In one or two, and presently in more, the cruel laughter turned
to sudden howls of pain as a lash of bullock-hide caught them about head
and face and shoulders.
"Back there, you beasts, you animals, back!" roared a voice of thunder,
and back they went unquestioning before that pitiless lash, like the pack
of craven hounds they were.
It was Francesco, who, single-handed, and armed with no more than a whip,
was scattering them from about his maltreated servant, as the hawk
scatters a flight of noisy sparrows. And now between him and Lanciotto
there stood no more than the broad bulk of Ercole Fortemani, his back to
the Count; for, as yet, he had not realised the interruption.
Francesco dropped his whip, and setting one hand at the captain's girdle,
and the other at his dirty neck, he hoisted him up with a strength
incredible, and hurled him from his path and into the slimy water of the
tank.
There was a mighty roar drowned in a mightier splash as Fortemani,
spread-eagle, struck the surface and sank from sight, whilst with the
flying spray there came a fetid odour to tell of the unsavouriness of
that unexpected bath.
Without pausing to see the completion of his work, Francesco stooped over
his prostrate servant.
"Have the beasts hurt you, Lanciotto?" he questioned. But before the
fellow could reply, one of those hinds had sprung upon the stooping
Count, and struck him with a dagger between the shoulder-blades.
A woman's alarmed cry rang out, for Valentina was watching the affray
from the steps of the hall, with Gonzaga at her elbow.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186