While this the state of the camp of the besiegers, Luca di Savelli and
Stefanello Colonna were closeted with a stranger, who had privately
entered Palestrina on the night before the Romans pitched their tents
beneath its walls. This visitor, who might have somewhat passed his
fortieth year, yet retained, scarcely diminished, the uncommon beauty of
form and countenance for which his youth had been remarkable. But it was
no longer that character of beauty which has been described in his first
introduction to the reader. It was no longer the almost woman delicacy
of feature and complexion, or the highborn polish, and graceful suavity
of manner, which distinguished Walter de Montreal: a life of vicissitude
and war had at length done its work. His bearing was now abrupt and
imperious, as that of one accustomed to rule wild spirits, and he had
exchanged the grace of persuasion for the sternness of command. His
athletic form had grown more spare and sinewy, and instead of the brow
half shaded by fair and clustering curls, his forehead, though yet
but slightly wrinkled, was completely bald at the temples; and by its
unwonted height, increased the dignity and manliness of his aspect. The
bloom of his complexion was faded, less by outward exposure than inward
thought, into a bronzed and settled paleness; and his features seemed
more marked and prominent, as the flesh had somewhat sunk from the
contour of the cheek. Yet the change suited the change of age and
circumstance; and if the Provencal now less realised the idea of
the brave and fair knight-errant, he but looked the more what the
knight-errant had become--the sagacious counsellor and the mighty
leader.
“You must be aware,” said Montreal, continuing a discourse which
appeared to have made great impression on his companions, “that in this
contest between yourselves and the Senator, I alone hold the balance.
Rienzi is utterly in my power--my brothers, the leaders of his army;
myself, his creditor. It rests with me to secure him on the throne, or
to send him to the scaffold. I have but to give the order, and the Grand
Company enter Rome; but without their agency, methinks if you keep faith
with me, our purpose can be effected.”
“In the meanwhile, Palestrina is besieged by your brothers!” said
Stefanello, sharply.
“But they have my orders to waste their time before its walls. Do you
not see, that by this very siege, fruitless, as, if I will, it shall be,
Rienzi loses fame abroad, and popularity in Rome.”
“Sir Knight,” said Luca di Savelli, “you speak as a man versed in the
profound policy of the times; and under all the circumstances which
menace us, your proposal seems but fitting and reasonable. On the one
hand, you undertake to restore us and the other Barons to Rome; and to
give Rienzi to the Staircase of the Lion--”
“Not so, not so,” replied Montreal, quickly. “I will consent either so
to subdue and cripple his power, as to render him a puppet in our hands,
a mere shadow of authority--or, if his proud spirit chafe at its cage,
to give it once more liberty amongst the wilds of Germany. I would
fetter or banish him, but not destroy; unless (added Montreal, after a
moment’s pause) fate absolutely drives us to it. Power should not demand
victims; but to secure it, victims may be necessary.”
“I understand your refinements,” said Luca di Savelli, with his icy
smile, “and am satisfied. The Barons once restored, our palaces once
more manned, and I am willing to take the chance of the Senator’s
longevity. This service you promise to effect?”
“I do.”
“And, in return, you demand our assent to your enjoying the rank of
Podesta for five years?”
“You say right.”
“I, for one, accede to the terms,” said the Savelli: “there is my hand;
I am wearied of these brawls, even amongst ourselves, and think that a
Foreign Ruler may best enforce order: the more especially, if like
you, Sir Knight, one whose birth and renown are such as to make him
comprehend the difference between Barons and Plebeians.”
“For my part,” said Stefanello, “I feel that we have but a choice of
evils--I like not a foreign Podesta; but I like a plebeian Senator still
less;--there too is my hand, Sir Knight.”
“Noble Signors,” said Montreal, after a short pause, and turning his
piercing gaze from one to the other with great deliberation, “our
compact is sealed; one word by way of codicil. Walter de Montreal is no
Count Pepin of Minorbino! Once before, little dreaming, I own, that the
victory would be so facile, I intrusted your cause and mine to a deputy;
your cause he promoted, mine he lost. He drove out the Tribune, and
then suffered the Barons to banish himself. This time I see to my own
affairs; and, mark you, I have learned in the Grand Company one lesson;
viz. never to pardon spy or deserter, of whatever rank. Your forgiveness
for the hint. Let us change the theme. So ye detain in your fortress my
old friend the Baron di Castello?”
