ais turned red--men slipped on it; Cercamorte's sword
caught them; they did not rise. He seemed indeed to wield more
swords than one, so terrible was his fighting. At his back stood
Baldo, his helmet caved in, his mail shirt in ribbons, his abdomen
slashed open. Both at once they saw that all their men were down.
Hewing to right and left they broke through, gained the tower
staircase, and locked the door behind them.

* * * * *

On the dark stairway they leaned against the wall, their helmets off,
gasping for breath, while the enemy hammered the door.

"How is it with you?" puffed Lapo, putting his arm round Baldo's neck.

"They have wrecked my belly for me. I am finished."

Lapo Cercamorte hung his head and sobbed, "My old Baldo, my comrade,
it is my folly that has killed you."

"No, no. It was only that I had survived too many tussles; then all
at once our Lord recalled my case to his mind. But we have had some
high times together, eh?"

Lapo, weeping aloud from remorse, patted Baldo's shoulder and kissed
his withered cheek. Lamplight flooded the staircase; it was Foresto
softly descending. The rays illuminated Madonna Gemma, who all the
while had been standing close beside them.

"Lady," said Baldo, feebly, "can you spare me a bit of your veil?
Before the door falls I must climb these steps, and that would be
easier if I could first bind in my entrails."

They led him upstairs, Lapo on one side, Madonna Gemma on the other,
and Foresto lighting the way. They came to the topmost chamber in
the high tower--the last room of all.

Here Cercamorte kept his treasures--his scraps of looted finery, the
weapons taken from fallen knights, the garrison's surplus of arms.
When he had locked the door and with Foresto's slow help braced some
pike-shafts against it, he tried to make Baldo lie down.

The old man vowed profanely that he would die on his feet. Shambling
to the casement niche, he gaped forth at the dawn. Below him a
frosty world was emerging from the mist. He saw the ring of the
ramparts, and in the courtyard the barrack ruins smouldering. Beyond,
the hillside also smoked, with shredding vapours; and at the foot of
the hill he observed a strange sight--the small figure of a man in
tunic and hood, feylike amid the mist, that danced and made gestures
of joy. Baldo, clinging to the casement-sill on bending legs,
summoned Cercamorte to look at the dancing figure.

"What is it, L