None would ever suspect Boccadoro the Fool within that shell of steel.

His honour would be vindicated, and he would not lose the esteem of Madonna Paola.

Indeed, if I returned covered with glory, that glory would be his; and if he elected to fly thereafter, he might do so without hurt to his fair name, for he would have amply proved his mettle and his courage.
In some such fashion I doubt not that the High and Mighty Giovanni Sforza reasoned during the seconds that we stood, face to face and eye to eye, in that room, the cries of the impatient ones below almost drowned in the roar of the multitude beyond.
At last he put out his hands to seize mine, and drawing me to the light he scanned my face, Heaven alone knowing what it was he sought there.
"If you do this," said he, "Biancomonte shall be yours again, if it remains in my power to bestow it upon you now or at any future time.

I swear it by my honour." "Swear it by your fear of Hell or by your hope of Heaven and the compact is made," I answered, and so palsied was he and so fallen in spirit that he showed no resentment at the scorn of his honour my words implied, but there and then took the oath I that demanded.
"And now," I urged, "help me to put on this armour of yours." Hurriedly I cast off my jester's doublet and my head-dress with its jangling bells, and with a wild exultation, a joy so fierce as almost to bring tears to my eyes, I held my arms aloft whilst that poor craven strapped about my body the back and breast plates of his corselet.

I, the Fool, stood there as arrogant as any knight, whilst with his noble hands the Lord of Pesaro, kneeling, made secure the greaves upon my legs, the sollerets with golden spurs, the cuissarts and the genouilleres.