“Stab the Tribune with my own stiletto, and then hey for Palestrina!”
“The egg will hatch a brave serpent,” quoth the Savelli. “Yet why so bitter against the Tribune, my cockatrice?”
“Because he allowed an insolent mercer to arrest my uncle Agapet for debt. The debt had been owed these ten years; and though it is said that no house in Rome has owed more money than the Colonna, this is the first time I ever heard of a rascally creditor being allowed to claim his debt unless with doffed cap and bended knee. And I say that I would not live to be a Baron, if such upstart insolence is to be put upon me.”
“My child,” said old Stephen, laughing heartily, “I see our noble order will be safe enough in your hands.”
“And,” continued the child, emboldened by the applause he received, “if I had time after pricking the Tribune, I would fain have a second stroke at—”
“Whom?” said the Savelli, observing the boy pause.
“My cousin Adrian. Shame on him, for dreaming to make one a wife whose birth would scarce fit her for a Colonna’s leman!”
“Go play, my child—go play,” said the old Colonna, as he pushed the boy from him.
“Enough of this babble,” cried the Orsini, rudely. “Tell me, old lord; just as I entered, I saw an old friend (one of your former mercenaries) quit the palace—may I crave his errand?”
“Ah, yes; a messenger from Fra Moreale. I wrote to the Knight, reproving him for his desertion on our ill-starred return from Corneto, and intimating that five hundred lances would be highly paid for just now.”