Brettone’s countenance fell—it was his object to get Rienzi more and more in his power, and he wished not to suffer him to gain that strength which would accrue to him from the fall of Palestrina: the indifference of the Senator foiled and entrapped him in his own net.
“That must not be,” said the brother of Montreal, after a confused silence; “we cannot leave you thus to your enemies—the soldiers, it is true, demand pay—”
“And should have it,” said Rienzi. “I know these mercenaries—it is ever with them, mutiny or money. I will throw myself on my Romans, and triumph—or fall, if so Heaven decrees, with them. Acquaint your constables with my resolve.”
Scarce were these words spoken, ere, as previously concerted with Brettone, the chief constable of the mercenaries appeared at the door. “Senator,” said he, with a rough semblance of aspect, “your orders to march have reached me, I have sought to marshal my men—but—”
“I know what thou wouldst say, friend,” interrupted Rienzi, waving his hand: “Messere Brettone will give you my reply. Another time, Sir Captain, more ceremony with the Senator of Rome—you may withdraw.”
The unforeseen dignity of Rienzi rebuked and abashed the constable; he looked at Brettone, who motioned him to depart. He closed the door and withdrew.
“What is to be done?” said Brettone.
“Sir Knight,” replied Rienzi, gravely, “let us understand each other. Would you serve me or not? If the first, you are not my equal, but subordinate—and you must obey and not dictate; if the last, my debt to you shall be discharged, and the world is wide enough for both.”
“We have declared allegiance to you,” answered Brettone, “and it shall be given.”
“One caution before I re-accept your fealty,” replied Rienzi, very slowly. “For an open foe, I have my sword—for a traitor, mark me, Rome has the axe; of the first I have no fear; for the last, no mercy.”