This rude profession was received with a sympathetic murmur from the rest, and the soldiers drew closer around the Knight.  “Nay, my brave fellows,” said the Colonna, lifting his visor, “it is not in so inglorious a field, after such various fortunes, that we are doomed to perish.  If these be brigands, as we must suppose, we can yet purchase our way.  If the troops of some Signor, we are strangers to the feud in which he is engaged.  Give me yon banner—­I will ride on to them.”

“Nay, my Lord,” said Giulio; “such marauders do not always spare a flag of truce.  There is danger—­”

“For that reason your leader braves it.  Quick!”

The Knight took the banner, and rode deliberately up to the horsemen.  On approaching, his warlike eye could not but admire the perfect caparison of their arms, the strength and beauty of their steeds, and the steady discipline of their long and glittering line.

As he rode up, and his gorgeous banner gleamed in the noonlight, the soldiers saluted him.  It was a good omen, and he hailed it as such.  “Fair sirs,” said the Knight, “I come, at once herald and leader of the little band who have just escaped the unlooked-for assault of armed men on yonder hill—­and, claiming aid, as knight from knight, and soldier from soldier, I place my troop under the protection of your leader.  Suffer me to see him.”

“Sir Knight,” answered one, who seemed the captain of the band, “sorry am I to detain one of your gallant bearing, and still more so, on recognising the device of one of the most potent houses of Italy.  But our orders are strict, and we must bring all armed men to the camp of our General.”

“Long absent from my native land, I knew not,” replied the Knight, “that there was war in Tuscany.  Permit me to crave the name of the general whom you speak of, and that of the foe against whom ye march.”

The Captain smiled slightly.

“Walter de Montreal is the General of the Great Company, and Florence his present foe.”

“We have fallen, then, into friendly, if fierce, hands,” replied the Knight, after a moment’s pause.  “To Sir Walter de Montreal I am known of old.  Permit me to return to my companions, and acquaint them that if accident has made us prisoners, it is, at least, only to the most skilful warrior of his day that we are condemned to yield.”

The Italian then turned his horse to join his comrades.

“A fair Knight and a bold presence,” said the Captain of the Companions to his neighbour, “though I scarce think it is the party we are ordered to intercept.  Praised be the Virgin, however, his men seem from the North.  Them, perhaps, we may hope to enlist.”

The Knight now, with his comrades, rejoined the troop.  And, on receiving their parole not to attempt escape, a detachment of thirty horsemen were despatched to conduct the prisoners to the encampment of the Great Company.

Turning from the main road, the Knight found himself conducted into a narrow defile between the hills, which, succeeded by a gloomy track of wild forest-land, brought the party at length into a full and abrupt view of a wide plain, covered with the tents of what, for Italian warfare, was considered a mighty army.  A stream, over which rude and hasty bridges had been formed from the neighbouring timber, alone separated the horsemen from the encampment.