THE ASSASSINS ON THE RIALTO.—THE ATTACK AND DEFEAT.—THE STRANGER.
On the Rialto, one evening, as the sun was sinking in the golden west,
a stranger was seen walking to and fro in deep musing, apparently
unmindful of what was passing around him, or of the approach of
evening, an hour when the remorseless assassin is known to stalk abroad
in the streets of Venice, and there the dagger finds its victim.
Several individuals looked hard at the stranger in the cloak, but no
one approached him, save those who passed him, and in doing so bestowed
a passing gaze upon him, which was not returned, for he heeded no one.
But he was not much open to recognition even if he were known, for the
cloak with which he had enveloped himself was of such ample dimensions
that it completely concealed him from the curiosity of the many;
indeed, his face was hardly visible, for the fur collar he wore hid all
save the bridge of a prominent nose, and his eyes, which had a peculiar
lustre.
The evening still grew darker and later, and the passengers were fewer
and fewer, but still the tall stranger walked slowly up and down;
but no one ventured to say anything, though more than one had the
inclination to speak; but the tallness of the man, and the point of the
long rapier which appeared beneath the cloak, checked any inclination
to familiarity, and induced a more voluntary courtesy than might at all
times have been accorded.
There were, indeed, a small knot of three individuals, who kept near
the same place, and whose eyes every now and then directed their
glances towards the stranger, as if they regarded him with impatience.
These men were of a suspicious character; they all wore cloaks and
slouched hats, but they had all seen some service, and were somewhat
the worse for it. They conversed together, and walked away for a short
space, but they returned presently, and still found the stranger as
before at the same spot.
“Well,” said one of the three, as they again met at a certain spot,
“what think you now—is he a spy or not?”
“I don’t know what to think, Rubino. Spy or no spy, he will interfere
with our duty to-night. I wonder what is best.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, would it be better to chance his presence, or shall we put him
away? He evidently intends remaining there, the devil only knows how
long.”
“I believe you; but it appears to me that both plans are objectionable
to the last degree, though I confess I can see no alternative whatever.”
“Which do you consider the least objectionable plan?—that is what we
have to consider, for there are but two plans, and we cannot fail to do
our business; should we do so, we should lose something, and we should
never get any more employment.”
“Good. If we attack him, we shall lose our chance with our better
customer. We shall lose our man, at the least, if we get clear.”
“He wears a long sword, and is a tall man. If he has any skill, and I
dare be sworn he has, he will prove an ugly customer.”
“We are three.”
“That is very true; but an encounter only makes it the worse, and even
if he be killed, which, if we are true to ourselves, he must be, we
shall be obliged to quit the spot, and our main object defeated.”
“That is most true; but shall we risk the attempt when there are two?
It will make it too many odds; we shall not be so sure of success as we
ought to be.”
“We have the advantage of striking when we are not seen. A blow is sure
when no hand is raised to ward it off.”
“Ay, we should dispose of one before he has made any resistance, and
before the other can offer any opposition or attempt any assistance,
should the first have life enough to call out. Come, come, let’s have
no fear of the result; it is all in our own hands.”
“Shall we not run more danger during the encounter of being taken by
others who may come up, attracted by the fray? There is much to be
said about making an alarm, because numbers will then be drawn upon us,
and you know we have little sympathy among the multitude.”
“No, no; we must make all possible haste, and then we may elude all
possible chance. Strike the blow home, and then we may baffle all; for
if he cry, he will fall, and those who help him, will raise him, and we
shall have time to make our escape.”
“No doubt—no doubt; ’tis a good plan—a very good plan, and one that I
think will succeed; at all events, it only wants a good trial to make
it succeed; you see, a strong arm, quick eye, and swift foot, is all
that are necessary.”
“I see; and one more quality.”
“What is it?”
“Good luck.”
“Granted; but that often comes from the manner in which a thing is
done, and sometimes from the want of skill in those who should make it
the reverse. Confusion for a moment gives us our luck, and then we are
safe.”
“So we are.”
“How goes the time, Rubino?” inquired one of the assassins, for such
they were.
“Oh, it yet wants one hour of the time in which we are to meet him.”
“Well, then, we have more than a chance yet of our being undisturbed
here, and the stranger may leave for some other part of the city; but
our plan is fixed whether or no. Shall we turn into a vintner’s?”
“No; we have no time for that, as yet.”
“No time! What mean you Rubino?”
“That we have no time,” replied Rubino, “to quit this neighbourhood,
because you will perceive he may come any time these next two hours,
which is a matter of some importance; for if he reach home alive, we
have miscarried, and incur great displeasure, if not vengeance.”
“We care but little for the vengeance of another.”
“We may not individually; but you must know, this one knows too much of
us and our haunts to be a safe and pleasant enemy; besides, we shall
lose a liberal patron—one who has given us some gold and promised us
more.”
“Ay, ay; he’s the man to serve, and we will not disoblige him; we’ll
deal fairly by him, and he cannot expect more.”
