Now the Governor of Patras, just then, was engaged with the common enemy of Christendom, the Turk, and since the soldier in Carlo was always on the surface, the Governor, who had learned from some source or another of the young gentleman’s temperamental proclivities, and no doubt from Carlo himself of the various notable captains under whom he had served, pushed him into the fight. Carlo was only twenty-two, but he worked so well, and flung himself into the campaign with such whole-hearted enthusiasm, that before long he was wounded so desperately that for one night he was deemed to be dead and preparations were made to bury him, a fate which was only averted in the nick of time by his return to consciousness. It was not for many months that he recovered of his grievous hurt, for the better healing of which he was sent back to Venice. In Italy he was fortunate enough to meet his godfather, the Emperor, and to make a good lodgment in the great man’s favour, the result of which was to send him on Imperial business to England, France, and Germany; so that, when he returned to Patras, he was better equipped than ever for either of the two causes, ecclesiastic or military, which he might choose to espouse. At Patras, he found the choice made for him, since the place was once more imperilled, this time by Frenchmen and Cypriotes, and the good Bishop, handing over to him the tiny force which was available, bade him do the best he could, as speedily as possible. Carlo’s best—the best of “Zeno the Unconquerable”—was very good indeed. So good, in fact, that it reads like a fable, but the authority is, or ought to be, unimpeachable, so it must be accepted that during six months of hard fighting he kept ten or twelve thousand enemies at bay with seven hundred men, and ultimately persuaded them to draw off, without the loss of a single man on his own side. It must be borne in mind, though, that in those delectable days fighting was less dangerous for the combatants than at any time before or since. The accounts of the wars are very nearly bloodless—for the combatants, _bien entendu_—not for the inoffensive and helpless non-combatants, the sacking and looting of whom was the agreed consideration for which the mercenaries gave their services. It was shortly after this affair that the direction of Zeno’s life was settled for ever; jealous of his success and his growing fame, a Greek knight, in a moment of spleen, accused him, after all he had done, of treachery! There is a touch of to-day about the form which Sir Simon’s venom took that brings that distant past very close to us. “Tradito!” “Nous sommes trahis!” These are still the first cries to be heard when the gold of the spendthrift years has run out and the horrible creditors crowd into a nation’s House.