Chapter I

- William, hit the ribs ...! Cried a knight who was climbing the stairs, and who, with his hand outstretched to his eyes, was struggling to see through the visor of his helmet his companion, who was struggling with bleeding flesh, who had been terribly pierced to the bone and streams flowed through the plates of armor. of blood, dripping incessantly on the cauldron of St. Peter's Square, yet with the stained cuirass, clinging to his foot like a wet towel, the knight had refused to cease fighting, even though the seniors expected this brave man to stagger to his feet. and to collapse in front of the world, but especially in front of the young d'Ampezzo who already seemed to be the only one of victory.

- William, hold on! For God's sake, do it for your son! He said again, animatedly, coming down from the saddle, and leaning against the parapet that separated the arena, and showing his excessive concern for his friend who came back limping, pale, biting his lips in pain, and pressing with despair of the foot, so that at his insistence the others agreed to relieve him of the weight of armor and shields loosened the straps so that the trousers covered at the wrists were much too sought after by the painters, that dark red from which the Renaissance capitalized on them in their paintings famous.

The short break was coming to an end and the two returned, tugging at their swords and twisting them to create the wonderful impression of the ladies who chose their favorite with handkerchiefs waving and smiling, hiding their smiles behind the veils of their dresses or their wide sleeves, embroidered with talent to he stared during the battle of the knights who hid their eyes behind the metal chipped edge of the shield.

Sir William, who was on the edge of the abyss, was staggering, and could scarcely have the strength to hold the shield, which slid across his chest, yet those on the edge cried out to be the same William of old again, and these words seemed to enchanted, coming from the throats of the comrades who wanted to see him again the same swordsman worthy of the knightly girdle, immediately the sharpest eye would have seen a murmur of encouragement floating on William's lips, and a fierce light in his eyes, which aimed his eyes d'Ampezzo who avoided their way.

At the first touch of the swords, William retaliated briskly, and the spectators began to murmur quietly about the new champion, at the second touch William was already attacking him safely, and his trembling sword in his hand made its way through simple defense. d'Ampezzo's, the ladies immediately changed the favorite, but William cringed worse, and with one last effort his sword slid over the other's edge and d'Ampezzo was touched in the shoulder to avoid a touch the young knight pulled the shield with torment, and the point of the sword passed through his shoulder, William took two steps back, one leg had already yielded and trembled, looked at those who accompanied him, and collapsed as long as he could over d'Ampezzo, who screamed in fright of pain, trying to he drew his sword from the blood-red handle, from which streams flowed on the glove chains, but not a moment passed, that the crowd of spectators, of merchants deep in dreams on the edge of a part of the chariot, or others in the saddle, found themselves pushed by some swords guard guards, who appeared at the unexpected moment of the duel and who stared at the count's riding eyes and with a few spurs in the ribs of the horses shouted for them to make room for them, yet with swords in hand and sharp glances on their faces crowded into the crowd frightened, pushed aside by a few lashes, they tried to frighten the world, the knights of the count understood that they were wanted, and the king arrested the whole suite for breaking the message, omitted by Count William in the duel with the young Ampezzo, Robert sprang out of the saddle, with a frightened look, pulled the earl's horse into the arena, and with two valets he mounted the earl in the saddle, tied his legs to the stairs, and mounted his horse, gave some orders to the other comrades, and grabbing the bridle of the horse on which the wounded man was placed, he ran towards the first gate coming out of San Pietro, some of the senior pursuers shot with crossbow arrows, others tried to encircle the square e, the mud jumped in the chase of the hooves that scattered dust on the narrow roads near the big square, it was not possible to escape, not to fight at all, then Robert had a crazy idea and leaning with one hand on the horse's rump he looked with an ironic and defiant smile to those in the rear who stopped, thus stopping that chase, which the king's swordsmen were trying to track down, entered a stone barn, and mounted the horses on the bridge where the hay was placed for the winter. hidden upstairs, they waited for the pursuers to pass.

At one point, Robert broke the silence and with a suspicion that could not be read in his eyes, he looked at Stomerville, who had not yet given up his Norman helmet, and the nose guard only had the much-desired effect.

"He should have been on the side of the road for a long time ... you can still hear the roar of a horse," he said in a whisper.

"Then he shouldn't be here ..." Robert said through gritted teeth, wailing uneasily.

