“Ah,” said Savelli; “and what is his answer!”
“Oh, wily and evasive: He is profuse in compliments and good wishes; but says he is under fealty to the Hungarian king, whose cause is before Rienzi’s tribunal; that he cannot desert his present standard; that he fears Rome is so evenly balanced between patricians and the people, that whatever party would permanently be uppermost must call in a Podesta; and this character alone the Provencal insinuates would suit him.”
“Montreal our Podesta?” cried the Orsini.
“And why not?” said Savelli; “as good a well-born Podesta as a low-born Tribune? But I trust we may do without either. Colonna, has this messenger from Fra Moreale left the city?”
“I suppose so.”
“No,” said Orsini; “I met him at the gate, and knew him of old: it is Rodolf, the Saxon (once a hireling of the Colonna), who has made some widows among my clients in the good old day. He is a little disguised now; however, I recognised and accosted him, for I thought he was one who might yet become a friend, and I bade him await me at my palace.”
“You did well,” said the Savelli, musing, and his eyes met those of Orsini. Shortly afterwards a conference, in which much was said and nothing settled, was broken up; but Luca di Savelli, loitering at the porch, prayed the Frangipani, and the other Barons, to adjourn to the Orsini’s palace.
“The old Colonna,” said he, “is well-nigh in his dotage. We shall come to a quick determination without him, and we can secure his proxy in his son.”
And this was a true prophecy, for half-an-hour’s consultation with Rodolf of Saxony sufficed to ripen thought into enterprise.