So the end of it was that more than half an hour after the combat should have begun， **** and the gigantic Ambrosio found themselves standing face to face waiting for the signal to engage， the Swiss shouting threats and defiance and Grey **** grinning and watching him out of his half-shut eyes.
At length it came in the shape of a single blast upon a trumpet. Now seeing that **** stood quite still， not even raising his axe， the Swiss advanced and struck a mighty blow at him， which **** avoided by stepping aside. Recovering himself， again Ambrosio struck. This blow **** caught upon his shield， then， as though he were afraid， began to retreat， slowly at first， but afterward faster till his walk broke into a run.
At this sight all that mighty audience set up a hooting. "Coward！ Dog！
Pig of an Englishman！" they yelled； and the louder they yelled the more quickly did Grey **** run， till at last even Hugh grew puzzled wondering what was in his mind and hoping that he would change it soon. So the audience hooted， and Grey **** ran and the giant Swiss lumbered along after him， bellowing triumphantly and brandishing his battle-axe， which， it was noted， never seemed to be quite long enough to reach his flying foe.
When this had gone on for two or three minutes， Grey **** stumbled and fell. The Swiss， who was following fast， likewise tripped and fell over him heavily， whereon the multitude shouted：
"Foul play！ A dirty， foreign trick！"
In an instant **** was up again， and had leapt upon the prostrate Swiss， as all thought， to kill him. But instead the only thing he did was to get behind him and kick him with his foot until he also rose.
Thereat some laughed， but others， who had bets upon their champion， groaned.
Now the Swiss， having lost his shield in his fall， rushed at ****， grasping his axe with both hands. As before， the Englishman avoided the blow， but for the first time he struck back， catching the giant on the shoulder though not very heavily. Then with a shout of "St. George and England！" he went in at him.
Hither and thither sprang ****， now out of reach of the axe of the Swiss and now beneath his guard. But ever as he sprang he delivered blow upon blow， each harder than the last， till there appeared scars and rents in the fine white mail. Soon it became clear that the great Swiss was overmatched and spent. He breathed heavily， his strokes grew wild， he over-balanced， recovered himself， and at last in his turn began to fly in good earnest.
Now after him went ****， battering at his back， but， as all might see， with the flat of his axe， not with its edge. Yes， he was beating him as a man might beat a carpet， beating him till he roared with pain.
"Fight， Ambrosio， fight！ Don't fly！" shouted the crowd， and he tried to wheel round， only to be knocked prostrate by a single blow upon the head which the Englishman delivered with the hammer-like back of his axe.
Then **** was seen to kneel upon him and cut the lashings of his helmet with his dagger， doubtless to give the /coup de gr鈉e/， or so they thought.
"Our man is murdered！" yelled the common people， while those of the better sort remained shamed and silent.
**** rose， and they groaned， thinking that all was done. But lo！ stooping down he helped the breathless Swiss， whom he had disarmed， to his feet. Then， taking him by the nape of the neck， which was easy， as his helmet was off， with one hand， while in the other he held his bared knife， **** thrust him before him till they reached the tribune of the Doge.
"Be pleased to tell the Illustrious，" he said， to Sir Geoffrey， "that this braggart having surrendered， I spared his life and now return him to his brother the Page quite unharmed， since I did not wish to wound one who was in my power from the first. Only when he gets home I pray that he will look at his back in a glass and judge which of us it is that has been 'beaten to a pulp.' Let him return thanks also to his patron saint， who put pity in my heart， so that I did not cut him into collops， as I promised. For know， sir， that when I walked out yonder it was my purpose to hew off his hands and shorten him at the knees.
Stay--one word more. If yonder boaster has more brothers who really wish to fight， I'll take them one by one and swear to them that this time I'll not give back a step unless I'm carried."
"Do you indeed yield and accept the Englishman's mercy？" asked the Doge in a stern voice.
The poor Ambrosio， ****** no answer， blundered forward among the crowd and there vanished， and this was the last that **** ever saw or heard of him. But， although he waited there a while， feeling the edge of his axe and glaring about him， none of the captain's companions came forward to accept his challenge.
At length， with a shrug of his shoulders， **** turned. Having taken his bow and quiver from David， who could not conceal his indecent joy at the utter humiliation of Ambrosio， whom he hated with a truly British hate， he walked slowly to where Hugh sat upon his horse.
"The jest is done， master， and now for good earnest， since 'tis your turn. The Saints save me such another cow hunt in this hell's heat.
Had I killed him at once I should be cooler now， but it came into my mind to let the hound live. Indeed， to speak truth， I thought that I heard the voice of Murgh behind me， saying， 'Spare，' and knew that I must obey."
"I hope he will say nothing of the sort to me presently，" answered Hugh， "if he is here， which I doubt. Why， what is it now？ Those gold-coated marshals are talking again."
Talking they were， evidently at the instance of Cattrina， or his counsellors， who had raised some new objections， which Sir Geoffrey stepped forward to explain to them. But Hugh would not even hear him out.
"Tell the man and all whom it may concern，" he said in an angry voice， "that I am ready to fight him as he will， on horse or on foot， with lance or sword or axe or dagger， or any or all of them， in mail or without it； or， if it pleases him， stripped to the shirt. Only let him settle swiftly， since unless the sweat runs into my eyes and dims them， it seems to me that night is coming before it is noon."
