"Are you hurt, excellency?" called out Jacopo.
"Not in the least. How are you?"
"Nothing but a scratch, excellency, which I received from his reverence, who, for all his monkish cowl, wields a good weapon."
"Well, jump down and let us see who our friends are, but first let me look to your wound."
"It is really nothing as I said, signore," and Jacopo sprang lightly to earth. I did not, however, listen to him, and taking from him his flint and steel, lighted a piece of dry wood, which I converted into a torch. With the aid of this and the moonlight, I examined Jacopo's wound, which after all was but slight, and had just bandaged it up with my kerchief, when I became aware that the man whom Jacopo had ridden over, had arisen on his hands and knees, and was crawling off into the brushwood.
"Steady, friend," I said, and running up to him, gave him a prick with my sword as a hint to stop. He made a little outcry, but had the good sense to take the hint, and casting the light of the torch on his face, I recognised my old acquaintance the ancient Brico.
"So, signore," I said, "I have again to be thankful to you."
Jacopo too came up and recognised the man at a glance.
"Cappita!" he burst out, "but it is the ancient Brico! Shall I beat his brains out, excellency?"
"Mercy, most noble cavalier," exclaimed Brico, "I yield me to ransom."