Arrows began to fly.  A round object sailed through the air and landed in the keep; it was the head of the Arabian.

“Who are these people?” asked Baldo, while rapidly shooting at them with a bow.  “There seem to be many knights; half the shields carry devices.  Ai! they have fired the barracks.  Now we shall make them out.”

The flames leaped up in great sheets, producing the effect of an infernal noon.  The masses in the courtyard, inhuman-looking in their ponderous, barrel-shaped helmets, surged forward at the keep with a thunderous outcry: 

“Grangioia!  Grangioia!  Havoc on Cercamorte!”

“Muti!  Muti!  Havoc on Cercamorte!”

“God and the Monfalcone!”

“Strike for Zaladino!  Havoc on Cercamorte!”

Lapo bared his teeth at them.  “By the Five Wounds! half of Lombardy seems to be here.  Well, my Baldo, before they make an end of us shall we show them some little tricks?”

“You have said it, Cercamorte.  One more good scuffle, with a parade of all our talent.”

The assailants tried beams against the keep gate; the defenders shot them down or hurled rocks upon their heads.  But on the wall of the keep Cercamorte’s half-clad men fell sprawling, abristle with feathered shafts.  A beam reached the gate and shook it on its hinges.  Lapo, one ear shot away, drew his surviving soldiers back into the hall.

He ordered torches stuck into all the wall-rings, and ranged his men on the dais.  Behind them, in the doorway leading to the upper chambers and the high tower, he saw his wife, wild-looking, and whiter than her robe.

“Go back, Madonna.  It is only your family calling with some of their friends.  I entered Grangioia Castle abruptly; now it is tit for tat.”

The crone brought two helmets, which Lapo and Baldo put on.  Then, drawing their long swords, they awaited the onset.

The keep gate yielded, and into the hall came rushing a wave of peaked and painted shields.  But before the dais the wave paused, since in it were those who could not forego the joy of taunting Lapo Cercamorte before killing him.  So suddenly, all his antagonists contemplated him in silence, as he crouched above them with his sword and shield half raised, his very armour seeming to emanate force, cunning, and peril.

“Foul monster!” a muffled voice shouted.  “Now you come to your death!”

“Now we will give your carcass to the wild beasts, your brothers!”

“Let my daughter pass through,” bawled old Grangioia; then, receiving no response, struck clumsily at Lapo.

With a twist of his sword Lapo disarmed the old man, calling out:  “Keep off, kinsman!  I will not shed Grangioia blood unless you force me to it.  Let Muti come forward.  Or yonder gentleman dressed up in the white eagles of Este, which should hide their heads with their wings, so long and faithfully have I served them.”

But none was ignorant of Cercamorte’s prowess; so, after a moment of seething, they all came at him together.