I have some
skill as a condottiero--leastways, so more than one foreign prince has
been forced to acknowledge. I will lead your army when I have raised it,
and I will enter into alliances for you with our neighbouring States,
who, seeing us armed, will deem us a power worthy of their alliance. And
so, what man can do to stem the impending flood of this invasion, that
will I do to defend your Duchy. Make me your gonfalonier, and in a month
I will tell you whether it lies in my power or not to save your State."
The eyes of Gian Maria had narrowed more and more whilst Francesco spoke,
and into his shallow face had crept an evil, suspicious look. As the
Count ceased, he gave vent to a subdued laugh, bitter with mockery.
"Make you my gonfalonier?" he muttered, in consummate amusement. "And
since when has Babbiano been a republic--or is it your aim to make it
one, and establish yourself as its chief magistrate?"
"If you misapprehend me so----" began Francesco, but his cousin
interrupted him with heightening scorn.
"Misapprehend you, Messer Franceschino? No, no. I understand you but
too well." He rose suddenly from his interrupted meal, and came a step
nearer his cousin. "I hear rumours of this growing love my people are
manifesting for the Count of Aquila, and I have let them go unheeded.
That rogue Masuccio warned me ere he died, and I answered him with my
whip across his face. But I am by no means sure that I have been
proceeding wisely.
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