It began again, the splitting of panels, the cracking of hinges. The
door was giving; now only the pike-shafts held it. Then came a pause.
From far down the staircase a murmur of amazement swept upward; a
babble of talk ensued. Silence fell. Cercamorte let out a harsh laugh.
"What new device is this? Does it need so much chicanery to finish
one man?"
Time passed, and there was no sound except a long clattering from
the courtyard. Of a sudden a new voice called through the broken door:
"Open, Cercamorte. I am one man alone."
"Come in without ceremony. Here am I, waiting to embrace you."
"I am Ercole Azzanera, the Marquis Azzo's cousin, and your true
friend. I swear on my 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.
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