"Captain?" cried the other, coming to a standstill and his face turning
purple. "Body of Satan! What captain? I am captain here."
The Count looked him over in surprise.
"Why, then," said he, "you are the very man I seek. I congratulate you
on the watch you keep, Messer Capitano. Your castle is so excellently
patrolled that had I been minded for a climb I had scaled your walls and
got within your gates without arousing any of your slumbering sentries."
Fortemani eyed him with a lowering glance. The prosperity of the past
four days had increased the insolence inherent in the man.
"Is that your affair?" he growled menacingly. "You are over-bold, sir
stranger, to seek a quarrel with me, and over-pert to tell me how I shall
discharge my captaincy. By the Passion! You shall be punished."
"Punished--I?" echoed Francesco, on whose brow there now descended a
scowl as black as Ercole's own.
"Aye, punished, young sir. Ercole Fortemani is my name."
"I have heard of you," answered the Count contemptuously, "and of how you
belie that name of yours, for they tell me that a more drunken, cowardly,
good-for-nothing rogue is not to be found in Italy--no, not even in the
Pope's dominions. And have a care how you cast the word 'punishment' at
your betters, animal. The moat is none so distant, and the immersion may
profit you. For I'll swear you've not been washed since they baptized
you--if, indeed, you be a son of Mother Church at all.
Pages:
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175