came to know something of the greatness of that noble-souled, valiant
gentleman, whom the old servant painted for me as one who combined with the
courage of the lion the wiliness of the fox.

He discoursed of their feats of arms together, he described charges of
horse that set my nerves a-tingle as in fancy I heard the blare of trumpets
and the deafening thunder of hooves upon the turf. Of escalades, of
surprises, of breaches stormed, of camisades and ambushes, of dark
treacheries and great heroisms did he descant to fire my youthful fancy, to
fill me first with delight, and then with frenzy when I came to think that
in all these things my life must have no part, that for me another road was
set--a grey, gloomy road at the end of which was dangled a reward which did
not greatly interest me.

And then one day from fighting as an endeavour, as a pitting of force
against force and astuteness against astuteness, he came to talk of
fighting as an art.

It was from old Falcone that first I heard of Marozzo, that miracle-worker
in weapons, that master at whose academy in Bologna the craft of
swordsmanship was to be acquired, so that from fighting with his irons as a
beast with its claws, by sheer brute strength and brute instinct, man might
by practised skill and knowledge gain advantages against which mere
strength must spend itself in vain.

What he told me amazed me beyond anything that I had ever heard, even from
himself, and what he told me he illustrated, flinging himself into the
poises taught by Marozzo that I might appreciate the marvellous science of
the thing.