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Updated: June 9, 2025
The great bully hesitated. His knowledge of Francesco's methods was not encouraging. "Madonna!" gasped Francesco, his bewilderment increasing. "Did you hear me, Fortemani," she demanded. "Remove him." "My lord?" cried Lanciotto, laying hand to his sword his eyes upon his master's, ready to draw and lay about him at a glance of bidding. "Sh! Let be," answered Franeesco coldly.
Exasperated at that, Lanciotto had swung his leg free, and caught the rash fellow a vicious kick in the face that had felled him, stunned and bleeding. The roar from the man's companions told Lanciotto what to expect. In an instant they were upon him, clamouring for his blood.
"Had he raised his hand against you, Madonna, or even against Messer Gonzaga, or had he disobeyed an order given him by either of you, then, and then only, could there be question of insubordination. But he has done none of these things. He is guilty of grossly misusing my servant, it is true, but there is no insubordination in that, since he was under no promise of loyalty to Lanciotto."
Down this they went in haste but in good order, marshalled by Francesco, and when the last had passed down, he and Lanciotto, aided by others below, who had seized a rope that he had lowered them, replaced the slab from underneath, so that no trace should remain of the way by which they had come.
At his command the horses were saddled and the sumpters laden once more. Lanciotto held his stirrup, and Zaccaria did like service for Fanfulla, and presently they were cantering out of that fragrant grove on to the elastic sward of broad, green pasture-lands.
But return to me to-night toward the fourth hour, when all are abed, and bring with you my men, Lanciotto and Zaccaria." The morning of that Wednesday of Corpus Christi, fateful to all concerned in this chronicle, dawned misty and grey, and the air was chilled by the wind that blew from the sea. The chapel bell tinkled out its summons, and the garrison trooped faithfully to Mass.
"Tell me, sirrah," she said, "and as you value your neck, see that you answer me truly what is your master's name?" Lanciotto looked from her to Gonzaga, who stood by, a cynical curl on his sensual lips. "Answer Monna Valentina," the courtier urged him. "State your master's true name and station." "But, lady," began Lanciotto, bewildered.
At length one burly ruffian, who had bidden him remove his head-piece in the company of gentlemen, and whose request had been by Lanciotto as disregarded as the rest, advanced menacingly towards him and caught him by the leg, as Ercole had caught his master.
She shuddered, and with strange inconsistence: "No," she said, in a choking voice, her lip twisting oddly at the corner. "I do not wish to see his face again." A light gleamed in Gonzaga's eye, and was extinguished on the instant. "Best make certain," he suggested, rising. "I have ordered Fortemani to bring Lanciotto here. He will be waiting now, without. Shall I admit them?"
The blood flamed in Francesco's cheeks, nor did it soften his chagrin to note the look which Valentina flashed down at him. Instantly he leapt to the ground, and flinging his reins to Lanciotto he went forward to the foot of that stone staircase, his broad hat slung back upon his shoulders, to meet that descending company. "Is this seemly, sir?" she questioned angrily.
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