“An thou wouldst, my Lord,” said the leader of the Northmen, perceiving the irresolution of their chief, “we will fight to the last. You are the only Italian I ever knew whom I would willingly die for!”
This rude profession was received with a sympathetic murmur from the rest, and the soldiers drew closer around the Knight. “Nay, my brave fellows,” said the Colonna, lifting his visor, “it is not in so inglorious a field, after such various fortunes, that we are doomed to perish. If these be brigands, as we must suppose, we can yet purchase our way. If the troops of some Signor, we are strangers to the feud in which he is engaged. Give me yon banner—I will ride on to them.”
“Nay, my Lord,” said Giulio; “such marauders do not always spare a flag of truce. There is danger—”
“For that reason your leader braves it. Quick!”
The Knight took the banner, and rode deliberately up to the horsemen. On approaching, his warlike eye could not but admire the perfect caparison of their arms, the strength and beauty of their steeds, and the steady discipline of their long and glittering line.
As he rode up, and his gorgeous banner gleamed in the noonlight, the soldiers saluted him. It was a good omen, and he hailed it as such. “Fair sirs,” said the Knight, “I come, at once herald and leader of the little band who have just escaped the unlooked-for assault of armed men on yonder hill—and, claiming aid, as knight from knight, and soldier from soldier, I place my troop under the protection of your leader. Suffer me to see him.”
“Sir Knight,” answered one, who seemed the captain of the band, “sorry am I to detain one of your gallant bearing, and still more so, on recognising the device of one of the most potent houses of Italy. But our orders are strict, and we must bring all armed men to the camp of our General.”
“Long absent from my native land, I knew not,” replied the Knight, “that there was war in Tuscany. Permit me to crave the name of the general whom you speak of, and that of the foe against whom ye march.”
The Captain smiled slightly.
“Walter de Montreal is the General of the Great Company, and Florence his present foe.”