Notwithstanding all that has been told， Hugh and **** never slept more soundly than they did that night， nor was their rest broken by any dreams. At half past five in the morning--for they must be stirring early--David came to call them. He too， it seemed， had slept well.
Also in the light of day the worst of his fear had left him.
"I am wondering， Sir Hugh，" he said， looking at him curiously， "whether I saw certain things last night down yonder at the Place of Arms and in the boat， or whether I thought I saw them."
"Doubtless you thought you saw them， David，" answered Hugh， adding with meaning， "and it is not always well to talk of things we think that we have seen."
The lad， who was sharp enough， nodded. But as he turned to hand Hugh some garment his eye fell upon the swan-crested helm that was still nailed by the long war-shaft with two black feathers and one white to the carved olivewood post of the bed.
"It must have been a mighty arm that shot this arrow， Sir Hugh，" he said reflectively， "which could pierce a casque of Milan steel from side to side and a hardwood post beyond. Well for the owner of the helm that his head was not inside of it."
"Very well， and a very mighty arm， David. So mighty that I should say nothing about it for fear lest it should set another arrow upon another string and shoot again."
"God's truth， not I！" exclaimed David， "and for your comfort， sir， know that none saw us leave this house or re雗ter it last night."
Then Hugh and **** clothed themselves and saw to their weapons and mail， but this they did not don as yet， fearing lest the weight of it should weary them in that great heat. Although the day was so young， this heat was terrible， more oppressive indeed than any they had yet known in Venice.
When they were ready David left them to see to the horse which de Cressi would ride in his combat with Cattrina. Hugh， as became a God-fearing knight whom Sir Andrew Arnold had instructed from childhood， crossed himself， knelt down and said his prayers， which that morning were long and earnest. Indeed he would have confessed himself also if he could， only there was no priest at hand who knew his language， Sir Geoffrey's chaplain being away. After watching him a while even Grey ****， whose prayers were few， followed his example， kneeling in front of his bow as though it were an image that he worshipped. When they had risen again， he said：
"You grieve that there is none to shrive us， master， but I hold otherwise， since when it was told what company we kept last night absolution might be lacking. This would weigh on you if not on me， who， after what I have learned of Father Nicholas and others， love but one priest， and he far away."
"Yet it is well to have the blessings of Holy Church ere such a business as ours， ****； that is， if it can be come by."
"Mayhap， master. But for my part I am content with that of Murgh， which he gave us， you may remember， or so I understood him. Moreover， did he not teach that he and all are but ministers of Him above？
Therefore I go straight to the head of the stair，" and he nodded toward the sky. "I am content to skip all those steps which are called priests and altars and popes and saints and such-like folk， living or dead. If Murgh's wisdom be true， as I think， these are but garnishings to the dish which can well be spared by the hungry soul."
"That may be，" Hugh answered dubiously， for his faith in such matters was that of his time. "Yet were I you， ****， I'd not preach that philosophy too loud lest the priests and popes should have something to say to it. The saints also， for aught I know， since I have always heard that they love not to be left out of our account with heaven."
"Well， if so，" answered ****， "I'll quote St. Murgh to them， who is a very fitting patron for an archer." Then once again he glanced at the helm and the arrow with something not unlike fear in his cold eye.
Presently they went down to the eating chamber where they had been told that breakfast would be ready for them at seven of the clock.
There they found Sir Geoffrey awaiting them.
"I trust that you have slept well， Sir Hugh，" he said. "You were a wise knight to go to rest so early， having before you such a trial of your strength and manhood， and， so to speak， the honour of our King upon your hands."
"Very well indeed； thank you， sir，" answered Hugh. "And you？"
"Oh， ill， extremely ill. I do not know what is the matter with me or Venice either， whereof the very air seems poisoned. Feel the heat and see the haze！ It is most unnatural. Moreover， although in your bed doubtless you saw it not， a great ball of fire blazed and burnt over the city last night. So bright was it that even in a darkened room each of us could see the colour of the other's eyes. Later， too， as I watched at the window， there came a thin streak of flame that seemed to alight on or about this very house. Indeed I thought I heard a sound as of iron striking upon iron， but could find no cause for it."
"Wondrous happenings， sir，" said Grey ****. "Glad am I that we were not with you， lest the sight of them should have made us fearful on this morning of combat."
"Wondrous happenings indeed， friend Richard，" said Sir Geoffrey excitedly， "but you have not heard the half of them. The herald， who has just been here with the final articles of your fray signed by the Doge and Cattrina， has told me much that I can scarce believe. He says that the great galley from this port which is called /Light of the East/ drifted up to the quay at the Place of Arms last night on her return voyage from Cyprus， filled with dead and with no living thing aboard her save the devil himself in a yellow robe and a many-hued head-dress like a cock's-comb with a red eye. He swears that this fiend landed and that the mob set on him， whereon two， some say three， other devils clad in long black gowns appeared out of the water and drove them back. Also， it seems that this same cock's-combed Satan stole a boat and rowed about the city afterward， but now none can find him， although they have got the boat."
