In silence the Captain of the Grand Company was borne to the prison of
the Capitol. In the same building lodged the rivals for the government
of Rome; the one occupied the prison, the other the palace. The guards
forebore the ceremony of fetters, and leaving a lamp on the table,
Montreal perceived he was not alone,--his brothers had preceded him.
“Ye are happily met,” said the Knight of St. John; “we have passed
together pleasanter nights than this is likely to be.”
“Can you jest, Walter?” said Arimbaldo, half-weeping. “Know you not that
our doom is fixed? Death scowls upon us.”
“Death!” repeated Montreal, and for the first time his countenance
changed; perhaps for the first time in his life he felt the thrill and
agony of fear.
“Death!” he repeated again. “Impossible! He dare not, Brettone; the
soldiers, the Northmen!--they will mutiny, they will pluck us back from
the grasp of the headsman!”
“Cast from you so vain a hope,” said Brettone sullenly; “the soldiers
are encamped at Palestrina.”
“How! Dolt--fool! Came you then to Rome alone! Are we alone with this
dread man?”
“You are the dolt! Why came you hither?” answered the brother.
“Why, indeed! but that I knew thou wast the Captain of the army;
and--but thou said’st right--the folly is mine, to have played against
the crafty Tribune so unequal a brain as thine. Enough! Reproaches are
idle. When were ye arrested?”
“At dusk--the instant we entered the gates of Rome. Rienzi entered
privately.”
“Humph! What can he know against me? Who can have betrayed me? My
secretaries are tried--all trustworthy--except that youth, and he so
seemingly zealous--that Angelo Villani!”
“Villani! Angelo Villani!” cried the brothers in a breath. “Hast thou
confided aught to him?”
“Why, I fear he must have seen--at least in part--my correspondence with
you, and with the Barons--he was among my scribes. Know you aught of
him?”
“Walter, Heaven hath demented you!” returned Brettone. “Angelo Villani
is the favourite menial of the Senator.”
“Those eyes deceived me, then,” muttered Montreal, solemnly and
shuddering; “and, as if her ghost had returned to earth, God smites me
from the grave!”
There was a long silence. At length Montreal, whose bold and sanguine
temper was never long clouded, spoke again.
“Are the Senator’s coffers full?--But that is impossible.”
“Bare as a Dominican’s.”
“We are saved, then. He shall name his price for our heads. Money must
be more useful to him than blood.”
And as if with that thought all further meditation were rendered
unnecessary, Montreal doffed his mantle, uttered a short prayer, and
flung himself on a pallet in a corner of the cell.
“I have slept on worse beds,” said the Knight, stretching himself; and
in a few minutes he was fast asleep.
The brothers listened to his deep-drawn, but regular breathing, with
envy and wonder, but they were in no mood to converse. Still and
speechless, they sate like statues beside the sleeper. Time passed
on, and the first cold air of the hour that succeeds to midnight crept
through the bars of their cell. The bolts crashed, the door opened,
six men-at-arms entered, passed the brothers, and one of them touched
Montreal.
“Ha!” said he, still sleeping, but turning round. “Ha!” said he, in the
soft Provencal tongue, “sweet Adeline, we will not rise yet--it is so
long since we met!”
“What says he?” muttered the guard, shaking Montreal roughly. The Knight
sprang up at once, and his hand grasped the head of his bed as for his
sword. He stared round bewildered, rubbed his eyes, and then gazing on
the guard, became alive to the present.
“Ye are early risers in the Capitol,” said he. “What want ye of me?”
“It waits you!”
“It! What?” said Montreal.
“The rack!” replied the soldier, with a malignant scowl.
The Great Captain said not a word. He looked for one moment at the six
swordsmen, as if measuring his single strength against theirs. His eye
then wandered round the room. The rudest bar of iron would have been
dearer to him than he had ever yet found the proofest steel of Milan. He
completed his survey with a sigh, threw his mantle over his shoulders,
nodded at his brethren, and followed the guard.
In a hall of the Capitol, hung with the ominous silk of white rays on a
blood-red ground, sate Rienzi and his councillors. Across a recess was
drawn a black curtain.
“Walter de Montreal,” said a small man at the foot of the table, “Knight
of the illustrious order of St. John of Jerusalem--”
“And Captain of the Grand Company!” added the prisoner, in a firm voice.
“You stand accused of divers counts: robbery and murder, in Tuscany,
Romagna, and Apulia--”
“For robbery and murder, brave men, and belted Knights,” said Montreal,
drawing himself up, “would use the words ‘war and victory.’ To those
charges I plead guilty! Proceed.”
“You are next accused of treasonable conspiracy against the liberties
of Rome for the restoration of the proscribed Barons--and of traitorous
correspondence with Stefanello Colonna at Palestrina.”
“My accuser?”
“Step forth, Angelo Villani!”
“You are my betrayer, then?” said Montreal steadily. “I deserved this.
I beseech you, Senator of Rome, let this young man retire. I confess my
correspondence with the Colonna, and my desire to restore the Barons.”
Rienzi motioned to Villani, who bowed and withdrew.
“There rests only then for you, Walter de Montreal, to relate, fully and
faithfully, the details of your conspiracy.”
