In the middle of the party came four litters borne by
mules, and at the side of one of them rode a slender, graceful figure
that provoked from Peppe a second oath. But the profoundest objurgation
of all was wrung from him at sight of a portly bulk in the black habit of
the Dominicans ambling in the rear, who just then was in angry
altercation with a fellow that was urging his mule along with the butt of
his partisan.
"May you be roasted on a gridiron like Saint Lawrence," gasped the irate
priest. "Would you break my neck, brute beast that you are? Do you but
wait until we reach Roccaleone, and by St. Dominic, I'll get your
ruffianly commander to hang you for this ill-seasoned jest."
But his tormentor laughed for answer, and smote the mule again, a blow
this time that almost caused it to rear up. The friar cried out in angry
alarm, and then, still storming and threatening his persecutor, he passed
on. After him came six heavily-laden carts, each drawn by a pair of
bullocks, and the rear of the procession was brought up by a flock of a
dozen bleating sheep, herded by a blasphemant man-at-arms. They passed
the astonished watchers, who remained concealed until that odd company
had melted away into the night.
"I could swear," said Fanfulla, "that that friar and I have met before."
"Nor would you do a perjury," answered him the fool. "For it is that fat
hog Fra Domenico--he that went with you to the Convent of Acquasparta to
fetch unguents for his Excellency.
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