What means this?"
He had seemed to speak in jest, but while the cowed man was still
kneeling before him, he, of a sudden, struck the sword aside, and,
stooping, he gripped the _bravo_ by the throat and dragged him from
the shelter of the porch to the water's edge. As iron were the
relentless hands; the man's eyes started from his head, the very
breath seemed to be crushed out of him in the grip of the terrible
priest.
"Signor Rocca, what means this?" the friar repeated. "A naked sword in
your hand and sweat upon your brow. Oh, oh! a tale, indeed! Shall I
read it to you, or shall I raise my voice and fetch those who will
read it for me--those who have the irons heated, and the boot so made
for your leg that no last in Italy shall better it. Speak, rascal,
shall I read you the tale?"
"Mercy, Prince, for the love of God!"
The priest released the pressure of his hands and let the other sink
at his feet.
"Who sent you, rogue?" he asked. "Who pays your wage?"
"I dare not tell you, Excellency."
"Dare not! _you_ dare not--you, whom a word will put to torture
greater than any you have dreamed of in your worst agonies; _you_ dare
not."
"Excellency, the Countess of Treviso; I am her servant."
"And the man who sent her to the work--his name?"
"Andrea, Count of Pisa, Excellency."
The priest stepped back as one whose curiosity was entirely satisfied.
"Ah! I thought so. And the price they paid you, knave?"
"Forty silver ducats, Excellency,"
"Ho, ho! so that is the price of a friar in Venice.
Pages:
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308