"So help us God our Seigneur, and San Giovanni!" the knights answered him in a breath, nerving themselves to attack and success: but they came silently and with no sounds of battle—by order of their chief—not knowing whether to expect welcome or conflict, or whether secrecy might be well.
At the tramp of their horses' feet the warden had advanced to the grille of reconnoitre and withdrawn the small stone shutter for inspection; his head appeared behind the bars, but he wore no tell-tale colors:
"Open! in the name of the Queen! to Her Majesty's faithful vassals!"
The Admiral spoke low—for secrecy might be the very discretion of valor: but fearlessly, for the words were a signal, and every knight stood ready.
"Who challengeth? Speak low."
Was it the word of caution, or a ruse de guerre?
"One of Nikosia."
The Admiral gave the password which Bernardini had sent in that hasty note, and listened, trembling as a brave man may with impatience to be within and at his post of duty, while one by one the bolts were withdrawn, the portcullises were raised, and the signal to advance was given—quite silently: the finger of the guard who had been detailed to accompany them, was upon his lips.
Not until he had conducted them beyond, into the city, did he speak: "We know not what echoes there may be within those walls," he said, pointing back to the ponderous gateway with its many vaulted passages.
Then impatient, the Admiral asked for news.