The archbishop flushed angrily.

"Do not blaspheme," he commanded. "Then you persist in your appeal to the ordeal of battle?"

"I do appeal," Perpetua answered, firmly, "hoping that Heaven will strengthen the hand that is lifted to-day in my cause, which is God's."

The archbishop frowned.

"You are perverse and stubborn, but the law is plain and must be obeyed.

Call the King's challenger."

Sigurd, raising his voice, called loudly:

"In the King's name I call on the King's challenger to appear." Rang out a great rattle of trumpets, voices hummed in expectation, and all heads turned in the direction of another archway in the amphitheatre, from which it was known that the challenger and the champion would appear.

Out of the darkness, into the bright light of the arena stepped a figure all in armor, with the visor of his helmet down, so that none could see his face. The armor was plain; the shield bore no device, but it was buzzed about in all directions that this was the Lord Hildebrand, and any doubts were answered by the assertion, patently true, that the Lord Hildebrand did not make one of the glittering group about the King.

The archbishop addressed the new-comer.

"Proclaim your purpose," he commanded.

The challenger, still with his visor lowered, said in a low voice:

"In the King's name I accuse this woman of witchcraft, and will maintain that charge with my sword, if any be found bold to challenge it."

The archbishop again rose and asked:

"Does any champion answer on the woman's side?"

Out of the same archway came Theron in old and rusty armor, with the visor of his helmet up, so that all could behold his wrinkled, haggard face.

"I do," he cried. "I am her father, and I know her stainless soul. This hand that has so often dealt justice to others may now do justice for itself."

The archbishop again rose, and spoke.

"Then, by the law, opposer and opposed must do battle to the death. If the challenger gain the day, his charge is proved and the woman dies by fire. If the woman's champion win, the woman shall be counted innocent and her accuser shall die as she would have died. Let them begin."

There was a new flourish of trumpets. Then a number of soldiers ran into the arena and set up a spacious ring of short painted staves of wood, colored white and red, and linked together with thick ropes of similarly colored silk. Into this space the challenger and the champion were conducted and left facing each other, while Perpetua was led to the stake, where she mounted the platform and stood, with the piled faggots at her feet, clasping a crucifix to her breast. Father Hieronymus stood with the assistant executioners at the foot of the platform. Once again the archbishop rose, and his words seemed the only stir in the intense silence.

"Let them begin, and God defend the right."

Again the trumpets thundered, and as the sound died away champion and challenger engaged in combat. The great swords gleamed in the bright air, fell heavily on the lifted shields. All the spectators held their breath. No one expected the fight to last long; and indeed it did not last long. Everybody was confident that the challenger would easily overcome the aged champion, but everybody's confidence was ill-founded.

After a few blows hotly exchanged the sword of Theron struck the helm of his enemy, and to the amazement of the spectators the King's challenger reeled and fell heavily, clattering to the ground. In a moment Theron was over him with the great sword at the fallen man's throat.

"Yield or die!" he cried, in a voice in which exultation and astonishment struggled for the mastery.

The fallen man propped himself on one arm.

"I am defeated," he gasped. "The maid is innocent."

XIX

ROBERT THE RIGHTEOUS

"Glory to God!" cried Theron, and flung away his sword. He turned and ran towards the stake, from which Perpetua was at once unfastened, and caught her in his arms. Hieronymus hurried to the side of the fallen man, whose head was now raised on the knee of one soldier, while another unfastened his helmet. All the great multitude in the arena leaned forward eagerly to see the face of Hildebrand. Only the figure like the King remained unmoved and impassive. But when the challenger's helmet was removed, the spectators saw with astonishment the twisted features of a face that they knew for the face of the fool Diogenes.

A strange murmur of surprise rippled along the tiers. Sigurd Olafson called out the name in wonder to the archbishop.

"The fool Diogenes!"

Theron, leaving Perpetua, leaned over his antagonist and muttered, "The fool Diogenes!"

All over the great amphitheatre the words ran, "The fool Diogenes!"

The archbishop turned to the kingly image:

"It was an ill chance, sire, that found you a fool for a champion, but there's no help now. By the laws of Sicily the field is fought and won."

Robert, lying conquered on the ground, gasped out one word:

"Perpetua!"

Hieronymus beckoned to Perpetua, who came and knelt by the side of the seeming fool. Her senses were in a whirl, and, hardly conscious, she stooped and listened to the words which Robert whispered eagerly into her ear:

"You must not misread me; you must know why I have done what I have done. My arm was too weak to wield a weapon in your defence, but my vile body might well be flung away to rescue yours. Hildebrand is dead.

Hieronymus found me a suit of armor. I came as the challenger, resolved to fall and die."

"I knew this," confirmed Hieronymus; "but I was pledged to keep his secret."

Perpetua looked into Robert's eyes tenderly. What could be said of devotion such as his?

"You must not die," she whispered.

Robert shook his head.

"The law demands my death as the very seal of your innocence. But it is better to die thus in your service than to live forever having wronged you in a thought."

Fighting emotions swayed Perpetua's soul. Hardly knowing what she said, she spoke quickly:

"You must not die. Your life is very dear to me. I love you." Her cheeks flamed crimson as she spoke, but her lips and her eyes were steadfast.

Robert shook his head.

"You could not love this monster. You pity me and you call your pity love."

All Syracuse watched and wondered at the colloquy between the redeemed maid and the mysterious fool who had taken the place of the Lord Hildebrand. Now they saw Perpetua spring to her feet.