They cast off the leaden weight of weariness which bowed down their limbs. Reckless of all, save the need for victory, they turned and chopped a path in their enemies' ranks, until they stood safely inside the barrier. But they could do no more. Hugh reeled under the blows that rang on helm and hauberk, unable even to raise his sword to guard his head. His strength was gone, and suddenly behind him he felt Matteo's body sag and give.
"This is the end," he thought. "Dear Christ, receive my soul! Edith——"
A chorus of shouts filled the archway, and the entrance was darkened by a rush of tall figures. Vaguely, Hugh heard well-remembered battle-cries, the names of Saints of the Western Church, the full-throated roar of Frankish voices. Then his ears seemed to close and his eyes were dimmed.... When he came to himself, he was leaning against the wall of the gateway supported on Ralph's shoulder. Matteo hung limp between two knights. The floor was littered with bodies. In the midst of the carnage stood Boniface and Dandolo, the old Doge in full armour like those around him.
"Messers," said Boniface, "this is a right knightly exploit that you have done. It is my pleasure that you kneel before me to receive the accolade."
Hugh knelt stumblingly in the blood and slime, but Matteo made a gesture of protest.
"It may not be, Lord Marquis," he said weakly. "I am not—— It is forbidden."
"Then is knighthood the loser thereby," answered the Marquis courteously, "for, save this young English lord, there is no knight in the host could match you for deserving honour and credit. However, Messer Matteo, an you may not receive knighthood, yet you shall have my favour and all service that I can render you, and certes, no man will esteem you less for that you are not knight."
He turned to Hugh.
"It is in my mind that you will become as good a knight as your father," he continued. "Rise, Sir Hugh."
The light stroke of the sword inspired Hugh with new strength. He seemed to look along a corridor of blazing light, at the end of which stood the sweet-faced Lady of Heaven herself, extending her hands in a gesture of beneficence. St. Michael and the brave St. James stood beside her, holding sword and shield. The vision faded, but his dolour had vanished with it. He rose up, a whole man again, little the worse for the fighting.