* * * * *
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.
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