh’s side. “Bide where you are,” he said, “the
end of the world is here; let us meet it like men and together.”
“Ay,” answered Hugh, and his voice rang hollow through his closed visor,
“without doubt it is the end of the world, and Murgh, the Minister, has
been sent to open the doors of heaven and hell. God have mercy on us
all!”
So they stayed there, hearkening to the groans and prayers of the
terrified multitude about them, Dick holding the bridle of the horse,
which shook from head to foot, but never stirred. For some minutes
they remained thus, till suddenly the sky began to lighten, but with
no natural light. The colour of it, of the earth beneath and of the
air between was a deep, terrible red, that caused all things to seem
as though they were dyed in blood. Lighter and lighter and redder and
redder it grew, the long stand and the pavilions became visible, and
after them the dense, deep ring of spectators. Many of these were
kneeling, while others, who could find no space to kneel, held their
hands upstretched toward heaven, or beat their breasts and wept in the
emotional fashion of the country.
Yet not on them were the eyes of Hugh and Grey Dick fixed, but rather on
a single figure which stood quite alone in the midst of that great
arena where Cattrina and his horse should have been, where they had been
indeed but a little while before. The figure was clothed in a red and
yellow cap shaped like a cock’s-comb, in black furs, a yellow robe and
white gloves and sandals. Yonder it stood, fantastic, fearful, its bare
and brawny arms crossed upon its breast, its head bowed as though
it contemplated the ground. There was not an eye of all the tens of
thousands of those who were present that did not see it; there was not a
voice that did not break into a yell of terror and hate, till the earth
shook with such a sound as might reverberate through the choked abyss of
hell.
“The fiend! The fiend! The fiend!” said the shout. “Kill him! Kill him!
Kill him!”
The figure looked up, the red light shone upon its stony face that
seemed one blotch of white amidst its glow. Then it stooped down and
lifted from the sand a knight’s lance such as Cattrina had held. It
raised the lance and with it pointed four times, east and west and
north and south, holding it finally for a while in the direction of the
tribune, where sat the Doge with all his noble company, and of Venice
beyond. Lastly, with a quick and easy motion, it cast the lance toward
the sky, whence it fell, remaining fixed point downward in the earth.
Then a tongue of mist that had crept up from the sea enveloped it, and
when that mist cleared away the shape was gone.
Now the red haze thinned, and for the first time that morning the sun
shone out in a sickly fashion. Although their nerves were torn by the
unnatural darkness and the apparition that followed it, which all saw,
yet none quite believed that they had seen, the multitude shouted for
the combat to proceed.
Once more Hugh laid his lance in rest, thinking that Cattrina was there,
although he could not see him.
Then the third trumpet rang out--in that silence it sounded like the
blast of doom--and Hugh spurred his horse forward a little way, but
halted, for he could perceive no foe advancing against him. He stared
about him, and at last in a rage threw his lance to a squire, and,
turning his horse, galloped to the tribune. There he pulled it to his
haunches and shouted out in a great voice:
“Where is Cattrina? Am I to be fooled, who appear here as the champion
of the King of England? Where is Cattrina? Produce Cattrina that I may
slay him or be slain, or, Chivalry of Venice, be forever shamed!”
The Doge rose, uttering swift commands, and heralds ran here and there.
Knights and captains searched the pavilions and every other place where
a mounted man might hide. But they never found Cattrina, and, returning
at length, confessed as much with bowed heads.
The Doge, maddened by this ignominy, seized the great gold chain upon
his beast and burst it in two.
“Cattrina has fled!” he shouted. “Or Satan himself has carried him away!
At the least let his name be erased from the Golden Book of Venice, and
until he prove himself innocent, let no noble of Venice stretch out
to him the hand of fellowship. Men of Venice, for you Cattrina and his
House are dead.”
“Will none take up his cause and fight for him?” asked Hugh through
Sir Geoffrey, and presently, at the Doge’s command, the challenge
was repeated thrice by the herald. But to it no answer came. Of this
afterward Hugh was glad, since it was Cattrina’s life he sought, not
that of any other man. Then Hugh spoke again, saying:
“I claim, O Illustrious, that I be written down as victor in this combat
to the death, bloodless through no fault of mine.”
“It shall be so written, noble Hugh de Cressi,” said the Doge. “Let all
Venice take notice thereof.”
As the words left his lips the solid earth began to heave and rock.
At the first heave Hugh leaped from his horse, which screamed aloud and
fled away, and gripped hold of Grey Dick. At the second, the multitude
broke out into wild cries, prayers and blasphemies, and rushed this way
and that. At the third, which came quite slowly and was the greatest of
them all, the long stand of timber bent its flags toward him as though
in salute, then, with a slow, grinding crash, fell over, entangling
all within it beneath its ruin. Also in the city beyond, houses, whole
streets of them, gabled churches and tall towers, sank to the earth,
while where they had been rose up wreathed columns of dust. To the south
the sea became agitated. Spouts of foam appeared upon its smooth face;
it drew back from the land, revealing the slime of ages and embedded
therein long-forgotten wrecks. It heaped itself up like a mountain,
then, with a swift and dreadful motion, advanced again in one vast wave.
In an instant all that multitude were in full flight.
Hugh and Dick fled like the rest, and with them David, though whither
they went they knew not.
All they knew was that the ground leapt and quivered beneath their feet,
while behind them came the horrible, seething hiss of water on the crest
of which men were tossed up and down like bits of floating wood.