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"Why, then, does it not become clear? She has taken this company for a garrison, and in Roccaleone she clearly intends to resist in rebel fashion the wishes of his Highness." At that the Count threw back his head, and scared the passers-by with as hearty a peal of laughter as ever crossed his lips. "By the Host!" he gasped, laughter still choking his utterance. "There is a maid for you!
I came to Roccaleone with a message of warning; but underneath, deep down in my heart, I bore the hope that mine should be more than a messenger's part; that mine it might be to remain by you and do such work as I am doing." "Without you they would have forced me by now to surrender." "Perhaps they would. But while I am here I do not think they will. I burn for news of Babbiano.
A pace or so behind her stood the lily-cheeked Gonzaga, gnawing his lip, timid and conjecturing. Behind him again loomed the stalwart height of Francesco del Falco with, at his side, Lanciotto, of mien almost as resolute as his own. That was the full force with which the lady spoke of sweeping them as if they had been so much foulness from Roccaleone, unless they did her bidding.
At the end of some ten minutes Gian Maria reappeared, and, summoning an archer to his side, he delivered him something and made a motion of his hand towards Roccaleone. Gonzaga moved to the door, and stood listening breathlessly. At the least sign of an approach, he would have shown himself, and thus, by the provision made in his letter have cautioned the archer against shooting his bolt.
And he had never suspected it! Dull-witted did he now account himself. Enough descriptions had he heard of that famous condottiero, that mirror of Italian chivalry. He might have known that there did not live two men of such commanding ways as he had seen instanced at Roccaleone. What was his object there?
"I am her representative, her sometime Provost of Roccaleone." "Who are you?" quoth the Duke, struck by a familiar note in that mocking voice. "Francesco del Falco, Count of Aquila." "By God! You!" "An age of marvels, is it not?" laughed Francesco. "Which will you lose, my cousin a wife or a duchy?" Rage struck Gian Maria speechless for a moment.
He did not want for cunning, nor for judgment of the working of human minds, and he very reasonably opined that once the Lady Valentina immured herself in Roccaleone and sent word to her uncle that she would not wed Gian Maria, nor return to the Court of Urbino until he passed her his ducal word that she should hear no more of the union, the Duke would be the first to capitulate.
Furtively, from under lowering brows, Gonzaga darted a look of impotent malice at the Count. Whatever issue had the affair, this man must not remain in Roccaleone.
Despatch, fool!" he added sharply, now fearing interruption. In a moment the man was back, and the rope was lowered to the visitor below. A few seconds later Zaccaria stood on the ramparts of Roccaleone, the water dripping from his sodden garments, and gathering in a pool about his feet. "This way," said Gonzaga, leading the man towards the armoury tower, where a lanthorn was burning.
"If you would have us remain in Roccaleone, let be. Aventano, tell me." "To Messer Romeo Gonzaga," answered the youth, in a voice of wonder. So evil a light leapt to Cappoccio's eye that Francesco carried his free hand to the sword which he had lowered. But Cappoccio only looked up at Gonzaga, and grinned malevolently.
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