Below, in the courtyard, my coming was hailed by a great, enthusiastic clamour.  They had all but abandoned hope of seeing the Lord Giovanni, so long had he been about his arming.  As they brought forward my charger, I sought with my eyes Madonna Paola.  I beheld her by her brother—­who, it seemed, was not going with us—­in the front rank of the spectators.  Her cheeks were tinged with a slight flush of excitement, and her eyes glowed at the brave sight of armed men.

I mounted, and as I rode past her to take my place at the head of that company, I lowered my mace and bowed.  She detained me a moment, setting her hand upon the glossy neck of my black charger.

“My Lord,” she said, in a low voice, intended for my ear alone, “this is a brave and gallant thing you do, and however slight may be your hope of prevailing, yet your honour will be safe-guarded by this act, and men will remember you with respect should it come to pass that a usurper shall possess anon your throne.  Bear you that in mind to lend you a glad courage.  I shall pray for you, my Lord, till you return.”

I bowed, answering never a word lest my voice should betray me; and musing on the matter of the strange roads that lead to a woman’s heart, I passed on, to gain the van.

Two months ago, knowing Giovanni as he was, he had been detestable to her, and she contemplated with loathing the danger in which she stood of being allied to him by marriage.  Since then he had made good use of a poor jester’s mental gifts to incline her by the fervour of some verses to a kindlier frame of mind, and now, making good use of that same jester’s courage, he completed her subjection by the display of it.  She was prepared to wed the Lord Giovanni with a glad heart and a proud willingness whensoever he should desire it.

But Giacomo was beside me now, and in the quadrangle a silence reigned, all waiting for my command.  From without there came such a din as seemed to argue that all hell was at the Castle gates.  There were shouts of defiance and screams of abuse, whilst a constant rain of stones beat against the raised drawbridge.

They thought, no doubt, that Giovanni and his followers were at their prayers, cowering with terror.  No notion had they of the armed force, some six score strong, that waited to pour down upon them.  I briskly issued my command, and four men detached themselves and let down the bridge.  It fell with a crash, and ere those without had well grasped the situation we had hurled ourselves across and into them with the force of a wedge, flinging them to right and to left as we crashed through with hideous slaughter.  The bridge swung up again when the last of Giacomo’s mercenaries was across, and we were shut out, in the midst of that fierce human maelstrom.

For some five minutes there raged such a brief, hot fight as will be remembered as long as Pesaro stands.  No longer than that did it take for the crowd of citizens to realise that war was not their trade, and that they had better leave the fighting to Cesare Borgia’s men; and so they fell away and left us a clear road to come at the men-at-arms.  But already some forty of our saddles were empty, and the fight, though brief, had proved exhausting to many of us.