Adventure Magazine Cover — page 79: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Son of Strife truce, Achmet-ibn-Muros, prince of Emesa, hath slain my father and mother, burned Nerak and despoiled our people.” ‘‘Even so,” sneered Messer Renier. “‘And he will harm nobody else. ‘There is a truce, as you say. Achmet-ibn-Muros will return to Emesa with his spoils, and if King Amal- ric makes protests of what he hath done, he will reply that destroying Nerak was no act of warfare but a deed of private ven- geance—and every Saracen prince will uphold him.” Matteo frowned down upon him. ‘‘And will you not take a foison of spears and harry his retreat for the love of Christ and the honor of Christendom?”’ Again the clapping of hands overhead. “TY would not move a step to revenge Gui de Taberie,”’ growled de Chappes. ‘‘As for you, when you laid your hands on my son you sealed your doom. Aye, and I will carry the word to the Templars that you rescued an Assassin out of their hands!” “Tf you live!” jibed Matteo, and a red mist veiled his eyes as he drove the dagger- point an inch into the flesh. “Slay him not, lord!’ advised Ali. ‘‘We can use him and the young one to win ‘ree. “Good words,’ assented Matteo, the madness passing. A reckless humor possessed him. “You, messer,” he addressed the goggling Navarrese squire, “fetch us wine and bread.” The squire looked aslant at his master and departed. ‘““*Twill make a brave tale for noble lords to hear!” remarked Matteo re- flectively. “You fool, do you think any will heed you?” snorted de Chappes. ‘“‘Your word against Renier de Chappes! Why, boy, within the year the fief that was your father’s will be mine. When next you ride this way the banner of de Chappes will float over Nerak.”’ ‘““Mayhap—if you live,’ said Matteo. “Twill be no fault of mine if your villainy doth not reach the king’s ears.” They waited in silence until the squire returned with two flagons and a loaf. “Taste them!” directed Matteo. The man obeyed, and Matteo drank deep of the flagon, then passed it to Ali. The loaf he tucked under his bridle arm. “Doth my blade irk you?”’ he asked. 71 The blood had soaked Messer Renier’s jerkin, but he made no complaint. “I bide my time,” replied the lord of Mardan. “TI salute you, lord,’ mocked Matteo. ‘You have courage—as your son hath not, or I am grievously amiss. But now, I regret, we must be gone. May I trouble you to walk slowly at my side across the draw? Aye,so! I thank you.” He turned once in his saddle and waved the loaf toward the loophole overhead. ‘‘Farewell,” he called. A bubble of laughter answered him, and he was content. So the procession crossed the courtyard. First, Matteo and Messer Renier walking beside him, the dagger tip in Messer Renier’s flesh; next, Ali, with sword drawn, shepherding Manasses. The soldiers of the garrison stood impotently by the score, and looked and wondexed. When they had passed the drawbridge, Matteo halted. “°Tis enough, Messer Renier,” he said coldly. “You may return. If you wish to pursue us, you may do so. We shall not flee with undue haste. Slay us, if you choose. I do assure you ’twill be the one deed will wreck vour plan to inherit Nerak.”’ Messer Renier’s face twisted in a grimace that was due partly to pain and partly to exasperation. But he made no answer, and as Matteo and Ali rode slowly down the path that led toward the Jordan, he and his son recrossed the draw—no less slowly. “Ah,” said Matteo, and the Turcople advanced to his crupper. ‘Here is half the loaf. The ride was worth the issue, was it not?” _ Ali grinned. “It was worth much! Gui could have seen it!”’ Matteo’s face saddened. “T think I am no longer a boy, Ali,” he replied. ‘Something withn me _ hath broken, and I feel the stronger for it.” They rode without speaking until the towers of Mardan were buried behind the hills. : “Whither, now, lord?” inquired Ali. “T think we shall fare to Antioch,” an- swered Matteo, considering. “Last night my father spoke of my tarrying for a while at Prince Bohemond’s court. He had a friend there, a Messer John the English- man = Ah, lord, if Messer GOMIIGooOo SS C@