“That is impossible,” replied Montreal, carelessly.
“And why?”
“Because, doing as I please with my own life, I will not betray the
lives of others.”
“Bethink thee--thou wouldst have betrayed the life of thy judge!”
“Not betrayed--thou didst not trust me.”
“The law, Walter de Montreal, hath sharp inquisitors--behold!”
The black curtain was drawn aside, and the eye of Montreal rested on the
executioner and the rack! His proud breast heaved indignantly.
“Senator of Rome,” said he, “these instruments are for serfs and
villeins. I have been a warrior and a leader; life and death have been
in my hands--I have used them as I listed; but to mine equal and my foe,
I never proffered the insult of the rack.”
“Sir Walter de Montreal,” returned the Senator, gravely, but with some
courteous respect, “your answer is that which rises naturally to the
lips of brave men. But learn from me, whom fortune hath made thy judge,
that no more for serf and villein, than for knight and noble, are such
instruments the engines of law, or the tests of truth. I yielded but to
the desire of these reverend councillors, to test thy nerves. But, wert
thou the meanest peasant of the Campagna, before my judgment-seat
thou needst not apprehend the torture. Walter de Montreal, amongst the
Princes of Italy thou hast known, amongst the Roman Barons thou wouldst
have aided, is there one who could make that boast?”
“I desired only,” said Montreal, with some hesitation, “to unite the
Barons with thee; nor did I intrigue against thy life!”
Rienzi frowned--“Enough,” he said, hastily. “Knight of St. John, I know
thy secret projects, subterfuge and evasion neither befit nor avail
thee. If thou didst not intrigue against my life, thou didst intrigue
against the life of Rome. Thou hast but one favour left to demand on
earth, it is the manner of thy death.”
Montreal’s lip worked convulsively.
“Senator,” said he, in a low voice, “may I crave audience with thee
alone for one minute?”
The councillors looked up.
“My Lord,” whispered the eldest of them, “doubtless he hath concealed
weapons--trust him not.”
“Prisoner,” returned Rienzi, after a moment’s pause; “if thou seekest
for mercy thy request is idle, and before my coadjutors I have no
secret; speak out what thou hast to say!”
“Yet listen to me,” said the prisoner, folding his arms; “it concerns
not my life, but Rome’s welfare.”
“Then,” said Rienzi, in an altered tone, “thy request is granted. Thou
mayst add to thy guilt the design of the assassin, but for Rome I would
dare greater danger.”
So saying, he motioned to the councillors, who slowly withdrew by
the door which had admitted Villani, while the guards retired to the
farthest extremity of the hall.
“Now, Walter de Montreal, be brief, for thy time is short.”
“Senator,” said Montreal, “my life can but little profit you; men will
say that you destroyed your creditor in order to cancel your debt. Fix a
sum upon my life, estimate it at the price of a monarch’s; every florin
shall be paid to you, and your treasury will be filled for five years
to come. If the ‘Buono Stato’ depends on your government, what I have
asked, your solicitude for Rome will not permit you to refuse.”
“You mistake me, bold robber,” said Rienzi, sternly; “your treason I
could guard against, and therefore forgive; your ambition, never! Mark
me, I know you! Place your hand on your heart and say whether, could
we change places, you, as Rienzi, would suffer all the gold of earth
to purchase the life of Walter de Montreal? For men’s reading of my
conduct, that must I bear; for mine own reading, mine eyes must be
purged from corruption. I am answerable to God for the trust of Rome.
And Rome trembles while the head of the Grand Company lives in the
plotting brain and the daring heart of Walter de Montreal. Man--wealthy,
great, and subtle as you are, your hours are numbered; with the rise of
the sun you die!”
Montreal’s eyes, fixed upon the Senator’s face, saw hope was over; his
pride and his fortitude returned to him.
“We have wasted words,” said he. “I played for a great stake, I have
lost, and must pay the forfeit! I am prepared. On the threshold of the
Unknown World, the dark spirit of prophecy rushes into us. Lord Senator,
I go before thee to announce--that in Heaven or in Hell--ere many days
be over, room must be given to one mightier than I am!”
As he spoke, his form dilated, his eye glared; and Rienzi, cowering as
never had he cowered before, shrunk back, and shaded his face with his
hand.
“The manner of your death?” he asked, in a hollow voice.
“The axe: it is that which befits knight and warrior. For thee, Senator,
Fate hath a less noble death.”
“Robber be dumb!” cried Rienzi, passionately; “Guards, bear back the
prisoner. At sunrise, Montreal--”
“Sets the sun of the scourge of Italy,” said the Knight, bitterly. “Be
it so. One request more; the Knights of St. John claim affinity with the
Augustine order; grant me an Augustine confessor.”
“It is granted; and in return for thy denunciations, I, who can give
thee no earthly mercy, will implore the Judge of all for pardon to thy
soul!”
“Senator, I have done with man’s mediation. My brethren? Their deaths
are not necessary to thy safety or thy revenge!”
Rienzi mused a moment: “No,” said he, “dangerous tools they were, but
without the workman they may rust unharming. They served me once, too.
Prisoner, their lives are spared.”