He was a leader who had shown himself capable of leading, and
out of confidence for whom they would have undertaken anything that he
bade them. Whom had they now? Fortemani was but one of themselves,
placed in command over them by an event purely adventitious. Gonzaga was
a fop whose capers they mimicked and whose wits they despised; whilst
Valentina, though brave enough and high-spirited, remained a girl of no
worldly and less military knowledge, whose orders it might be suicidal to
carry out.
Now by none were these opinions more strongly entertained than by Ercole
Fortemani himself. Never had he performed anything with greater
reluctance than the apprehension of Francesco, and when he thought of
what was likely to follow his consternation knew no bounds. He had come
to respect and, in his rough way, even to love their masterful Provost,
and since learning his true identity, in the hour of arresting him, his
admiration had grown to something akin to reverence for the condottiero
whose name to the men-at-arms of Italy was like the name of some patron
saint.
To ensure the safe keeping of his captive, he had been ordered by
Gonzaga, who now resumed command of Roccaleone, to spend the night in the
ante-room of Francesco's chamber. These orders he had exceeded by
spending a considerable portion of the night in the Count's very room.
"You have but to speak," the bully had sworn, by way of showing Francesco
the true nature of his feelings, "and the castle is yours.
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