Adventure Magazine Cover — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

The Grand Cham Rudolfo’s half-dozen archers plied their long bows with disciplined precision. | “Saint Mark and Rudolfo!”’ Their shout went over the water to the galley. Answer- ing cries identified the attackers as Turks and Greeks. “Dogs!” snarled young Mocenigo. ‘The Lion of Saint Mark! Ha—do you like his claws?” He seized one of the cressets by its sup- ports and cast it out upon the deck of the galley as that craft moved past—the maneu- _ ver of the Venetian skipper having kept the galley from striking the side of the pilgrim ship with its bow. _ For a moment there was a pandemonium of shouts, cries of anger and pain and the flicker of javelins and arrows. The archers of Rudolfo, bearing long leather shields in front of them on their left arms, escaped injury, but Michael saw a pilgrim or two fall writhing to the deck. Then the galley was past its prey and. turning slowly—one bank of oars plying. “Pandol” called the Nauplia’s skipper. “About!” He pushed the two steering- sweeps over and the galliot swung slowly into the offshore tack on which it had been when the pirates were sighted. Only one more attempt the galley made to close, and the motley defenders of the pilgrim ship were lining the other rail when something whizzed past Michael from be- hind and stuck into the wooden planking between him and Rudolfo. The Breton glanced around and saw only the confusion of undisciplined men taking up new positions. Then he drew the knife from the rail. “A pretty present,” laughed the condot- tiere. “For you or me?” its bronze hilt richly inlaid with silver. Michael thrust it into his belt and observed that the galley was draw- ing off, followed by the taunting shouts of THE knife was a long, heavy blade, - the Venetians. “They have small stomach for a fight,” he ~ muttered. “Thanks to God and our good friend Pietro Rudolfo.”. Clavijo’s bull voice filled the ship. ‘Come, Master Bearn, I do not see that you were any too forward in the affray. Doubtless your skin is tender and you hang back lest it be pricked.”’ Now Michael had not seen Clavijo at all 139 along the embattled rail of the galliot and he strongly suspected that the man had re- mained in his cabin until the pirates had drawn off. Then a stronger suspicion as- sailed him, and he touched the knife in his girdle. E “Aye,” he assented seriously, “the skin is very tender—upon my back, and this poniard is both heavy and sharp. It was cast at me from behind.” He held it up by the point before the eyes of the Spaniard, who blinked-and pulled at his long beard. Rudolfo took it, glanced it over, looked searchingly at Clavijo from under his thick brows and tossed it over the side of the vessel. “Some sailor’s blade,”’ he shrugged, “and: doubtless meant for my kidneys. I am not overpopular with the seamen of the Naz- plia, because, verily, I enforce discipline upon occasion,” It was a long speech for the taciturn condotiiere to make. Michael would have chosen to keep the dagger, in hopes of learn- ing who its owner was. Yet, as Rudolfo said, it might well have been intended: for him. “Hark ye, Messer Clavijo.” The Breton folded his arms. vessel nor leader of your men-at-arms am I. The Maritime Council engaged me to aid you to navigate unknown waters if need be, and to arrange transport upon land. This will I do, so well as I may. Methinks the time may come when. you will have need of my services.” He was looking at Clavijo, but Rudolfo spoke. “As a slave, Master Bearn? It is said that you sleep alone in your cloak, so that no other may see the marks of a whip upon your shoulders.” So saying, he stepped back, laying hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Michael Bearn drew a long breath, but his left hand —that Rudolfo, having learned his lesson once, was watching—reached up to the clasp of his mantle instead of to his weapon. The cloak fell to the deck, and Michael’s muscular fingers ripped open the collar of his jerkin, drawing it down over his bare shoulder. Both Clavijo and Rudolfo saw the deep red welt of sears. “Aye,” nodded Michael, “there be the marks of a Turkish scourge.” At this Clavijo started and a curiously intent frown passed over his smooth brow.. He eyed the Breton’s square, hard face and COMME DOO KS3a6© “Neither master of this