" He threw out
his arms, and displayed his splendid teeth in a hearty laugh.
Fanfulla eyed him, infected by the boisterous gladness of his mood.
"Why, true indeed, my lord," he acknowledged, "you are too fine a bird to
sing in a cage. But to go knight-erranting----" He paused, and spread
his hands in protest. "There are no longer dragons holding princesses
captive."
"Alas no. But the Venetians are on the eve of war, and they will find
work for these hands of mine. I want not for friends among them."
Fanfulla sighed.
"And so we lose you. The stoutest arm in Babbiano leaves us in the hour
of need, driven out by that loutish Duke. By my soul, Ser Francesco, I
would I might go with you. Here is nothing to be done."
Francesco paused in the act of drawing on a boot, and raised his eyes to
stare a moment at his friend.
"But if you wish it, Fanfulla, I shall rejoice to have your company."
And now the idea of it entered Fanfulla's mind in earnest, for his
expression had been more or less an idle one. But since Francesco
invited him, why not indeed?
And thus it came to pass that at the third hour of that warm May night a
party of four men on horseback and two sumpter mules passed out of
Babbiano and took the road that leads to Vinamare, and thence into the
territory of Urbino. These riders were the Count of Aquila and Fanfulla
degli Arcipreti, followed by Lanciotto leading a mule that bore the arms
of those knights-errant, and Zaccaria leading another with their general
baggage.
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