Adventure Magazine Cover — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

Continuing with the fortunes of Francesco FR. Buckley’s M odern Serial in a Medieval Setting ‘The Way I HUMBLE Brother Simeon to whose hand the feel 9 of the sword is far more familiar than that of the learned pen, as a penance for two unseemly acts ill befitting one of my holy station, hereby, in accor- dance with the decree of the good abbot, set down the whole story of my warrior days, the better to feel meet disgust thereat, especially since in contempla- tion of that impious period, I shall realize to the full how fortunate was my saving, and how sweet the life of peace. In first, I sinned mightily by throwing soup at Brother Ambrose for talking ignorantly about artillery. In second, my offense was that of doing violence with sword and fists to a young noble whom I found half-drunk at an inn, and otherwise disporting himself most shamefully. Him I cau- tioned in a fatherly way, but the young blood pre- ferred to take offense, jeering at my monkish garb, and calling me ‘old woman.” Then he had the temerity to bare his sword at me, and (mea culpa) I grew hot-headed as of yore. Ah well, perhaps the youth has learned a lesson that may well serve him in the future. . . . In my eighteenth year I was apprenticed by my father, a poor musician, to one Messer Porsini, a mercer of good standing in Rometia. Here, my father hoped, I should apply myself faithfully to my task, learn the business, perhaps even marry the squint-eyed daughter of my employer, and in time own a little shop of my own. Below my window I often heard of nights the watch-calls and the clang- ing of the armor of the guard of the Duke of Rome- tia, and I felt an irresistible longing to take down my sword from its hook (I had brought it with me from home) and stroll by myself in the dark streets. One night, when the duke was holding a fiesta in honor of a visiting count, I yielded to the tempta- tion, entered the palace grounds, was inveigled by several of the soldiers to partake of the flowing wine-cups. In this condition I saw two armored * This ts an Off-the-Trail story. 140 men dragging a crying girl. One of the men called: “Hence, boy, this is no affair of thine.” However, being hot with wine, I whipped out my sword, pierced one man at the center of his breast- plate and then had at the other till I ran him through likewise. Thereupon I ran home and fell trembling and panting on my bed. Soon I heard a hammering on the door, and the sleeping household was aroused by the deep bellow of: “Open! In the name of the duke, open!” Old Porsini began to quake and ran about fran- tically, looking for a hiding-place, for he was se- cretly conspiring against the person of the duke, and he thought he had been discovered and sent for. But they were after Porsini’s apprentice, myself, and I was marched off between a file of the duke’s guard, headed by a pinkish-bearded sergeant, my hands still stained with the blood of my escapade. When I was brought into the presence of the duke, I found him in converse with his sister, the Countess Anita. He was imperiously telling her that his wish that she marry a certain count was final, and though she appeared highly spirited, she left the room ap- parently subdued to his will. The duke then turned to me. “Why didst thou kill the Count of Monterosso?” The Count of Monterosso! Istood paralyzed. I had thought both my victims common soldiers. I explained to the duke as best I could, and when I mentioned the girl, the duke became incensed. ‘““The lecher!” he exclaimed. ‘‘His lieutenant told me he was out for a stroll.”’ Thereupon the duke called his chaplain, sent one of his men to find the girl, and when the two were before him, he ordered the chaplain to marry the girl to me, then and there, in order, as he said, to gain two marks with one shot: The count whom he wanted out of the way for personal reasons was dead; and the duke could make a great play of See contents page footnote. TIC OOOKS of C©