No sooner had Ugolino disappeared, than the Princess Rosabelle left her
apartment, and with hurried steps rushed along the corridor to the
private chamber of the duke. The soldiers on duty before the door
respectfully resisted the entrance of the princess, informing her that
the duke was closeted with his principal chiefs, and had strictly
debarred all access to his presence.
“Away!” shrieked the princess, “not speak with him! I must. It is his
life which is at stake! Ho! Gualtieri! as thou lovest thy life and
dukedom, hear Rosabelle!”
“How now, minion?” said Gualtieri, coming from the chamber. “Is it not
enough that my daily life must be rendered a curse and a scandal to me
by thy presence and pestilent conduct, but I am to be disturbed at
midnight with thine outcries?”
“Thy life is in danger,” said Rosabelle. “As thou art a soldier, arm
quickly, for ere long they will be here, who have sworn to see thy
heart’s blood.”
“A likely invention!” said the duke, with a sneer, “by what miracle of
evil hast thou arrived at so sage a conclusion?”
“It is true, by our lady,” said Rosabelle. “Oh, Gualtieri, wilt thou not
believe me? My brother, thou hast been harsh to me, but I cannot see
thee murdered without making an effort to save thee.”
“Murder, fair Rosabelle,” said the duke, “if all say true, is by no
means unfamiliar to thy thoughts. How hast thou this rare intelligence?
Of what nature is it? Soldier, retire.”
“Adimari and the Medici have plotted the downfall of thine authority,”
replied the princess. “This night; nay, this very moment their plans
will be matured. The throngs are now gathering which will hurl thee from
thy seat, and perchance, deprive thee of thy life.”
“From whence thine information?” demanded the duke.
“From the Count Ugolino.”
The face of the duke became purple with rage. His hands shook like the
aspen, and his voice was hoarse as the growl of the enraged lion.
“Ugolino!” he exclaimed. “Ha! harlot! Hast thou dared again to discourse
with that bloody villain? and this night? Thou diest for it, wert thou
thrice my sister!”
Gualtieri drew his dagger, and was about to rush upon his sister, when
the hurried tread of men and the sound of voices arrested his arm. The
dagger fell from his hand. A door in the corridor flew violently open,
and Cerettieri Visdomini, followed by three or four soldiers, stood
before him. The face of Visdomini was pale as marble, and a rivulet of
blood, trickling from a deep wound in his forehead, gave a ghastly
expression to his countenance. His dress was disordered through haste
and fright, and in his hand he bore a broken rapier.
“How now, Cerettieri?” shouted the duke, while Rosabelle, taking
advantage of the confusion, escaped from the apartment.
“All is confirmed,” replied Visdomini, in a trembling voice. “The rabble
have gained head. Every thing is in disorder. Your banners are torn
down, and dragged through the filth of the slaughter-houses. The
cross-gules floats with the red lily every where triumphant. Rally your
train, my lord, and close the palace gates, before the rebels are upon
you.”
“Where is that traitorous dog, Leonardo Adimari? Hast not arrested him?”
“I did so. He has been rescued, and I bear nothing from Adimari, save
this sword-cut.”
“And the Assisi?”
“Have escaped to the palace. They are endeavoring to rally the troops.
Arm, my lord duke, for the sake of the Madonna, or all is lost!”
A loud shout, “down with the tyrant!” and the clang of arms ran through
the corridor.
“Ho! D’Argencourt! mine armour! my helmet!” shouted the duke. “Treason!
throw forth my banner! Stand fast, arbalastmen, to the windows! Ply
trebuchet and mangonel! Cerettieri, order the Count D’Hunteville to draw
forth my chivalry into the piazza! Shall we shrink from the hogs of
Florence? Fight valiantly, my brave knights and gallant soldiers, and
the spoil of the city shall be yours!”