“What dost see, comrade?” shouted Hugo; “The trumpet peal grows louder, and I hear the tramp of war steeds pattering along the road to the castle gate. What dost see, Balvardo?”
“I see a strange sight, i’faith! Horsemen issue from the shadow of the wood toward Florence—horsemen arrayed in strange robes, black as night. I count one, two, three,—by my life, there’s thirteen o’ them, all mounted on cream-colored steeds!”
“Are they men-at-arms? Bear they a pennon at their head?”
“Blood o’ th’ Turk, I see no men-at-arms! They are clad in long robes, that fall sweeping almost to the very ground. Their robes are black as the death-pall, yet are they faced with a goodly border of glittering gold. Now the wind sweeps the robe of the foremost horseman aside. By my sword, he is clad in the attire of a paynim dog! Loose, flowing garments, with a belt of curious embroidery, while a dark turban surmounts his swarthy form.”
“Ride they towards the castle?”
“They ride forward two abreast; the tall figure rides at their head. Tramp, tramp—God send they be not wizards in disguise! A new wonder, comrade; one of the party spurs his horse to the front—he is speeding toward the castle gate! Blood o’ th’ Turk, he holds a trumpet in his grasp.”
“A trumpet, Balvardo? This should be the herald of the companie.”
“He rides up the hill, he reins his steed on the very edge of the moat. Hark, how his trumpet peals!”
And while the shrill and piercing sound of the trumpet broke on the air, the group listening beside the castle gate were startled by the sound of a measured footstep.
With one start they turned in the direction of the sound, and beheld the person of the new comer.