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 Cercamorte!"
"Muti! Muti! Havoc on Cercamorte!"
"God and the Monfalcone!"
"Strike for Zaladino! Havoc on Cercamorte!"
Lapo bared his teeth at them. "By the Five Wounds! half of Lombardy
seems to be here. Well, my Baldo, before they make an end of us
shall we show them some little tricks?"
"You have said it, Cercamorte.
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