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Now, attend to me. You are suspected of that business in the Via della Gatta." Castracane shrugged. "Chi lo sa?" says he. "We shall see about that. Meantime, what have you to urge?" Castracane scratched his head. "What would you have me say, Messere? I am a poor lad. You are many, and I am one." Alessandro turned to his archers. "Bring him down to the hermitage," he said.
As unconcernedly as she could she got up, stretched herself with elaborate ease, and strolled off along the edge of the hill. Castracane followed her; she affected not to know it; but her heart began to quicken, and when he was close beside her she found that she had to look at him. "Good morning, Castracane," says Silvestro. He grunted. "Look here, Silvestro," he began, "about that Jew "
You would rather not tell me any more quite sure?" "No, I can't indeed. Let's talk of something else. How old are you?" "Seventeen." "I'm not sixteen yet. Is Castracane your real name?" Castracane looked pleased. "I'm glad you asked. No; they call me that among ourselves, because of a little knack I have; but my name is Pilade." "That's a very nice name," said Silvestro.
This was too subtle for the youth. "The trouble was," he said, "that I hit you in the right place. That's the knock-out blow, that one. Morte di Ercole, and down you went! Well, I'm sorry; will that do?" "Yes, yes I want no more. Let us be friends, Castracane." "Benissimo." He helped his late enemy up; they kissed each other, then sat together on the grass admirable friends.
There rode Sciarra Colonna, and beside him, for once in history, Orsino Orsini, and others, all dressed in cloth of gold, and Castruccio Castracane, wearing that famous sword which in our own times was offered by Italy to King Victor Emmanuel; and many other Barons rode there in splendid array, and there was great concourse of the people.
Silvestro laughed nervously. "Why should we fight, Castracane? Besides, we have no knives. How can we fight?" "Like this," said the other between his teeth. His left arm whipped out, like a lizard's tongue, and Silvestro lay flat on his back among the cistus flowers, seeing ink and scarlet clouds. "Stick a Jew indeed!" cried Castracane. "Stick a grandmother! Why, you're as soft as cheese!"
If you want miracles, for example!" "I do want them, Pilade. I want them very much." Silvestro sighed again, and leaned his cheek till it touched his friend's. A shock transfused Castracane; he was caught by the starry influences. Suddenly he turned his mouth towards that blushing flower, and kissed Silvestro. Silvestro thrilled but lay close.
Galeazzo, his son, was less fortunate than Matteo, surnamed Il Grande by the Lombards. The Emperor Louis of Bavaria threw him into prison on the occasion of his visit to Milan in 1327, and only released him at the intercession of his friend Castruccio Castracane. To such an extent was the growing tyranny of the Visconti still dependent upon their office delegated from the Empire.
Twenty-five years later they were divided against each other, in the wild days when Lewis the Bavarian, excommunicated and at war with the Pope, was crowned and consecrated Emperor, by the efforts of an extraordinary man of genius, Castruccio degli Interminelli, known better as Castruccio Castracane, the Ghibelline lord of Lucca who made Italy ring with his deeds for twenty years, and died of a fever, in the height of his success and glory, at the age of forty-seven years.
"There were more of you fellows the other night," said the Corporal of the Guard. "Where are the rest of you? Come now, out with it; no lies here!" Petruccio, who had some sense, shammed to have none; but Andrea, less happy, was a real fool. At this invitation he looked wise. "Castracane is not here true, but it wasn't Castracane," he muttered, and found his neck in a vice.
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