“It! What?” said Montreal.
“The rack!” replied the soldier, with a malignant scowl.
The Great Captain said not a word. He looked for one moment at the six swordsmen, as if measuring his single strength against theirs. His eye then wandered round the room. The rudest bar of iron would have been dearer to him than he had ever yet found the proofest steel of Milan. He completed his survey with a sigh, threw his mantle over his shoulders, nodded at his brethren, and followed the guard.
In a hall of the Capitol, hung with the ominous silk of white rays on a blood-red ground, sate Rienzi and his councillors. Across a recess was drawn a black curtain.
“Walter de Montreal,” said a small man at the foot of the table, “Knight of the illustrious order of St. John of Jerusalem—”
“And Captain of the Grand Company!” added the prisoner, in a firm voice.
“You stand accused of divers counts: robbery and murder, in Tuscany, Romagna, and Apulia—”
“For robbery and murder, brave men, and belted Knights,” said Montreal, drawing himself up, “would use the words ‘war and victory.’ To those charges I plead guilty! Proceed.”
“You are next accused of treasonable conspiracy against the liberties of Rome for the restoration of the proscribed Barons—and of traitorous correspondence with Stefanello Colonna at Palestrina.”
“My accuser?”