A horseman strode leisurely and stopped in front of the barn entrances, staring at her as if the first time he had passed her was just a hallucination, he looked at the seemingly deserted interior, the empty ponds, no harness on him. He pushed the horse in with a few kicks to the ribs, but looking up, he hadn't even had time to shout, as Stomerville shot with his bow and the arrow pierced his collarbone, collapsing with his arms at his stallion's feet, and the horse moaned. scared and trotted restlessly, the barn.

The captain of the swordsman was at the end of the traffic jams, and looking back as the horse left without a rider, he shouted in a broken Italian, slammed from a dry throat.

-There, gentlemen ...!

They did not even manage to knock on the door with the two wings, for a few stray arrows aimed at their chests seemed to say goodbye to them in that chase, three horsemen fell petrified on the stone floor and Englishmen led by Robert clenched their swords, the captain was about to cut off his head, if Stomerville was not stationed with a crossbow, it would certainly have been, with the sentence above his head, which you hold to the captain's neck, and from here the gun pulley will continue the natural story that will trigger at each press of the bark and long trigger for that time.

Robert had not been careful again, and a last rider, in the chase of the horse, pushed him into a manger with oats, with which he collapsed without too many guests into the dry fodder, but rose quickly, as the rider did not even notice him. , was above him, he used the opportunity to stab the horse in the stomach and the fallen swordsman stood up to throw the glove like his runaway partner and at the first gust of wind cut by Robert's sword, which was already lying to his knee after the first attack , the swordsman contented himself with a twitch of his legs, the blade of his sword struck Robert's rib, which tried only a small parry to the blow with the side of the sword, yet it had been served precisely in the helmet whose blow had been smashed, hit over another friend of the sword fell and stumbled on his feet, stumbled over his dying companion, and fell into the watering-place of the horses which rolled over him with all the dirty water full on the bottom of the damp, green mud, which ran down his head. There were streaks on his face, which blackened his face, rose black on his face, his clothes wet, and went to the knight who pushed him so naughtily, struck with both hands on the handle the sword of the bold, who contented himself with forcing the Robert, then each tried his best to knock the other to the ground, his hands trembling, his swords crossed over his head, the Italian adjusted with one hand his sword and with the other he drew a dagger from his belt and struck Robert in hip, but he had links, and with a vengeful grin he pushed the Italian, who was rising quickly, to the ground, but Robert with a fierce blow from under his sleeve, with his sword coming from the wet folds of his trousers, split his chin and with a mischievous laugh He turned to Stomerville, his hands raised with a puppy of joy, shouting with all his might, yet an arrow pierced his links, and he fell as long as he could at the feet of the fallen, with his shoulder blade sifted by the other arrows that marked his back. moments later, Stomerville had shouted to Gray, another knight, the earl's aide-de-camp, to run away with the count through a crack in the barn, Stomerville took a bow looking up and with the four arrows killed four other swordsmen. Alison, after his sword had been struck in the throat, shouted as hard as he could.

- On horses, retreat, on horses!

And with his club he had crushed another's head, got on his horse, and hurriedly stopped under the balcony where Stomerville was, who, jumping, sat on the horse's rump with his back to Alison, the others already running out of the barn through the crack, and Stomerville on the horse's rump. Behind them, with their backs to Alison, he released arrows even as they came out of the barn into the heads of the pursuers who found the floor of the barn empty like Girolamo's fencing deck, Gray at the head leading the escape, holding the count's horse by the bridle. stairs, wounded he leaned against the horse's mane with his shoulders and mouth open, spit drops of blood between his teeth, which gave him a bitter taste all the time, then followed the other three, the Knight of Suffering, the old Thomas Vierone, the guide and last on one fast horse, the great Alison and the archer Stomerville who in the vanguard with the bow ready, prevented the king's swordsmen from reaching them.

Leaving Rome was impossible for the fugitives during the day, but Gray had only heeded the guards at the gate and with his sword drawn, slammed hard on any brave spearman in his path, Stomerville turned and his trunk twisted over his eyes. three crossbowmen loading their weapons on the walls of the barbican trying to shoot through the embrasures under the gate, Gray untied the line and entered three spearmen, who did not even see the horses, but who came out ahead, one of them hit him in the armor of chains, Gray he staggered out of the saddle, but got up, and Alison, with the club, had made sure that the bold one reached the green lens of the ditch with the broken helmet like eggshells and the bloody skull where he would drown in the muddy water that would pull him to the bottom.