“And he will reward us liberally.”
“Amen, say I. Now we have waited long enough, let us walk down the
Rialto, and when we get to the other end, we can plant ourselves in
such a position to watch his advance towards us, and then we can walk
to him.”
“Had we better not remain somewhere nearer at hand, because we can then
start on him unawares, and thus have a blow without alarming him; and,
if that be a deadly one, why, then we are safe. No one will know the
mischief is done.”
“So much the better; but come, we will continue our walk; it will lull
suspicion, and when we come again, one of our number can creep into one
of these alcoves, and there wait against his coming.”
“And you will be at hand?”
“Of course; we shall keep upon the look out, so as to be near at the
moment you commence the attack.”
“But suppose I should fall?”
“Then you must continue the attack in a sharp and rapid manner,
engaging all his attention to defend himself.”
“Ay; and leave me to myself to the attack of that man yonder, should he
be at hand at that moment.”
“Oh, no, no. Do not hurt yourself. You need be under no fear of that
sort, for you see it will only be man to man, and a fair encounter.”
“It has never yet been fairly done, and will not be with me in this
matter, don’t you see. If help arrives, I’m lost; and, if I be lost
without help, it will be the worse for you. I’ll take my share of
danger and mishap, but I won’t be imposed upon by a comrade, and so you
will understand it first.”
“Who was desirous you should? Shall we not be at hand?”
“At your heels, I expect; but don’t you see that, by giving a minute’s
time, you endanger all; for, if my first attack fail, he ought not
to be allowed rallying time; he ought not to be permitted to recover
himself, and attempt defence, indeed, because that gives time, and we
may be beat by others coming from whatever quarter we may go.”
“We do not intend it. We only are desirous that one of us should be
prepared to make the attack, while we are walking to and fro, and
perhaps attracting his attention, and drawing it from you. Then we aid
you; but, should you be foiled, why we will hasten as if we were coming
to help him.”
“I see; well, let it be so.”
“Good. We can then act effectively, and we are the gainers by this
stratagem. Now then, Roberto, do thou hide thyself in yonder alcove.”
“I will. My dagger is sharp, and you know my arm is not usually a weak
one, and that I have done some service with it ere now.”
“Thou hast.”
“And it will again do more.”
“Hush! hasten in. I hear footsteps yonder. ’Tis he, I think. We will
not go far, but within the reach of your eye; fifty yards, at most,
will be the distance. We will take and come towards you the moment we
find he has reached you.”
“Good. Begone—he comes.”
The assassin stole into an alcove, and then paused in the deep shade of
the place where he had concealed himself, and the other two walked down
a short distance—about a hundred and fifty yards or so—and then paused
and looked back.
“Do you see anything of them?”
“No; I don’t at this moment. It is getting very dark.”
“We had better return and see what happens. We shall get up in the very
nick of time, and be able to take part in the fray.”
“Well, be it so,” replied the other. “I’ll go with you; but we run some
risk in encountering the stranger in the rapier and long cloak.”
“Most true; but we shall not have taken any part in the affair; that
will clear us of anything that may tend to inculpate us. We are right;
and, if we find our comrade hardly pressed, we can aid him, and that at
a time when it is unexpected by the other party. Hark! they are at it
already.”
“Come on.”
They both hastened towards the scene of combat, towards which they both
ran, for they knew their comrade’s voice.
The other villain awaited the coming of the stranger, whom he was
waiting to assassinate, as soon as his comrades had left him.
The unconscious stranger walked down the Rialto with a slow and steady
gait, humming an air from some opera as he walked along, well pleased
in his own mind. He wore his cloak open in front, and his sword
dangling at his side, and altogether most unsuspicious of an attack.
Scarcely, however, had he passed the assassin’s hiding-place, than the
fellow rushed out and made a desperate blow at him with his dagger,
which, however, miscarried, on account of the loose manner in which he
wore his cloak; the blow was foiled by the folds of the garment, and
the wearer turned round.
“Villain!” he exclaimed, “thou shalt have thy deserts;” and, as he
spoke, he drew his sword, and became the assailant in his turn.
[Illustration: The stranger fights back against the assassin.
“Help! help!” shouted the villain, who found himself beset by one who
would quickly make him repent his temerity.
At that moment the rest of the assassins came up, and commenced a
furious attack upon the single stranger, who, of course, from being
almost a victor, was immediately compelled to give ground to the three.
“Help! help!” shouted the stranger, as he was forced on one knee, and
that with a wound; but at that moment help was at hand, and the tall
stranger stepped up to his side, and casting his cloak on one side, and
drawing his rapier, he ran one of the assailants through the body and
he fell backwards dead.
A furious combat ensued between the stranger and the other two
assassins, who were compelled to fight, so closely were they pressed by
the stranger; however, after a few moments, they turned and fled.
The stranger then turned towards the wounded man, who was rising from
the ground by the help of the pillar that was supporting the sides of
the alcove, and then endeavoured to stanch the wound he had received.