Adventure Magazine Cover — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

A Son of Strife be put overside. The patrono remained in his cabin until they had gone, evidently fearful that they might renew their demands for rebate of their passage money. But the two travelers already had dismissed him from their minds. They were considering the problems of the future, and they left the Pisan galley without a thought to their recent adventure or whatever their fellow passengers might think of it. On the wharf they asked the first burgher they met for the house of Messer Gambaglio. “Tis in the Street of the Genoese under the Castle Hill,” he replied. “You may know it by the sign of the Golden Galley hanging above the door.” Matteo thanked the man, and mounting their horses, he and Ali rode at a foot-pace along the narrow, stone-paved streets of the town, teeming with artisans, burghers, country-folk, priests, merchants from over- seas and the men-at-arms and knights of Count Raymond, whose castle loomed over all on the heights of Mount Pilgrim, where a new city was growing up distinct from the ancient town on the peninsula adjoining the little river. “A rich city,” said Matteo. “Aye, lord, as rich as any,” agreed Ali. They found the Street of the Genoese without difficulty, and midway of its length a replica of a galley in gilded wood creaked in the evening breeze above the door of a substantial house whose thick-walled win- dows were barred with iron. A servant was about to shut the great door as Matteo dismounted. “What want you, my master?” he asked in sniffling French with an Italian accent. “Speech with Messer Gambaglio.” ‘The signor is engaged.” “Say to him, then, that Messer Matteo, the son of the lord of Nerak, is waiting at his door,’ directed Matteo with a touch of hauteur. The servant opened the door and bowed very low. “Ah, lord, forgive this ignorant one. Pray, enter. I will fetch the signor at once.” Matteo handed his bridle to Ali, and fol- lowed the Italian inside the low vestibule, which opened on one side into Messer Gam- baglio’s counting-room and warehouse and terminated in a flight of stairs leading to the living quarters above. Presently, there was a swish of garments on the stairs, and Messer Gambaglio appeared, a grim-featured man, 83 with watchful eyes and a tight mouth, clad in a fur-trimmed gaberdine. “Ha, Messer Matteo, I greet you well!” he hailed. “You carry a message from your noble father?” A choking sensation in Matteo’s throat brought the tears to hiseyes. The buoyance of youth and the swift succession of events had blurred his recollections of that last awful night in Nerak. But memory was easily stirred. He saw again the swirl of fierce Arab faces, the sea of dirty white surcoats, the two who stood alone in the great hall, so dauntless in the face of doom. ‘My father is dead, Messer Gambaglio,”’ he said brokenly. “Dead! Lord Gui is dead!” Consterna- tion struggled with amazement in the mask- like countenance of the Genoese. ‘‘Why, he was in health the last time I heard from him some two weeks since.” “‘Aye, but the Saracens carried Nerak by storm. Of all the castle company, only I and Ali Ma’akwaa, the captain of the Tur- coples, escaped. Ali is without.” ‘“‘Nerak captured! And by storm!” A doubtful expression crossed Messer Gam- baglio’s face. ‘‘Certes, ’twas the strongest hold on the eastern march, after Kerak! “4 iT 99 “It was taken by treachery,’ Matteo. The doubtful expression became intensi- fied on Messer Gambaglio’s face. “A strange tale,” he remarked, wagging his head. ‘You bring me some message from your father, Messer Matteo?” “How could I?” replied Matteo sadly. “He died, sword in hand, with only time to call to Ali to help my escape.” “No message? Humph! Ho! Humph! A token, then? Somewhat he “IT fled in the night, Messer Gambaglio. The castle was already full of Saracens. We ran for our lives. There was no opportunity for tokens.” Messer Gambaglio wagged his head again. The doubtful look became openly suspicious. ‘“‘At the least, young sir, you have some one here in Tripoli who can identify you, some friend of your father’s who knoweth you by sight—as I do not?” “T am just landed from the Sancta Spiritu galley, new-come from Acre. Nay, there is none here I may call upon.” Messer Gambaglio gathered his velvet ’ explained GOMIIGooOo S (© iin