While such were the events at Rome, a servitor of Stephen Colonna was
already on his way to Corneto. The astonishment with which the old Baron
received the intelligence may be easily imagined. He lost not a moment
in convening his troop; and, while in all the bustle of departure, the
Knight of St. John abruptly entered his presence. His mien had lost its
usual frank composure.
“How is this?” said he, hastily; “a revolt?--Rienzi sovereign of
Rome?--can the news be believed?”
“It is too true!” said Colonna, with a bitter smile. “Where shall we
hang him on our return?”
“Talk not so wildly, Sir Baron,” replied Montreal, discourteously;
“Rienzi is stronger than you think for. I know what men are, and you
only know what noblemen are! Where is your kinsman, Adrian?”
“He is here, noble Montreal,” said Stephen, shrugging his shoulders,
with a half-disdainful smile at the rebuke, which he thought it more
prudent not to resent; “he is here!--see him enter!”
“You have heard the news?” exclaimed Montreal.
“I have.”
“And despise the revolution?”
“I fear it!”
“Then you have some sense in you. But this is none of my affair: I
will not interrupt your consultations. Adieu for the present!” and, ere
Stephen could prevent him, the Knight had quitted the chamber.
“What means this demagogue?” Montreal muttered to himself. “Would he
trick me?--has he got rid of my presence in order to monopolise all the
profit of the enterprise? I fear me so!--the cunning Roman! We northern
warriors could never compete with the intellect of these Italians but
for their cowardice. But what shall be done? I have already bid Rodolf
communicate with the brigands, and they are on the eve of departure from
their present lord. Well! let it be so! Better that I should first break
the power of the Barons, and then make my own terms, sword in hand, with
the plebeian. And if I fail in this,--sweet Adeline! I shall see thee
again!--that is some comfort!--and Louis of Hungary will bid high for
the arm and brain of Walter de Montreal. What, ho! Rodolf!” he
exclaimed aloud, as the sturdy form of the trooper, half-armed and
half-intoxicated, reeled along the courtyard. “Knave! art thou drunk at
this hour?”
“Drunk or sober,” answered Rodolf, bending low, “I am at thy bidding.”
“Well said!--are thy friends ripe for the saddle?”
“Eighty of them already tired of idleness and the dull air of Rome, will
fly wherever Sir Walter de Montreal wishes.”
“Hasten, then,--bid them mount; we go not hence with the Colonna--we
leave while they are yet talking! Bid my squires attend me!”
And when Stephen Colonna was settling himself on his palfrey, he heard,
for the first time, that the Knight of Provence, Rodolf the trooper, and
eighty of the stipendiaries, had already departed,--whither, none knew.
“To precede us to Rome! gallant barbarian!” said Colonna. “Sirs, on!”