“Be pleased to tell the Illustrious,” he said, to Sir Geoffrey, “that this braggart having surrendered, I spared his life and now return him to his brother the Page quite unharmed, since I did not wish to wound one who was in my power from the first.  Only when he gets home I pray that he will look at his back in a glass and judge which of us it is that has been ‘beaten to a pulp.’  Let him return thanks also to his patron saint, who put pity in my heart, so that I did not cut him into collops, as I promised.  For know, sir, that when I walked out yonder it was my purpose to hew off his hands and shorten him at the knees.  Stay—­one word more.  If yonder boaster has more brothers who really wish to fight, I’ll take them one by one and swear to them that this time I’ll not give back a step unless I’m carried.”

“Do you indeed yield and accept the Englishman’s mercy?” asked the Doge in a stern voice.

The poor Ambrosio, making no answer, blundered forward among the crowd and there vanished, and this was the last that Dick ever saw or heard of him.  But, although he waited there a while, feeling the edge of his axe and glaring about him, none of the captain’s companions came forward to accept his challenge.

At length, with a shrug of his shoulders, Dick turned.  Having taken his bow and quiver from David, who could not conceal his indecent joy at the utter humiliation of Ambrosio, whom he hated with a truly British hate, he walked slowly to where Hugh sat upon his horse.

“The jest is done, master, and now for good earnest, since ’tis your turn.  The Saints save me such another cow hunt in this hell’s heat.  Had I killed him at once I should be cooler now, but it came into my mind to let the hound live.  Indeed, to speak truth, I thought that I heard the voice of Murgh behind me, saying, ‘Spare,’ and knew that I must obey.”

“I hope he will say nothing of the sort to me presently,” answered Hugh, “if he is here, which I doubt.  Why, what is it now?  Those gold-coated marshals are talking again.”

Talking they were, evidently at the instance of Cattrina, or his counsellors, who had raised some new objections, which Sir Geoffrey stepped forward to explain to them.  But Hugh would not even hear him out.

“Tell the man and all whom it may concern,” he said in an angry voice, “that I am ready to fight him as he will, on horse or on foot, with lance or sword or axe or dagger, or any or all of them, in mail or without it; or, if it pleases him, stripped to the shirt.  Only let him settle swiftly, since unless the sweat runs into my eyes and dims them, it seems to me that night is coming before it is noon.”

“You are right,” answered Sir Geoffrey, “this gathering gloom is ominous and fearful.  I think that some awesome tempest must be about to burst.  Also it seems to me that Cattrina has no stomach for this fray, else he would not raise so many points of martial law and custom.”