Love-at-Arms | Page 8

love my liberty too well, and I have no mind to stifle in the scented
atmosphere of courts. You see I am frank with you. It is my pleasure to
roam the world, my harness on my back, free as the blessed wind of
heaven. Shall a ducal crown and a cloak of purple----" He broke off
sharply with a laugh. "There, my friends! You have had reasons and to
spare. Again I thank you, and deplore that being such as I am, I may
not become such as you would have me."
He sank back in his chair, eyeing them with a glance never so wistful,
and after a second's silence, Da Lodi's voice implored him, in accents
that trembled with pathetic emphasis, to reconsider his resolve. The old
man would have proceeded to fresh argument, but Aquila cut him
short.
"I have already so well considered it, Messer Fabrizio," he answered
resolutely, "that nothing now could sway me. But this, sirs, I will
promise you: I will ride with you to Babbiano, and I will seek to reason
with my cousin. More will I do; I will seek at his hands the office of
Gonfalonier, and if he grant it me; I will so reorganise our forces, and
enter into such alliances with our neighbours as shall ensure, at least in
some degree, the safety of our State."
Still they endeavoured to cajole him, but he held firm against their
efforts, until in the end, with a sorrowful mien, Da Lodi thanked him
for his promise to use his influence with Gian Maria.
"For this, at least, we thank your Excellency, and on our part we shall
exert such power as we still wield in Babbiano to the end that the high
office of Gonfalonier be conferred upon you. We had preferred to see
you fill with honour a position higher still, and should you later come
to consider----"

"Dismiss your hopes of that," put in the Count, with a solemn shake of
his head. And then, before another word was uttered, young Fanfulla
degli Arcipreti leapt of a sudden to his feet, his brows knit, and an
expression of alarm spreading upon his comely face. A second he
remained thus; then, going swiftly to the door, he opened it, and stood
listening, followed by the surprised glances of the assembled company.
But it needed not the warning cry with which he turned, to afford them
the explanation of his odd behaviour. In the moment's tense silence that
had followed his sudden opening of the door they had caught from
without the distant fall of marching feet.
CHAPTER II
ON A MOUNTAIN PATH
"Armed men, my lords!" had been Fanfulla's cry. "We are betrayed!"
They looked at one another with stern eyes, and with that grimness that
takes the place which fear would hold in meaner souls.
Then Aquila rose slowly to his feet, and with him rose the others,
looking to their weapons. He softly breathed a name--"Masuccio
Torri."
"Aye," cried Lodi bitterly, "would that we had heeded your warning!
Masuccio it will be, and at his heels his fifty mercenaries."
"Not less, I'll swear, by the sound of them," said Ferrabraccio. "And we
but six, without our harness."
"Seven," the Count laconically amended, resuming his hat and
loosening his sword in its scabbard.
"Not so, my lord," exclaimed Lodi, laying a hand upon the Count's arm.
"You must not stay with us. You are our only hope--the only hope of
Babbiano. If we are indeed betrayed--though by what infernal means I
know not--and they have knowledge that six traitors met here to-night
to conspire against the throne of Gian Maria, at least, I'll swear, it is not

known that you were to have met us. His Highness may conjecture, but
he cannot know for sure, and if you but escape, all may yet he well--
saving with us, who matter not. Go, my lord! Remember your promise
to seek at your cousin's hand the gonfalon, and may God and His
blessed Saints prosper your Excellency."
The old man caught the young man's hand, and bending his head until
his face was hidden in his long white hair, he imprinted a kiss of fealty
upon it. But Aquila was not so easily to be dismissed.
"Where are your horses?" he demanded.
"Tethered at the back. But who would dare ride them at night adown
this precipice?"
"I dare for one," answered the young man steadily, "and so shall you all
dare. A broken neck is the worst that can befall us, and I would as lief
break mine on the rocks of Sant' Angelo as have it broken by the
executioner of Babbiano."
"Bravely said, by the Virgin!" roared Ferrabraccio. "To horse, sirs!"
"But the only way is the