“Ay,” said Luca di Savelli; for Stefanello, stung by Montreal’s threat,
which he dared not openly resent, preserved a sullen silence; “Ay, he is
one noble the less to the Senator’s council.”
“You act wisely. I know his views and temper; at present dangerous to
our interests. Yet use him well, I entreat you; he may hereafter serve
us. And now, my Lords, my eyes are weary, suffer me to retire. Pleasant
dreams of the New Revolution to us all!”
“By your leave, noble Montreal, we will attend you to your couch,” said
Luca di Savelli.
“By my troth, and ye shall not. I am no Tribune to have great Signors
for my pages; but a plain gentleman, and a hardy soldier: your
attendants will conduct me to whatever chamber your hospitality assigns
to one who could sleep soundly beneath the rudest hedge under your open
skies.”
Savelli, however, insisted on conducting the Podesta that was to be, to
his apartment. He then returned to Stefanello, whom he found pacing the
saloon with long and disordered strides.
“What have we done, Savelli?” said he, quickly; “sold our city to a
barbarian!”
“Sold!” said Savelli; “to my mind it is the other part of the contract
in which we have played our share. We have bought, Colonna, not
sold--bought our lives from yon army; bought our power, our fortunes,
our castles, from the Demagogue Senator; bought, what is better than
all, triumph and revenge. Tush, Colonna, see you not that if we had
balked this great warrior, we had perished? Leagued with the Senator,
the Grand Company would have marched to Rome; and, whether Montreal
assisted or murdered Rienzi, (for methinks he is a Romulus, who would
brook no Remus), we had equally been undone. Now, we have made our own
terms, and our shares are equal. Nay, the first steps to be taken are in
our favour. Rienzi is to be snared, and we are to enter Rome.”
“And then the Provencal is to be Despot of the city.”
“Podesta, if you please. Podestas who offend the people are often
banished, and sometimes stoned--Podestas who insult the nobles are often
stilettoed, and sometimes poisoned,” said Savelli. “‘Sufficient for the
day is the evil thereof.’ Meanwhile, say nothing to the bear, Orsini.
Such men mar all wisdom. Come, cheer thee, Stefanello.”
“Luca di Savelli, you have not such a stake in Rome as I have,” said
the young Lord, haughtily; “no Podesta can take from you the rank of the
first Signor of the Italian metropolis!”
“An you had said so to the Orsini, there would have been drawing of
swords,” said Savelli. “But cheer thee, I say; is not our first care to
destroy Rienzi, and then, between the death of one foe and the rise of
another, are there not such preventives as Ezzelino da Romano has taught
to wary men? Cheer thee, I say; and, next year, if we but hold together,
Stefanello Colonna and Luca di Savelli will be joint Senators of Rome,
and these great men food for worms!”
While thus conferred the Barons, Montreal, ere he retired to rest, stood
gazing from the open lattice of his chamber over the landscape below,
which slept in the autumnal moonlight, while at a distance gleamed, pale
and steady, the lights round the encampment of the besiegers.
“Wide plains and broad valleys,” thought the warrior, “soon shall ye
repose in peace beneath a new sway, against which no petty tyrant
shall dare rebel. And ye, white walls of canvass, even while I gaze--ye
admonish me how realms are won. Even as, of old, from the Nomad tents
was built up the stately Babylon, (Isaiah, c. xxii.) that ‘was not till
the Assyrian founded it for them that dwell in the wilderness;’ so by
the new Ishmaelites of Europe shall a race, undreamt of now, be founded;
and the camp of yesterday, be the city of tomorrow. Verily, when, for
one soft offence, the Pontiff thrust me from the bosom of the Church,
little guessed he what enemy he raised to Rome! How solemn is the
night!--how still the heavens and earth!--the very stars are as hushed,
as if intent on the events that are to pass below! So solemn and so
still feels mine own spirit, and an awe unknown till now warns me that I
approach the crisis of my daring fate!”