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Two weeks later, near Tordimento, in an abandoned cattle shelter, in a valley without any trees, if you could see the sights, they were sitting at a table without a leg, leaning on a log, Alison looking amazed. to the small bottle of wine, which old Vierone shared with feigned stinginess, Soufrire watching over one of the broken stone walls, on a stone that had once been drinking, Gray sharpened his dagger and carved a few arrows, and Count William on a bed, made in a hurry, rested with its bandaged foot and a few rags, a linen shirt wet after the last rain, when it could only take shelter under some bushes, Alison suddenly looked inquisitively among the planks facing spring, whence came with the horses a man dressed like the others, in a dirty shirt, the Duke of Palermo, the guide who led them to the kingdom of old France and who entered the shelter anxiously and spoke sadly in English:

-My dear count, it seems that the riders have tracked us down again ...

-How so? said Gray hurriedly, raising his head now bent over the knife and looking carelessly.

"Look at Stomerville!" Alison said in a voice after turning her gaze fearfully on the lonely ridges, to her exclamation everyone turned their heads to a rider who with a large bow in his back, galloped down to the shelter and who, as mentioned, began to shout in front. to the others who, with their faces torn apart by the plague, bowed their heads with unspeakable pain and regret, which had taught them to be angry even at the last pitcher that came their way.

- Gentlemen, to defend, here we can't defend ourselves, we are in the throes of the bows ... Palermo drew a conclusion, giving from the chin that he had supported so far in the head of the chest and that had left on the poor shirt some traces, which the traveler did not he had endured washing it.

Suffering rushed at Alison, who couldn't help but spit out the straw she was chewing through her angry teeth and looked around angrily;

- Are we running? That's not good either, we've only been here one night and the bastards tracked us down and, surrender, Alison? He shouted at Alison after slapping her on one of his shoulders, which he was squeezing tightly, and Alison, with a look of contempt usual at warriors, squeezing her nose and forcing the corners of her mouth to give the exact note of annoyance, managed to say a good note to note for that news;

- Rather than be beheaded and taken like an English dream through the square, I'd rather run and die like a dog ...

-Count, it looks like we've made up our minds! Robert de Palermo said, biting his lip, hating the moment when the anger of the others restrained William's eyes, who neither lay nor saw when he lay down.

On the ridges of the valley, two research horsemen had appeared in Stomerville's footsteps, and with a horn the assembly rang, the count tried to get up, Stomerville rushed to the horses, Palermo lifted the count, who was weak, but did not even manage to put him in as a rain of oiled arrows plunged into the dry, black straw of the rain, and the roof of the shelter burned to shreds, falling on those inside, Alison rushed to Palermo, and with her mad cry broke out at the last stray. ;

- For God's sake, get out of there ...!

-I think Soufrire didn't even breathe through those beams.

He was amused by Gray, who was already on horseback, amused, but Alison had hit him with the riding glove over his face and looked at him vengefully, then threw himself into the fire to save Soufrire as Gray swore at the square. and he shouted to Stomerville, who turned his head to make sure that no enemy called him, but he did not turn his head either, as a new rain of arrows swarmed the sky and he jumped, throwing himself over Gray with his shield, which fell under his horse. with his back broken, while Stomerville had scarcely had time to cover himself, sages of arrows were burning with small flames on the fat grass, the shelter was burning like a fire of mad madness, and the countenance had been removed with difficulty by Robert panting with his mouth open. he threw himself on his knees on the grass, put his hand round his neck, said a few or three prayers in a hurry, then fell on his back, laughing happily, for the count had not drowned in the smoke, and Gray and Stomerville were looking at each other with an ironic giggle. and bending his elbows, amused himself At that moment, however, Stomerville saw three horsemen hurrying north on the road, trying to leave the valley. Stomerville, and looking back they saw Stomerville and Gray, shouting at them, they reluctantly returned, seeing that their comrades no longer had saddles, not to mention horses that were dead, while the oil of the arrow the skin of her belly sizzled with sparkles, next to the embers and ashes of the burnt shelter, which collapsed with the black beams over the hearth that had been planted for a short time.