But," he continued, an olive poised 'twixt
thumb and forefinger, "it seems they were not to be captured as easily as
he thought. He told me the traitors numbered six, and that they were to
meet a seventh there. The men who returned from the venture tell me too,
and without shame, that there were but some six or seven that beset them.
Yet they gave the Swiss trouble enough, and killed some nine of them
besides a half-score of more or less grievously wounded, whilst they but
slew two of their assailants and captured another two. Those were the
four heads you saw at the Porta San Bacolo."
"And Masuccio?" inquired Francesco. "Has he not told you since who were
those others that escaped?"
His Highness paused to masticate the olive.
"Why, there lies the difficulty," said he at length. "The dog is dead.
He was killed in the affray. May he rot in hell for his obstinate
reticence. No, no!" he checked himself hastily. "He's dead, and the
secret of this treason, as well as the names of the traitors, have
perished with him. Yet I am a clement man, Francesco, and sorely though
that dog has wronged me by his silence, I thank Heaven for the grace to
say--God rest his vile soul!"
The Count flung himself into a chair, as much to dissemble such signs of
relief as might show upon his face, as because he wished to sit.
"But surely Masuccio left you some information!" he exclaimed.
"The very scantiest," returned Gian Maria, in chagrined accents.
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