Harold Lamb

“ The anxious glance of the hunchback met his and then circled away as if vainly seeking some avenue of escape.
“Hold,” spoke up the chamberlain irresolutely, addressing the courtiers and ignoring Michael in the more pressing matter at hand. “This is good Bembo, my lord’s fool and favorite. Would you slay him, signori?”
“Verily is he a fool,” answered one of the young nobles carelessly, “and so must pay for his folly.”
“Not so. He is no man’s fool,” corrected another, “and so the dogs will have his limbs for their sport. ’Tis an ill-shapen thing, by the archangel!” ”

“ A young fellow with a face like a woman made response. “By the splendor of heaven, what have we here?”
The chamberlain saw an opportunity to please the nobles. “A man, my lord of Mocenigo,” he informed loudly, “who claims the freedom of the city and so the liberty to attend the fête of my lord Contarini.”
The jester’s lined face had brightened at Michael’s words, but now he appeared hopeless once more. Not so Mocenigo, who scented a finer jest, even, than the tormenting of Bembo. ”

“ Near at hand a fat Turkish gymnast in a soiled silk khilat was making the commoners gape by balancing two swords, one above the other, on his forehead and squealing shrilly as if to call attention to his prowess. ”